WORKING ON THE Wall Street Journal’s opinion pages is a journalistic privilege like no other, and I owe an immense debt of gratitude to my editors – Paul Gigot, Bret Stephens and Joseph Sternberg – for their feedback and mentorship, as well as the freedom they grant me to pursue my intellectual interests.
Thanks to my long-suffering agents, Keith Urbahn and Matt Latimer, who somehow put up with my late-night brainstorms, email barrages and writerly moods. I was honoured to work with Olivia Beattie, Laurie De Decker, Victoria Gilder and the rest of the team at Biteback. Olivia and Laurie edited the book with great enthusiasm and attention to detail, and their suggestions helped bolster the arguments throughout.
Bari Weiss, Abe Greenwald and Omri Ceren read and commented on the crucial middle chapter, and reassured me in moments of doubt. What else could one ask for from friends and comrades? Any errors and shortcomings are my responsibility alone, of course. As I was gearing up to write the book, my friend Ian Marcus Corbin, who directs Boston’s wonderful Matter & Light gallery, reminded me that there are still plenty of artists quietly creating humane, intelligent art – the green shoots growing out of the contemporary ruins. I would be remiss if I didn’t also thank John Podhoretz, editor of Commentary. John took a chance on my work very early on, and his magazine is now my intellectual home away from home, where I do most of my long-form writing and thinking. Thanks, John.
The writing of this book coincided with my decision to join the Catholic Church, after nearly a decade of standing in the doorway of Christianity and peering inside with admiration and awe. Pastor Farshid Fathi, my colleague William McGurn, Dr Russell Moore, Jean Vanier, Miles Windsor and David Yeghnazar – evangelicals and Catholics – were sources of strength and inspiration on my spiritual journey. Finally, there is Fr Ronald Creighton-Jobe of the London Oratory, my extraordinary instructor and father in the Faith: ‘As I watch her pelted with mud, spurned, spat at and disgraced, I read in her eyes the message that we should weep not for her but for ourselves…’