Here be dragons. And doves. Human beings long for transcendence. Such longing is, for the world, always out of fashion because, of course, it is not a longing for the world, and the world knows it. We know what the world wants. The world—by which we mean Satan, the Lord of the World—wants above all our obedience, a jewel so precious that he will do anything to get it: lie, steal, murder, bear false witness, pretend to social standing, pretend to insider knowledge to get us to consent to his influence. “God lied to you. You will not die.” And suddenly we are anxious about having other people dislike us, about losing prestige in our social circles, about other people being more popular or influential or successful, about other people having secret knowledge, about our own influence and fame. “You shall be as gods, knowing good and evil.” And with that temptation, our first parents fell. The irony is cosmic. There they were in the Garden, privy to conversation with God face-to-face, ...
Learn to discern. We all know what sin is, right? Right?! Once upon a time in the desert , the hermit Evagrius Ponticus (d. 399) set out to make a list of the most deadly ones, albeit he called them “deadly thoughts,” not “sins.” You probably know the list, even if you don’t think you do: gluttony, impurity (a.k.a. lust), avarice (a.k.a. greed), sadness (a.k.a. feeling sorry for oneself), anger or wrath, acedia or sloth, vainglory, and pride (two different things). Not quite the list you were expecting? That is because some centuries later—we’re talking ancient times here, when centuries passed like decades do now (or vice versa)—Pope Gregory the Great (d. 604) revised the list, somewhat accidentally, in his commentary on Job. Gregory had been expounding Job according to its multiple layers—yes, that’s right! Job, like Shrek, has layers! —and he happened somewhere in book XXXI to mention the “seven principle vices” to which Pride, the “Queen of S...
I would not want to be this young woman. By now, five months after the event she attended at the University of Massachusetts Amherst featuring a discussion with Christina Hoff Sommers, Steven Crowder, and Milo Yiannopoulos on the problems besetting university campuses with speech considered "triggering," she has become a favorite meme among those who see such concerns as at best mildly hysterical, at worst a symptom of the total breakdown of our national character (I paraphrase). Audiences at several of Milo's recent talks (which you can see here ) have made reference to her, imitating her arm gestures (which I am having a hard time ignoring on the gif as I am writing) and laughing at her expense. Milo, to his credit, has admonished them: "No, we love Trigglypuff! Trigglypuff is wonderful!," while insisting that it is not she, but those who have lied to her about what will make her happy that are to blame. "She is going to be miserable," he has said (a...
The world needs good stories. Caedmon the cowherd sang songs about Creation (see previous layer ). He also sang songs about other stories in the Scriptures. According to Bede, he sang about “the creation of the world, the origin of the human race, and the whole history of Genesis, of the departure of Israel from Egypt and the entry into the promised land.” Which should be a bit confusing, given the way most people talk about the Old Testament these days. Wasn’t Caedmon supposed to Christian? Why wasn’t he singing stories about Christ? Well, you see, he was singing those, too. Songs “of the incarnation, passion, and resurrection of the Lord, of His ascension into heaven, of the coming of the Holy Spirit and the teaching of the apostles.” But wait! There’s more: “He also made songs about the terrors of future judgement, the horrors of the pains of hell, and the joys of the heavenly kingdom.” [1] By which time, we are certain he was telling fairy tales, not history. ...
Those were heady days to be an outcast, that summer of 2019. The champions—some called them martyrs, others provocateurs and trolls —had been cast out of the marketplace of Facebook, banished from the polite conversation of Twitter, and sent to live in the desert of Telegram, where only a few of their previous followers had the courage to follow. There, in the desert, they huddled together in small groups, sharing stories of their champions’ glorious battles against the forces of darkness, the nannies and scolds of feminism, the killjoys of socialism, and the harpies of the Woke. They all longed for the return of the good times when their champions had been at large, welcomed into the cities and onto college campuses by the crowds singing “Hosanna!” But for the time being, they found comfort and strength in the churches they were able to found dedicated to their various patrons, the martyrs of social media. Some followed Alex Jones. Others followed Laura Loomer. Othe...
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F.B.