A brilliant morning shines on the old city. Its antiquities and ruins are surpassingly beautiful, with the lusty ivy gleaming in the sun, and the rich trees waving in the balmy air. Changes of glorious light from moving boughs, songs of birds, scents from gardens, woods, and fieldsâor, rather, from the one great garden of the whole cultivated island in its yielding timeâpenetrate into the Cathedral, subdue its earthy odour, and preach the Resurrection and the Life. The cold stone tombs of centuries ago grow warm; and flecks of brightness dart into the sternest marble corners of the building, fluttering there like wings. âThe Mystery of Edwin Drood by Charles Dickens
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A friend once asked me upon what five books, if I were limited to five, would I build my library. When he gave me permission to list complete works as one book, I gave him my answer:
1. King James Version of the Bible
2. Shakespeare â the complete works
3. Sir Walter Scott â the complete works
4. Dickens â the complete works
5. The Brothers Grimm â the complete works
Of course there is no reason to confine yourself to just five books unless you have a friend who likes to play the âfive books gameâ. Actually my friend was generous â itâs usually just two books that youâre allowed on the desert island.
It is to the fifth book that I want to turn right now, because there is a story in Grimmâs Fairy Tales about a Young Drummer who climbs a glass mountain, a glass mountain that was supposed to be impossible to climb, in order to rescue a fair maiden. I have not talked to the Young Drummer for eight years, giving rise to a rumor that the Young Drummer has left us. He has not; I have just been negligent. Perhaps I have let the spiritual rot of modernity beat me down, rendering me incapable of speaking with a truly integral man from the heart of sacred, fairytale Europe. Let me try to rectify my negligence.
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CWNY: Itâs been a few years since Iâve spoken to you.
Young Drummer: Itâs been more than a few.
CWNY: I apologize.
YD: Thereâs no need to apologize. Friends donât always have to speak to each other. We are eternally bound to each other through our love for eternal Europe, and through that bond we are eternally bound to Him.
CWNY: The liberals donât want us to be connected to His Europe.
YD: No, they donât. Once a man, a European man, feels connected to the antique Europeans in spirit, blood, and faith, he will become the most feared and hated man in Liberaldom; he will become an integral man, a Christian European.
CWNY: But it hasnât happened. The European people have cut themselves off from their Christian ancestors.
YD: Yes, they have. We are in the end times — there is no use lying to ourselves about that.
CWNY: Although we know neither the day nor the hour.
YD: Of course not. The end times could last hundreds of years, but we must judge our times by the Scriptures. When all the heresies, blasphemies, and perversions that have ever plagued the human race are synthesized into one organized system, and when the powers that be in church and state support that system, then we can say unequivocally that we are in the end times.
CWNY: Letâs be clear about the âsystem.â
YD: All right, the system is called liberalism. No one ever defines that system as a system. There are people who criticize certain aspects of liberalism, but there are no Europeans who criticize the whole liberal system. Europeans have become addicted to the dialectic approach to existence, which has left them doomed to wallow in the superficialities of life without ever reaching the rhetorical center of existence.
CWNY: By the rhetorical center, you mean the human heart?
YD: Yes. In the beginning was the Word. If Christâs words do not take flesh in the human heart, they become grist for the âsmart onesâ â the philosophers, theologians, sociologists, psychiatrists, and scientists. What they do with the words of our Lord cries out to heaven for vengeance. Their blasphemies make a man want to rise and ride against Liberaldom.
CWNY: Yes, they do. But at the risk of appearing like a prisoner of the dialectic I must say something about the romance of going into battle against the liberal leviathans. You are a kind of Melchizedek figure — âWithout father, without mother, without beginning of days, nor end of life.â Can a mere mortal like myself really rise and ride against the liberals?
YD: Yes, you can and you must. Taking up arms against the liberals and their minions does not exclude the military option, but it also consists of something more. You might never get the opportunity to meet the enemy on the battlefield, but you should see yourself as permanently at war with the liberals and their colored gods. Even if the whole world worships at the altars of the liberalsâ heathen gods you must not do so. The refusal to worship the liberalsâ gods is the white Christianâs first duty. From that refusal everything else of consequence follows. You will protect your children from the liberalsâ ideology, and you will attack the liberals through whatever means are at your disposal. There is an unremitting war going on with Satan, the liberals, and the colored heathens on one side, and the white Europeans on the other side. It is only the white Christian Europeans who are fighting, but Satan is attacking the entire white race. He doesnât spare the white grazers, because he is always afraid that something might arouse them. Itâs better to simply kill them off to make sure.
CWNY: There is a certain logic to that strategy, a satanic logic without a doubt, but it is logical, if you hate humanity, to exterminate the one race that became fully human through their faith in the divine humanity of Jesus Christ.
YD: Yes, and there is only one way to know the Savior â through the charity that begins at home, where the mysterious human relationships we develop with the people of our racial hearth fire come to fruition, unless stamped out by the liberals in church and state. Kill that flesh and blood conduit to God and you have isolated man from God.
CWNY: Yes, and that is what has happened to the European people. They have left their racial hearth fire to go whoring after the liberalsâ heathen gods.
I like Kipling, but I must disagree with the third and fourth lines of the last stanza of the poem âIfâ:
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much:
If we followed that advice we wouldnât have hearts of flesh. Of course my loving friends can hurt me. The only way to avoid such hurt is to form no deep attachments as the Buddhists and the Thomists recommend. And of course some men do count with me more than mere rationalism deems acceptable.
YD: Kiplingâs âIfâ does not represent the pinnacle of his work.
CWNY: No, it doesnât. His magnificent story, âThe Gardener,â captures the heart of the man.
YD: Yes. Kipling was a man of heart. When taken for all and all he was one of us, he belongs to eternal Europe, because he championed the little things, such as the love of kith and kin, that lead us to God.
Very few people ask my advice any more, but if they did I would advise them to eschew the big theories of life and stay with the little things that come from a devotion to the European hearth fire.
CWNY: Like Ratty and his River?
YD: Yes, thatâs it. The great destroyers, the intellectual Christians and their secular counterparts, all act like they have discovered a very great secret that is so completely and utterly magnificent and profound that it will make all mankind happy beyond measure if they would just follow the liberals. But when we look closely at the liberalsâ great secret we see that the emperor has no clothes. This utterly new and magnificent secret is a very old thing, it is paganism. The worship of the noble black savage is not new, it is just another variation of the worship of Baal. Christ asks: âWhen the Son of Man returns, will He find faith on earth?â He will not find faith on earth if the Europeans do not reject liberalism in its entirety. You canât have just a little bit of liberalism. At the heart and center of liberalism is negro worship. If you kill that heart, all the tentacles that are strangling the European people will cease to strangle them. But if you fail to strike at the heart of the liberal leviathan, everything you do will be useless. Unless the blood of our ancestors — for I too am a European — once again becomes part of the Europeansâ soul, their sickness will be a sickness unto death. It must be all or nothing. Either the fairy tale of our Lord and Savior is true or it is not. If it is not true, then we are of all men most to be pitied and scorned. But I say it is true, so why should any man, a European man, stand on the wrong side of the Christian-liberal divide? Iâve said enough.
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The mad-dog liberals hate the antique Europeans. They will not cease from mental fight until they have eradicated every last vestige of their glorious culture and killed every white European who is even remotely connected to those people from long ago. The conservatives tell us not to bother about the antique Europeans; they bid us look to their brains and their systems. âAfter all,â they tell us, in imitation of Claudiusâs reproach of Hamlet, âit is wrong to obsess on the dead.â But âthe deadâ are not dead to me. They represent all that is truly alive. When I go through the works of Shakespeare, Scott, or Dickens, I feel that I know those authors intimately, and I am drawn to their Europe peopled with men and women who live in the shadow of the cross. Some reject the blessed Savior, and some turn to Him, but they all know who founded Europe. Isnât that more than Gibbon or any of the other classical liberal âthinkers,â living or dead, ever comprehended? We are not born of pagan Greece or pagan Rome, we are born of Christian Europe. Itâs not possible for a European to abandon His Europe and still retain his humanity. A European who decides to reside, body and soul, in Liberaldom becomes an Unman who has sold his eternal jewel for the false paradise promised him by the weird sisters of Liberaldom.
The modern European man stood upon the heath and accepted the devilâs bargain. We few, the least and the last of the European faithful, have returned to that tempest-tossed heath in order to hurl our defiance at the weird sisters: âWe refuse to be part of Liberaldom. Return to hell and tell your master that the people of our house shall serve the Savior, who is Christ the Lord. This shall ever be our story â we are characters in the great European fairy tale that concludes with the resurrection of the dead and the life everlasting. There is no other story like the Europeansâ story. Why should we look for another story or another author?â +