Zach Sherman posted in the Atrium discussion forum this apologia by St. Athenagorus. He was defending the Christians to Marcus Aurelius.
Talleyrand was a French diplomat who survived all the way from before the Revolution to Napoleon's reign. His biography is called Talleyrand: The Art of Survival.
Therein I read these words:
[Mirabeau's] death left an ever-widening gulf between the throne and the radicals into which the nation was about to be violently swept. Talleyrand hoped that Louis XVI would see the danger and come to his senses....
Rain poured from the densely clouded sky for what seemed like the fortieth straight day. It had already been the rainiest season in recorded history and there appeared to be little break in sight. The clouds darkened everything, making it feel much earlier than it was.
I rose, mumbling my complaints at the weather, and dressed to exercise in hopes it would make me feel a bit better. The kids were just stirring, following my bad example of griping at rain, while my wife tried her best to motivate them to complete chores.
I have believed since the 80's that we are heading toward a time of troubles and the last year has not lessened my growing conviction. Part of the reason I've believed that comes down to a pertinent Biblical question: When the foundations are destroyed, what shall the righteous do?
This morning's reading led me to a not-surprising and yet surprising answer to that question. It was the world famous story of Noah's ark, after the flood has ceased but Noah is still in the ark.
What is classical education? Who has the authority to define it and categorize it? What is its purpose and what should its outcomes look like?
On January 8, Joshua Gibbs published a piece on this website titled “Can We Talk About What Happened In D.C. The Other Day?” What follows is a response to and critique of Mr. Gibbs’ post. I begin with a summary of his article.
The other night I woke at 2:30 and could not fall back to sleep. A certain vexing matter from work plagued my thoughts, so I decided to distract myself with a different intellectual project: I tried to chronologically reconstruct every important thing that happened to me between 2000 and 2006. For the first half an hour I had very little luck. I could recall a few significant events, but I could not place them in order. Then one very vivid memory unlocked my whole project.
On Sunday, the Church celebrates Palm Sunday, the commemoration of Jesus’ Triumphal Entry into Jerusalem, and the beginning of Holy Week – the final days of Christ on earth before His crucifixion. The event is recorded in all four Gospels – Matthew 21:1-11, Mark 11:1-10, Luke 19:29-38, and John 12:12-15 – and the event shares connections and echoes with several other passages as well.
Here is the Triumphal Entry as recorded in Matthew’s Gospel:
"In the same way that very few people who have tattoos only have one, very few people trying to buy happiness are trying to buy it for the first time. You try to buy happiness—you buy something— but when it doesn’t make you happy, as opposed to concluding that happiness can’t be bought, you assume it was a swing and a miss and that you just need to keep trying.
It’s hard to remember, though, that pretty much everything you’ve ever bought—aside from, perhaps, an engagement ring—is something you have or will ultimately become tired of, bored with, or indifferent to."
My daughter, Alison, has always been voraciously verbal. Once, as a tiny two-year-old, she curled up next to me on the couch, insisting that I read my book aloud. When I obliged with lines from Virgil’s Aeneid, expecting her to sate her curiosity and wander away, she stayed. For about twenty minutes, we were two souls, spellbound—she by the poetry and I by her childlike allegiance to it.