From the opening of Homer’s Odyssey, in the Pope translation, melancholy Minerva– or Athena, if we’re nixing alliteration in favor of accuracy, proclaims the just punishment of Aegisthus for the murder of Agamemnon but protests the languishment of righteous Ulysses kept from his beloved home:
Here paused the god; and pensive thus replies
Minerva, graceful with her azure eyes:
“O thou! from whom the whole creation springs,
The source of power on earth derived to kings!
His death was equal to the direful deed;
So may the man of blood be doomed to bleed!
But grief and rage alternate wound my breast
For brave Ulysses, still by fate oppress’d.
Amidst an isle, around whose rocky shore
The forests murmur, and the surges roar,
The blameless hero from his wish’d-for home
A goddess guards in her enchanted dome;
(Atlas her sire, to whose far-piercing eye
The wonders of the deep expanded lie;
The eternal columns which on earth he rears
End in the starry vault, and prop the spheres).
By his fair daughter is the chief confined,
Who soothes to dear delight his anxious mind;
Successless all her soft caresses prove,
To banish from his breast his country’s love;
To see the smoke from his loved palace rise,
While the dear isle in distant prospect lies,
With what contentment could he close his eyes!
And will Omnipotence neglect to save
The suffering virtue of the wise and brave?”
–Odysseus, like The Man Without A Name, has miles to go before he sleeps (if indeed that Wanderer ever truly rests at all!). And in recent news, another famous Wanderer has lately returned for a few mysterious missions in the current barrack headquarters of Western Civilization, le Chateau d’Heartiste! Is he a messenger sent from the fabled heights of Olympus, or even the White House itself? For dah GBFM(TM) indeed has begun to raid the coasts where ravaging trolls have waylaid the substance of the Manosphere’s heritage–inspiring fresh vigor in the morale of those stymied by the stalling our oppressive media-judicial-bankster-industrial class dishes out to the fairly elected President, Donald Trump.
And this time bearing gifts, as dah GBFM’s influence has mysteriously begun to filter (as we knew it must) into the wider media culture! So we shall hope to have further, more scholarly-sounding remarks to follow as the Age of Trump promises to prove a testing ground for the renaissance of our Great Books heritage– Dante’s condemnation of usury and buggery very much included!
Though an age of conflict is to be dreaded, yet this is the portion we must suffer: and in such conflict, there is also the hope and the promise of prophecy, prophecy that looks beyond the end of present conflict and into the Final Cause of things. Such was it with Vergil and Isaiah, such was the thirteenth chapter of Mark or the twenty-third of Matthew. Every day casts new horrors up on the screen, and every hour hears fresh howling lies from the baying dogs of the mainstream and their fiat-paying masters. But we still have Donald Trump and the Divine Comedy, and Pale Rider and A Fistful of Dollars; we have the landscapes of Claude Lorrain and Constable and the bracing spectacle of our own mountainous lands. And once again, we hear that still small lolzolz, the voice of da GreatBooksForMen, beaming in from some unuttered zone, and unhindered– the voice of freedom, the voice of satire, the voice of awakening and settlement of debts (fiat and otherwise). Take heart, Christian soldiers, and march on: drain the swamp of bernankified siren-singers, and retake the Ithaca of your patrimony!