David Warren is a pain in the ass. His Roman Catholicism is so extreme it might be wondered whether he is a Christian. He is also the only person I have ever met who may yet be made a saint. Go figure.
Do yourselves a favour one of these days soon. Read any number of essays by him on his blog, until you have had your fill.
He reminds me of the last view hobbits had of the elven queen Galadriel on the shores of the Anduin River, as the hobbits floated downstream from the enchanted forest of Lothlorien, heading to perilous adventures in Mordor. There is something lost-in-time about his world view that excites my admiration and annoyance simultaneously. I can only pray that my annoyance may yet bring forth some kind of sustained intellectual effort to find out why I disagree, and where.
But I am not going to be made a saint and Warren may yet be declared one in some reactionary Catholic future, as yet to be imagined, where Chesterton is thought to be the most important writer of the 20th century.