The End of the Trinity Fest Part 1: First Blast

The untimely and unheralded demise of the Christ Church Trinity Fest marks such a critical point in the slow, continuous, and inevitable fall of the Kirk that we must take time aside from our two ongoing series (“Make Them Say They’re Sorry” & “The Kult Police State”) to consider it in further detail. I call it critical because in the Fearless Leader’s mind the Trinity Fest represented much more than an ordinary summer carnival. Sure, he originally billed it as an act of humble faith, but as we shall see, he believed the Trinity Fest was proof of the Kult’s faithful worship of God and it was proof that God was working in the Kult in wonderful ways. He advertised the Trinity Fest as a platform to “celebrate” in the midst of his “culture wars.” He promoted it as “a table in the presence of [his/their] enemies.” And as the ad in C/A put it, the Trinity Fest gave him a chance to make people “like him even less” (at least he achieved one goal).

It follows, therefore, that when the Trinity Fest went belly up, maybe his humble faith was not so great and maybe God was not working in the Kult in wonderful ways — at least to the extent that he pointed to the TF as proof of these things. It follows that perhaps God did not take pleasure in their celebrations or their culture wars, and that He had not prepared a table for the Kult in the midst of their enemies. I understand the Fearless Leader won’t see things this way — he’s hardened his heart and fixed his course — there’s no turning back for him. To be sure, I am certain that, like Madonna, he will find another look — he’ll repackage himself in order to remarket himself to the evangelical and Reformed church. Like a virgin. But for now, the Trinity Fest is dead and I want to spend some time reflecting on its short-lived life.

You may or may not know this, but the Trinity Fest is the direct descendant of the Christ Church History Conference, which they held every February in Moscow. Things went sideways, however, during the Southern Slavery scandal of 2003–04, which presumably became the cause of action for the Fearless Leader to reinvent his event. Nevertheless, if my math is correct, Christ Church, Moscow, held its first annual History Conference in 1996, which is not especially noteworthy except for one fact: that year Wilson and Wilkins (I have no idea if George Grant participated) addressed the subject of slavery in the antebellum South and published a monograph to commemorate their historical findings. They titled it Southern Slavery As It Was. I know this because five years ago, during the Southern Slavery scandal, my UPS driver told me he attended the history conference that triggered the controversy. Here’s a direct quote from that conversation: “I couldn’t believe the stuff they were saying and thought to myself, ‘This one’s going to come back to bite them.’” Then he put his head down and chuckled, “I guess it bit them.”

So for C/A’s inaugural “History Conference,” Wilson and Wilkins sterilized one of the most horrific points of American history — the unbiblical subjugation of an entire race of mankind — to portray the most anti-Christian culture of American history — the antebellum South — as the most noble society the world has ever seen. In other words, Wilson & Wilkins established their revisionist agenda during their first conference and I can’t think of a more delusional way for anyone to begin teaching history. Interestingly enough, however, Beelzeblog indirectly accounted for his knack at revising history in his blog post that announced the first annual Trinity Fest:

History is story telling. Faithful history is faithful story telling. And it is amazing how many little errors and emphases can go wrong in just the course of one generation. . . . This being the case, then where do we get off having a history conference every year? If I am not exactly sure what I was doing in 1959, then why would I undertake to talk about events in the 18th century? But for a decade now, we have had an annual history conference in February. None of the speakers at this conference are trained historians. And this coming year, the history conference will be moved to August, rolled into a bigger event called the Trinity Festival, and we will do it all again. What are we doing? We are telling stories, and the reason we are doing so is that we believe that God requires it of us.

History depends on the dedicated historians and archivists who sort, assemble, and work through the mountains of material available to them. And when they have done their work, they present to the layman . . . mountains of material. Not only does it appear that we need specialists to deal with the raw material, we also need specialists to sort out the finished products. . . . Historical laymen should read broadly enough to make sure they are not reading some truncated account or other, but neither should they be embarrassed by the necessity of popularizing the material. . . . Everyone who undertakes this kind of task is in way over his head, and this includes the trained historians. And we cannot protect ourselves by means of our own prowess.

This means that we walk by faith, faith in the God who orders all history to His own perfect ends. . . We are not omnicient [sic], and so we must trust the God who is.

One other element has to be mentioned. Just as we trust Him, we also read the story with our loyalties intact. In other words, we cannot love God without loving those whom we believe to be His sons and daughters, and our brothers and sisters. I read the story of Latimer and Ridley while identifying with them. I am pulling for John Knox, and not for Mary, Queen of Scots. We are a people, and so we must tell the stories of our people to our children. We are not given the option of being silent. And to step out in faith like this is not hubris, but rather humility. (“History for Everyman”; October 9, 2004)

Before we consider Wilson’s methodology, please note his candid admission that he’s not a trained historian, which would be a remarkable statement if not for the clever sleight of hand that accompanied it. Observe: First, he paid tribute to “the dedicated historians and archivists who sort, assemble, and work through the mountains of material available to them.” But then he pretends as though historians don’t deal with conclusive evidence but only pile “material” that the present to laymen: “And when they have done their work, they present to the layman . . . mountains of material.” This in turn allowed Wilson to create a special category for himself — the layman — to sort through the material, which is where he identified himself as a “specialist”: “Not only does it appear that we need specialists to deal with the raw material, we also need specialists to sort out the finished products.” Notice that his specialty requires him to “sort out the finished products” of trained historians, and notice also that he places the difficulties of his specialty on the same par as that of a trained historian: “Everyone who undertakes this kind of task is in way over his head, and this includes the trained historians. And we cannot protect ourselves by means of our own prowess.” And with a wave of the hand Douglas Wilson dismisses the science of history to justify his brainless revisionism. Voila!

This brings us to his self-taught method for studying history. According to this post it’s a three-point process:

1. “History is story telling. Faithful history is faithful story telling.”


2. “Historical laymen should read broadly enough to make sure they are not reading some truncated account or other, but neither should they be embarrassed by the necessity of popularizing the material.”


3. “. . . we also read the story with our loyalties intact. . . we cannot love God without loving those whom we believe to be His sons and daughters, and our brothers and sisters. I read the story . . . while identifying with them. I am pulling for . . . and not for . . .”

The Fearless Leader’s three-step process explains a lot. In fact, as this series develops we shall see that his methodology is really a subset of his psychosis — his mental detachment from reality — but for now we want to concentrate on the so-called specialist’s discipline as it applies to history.

First, he says, “History is story telling. Faithful history is faithful story telling.” This is true. The noun “story” derives from the Latin historia so in its most elementary sense history is story telling. It’s the modifier “faithful” that should concern us, as we shall see.

Second, he says, “Historical laymen should read broadly enough to make sure they are not reading some truncated account or other, but neither should they be embarrassed by the necessity of popularizing the material.” This is true as well. There’s certainly a place for popularized accounts of history. Not everyone has the time or the budget to read The Story of Civilization.

But now we come to the third and most troubling step in his methodology where he writes, “We also read the story with our loyalties intact,” and he defines “loyalties” as “loving those whom we believe to be His [God’s] sons and daughters, and our brothers and sisters.” Moreover, he defines “loving” as “identifying with” and “pulling for” them. He says, “I am pulling for John Knox, and not for Mary, Queen of Scots.” But he never specifies exactly how his “pulling” affects his “story telling,” i.e. his version of history. Moreover, he never explains when he starts “pulling”; is it before or after he’s done his research? Or does his “pulling” influence his research? Even worse, does he believe that by “pulling” for one person against another he may alter the past? And I’m curious what litmus test he uses to determine a historical person’s status before God. For example, Mary I of Scotland was baptized, which means that, according to the objectivity of the covenant, she was/is a child of God. So why would he pull for Knox over Mary? I suppose that technically he answers this question when he refers to “loving those whom we believe to be His sons and daughters,” etc. The “we” means him — Beelzeblog — which means it’s not so much the objectivity of the covenant as the arbitrariness of the Fearless Leader, because there’s nothing objective about this. Regardless, I believe these are important considerations for anyone who might rely on Wilson’s story telling.

You can see a good example of the Fearless Leader keeping his “loyalties intact,” or “pulling,” for someone in his biography of the aforementioned reformer, For Kirk and Covenant: the Stalwart Courage of John Knox. When discussing Knox’s best-known written work, The First Blast of the Trumpet Against the Monstrous Regiment of Women, Wilson never noted that Knox wrote the book anonymously, which historic fact obviousl rubs Beelzeblog the wrong way. After all, the last thing he’d want to affirm about Knox is that he was ashamed of his baptized name, or that he was an anonymous coward making anonymous accusations, or that he was so ashamed of his accusations that he wouldn’t even sign his name to them, or that he was a dead rat behind the fridge, or that he may have left a soiled prophylactic in Wilson’s mailbox, etc. But you can’t tell the story of Knox without mentioning this historic fact. Anonymity played a role in the Reformation whether the Fearless Leader likes it or not (I wonder what that monstrous woman Edna Wilmington would say). To be sure, The First Blast of the Trumpet Against the Monstrous Regiment of Women was a prototype of the fully documented anonymous attack blog, though I’m not sure if Knox fully documented his blast. I am sure, however, that if Knox had had access to the Internet he would have uploaded a website to excoriate that monstrous regiment of women — Bloody Mary and her cousin, Mary, Queen of Scots. And the bottom line is that the Fearless Leader “pulled” for Knox and expunged this well-known fact from Knox’s story. In other words, he recreated Knox after his own image.[1]

We see another example of the Fearless Leader “pulling” for Knox in the same biography when he described the reformer’s 19-month captivity in the French galleys. In order to sympathize with Knox, Wilson leaped a full century out of Knox’s lifetime to find a vivid description of the galley slave’s horrors:

Warren Lewis, brother of C.S. Lewis, makes the point bluntly. “Until the coming of the concentration camp, the galley held an undisputed preeminence as the darkest blot on Western civilization; a galley, said the poetic observer shudderingly, would cast a shadow in the blackest midnight.” (FN: W.H. Lewis, Essays Presented to Charles Williams [Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1947], 136.)

Lewis was writing of life in the galleys a century after Knox rowed in them, but from all accounts, the time Knox spent there was a time of horror just as it was for his Huguenot brothers 100 years later.

Life on board when the galley was at sea was a sort of Hell’s picnic, for there was really no accommodation for anyone. For the convicts, there was, of course, no question of sleep . . . Cooking facilities were primitive, and, as no one ever washed, the ship crawled with vermin from stem to stern. From below came the constant clank of chains, the crack of whips on bare flesh, screams of pain, and savage growls. At each oar all five men must rise as one at each stroke, push the eighteen-feet oar forward, dip it in the water, and pull with all their force, dropping into a sitting position at the end of each stroke. “One would not think,” says a Huguenot convict, “that it was possible to keep it up for half an hour, and yet I have rowed full out for twenty-four hours without pausing for a single moment.” (FN: Ibid., 141–2. Quote uses “feet” instead of the American “foot” for length description.)

Constant rowing did not bring about the despair of the galley slaves. Had it been, they would all have died in short order. Nevertheless, the whole time, including the respite provided by winter, had to have been the most severe trial. Knox speaks of it as a time of “torment.” Years after, he spoke of the “sobs of his heart” and how he was “sore troubled by corporal infirmity.” (FN: Henry Cowan, John Knox, 83–4.) For those who have not experienced such things, all such words should be taken as understatement.

Knox was for two years a galerien in the French galleys, a very common and expendable form of cheap fuel. (Douglas Wilson, For Kirk and Covenant: the Stalwart Courage of John Knox [Nashville, TN: Highland Books, 2000] 33, 34)

I have no doubt that Knox suffered immensely in the French galley. My point is the great distance Wilson traveled in order to lionize Knox’s imprisonment, his “most severe trial.” Wilson never had the decency to tell his readers when he was “pulling” for Knox, though he alluded to his yank job toward the end of the book:

But in discussing history, a moment comes when one has to make a decision, a judgment call. In studying the War Between the States, was the South right? Or wrong? In studying the American War for Independence, did Romans 13 require the colonists to submit to the usurpations of Parliament? Or not? In writing this book, I must either appreciate Knox or attack him. He lived his life in such a way as to leave a biographer no other option. (Douglas Wilson, For Kirk and Covenant: the Stalwart Courage of John Knox [Nashville, TN: Highland Books, 2000] 220)

“In writing this book, I must either appreciate Knox or attack him. He lived his life in such a way as to leave a biographer no other option.” What kind of twaddle is this? Where’s the crime with presenting the facts, warts and all, and offering a historical assessment? Why must he reduce the life of Knox to a false dilemma? History may be “story telling” but that does not mean that “story telling” is history and in Wilson’s case we never know when he grounds his stories in history and when he grounds them in his imagination. But they sure are entertaining.


And don’t forget that we’ve seen the whole “loyalty” thing before. That’s the word he uses to describe the virtue of ignoring the reprehensible behavior of his friends so that they may maintain a unified front in their war against the Christian church. It goes something like, “Faithful are the loyalties of friend” because “loyal” friends don’t “wound” one another.

But if you look carefully there’s something else going on with the word “loyalty.” In the second sentence of the post, Wilson wrote: “Faithful history is faithful story telling,” and by “faithful” he really means “loyal.” He’s blurring the distinction between “faithful story telling” and “loyalties-intact story telling,” or if he’s not blurring he’s definitely melding the distinction. Obviously, he doesn’t make this direct connection (why would he admit the obvious if it would thoroughly undo his already-tattered credibility?) but it certainly closes the loop and it’s consistent with his moral values. How else do you resolve the obvious conflict of interest that emerges between “faithful” as in “truthful” and “loyal” as in “love for God obligates me to pull for them”? This accounts for his bizarre revisionism — in the end he’s demonstrating loyalty to his pets and to his sympathies and, like everything else, Wilson’s approach to history is a self-serving exercise unrelated to truth or accuracy.

If you don’t think that there’s something wrong with Wilson’s “loyalties intact” bias, then compare it with the loyalties of a real historian. Dr. Scott Clark recently made this observation vis-à-vis the discipline of history:

As a historian I realize a little more each day how hard it is to know the truth, even when that is the goal. My vocation as a historian is to “tell the truth about the past as best I can.” That’s a lot harder than it sounds. Sometimes the truth about a given question doesn’t seem to want to be found. If that’s the case when documents are to hand, how much harder is it to tell the truth in the midst of conflict when emotions are running high and when there is hurt and frustration on all sides? (“A Word to Students in the Midst of Controversy”)

As a historian, Dr. Clark is committed “to tell the truth about the past,” contra Wilson who is committed to “loving those whom we [he] believe to be His [God’s] sons and daughters, and our brothers and sisters,” which is code language for shading the truth to make them appear better. Love for the truth moves Dr. Clark’s history; loyalty to a perverted, unbiblical love moves Wilson’s. This brings us back to the first annual History Conference.

How in the world could Wilson and his fellow incompetent gush so much about the antebellum South? Beelzeblog answered this for us. In their minds they were keeping their “loyalties intact.” They were loving those whom they believed to be God’s sons and daughters. They were pulling for those saintly slave masters who bought and sold human beings like they were trading cattle, and they were pulling against the ungodly North who persecuted those God-fearing slave-traders. Therefore they wrote,

Slavery as it existed in the South was not an adversarial relationship with pervasive racial animosity. Because of its dominantly patriarchal character, it was a relationship based upon mutual affection and confidence. There has never been a multi-racial society which has existed with such mutual intimacy and harmony in the history of the world. The credit for this must go to the predominance of Christianity. The gospel enabled men who were distinct in nearly every way, to live and work together, to be friends and often intimates. This happened to such an extent that moderns indoctrinated on “civil rights” propaganda would be thunderstruck to know the half of it. (Wilson & Wilkins, Southern Slavery As It Was [Moscow, ID: Canon Press, 1996] 22)

Behold the fruit of unfaithful story telling, the fruit of misguided loyalty. And I’m sure that from 1996 to 2002, they had a pretty good show during their History Conferences. But God is not mocked and in 2003–2004 Christ Church, Moscow, began reaping what it sowed. In the words of one former Kult member, “That was the beginning of the end” (he would know). And it didn’t matter if they moved the event to summer and changed its name to honor the godhead. The Fearless Leader used his stage to deceive those in his care, and he did it in the name of the gospel. Pastor Doug Wilson erred, however, not knowing the Scriptures or the power of God. The gospel of the Lord Jesus Christ proclaims “liberty to the captives” and “sets at liberty those who are oppressed.” It doesn’t misinform the masses under the guise of “faithful story telling.” It doesn’t justify cruelty to make light of human suffering, whether the suffering of galley slaves or Southern slaves. And if you don’t believe me, just ask John Knox.

Thank you.

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[1] I thumbed through the book yesterday morning and saw that there’s lots of that going on; Wilson constantly imputed to Knox his own self-perceived personality traits without as much as a shred of evidence. The second half of the book is essentially an autobiography of Wilson’s perception of himself with a few anecdotes about Knox to support it.