Archive for February, 2008

It is a well known and admittedly necessary hermeneutic principle of Reformed thought that any legal enactment posited in the Old Testament stands today unless otherwise abrogated in the New Testament. Greg Bahnsen drove this point home by constructing a siege perilous for the Antinomian—assuming that the Antinomian takes bestiality to be a sin, he asked them to justify that conviction from the New Testament alone. They couldn’t; the New Testament simply doesn’t address the thing but that fact in no way seems to inhibit their denouncement of such practices. Thus Bahnsen put the burden of proof where it belongs, squarely on the shoulders of the Antinomian.

The Anti-Kinist falls equally subject to Bahnsen’s repartee: Unless otherwise abrogated in the New Testament, Israel’s ethnic insularity codes stand as the ethical and civic model for Christendom.

On this basis many of Bahnsen’s devotees find themselves strangely adopting Kline’s perspective, which is to say that on the matter of ethnic insularity these Theonomists are thoroughly antinomian. They even use the same language as the Atinomians, saying that Kinism is “against the tenor of the New Testament.” If they didn’t accept this response from the Klineans, why should we accept it from them? At best we can call their position an inconsistency, at worst, hypocrisy.

And really, this is for them more than just a minor deviation from the mother principle—it is a complete denial thereof. This is certainly the case because we have always understood the Law to have three major spheres: Moral, Civil and Ceremonial. Of the three we’ve always understood Christ’s propitiation and New Testament status as High Priest to have sufficiently altered the administration of the Ceremonial (i.e. sacrificial) Law to the extent that we may consider it abrogated; but there is no argument for the abrogation of either of the other two spheres. Accordingly, the Civil and Moral spheres of the Law stand unaltered and the ethnic insularity codes (i.e. Kinism) fall under both of these categories. Theonomy entails Kinism.

But if the Anti-Kinist still objects they have quite a burden of proof to meet: They must either show from scripture that the national codes of the Old Testament do not fall under the Civil sphere and that the ethical injunctions against “strange flesh” and “unequal yoking” be no part of the Moral sphere or they must prove that all of these occupy some as of yet unidentified fourth sphere. I have no problem saying that the former option is both a logical and linguistic impossibility; whereas, the latter option would, for the Christian, prove too much because it would force a complete revision of all systematic theology. Nonetheless, their options are plainly before them; let them choose.

Christianity entails Theonomy and Theonomy entails Kinism. To quote Van Til, this is so “by impossibility of the contrary.”


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My early years were largely spent divided between two southern California cities: Paramount and Porterville. Paramount lies inside of Los Angeles County while Porterville sits amid the endless stretches of farmland of the San Joaquin Valley in Tulare County. Despite their historic differences they quite inexplicably fell into the same patterns of entropy and consequently died the same death. Nowadays folks just click their tongues and shake their heads at the mere mention of either place because everyone who knew those areas before remember just what’s been lost. They recall the close-knit safety and innocence of both cities some twenty-five years ago and they realize that they will never again see such days in either place. They’ve become a byword, a roost for the birds of the air and a haunt of jackals. Perhaps it wasn’t so inexplicable…

Paramount was established by the Dutch Dairymen, who, with their thoroughly Protestant work ethic, drew forth a full yield from the earth. Their cultivation of the land drew more settlers, Portuguese and Irish. These groups all flourished alongside one another.

The Dutch church services were all led in the midland tongue of their fatherland and the Portuguese likewise held services in their own language. The Irish attended English services. The inclinations of each group made them worthy compliments to one another: Where the Dutch were Farmers, the Portuguese were Merchants and Shopkeeps. The Irish tended toward a number of professions—Law Enforcement, Journalism and any number of technical specialties. They lived amongst one another in peace. Their obvious diversity worked in the context of a presupposed unity—a Christian unity, a European unity.

Non-Whites were candidly acknowledged as outsiders—Indian, Mexican or what have you. Even the Japanese, who came in significant numbers, and were decent folk, were well-understood to be a breed apart from our European peoples.

Thus the area was maintained—children and old folks were relatively safe under these conditions.

As a young child I was free to roam the little woodland thickets which marbleized the neighborhood like patchwork. Great expeditions were a regular fare to the imagination of a young boy with room to explore.

But unbeknownst to me there were malevolent forces at work beyond the dragons which I stalked. The 105 freeway had been a public works project for some thirty years. The government had claimed the fictitious right of ‘Eminent Domain’ over miles and miles of privately held property sometime in the fifties. Left to lie fallow was a vast uninterrupted network of land and abandoned houses. These remained until the eighties and became a part of the greater playgrounds of my early childhood. It was here that all the dangers conjured in a boy’s mind for the sake of adventure would begin to cross over into reality.

This conduit running through the land acted as the path of least resistance for the pressurized current of Mexican Immigrants. Many of those abandoned houses, over time, provided haven to the worst elements imaginable. But by the time that it was recognized as a real problem for the community it was too late. The Police considered it a no-go zone if not for the danger, then for the jurisdictional nightmare that such a contiguous trans-city network represented.

As crime began to rise property values fell, allowing for the second wave of invasion to make its inroad. In a span of roughly six years my street had gone from all White to all Mexican, minus my family.

At this point my family opted to send me away to live on my grandparents’ farm in Porterville.

Porterville was regarded as the very last horizon of the Western frontier in the mid to latter half of the nineteenth century. It was settled originally by Irish Cattlemen; later by Dutch and German Farmers. It was a land of rugged folk. They had to be rugged because the Indian tribes of that region remained extremely hostile to the White Man.

Later, the descendants of those rugged Frontiersmen would sign up and die in both the Korean and Vietnam wars by greater proportion per capita than those in any other American town. Of course, this casting of the lives of their sons to the wind decimated the town one generation following another.

I spent my time there mostly in the late eighties and early nineties; it was mostly wooded farmland then and there were only a couple of paved roads in the entire town. It was a wonderland to me where, after chores were done, a child could wile away his days fishing, frogging and hunting crawdads down at Chuck’s hidden lakes or rabbit up in the hills, all of which were regarded as safe pastimes for young boys. It was as if I’d found all the good things of Paramount’s early days transported to this remote corner of the world. Once I’d found them again I was sure that this time they wouldn’t vanish as before.

Really, most people can’t believe it when I tell them that my Grandmother’s best friend, in her mid-sixties, had never ridden in an automobile before 1989. And I knew many people there in their thirties, forties and fifties who had never eaten in a restraunt. It was truly an insular place where many people still traveled by horseback and ate supper by the light of kerosene lamps. Some of the older folks could even recall coming to California in covered wagons.

But as with Paramount, Porterville began to change. No, change isn’t the right word—it began to metamorphosize into something alien and entirely unrecognizable. The American cliché had finally caught up with Porterville as the family farms were either eaten up by corporate entities or forced under by the expansion of conflicting property codes imposed both by county and state which no one could harmonize. Anytime the small Farmer was in conformity to the county codes it put him at variance with state codes and vice versa. Thus, California effectively outlawed their way of life.

And of course, the corporate farms exclusively employed migrant Mexicans. This rapidly flooded the area with Non-Whites. The streets are all paved now, graffiti and garbage are everywhere, more and more of the signs are in Spanish and crime is rampant. The government eventually prohibited any entrance to the lakes because they became a haven for squatters and drug-dealers; and the hills are now paved over with track homes to accommodate all the alien service workers. Porterville is no more. Its complete erasure took no more than a decade.

There’s even talk of tearing down the little Porterville historical and agricultural museum because nobody goes there anymore. The new populace couldn’t care less about the history of the Gringos.

Not even the graveyard escapes the radical expungement of all things European; the oldest grave-markers, some dating as far back as the 1850s, are regularly destroyed by honorless Mexican vandals. They single out the Gringo names of course.

And though the little farming community had sustained two bookstores and a library prior to the Mexican invasion, the many times more dense population there now cannot sustain a single bookstore; moreover, if you care to visit you’ll find that one now has the library to himself most days.

I’ve witnessed in my short years on this earth the complete decimation of the only two places I ever considered home as a child. But neither Paramount nor Porterville are unique in this; this scene has been acted out in town after town across this state for the last quarter century.

And the chaos will continue to advance. It will continue because our brethren have been so thoroughly indoctrinated against their own. They’ve had Critical Theory crammed down their throats for the last fifty years, and against the will of the earlier generations I might add. Expectedly, the ringing of a pavlovian bell makes them salivate. Their nurture has been pitted against their nature. One need not even bother with the question of which inclination will ultimately win out because the presence of this kind of internal conflict is itself a resolution to suicide. Such an elemental conflict in a man is in fact a willingness to war against his own life. It is both masochistic and suicidal.

It is this ingrained reflexive commitment to the incoherence of Social Marxism that leads White Liberals to sneer at our fond recollections of places like Paramount, Porterville, Dallas or Memphis. They are slave to the conviction that White self-preservation is hateful and evil. But as I’ve argued many times before, that just means that they are, even if unconsciously, committed to our destruction. Once this is pointed out to them they are forced to entirely redefine “hate” and “evil” so as to exclude their genocidal ambitions.

So when I relay my eye witness testimonials or even the official statistics of our tragic losses in California and beyond some of my White brothers and sisters sneer with contempt. These are unequivocally our enemies. They long only to see relics like us ushered off to the company of our ancestors whom we love so much.

But more often, I see reflected in the eyes of the majority, a true inner turmoil; though they may have been weaned on the bilge pumps of the modern Multicult, they aren’t without certain filial affections. The problem for them is that the reflexive guilt with which they are stricken is quite visceral. And like the neurotoxin of a rattlesnake bite, that guilt brings the onset of paralysis. This paralysis is a purposeful ambivalence, as if they default to some wishful neutrality in the matter. They do this because all alternatives seem to them as extremes and it’s well known that extremism, i.e. conviction, is a bad thing.

But all is not lost on this group. Many of them can and do come around to clearer thinking but unfortunately, this usually doesn’t occur without personally incurring losses to the Multicult madness. Such lessons are painful ones.

Of course, I, myself have been told by the more aggressive lot that it is “only my personal experiences” which have “distorted” my thinking in these matters but that’s just a tautological ruse because everyone’s experience effects their perception. No one’s perception is perfect, save God’s.

But it is this very egomaniacal tendency of Liberalism to usurp the heavenly throne which leads to a remaking of the world in its own muddled image. The results thereof are rapine and carnage but they still call it progress.

“The tender mercies of the wicked are cruel.” (Prov.12:10)

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This has surprisingly remained a sleeper story:

Three men stand accused of burning down a Mosque. They are apparently Christian Identity adherents following the prerogatives of the Phineas Priesthood.

I may not be a member of the Christian Identity movement but neither do I consign them to a de facto heretic status. Many of them simply have their biblical anthropology mixed up a bit. Albeit, they definitely have more to recommend them theologically than does popular Evangelicalism.

But the Identity folk aren’t my focus here; what caught my attention is the fact that
“…a church offered its support and raised $1000 for the mosque, and offering up space for worship on Fridays at First Presbyterian Church.”

What in creation would posses this gaggle of Presbyterians to favor the preservation of Islamic aliens in their community? Not only are they sustaining the Mohammedan encroachment, they are trying to establish a syncretism between their congregation and they whom the Augsburg Confession call, “…the Turk, that most atrocious, hereditary, and ancient enemy of the Christian name and religion…” That is to say that historic Christianity recognizes Islam and the people who practice it as enemies of both our faith and our blood. But the Presbyterians in question are apparently quite enthusiastic about acting as the supply line for the enemies of their own children.

So the question is—who ought be considered the criminals in this matter? The Identity men, who stepped up, in the absence of a sane Magistrate, to exercise their lawful duty to family, community and nation or the Presbyterians, acting contra all such responsibility?

Far from being a rhetorical question, the answer presents itself obvious and it deserves a response from Evangelicals. If polled, how would they adjudicate such a matter?

The Presbyterians in question evidence themselves not as emissaries of Christ but of the state. Their collusion with the lawlessness of our current government marks them as wolves in sheep’s clothing intent upon the annihilation of their own people. Sadly, I think they are, at present, in conformity to the broader opinion of American churches. Though they’d happily melt the entirety of the mid-east into beaded glass, they’d dare not show the slightest disapproval of Muslims in our country.

Perhaps this is the reason for the media suppression of the story—though they’d gleefully smear the Identity men for their thoroughly Christian action, they find the Presbyterian’s response problematic to their aims against Christendom. It’s hard to argue that Christianity is the main problem when you have Christian churches (atleast in name) doing precisely as the misanthropic establishment commands.

If, on the other hand, the community praised the actions of the three Identity men and followed their example by shunning the Muslims, that would make headlines around the world. Or better yet, instead of shunning, the local churches could’ve simply gathered funds to pay for return plane tickets to the Mohammedans’ countries of origin. Hey, we could even witness to them as we ushered them to the terminal. But the sociopathic society which we’ve cultivated seems now never to miss an opportunity to do the wrong thing.

On a related point, I’ve recently witnessed first-hand the cultivation of another such collusion between local government and Islam here in California. The city of Anaheim (an old German settlement) has not only allowed the construction of an enormous “Islamic Studies Center” but has opted to surround the facility with blocks of government “project” housing. Like the castle of some medieval Amir or Sultan with its minarets stabbing heaven, the facility has been granted its army courtesy of Uncle Sam.

It is an awesome and horrifying spectacle to see all those mixed Mexican, African and Arab children teeming out of every doorway and window in the shadow of those gilded minarets from which are broadcast the ritual calls to prayer.

Perhaps the government sees an opportunity to do away with their false-flag operations by creating touch-points for real acts of terrorism? Or, who’s to know, it could just be a serendipitous accident in their eyes. Either way, it is one more ignition point for the coming conflagration.

And Christians [sic] couldn’t be happier about it. Despicable.

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The wise men know what wicked things Are written on the sky,
They trim sad Lamps, they touch sad strings,
Hearing the heavy purple wings,
Where the forgotten seraph kings
Still plot how God shall die.
(From Chesterton’s The Ballad of The White Horse, 1911)

Brothers, the time is close now; the hour of our travail is at hand. We now stand at the precipice of a great abyss in this election cycle. All who count themselves Traditionalists or Paleo-Conservatives recognize it for the ill-omen that it is.

In acknowledgement of the emerging platforms of the frontrunners, it has been forecast that “we may just be witnessing the last free American election.” But this has only gone to prove our own naiveté as we’ve seen the Media blackout on the Paul candidacy throughout this election. No, this one won’t even be a free election. The sun has set on such notions in American polity but this may be the first time since the Reconstruction era that we’ve seen these elite machinations of tyranny played out so transparently before the public. But unlike the era of Reconstruction, few now seem to care.

Moresthepity, our brethren clamor for their own enslavement. As Chris Ortiz recently observed, “American liberties are being signed away by the day to the sound of cheers, prayers, and patriotic pride. But a time is coming when we’ll have the devil to pay for our negligence!” (Chris Ortiz, The Chalcedon Blog 2/14/08)

They seem at present hell-bent on groveling before a government which they acknowledge is stripping them of their rights, rigging elections and anathematizing their own blood! They toast to their own destruction.

“McCain vs. Clinton or McCain vs. Obama…this election is the consummation of something that has being doing its work like a malignant tumor in our country. The Constitution is nothing short of obsolete—a quaint little example of beautiful penmanship…America, as most Americans think of it, is over…barring a miracle, this election is the signature on the death certificate of America… like the period at the end of the last sentence of a very tragic story.” (Winston Smith, The Political Cesspool broadcast of 2/13/08)

McCain, with fitting irony means “Son of Cain”, i.e., son of the Fratricide. He could have no better-suited a moniker than the one into which he was born. The contest seems to be narrowing between he and Obama as Hillary lags behind. The stage is being set for the consummation of the vision of Nimrod. We are either to be the vassals of a foreign usurper in the person of Obama or we are to become a “human commodities” reserve for the expanding military Empire of the Globalists. Nomatter who wins, the alien will be promoted above us, our people will become an even greater target of Negro and Mestizo aggressions and our history, heritage and religion will likely be outlawed completely. Either eventuality, McCain or Obama, amounts to an outright declaration of war upon our people. This be but the calm before the storm.

But across the valley we see the forces amassing, a sea of frothing faces poised for their masters to but slacken the leash that they might indulge their bloodlusts to the fill, gorging themselves on our ruin.

From the edge of the maelstrom we will sound the call:

Tongues of fire on Idris flaring,

News of foemen near declaring,
To heroic deeds of daring,
Call you, Harlech men.
Groans of wounded peasants dying,
Wails of wives and children flying,
For the distant succour crying,
Call you, Harlech Men.
Shall the voice of wailing,
Now be an unavailing,
You to rouse, who never yetIn battle’s hour were failing?
This our answer, crowds down pouring,
Swift as winter torrents roaring.
Not in vain the voice imploring
Calls on Harlech men.
(Verse 1, Men of Harlech, English version by John Guard)

The enemy forgets that we’ve been here before and in the blessed covenant of our Lord the kindred sons of Europa have driven their like into the sea time and again. In the heat of the refiner’s fire the dross shall be burned away, the chaff shall be winnowed out and a remnant will emerge—a remnant who will swear and live “the vow of the knife” (CWNY). And so foresworn, we will then exclaim in unison:

Loud the martial pipes are sounding,

Every manly heart is bounding,
As our trusted chief surrounding,
March we, Harlech men.
Short the sleep the foe is taking;
Ere the morrow’s morn is breaking,
They shall have a rude awakening,
Roused by Harlech Men.
Mothers, cease your weeping,
Calm may be your sleeping,
You and yours in safety now,
The Harlech men are keeping.
Ere the sun is high in heaven,
They you fear, by panic riven,
Shall, like frightened sheep, be driven,
Far, by Harlech men.
(Verse 2, Men of Harlech, English version by John Guard)

Nomatter what horrors may come we will stand shoulder to shoulder against them not so much out of hatred for that which is before us as out of love for that which is behind us.

Good night and safe passage to you my brothers, I’ll see you on the battlefield.

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In 1906 G.K. Chesterton wrote:

“One of the immense benefits conferred on us by Matthew Arnold lay in the fact that he recalled to us the vital fact that we are Europeans. He had a consciousness of Europe much fuller and firmer than that of any of the great men of his great epoch. For instance, he admired the Germans as Carlyle admired the Germans; …if he admired the Germans it was for being European, signally and splendidly European…Arnold did indeed wish, as every sane European wishes, that the nations that make up Europe should continue to be individual; that the contributions from the nations should be national. But he did wish that the contributions should be contributions, parts that is, of a common cause and unity, the cause and unity of European civilization. He desired that Germany should be great, so as to make Europe great…”

This simultaneous denouncement of unity in the unmitigated sense and affirmation of unity in plurality is precisely the sort of thing that modern Evangelicals and Catholics alike have come to decry as “clannish” and “divisive” but Chesterton asserts it as a matter of course in the Christian world order.

And upon hearing that such comments originate from a luminary such as Chesterton those self-same moderns are prone to weave any number of excuses to exonerate their hero of words and deeds which he was unashamed. Mark well the fact that his comments cannot be dismissed as idle musings or flights of fancy—on the contrary, he calls the cognizance of our European identity ‘vital’ and he goes so far as to call those who would seek to obfuscate or mute this identity less than sane.

But in his uncanny British self-effacement he notes:

“Whether as anti-militarists or as militarists, they were alike ignorant of the actualities of our Aryan civilization. They have passed from tameness to violence without touching strength.”

This sort of self-evaluating candor is a mark of maturity, as is his sense of custodial responsibility for his people. He well saw the shortcomings of his folk and therein acknowledged his own aggregate culpability. We ought to take example in this matter as a lesson for our own slice of European civilization. Our national failings of late provide more than ample provocation for our own day of “sacloth and ashes”.

But Chesterton’s self-deprecating introspection does not land him in the modern-preferred roost of White guilt. Far from it—he turns about to spur his people on toward the destiny that he so clearly perceives in their blood.

“Whenever they really touch strength they will (with their wonderful English strength) do a number of things. One of the things may be to save the world.”
(G.K. Chesterton on Matthew Arnold)

If the Christian–covenanted and kindred sons of Europe gain again a candid and mature sense of themselves we may yet do great things not just for our folk but to the boon of all the tribes of men, God willing.

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