Trust me when I say I understand the sentiment. There is a kind of duality which exists between love-hate which is conceptually very difficult to reconcile. I see that you defended your Rockwell quote in that post about Ebba from earlier today, so let's use this as an example. I have said that hate is the counterpoint to the love one feels for what Ebba represents (our people), therefore, hate derives from love of our people and is the motivated relation we take toward that which threatens what we love. In terms of motivational content, what would love of Ebba incline us to do? Protect her perhaps. Can we say that the change in our stance toward Muslims, from tolerance toward violence, is motivated by love? Some might disagree. Some might say that it's patently in the nature of hate (the way we feel when we hate, the thoughts it generates, the actions it motivates) to be different from love. On the one hand, I want to agree with Rockwell. I see that hate derives from love, and if one does not hate that which threatens what they love, they don't love at all. On the other hand, I'm inclined to think about this situation from the metaphor of the farmer, who owning animals naturally becomes a protector. So say I'm a goat farmer, and my goats are threatened by a pack a coyotes. If I really love my goats, there is a way that it is possible for me to hate the coyote, especially if I've personally experienced the loss of my animals and saw the carnage firsthand. But there is also a way in which man can rise above the level of emotion, where the crude emotions themselves cease to structure the world in their terms. The farmer doesn't typically hate the coyote. Instead, the farmer merely *understands the coyote's nature*. In this case, the farmer's actions to kill the coyote begin to emanate not from an emotional impulse, but rather from *duty*. When the farmer kills the coyote, he does it not from the emotional frame (which is prone to irrationality and rashness), but from a dispassionate standpoint. It is something he knows he simply must do, and he does it, *lawfully* even. The difference seems to hang on the *want to kill*. If we are like the farmer, we may kill to defend Ebba, but not out of the satisfaction or pleasure of killing in and of itself, but out of the sense of duty to protect that arises from love of Ebba. I think we get into trouble when we are motivated primarily by the *emotion* of hate, which is a kind of negative pressure that seeks satisfaction from the act of killing, which makes further emotion the object of the protector's actions, namely the satisfaction of revenge. Vengeance is the Lord's. We ought to approach these things from the standpoint of DUTY. We should not enjoy killing, or want to kill. This is the wrong motivation. The farmer doesn't get pleasure in killing the coyote, he simply does it because it issues from his duty to his animals. If we must kill, we must. But we should do it dispassionately with the desire (no matter how unrealistic) that someday our need to kill might cease. Justice has to be rational, not something like this sinful burden we just toss back and forth between groups: you kill me, you transfer pain to me, I kill you, transfer pain to you, like a game of vengeful hot potato. To see what I mean, killing as flowing from *duty* can also flow from love, in the case where a rancher puts down a suffering cow or horse. Our response to the Muslim threat (if it should come to that) must also track the object of minimizing suffering and loss, as opposed to tracking revenge for its own sake. I'd also argue that an opponent who approaches us dispassionately, out of a sense of duty and lawfulness, is much more intimidating opponent. Imagine yourself about to get into a bar fight. In nine out of ten times, which opponent would be likelier to end the fight before it began (simply as a result of his demeanor): the frantic/emotional/immature male, or the man you see stand up from the bar stool calmly and quietly, rolling up his sleeves without ever losing the neutral countenance on his face? I know when I see that second guy, I'm probably getting my ass whooped. In the case of Muslims, it's the difference between our people representing a foe (to the Muslims) that is *reacting to them*, versus a foe that shows up with a straight face that *just does this and always has*, as surely as we take the trash out, plow the driveway after a snow, or kill the coyote. This is one objection I usually have in mind when people call Christianity *passive*. To me, that's a misunderstanding with respect to justice. If we must kill out of duty, then we must. I see that what Christ means for us to do is really to behave rationally, and never to *make our choice* on emotion. To turn the other cheek is just to recognize that a stinging cheek is *all that's at stake* and to offer it, implying that what makes our choice whether to seek reprisal involves *judgment*. If all that is at stake is the loss of pride at my flushed cheek, then send a message to your enemy by offering the other, letting this become a demonstration of your restrained power (not the least of which is your *mental* power). I'm reminded of a quote from the film *7even* where Detective Somerset says to Detective Mills (whose character represents *wrath* and who has just severely lost his patience with a reporter): >"It's impressive to see a man feeding off of his emotions." In fact, that final 'feeding off emotions' by Mills was the consummation of the villain's plan. It was meant to cause the protagonist to give himself over to wrath. It *is* impressive to see men feeding off emotions. It is a spectacle. We all understand Mill's final choice, but the lesson comes from what could have happened if he'd restrained himself instead of letting his impulses possess him. Turning the other cheek is about control over the lower self so that we are not overcome by the power of the baser principles, whose provenance is inhuman, being of an animal nature and worse. @PS @KingOfWhiteAmerica