From Shawn Tribe at NLM.
Built by Giorgio Vasari
I don't write a great deal of my own reflections on this blog (though I'm resolved to try and change that) so this blog has been more of a storehouse of things I find useful and interesting. I hope you enjoy browsing through my 'attic'. :D


The product of the news business is change, not wisdom. Wisdom has to do with seeing things in their largest context, whereas news is structured in a way that destroys the larger context. You have to do certain things to information if you want to sell it on a daily basis. You have to make each day’s report seem important. And you do that by reducing the importance of its context.
This focus on change has a deleterious effect on all forms of conservatism—whether cultural, political, or religious. Once we believed an essential part of our mission as conservatives was, as William F. Buckley claimed, to “stand athwart history yelling ‘Stop.’” Change was something to be undertaken slowly and with reflection. After all, the important institutions—family, religion, government—shouldn’t change on a whim. But the focus on dailiness has led conservatives to adopt attitudes that were once the province of hyper-progressivism. We don’t just ask what government has done for us lately, we ask what it has done for us today. We don’t just ask for change when it is needed, we ask for it to change—for the better presumably—on a daily basis. We are addicted to the process of change.
...
Still dubious about all this? Consider the proposition: If it is no longer worth your while to go back and read the News of, oh, September 22, 1976, then it was never worthwhile doing so. And why should today be any different?




'The Sun was full of the most solemn matters treated in the most farcial way. William James figured there as well as "Weary Willie," and pragmatists alternated with pugilists in the long procession of its portraits.
Thus, when a very unobtrusive Oxford man named John Boulnois wrote in a very unreadable review called the Natural Philosophy Quarterly a series of articles on alleged weak points in Darwinian evolution, it fluttered no corner of the English papers; though Boulnois's theory (which was that of a comparatively stationary universe visited occasionally by convulsions of change) had some rather faddy fashionableness at Oxford, and got so far as to be named "Catastrophism." But many American papers seized on the challenge as a great event; and the Sun threw the shadow of Mr. Boulnois quite gigantically across its pages. By the paradox already noted, articles of valuable intelligence and enthusiasm were presented with headlines apparently written by an illiterate maniac; headlines such as "Darwin Chews Dirt; Critic Boulnois says He Jumps the Shocks" - or "Keep Catastrophic, says Thinker Boulnois."'
- G.K. Chesterton, "The Strange Crime of John Boulnois", Father Brown Stories


In the year 1223, St. Francis, a deacon, was visiting the town of Grecio to celebrate Christmas. Grecio was a small town built on a mountainside overlooking a beautiful valley. The people had cultivated the fertile area with vineyards. St. Francis realized that the chapel of the Franciscan hermitage would be too small to hold the congregation for Midnight Mass. So he found a niche in the rock near the town square and set up the altar. However, this Midnight Mass would be very special, unlike any other Midnight Mass.
St. Bonaventure (d. 1274) in his Life of St. Francis of Assisi tells the story the best:
It happened in the third year before his death, that in order to excite the inhabitants of Grecio to commemorate the nativity of the Infant Jesus with great devotion, [St. Francis] determined to keep it with all possible solemnity; and lest he should be accused of lightness or novelty, he asked and obtained the permission of the sovereign Pontiff. Then he prepared a manger, and brought hay, and an ox and an ass to the place appointed. The brethren were summoned, the people ran together, the forest resounded with their voices, and that venerable night was made glorious by many and brilliant lights and sonorous psalms of praise. The man of God [St. Francis] stood before the manger, full of devotion and piety, bathed in tears and radiant with joy; the Holy Gospel was chanted by Francis, the Levite of Christ. Then he preached to the people around the nativity of the poor King; and being unable to utter His name for the tenderness of His love, He called Him the Babe of Bethlehem.


Emirates Palace hotel, the luxury Abu Dhabi hotel, has unveiled what is thought to be the world’s most expensive Christmas tree, valued at more than $11m.
The 13-metre fake evergreen tree is located in the hotel’s lobby, and is decorated with silver and gold bows, ball-shaped ornaments and small white lights.
However, the record value of the tree is due to the necklaces, earings and other jewellery draped over its branches.
Khalifa Khouri, owner of Style Gallery, which provided the jewellery, said that the tree held 181 diamonds, pearls, emeralds, sapphires and other precious stones.

This morning, in Oslo city hall's marble auditorium, an empty chair will stand in for a man who could not get there: Chinese dissident Liu Xiaobo, this year's Nobel Peace Prize laureate. A glittering ceremony will acknowledge Liu's fight for human rights and democracy in his homeland, but he will learn nothing of it. He will remain locked up in a Chinese prison for another 10 years for "subversion against the state." Even his relatives were prevented from leaving China to attend the ceremony in Oslo. Liu's wife is under house arrest; other family members are under police surveillance.
China has managed to distinguish itself even against the standards of Nazi Germany, a feat unmatched since 1936, when Germany prevented journalist Carl von Ossietzky from leaving the country to accept the Peace Prize.
The Nazi regime made do with keeping Ossietzky (or anyone representing him) away from the award ceremony, but China has gone further. It has demanded that other countries boycott the Oslo ceremony and then for good measure it hastily minted its own peace prize.


On a blustery October day in the northern part of Rome, a group of nearly 100 volunteers spreads out along a leafy street and sets to cleaning. Pedestrian barriers are scraped free of rust and repainted in their original yellow. Old leaflets are peeled off walls. And graffiti, the group's main target, is either scrubbed away or painted over. "This street is the Wild West," says Paola Carra, who's overseeing the operation. "We need to maintain it ourselves. We can't wait for somebody else to do it."
Many modern cities have trouble with vandalism, but Rome seems to be a case apart. Outside of the touristic center, it's a rare public surface that hasn't been plastered with leaflets or covered with graffiti: tags, slogans, declarations of love, outbursts against authority. And there are few signs that much is being done about it.




