« Apostrophes Matter | Main | Louis L'Amour: Guns of the Timberland »



Feed You can follow this conversation by subscribing to the comment feed for this post.

"It's a sort of hobby for which I've lost my taste"

Mine's going away as well. The culture is pretty much lost, and politics can't begin to fix it. The only thing one can really do is to attempt to strengthen what remains while holding the lunacy at bay.

A time for tending one's own garden. At best political efforts can limit some of the harm. At worst they're the agents of it.

I had a dear colleague who used to say 'Voltaire must be taken literally at his word'

When he said what?

"Cultivate your Garden" - Voltaire. From Candide, plot summary conclusion below.

When they all retire together to a simple life on a small farm, they discover that the secret of happiness is "to cultivate one’s garden," a practical philosophy that excludes excessive idealism and nebulous metaphysics.

Thanks for Bennet poem link.

I'm now, maybe temporarily retired, so I'm getting more interested, again, in Saving the World. Like with the Benedict Option (& Rod Dreher).

Moralistic Therapeutic Deism is the bridging belief between Christianity and the new Social Justice beliefs.

It's a real neo-religion, and needs to be addressed more theologically.

I had no idea that that saying came from Voltaire. Or rather I'd forgotten, since I did read Candide long, long ago.

"It's a real neo-religion, and needs to be addressed more theologically."

It certainly is, and addressing it is theologically is worth doing for the sake of our own understanding, but I don't think theology can make much headway against it.

I'm just a touch miffed that in the past year or so the idea that it's a religion has become so widespread. I've been saying it for a long time and thinking it was unusually insightful on my part. :-)

Somehow your post reminds me of this:

"But you and all the kind of Christ
Are ignorant and brave,
And you have wars you hardly win
And souls you hardly save.

"I tell you naught for you comfort,
Yea, naught for your desire,
Save that the sky grows darker yet
And the sea rises higher.

"Night shall be thrice night over you
And heaven an iron cope.
Do you have joy without a cause,
Yea, faith without a hope?

The poem only makes me want to plant portulaca. I, too, have lost my taste for this hobby, and tending my own garden sounds lovely.

But only metaphorically, because I am death to flora.


Actually I don't even know what portulaca is, but I guess I get the basic idea. Anyway, I do like that poem. Or at least that part of it.

Little flowers, kind of like marigolds with blooms of several colors on the same plant. The leaves are like rosemary. They were popular in the 50s, but I haven't seen any in years.


My dad used to have some sort of verbal joke about portulaca in his repertoire but I can't remember it. I knew it was a plant but for some reason thought it was something like ivy or myrtle.

Verify your Comment

Previewing your Comment

This is only a preview. Your comment has not yet been posted.

Your comment could not be posted. Error type:
Your comment has been posted. Post another comment

The letters and numbers you entered did not match the image. Please try again.

As a final step before posting your comment, enter the letters and numbers you see in the image below. This prevents automated programs from posting comments.

Having trouble reading this image? View an alternate.


Post a comment

Your Information

(Name is required. Email address will not be displayed with the comment.)