Be sure to read Parts I & II first.
The Russian nation has suffered much in the past thousand years. But most of this suffering was the result of self-inflicted wounds. And these wounds were the result of her obsessive refusal to accept any choice that required her to countenance, let alone cooperate with, the Christian West. And this refusal was driven by her fanatical adherence to Eastern Orthodoxy, which in turn is totally connected to her Imperial understanding of her ‘faith’. She cannot abandon one without abandoning the other, in her own mind. If she abandons her Autocephalous (self-thinking) Eastern Orthodoxy, she must abandon her Autocratic claim to being the Third (and final) Rome. This price is too high, for the proud.
When we compare the rulers of Russia throughout this past millennium, we find, I contend, that there is a strikingly basic operational similarity between each of the ruling houses, regardless of their supposed origins and differences. Thus, the House of Rurik differs only in detail, and not in substance, from each of its successors. That is, the Houses of the Romanovs, the Bolsheviks and now Putin. The linkage between the occupant of each of these houses mirrors the connections between the security apparatus of each. And as each of these ruling houses is really just a costumed extension of their predecessors, the same is true of their enforcement bureaus, and their operational tactics and aims.
If the Russian Revolution was not the main event of 1917, what was? I said there were three huge ones, yet now I’ve said Russia is not the biggie of the three? Yes, that is correct. That honor lies elsewhere, both in time and impact. If the Russian event really began in February, let’s keep with the chronology of that year. But let;s also keep in mind that the Russian Revolution of 1917 was nothing more than a continuation of a thousand and more years of Russian rebellion. Not some radical departure. Not something new.
Sure, there were some new twists, like the official atheism of the House of Bolshevik. But that too was a sham. Joe Steel conveniently shed it in 1941 in order to withstand the Nazi onslaught. We’re all Orthodox again! At least, for a while, right? Re-open those churches and pass the ammunition! Once the Great Patriotic War was over now, it was get back to your atheist Gulag, Komrade. Get my point? Anything is acceptable in Moscow, except Rome. Kind of like London, eh? Eastern Orthodox, Western Orthodox, what’s the difference?
Still don’t get it?
The you should read Sean McMeekin’s The Russian Origins of World War One. This book clearly shows, through the official records of all the major powers, that the real initiative for making this a true Great Power conflict was strictly Russian in nature. That the real motivation for Russia was the dismemberment of the Ottoman Empire. The prize, of course, would be Constantinople. The Second Rome. You have to take number two before you take number one. Only then does your Orthodox claim to the Third throne of Caesar have any weight. Read this book, and see how Russia had secretly mobilized her troops weeks in advance of Germany, who was caught napping. And that Russia had no intention of spending the majority of her manpower battling Germany. Her real focus was on Austro-Hungary, which was the real roadblock to Russian possession of the Balkans. Which, of course, meant Constantinople. Which is where the bulk of the Russian resources were directed, and which she almost obtained.
Let us see clearly that the Russia of the Tsars was the same as the Russia of the Bolsheviks. The same goals that went all the way back to The First Russian Attack on Constantinople in 860. Throughout the life of the Soviet Union, the primary means of the Western (but agnostic) containment of Russia was the same as it had always been, the Western alliance with Turkey. The same willingness on the part of the Protestant West to support the Muslim empire (secular or not, it makes no difference), as it sought to contain the Orthodox East (who was as equally opposed to Holy Rome, the same as were London and Berlin). This little charade has gone on since at least the Fall of Constantinople in 1453.
First the French, then the factious Renaissance Italians, then the Anglish, then the French again, then the Germans. Like I’ve said before, Western Orthodox, Eastern Orthodox, what the Hell’s the difference? None of them was ever willing to act on behalf of their supposed Christian beliefs. Why? Because then they might have to pay more than lip service to their heritage. Their heritage? You know, Christendom. Undivided. Universal. Oh well. Anyway, Lenin was no different than the Tsar. That’s my point. He just didn’t have the cool imperial uniforms Nicholas II wore.
What was this second huge event of 1917 that I have alluded to? Simply this, my friend: America came out of the closet, in April of 1917. The Imperial closet, that is. Dressed as the Emperor. That was the price Angland had to pay to have her ill-bred colonial cousins come to save her bacon. And save it they did. Too bad nobody told Angland that she wasn’t going to get to run the show from that point on. But we spoke the same language, right? All those Anglish Lords could still pretend to be related to the Emperor, even if he did live in New York. At the Fed.
Now you must understand, this took a lot of work. Things don’t just magically happen according to a script. No, there must be men who desire these things. And work for them. Men like Churchill and FDR. The First Lord of the Admiralty and the Undersecretary of the US Navy, in 1915. Two distant cousins, who were very close in their desires. United in the same faith. The Imperial faith. Look it up, all you genealogists.
Even though the HMS Lusitania was sunk in 1915, loaded to the gills with ammo for Angland, it took another year and some months to get us into this maelstrom of murder. (And it took another 70-some years before the continuously repeated official lie that there were no arms aboard was unmasked.) But these two cousins were determined to do it. They loaded the freight. They sent all those civilians to their watery grave. All in the interest of the Empire. Why not? The Empire was in need of their sacrifice. The war must be won! What war? The Anglish Civil War, Komrade!
Yes, WWI was Act VI of the Anglish Civil War. The Puritan commoners had finally put those Cavalier Lords in their place. Those Lords had to come begging, to New York, hat in hand. And the price they had to pay was huge. The Empire moved West. From Old York to New York. But America would have to pay her price too. And that’s what WWI was all about, on this side of the pond. The Yankee Puritans not only put those Tory Lords in the jump-seat of the royal coach. They also harnessed their fellow Americans to the yoke of that same carriage. And they are dragging it to this very day.
America had changed drastically from 1913, when the final preparations were put in place. The Fed was established. The ‘unconstitutional’ Income Tax was ruled legal by a newly compliant Supreme Court. And the States were stripped of their rights with the coming of the direct election of Senators. Thank you, Emperor Wilson. You made America great, again. Right? Never mind the fact that you promised to keep us out of European wars. And that you swore the Income Tax would never burden the common man. The States? Well, they still got to choose their Senators, in a round-about fashion, right?
What’s the problem, Citizen? Why are you so suspicious? Nothing has really changed. We, your glorious and trustworthy leaders, would never mislead you. Honest! Oh, by the way, Citizen, please report to your nearest draft board. Huh? Oh, nothing. We’re just going on some training maneuvers. In sunny France. You’ll love it! It won’t last long, and when we’re done, we’ll have made the world safe. Safe for Democracy. You know about Democracy, right? We need to make sure everyone has some. Lots of it, actually.
Ah, democracy. The religion of the Emperor. And the Empire. That’s how he makes us think that we’re actually choosing our own fate. That’s how he controls us. That’s how the gods control him. Idiots. All of us, idiots. And so, the beginning of WWI became the beginnings of WWII. And Korea. And Vietnam. And the Cold War. And Afghanistan. And Iraq. And every other damned war since then. And now, the newest ones, with a militarized police force, armed by the Army. The Endless Wars. The War on Drugs. The War on Poverty. The War on Terrorism. And coming soon, the War on Vlad.
There you have it: 1917. The year that everyone switched costumes but continued their same parts in this European Enlightenment madness. The Russians had stupidly calculated that Effeminate Francois could handle Efficient Fritz, freeing the Tsarist juggernaut to roll over Austria on its way to Byzantine glory. Too bad nobody in Moscow bothered to compare German machine guns to medieval cavalry. Too bad nobody in Berlin and Vienna bothered to realize that Perfidious Albion would be able to snooker their stupid colonial cousins into filling the gap left by all those dead Anglishmen in the French trench. Too bad nobody in Paris realized that anything having to do with Russia was a cold and losing proposition.
Russia, in her Deep State Orthodox desperation at her Tsarist miscalculation, gladly embraced the atheistic Revolution. What better way to resist the ‘I told you so’s’ coming from Benedict XV in the Vatican? Who could resist this message that was pleading for a truce? Atheists, of course. So the Russians became ‘atheists’, and they resisted Rome. Once again, they resisted Rome. For seventy-four years. But Benedict XV is gone. And so is Benedict XVI. He was a nag too, Da? And that damned JPII as well. Damned Poles! We tried to ignore them, but they wouldn’t shut up. So we hired that stupid Turk. Those idiots could never shoot straight. Next time we’ll get a Janissary. Oh well, time to change costumes again, Komrade. Time for the new springtime. The Arab Spring? No, the Moscow Spring. The Orthodox Spring. Love is in the air. Vlad loves Kyrill, Kyrill loves Vlad. Isn’t it wonderful? Hail Caesar! Hail C-zar! Hail T-sar. Hail Vlad!
Where does this madness leave us? Admit it, you’re dizzy. No, not from me and my insanity. No, you’re dizzy from the insanity of this world. This world that seems so perfect in the history books, where we are the shining city upon the hill. The history books, where we are the defenders of democracy. The history books that tell us we are the answer to mankind’s problems. But this no longer makes any sense. Why? Because, as Sir John Glubb tells us, we read a biased history. The actual facts don’t bear the official story out. Why? Because we’ve never gotten to the third side of the story. The side that is always omitted in the false dichotomies of Orthodox East vs. Anglican-Orthodox West. The straw men that we are always shown in order to convince us that the other side is evil. The same false choices the other side shows their people for the same purpose. What purpose? To keep us focused on the external enemy. So focused that we never see the real enemy. Who would that be? Ourselves. Our sinful selves. Always willing to note the mote in our brother’s eye, yet blind to the beam in our own.
What is this third event of 1917 that I have spoken of? I’ve told you of the two acts of commission. The doubling down of the bets by both the Orthodox East and the Anglish West, as each sought to impose their Imperial wills upon all of us. All of us who are caught in the middle. In the Center. Where is the center? In Holy Rome. The center that denounced both sides in this maniacal march into the abyss known as WWI. The abyss that would lead us, in free-fall, to this day, when we no longer can believe anything anyone tells us. Pictures can’t be believed. Sounds can’t be believed. Taste and smell can’t be believed. Nothing can be believed, because nothing can be authenticated. Because everything can be, and so often is, artificial. Produced by man, and not by God. We can’t tell the difference anymore.
What was the last thing that could be believed? Or, at least, not denied? It was the miracle. The miracle that couldn’t be photo-shopped. That miracle couldn’t be faked. The miracle that couldn’t be denied, because so many had seen it. Seen especially by those who had come to deny the reality of miracles. A miracle that was on the front pages of all of Europe for a week. And then it was the miracle that disappeared. Because it couldn’t be denied. The only solution was to never speak of it again. Which is why most have never heard of it. Dynamic silence is the name for this technique. It works. Ask your Rabbi if you’re not sure.
You don’t believe in miracles? Deus ex Machina? Every great play needs one. And this is the greatest play of all. The salvation of man. The salvation from both the East and the West. The salvation that comes from The Center. The salvation that comes from The Jew. Singular, and not plural. Torah, not Talmud.
Where do we find this story of this salvation from the ruling paradigms of the day? From the rigidity of both East and West? Well, if we want to find this story, we have to take a little trip. A trip to a place that confounds both East and West. A place that was almost medieval in 1917. Where is that place? It is Portugal. Yes, Portugal. The home of Port, my favorite libation.
Before we depart for Lisbon and the hinterlands, let’s note one thing. What was the task Odysseus was given, in return for his bargain with Poseidon, as he begged this fickle god for the favor of returning home safely? I’ll tell you. But remember this first, all you fans of Homer: the Odyssey was not about returning home. It was about the enslavement of Odysseus. His enslavement to the gods.
Sure, he was allowed to return home and free his faithful wife Penelope from all those damned suitors. He did that, to be sure. And then he packed his bags. Why? Because he had to leave again. He had to leave his wife and home, and drag that damned oar across Europe, proselytizing for the gods for twenty years. Take up your oar and follow me, said Poseidon. That was the price of his bargain. Idiot. You’re on dry land, you fool. How can Poseidon reach you? You’ve broken every other promise you ever made, why not one more? Kiss Penelope goodbye. You’re on the road again.
Where did Odysseus’ journey end? In Lisbon, of course. The city he founded. At the western extreme of the continent. As far from Greece as he could be. That’s what you get when you petition the gods. Be forewarned, my friends. One last thing before we depart. What was the name of Portugal when she was ruled by Imperial Rome? Lusitania.
Next stop: Portugal.