Kinist Apologetics

With all the Republican debates lately, I’ve established a routine.  On debate nights, I’ll grab a sub, bring it home and eat while I’m watching the action.  (For those of you wondering how anyone can eat while listening to so much filth, well, I have a strong stomach.)

There was a surprise waiting for me at the local Subway though.  Four bus loads of Marines unloaded (right as I arrived) and quickly filled the restaurant.  Although none of them mentioned where they were going, I suspect they were part of a squadron, heading up to Norfolk to deploy on one of the carriers — likely heading to the Gulf.

This much of a military presence is unheard of in my town and the locals were intimidated.  One old lady walked into the Subway after seeing me enter and stuck close to my side.  Another old couple walked up to the door, offered a few confused glances, then left.  Having spent ten years in the Navy, often working in joint-environments with Marines, I was used to their lingo, attitudes and mannerisms and felt protective of the woman standing next to me.

I knew what she was feeling.

She was frightened of the men towering around her — frightened of the power they represented and could bring to bear against her at the slightest provocation.  These men, she believed, would pounce on her without remorse and bring swift violence to her and her loved ones, all for the sake of some nameless bureaucrat.   She was looking at a faceless machine — mechanistic irrationalism wrapped in trusted white skin (yes, all but one of the Marines in the restaurant were white.)

Long long ago (it seems) when I was young and naive, I dreamed of protecting the innocent, standing up for the down-trodden and being a champion of the hearth-fire!  (Though I wouldn’t have known how to say it.)  I joined the Navy with the express purpose of being a Navy SEAL.  I wanted to be the warrior poet; the Christian knight who saw the world aright and fought for the good.  I remember praying earnestly, asking God to “make me right!”

Well, I suppose He has.  (At least, I’m drifting in the right direction, I hope.)

Drifting toward the “right” required that I give up my military service.  I was increasingly unhappy serving a Satanic state and saw it as counter-productive to my growing desires as a racially self-conscious white Christian.

When I finally got out (about a year ago), I was a man without purpose in a harsh world.  Even as a kid all my daydreams were of heroism and fighting for the good — contending against evil and protecting the hearth-fire.  But with my honorable-discharge came the truth that I would never be a warrior — I’d never get a parade of honor or the chance to stand against great odds and fight with brave men.   Over the past few months, I had resigned myself to the loss of those things.

But today, in that Subway, standing between the old lady and the gang of thugs (who, if ordered, would stomp her face in without question), some of my warrior spirit reasserted itself.

Who am I if not a fighter of some sort?

Well, I think this warrior spirit is why I’ve always been so attracted to apologetics.   Silencing the foolish talk of unbelief!  When an arrogant God-hater so-casually asserts blasphemy in the public square, something inside me demands a response.  He’s talking about *my* God, whom I love dearly and he will pay dearly for his blasphemy!

I discovered philosophy and the transcendental apologetic method of Cornelius Van Til.  Armed with these arguments, I could deconstruct anyone’s position and leave them sputtering, cursing, or at best: in silence.

There’s a problem with all this, however.

After a few years of reading “Cambria Will Not Yield,” I’ve become convinced that one of the main problems with Western civilization is the reliance on the intellect.  The “rationalizing” of the Faith has lead to its destruction and now all we have is an empty shell, filled by religious rites and ceremonies that retain the name and appearance of Christendom, but have nothing of its spirit.  It’s not the Holy Spirit behind modern alter-calls, but an unholy one!

“It’s the philosophers!  It’s the philosophers!” says Mr. Cambria.

And I agree…Mr. Cambria has yet to write anything that I disagree with (and if I ever do, then I’ve made a mistake in my thinking.)

But, this is hard for someone like me.

I’m no poet.  I’ve day-dreamed about writing novels and sparking a new Southern Renaissance.  I’ve dreamed about joining the ranks of Stark Young, Donald Davidson, Thomas Nelson Page, and others.  I’ve dreamed about reaching people with my words and writing poems that are so powerful, they break through years of indoctrination and reach a person’s heart…

…but, seriously: as anyone who reads my blog knows, I’m never going to be a great writer.  My inspiration comes in spurts.  If I read a great book, (like a John Buchan classic), I can write like the author for a few weeks, but it fades away over time.  Some days I can’t write worth anything.

But, philosophy — I’m always philosophizing.  I can be half-asleep at two in the morning and have great epiphanies.  I can see 12 intricate, complex distinctions in what others think of as a simple concept.

You can’t tell it from my blog (since I don’t write philosophical arguments that often), but I do get a thrill from it.  My best work is done in live, apologetic situations.  I can think on my feet, counter proposals and criticize arguments.

This is what I do.

This is the way I’ve been able to stay sane after having to give up a military life.  This is how I fight Satan.

In a democracy, men are abstracted from context and physical might is no longer as important as intellectual might.

The knight has been replaced by the rhetorician.

I hate it.  I don’t like democracy.  I despise the abstraction of man and the propositionalizing of life!  But that’s how history has unfolded and it just so happens that I’m pretty good at playing the Satanists’ game.  (At least:  I think I can honestly appraise myself as a decent rhetorician without being arrogant.)

I want this blog to be a question:

“What place does philosophy and philosophical argument have for a Kinist?”

I imagine the poor kinist who is stuck with the gift of philosophizing should think of it like the noble hit-man in all these Hollywood movies thinks about his job.  After awhile, he knows its demoralizing and wrong, but nevertheless, it’s what he’s good at and how he makes his living — at least until he’s asked to take out a woman he ends up falling in love with, and then has to turn on his Agency, causing them to hire other hit-men to take him out and a battle ensues.

I wish I could be a member of an elite fighting unit, honor-bound to serve a Godly nation of my kinsmen.

I wish I could be a poet or a wordsmyth with incredible talent.

I’d even be happy as a farmer who has never had to worry about hammering guns into plows, because he’s always had plows and never needed the guns.

But I’m none of those things.

I do have a fierce love for a person…my Father, my King, my God.

And this love is tempered by (and demands) a respect for my elders in the Faith and their writings and their attitudes.  I’m not interested in forming my own theological system or forging new philosophical ground.  I don’t want to be a heretic.

It’s this fierce love for a God (who became flesh), that will keep the Kinist philosopher grounded and allow us to avoid the tragic pitfalls of “rationalism” and a worship of the intellect that have captured the West.

Ours is a deconstructive effort — the tearing down of strongholds…the confounding of arguments and the resisting of every power and ideology that sets itself up against our God, our Blood and our Honor!

We’ll let the poets and the passionate acts of Christian hearts do the building…