Our treasured religious beliefs tell us time and time again to care for the poor and the destitute and to love the strangers among us. We know that domestic workers and underprivileged laborers deserve our care and attention, but in our celebrity-suffused culture, we often forget this truth.
Richard Linklater’s new film is powerful because it reminds us that the dull, plotless events of our fleeting lives matter in the way in which all quotidian things matter: as Joycean “epiphanies of the ordinary.”
To engage and shape the culture, we must understand the power of storytelling—and respect its limits.
We need offensive cartoons, obnoxious cartoonists, and offended sensibilities. Without them, society stagnates and tyranny reigns.
With its controversial decision concerning the voice of God, the movie “Exodus: Gods & Kings” demonstrates the limits of what we can really know about God.
The family is only whole and safe when it is founded on the complementarity of masculine and feminine.
The most prominent Catholic character on television consistently employed religious themes and theological motifs on his award-winning TV show—never more glaringly so than in the series’ grand finale
At times, cinema succeeds where philosophy fails. Films like Nebraska show us the importance of honoring our elderly parents and remind us of the unique dignity of every human person.
To restore loving family life to the heart of our culture, we must begin with ourselves—one family, one person at a time.
Painter Pierre-Auguste Renoir’s vision of creativity reflects the theological concept that man is made in the image of God.
Good art helps us see reality how it is. Thus, the artist must attend to what is, looking at the world as carefully and deeply as possible—even the parts that make him uncomfortable.
Conservatives who reject modern architecture have reasons to do so. Traditional architecture is predicated on the ideal of beauty as an objective reality, while modernism exalts subjective preferences.
The enduring values in which conservatives believe—beauty among them—are more multifaceted and surprising than we sometimes give them credit for. Beauty does not always follow rules, and it is often found in unexpected places and patterns.
The plan of our nation’s capital and the architecture of its core buildings and monuments must carry on the classical vision the Founders intended as the physical manifestation of America’s form of government and political ideals.
The virtuous life is an art; and one learns art not from theorists but from the artists themselves.
Neo-Darwinian models of human behavior cannot provide us with authentic self-knowledge; we need to revive the humanist disciplines—rhetoric, the arts, history, and above all things, poetry.
The sexual revolution puts forth a vision of paradise in which we rig up some nifty devices to guarantee infertility, consider neither holiness nor virtue, and believe in the blessings of no one and nowhere and nothing.
Free verse does not simply express a “debased” yearning for freedom from tradition. Like earlier forms of metered poetry, it too expresses the trials of confining human thought to written language.
Not everything need be seen as ideological.
An appreciation for the naturalness of form can lead us back from the politicization of poetry.
An exhibition by contemporary artist Enrique Martínez Celaya at the Cathedral of St. John the Divine (on view through November 23rd) is a unique chance to contrast the uncertainty of our own age with the New Medievalism of the great American architect, Ralph Adams Cram.