Someone jumped all over John C Wright yesterday. It is like getting into a rhetorical contest with Chesterton: if you are not Chesterton (or Wright) you better be Hilare Beloc or C. S. Lewis. Or you will lose.

Not so. Vox Day will be remembered for the same reason Charles Williams is remembered. Due to his friendship with JRR Tolkien and CS Lewis, Mr Williams is remembered. Likewise Lord Dunsany, famous in his own lifetime, is now mostly recalled because he is linked to the more famous name of his friend HP Lovecraft.

He will be remembered as my editor, because my work will certainly be remembered for far longer than twenty years.

My guess is that certain scholars will be reading me in two hundred, because the Catholic Church will remain until the end of time: and we tend to pay special attention to each other’s written works, despite differences of race and language and millennium. I was just reading the works of Justin Martyr the other day, and Thomas a Kempas. If you want an audience you know will exist until the end of time, you have to attract a readership among Catholics.

My coreligionists might be curious about short lived phenomenon known as science fiction, which flourished during the Space Age, and departed again once Big Brother, or the Caliphate, or the Beast, has outlawed thought and hence technology.

What Wright is arguing here is what Schaeffer called presuppositional evangelism: that there is such a thing as objective truth, objective accountability, right and wrong. That relativism, as an ethical position, has limits based on active duties. That the means are not justified by the end, but instead the means shape the end that will arrive.

And in the end, truth will bite back.

Today, too many are either on the margins or not communicating members of our society at all. Letting this happen, to coin a phrase, is “like watching a nation busily engaged in heaping up its own funeral pyre”.

That phrase was Enoch Powell’s, whose so-called “Rivers of Blood” speech in April 1968 warned us of the dangers of “communalism”, and specifically of those caused by mass immigration. He feared that the concentration of immigrants and their descendants in large communities killed the prospects of integration. Powell was reviled for his remarks, though mainly for those in which he quoted constituents. He was not a man to think, let alone utter, bigoted thoughts himself.

The toxic situation created by the response to his speech – a mixture of Leftist grandstanding and self-righteous smugness by many Tories who thought it politic to denounce him – provided an excuse to politicians for years afterwards not to question the imposition of multiculturalism on Britain.

I recall one former cabinet minister – a Tory – whose cowardice was typical of dozens like him, saying to me 20 years ago that although he and his colleagues knew mass immigration was causing problems, “Enoch” had made it impossible to discuss them.

That is one of the great lies of recent politics. It was not Powell who made this discussion impossible: it was the fear of generations of politicians since him to state the bleeding obvious, that there was a group within Britain’s community of predominantly decent, law-abiding and highly civilised Muslims who were determined to impose a primitivism and savagery first on their co-religionists and then, if they could, on the rest of society.

To refuse to tolerate that was not racism, it was common sense and an appeal for reason and decency; to use what Powell had said as an excuse for doing nothing was simply the expression of a desire for a quiet life.

Let me restate this.

Truth is the truth.

It is not an experssion of power. It is not a microaggression. It cannot be redacted away.

And it will out.