#Uninquisitive

[alohapromisesforever]

Thought For the Day: The Plain Fact Is That Education Is Itself A Form of Propaganda - A Deliberate Scheme To Outfit the Pupil...With A Simple Appetite For Gulping Ideas Ready-Made

“The plain fact is that education is itself a form of propaganda – a deliberate scheme to outfit the pupil, not with the capacity to weigh ideas, but with a simple appetite for gulping ideas ready-made. The aim is to make ‘good’ citizens, which is to say, docile and uninquisitive citizens.” – H.L. Mencken — This quote is noted in “A Second Mencken Chrestomathy,” as initially published by…

[shaadowmilkcookie]

this is just in general, if anyone sees this, do you have any design traits/preferences in y/n designs? things you like, things you don’t like? minor icks or big turn-aways? i’ve always wanted to ask!!

poll for those who don’t like replying (which i understand wholeheartedly <3) rbs would be appreciated but no pressure :) i’m just curious!!

[danceintheskies]

I remember really liking The Magic Thief (the book) as a kid, rereading it over and over, and being like man.... i wish there were more books in this series...... I wanna know what happens to these characters........ :(

and only 13 years later did I think to be like wait. y'know there probably are more books in that series

[electronicdelusionstarlight]

Say what you want about the Smitten, but the man has so much faith in the Princess and by extension himself (Because the princess will be shaped by him into trusting you, be her the Thorn or the Damsel) he literally rewrites reality by simply going "No. Our love is stronger than this."

Man no sells the Narrator trying to take over again, the narrator locking the door, man will straight up have the Thorns that are symbolic of the princess' hurt retract at his touch, man will instantly end your life if you so much as harm the Damsel and when the Burned Grey appears SHE STILL TRUSTS YOU AND LOVES YOU.

The Smitten is also the most AWARE of things too. He might sound like a buffoon un love yes, you might find him silly and uninquisitive (case in point being inquisitive during the Damsel route is a ticket to ruining it), but he's the ONLY voice who knows how you look like.

Which makes sense.

For among all your voices, all your Prospectives, all your emotions, the one that is shaped by your love for HER would be the strongest, the one closest to your divinity, the one capable of forcing an "happy ending" without pain or strife or horror.

[etirabys]

This bit CS Lewis wrote on philia (friendship) in The Four Loves resonates a lot with me, as an online fandom person.

For of course we do not want to know our Friend's affairs at all. Friendship, unlike Eros, is uninquisitive. You become a man's Friend without knowing or caring whether he is married or single or how he earns his living. What have all these "unconcerning things, matters of fact" to do with the real question, Do you see the same truth? In a circle of true Friends each man is simply what he is; stands for nothing but himself. No one cares twopence about any one else's family, profession, class, income, race, or previous history. Of course you will get to know about most of these in the end. But casually. They will come out bit by bit, to furnish an illustration or an analogy, to serve as pegs for an anecdote; never for their own sake. That is the kingliness of Friendship. We meet like sovereign princes of independent states, abroad, on neutral ground, freed from our contexts. This love (essentially) ignores not only our physical bodies but that whole embodiment which consists of our family, job, past and connections. At home, besides being Peter or Jane, we also bear a general character; husband or wife, brother or sister, chief, colleague or subordinate. Not among our Friends. It is an affair of disentangled, or stripped, minds. Eros will have naked bodies; Friendship naked personalities.

What I don't get is: how does CS Lewis know about it? In what contexts was he meeting people with similar passions, same-shaped 'naked personalities', where he only later filled in their family, profession, class, race?

[namelessprayers]

the desolate decay of ruins that used to be the great kingdom of hallownest is full of bugs, maybe all half dead and dying, but bugs nonetheless.

for numerous reasons, quirrel is curious. perhaps, it's simply in his nature. yet, his origins betray the fact, as the city of tears is led by shy and stubbornly uninquisitive folk. this pattern is upheld from the very start, when he is greeted on entry to hallownest itself, as the bug who welcomes him only has one question and one question alone;

"what wrongs are you here to commit?"

she does not ask of why quirrel has come or who he is at all. that does not matter to her. she cares only for his foreign manner and uninfected state. she blows him off, stating him a fighter, but unlikely to last in the harsh climate of their hellish world regardless.

existence lacks nuance for the bugs of hallownest, for the fallen kingdom itself and every citizen rotting within. the walls rot and hardly anyone stops to ponder why. no bug investigates, they merely await the inevitable receding light until they are all plunged into deep unshakeable darkness.

then there is a moving beam of sun, a glowing ray amidst the dreary caverns of endless shadow. quirrel meets the fellow of the hour, cloaked in drabs with an unpolished nail on their back.

the knight is a curious product; a being somehow avoidant of the root of issues and still unflinchingly confrontational. the most ghostly in the eyes without losing the life that all the infected had gotten drained out of them. a little fragment of the past wrapped in the hopes of a future. dissonant to the surroundings, uncaring of questions, but still answering everything along the way.

once, quirrel loved paradoxes and loved to learn of solutions to puzzles or resolutions to riddles. he once loved hallownest too, he knows, even if he doesn't entirely remember why. now, quirrel can only truly grasp why he stopped loving such things so passionately.

the truth is not kind. ignorance is bliss as it is torment. hallownest is the greatest example of a question that should've gone unanswered, and the cost of curiosity depleted.

in his soul, quirrel can piece this last dilemma together. the cold bug at the entrance, the knight on the road, the stinging silence of the blue lake that cries and cries. quirrel learns, decides, that nothing in hallownest was built to last, and it will not be pretty whatever happens next.

"what went wrong?"

he asks the lake and his reflection on the surface. he gets drops from the fallen city, falling on him, falling apart at the seams. quirrel wonders if the little knight will ever rest, for maybe if that occurs, it means the kingdom will finally be put to rest too.

[sgiandubh]

Sam’s post was kinda lame this year 😭

Dear Post Anon,

Seriously?

I think it was exactly what the doctor ordered, my dear.

Short, effective and very clear. But sure, if you want drama-drama, suit yourself.

This saga started a decade ago. Ten years - can you imagine?

Many marriages don't make it to this point. And neither do a bajillion more ardent, steamy relationships that flop at the first life accident.

If after all this time you still think social media is relevant to the real state of play, you are the perfect - undiscerning, uninquisitive - fan, after all. You do you, doll. I do it my way - and I've got ALL my sisters with me.

Power (and pride) in numbers.

[papapan]

One of the saddest things about depression is how stupid and uninquisitive it has made me

[4libertylover]

"The plain fact is that education is itself a form of propaganda - a deliberate scheme to outfit the pupil, not with the capacity to weigh ideas, but with a simple appetite for gulping ideas ready-made. The aim is to make 'good' citizens, which is to say, docile and uninquisitive citizens." - H. L. Mencken

[sercphs]

@batoushoujo has an uninquisitive guest

"Sounds like a good way to never want to leave."

⠀⠀⠀⠀A sing-song tone in reply to the explanation, head canting to the side as she folds her hands over each other on the table, crimson gaze peering over the oak cake at the unfortunate recipient of the weird. Surely you're accustomed to the weird in this world?

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀A moment later, her smile widens just a bit.

"It feels a bit more like a nightmare in that context, doesn't it? Indulgence without consequences, a place where you can be exactly what you want..."

⠀⠀⠀⠀Ah, a little wistful sigh...

"A shame that my wants can't help me taste..."

[chaoticmangocat]

a pathetic introduction to the dumpster fire otherwise known as the internet.

hello. my name is mango cat, but you may refer to me as mango. i enjoy watching queer tv shows, drawing characters(whether they originate from my brain or not), and sharing my silly interests with others. if you follow me, you will probably regret it, as i plan to make this blog home to my most intrusive and uninquisitive thoughts.

pronouns: she/her/hers

likes: cats, animation, illustration, books, music(spotify free version my beloved), journalism and sanrio.

dislikes: group projects, hate of any kind, bubblegum medicine and creepers(from minecraft).

as a final note, i would like to add that if you're seeing this, thank you for reading it. my best friend is @words-on-pa-pers so go show them some love.

[rvby]

conversation (down. up. back. down. back.)

“fox.” 

“hm?” `there’s a curl at the end of his hum, trailed off the same way his grin tends to. the same way the smoke spills from his lips.` 

“what do you dream about?” `the silence impending is nothing he wasn’t expecting from the question, but even so, he won`

`first thing to come out of his mouth is evasive.` “what, worried I got a girl waiting for me back home?” `teasing, but never an answer. never straightforward. a non-answer that tells the uninquisitive to shut up. it tells snake that he’ll have to try again if he really wants to know.` 

“come on, fox.” `he lets out a huff. maybe fox does it on purpose, the way he finds the small frustration cute.` “i meant when you sl-” 

“rookie, when’s the last time you’ve caught me sleeping.” 

“what?” 

`the beat that passes in between them is familiar. the same song and dance they always play.` 

“you sleep.” `it’s a statement of fact.` 

`ha.` “sometimes.” 

`as much as he’d like to question why he’d be dodgy about this of all things, he figures it doesn’t really matter.` “what do you dream about?” `attempt number two to ask his question.` 

`there’s a slight pause before he answers this time. closer, but not quite close enough.` “depends.” `another non-answer. snake tried, at least.` “why?” 

“don’t soldiers usually dream of the past?” `that is to say,` “nightmares.” 

“you say that like you don’t.” `an admittance? or a mere deflection?` 

`another huff. he doesn’t see the corner of fox’s lips ticking up again at the sound.` “i do.” `he doesn’t like being talked to like he’s strange. like he’s wrong. like he doesn’t belong. even if he wasn’t telling the truth, he’d be inclined to lie on instinct, just to fit in.` “i’m asking you if you do.” 

`a longer pause this time. like he’s questioning if it’s worth telling the truth or not. if he’ll go for a fourth pass, or if he’ll let snake prod at him the way he’s itching to.` “i don’t know.” `somehow, even less of an answer than every other thing he’s said, but with more than enough weight behind it to prove it’s the truth.` “i don’t try to remember.” 

`try. that’s the keyword here. something not worth remembering. something he doesn’t want to remember. so fox is haunted by something, then. whatever that may be. and really, he can’t remember the last time he’s been turned away by fox’s being asleep either. bad enough to keep him from wanting to. yeah, sounds about right.` 

“why’re you asking, anyway?” 

`oh. right.` “i had a weird dream last night. got me thinking. that’s all.” `dismissive. as soon as the conversation’s turned back onto him, he’s rethinking bringing the subject up at all.` 

`ah, but that catches his interest now properly. sniffing out the potential for gossip, if nothing else. possibly even handed to him on a silver platter. how kind.` “yeah?” `the breath he lets out, all smoke with a hint of mirrors, borders a laugh. amused. intrigued.` “what, it freak you out or something?” `he doesn’t sound like he expect his guess to be right. he knows he is, though.` 

`hm. that’s something about fox that’s always unsettling. he always knows. why? how?` “guess so.” `it isn’t a good enough answer for fox. he’s hungry for more, and very surely not for food. he lets the pause linger while he sorts his words out. they have time right now, left in each other’s company. fox will wait.` “…you were there.” `he settles on that to start.` 

 “dead, right?” `knowing. always knowing. you’d think he could read minds or something. no, he’s just used to things like this by now. it’s always the closest ones dead in your dreams. if they aren’t dead yet, they will be soon. that’s how it always is. no one can just… stay alive. certainly not for him. he doesn’t even let snake finish whatever thought he was mulling. it’s a sad train of thought—one he’s grateful he’s more often than not too forgetful to have to worry about.` “come on, rookie. you know i can’t die.” `not won’t. can’t.` 

`it’s something they’ve talked about before. dying. but this was different.` “you wanted to, i think.” `he remembers the feeling, the thought of it. the memory sits in his mind too vividly, still fresh.` “asked me to.” 

`‘asked him to?’ he thinks about that. about what he might ask. to be killed? (he’d be lying if he said he hasn’t thought about it before. he’d be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy it.) no, certainly he wouldn’t. certainly not him. he breathes out a scoff.` “wouldn’t ask you to do it.” `as much of a denial as he can manage, really. he’s distracted now.`  

`and it definitely isn’t much of a denial.` “but you would ask.” `someone. generally.` 

“nah.” `as far as he’s aware.` “i can’t die yet.” `not while he’s still got a job to do.` 

“yet.”  

`a sigh.` “i don’t know. you aren’t curious?” 

“curious?” 

“about what it’s like.” 

“to die.” 

“yeah.” 

`hm.` “i guess.” `he doesn’t think about it that hard, and certainly not hard enough to want to ask to experience it.` 

`well. that’s about as much of an explanation as he can offer.` “that’s all. it’s not like i can ask without actually dying.” `and isn’t that just too bad. lamenting, really` 

“you should’ve had my dream then.” `weird as it may be to hear your nightmare had credibility, he feels a little better about it anyway, hearing fox talk about it like it’s no big deal.` 

`fox’s lip twitches, the way it always does when his lips crack back into a smile.` “maybe. then it wouldn’t scare you so much.” `teasing.` 

“it didn’t scare me…” `it did. it scared him, how satisfying it felt to kill.` 

“freaked you out enough to ask me about it.” 

`does he always have to be so smug?` “i was just wondering what kind of dreams you have.” `excuses.` 

`ah, it’s always too cute.` “right. here, next time i remember, i’ll let you know.” `he’s not going to remember.` 

`or rather, he will. but snake knows him well enough to know that answer’s as good as being told he won’t. he doesn’t care all that much, in the end, so he just huffs out the rest of his protests with his breath.` “…sure.” `he can’t say no to him anyway. his dream told him that much, didn’t it?` 

[4libertylover]

"The plain fact is that education is itself a form of propaganda - a deliberate scheme to outfit the pupil, not with the capacity to weigh ideas, but with a simple appetite for gulping ideas ready-made. The aim is to make 'good' citizens, which is to say, docile and uninquisitive citizens." - H. L. Mencken

[bellshazes]

@lie-lichen replied to your post “honestly a lot of people who espouse death of the...”:

I haven't studied the humanities before, what's a formalist/new critic?

​well i'm definitely more of a lapsed scholar than authority. but formalism is an approach to reading focused on the formal structure of a text, its literary devices, etc. and often is explicitly anti-anything outside the text (author biography, historical context, anything not on the literal page). it's your language arts teacher making you diagram sentences or doing a whole lesson on rhyme schemes.

the New Critics were a group of critics (obvs) who took this approach, concentrated in the beginning of the 20th century. i found them via t.s. eliot's poetics & particularly his landmark criticism "hamlet and his problems," but the mid-century contributions of other critics like Wimsatt & Beardsley's "The Intentional Fallacy" (reconstructing the author based on the text) also shaped criticism to come after. close reading as a standard component of literary education is very much their legacy.

barthes' "death of the author" essay is pop culture famous because it's funny and pithy and has a name that you can read and assume you know what it's about, even if you're going to be wrong in so many of the details. the essay is not concerned with the author as active, present word of god dictating the interpretation of the text after releasing it unto the world; he very clearly states his objection to the idea that "[t]he Author, when believed in, is always conceived of as the past of his own book," a historical origin which produces the text - not an authority figure professing edicts. he actually makes a bunch of jokes about how the new critics were bad, because this is firmly espousing the Birth of the Reader - and so, the birth of reader-response criticism, which i think was a net negative for culture. tbqh.

if you read the damn thing you begin to wonder if this is not one big joke, as well, or at least a very contemporary modern joke as it ends with him claiming that Readers are "without history, biography, psychology; he is simply that someone who holds together in a single field all the traces by which the written text is constituted" - a statement so boldly uninquisitive and contradictory to the level of logic being applied in the paragraphs before that it has to be, in its deliberate obtuseness, a commentary on other commentaries.

so my beef with people whose entire comment can be "Death of the Author!!! QED" is that they think it's a material fact and not a historically-produced and dialectical position in a larger centuries upon centuries long argument about how we read and derive/make/produce/wot ever verb meaning. the petty infighting of critique movements is fun and historically informative i prommy. this is not abt word of god i swear

[fivestarhuman]

The plain fact is that education is itself a form of propaganda – a deliberate scheme to outfit the pupil, not with the capacity to weigh ideas, but with a simple appetite for gulping ideas ready-made. The aim is to make ‘good’ citizens, which is to say, docile and uninquisitive citizens.

-H.L. Mencken

[why5x5]

From my shul's weekly newsletter for this week:

“The Four Sons – Four of a Kind”

We are all familiar with the passage in the Hagada, which takes some of its material from this week’s Torah portion Bo, about the “Four Sons”: Chakham (wise), Rasha (wicked), Tam (simple) and Eno Yodea Lishol (uninquisitive). At the Pesach Seder, many of us have heard – if not ourselves posed - fanciful questions with commensurately fantastic answers about this paragraph: Why do we teach the Chakham specifically about the Afikoman? What makes the Rasha’s question so drastically different than that of the Chakham, enough so that we punch the Rasha in the teeth? Why do we use the feminine article at for the Eno Yodea Lishol; after all, aren’t we dealing with sons?

What gets lost with such intricate inquiries is the overall sense that the Baal Hagada is trying to convey: Though we may have four completely different prototypes of children, they are all descendants of the same group of Israelites who left Egypt, and we are equally obligated to relate to all of them. Keneged arbaah banim dibra Torah – the Torah spoke about four types of children. They are indeed four of a kind.

In the game of Poker, “Four of a Kind” ranks near the top of the list, just under the Royal and Straight Flushes. The Diamond – our Chakham - is brilliant, with sharp points and “straight” lines of thinking. The Club is borne by our Rasha beating up on accepted ideas and maybe even their proponents. The Spade is the tool of the Tam, the simple one who probably prefers menial labor over intellectual exercise. The Heart lies at the center of the Eno Yodea Lishol, who must be reached even if the normal channels of communication are not optimally operative. Together, however, they make a winning combination, even better than just a Full House.