This weekend I ran off the delightful old Terry Gilliam film Time Bandits for the gels.   It’s been a while since I’ve seen it and I had forgotten how really rather orthodox it is on the subjects of omnipotence, good, evil and free will.   The film  provoked a surprisingly rewarding dinner conversation on the subject of  God, the devil, creation and temptation, with the seven year old, of all people, suddenly piping up about Jesus’ 40 days in the wilderness.

Meanwhile, the latest social crisis at the eldest gel’s school seems to revolve around the fact that it has suddenly become en vogue there for the kiddies to drop f-bombs all over the place and she won’t do it.   She came to me in tears with the report that she was being mocked for her primness by her little friends and that when she told them that Dad didn’t let her speak that way, “they looked at [her] like she was from a different universe.”

Well, sorry, but like Sir Joseph Porter, KCB, I haven’t any sympathy for ill-bred taunts.  I told her to stick to her guns and try to ignore the criticism.  (On the other hand, I also headed her off from emailing her teacher to complain on the grounds that nobody likes a snitch.)  Anyway, she may as well start getting used to it because there are any number of current social conventions of which I don’t approve that she’s going to have to face in the near future.

Speaking of such things, Mink Monica emailed me the link to Father Z’s reaction to The One’s speech at Notre Dame.  A sample:

 Controversy insured high reportage.  Thousands of cheering young fans, products of the education they just received, blithely drank up their obviously deserved praise. Gray-haired veteran liberals whose skills were honed by a real education and decades of progressivist trench warfare provided the spear-carriers of a more authentic ecclesiastical establishment, a Church establishment as it truly ought to be if we lived in a more just world.  A few pathetic court-jesters shouted incoherently during the President’s speech. They provided the students with some entertainment and gave the Doctoratus in Chief his chance to reveal his patient benevolence by means of a prepared one liner. 

Who needs The Tudors?  This was like watching Henry suborn the English Church away from the interference of Rome.

Read the rest, but remember to don your asbestos suit first.

I worry.  Prior to the actual day, I thought Notre Dame had thoroughly put its foot in it and that here was a chance to score a victory for our side.  Instead, between The One and the fawning MSM coverage, Orthodoxy came off looking shrill, silly and, well, like it was from a different universe.   Father Z sounds the trumpet for a rally, and certainly Fathers McA and S at my own church have been doing the same, but the question arises:  What exactly does one do?  What exactly can one do?  Is there really anything other than fighting local skirmishes like the ones I’m engaged in on behalf of the gels?  That strikes me as nothing more than a rearguard action, a holding of the citadel while the barbarian hordes swarm around it. 

 What is the strategic offensive plan? Is there one?  Personally, I’m not sure that this is a fight that can be won, not until popular culture becomes so appalled with its own decline and decay that it voluntarily abandons its current ways.  Don’t think this can’t happen – the Victorian Era was a direct response to the excesses of the Regency prior to it.  But this is still an awfully slim reed on which to lean.