Activists: Activate! (Stop Your Dreaming)

What’s this?

Another “Shotgunian” contradiction?

Or maybe I’m just a hypocrite? Let me explain:

When I wrote my post “Why I’m Not an Activist“, I was writing from the heart.  I meant what I said there; I don’t want to “win” (whatever that might entail) by taking up the tactics and attitudes of the enemy.  They’re alchemists, the lot of them, trying to break men out of their Godly contexts and transcend the very material they’re made from.  They’re not content with doing it to themselves, they want to rip us all out of our skins and place us in cold, mechanical “bodies” that never age, have no sex or race, and are free from pesky humanity.  And they’re doing it now with their ideologies, hoping the demi-god “science” will catch up to their sick fetishes in the near future.  I want none of their fantasies.

But a few days after writing that post, I saw my friends in the Traditionalist Youth Network confront the vile race-baiter Tim Wise in Indiana.  I’ve participated in their protesting of the man before, but opted out this time due to pessimism and logistical restraints.  Still, when I saw the video of their recent event and saw how it was, all told, yet another victory for them, I was inspired.

Inspired so much, I promptly decided to visit Tim Wise as well.  I saw his next stop was here in North Carolina and posted on Facebook that I was thinking of strolling down to Charlotte and questioning the man during his QnA at the University.  To my surprise, people got excited and wanted to go with me.  The excitement rose and before long, almost on its own, a protest was being formed, and I was the event organizer.

I contacted my Trad Youth buddies and was sworn in as their NC chairman.  Within a matter of hours, and despite my post, I had become an activist.

Likely I wouldn’t have let my meager trek evolve into a full-on protest, except that Cambria Will Not Yield has, in his past two posts, seemed to support “activism” (of a sort).  The man’s writing has a frightening power in my life – I’ve often admitted that I might not be his biggest fan, but if he ever put out a hit on someone, I’d be the one pulling the trigger.

And why not?

When I read CWNY, I feel like I’m reading an Anthony Hope adventure novel, only one written by someone with a lot more intelligence and foresight than Anthony Hope, and with words directed at our current situation.  Not only that, but it seems like Cambria is the last of the European writers.  A bard of old Europe; a voice from the past.  What would Sir Walter Scott say about our world were he alive?  Read CWNY and see.

But even more:  his is the last echo of a dying order.  I know, because I’ve searched the blogging world and contemporary literature, and I can’t find anyone writing from his  perspective.  Everyone has their own twist or ideal or object in the past and they harp on it – but his is the only purified wellspring of old Europe.  I hope to God there are others that maybe I’ve missed; maybe, in the distant (far distant) future, I might be able to do something similar…but that time is far off and for now, his is an invaluable source of inspiration.  And I’m not worthy of it.

I’m a farm boy from NC, not an intellectual or a great thinker, artist, or poet.  I’m not an aristocrat.  I’m Sam Wise…content to serve Mr. Frodo and the other great lords, and content to marvel at the beauty of their order from the safety of my comfortable little farm in the Carolina countryside (if ever I get one).

But there’s this…we few are the last of old Europe.  All the lofty gothic architecture, the marble monuments, the fields of war, the great documents of statecraft and the literature of our people – we’re the last wielders.  The great Europeans have passed away, and the Kingdom, with all its great works, has passed to us, worthy or not.

So, like Sam Wise, I’m driven to pick up the Light of Earendil, a talisman too great for the likes of me, but to whom it’s come nevertheless, because there’s no one left to hold it. And like Sam Wise, I’ll become a de-facto ambassador of the glory of Europe…full of wrath:

Sam did not wait to wonder what was to be done, or whether he was brave, or loyal, or filled with rage.  He sprang forward with a yell, and seized his master’s sword in his left hand.  Then he charged.  No onslaught more fierce was ever seen in the savage world of beasts…

The great things of old have passed to we few, worthy or not, and it’s our job now to carry them against the enemy…and we have this promise:  That the walls of Hell will NOT triumph against us…

…and lo, He’ll be with us until the end.

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Midnight Musings V

The Song Remembers When…

I’m finding it hard to put into words what’s on my mind tonight.  I wish I could describe how it feels to think back to wet, but happy summers in rural Carolina; the heavy smell of dogwoods mingled with freshly cut grass, and the breeze!  The breeze carried in the scent of the river and we were surrounded by it always.

Now add to this memories of a lost love, a time of brightness, friends long past, adventures (such as they were) now forgotten…

It takes a sound, a smell, sometimes the viewing of a particularly vivid color, to put me in this trance (I guess is the best word for it).  But when it comes, it comes strong and I never want it to end…though end it does, eventually.  I’m snapped back to the cold and hopeless future, where Satan (or, at least, bureaucrats acting in his name) rule the world.  And Satan is the god of the void; a void of eternal, existential bliss.

It’s this void the “dance club” tries to create – deafening and nonsensical pop-music, bass beats reverberating through your entire body, and everywhere a spirit of licentiousness.  Women, clad like whores, gyrate themselves against anyone and anything, while the entire crowd gulps down alcohol, dances, and sees only a vague future (of a few hours hence) when the promise of a sexual encounter looms large in their thoughts.  Besides this brief consideration, the future is forgotten, the world is bliss, and time all but stops.

The entire world is turning into a dance club.

But sometimes a song or a poem or some bit of art, transports me back to Europe.  Maybe this is how we can fight back?  Maybe the Prince of the Power of the Air – Satan’s old title – refers to the mytho-poetic narrative of the culture at large, and its a narrative that can shift and change – and has been forcefully changed?

It will take a mighty poet to bend the air…a mighty work of art.

And, that sort of thing is beyond me…unless…

…unless that work is a team effort.  A choir.  A medley of voices.  To that, I might add some small effort.

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A Tale of Two… Alchemists?

I’ve read a series of books recently, starting with Dickens’ “Tale of Two Cities”, which reignited my Faith and helped me believe I might have a noble death after all.

I followed with Hilaire Belloc’s book on the French Revolution, which I’ve tried reading before but put down because his view was so distasteful to me.  I made it through this time; I wouldn’t have made it without having Dickens fresh in memory.  And while Belloc (as usual) does a wonderful job of showing his chosen period in “human” form (as opposed to relating dry, atomized facts), his view of the Revolution, especially in light of our present troubles, seems almost sinister.  I respect him enough though to call it “naive” instead.  Both he and Chesterton were infected with a tragic naivete that I didn’t detect at first, but am seeing the more I delve into their material.  I wont expound more on my thoughts of the book because this isn’t meant to be a review; suffice it to say that while I’ve gained a new understanding of the Revolutionaries and their point of view, and while I can better see how they came to it, I’d still, were I there, fall back to the Lyons countryside with my monarchist comrades and hang any Jacobin I met.

Tiring of the Revolution, but not of France, I went back in time with Victor Hugo, to Notre Dame.  Some of my friends informed me that Hugo’s was a degenerate life.

I don’t know anything about the man, other than what I’ve learned about him from reading “Hunchback”, but as his novel entertained and enlightened me, I said a few words in his defense.  Can a man in tune with hearth-fire feelings as evidenced by the following quote, be all bad?:

“I do not believe that there is anything sweeter in the world than the ideas which awake in a mother’s heart at the sight of her child’s tiny shoe…”

My mom still has some of my baby shoes, by the way.  She’s stowed them away somewhere.

His musings on architecture were the most interesting to me.  He says the printed word killed architecture.  Architecture, for Hugo, was the language of all humankind until the printing press made it obsolete. Masons crafted the human experience and every epoch of man had its reflection in its monuments. This is especially true of Notre Dame (on Hugo’s view), where the Roman architecture is covered by the medieval, which is, itself, swallowed up by the Gothic, which is utterly devastated by the “renaissance” and modernist travesties.

And like Claude Frollo, men have become obsessed with alchemy, only instead of escaping the confines of base metals or architecture, they’re now trying to escape their very bodies!  Woe to the man who transcends all bounds of “place” …he’ll end up like Sartre who found out that a man with no boundaries is, essentially, a dead man.  How can we freely choose when there are no choices to be made?!

I enjoyed “Hunchback of Notre Dame”, though I thought the last few chapters could have been rewritten for a happy ending.  That would have kept with the novel’s light-hearted feel.  And I’m still not sure what Hugo’s point was, unless it was an ambiguous notion of human alchemy, where his characters underwent some fundamental change that lead each of them to tragedy.

Maybe Hugo wasn’t a fan of alchemists after all?  And maybe Belloc was?

—————————————-

I got tired of France and decided to delve back into Middle Earth, which is where I’m at now.  Gandalf has just died in Moria and the gang are in Lothlorien.

Maybe I’m “low class” or showing my blue-collar genetics by running from France and heavy-handed literary themes?

But sometimes, a man’s just got to live in the Shire for awhile.

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Midnight Musings IV

On being an outlaw…

Yesterday while standing in line to pay for my meal, and lost in thought, I had a heck of a surprise when a tiny black girl, about two years old, ran from her mom, and latched onto my leg.

I was overcome with emotion, thinking of how precious the little creature was.  I knew in an instant I’d give my life for her, if it came to it.  I’m not relaying this story because it might win brownie ..(heh).. points for me among the rabid anti-whites; I’m just relaying a human emotion.

Nevertheless, I’m called a hate-filled beast.

Woe to the generation that calls evil good and good, evil.  How can Christendom have gotten this bad?  How can they still have mostly true theological beliefs, but be so evil in the working out of them?  How can their sentiments have become so skewed?

You all are probably aware of how certain contemporary Christian musicians take beautiful old hymns, keep the same words, but add completely different melodies and instrumentals to them.

The same thing has been done with Christianity.

Since about the 1960’s, modern “Christians” have taken the old, beautiful Christianity, kept the propositions, but changed the melodies and accompany it with demonic admixtures.

I know I said I’m not praying for things anymore, but dear God, help us…

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Midnight Musings III

How many times do you have to pray in Jesus’ name for something?

I swear I’ve prayed, and prayed earnestly, in Jesus’ name for something, only to have God completely ignore me time and time again.

Well, let’s see.  Let’s try and survey possible Evangelical answers:

“The prayer of a righteous man availeth much!”

Yes, but search this wide world over and tell me how many men you’ll find willing to raise their hands and claim righteousness.  You wont find any, and if anyone does raise their hand, you know they’re liars and not righteous anyway.

Still, we might say that relatively speaking, some are more righteous than others.  I have a low opinion of my own righteousness, but I’m willing to grant that I’m better than some (even if I’m a whole lot worse than others).  So where does one have to fall on the “righteousness” scale to be worthy of an answered prayer?

I’d love to meet the man who claims he’s righteous enough to deserve one.  He’s liable to get struck by lightening.

“You’re being selfish by asking God for things.  You ought only pray with thanksgivings, praises, or if you do feel it necessary to ask God for something, you ought only ask for ambiguous, subjective things like comfort, or pray for things to go as God wills them.”

…as if they aren’t going to go as He wills despite my prayers.

I reject this point because the Bible teaches us to pray all the time, always asking God for what we need or want.  And I’m not saying I never offer prayers of praise or thanksgiving or that I always pray for things…but if I’m not allowed to pray that God actually impacts my life or helps me out of actual jams, then that seems close to a lack of faith.

It’s almost like the pious evengelicals who suggest this attitude towards prayer are trying to wrap their doubts about God up in flowery sounding language, and I don’t want any of that.  I believe in a God who cares about His people’s lives and wants to take an active part in them.

“You have to pray in God’s will”

…which basically means, you pray and pray, never knowing when something is God’s will or not, so when something favorable happens, you say, “HA!  God’s will!”  And if your prayer isn’t answered you say “oh, guess it wasn’t God’s will.”

But this amounts to little more than waiting for favorable coincidences.  Those who don’t even pray for anything, get that much.

Besides, Jesus says *whatever* you ask for in my name, my Father will grant.  He doesn’t say “I’ll only grant your prayer request on the outside chance it happens to coincide with what I was going to do anyway.”

————————-

So, let’s examine that.

I’ve proven it false, numerous times.  I’ve prayed and prayed in Jesus’ name, only to be ignored.  Flatly ignored.

So either Jesus was lying (which is blasphemy and cannot be entertained), or He wasn’t talking to me when He said what He said.

I think that’s the best explanation.  He was talking to the Apostles.  Whatever *THEY* ask in His name, God would grant.  How else were they going to heal the sick and cause the blind to see?  It wasn’t them producing the miracles, it was simply God answering their prayers.  They’d walk up to a blind man, ask (or silently will-in-the-name-of-Christ) for the man’s healing, and hark!  He could see!

——————————

So in conclusion then … I’m not going to pray for things anymore.

What would be the point?  It seems like God has given us all He’s going to give us by way of Earthly forces and they may, from time to time, favor us, or more often, hurt us.  But either way, God’s given us our due and left us to fend for ourselves.

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Midnight Musings II

Can caffeine feel like the Holy Spirit?

Years ago I asked my dad what the Holy Spirit felt like; he was annoyed by the question and didn’t understand why I’d ask.  “It doesn’t feel like anything” he said “you either have it or you don’t.”

I had in mind a song I heard a few days previous on the radio.  It was a country pop song, designed to bring the listener to an emotional climax.  The form of it was common:  during the second-to-last repetition of the chorus, all music stops, and the singer drones on with nothing but drums for accompaniment…this adds an emotional emphasis similar to what the minimalist artists are shooting for in their paintings…then, for the finale, the music rushes back, the chorus is repeated once more, the music fades away for good, and the listener is eased back to reality.

Being young and naive, I didn’t realize how shallow this was and allowed myself to be carried away by it.  During the pivotal minimalist portion of the song, I broke out in chills and felt a thrilling “high”.

“This must be what getting the Spirit feels like!” I thought, and for the longest time, when a song or a segment in a movie affected me in this way, I really thought God was working in my innards.

I don’t believe that anymore, of course.

But I still have the notion that when the Spirit makes a move, I might feel it.  Tonight, while traveling home, I grabbed one of those canned “energy drinks” that are so popular.  I usually don’t drink the stuff, but I was tired and needed a kick; plus, it was put out by the Mossy Oak clothing company and the can was covered in the real-tree camo pattern.  How odd that a clothing company that makes clothes for rural Americans, would get into the “energy drink” market?  I took and drank.

Five minutes later I began having religious epiphanies about Faith, life, and my place in it all, accompanied by feelings of awe and wonder.

Were these real?  Was this the Spirit moving in my innards?

Or was it the caffeine?

Or, and this will really trip you all out…

…was it the Spirit using the caffeine to lead me to the epiphanies?!

You, dear readers, be the judge.

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Midnight Musings…

Can a poet have a broken heart?

I only loved once, but it was deep, and when I realized the object of my affection would never return my feelings, I stopped (that instant) having genuine emotions.

Anything I wrote or said afterwards, any of my lame poetic expressions, were expressions of my former life.  This is still true, for the most part, but maybe I’m like the victim of a bomb blast who regains his hearing after years of numbness?  I’ll never recover a life like I had while I was in love with that woman, though.  That’s certain.

I could have done anything.

Have you ever wanted to go back in time so bad that you prayed for it?  Prayed for God to whisk you away down the corridors of history to your body of fifteen years ago, so you might re-live your life and turn events away from the tragic and towards unthinkable pleasures?

The speculative side of me, the philosophical side, the side that’s governed me since I died the love-death, that side of me said God may not even be able to perform that sort of miracle.  Or, if He could, He certainly wouldn’t be willing to.

But then I imagined what would happen if He did…and that imagining is what prompted this midnight musing:

I thought of how profoundly sad I would be if God granted that prayer.  Some long dormant emotion sprung up in me, weak to be sure, but still there.  I would have been terribly sad at the thought that I no longer stood in the same relationship to my sister.  Her and I experienced everything together growing up, but now that God granted my selfish prayer, we were forever separated, her always being fifteen years behind me.  All her victories, all her achievements, and all the precious memories she’s made for herself in the past fifteen years are gone, swept away and turned into a hypothetical future that now, because of my actions, will no longer exist.

Considering this change for all my relations, and the sadness was intensified 100 fold.

I’ve often thought of how great it would be, and how much better my life would be, if God would rip me from my temporal context and send me back a few years, but tonight was the first time I realized how sad that would be.  Trapped forever in a perpetual history where events no longer matter except in anticipation of a future that has left me behind.  Stuck in history’s closet.

The “present” truly is a blessing, then.  It’s where all the important life happens.

Unfortunately for me, it’s a present without life.

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RIP Gordon Baum

baum Growing up in the 80’s and 90’s was a trying experience for a white boy.  Democrats were no longer southerners, and Republicans no longer seemed like the bad guys.  America was transitioning from the old politics and entering into its new phase – a phase that is decidedly hostile to white folks, and we young ones felt the brunt of it.

Gordon Baum rode out this transition as best he could, leading the Council of Conservative Citizens through the political fray and into its new, post-European existence; and it was on the other side of the transition that we met.

We were at a Council Conference in Winston Salem.

The best conversations at conferences happen on the smoke deck, so I grabbed a pack and headed out.  It was during some popular talk or other, so the deck was deserted except for one old man, smoking away in happy contemplation.

It was Gordon Baum.

We began talking.  Our conversation ranged over all sorts of topics.  I told him I was thinking of going to law school, and he laughed at me.  “Why would you want to do that?!  That’s the worst thing you can do!”  Thank God for Mr. Baum, else I may have gone down that path and been miserable.

From that time on, we always made a point of having a private smoke whenever circumstances brought us together.  And while we spoke mostly of politics and the “movement”, one of the most memorable things he ever said to me was in response to my naive question:

“Do we have any hope, Mr. Baum”?  I asked.

“What the Hell do you think we’re doing here, son?!”

Others will write their memories of the man, I’m sure, and others are better suited to document his work and advocacy for our people; but I’ll always remember his answer to that question and the quiet, fiery place in his gut from whence it sprang.

That’s the fire of our folk.

That was Gordon Baum.

God speed you to paradise, Mr. Baum.

You will be missed.

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Why I’m Not an Activist

activism

Research has a minor place in the scheme of things because research is dependent on an objective researcher and an objective examiner of the research. But man is not an objective creature. He does not use his reason to determine what is true; he uses his reason to defend that which he wants to be true. Is there then no way out of the rationalist dilemma? Yes, there is:
“You can prove anything with figures; and reason can lead you anywhere; but if you’ve got a real strong feeling about something, deep-seated and unshakable, it is bound to be right.”

— P. C. Wren in Bubble Reputation (Cited at CWNY). H/T to H.Mucklewrath.

—————————————————

While my shift in attitude over the years wont be of much interest to my readers, I believe I’ve struck upon a few conclusions that might be of overall interest:

I spent the entirety of my intellectual development (up to a few years ago) assuming without thought, the attitude of an apologist.  “Apologists”, so I thought, were the knights of the new democratic world order, where men attacked with ideals instead of force of arms.  I envisioned Sunday School classrooms like rural aristocratic courtyards, where young squires were trained in the art of rhetorical warfare, and upon graduation, were set loose upon a hoard of slobbering Satanists.

That the Sunday Schools of America were woefully inept for even this much training, was shelved and unconsidered.  And that the slobbering Satanists had vastly superior training grounds only intensified the glory of the intellectual contest.  We’d beat them despite their scientific institutions – the way Rocky beat the Russian; with guts and passion.

I got so good at this sort of rhetorical combat, atheists began avoiding the arguments all together.  But here-in I discovered a truth – one that the antique-Conservatives had known all along:  ideals *never* sway passion.  Rather, the passions sway the ideals.  As the heart, so the mouth speaketh…

Stalwart Reformed Kinists disagree here.  This point runs counter to their preferred dogmatics, which claim a man’s intellect guides his heart (or that the two are bound in such a way that the intellect and heart are ostensibly united, but that the intellect wins out in practice).  To say otherwise would damage the strictly rational apologetic these men were so passionate about.

I was passionate about it as well and tried to reconcile the antique-Conservative “heart” with the Reformed intellect:

———————————————-

The distinction between “heart” and “mind” is sometimes construed (in the philosophical literature) as a distinction between dispositions and intentional states.

I’m convinced that if we construe what is normally meant by “heart” (in western literature, as well as in certain Biblical texts) as an emotional disposition, then we can easily appropriate the antique-Conservative material into a Reformed framework.

Our emotional dispositions are intimately involved in the belief-forming process. For instance, consider Quines famous illustration. We have three beliefs:

1. Apollo is a god.
2. Gods are immortal.

and

3. We see Apollo die on the battlefield.

——————-

Now these three, at face value, are inconsistent. We must give up one of these beliefs, or all three.

Our emotional state determines which of the three propositions we are more devoted to maintaining. So, for instance, if we’re emotionally attached to 1, we might reject 2 (maybe gods aren’t immortal after all?) or we might reject 3 (maybe an evil witch hexed us on the battlefield and only made it appear as if Apollo died?). Or we might be more emotionally attached to 2, and reject 1 or 3 (or both). Or, we might be so emotionally attached to the reliability of our senses that we keep 3, but reject 1 or 2 (or both).

At this point, the only way we can save “reason” from the shifting “arrow of modus tollens”, is by suggesting that there is a “correct” emotional state.

Only the Christian worldview can provide this – God has created us to have certain emotional dispositions towards all the states of affairs we encounter, and only if we maintain this “regenerated” emotional state (ie: only if we have a regenerated heart) can we reason to the correct conclusions.

Poetically, we might refer to this as “thinking with a Christian heart” or some such.

————————————

Whatever the merits of this view (if any), I’m convinced that no apologetic will ever sway the heart of the zealous Satanist.  At best, apologetics simply annoy the Satanist and force him to jump through a few rhetorical hoops to rationalize his evil business; but his evil business will continue…and business (for the Satanists) is booming.

“Activism” is apologetics writ large.

I see it as prancing around with so many signs and flags, in a religious ceremony aimed at petitioning a minor deity of Satania – namely: “the people”.

“Please, dear people, hear our petitions and act accordingly!”

And it’s no mistake all the “conservative” activists are picking up the ways, means, and habits of all the vile degenerates who’ve pioneered “activist” strategies.  They’re copying the strategies because they’ve copied the theory – that is: they believe the nature of man is plastic and able, with enough rational engineering, to be molded into the desired form.

This is in stark contrast with the antique-conservative view.  STARK STARK STARK contrast!

The “conservative” activist needs to be active on his farm or homestead, or in his local area of influence, actively working away at children and community stability.  The “conservative” activist, to save himself, must either flee the offending Satanic encroachments, resist them when possible, or suffer under them … but the conservative can’t play the liberal’s game of trying to shape and mold his neighbors.

This is an evil desire and, while it seems temporarily successful for the Satanists, can’t yield anything other than Satanic fruit for the would-be conservative activists.

…or so it seems to me…

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Cambria Doesn’t Yield to Calvinist Speculators

“Kinism” is formally associated with Calvinist dogma, growing out of the Presbyterian cultural milieu of the early 90’s…and as such, its adherents have retained many of the proclivities so common among modern Presbyterians.

I have an off-the-cuff suspicion about Presbyterian church history that bears on this subject.

I believe (but can’t prove with relevant citations) that when the North won the war against the South, Northern religiosity was thought to have also defeated Southern religiosity.  The zealous, uncompromising love for abstract doctrines, so common among the puritans and their secular ancestors, slowly dominated the agrarian, medieval-minded southerners.  I say “dominated.” Maybe “infected” is a better word?

Kinists have retained some of these infected traits, while also wanting to hold an old European worldview.  But it seems difficult to get Calvinist dogma to mesh with antique-conservatism.

So that leads us to the topic of today’s blog post:  I routinely hear some Kinists express disagreement with  “Cambria Will Not Yield”.  All Kinists I know are fans of the blog of course, so I wont mention names here.  It’s not my intent to call anyone out.  But it is interesting that these objections keep cropping up.

There was an offending citation in Cambria’s most recent post that set off the discussion anew.

When it was objected that certain of Cambria’s statements in the post didn’t accord with Calvinist dogmatics and that the man might be “off his rocker”, I responded by noting that it’s hard to reconcile a characteristically Reformed penchant for doctrine with Mr. Cambria’s worldview.

“We can easily reconcile the two!” it was countered…. “we simply cut out all his false material!”

“That’s not reconciliation”, I replied… “that’s mere picking and choosing.”

———————-

I recount this (paraphrase) of the conversation to show what I mean about the tension among Kinists.  On the one hand, we want to hold on to the zeal for theological systems that our puritan forebears taught us; but, on the other hand, we want to hold to the conservative worldview that’s hostile to systematizers and rationalistic ideologies.

I think the two are compatible, as long as we’re careful about it.

Look at the South as a paradigm case.  Before the War, there were Christians of all denominations (even Presbyterians) who, nevertheless, still held to the antique-conservative worldview.  They meshed naturally and organically.  Even Calvinists believe God is incomprehensible, after all.  If only they stay consistent with that view, they’d be laid-back Southern-fried theologians instead of zealous ideologues who try fitting God into their tiny heads.

The key is loving a Person instead of loving a system of doctrines, but that’s very difficult to do in our modern age.

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