“No one could possibly imagine that the Last Supper would be singled out for such grotesque disparagement as it was in Paris last week by people who actually believed that the central figure in the Last Supper really was whipped almost to death and nailed upon a cross until he died. No one, no matter how depraved or degraded, could possibly find such a horrible event remotely amusing. The agreeable aspect of it, the ‘fun’ that our media detected in it, was the pitifully adolescent thrill of a send-up of a starkly mortifying event that more than a billion people unselfconsciously consider to have been one of the most notable encounters there has ever been between man and his Creator. The thrill and the fun are to be found in rendering repulsive and perverted an occasion that a vast number of worthy and in very many cases, exceptionally accomplished and intellectually sophisticated people regard as a sacred moment when the divinely inspired missionary of the deity was among us and about to make an overwhelming sacrifice for the moral betterment of mankind. It is intellectual vandalism, iconoclastic churlishness, like the young mountebank Mussolini looking heavenwards like King Lear and bellowing to an appreciative crowd ‘I say you don’t exist; if you do strike me down, God.’ (Possibly the Duce remembered this as he and his mistress were executed by communist guerrillas prior to being hung upside down by their ankles and their corpses desecrated in a gas station in Milan in April 1945.)”

Conrad Black in National Post August 3, 2024

He had many dinners alone with General George Marshall during the war, after “two stiff, bourbon old-fashioneds which the Chief liked to mix himself. There would be talk of course, but absolutely no war talk. That day he probably had had to make decisions that affected the fate of nations; tomorrow he would face problems equally crucial. But that evening he would be calm and unworried as he listened to my chatting. Once, I asked him how he stood up under the strain; he answered: ‘I’ve had to train myself never to worry about a decision once it’s made. You worry before you make it, but not after. You make the best judgement you can about a problem – then forget it. If you don’t, your mind is not fit to make the next decision.’”

Frank Capra The Name Above the Title

In my latest National Post column I argue that various embarrassing missteps by Canadian educational institutions, among others, show that the woke aren’t just nasty, they’re so narrow-minded they really don’t know anyone with a brain or a heart disagrees with them, let alone why.

In my latest Epoch Times column I say real “remembrance” must include remembering to be ready for the next round of big trouble in our little world.

In my latest Epoch Times column I argue that optimism is a psychological condition and generally fatuous, while hope is a theological virtue, in public affairs as in life more generally.

“An eagle hunts no flies.”

A Saxon proverb over the desk of Col. Hans Oster, head of Department Z (HQ and central registry) of the Abwehr and an important member of the Schwarze Kapelle according to Anthony Cave Brown, Bodyguard of Lies: The Exraordinary, True Story of the Clandestine War of Deception that Hid the Secrets of D-Day from Hitler and Sealed the Allied Victory [he calls Oster “A Saxon horse gunner who was at once elegant and arrogant” and says he was openly contemptuous of Hitler and the Nazis.

In my latest Epoch Times column I ask how even Canada’s Department of National Defence, or lack of same, can be baffled at what it takes to make a standard 155mm artillery shell.

In my latest Loonie Politics column I say sending an underarmed Arctic patrol vessel to Cuba to greet a Russian flotilla, then babbling a shifting set of unconvincing and inconsistent explanations, is one more example of the plague of incompetence engulfing us.