Those of us who fondly remember the time before men wore women’s swimsuits often find ourselves dazed and speechless in the dystopian landscape of 2024. Our government has abandoned all pretense of both decency and Constitutional principles, preferring to prosecute political enemies while embracing radical loons and clownish causes. The crazy doesn’t stay in Washington, either; everywhere you go, you’re greeted with the stench of weed and the hideous fashions of idled protesters. Shameless displays of bad taste, foul language, and low-I.Q. behaviors are the norm, and to notice them only betrays your privileged bigotry and intolerance.
As the world thus heats up, we are sorted along both eternal and temporal lines; spiritual forces slice through every facet of our lives, demanding that we choose sides. We are wheat and tares, sheep and wolves, right and left—and ultimately, alive or dead. In the process, those of us who refuse the new normal have retreated to the few remaining pockets of biblical truth, traditional values, or relative sanity. For many, this refuge is faith; for others, it’s sports, school communities, or resort towns. There we draw strength to engage in the cosmic battle, soften the world’s edges, or—as an escape—find small beauties still unscathed by all this mess.
Running for refuge in our sacred spaces has become a dicey business, though. Like the human heart, none of our comforts are immune to the insidious creep of evil. Take faith, for example; more often than not, the local “relevant” or “inclusive” worship service is led by one of the many smiling wolves born in liberal seminary dens. Your buttoned-up childhood church—with its many old social connections and Handel concerts—must therefore be examined under the light of biblical discernment, or you risk unwelcome surprises.
Education has long been the playground for progressive ruin; but the wildfires now threaten even the once-inviolable classics. Many of us found in classical education a beautiful outpost, a hidden holdout amid civilization’s prevailing decline. Great minds, beautiful words, timeless wisdom—all gathered to rescue our dumbed-down generation of touch-screen brains. Yet, in a dismaying discovery, cultural Marxists are quietly building fires there, too.
I saw some small but growing embers at our own classical school—intermittent and familiar flickers. As the school courted the favor of city leaders, disciplinary issues and questionable partnerships emerged. I shared my concerns, which is all a parent can do. For that kind of vigilance, one earns flowery and reassuring speeches; there are always excuses—the demographics, the pressure, or the few success stories. Trouble seems unlikely to those who warm themselves in the innocent glow of small beginnings; it will be different this time!
To suspect such cozy little coals would ever cross their fire-proof boundaries seems unduly suspicious—and not very generous or inclusive. The new rhetoric makes a convincing Trojan horse: Isn’t there some beauty to be found in other voices? Isn’t it good to move beyond yesterday’s old, white men? Aren’t we truly responsible for elevating other people? What is good, true and beautiful can empower a new liberation; and as always, the left will reimagine and dismantle yet another formerly successful tradition.
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