#exactly how rule by divine right was justified for centuries

[turboghast]

Overloading my brain by trying to imagine how Super Robot Wars with all the mecha media I've seen would work

Mobile Suit Gundam: Iron-Blooded Orphans (In crossovers, the first step is always the most ordinary one.)

Mobile Suit Gundam: Witch From Mercury (Two series in and we already have two different definitions of the word "Gundam", off to a great start. At least these definitions are fairly compatible.)

MSG: Universal Century circa Zeta Gundam (More like universal attendance amirite? Also, we've got a third definition of "Gundam" that's not compatible with the definitions from the AU series; nobody in their right mind would name their new brand of mechas after ones that kill their pilots.)

Code Geass (Not sure how to reconcile both the Federation and Britannia being around, but SRW has done it before.)

Tengen Toppa Gurren Lagann (Humans don't even rule the Earth in this one.)

Robotech (Yo dawg, I heard you like mecha crossovers, so I put a crossover pretending to be a generational epic in your crossover so you could crossover while you crossover.)

Last Hope (If the generic name means you have no clue what I'm talking about, it's a Netflix exclusive anime. The only series here in which giant non-sapient monsters exist.)

Dragon Pilot (Nothing in common with the rest of these series tonally, and the real-world Japan setting directly contradicts Code Geass.)

Daemon ex Machina (So the moon colonies from UC are just fucked, right?)

Pacific Rim (Okay, maybe not the only series with giant monsters.)

Ace Combat (Belka and the aggressor squadrons from 5 would make good overarching plot, and you can justify the series' traditional missiles you can dodge with one turn by saying that's the best you can do with Ahab reactors and Minovsky particles in play.)

From Yu-Gi-Oh, Sky Striker lore, Melffys piloting Divine Arsenal AA-Zeus, and Kaiba in defictionalized versions of his XYZ machine monsters and Blue-Eyes Jet Dragon (Here exactly because someone online proposed this as a way to put Yu-Gi-Oh in SRW and I liked their answer.)

And, of course, any number of pilot-a-ship bullet hells depending how loose I feel like playing it. The first boss of Dondonpachi Resurrection can transform between a humanoid mode and an airplane mode just like the Zeta Gundam.

[k-wame]

You Should run for political office. You actually give a shit and want to make a difference in people's lives.

like srsly there's so much mass suffering and I think a lot of ppl are just putting on a brave face to endure this genocidal economic violence coming from the ruling class. it's so so saddening

[awed-frog]

“The big flaw with this is that it completely misunderstands who JK Rowling is and why she wrote the books. Simply put, this novel is a Christian tale. You miss that, you miss the entire point of everything it has to say.” Elaborate? Sounds interesting and I haven’t heard that before.

Well - I love this to bits and sort of wrote my thesis about it, so here we go.

Basically, you’ve got several kinds of heroes, but ‘left-wing hero’ is almost a contradiction in terms (more on this later). There’s your average Greek hero, whose status as a hero is more of a social class than it is a job and who generally doesn’t have any morally redeeming qualities (have you met Theseus?). Then there’s the medieval Christian hero - he comes in different flavours, but what’s relevant here is the Perceval model: basically the village idiot, whose only power is his good heart and who has no desire to challenge the status quo (because kings are divinely ordained and also poets tend to work for them, so ‘That vassal guy of yours has rescued yet another damsel’ story is going to be better received than ‘Your tax system is corrupt and this knight will now implement direct democracy’). Next you have the modern superhero, who was born in a very different historical context (the vigilantism of 19th century US) and as such has very different priorities. Namely: in his world, there is no higher authority and it’s up to him to use his superior skills to be judge and executioner so he can protect the most vulnerable. This understandable but toxic narrative will later get mixed up with WW2 and then the rampant capitalism of the last 30 years, resulting in the current blockbustery mess.

Anyway - if you’re a Western writer, it’s basically impossible to escape these three shaping forces we’ve all grown up with (classical Antiquity, Christianity, and US-led imperialism/capitalism), so most books and movies of the last forever decades can be analyzed through this lens. In the case of JK Rowling, what you have is a Christian author who openly used her YA series to chart out her own relationship with God. This is not a secret, or a meta writer’s delusion, or anything: she’s discussed it in several interviews. Her main problem, which is most believers’ main problem, is how to reconcile her faith in a benevolent God with the suffering in her daily life; and something she’s mentioned more than once is how her mom died when she was 25, and how this was very much on her mind especially when she was writing Deathly Hallows.

Now, I don’t want to write a novel here, so I won’t analyze the entire series, but what it is is basically a social critique of British society, mixed up with Greek and Roman elements in a cosmetic way only, and - crucially - led by an extremely Christian hero. 

In every way that matters, Harry Potter is a direct descendant of Perceval: he’s someone who’s grown up in isolation as the village idiot (remember how he was shunned by other children because he was ‘dangerous’ and ‘different’), randomly found a more exciting world of which he previously knew nothing (he’s basically the only kid who gets to Hogwarts without knowing anything about the magical world, just like Perceval joined Arthur’s court after living in the woods for 15 years), and proceeded to make his mark not because of his innate powers or special abilities (he’s average at magic, except for Defence against the Dark Arts), but because he’s kind and good and humble. And in the end, he willingly sacrifices himself so everyone else can be saved: a Christ-like figure who even gets his very own Deposition (in the arms of Hagrid, the closest thing to a parent his actually has). 

(This, by the way, was the only reason why Hagrid was kept alive. JK Rowling had planned to kill him, but she absolutely wanted this scene - one of the most recognizable and beloved image in Christian art - in the books.)

And even if he ultimately survives his ‘death’ (like Jesus did), Harry refuses the riches and rank he was surely offered and chooses to spend his days in middle-class obscurity as a husband and father (if I remember correctly, Harry and Ginny’s house isn’t even big enough for their three kids). And no, of course he doesn’t stand for anything or challenges the status quo: that’s not his job. His job, like Jesus’, was to defeat evil by offering himself up in sacrifice; and the entire story - especially the last book - is a profound, intimate, and very moving reflection on faith.

(“Render unto Caesar the things that are Caesar's, and unto God the things that are God's”, remember? It’s not your job to change anything in the temporal, material world; your job is to nurture your immortal soul and prepare it for the true life that comes after death.)

Like - I don’t know how it was for younger readers, but for me, reading Deathy Hallows as an adult, it wrecked me. Even as an agnostic, I read it over and over again, and I kep finding new meaning in it. The whole thing is basically a retelling of the Book of Job, one of the most puzzling and beautiful parts of the Old Testament. That’s when Harry’s faith in God Dumbledore is tested, when his mentor, the cornerstone of his world, disappears; when Harry has to decide whether he’ll continue to believe in this absent, flawed figure despite all the bad things he keeps uncovering or give up his faith - and thus his soul - completely. The clearest, most startling moment exemplifying this religious dilemma is when Harry decides not to go after the wand. Getting it is the logical thing to do, the only way he can win, but Harry - while mourning Dobby - decides not to do it. That’s when he recovers his faith, and starts trusting his own kindness and piety (whatever happens, he will not defile a tomb) over everything else.

Another key moment is King’s Cross - here, and once more, Harry forgives his enemy, thus obeying Jesus’ commands. He sees Voldemort, the being who took everything from him - and he pities the pathetic, unloved thing he’s become. This is what sets him apart from everyone else and what makes him special: not his birth, not his magic, not some extraordinary artefact - but simply, like Dumbledore puts it, that he can love. After everything that’s bene done to him, he can still love; not only his friends, but his enemies. He forgives Voldemort, he forgives Snape, he forgives Malfoy, he forgives Dudley; and I see so many people angry about this, ranting about abuse victims and how hate is a right, but I think they’re missing the point. This is a Christian story; from a Christian perspective, your enemies need love more than your friends do. 

(“It is not those who are healthy who need a physician” and all that.)

And in any case, a hero is inherently not left-wing. The whole trope relies on three rock-solid facts: the hero is special, and he can do something you can’t, and that gives him the right or the duty to save others who can’t save themselves. Whether it is declined in its Christian form (the hero as self-sacrificing nobody) or in its fascist form (the hero as judge and king of the inferior masses), that is is the exact opposite of any kind of left-wing narrative, where meaningful change is brought about not by individual martyrdom or a benevolent super-human, but by collective action.

So, yeah - Harry changes nothing and is not the leader of the revolution, but it’s unfair to link this to JK Rowling’s politics. It’s just how the trope works. And, in fairness to her, many kind and compassionate authors who write books concerned with social justice tend to lean towards this kind of hero because the only workable alternative - the fascist super-hero - is way worse. Had Harry been that, for instance, he would have ended up ruling the wizarding world. Would that have been better for its democracy? A 19-year-old PM who knows nothing about the law or justice or diplomacy? A venerated war hero drunk on power? Instead, JK Rowling chooses the milder way out: Harry and his friends do change the system - little by little, and within the limits of the genre. Hermione becomes the equivalent of a human rights lawyer, while Harry and Ron join the Aurors (and I know there’s a lot of justified suspicion towards law enforcement, but frankly having good people in their ranks is still the only way to move things forward. It’s been years and I still haven’t heard a practical suggestion as to how a police-less nation would work). As for the government, it is restored to a fairer status quo - again, not the revolution many readers wanted, but also not the totalitarian monarchies or oligarchies or the super-hero’s world.

And as to how one can write a story that’s actually revolutionary - I don’t exactly know. Some writers rely on multiple narrating voices to try and escape the heroic trope; others work on bleak stories which point out the flaws in the system and stop short of solving them. I guess that, in the end, is one of the problem with left-wing politics: they’re simply less eye-catching, less cinematic. On the whole, it’s dull, boring work, the victories achieved by committees and celebrated with a piece of paper. From a literary point of view, it just doesn’t work.

[beyond-crusading]

Saladin: a tolerant knight opposing fanatical Christians ?

Saladin achieved amazing political and military success: from a humble Kurdish officer in Nur ed-Din's army, he became the Sultan of Egypt, Mosul and Damas. In 1187, he crushed the Frankish army in Hattin and took back Jerusalem. Surprisingly, his fame in the Muslim world was short-lived: in the 14th century, the great historian Ibn Khaldun only mentions him in passing in his universal history...

In the West, in the contrary, Saladin was not forgotten. But he was not remembered - as we may except - as the faithless conqueror who had committed the awful crime of depriving Christians of Jerusalem. Even though his conquests were known, medieval authors started as soon as the early 13th century to present Saladin in a very positive light: Saladin was brave, chivalrous, courteous. As time went on, he started to be depicted as a perfect knight, whose only flaw was not being Christian.

This very positive perception of Saladin as an honorable and knightly enemy was transmitted to us in almost direct line since the early 1230s. The epics of the 13th-14th century and the "romans de chevalerie" of the 15th century made him into an honorable pagan, earning him the right to appear in limbos next to Homer and Socrates in Dante's Divine Comedy. The Enlightenment philosophers then saw Saladin as an ideal of tolerance. 20th and 21th century movies generally represent him by mixing these two traditions. For example, Kingdom of Heaven (2005) by Ridley Scott presents Saladin as an honorable enemy, tolerant of all faiths, wanting nothing more than to live peacefully with the Christians.

Saladin’s mercy in Kingdom of Heaven (2005)

This narrative, however, has been challenged by historians ! So I'd like to correct a few common misconceptions about him and the events of 1187:

1) Saladin wanted to live in peace with the Christians.

One thing you need to understand about Saladin is that he SEVERELY lacked legitimacy. He was a Kurdish general leading Turkish troops ruling over Arabs, and seized power in the Muslim world by revolting against his former lord, Nur ed-Din. Until the end of the 1180s, he waged an relentless war against the unarguably legitimate heirs of Nur ed-Din.

So how did he justify his conquests ? Like Nur ed-Din had done before him, he tried to be seen as a devout Muslim ruler. Maybe he wasn't the legitimate heir, but he would be the pious leader the world needed, who would defeat both heretics and crusaders.

The first act of his political career was to depose the Shiite Fatimid Caliphate of Egypt: he used this to boast his legitimacy by presenting himself as the defender of Sunni Islam.

But this wasn't enough. He needed to convince the Muslim world to support his rebellion against the Zengids aka the most powerful Muslim dynasty that had emerged for a hundred years. So Saladin turned to djihad.

Djihad was the religious belief that Muslims should expand the Dar al-islam (the territory ruled by Muslim rulers) by military conquest. Since the time he became Sultan of Egypt, Saladin based his legitimacy on the idea that he would be the one to retake Syria from the Christians.

But Saladin had to assert his power in the Muslim world first. This led to him to a situation where he had to fight the Zengids at home (in order to stay in power) and the Crusaders States in Syria (to bolster the legitimacy he needed to win against the Zengids, and to avoid being accused of hypocrisy).

He did the logical thing: take care of the Zengids first, while trying to limit wars with the Crusaders, and then attack the Crusaders, with all the resources of the former Zengid empire at his disposal.

A plan which eventually worked !

So suggesting Saladin wanted to live in peace with the Christians would be absurd: considering his lack of legitimacy, it would have been a sort of political suicide.

Also, we have no reason to doubt that he was a sincere believer in djihad, and saw it as an important religious obligation for any Muslim leader in a capacity to do so.

2) Saladin was courteous and merciful.

It's undeniable that Saladin had a certain... humanitarian side to his personality. He seems to have been ready to free prisoners and show mercy in some occasions.

HOWEVER his most famous acts of personal generosity - the ones accomplished during his campaign of 1187-1188 - were in his best interest, as they were part of a policy to encourage Christian lords to surrender their towns and castles to him. This would allow him to quickly conquer Syria, before the arrival of reinforcements from the West.

His generosity was not devoid of political calculations.

The courteous deeds of Saladin are reported with great praise in many of our Christian sources. The traditional understanding of the events of 1187 is mostly based on The Old French Continuations of William of Tyre, an extremely valuable primary source, but strongly aligned with the ideological and political interests of the Latin States ruling elite. This encouraged the autor(s) to emphasise Saladin's generosity, for three reasons:

- The idea of the "honorable pagan enemy" was very popular in medieval epics and romans

- The greater the enemy, the more acceptable the defeat

- Writing about Saladin's great courtesy helped justify the actions of the lords who had given over their cities to Saladin without much - or any ! - fighting.

Not only Saladin had a reason to be merciful, the chroniclers aligned with Holy Land lords had every interest to report it.

Thankfully other sources allow us to understand how Saladin was perceived by other contemporaries, who were not members of the ruling class:

- The Libellus de Expugnatione Terrae Sanctae, written by a mere soldier who fought at the siege of Jerusalem, expresses a deep feeling of betrayal against Balian of Ibelin and the other Christians who had chosen to "sell the city of God" to a Pagan King.

- The letters sent at the time (my research topic for this year !) give us a sense of the shock and horror that seized the contemporaries. There was certainly no admiration of Saladin's virtues there, nor any discussion of his great deeds.

A not very positive depiction of Saladin in a Latin manuscript

3. Reynald of Châtillon and Gerard of Ridefort were fanatics and idiots

Gerard (master of the Templars) and Reynald (lord of Kerak) were both highly experienced military commanders who knew exactly what they were doing. They were part of the faction which favored quick action against Saladin, before the unification of his empire. This was very sound strategical reasoning. Looking back, we see that Saladin's situation was precarious: if he suffered too much defeats at the hands of the Crusaders, and if he had to fight on two fronts at once, he would probably have lost. The truces favored by the other faction, led by Raymond of Tripoli, allowed him the time to strengthen his control on the Muslim empire.

When Reynald launched his famous raid on the Red Sea - threatening the Hedjaz, the birthplace of Islam, and raiding close to Medina, where the Prophet was buried - he dealt a devastating blow to Saladin: even if no long term teritorial gain was made, Saladin's legitimacy was badly damaged. How could he call himself the protector of faith, if he couldn't even protect the pilgrims on the road to Mecca, and the Holy city of Medina ! A few of these blows and Saladin could very well have lost his grasp on the Muslim world...

The incident that led to the campaign of 1187 and the defeat at Hattin - the raid launched by Reynald on a caravan despite the truce signed between Saladin and the King of Jerusalem - was another very calculated move. His goal was to force another war between the King and the Sultan, at a time when King Guy didn't want to go to war against Saladin. In Reynald's eyes, any delay would only give Saladin more time to unify his empire and prepare his troops.

So, were they fanatics ? Maybe. Were they idiots ? Certainly not.

A pretty unsubtle representation of Reynald and Gerard’s position in Kingdom of Heaven (2005)

(If you read this far I'm very grateful ! This took a long time to write !)

[oristromboli]

If You Be Our Star, We’ll Be Your Sky | 3

Chapter 3: Straw Dogs

Childe cocks an eyebrow, smirk barely melting into a snarl. “And what would you know? You stay behind the scenes while the rest of us do real work.”

Scaramouche's slow smile is poisonous and laced with contempt as he hisses, “You should know there is a Liyue saying that goes ‘Heaven and Earth are impartial, treating all creatures like straw dogs.’ When the sacrifices have fulfilled their purpose, they are discarded because there is no more use and care for such worthless objects. Didn’t dear Morax tell you of this philosophy himself, Childe?”

(Smut this chapter: Zhongli/Childe)

In your dreams, you hear maniacal laughter ring around you. Somehow the emptiness begins to oscillate, reaching towards you with endless gnarled limbs and bloodshot eyes that won’t stop watching. You back into a wall that wasn’t there before, unforgiving edges all but flaying the skin on your back as you try to escape.

They’re coming.

You turn and run. There’s a golden light beckoning you, so you urge your legs to go faster, but the light never gets closer. If anything, it grows more distant. This path will end in madness.

They’re coming.

You decide a new route to traverse before those twisted hands seize you. When was there water? Is it water? It grows thicker, warmer, rises to your knees, your chest, your throat. You can’t breath. You’re drowning.

They’re coming. And you’re alone.

 ---

 You feel a hand on your shoulder gently shaking you awake, fear seizing your throat in a silent gasp as you try to orient yourself. You’re okay, you’re okay, just breathe, you’re okay. When you look to your right, Aether’s golden eyes meet your own as he stands near your bed with the Seelie fastidiously hanging by his side. Sweat glistens on his forehead and his pupils are blown too.

Neither of you say anything as you open your blanket and he crawls in to join you, tucking against your side to hide his face. Each night spent chained to this world you witness a new side to Aether as he comes undone at the seams.

He and Lumine were inseparable. She shouldered all his secrets, as he did hers. When they rescued you that night so many centuries ago, you promised to safeguard the two of them while they covered each other. You did not need to know everything that happened between them and before your arrival, just as they did not ask for you to fill all the holes in their understanding of you.

This night – the night immediately after facing a fallen god’s wrath – you both hug each other tightly. Is this how it felt to be on the other end of the heavens’ sword? Though Zhongli left Liyue to fend for themselves as a test, you still cannot help but feel angry with the silence of your own people as you were both abandoned without care.

Realization dawns through that cracked armor about how broken you both feel without your divine powers. How cold without that eternal light, Lumine. What did she feel in her last moments, what hatred for the skies?

Still, this is enough. Sorrow needs a place to sleep, needs hands to hold its delicate shape and say it is alright. It is not always loud, nor sharp, nor clean. Sometimes, it just needs a place to rest until morning.

“I miss her,” he mumbles, barely audible above your own heartbeat.

“Me too.”

This is enough.

 ---

 Xiao turns his head, heeds the all too familiar calls of a nightmare. Just call his name Aether, just utter it once and he’ll be there. When silence is all that greets him, Xiao instead follows that smokey trail until he comes upon the inn’s room. The fight with Osial is fresh in his mind, so he imagines the same must be said of Aether and yourself. Both of you hold the other tightly, blissfully unaware of the vigilante keeping watch.

Xiao wants to lean forward, to brush Aether’s hair out of his face and say it’s alright, but he refrains from encroaching more than he already is. Instead, the adeptus leaves an offering of herbs that relax the mind on the windowsill for their discovery.

When the morning arrives, Aether is the first to wake and finds the gift left behind. Even if there’s no name attached, he knows precisely who left it. A boyish smile breaks on his face as he leans out the window to smell the fresh air and, admittedly, try to catch sight of the adeptus. “Thank you, Xiao,” Aether murmurs with the full force of his sincerity, pure and golden. “I don’t know if you can hear me, but come to me whenever you can’t sleep either. Maybe I can sing you a lullaby.”

Do adepti even sleep? Aether shakes his head at himself, but he doesn’t stop smiling. He hopes that one day, the yaksha will take him up on his offer.

On the inn’s rooftop overlooking Liyue Harbor, Xiao’s heart flickers with hope.

 ---

 Childe flexes his arm, raising his fist back and forth to test the ligaments and muscles. They work fine, but he still feels that dark electricity pulsing; in some ways, he feels as though he’s the marionette being strung along. The Foul Legacy Transformation always collects its toll, and each day Tartaglia fights, he fights to gain the strength to beat back that beast that lingers in his peripheral.

He wonders if each time he transforms, a bit more of his soul returns to the abyss, how soon the day will come that the Harbinger is dragged back. Though, if the Tsaritsa ever catches wind, he’s sure the ever-curious and macabre Dottore would become his new best friend. How nice. If that’s not depressing, he’s not sure what is.

“Childe,” Zhongli calls. He snaps out of his reverie and an easy smile slides back into place, fitting perfectly with his wayward good looks. The ex-god is staring at him, gripping his bowl of noodles and wielding his chopsticks with a deft precision Childe knows he’ll never achieve.

He wonders how many people have been killed by those hands.

“You appear lost in thought once more,” Zhongli rumbles, stare becoming more intense.

“Ah! Forgive me, I am just reflecting on my trip with Teucer. Took a bit out of me, ya know,” he replies, shrugging genially. Best not to dwell on the negatives. Though it took many long hours of meditation – he still remembers his frustration at just trying to sit still because who the fuck does that willingly – at Zhongli’s suggestion, no less, Tartaglia finds it easier to manage his impulsive thoughts before they follow the most practical (cynical) route. After all, he’s trained warrior and follows one rule: ‘Don’t let the enemy see you bleed.’

“I see.”

Well shit. Broke rule number one.

The pair are sitting at one of the tables at Liuli Pavilion at the god’s behest; it’s been a handful of weeks since the… incident, and barely one since Teucer decided to surprise him. They’ve met more often than perhaps the last months leading up to the fateful encounter at the Golden House, especially with Childe’s time in Liyue coming to a close within the week. Each spare moment is split between the Travelers and Zhongli. At first, Childe admits, he dragged the former Archon along to properly size him up, try to understand where exactly he fucked up his estimations of his character. Though he’s been called back to Zapolyarny Palace, Childe notes that the order recalling him does not say to stop observing Zhongli.

So he does just that. It’s for the Tsaritsa, he tries justifying to himself, nothing more than selfish curiosity. Yeah, that sounds about right.

Not for the first time, Tartaglia ignores this… intensity in his chest, burning traitorously bright and intense and passionate when he sees the god. Childe thinks back to his journey of how this came about: orders turned to curiosity, turned to attempted manipulations, turned to genuine fondness and betrayal and – and –

As though reading his thoughts, Zhongli puts down the bowl, his full attention on Tartaglia now. Great. “It is more than Teucer and your injuries. Did you truly recover?”

“Yeah, of course. I’m always getting stronger, remember?” Right?

Amber eyes narrow. “Did you recover?”

Ah.

“Mm, yeah, still trying to figure out how you managed to guess so easily that I would resort to summoning Osial to get to you.” They both know he’s lying through his teeth, but Zhongli thankfully plays along this time.

“To be fair, your character is straight forward.”

Childe laughs, bright and genuine for the first time this conversation. “I, Tartaglia, am the Eleventh Harbinger of the Fatui! The Vanguard of the Harbingers. How dare you say that I am so easy to read, when I have always been the first sent to initiate bloodshed, as according to our many long and boring schemes.” The last parts of his sentence fizzles out as his nose curls in distaste. Show no weakness. “Well, in any case, you know I never enjoyed that stuff anyway. Take it head on or don’t at all.”

Zhongli nods, understanding his meaning. Childe maneuvers his head to find amber eyes and raises his eyebrows, suggestive and giddy; he saw in Zhongli an intelligent man before, but now? Oh, oh! A battleworthy opponent. Maybe the god picked up on his not-so-subtle hints for a fight?

“I am still not going to spar you.”

Worth a shot.

“Ah, well, I tried.” Childe reaches for a pair of chopsticks and tries again. When both men watch as the Fatui manages to pick up a piece of meat without trouble, there’s a sudden shift in the atmosphere, warm and nostalgic. It settles deep between them.

“You know…” Childe starts, looking at Zhongli, really looking at him, soft eyes reflecting something foreign in those ocean blues. “I appreciate your consideration for me. Really. You won, fair and square, checkmate and all. I hope to one day be able to manipulate the battlefield as excellently.”

Zhongli returns his smile, and Childe ignores the something that falls in his heart. “Understanding your opponents is half the battle, both literally and figuratively,” the god laughs, clearly amused at his own play on words. He joins in, if only to indulge the silly man.

Another silence. He looks around them and releases a deep sigh. Yeah, okay, he can admit privately that this is nice.

“Do you ever feel bad about it?” he asks suddenly, surprising them both. Now, where the fuck did that come from?

When he thinks of you, Childe feels something else, something cold settle beside his confusion, a sensation he hasn’t felt in a long time. Guilt. Of course, his companion understands the unspoken implications, eyes falling to the ring Childe wears. Both men still remember vividly how violently you three reacted, all teeth and pain and fury bared. He has long since made peace with you, but…

He looks to the boats on the ocean, swaying back and forth, back and forth. His heart moves with them. Something feels unsettled, unsaid… A loose thread. Childe’s heart squeezes at that thought. Fantastic.

“I have no regrets,” Zhongli replies, tone firm and final, clearly choosing his words carefully and mindful for any straining ears. “I did what was best. Moves and countermoves. All things can be bargained in the end, and Liyue won its right to be independent that day.”

Blue eyes narrow. “Bargained?  You mean bought?” He rolls the word around his tongue, tasting it. Yeah, no. Tastes like shit. “You think people can be treated like that so easily?”

Neither of them needs to say it, but both know of the lingering bitterness towards the Tsaritsa. Childe adores her attitude of achieving harmony at any cost, including war, but the underhanded nature of being used himself makes him feel less like a general and more like a pawn. Even there, in Liyue’s hot climate, is her frozen heart felt. However, Zhongli narrows his own eyes. “Are you not the leader of the Northland Bank?”

Childe scoffs and is the first to break the impromptu staring contest. “That’s different, people knew what they were getting into. They didn’t. I… I made a mistake and apologized, but still. It feels… Wrong. I feel wrong.”

“Because you feel as though you sunk to the Tsaritsa’s level?” Zhongli’s soft voice tugs Childe back into looking at him, and he immediately regrets it. Oh. Oh man. He’s very… intensely feeling something for this man. What is it? Everything and nothing. Fondness, yes, warmth, yes, but nothing of that garbage in those cheap romance novels his sisters love to read. Nothing… fuzzy, because truly no, that’s not right either, doesn’t feel right. Childe swallows and nods.

“Yeah,” he croaks. Wow. Really pathetic, but whatever, all pretenses are gone now between them. Right? “We’re good now, yeah? We’re being honest with each other? Have been? Will be?” Childe winces lightly at how quickly he rattled those off like he’s trying to reassure himself more than Zhongli. In a way, he is.

“We are, have been, will be,” the consultant responds, voice lighter and taking Childe’s heart with him.

“Cool.”

A beat.

“But you still didn’t answer my question. Do you really think of us mort- people so low?”

Something else emerges, not unfamiliar when he thinks of the god. Frustration, irritation. Nothing new, but again, not right either.

Zhongli tilts his head, not unlike a cat with golden pupils in slits. Ah, he’s cute, cute in the same way the furry little creatures are before they leap at their prey. The god rolls his head briefly like he’s trying to shake his own thoughts out, untangle them.

From what?

“Do you wish for my response as a mortal, or as my… previous station?”

Ah. Choosing between which face to use. Tartaglia understands this intimately and finds another piece of common ground to stand with the old god.

“Both.”

“Mortals fascinate me, and for the first time in a very, very long time, I am afforded the luxury of… Walking as one. Experiencing life as they do.”

“Wait wait wait wait – “ Childe is shaking his head and holds up his hands. “You say that as if being… you is so different. Is it?”

“In a way, it is,” Zhongli nods. “As someone of my age, knowing of the limitless future, there is no need to attempt to comprehend anything beyond the next battle, the next project for my people. What time wounds will be mended by time once more. If we are being honest –“

“We are.”

“I never cared for understanding the inner workings to life. I could not during those days, I stood as the stone shield to protect my companions. Instead, I faced my problems head on, relentless and straightforward and precise. Actions and emotions were separated; one could not reflect upon the other during times of conflict.”

Childe huffs in a half-hearted laugh. He always pitied the unfortunate souls caught in Zhongli’s spear. “I think I’m starting to see your point Zhongli. Our once-gentle Tsaritsa understands this reality intimately, especially now that she declared the world her enemy to achieve peace.”

“In essence, for the Cryo Archon believes gentleness and humanity to be weaknesses these days.”

“I hear a ‘but’ somewhere in there, though.”

“My friend… Guizhong, she… She understood mortals, encouraged me to watch them and learn, sought for me to unlock what she claimed was true strength. Many weaker gods have passed, their spirits barely a whisper and their memories all but forgotten. Stronger deities, such as Osial, will never truly depart but just slumber for the opportunity to rise again. Even some Adepti linger if they do not choose reincarnation. So then, what did she mean by ‘true strength’? I did not understand.” Zhongli’s voice cracks briefly, so Childe’s hand reaches across the table to grasp the other’s. He offers a comforting smile, a rare sight on a Harbinger’s face, but he regards Zhongli as a truly rare companion worthy of his undying loyalty.

Zhongli returns it and Childe’s heart flutters. He knows that he’s just a mortal, what can he do to protect the God of War? Still, if he can at least stave off some of those bad memories, then it’s worth it. The man rubs slow circles on the god’s hand to ground him to the present.

“As the years passed, I observed. In the end, we are all the same. I have found that a singular purpose guides each individual and drives their spirit to fight, to linger, to be born anew and try again. Understanding that guiding desire is the key to establishing proper contracts.”

“Mm, so, basically, there’s an order to life?” he responds, poking fun at Zhongli’s motto to lighten the atmosphere. Childe’s shit-eating grin grows wide at Zhongli’s dry, unimpressed look that crosses his face. Still, there’s a hint of fondness and gratitude, if Childe squints hard enough. Hey now, he can’t be disappointed in the Fatui’s little jab considering the absolutely dad-styled joke he made earlier.

“Indeed. Gods, adepti, and people can therefore be bought. All things can, even an Archon’s gnosis. We are all equal in that respect.”

Childe nods and retracts his hand to stab a piece of meat with his chopsticks. Nothing threatening, he just needs a way to guide his thoughts. There must be some dubious psychology, though, in deciding his brain is the piece of meat he just committed casual violence against.

The Fatui can’t help but wonder if Zhongli is still missing the big picture in deciding that life can be simplified to a series of contractual choices, even if it eases the immortal’s pain of losing the things he values most over and over again. Then again, does Childe even know what that picture looks like himself? “I get debts, but this feels different, y’know? I understand the value of connections and people more intimately than most, but… People aren’t things. You can’t completely own them for the sake of having them.”

(Morax, the glaze lilies around him whisper, you cannot hoard people.)

“Then,” Zhongli says, ignoring the voices of times past, “What do you call your collection of these valuable people?”

Childe laughs, full and bright and roguish. “Give and take, my friend! Give and take. All things must be equal in the end as you said yourself, no?”

 ---

 “Why him?”

The Tsaritsa’s icy gaze pierces his own, and Zhongli’s lips quirk up, the only indication of any betraying thoughts lurking behind that stony visage.

They both know he allowed her to the courtesy of witnessing it.

“Your other Harbingers all lurk within the shadows, but from what you describe, Tartaglia wields them like a weapon. He is a refined tool for chaos. No one else is mad enough to summon a long-dead deity.”

“Whatever I ask of my Harbingers, they will bring. Signora can summon Osial all the same. So, I ask again, why him?” Her eyes challenge him, demonstrating her confidence in front of the oldest of the Seven.

How arrogant of her.

“Two Archons already lay their claim on him, do they not? Vision and Delusion,” he replies.

“Moves and countermoves.”

“So why not him, Tsaritsa?”

Her biting laugh suddenly rings out, bouncing against the ice around them. “Morax, you are indeed cruel for nothing to escape you. Perhaps he is perfect for your plans, then, as malleable as that boy is. Very well. I will assign him to Liyue.”

Zhongli’s fists curl behind his back. So little regard for the mortals under her charge, so little care.

The Tsaritsa waves her hand dismissively. “It is merely coincidence that the boy is favored. He just embodies the valued qualities of our nations, I assure you. You will find him most agreeable.”

One eyebrow arches. “Whether I find him agreeable is irrelevant. As long as he fulfills his designated purpose, I am content.”

She looks at him, studies him. “Indeed.”

 ---

 “Why him?”

Zhongli looks to Ganyu, curious and gentle eyes flickering between his. They stand on Mt. Tianheng, watching the harbor rebuild. It’s been a few hours since his lunch with Childe, and he agreed to meet with one of his most loyal – and oldest – friends afterwards. Ganyu is one of the few adepti who have,  presently, seen him physically outside of gifted visions and dreams. He was always fond of her company, even if the young qilin has an unwavering habit of napping precisely when it was most inconvenient.

“You have taken many lovers over the years, participated in contractual commitment, as per customary of your gifts. Never with someone so impish, though. Why him?” Her questions are not frigid, imperial, challenging; no, she asks out of genuine concern and care for his wellbeing. Always the soothing soul.

He smiles at her. “It is because of his impish behaviors I find him so interesting.” Turning back towards the harbor, he pauses for a beat before continuing. “This is not the first time I have courted and taken lovers, and eventually, he too discovered my real identity. All of my lovers understood precisely who they were engaging themselves with.”

Her eyes follow his to the harbor, lost in thought. Idly, she reaches for some leaves in a silk flower shrub to her right, tempted to pluck its leaves to eat. A nervous habit. “Yes. But none were so disrespectful.”

Zhongli chuckles, rich and true, no longer burdened with maintaining appearances. “You are correct. His treatment of me did not change after learning of my identity, the first mortal to dare such behavior. No, he still treats me as his equal, not as a god. He cared for me at first as an enemy, but now, his heart pours generosity regardless of old wounds and without expectation of anything in return.”

Give and take. Childe is breaking his own rules once again.

Soft lips curl around your name, Ganyu’s questions endless now that it has been unleashed. “What of her? Why? She is the first immortal you have been enamored with since the glaze lilies wilted.”

Zhongli crosses his arms and closes his eyes, contemplating his answer. A distant and wistful expression breaks, though Ganyu cannot see it. “Because the Travelers are most curious beings. They have shared in burdens similar to my own, and I find it comforting to know that there are others who understand deeply what I feared to be alone in ever since she left.”

The waters of time have worn away his stone heart, and yet… He feels renewed, like spring has finally arrived after leaving him so many lifetimes ago.

“Celestia’s burdens are now put to rest, Ganyu. Where before I did not end my duties for fear of a lack of purpose beyond that point, I realize now that I am free to pursue what I could never have. Serendipity would have it that I have found attractive companions to walk it with. Perhaps this is her final trial for me.”

“But, Zhongli… She is not Guizhong.” The unspoken warning lingers in the air.

(Do not dishonor living company with the memories of those long dead.)

“I know.” Soft leather creaks as his fingers tighten.

(I won’t.)

She fears for her master’s softened soul, though she remains too loyal to speak.

Ganyu’s lips purse and she thinks once again of those reflective blue eyes, of Tartaglia’s fierce dedication to duty and love of battle, of how he cares only for the satisfaction of the next victory. She thinks of a younger Morax, tall and proud as he led their people to glory with jade shields and obsidian spears.

What, then, is Tartaglia trying to protect?

How interesting that this mortal mirrors so much of the deity before her; the birth of one, the death of another.

“The timing is interesting for your mortal paramour as well; do you not agree?” She hesitates, attempting to choose her next words with, perhaps, greater care than she does for the Qixing. “How she falls from the heavens, how he walks into your life now that you are free to explore it.”

Zhongli waves his hand dismissively before he catches himself. “Merely coincidence.”

Ganyu narrows her eyes this time. “You do not believe in coincidence.”

He doesn’t respond.

 ---

 Ajax sits in his bed, flipping his dagger around and around, vulnerable and alone in his thoughts. The new moon gives way to a blanket of stars, distant but lingering nonetheless. When the man looks to his left, the chopsticks Zhongli gave him those many months ago rest undisturbed.

He grins then, uninhibited delight gleaming. “Well well well, anything can be mastered, right?” It’s not like he’s going to be able to sleep anytime soon with the way his mind races. Ajax groans as he reaches over to grasp the utensils and stands, stretching out the day’s stress.

He has time to prove Zhongli wrong, he can master these infernal sticks or he doesn’t deserve the title of Eleventh Harbinger of the Fatui. At the very least, he wants to eat a full meal with the man without resorting to just stabbing his food because that’s just downright pathetic. The Harbinger looks out his window again to the sky, a twinkle in his eye, before turning around, set on finding some leftovers to practice on.

The stars certainly appreciate the ensuing clumsy entertainment.

 ---

 Another day, another meal. Come on, Childe tells himself, this is it, this will be the one-

The noodles slide out of his chopsticks’ grip, and he sighs, tossing his head back and running his left hand through his orange locks. “Pretty sure I’m just cursed at this point…”

He smiles when he hears Zhongli snickering with at least some decency to try to cover his mouth.

“You know, the Travelers have no issue applying themselves to those tools, so why do you?” Childe snorts, but only kicks the other under the table.

“I’ve seen the way you look at her, you know,” he starts casually. Zhongli looks at him, eyebrow quirked, but a smirk emerges nonetheless.

“Oh? Is this another one of your jokes, Childe?”

He laughs, shaking his head with a mischievous expression to match. “Nah. It’s okay, you know, I don’t mind. Our little… Stress relief is not exclusive.” At that, Zhongli’s eyes narrow. He slowly leans forward and steeples his gloved fingers, resting his chin on them, deep in thought. Was it… Did Zhongli not believe him? “ ‘m being honest,” he says as he raises his hands in a show of peace.

“I know you are. Which is why I’m curious.”

Childe gulps, suddenly very aware of the scrutiny he’s put under. He has nothing to hide, but Zhongli’s boring into him like the man grew a second head. “About what?”

The god leans back and picks up his chopsticks, apparently having decided on whatever it is that Childe just blurted. He doesn’t respond, but his shoulders shake with contained laughter like he’s in on some inside joke, and oh, the asshole. “Hey, don’t pretend you didn’t hear me. About what?”

Amber eyes flick up at him, amusement just rolling off of him in waves. “About why you did not pursue her yourself. You are not the only observant one here.”

Whatever happened to don’t let them see you bleed? He winces and starts a plastic laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. Why does the old man never pull any punches? “Ah, well, y’know…” A gloved hand waves around pathetically, trying to somehow grab the words out of thin air to explain for him. “She’s just so distant. And angry. And strong.”

“Like that ever stopped you. As a matter of fact,” Zhongli purrs, “I recall that exciting you.”

“Har har, just don’t go around telling everyone about my kinks, alright? Besides, we started this little thing of ours before that whole fiasco, but don’t get me wrong, this is just all pent-up tension. She isn’t afraid to fight me, like you. Gotta get my sick kicks somewhere else,” Childe grins, eyes daring the other to take the bait.

“Mm, I am not fighting you, comrade.”

“Damn it.”

“But you are simply proving my point, you never back down from a challenge. So why then?” Shit, he has a point. Why didn’t he? Childe only grunts and reaches for a dumpling, intent on trying again and thoroughly exasperated that Zhongli is just deflecting his own curiosity.

“You tell me,” Childe drawls, long and sarcastic. “I thought dear Morax always got what he wanted?” Zhongli sighs and closes his eyes, frustration bubbling forth. Yeah, okay, Childe was being immature, he’ll admit it. Zhongli can go screw himself though, the guy was being annoyingly spot-on.

“Funny how an equally possessive man accuses me as such. I suppose… it did not feel right to start something that is – as you describe it – ‘stress relief’ after the incident. Not with her,” Zhongli’s jaw tightens before he resumes eating, adamant at leaving it like that. Still, Childe nods sagely and without irony this time around. Yeah, that’s a good way to describe it. His feelings for you were no different than his own towards Zhongli, but it was also… Not the same. Your name tastes different in his mouth, left his heart twisting differently, tensing differently.

Otherworldly.

“Gonna have to wait for the bird to want to fly back into the nest this time around after we angered the Travelers, huh?” Yeah, ‘pretty bird’ is probably Childe’s greatest stroke of playful genius, the name seems to suit you in every way he can think of.

His companion grumbles something under his breath before gracing him with an indignant response. “Do you best understand these delicate matters only in terms of the bloody hunter and frightful hunted?”

“You got me there, Zhongli.” With a wolfish grin, he grabs the bottle of baijiu and pours a drink for himself. Oh, how he misses Fire-Water… Soon, Childe reminds himself, soon. “You were right that day, you know. I don’t like losing control over what’s mine. We always tried to win some battle with each other, and we knew what we were doing, even when it was playing the Tsaritsa’s game. The amazing sex was just another aspect to our business relationship in finding the enemy’s weakness.”

Zhongli snorts into his cup. “Do you sleep with all of your business associates?”

“Fuck off, you know you wanted it too. But her? Not all the bargaining chips are on the table. She keeps it pretty close to the chest, and I try not to walk into enemy territory blind. Not always successful though, obviously.”

Zhongli hums along. “You can guess what my next moves are now that you understand who and what I am.”

“Yeah, and at least Aether and the stir-fry have the decency of telling me what’s going on in their head by being obnoxiously loud about it,” Childe grunts. “Not her, though. Not really. I don’t trust her ‘openness,’ nobody shows their emotions that easily. Even blondie and his pet gremlin try to hide some things, but I recognize the way she looks at them when they do a poor job. It’s how she looked at me when I tried to lie to Teucer.” Childe’s nose crinkles fondly at the memory of the loyal knight’s desperate attempts to protect his brother. “I’d say it’s a fair bet whether she would kiss me or kill me first and I wouldn’t be able to stop her. But hey, adds to the thrill of it all.”

“Your masochism will be the death of you one day. Do you have a single care for your well-being? Truly?” Zhongli’s deadpan words are purely rhetorical because they both know the answer.

“Hey! I listen to the doctor when I need to.”

��Mm, and do you pull rank on this Fatui doctor as well?”

“Well, who’s keeping track anyway?”

The god only smiles, affection radiating from his being. “My friend, I treasure our conversations. I will surely miss them.” Childe smiles and laughs with him. He feels good. Yeah. Zhongli makes him feel good. What he feels is thrilled, excited, electrified, but most importantly, genuinely welcomed.

(Welcomed, accepted, cared for. His heart lurches. No right word can describe this, describe how the strange not-humans from Teyvat and beyond took him in without question.)

He’ll miss this too, he concedes without a shred of shame, even if it’s a bittersweet feeling.

“Now then,” Zhongli coughs, before looking back up with the gall to appear sheepish. “About paying for our meal…”

“Oh, fuck you.”

 ---

 Childe’s knuckles rap against Zhongli’s door before pushing it open, pleased but not surprised as the door gives way without protest. He steps inside and removes his shoes by the doorway before padding down the hall, the smell of bamboo shoot soup permeating the hallways. When he enters the kitchen, he finds Zhongli sitting at the table with a bowl already in hand.

“Aw, you started without me?” Childe pouts but steps up to the table nonetheless. Zhongli huffs in amusement.

“I heard you walking up the steps and took the liberty of beginning.”

“Of course you did,” the other replies while rolling his eyes. They finish their meals in peace with little banter flowing between them. After all, both felt the weight of this last night together. As Childe gathers the dishes to place in the sink, he mulls over his own decision for coming over to the ex-Archon’s den. Lust pools in his gut and his selfish body wants to taste Zhongli’s skin one more time. That’s all it is. Pure lust.

As gloved hands slide around his waist, slow and easy, Zhongli perches his head on Childe’s shoulder and rumbles deeply, “Lost in thought, are we?”

He snorts and turns around, tugging the other closer so their hips are flush against each other. When he adjusts himself to a better position, innocent eyes blinking, Zhongli gasps as his own body bucks forward, looking for more friction. “Mm, just wondering what I’ll have to do to get you to show me your hoard, comrade.”

The other man grumbles, but it’s half-hearted and disguises the increases sounds of pleasure threatening to claw out of his throat. “O-Oh? And what makes you think this will aid your investigations?”

Childe flashes his teeth wickedly as he leans down to nip at the other’s ear, all gentle foreplay gone as he immediately bites hard enough to draw blood with his canines. Zhongli groans as he grabs the other’s shoulders, squeezing with force shy enough to break bone. “Don’t underestimate my tactics, comrade,” he purrs. Zhongli looks at him, eyes hooded and panting before he keens when Childe’s hand slides down to cup his half-hard bulge.

At the insistent whining, Childe leans forward and captures his lips, shoving the other forward and off of him. Zhongli grunts but follows his orders obediently as Childe maneuvers them to the bedroom before he sits down on the bed, yanking the former Archon by the tie to his knees. He falls and leans forward, begging for another kiss as his eyes keep staring at Childe’s plump lips. The man obliges and delights at the speed he’s given permission to explore. Fuck, who would’ve thought that Rex Lapis would be such a bitch when you kiss him right?

He pulls back and smirks at the shivering mess before him that shuffles forward to nudge Childe’s straining bulge and lick along the clothess concealing it. “Look at you,” Childe coos, “you’re so pathetic, you want my cock that badly, huh?”

“Y-yes,” Zhongli rasps and moans brokenly when Childe’s hands snake into his hair to pull him up off his knees slightly, his own hands grasping Childe’s thighs for purchase. When the Harbinger ups the ante by reaching his right hand down the other’s pants to grab his leaking cock, hard, Zhongli nearly shouts as his face twists in pleasure. “Please, Childe, more. I want more – “ His voice cuts off into another broken moan when Childe gives a few leisurely pumps, blue eyes watching the other wickedly.

“You want? Comrade, just what do you think an interrogation is? You don’t get to want anything,” he growls and retreats, suddenly letting go of the other. Zhongli’s eyes shoot open as he falls down again. Fuck, the way his chest heaves as his face is flushed with blatant desire threatens Childe’s composure. No, no, that won’t do, Zhongli doesn’t get to command him like this.

He curls his lips as his boot moves forward, gently rubbing at Zhongli’s erection. The sob that erupts is thrilling, and Childe’s lust-addled ego rears its ugly head when he notices the other gasping incoherent praises between breaths. “Please, please, please, do not tease me like this on your final night Childe, please. Forgive me, but I want your cock, I need it.”

Childe’s characteristic laugh bubbles forth as he clutches the other’s throat to silence him. “My, you’re agreeable like this. Did anybody ever tell you that you get to be so chatty when you want to be fucked? Pathetic,” he whispers, but a cruel pleasure unfurls as he watches Zhongli come undone with each degrading word. “You really like that, huh? Who else has talked down to the great Rex Lapis like this, hm? Answer me.”

“O-only you,” Zhongli gasps. “Only you.”

“Good.” Childe’s smile grows affectionate and he releases his grip before kissing the other again. It would be chaste if not for the insistent pawing at Zhongli’s clothes. “Strip for me.”

The god obeys, immediately tugging his own clothes off. Still, even in the throes of pleasure does he perform every action so meticulously, so carefully; he folds his clothes and places them on a nearby chair, and Childe’s heart flutters with fondness. Of course this stupid man would be so fussy during sex, of course. But that thought only sparks another – oh, by the Archons, he’s going to ruin this man and mark him for weeks after. Let’s see Zhongli deal with that problem.

Who even cares that the god can probably heal his wounds in minutes? If anything, that drives the warrior further in his madness to make the other bleed.

Zhongli stands before him, bare and glorious, his throbbing cock pink and leaking driblets of shimmering precum. He’ll never stop being hypnotizing with how the Geo energy refuses to be contained, permanently staining Zhongli’s arms with bronze and gold. All that power lurking beneath the surface…

Childe smirks and tugs off his gloves, tossing them to the side before he taps his thighs. “C’mere.” Zhongli submits – a little too eagerly, Childe thinks, where’s the fun in that – and straddles him again. When Childe’s right hand takes the other’s cock while he leans forward to begin teasing his nipples, Zhongli’s curls in on Childe and settles his head on the other’s shoulder, shivering with pleasure.

Childe nearly laughs when he realizes the image is not unlike a dragon coiling around its prey. Oh, but this one bites; the Harbinger’s teeth sink into Zhongli, drawing blood again. The wanton moan in response just sounds so delicious, and Childe matches his noises as he begins pumping in earnest. Zhongli’s begins grinding his ass into Childe’s bulge, and hey, that’s cheating. Childe is the one who’s doing the torturing here, damn it.

“Oh fuck,” Childe heaves, “I can’t take this anymore, fuck, where’s your oil Zhongli?”

Or not.

Yeah, okay, the man would be hot with embarrassment at how quickly he broke, but the way Zhongli croons and obeys just for him leaves him as desperate. When he rises to look for the oil, Childe stands quickly and begins stripping with the speed of a virgin teen about to get laid for the first time. A string of Snezhnayan curses is grumbled when his pants get caught on his ankles, but he when glances up at Zhongli’s chuckling with a fist curled in front of his grin, Childe only flushes further.

“Shut up,” he mumbles but grins along. Now free from his clothes, he grabs Zhongli’s wrist and tugs him back into the bed, kissing him all the while. The action is… Kind. Sweet, if Childe was being honest with himself.

But he hasn’t been truthful before, why start now?

When he leans back against the headboard and spreads his legs, Zhongli takes the cue to once again perch in his lap holding the bottle of oil in his hand. “Look at you,” Childe murmurs, pitch lowered but still rough around the edges, betraying a deeper hunger. “You look so good for me, presenting yourself like this.”

“What happened to the fearsome Harbinger just now?” Zhongli questions, mischief dancing on his face.

“Mm, good cop bad cop. Obviously being rough with the God of War wasn’t doing much ‘cept making me realize how badly I want to be inside you,” he states matter-of-factly before tugging Zhongli down for another kiss. When he takes the bottle and gently pries it open, he pours some on his fingers before placing the rest on the nightstand. Amber eyes watch Childe biting his lips, boyish eagerness shining forth.

Ah. Still so young, Zhongli thinks, and so cute.

That thought is interrupted when Childe leans forward and begins kissing along his abdomen, but characteristic of the Harbinger’s bloodlust, also peppers his skin with bruises and bite marks sharp enough to pierce the pleasurable haze in Zhongli’s mind. Cool fingers begin to gently prod between his cheeks, a silent question for permission which is quickly granted when his hands reach back to pull them apart for easier access. He feels Childe’s pleased groan beneath him as a single finger massages the muscle open before sliding in, and oh fuck, he missed this.

“H-haah, h-how are you always so tight?” Childe asks, taking his unoccupied hand to once again stroke Zhongli. He’s not entirely cruel, he’ll ease the other’s tension where he can. Whether or not it’s also out of selfish desire to see Zhongli unfurl around him, shoving his ass further on his fingers and into his palm is glaringly obvious when Childe bucks his erection up to graze briefly and intermittently between his toned cheeks.

“Are you complaining?” Zhongli moans.

“You kidding me?” Childe laughs and eases a second finger in, then a third. Now then, where is it…?

Zhongli suddenly cries out, vulgar sounds tapering off into quiet whimpers. There it is.

He begins massaging the spot and watches how Zhongli rolls his hips, the slight trail of drool and messy hair downright pornographic and mesmerizing. When his ass brushes against Childe’s cock again, he moves forward to nip at the god’s hip. “Z-zhongli, be careful there or I’m not gonna last.”

“I would ra-aahh-ther you finish in me, Childe,” the other rumbles, “before you ruin my bedsheets again.”

“Gods damn it, that was one time, you will not let that shit go,” Childe complains, completely uncouth and disrespectful, before withdrawing his fingers. “You’re lucky you’re good at sex.”

When his grabs the bottle again to pour it on his own straining member, the cool sensation welcome against his throbbing heat, he hears Zhongli chuckle above him. “Is that all I am to you? A nighttime tryst?”

“Don’t say that like you don’t enjoy it,” he mumbles, grabbing himself to line it up with Zhongli’s entrance. When the other slowly lower his hips, they both groan as the head begins to breach. It’s not fair, it’s not fair at all that Childe can’t stay mad at Zhongli like this. Not when the other swallows his dick like an animal in heat.

He moans openly when Zhongli finally meets him at his base, and he gives an experimental hip-roll to the god’s delight. Zhongli’s breath shudders before he starts a steady pace, switching between rolling his hips and lifting them to slam back down. Childe chokes on his breath and digs his head into the pillows beneath him at the sensation of being used like a fuck-toy for the ancient god. When blue eyes watch the Archon, muscles flexing in a downright filthy display of power, he’s awestruck. Zhongli is almost, almost treating his cock as another thing to conquer with the way he’s being manhandled like all attempts at domination earlier were just jokes.

He’s not giving up that easily. Childe’s fingers dig into the other’s hips to urge him to stop, bruising grip going nearly unnoticed. “Z-zhongli,” his strangled voice calls, “Flip over.”

When he slides his hands higher on the god’s hips and begins lifting his own body, Zhongli follows his lead. Before long, he’s flipped on his back with Childe looming over him, immediately catching his lips in another kiss as the Harbinger slowly pulls back before putting all his honed power in the movement back in. Zhongli breaks the kiss to groan and bares his throat in a show of submission, allowing the mortal to mark the god with fervor. Childe laps up the salt pooling along his skin with due diligence, nipping haphazardly along the way.

His thrusts begin to angle, looking for that tender spot once again. It’s no surprise how the ruthless Harbinger finds it with lethal precision and begins slamming into him earnestly. Fuck, his hips stutter and grow frantic when he’s rewarded with Zhongli’s increasingly loud cries, how does someone so composed sound downright filthy like that? Zhongli has no right, no right at all. When he feels nails drag down his back to draw forth sticky warmth, he retaliates by leaning forward and fiercely biting. His moans mingle with Zhongli’s as blood pours into his mouth, lust tearing through him, urging him to lacerate and mutilate this god further. Is it possible for a god’s body to be such an aphrodisiac?

Electric pleasure begins creeping forward; he’s losing his mind, Zhongli is coaxing out atrocious amounts of gratification and raw, unapologetic gluttony. More, he wants more.

Childe’s nose is flooded with warm mountain air, the musk inhuman but comforting, nonetheless. It’s enough to ease the abyssal beast inside of him but leaves the man in him wanting as he looks for any skin left unmarked to ruin. Much to his satisfaction, there is little left.

He releases his jaws when he feels a slight tugging on his hair, so he pulls back and – oh no. Oh, no no, that something grows in his heart again when he sees amber eyes gazing at him lovingly. “Childe,” Zhongli murmurs softly, “Let me see you, let me see your eyes.”

His responding laugh sound fake, even to him, as the sudden anxiety pushes aside the passion. If Zhongli notices how his thrusts begin speeding up, chasing that elusive and traitorous pleasure to mask it, he doesn’t comment. Instead, callous hands cup Childe’s cheeks and urge him to look deeply. “Please, a-allow – haah - me to commit you to… to memory.”

“W-what the fuck are you talking about?” he stutters, swallowing thickly around a sudden lump. Stop it. Stop being so sensual, stop it, stop being so sentimental you naïve and old creature, stop it –

Zhongli only smiles, lips wrapping around the soft sounds and purrs coming from deep within his chest. Luminous eyes are watching him, studying him, and he grows hateful at how Zhongli seems to just know. “I y-yearn to remember, please, allow me this. You are beautiful like this.”

“Shut up,” Childe suddenly snarls, leaning forward to hide his face in Zhongli’s shoulder. The other’s noises intensify in response, seemingly in an attempt to soothe him, and he hates it. “S-shut the fuck up, don’t make this something it isn’t, d-don’t do this to me Zhongli. Stop be-iiihng, ah, so cruel, you liar, we agr-eed to stop fucking lying to each other.”

Zhongli turns his head to kiss along Childe’s jaw, each one leaving behind hidden messages of longing and affection. “We did.”

Damn him, Ajax thinks as he desperately turns his head to meet Zhongli’s to kiss again, and again, and again.

It’s no surprise that soon, his hips’ rhythm falters before he slams one more time into Zhongli, that familiar heat in his core spilling deep in the other. Zhongli moans and flutters his eyes shut, relishing in the feeling pooling in his gut.

Ajax is not cruel. He rolls his hips and reaches one hand down to grab Zhongli’s still-aching cock, drawing forth more pleasure from the former Archon with an unforgiving speed. Soon, his breath is drawn, and he shudders as his cum shoots across his belly and into the Harbinger’s hand. Ajax is not cruel.

Damn him, he thinks again as he kisses Zhongli, but there’s no more malice, no more pretenses or attempts to hide his endearment for the older man. When he pulls back, Zhongli’s eyes glow softly in time with the markings along his arms. It’s indescribable, Childe thinks, how the light dances across the obsidian bedsheets and shimmers back, reflecting the riches of Teyvat in his blood. Before he can stop it, a single word tumbles out: “Beautiful.”

Zhongli smiles and pulls him down for another kiss.

And another, again and again and again.

 ---

 (Don’t let them see you bleed, don’t let them see you bleed, don’t let - )

 ---

 The two men hold each other, and though neither say a word, the silence before them is comfortable. How many rounds did they go for? Childe is twirling Zhongli’s hair around his fingers while the latter’s eyes are closed, but his breathing is too shallow to be asleep. Exhaustion clearly is not an issue for immortals.

Hm. His dark hair is silky and fine, maybe he can…? Childe glances at the not-sleeping man in front of him and a mischievous smile twists his lips, all attempts to suppress it gone. Not like he’s going to get another shot at this anytime soon. Deftly, his fingers begin to braid Zhongli’s hair in patterns he remembers the women in Snezhnaya wearing.

Only, when he looks at Zhongli again, golden eyes stare back, torn between being unimpressed and blatantly amused. Childe laughs and grabs the other’s chin to give a quick peck. “Aw, don’t look at me like that comrade, I just think you would enjoy this more than bed head.” It’s an excuse because Zhongli always looks perfect, but let him just have this.

“Mm.” A deep exhale breezes across Childe’s chest, and lust sparks in his gut once again at the cool sensation tickling his open wounds from when Zhongli took his turn hammering into Childe, spearing him open unforgivingly. Some minutes pass, and – yeah, no, braiding isn’t his thing Childe decides. The braid is unorganized, hair falls out, and he’s pretty sure he accidentally tangled it somewhere. Zhongli chuckles and buries his head further against Childe’s neck. “You would make a fine weaver.”

“Asshole.”

They both smile, but when Zhongli looks to the other again, he knows there’s a question forming. He just knows it, but seeing those swollen and kissable lips bruised and knowing that he did that? Childe’s dick twitches traitorously, ready to go again.

“Childe, are you listening?” Zhongli frowns and Childe blinks, attempting to be coquettish. The other’s frown deepens.

“Sorry, sorry,” he grins. “What was that?”

“I asked if you believe in the red thread?”

Childe’s hands stop, and not for the first time, he wonders why the hell Liyue is so obsessed with the concept of destiny. He scoffs, mouth twisting and nose curling up. “Nah, I don’t. It’s a cute gesture ‘n all, but if you look closely, there’s a reason for everything, and it isn’t because Celestia or whatever decided it.”

“Do you say this because you did not have control over what happened to Liyue?”

At Zhongli’s inquisitive look, he holds up the mess of a braid he was trying to rectify. “You see this? This is the red thread. It’s messy. It’s artificial. There’s no such thing as destiny, Zhongli, everything happens deliberately, by us,” he huffs, irritated by the question. Childe was just trying to have a relaxing time, why did he have to bring that up now? The former Archon’s radiant eyes glow brighter, an impassive wall for the other to beat against. Somehow, though, that placid expression irks Tartaglia further and the words fall out before he can stop them.

“You think it’s destiny that I was maneuvered like that? That I began serving Her Imperial Majesty the Tsaritsa? That I fe-“ Tartaglia, thankfully, has enough wherewithal to pause that statement before too much is revealed and he closes his eyes, taking a deep breath to center himself. “No, Zhongli, I do everything for a reason. Everything. My path is my own, all the titles and reputations and connections I possess were bargained for fairly. I dragged myself out of that cold and dark land by my own will.”

Zhongli knows he isn’t speaking of Snezhnaya, but says nothing regardless.

“I thought you of all people would understand that,” he spits, sudden cynicism surging through him like a tidal wave. “How many people have you controlled over the years? Pawns moved, strategic opportunities seized? You should know that nothing happens by coincidence, someone as old as you.”

A roaring tempest, changing and harsh and untamable, crashes against the rocky mountain that stands tall and firm at the center of the chaos.

Zhongli’s lips curve as he admits, “I do. Perhaps you and I have a different understanding of the concept of coincidence, then, though I do not disagree with what you say.”

“Did you not say that actions and emotions must be separate?” he replies, wry smirk back in place. He doesn’t miss the flicker of sentiment, and if he didn’t know the stone-cold god any better, he would be tempted to label it as almost melancholic. What was Zhongli thinking?

Childe sighs, all fight in him about this topic abruptly gone. Truly unpredictable. “Two sides of the same coin, huh?” he murmurs. “Let’s just… Not talk about that. Not on my last night.” He instead descends to capture the other’s lips in a vicious kiss, clearly an attempt to redirect his frustrations elsewhere.

Zhongli returns it with equal fervor and two pairs of hands grapple each other in possessive movements. They’ve long ago decided to be truthful with each other, and this is the most open they can be, unspoken words and feelings conveyed through touch.

When they break apart, Tartaglia’s ocean eyes hide how far below the boy in him is confined to the murky depths. As he nips at Zhongli’s throat, the god can’t help but wonder of their varying approaches to this concept of control. Tartaglia moves with aggression, uses his body as a weapon to get what he needs, to distance his emotions and thoughts further from the surface; Zhongli attempts to convey his desires and willingness to plunge into those watery depths, to drag him back through his own.

Zhongli won’t deny that their arrangement started as him humoring Childe’s lust, of allowing the other to believe in the lie that he had the upper hand all along, but the god has since grown genuinely fond of the tempestuous being.

However, Tartaglia only sees their passions as another battle to be won and the old God of War indulges him. If Tartaglia chooses to classify their relationship and letters as platonic, then so be it.

But… Is the Harbinger truly so far gone that he does not understand Zhongli’s blatant desire for him? How quickly did the young man latch onto this desperate understanding that their passionate actions are separate from the relationship they have built? What war is he fighting?

What happened to him to make him believe he could only rely on himself?

Zhongli hums. No matter.

The dragon already decided long ago that Childe is a treasure worth coveting, and hopes that one day, he will understand that Zhongli’s desires are not superficial. He has all the time in the world to find a love language that Childe will understand.

In due time, he intends to help raise the man above the Archons who dared to use him, dared to take away control over his hard-won destiny, dared to treat his mortal kin as worthless compared to the boy they raised.

In due time.

 ---

 Ajax did not want to think about his carefully guarded feelings nor talk about it that night, lest Morax see him for how selfish and hungry his heart is. It is no secret how he lusts after power, and that night in the Golden House sparked a ravenous flame. Even if he could only convince one of the immortals to join him, it would be enough to challenge the rest of the Harbingers and begin his own conquest.

However, during his stay in Liyue, he could only ease his treacherous heart with one who surely saw mortal hearts as tradeable as gold. His own aches in resignation.

Is it because he is afraid of his own weakness? Or because he knows that when destiny pushes him back into that abyss a second time, it will be final and alone?

Don’t let them see you bleed.

Ajax trusts Morax with his life (strangely enough), but not with his soul. Not now. He wonders if you would be gentler. Kinder.

But a bird cannot survive a hurricane.

 ---

 (The stars whisper fearful warnings that night - incessant in their dulcet tunes – hoping to shepherd these souls once more.

Nobody hears them. They have been absent from their duty too long. Nobody remembers.)

 ---

 On the boat back to Snezhnaya, the Harbinger is leaning over the railing, twisting the ring around his finger in thought. A small smile graces his lips as he thinks of the last conversation he shared with you, of the promises of a rematch.

Cute. That’s all he thinks – fluffy, unreasonably angry, cute, so insistent on chirping and proving yourself a fierce opponent. No, you are formidable as he remembers his ass being beaten to the ground without mercy. A thrill shoots up his spine at the memory and his tender smile turns wicked. Formidable and sexy he declares with Her Imperial Majesty as his witness.

Maybe Zhongli was right, there must be something fucked up in his head for him to still think you’re cute as he nurses his wounds from the Golden House and the Teucer fiasco.

Chlide beams, completely enamored with the open ocean and its bare surface; the bright and open sun shimmers across the waves as tempting as jewels for the taking. One day, he wants to take his siblings out to the coasts beyond Snezhnaya’s eternally frozen waters where icebergs leave few paths for the boats to navigate. Though he’ll never admit it to the other Fatui, he always preferred the freedom to go wherever and do whatever he pleased.

Well, let’s be more honest here, it’s more or less already an open secret. After all, that’s why he’s the Vanguard of the Harbingers. Tartaglia is sent to be the first storm that wreaks havoc and flood enemy defenses while the others clean it up and claim credit.

Childe sneers because fuck Signora, that glory was supposed to be his.

He sighs and runs a hand through his hair, but pauses midway before lowering it and clenching the railing harder. Memories flood his vision as he remembers watching how you would rub your head whenever you were nervous, would brush Paimon’s hair and coo at its ephemeral patterns, would help Aether re-braid his after a particularly messy fight. During his stay at Liyue, he somehow picked up the tick himself after spending so much time watching you to try and find your own quirks in character. Chlide never intended to punch a hole in his own carefully guarded defenses.

So… Why did you reveal yourself like that? Childe mulls his options over. Either you weren’t aware of your actions - which is not possible, not with the way you move during battle – or you let him see to throw him off your trail, letting him think he figured you out. Hm. But that’s something Zhongli would do. Did.

Asshole, he thinks fondly.

Maybe you just… Maybe you’re just that open? Let your guard down around him because of – because of –

He closes his eyes, stifling that inkling of something again from creeping its way into his traitorous heart. Childe snorts, sardonic nature taking over because yeah right, like you would really let him in so easily. But then he sees it, sees how the blue glimmers with the light like stars.

If you trusted him because of a starconch, then you really were as stupid as he was afraid of.

And, well, maybe he is too.

How many stories did you exchange over warms meals and long nights? In all those little tales he shared, he showed a bit more of himself. After all, the best lies have truth in them; Zhongli knew this and reciprocated the efforts. In a way, that’s why he trusts Zhongli more – the former Archon already manipulated him and proved his suspicions right. Now that the betrayal has been seared into his memoirs, he understands all the more the man’s motivations, making him an easy target for Childe to predict next they meet.

His heart remembers the unexpected connection he made with Aether – the sacrifices for one’s family rings universal. It’s only when Teucer found his way into Liyue – the little devil – that he realized that somehow, along the way, it was Ajax that was laughing, Ajax that was helping Aether find Lumine, Ajax paying for Paimon’s egregious eating habits.

Childe’s thoughts loop endlessly as he tries convincing himself his mind is only consumed by you three (or one) because he can’t figure you out. You’re an eternal mystery and challenge, how could he resist?

He’s stirred when he hears the Fatui recruits call for him below deck and Childe’s easy nature slides back in. He promised them a proper Sneznhayan drinking game; it’s time to show these fresh-faced bumpkins what being a Harbinger is all about.

 ---

 (Ajax did not see how Morax gazes at him, ferocious and protective. Only one mortal’s heart will remain immeasurable and incomparable to Teyvat’s riches, the scales will never be balanced.

Nor did Ajax witness the stars streak across the sky for him, incandescent and besotted, a promise of other immortals who would faithfully carry him to the heavens if he but asked.

A mountain of bodies filles his vision as he seeks to build a paradise above the carnage for his family’s dreams to be safe, so that they may never know what nightmare lies beneath the world.

He made a promise, after all.)

 ---

  My dear Childe,

I suppose I am able to write the first of our agreed upon letters, as I am the one left behind with the luxury of free time while you journey to your own homeland.

Please note that, attached to the letter, are packages of various Liyue sweets that I am sure youth enjoy. Hu Tao has at least assured me of its quality. If your kin are anything like you, these will serve in sufficiently whetting their voracious appetites.

Also included are some artifacts that, I pray, will find a new home in Snezhnaya. Hopefully your siblings are as curious as you. Certainly, you can tickle Teucer’s desires for grand anecdotes with the enclosed miniature terracotta warrior. They once stood as guardians to tombs of emperors long past. Perhaps he can become a paragon of honor once more as sentinel to Mr. Cyclops.

Just be sure to not allow the statue to break. I must warn you that it contains a very real spirit. Children enjoy this sort of thing, yes?

I am glad we can remain in contact. I cannot begin to repay your kindness and generosity in this lifetime for treating me as a mortal; I never sought the continuation of Rex Lapis’ legacy in my assessments of Liyue. Instead, I find that having good company to walk with is enough.

I pray that your duty does not come into conflict with the Travelers. They have asked me to inform you that they will not attempt to establish contact, for they fear their own journeys will eventually threaten Her Majesty the Tsaritsa. They do not wish to endanger you or your family.

No one is at fault for attempting to complete their mission, but let it not distract you from why – and for  who - you fight. As you described to me, baseless glory for the sake of it is no way to conduct oneself as a true warrior.

Do not be afraid to be the first to step on the path into unknown territory. Believe me, time waits for no one.

Your dutiful friend,

Zhongli

 ---

  My dearest and most lively funeral consultant,

Don’t worry about my wellbeing; as I have said on our last night together, my destiny is my own. Her Majesty the Tsaritsa will have her seven stars, as I’ve promised, but they are not my stars nor my true goals. I believe you are right – I will have to venture into that dark night if I am to find what I truly seek.

I am pleased to report that Teucer is now sleeping with your protective clay warrior after naming him, aptly, ‘Mr. Dirty’ for the incessant mess that the dusty old thing seems to leave. My mother has certainly thrown a fit more than once for the dirt it leaves in his bed. Whether you have blessed this little thing with one of your tricks to always produce earth is a cheeky mystery I am sure you will never answer.

Zhongli, my friend, we must really educate you on what is and is not appropriate to gift a young child. I did not explain to him – nor my family, for that matter – why I insisted on wrapping Mr. Dirty in a very cushioned blanket.

Furthermore, Hu Tao was right, the candies were a roaring success. Quite literally, I might add, as my siblings tore at them with the ferocity of Snezhnayan wolves and howling battle cries.

I wonder who would win in a fight for the last sticky honey roast: my siblings or Paimon.

I understand fully their reasons and don’t fault them for it. If anything, they conduct themselves with greater care than I ever did in Liyue. Regardless, I will miss them dearly and hope that when we meet again in Snezhnaya, it is not for Her Majesty the Tsaritsa, but for myself. I did promise my honor as Harbinger to be the prize won.

With the letter is a package of a hand-crafted Matryoshka doll. I had asked for the crafter to paint each layer as different armor from Liyue’s history. However, at the center, you will find a doll with intimately familiar amber eyes.

This is, I hope, a suitable gift. To me, you will always be Zhongli first and foremost at your core.

You still owe me a fight for the right to reassert your divine status to me and rectify the slight against my character. Otherwise, you will find my insolence to become tenfold. I just hope you defend your honor before your short guard dog, Xiao, does it for you.

Your loyal companion,

Childe

   ---

 Ajax walks along the beaches outside of his village. He’s been home for a few weeks on leave, much to the delight of his family; he welcomes their affection and returns in kind, even if when he embraces his father, he feels emptier after he pulls away. It’s funny. Growing up, Ajax adored his father’s stories of adventures. They seemed so thrilling and freeing, especially to travel the world outside of Morepesok.

Only, whenever he comes home, a bit more of his father’s image is broken away like ice. That’s all they were: stories. The Harbinger has massacred battlefields, left just enough in his wake that would churn most men’s stomachs as a brutal reminder for defying the Fatui. No, those stories are nothing to him now.

He keeps walking, stopping only to kick away some snow from his path. Ajax missed this; he’ll admit it. Too many times has he spent an extended period on Dragonspine to let the cold freeze him just to the brink of death, reminding him of Snezhnaya. Such a ruthless landscape to birth a ruthless warrior. As much as he adores travelling, home is where he’ll always return to, where he misses most when he reads each letter gracing his desk.

Ajax spots a shining object and immediately bends to reach it, but pulls away with only a blue stone and faint silver markings.

Not a starconch. Huh. His instincts must be slow for him to make such a rookie mistake.

As he tosses the rock over his shoulder, Ajax’s lips pull into a frown. Home is where the heart is.

So why does he feel empty?

 ---

 Ajax looks out the window of his home as Tonia, Anthon and Teucer snore peacefully in his lap. They’re in front of the roaring fireplace and a thick blanket is wrapped around them all.

He very pointedly ignores the sharp Mr. Dirty digging into his side, and just… Why, Zhongli, why are you so stupid sometimes. Ah well, it made Teucer happy, so Ajax relents in his complaints for the time being.

Outside his window, he watches a family of snowy owls as they emerge from their nest. Some time passes before the youngest brave the howling winds, opening their wings to test the currents.

In a heart-stopping moment, all the children leap and exit his field of vision before quickly rising again, thriving in the winds of change. He watches as they flap their wings experimentally, fluttering around the tree before the family gathers itself. They eventually leave, heading to horizons unknown to explore as they flee the coming darkness of winter for their own safety. Despite this, the owls will return home when the chaos settles, they always do.

A stray thought springs into Ajax’s head as he looks down at his siblings.

   ---

 When Tartaglia saunters up the alabaster steps to Zaplorny Palace, he remembers how awe-struck he was as a child listening to his father’s speak about the Tsaritsa residing within. Frost paints ethereal patterns into the decorations, constantly changing as it’s melted and regrown. The shimmering patterns no doubt rival the beauty of the skies, but also mirror them in the way that the stars are so far and cold themselves. No matter how many flames are lit, Zapolyarny Palace will always remain cold.

He wonders if the Tsasritsa’s frozen heart still has a flicker of warmth.

Before he turns down the next hallway, he is met with the sight of three other Harbingers. Oh boy, what a fucking party. “Ah! Forgive me comrade!” Childe chuckles as he shoves past Scaramouche’s shoulders to join them. “I didn’t see you down there,” he sneers, relishing in the murderous glance tossed his way.

“Childe. For how long you spent in Liyue, one would expect you to have learned some respect by now. I suppose it’s too much to ask for from someone of your limited faculties,” Scaramouche responds, tone light and casual but eyes burning regardless.

“Was your leave rejuvenating?” Pulcinella interjects, hoping to steer the conversation away from a brawl starting in the palace. Not that they have any doubts over Scaramouche’s self-discipline, but Childe��s was another matter entirely. “Signora here has informed me of your recent success in heralding the Gnosis from Morax. Congratulations.”

Childe raises one eyebrow, eyes dull and heavily guarded. He’s familiar with these political tactics and with how the Harbingers lace their words with patronizing intent. It’s all some bid to try to put others down, remind them of their place. What a bunch of idiots, don’t they know he only cares about what the Tsaritsa thinks?

As if reading his mind, Signora’s lips quirk upwards as she slithers in to join Pulcinella’s compliments. “Indeed. I have informed Her Majesty the Tsaritsa of your valiant efforts. This couldn’t have been done without you.”

Without your brash and impulsive tendencies.

“You know…” Scaramouche starts, crossing his arms and tilting his head back in a show of friendly submission. What the fuck is he up to now? “Some time ago, when I was in Mondstadt investigating the Jester’s little mission for me, I saw the Travelers again. They certainly grew more adept in commanding the elements, wouldn’t you say, Childe?”

The ginger-haired man’s airy laugh rings off the walls around them, the easy-going nature of Childe stepping forth before Tartaglia has a chance to strangle him. “Oh yes, I would certainly agree. Makes it all the more exciting to see what they’ll be up to next. Let me guess, you had a hard time dealing with them? I too heard the reports, dear Balladeer, of how they kept dancing just outside of your short reach.”

Pulcinella bites the inside of their cheek to keep the amusement from showing. Somehow, their favored recruit always finds a way to piss off the other Harbingers like it’s all some game. Really gives a good show too.

Scaramouche scoffs, allowing the jab to slide this time. “I let the fools go. My research was complete, I didn’t linger. But I did notice something… Interesting.” He raises his left hand casually, motioning his fingers in a light pinching motion as if he held something small and precious. “A single starconch hung from one of the Traveler’s journals. A rather curious sight.”

Childe’s smile grows wider, more placid. The lack of an aggressive reaction is, in itself, a threat. “Curious indeed.”

“Scaramouche, wouldn’t you say that was a stroke of genius on Childe’s part? He’s keeping them close and relaxed. I’m rather proud of you for employing our more covert tactics for once. That is, after all, your intent, is it not?” Signora smirks when she sees how Childe’s eyes flick to hers. Still no change in his expression, but he laughs and holds up both hands in a placating gesture. As much as she plays at knowing his tactics, it’s not very hard to guess where his chaotic actions will lead him. However, the motivations behind his more subtle behaviors remain elusive wherein only two can guess it correctly at any given moment: Pulcinella and Her Majesty the Tsaritsa herself.

“You got me. They’re just so eager to help others, how could I resist that temptation of fucking with them?” Childe’s whimsical tone never wavers, not once. Pulcinella frowns. This is a dangerous game; they always caution against becoming attached to the unhinged Harbinger, but if the Travelers became strung along too much, then…

“Careful, Tartaglia,” Pulcinella murmurs, drawing all eyes on them. “Since your little betrayal of their trust, the Liyue agents report that our Fatui strongholds in the wild have steadily lost their footing. For every inch we gain, we lose two more.”

Childe pretends to look shocked, but he has his own ears inside the palace, he’s been aware of it the whole time. Little birds, he thinks affectionately, I’m nearly proud.

“Hmph, of course the idiots keep losing ground, they have no Harbinger guiding them,” Scaramouche says, frown deepening. “Even with Signora in Mondstadt, the diplomats were frankly imbeciles.” She tsks in irritation, but nothing more.

“Aw, if I didn’t know you any better, I’d say you were complimenting me, comrade!” Childe says cheerfully. The Inazuma native’s face flashes with fury before quickly recovering.

“All I’m saying is that maybe we need someone to keep an eye on them,” he replies. “Since Mondstadt… They’re not what you think, Childe. The stars are a lie; none of it is real. I’ll bet you the Travelers know more about it than they’re letting on. Don’t make the same mistake twice.”

Childe cocks an eyebrow, smirk barely melting into a snarl. “And what would you know? You stay behind the scenes while the rest of us do real work.”

Scaramouche’s slow smile is poisonous and laced with contempt as he hisses, “You should know there is a Liyue saying that goes ‘Heaven and Earth are impartial, treating all creatures like straw dogs.’ When the sacrifices have fulfilled their purpose, they are discarded because there is no more use and care for such worthless objects. Didn’t dear Morax tell you of this philosophy himself, Childe?”

Tartaglia tastes blood as he bites his tongue to keep from summoning a blade then and there.

Pulcinella not-so-subtly coughs. “I believe our meeting is starting soon. Let us take this discussion there, for Her Majesty the Tsaritsa is currently informed of all developments. We will receive our next assignments there.”

As all four Harbingers walk in silence down the halls, Childe lingers in the back so that the other three don’t catch sight of his eyes darkening. He was right, damn it, the Travelers are hiding something.

However, a sadistic smile curls on his face. Though he’s sure that the others allowed Scaramouche to hint at what is surely classified information that currently only he, the Jester, and the Tsaritsa know the full scope of just to allow the shorter Harbinger to insult Childe, he enjoys the fact that the others once again underestimate him. They were likely not informed of Scaramouche’s findings either and this provided an apt opportunity for them to update their intel if their unashamedly curious expressions were anything to go by. Scaramouche’s lightning temper strikes again and illuminates the path forward, even if Childe had to bleed first to see it.

Oh what fun, fun, fun!

 ---

 The Tsaritsa’s cold gaze peers down at Tartaglia as he kneels before her, not even daring to gaze at her feet. With the other Harbingers long-departed after the meeting, the only two remaining souls in her throne room are himself and the Cryo Archon; for anyone else, this would strike fear in their heart, but Tartaglia only croons at the thought. Finally, finally, she trusts him with a classified mission, one that she fears the other Harbingers might impede on should they discover the true intention.

He buries Scaramouche’s words deep below the surface, unwilling to allow his goddess to witness his burning desire to prove himself. For now, Childe will serve dutifully until the opportunity for him to topple the Archons’ thrones presents itself.

Littered around them are the eternally frozen bodies of all who made the mistake of striking too soon, their faces warped in perpetual agony as sick trophies. Are they still alive beneath that ice, like the creatures trapped atop Dragonspine?

“Tartaglia,” she starts, regal voice cutting clear through the air, “the Travelers defy the laws of this world and harness its ancient secrets with ease, something the other Harbingers have failed to provide me concrete information on. However, I understand that you have observed these phenomena yourself. Am I correct?”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” comes the smooth reply, steady and betraying no weakness.

“Good,” he hears the pleased smile in her voice. “I have a new task for you.”

 ---

  Dreams do not normally come, smothered by the abyss. But something is different this time. Ajax hears it.

A voice calls to him in a language that sounds of silvery bells. Another speaks in a tongue long forgotten by mortals.

-

notes:

childe’s pov has a lot of swearing (and will in future chapter) bc lets be honest, he probably would if mihoyo would let him

1) Childe flips masks depending on who he's with according to mihoyo's official forum thread on him. Pulcinella is quoted as stating that Childe is completely trustworthy for any job, but cautions against getting too attached/close (for unknown reasons)

2) One of Childe's voice lines expresses admiration for the Tsaritsa's warrior methods, but in another line, has massive disdain for the underhanded tactics of others. He also blatantly admits to being willing to take on the other Harbingers and overthrow the world with the Traveler if the opportunity presents itself, and doesn't care at all for their opinions on him

3) The terracotta soldier is referencing the Terracotta Army guarding the tomb of Qin Shi Huang, the first emperor of China and Matryoshka dolls have multiple dolls inside one.

4) The Liyue philosophy quoted is a sentiment expressed in Chapter 5 of the Tao Te Ching that basically translates as Heaven treating all the people equally, neither with love nor hate aka nobody is special. It is what it is ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

5) Childe 100% spent so much time on Dragonspine with the video from yesterday (April 4th) from mihoyo featuring him walking around missing Snezhnaya

6) The multiple frozen statues are a ref to the White Witch from the Narnia series where she froze all her enemies and kept them in a room to look at. Yeesh.

7) and FINALLY (TL;DR at the bottom of this bullet point) (I wrote this chapter before “We Will Be Reunited” quest)

Scaramouche's line of "the stars are a lie" are a direct quote from the Unreconciled Stars event. A lot of veterans of mihoyo games think this references the theory that Teyvat is actually a bubble world either as a part of the Seeds of Sumeru (name also one of the regions in Teyvat) universe from Honkai Impact 3, a sci-fi game, or is just another world in the Imaginary Tree of mihoyo's overarching lore (aka multiverse). The symbol for the abyss and celestia being a tree support this too, plus the mythos of Gnosticism says that a rival divine made a false world to mirror the "true" divine (abyss/celestia?) with Archons ruling over 7 planets.

This is further confirmed in a dev video where one of the characters from HI3 is seen watching Dvalin on a computer screen, stating that Genshin exists parallel to HI3 and has the same rules where if mankind progresses too fast or too far, these beings called Honkai come and wipe them out to restart. Since I PERSONALLY would feel extremely discouraged if Genshin turns into something too sci-fi (takes away from the fantasy appeal imo), I'm taking this to mean that the MC travels multiple worlds exploring while the unknown god is stopping mankind from being too arrogant. The Archons know things about Celestia most don't (maybe why the Tsaritsa wants to rebel), and the MC's twin joined the abyss separately after seeing the cataclysm 500 years ago to probably help the abyss.

The abyss order are all but explicitly confirmed to be the fallen Khaenri'ah turned monsters and the advanced technology we see everywhere with the power to end civilization also belonged to them, if Kaeya's voice lines and item descriptions anything to go by. They used the abyss as a power source "away from the eyes of the gods" that is parallel to Celestia's power. Celestia is preventing any more disruptions to the great cycle by controlling mortals (one piece of lore on the wiki's timeline page directly describes how they used to walk among the earliest human ancestors in Tevyat long before even the gods we know today were born, but mortals are not meant to know that Teyvat's history is cyclical, starting and ending multiple times). I don't think the MC is aware of the fake stars because they're canonically just as confused as Paimon when Scaramouche says that the sky is a hoax. I'm taking my own twist on this for the fanfic with stars being "sentient" or artificially placed (maybe by Celestia?) since the meteorites that fell were someone's old constellation. There are separate stars that follow and affect the Travelers/worlds.

TL;DR: The stars in Teyvat are artificial but the MC canonically didn't know this, the unknown god is trying to prevent uprisings, mortals want to control the heavens instead, the abyss and celestia mirror Gnostic mythos about two divines and 7 Archons, and for the purposes of this fanfic the stars are both separate from and connected to the Travelers.

[pilgrimbenham]

Reformation Day (and the Five Solas)

Did you ever notice that our society celebrates everything?  In September alone we celebrated “Random Acts of Poetry Day” (September 6), “Video Games Day” (Sep 12), “White Chocolate Day” (September 22), “Punctuation Day” (Sep 24), and every parent’s favorite—“Quiet Day” (Sep 12).  Somehow my kids missed that last one.

But October 31--what many people celebrate as Halloween--should be remembered and celebrated by Protestant Christians, because it is the day we celebrate a huge moment--when a monumental change occurred in the church.

We call it "Reformation Day"--because on that day 502 years ago, a German monk, pastor and seminary professor named Martin Luther published 95 complaints against the Catholic church practice of selling reductions to the penalty of sin (called indulgences). In a sense, Luther had the boldness to share what the church should and shouldn't be.

What Was Wrong 

Imagine coming to church, but you don't learn to lean on the Bible and base your life accordingly--but instead you had to rely on tradition and opinion and just follow all the rules someone made up.

Imagine coming to church where the Gospel isn't preached. Ever.

Imagine coming to church where you could buy forgiveness. Literally.

Imagine coming to church and if you were put outside of the church--kicked out--that meant to them that you were literally going to hell. There was no salvation at that point—just the expectation of condemnation.

Imagine coming to church where the leader of the church was also a political ruler who was incredibly corrupt--so that all the church was doing was to generate money and was wicked to the core.

That was the condition of the Catholic church when Martin Luther nailed his 95 theses on the door of the church in Wittenberg.

Martin Luther wasn't the only one who felt this way. Many others were concerned with where the church had gone, and were desiring to come back to a place that honored God and that returned to the Gospel of Jesus Christ.

Five Big Ideas

The Reformers believed differently than the Catholic Church. They distilled their core beliefs into what we call the “Five Solas”.

Imagine you were asked to sum up your identity in five words. It sounds relatively easy--but try doing it. What if you had to distill your LinkedIn profile down to merely five identity describers—what words would you eliminate? How would you adjust your Instagram or Facebook profile, your Match or eHarmony profile (no I’m not judging), or your Tinder profile (ok now I’m judging). What five words would best characterize you?

I started thinking about words that describe me, and initially I thought this would be easy:

Father | Husband | Son | Brother | Pastor | Teacher | Church Planter | Friend | Apple Enthusiast | Star Wars Fan #episodenine | Left-Handed | Coffee, Bacon, and Donut Inspector | Child of God

Obviously that’s a lot more than five! Now imagine having to do that same exercise to sum up not your own personal identity, but all of orthodox Christianity--but you can only use five identity words. That's exactly what the Reformers did when they sought to distinguish themselves from Catholicism.

What are the foundations of the Gospel? What would be the pillars that are holding up the building, so to speak?

The Reformers wrestled with that question, in large part because the church at that time was broken. The Catholic church—whatever your thoughts are about it—was a mess at best, or absolute apostasy and a brainchild of Lucifer at worst, so essentially three things had happened.

Overly Traditional, Political, Comfortable

The church had gotten:

Overly traditional

Political

Comfortable

(Sadly, those three things are still plaguing the American church today, both in Catholicism and Protestantism. In fact, those are three things that will kill any church given enough time).

An overly traditional, political, and comfortable church can always look ahead for a season of reforming, and renewal. The Catholic church had departed from the foundations of the faith and believed many things outside of the Scriptures. They held tradition on par with the Bible. They believed there were other mediators through which sin could be forgiven or atoned for. They had a different take on how one is justified--made right--with God. The church itself was the dispenser of divine favor--so if you found yourself politically outside of the church for any reason, you were excluded from the divine favor of God.

Now enter the Reformers.

They wanted to get back to the basics, back to the pillars, and thus we have what are called the Five Solas of the Reformation. "Sola" of course means "only". The idea is that we need this alone for the basics, the pillars, the foundation, of the Gospel.

Christ | Scriptures | Grace | Faith | Glory of God

The message of the Protestant Reformation was that our faith is in Christ alone, revealed through the Scriptures alone, by grace alone, through faith alone, to the glory of God alone. 

Think about those for a moment:

Christ: the only Mediator Scriptures: the only Message Grace: the only Means Faith: the only Method Glory of God: the greatest Meaning

In the following five blog posts this month, we will unpack and explore each of these concepts in a deeper way. Shoreline Church, along with Northwest Bradenton Baptist, and Cornerstone Baptist of Sarasota, is excited to be hosting a:

“Night of Reformation: Celebrating the Five Solas” on Saturday, November 2nd at 6pm at The Port Coffee. RSVP on Facebook will be posted soon!

Consider these five solas for a moment: Christ Alone: Jesus is the only Mediator. Because Jesus is the sole meditator between God and man, salvation is possible only by His atoning death and triumphant resurrection.

Scripture Alone: The Bible is the only Message (or foundation). The Bible alone is the highest authority for governing issues of life and doctrine. We don't just listen to church tradition or the priest's opinions.

Grace Alone: Grace is the only Method. There isn't a special act or condition that man does to be saved--it is a sovereign act of God on behalf of sinners. It isn't birthright, but the grace of God.

Faith alone: Faith is the only Means. It isn't by works that we are saved, or through church attendance, but by faith in Jesus.

Glory of God Alone: The greatest Meaning, the greatest ambition. The purpose of our creation is to give glory to God. All glory and honor is due to God alone. We don't give glory to a man, a church, a denomination, a pope, etc. We give glory to God, and everything we do is for Him.

On October 31 every year, as children are dressing up in costumes, the Protestant church is praising God for the boldness of Luther and others, for the return to the Gospel and the importance of building our lives and doctrine from the Holy Scriptures. Every year we can celebrate by thanking God for the work of His Holy Spirit in reforming the church to honor Him and to share this message of reconciliation with a lost and needy world.

The Five Solas and Today

You and I who are born again are a part of a great tradition--but the church isn't done yet. Today we live in a time when the church today is falling into apostasy and compromise. The church didn't conquer Rome in the first millennia: no, Rome conquered the church. And today, it may not be Rome, but it is the philosophy of this age, the secular humanism and postmodern thought, coupled with a feel-good message that appeals to the senses and is soft on doctrine, that is conquering the church you and I are growing up in as a generation.

And yet, with every generation since Christ, it has taken bold men and women of the faith to stand up and be willing to speak truth even when there is great opposition. For centuries, people were silent as the church drifted further and further from God's design, and it finally took someone like Luther--and others--to stand up and stop it. Will you celebrate the Reformation with me by being absolutely sold out for the Gospel--being willing to die proclaiming the truth about Christ? Will you be willing to offer your life to the Lord and worship Him above yourself or others? Will someone stand up in this generation and live their life for God's glory alone, resting in the grace of God, trusting Christ, building their doctrine, hope and life upon the unchangeable word of God, walking an amazing and dangerous life of faith?

May we have the boldness of Luther to stand up among people of this generation and speak truth! When people who claim to be Christians try to stop or silence us, may we be willing to say alongside Martin Luther: I cannot and will not recant anything, for to go against conscience is neither right nor safe. Here I stand, I can do no other, so help me God. Amen.

Pastor Pilgrim Benham

Make plans to join us Saturday, November 2nd at 6pm for our Night of Reformation: Celebrating the Five Solas at The Port (4908 Lena Road #104, Bradenton, FL 34211).

[hvforks]

Demystification: Occultism, Contemporary Art & the Market

Art: no other relic or text from the past can offer such a direct testimony about the world which surrounded other people at other times. In this respect images are more precise and richer than literature. To say this is not to deny the expressive or imaginative quality of art, treating it as mere documentary evidence; the more imaginative the work, the more profoundly it allows us to share the artist’s experience of the visible and invisible.  

Yet when an image is presented as a work of art, the way people look at it is affected by a whole series of learnt rules about art. These rules can be beauty, truth, genius, civilsation, form, status and taste. Many of these assumptions no longer accord with the world as it is. The world is more than fact, it includes consciousness. Out of true with the present, these rules obscure the past. They mystify rather than clarify. The past is never there waiting to be discovered, to be recognised for exactly what it is. History always constitutes the relation between a present and its past. Consequently fear of the present leads to mystification of the past. The past is not for living in; it is a well of conclusions from which we draw in order to act. Cultural mystification of the past entails a double loss. Works of art are made unnecessarily remote. And the past offers us fewer conclusions to complete in action.

For example, when we ‘see’ a landscape, we situate ourselves in it. If we ‘saw’ the art of the past, we would situate ourselves in history. When we are prevented from seeing it, we are being deprived of the history which belongs to us. Who benefits from this deprivation? In the end, the art of the past is being mystified because a privileged minority is striving to invent history which can retrospectively justify the role of the ruling classes, and such a justification can no longer make sense in modern terms. And so, inevitably, it mystifies.  

Discovering works of art which have undergone a degree of mystification is what I love about art and art history. Uncovering these ‘truths’ is what gives a voice to the underprivileged or the hidden, and also shines a light on an unwanted underbelly of history, which in turn informs our present conditions. 

Through my time studying and working in the arts, I knew there were artists who were explicitly interested in occult themes; artists like William Blake (1757-1827) who’s iconoclastic positions on equality of the sexes and classes, the existence of magic and mysticism, and the right to unfettered sexual expression not only separated him from his peers but also marked him as controversial for his time; artists like Salvador Dali (1904-1989) who produced a tarot deck called the Universal Tarot in 1984, as well as writing a book titled ‘50 secrets of Magic Craftsmanship’ published in 1948, which is an unexplicit top tips of how Dali created his surrealist style of paintings using magical techniques; and another artist like Madge Gill (1882-1961) who believed she was possessed by a spirit called ‘Myrninerest’ and who was openly a member of the Theosophical Society. But the more I started to engross myself in my own esoteric practices, the more I started to notice occult and spiritual themes in art at my place of work; archiving 20th and 21st century art acquisitions. I saw it in Cecil Collins (1908-1989), Eileen Agar (1889-1991), as well as artist Greyson Perry (born 1960) and many more. However, unlike Blake, Dali and Gill, these artists weren’t explicitly documented as mingling with the occult. So what was going on here?

My first thought was to research these artists, to try to confirm their affiliations with occultism - but it became clear to me that it wasn’t about affirmation; it was already visible that occult symbolism kept recurring in art history regardless of whether the artist was ‘into’ the occult or not. To me, what was important was seeing that these themes had been repeated throughout art history for centuries - and there’s lots of great writing about that, for example: Carl Jung’s ‘Man and his Symbols’ published in 1964, or Carl Abrahamsson’s ‘Occulture: The Unseen Forces That Drive Culture Forward’, published in 2018. It became apparent that there were two sides to this: one side being that occult references in art history have been ignored and hidden; they have undergone a degree of mystification. A recent example of this is William Blake’s retrospective at Tate Britain (2019-2020). William Blake had an intense dislike and mistrust of the prevailing orthodoxes of his time: organised religion, divisions by class and gender, and the stultification of social conventions. He and his wife Catherine joined the New Church of Emanuel Swedenborg in 1789 where they practiced a more gentler, mystical form of Christianity in which truth came from personal revelation, not priestly academics and arguments. Blake had a desire for free love and the right for adults to engage in sex unfettered by ideas of sin or social ostracism, and subscribed to the kabbalistic belief that sex was a sacred communion with the Divine. To my disappointment, the exhibition did not explore Blake’s imagery and symbolism, but instead considered the reception of his art with his peers and the monetary value of how much he was paid for certain works; a somewhat capitalist perspective. At no point did the exhibition consider Blake’s radical thoughts, practices or politics; and so this truth remains somewhat hidden in the present; it has undergone a degree of mystification. 

During the last decade (2010-2019), I began to see a huge resurgence of occult popularity, especially in contemporary art and thus the art market. Which brings me to the second side: that occult themes are now gaining popularity in contemporary art practices, that occult or spiritually inspired works are being sold on the art market through commercial galleries and huge art fairs like Frieze - they have become marketable, valuable, and curatable… and most importantly, this means that they are now being viewed through the lenses of the learnt rules: beauty, truth, genius, civilisation, form, status and most importantly ‘good taste’.

Let’s briefly explore this idea of ‘good taste’. As sentimental as I personally am about art for art’s sake, from a strictly sociological perspective, I have to admit that taste is pretty intimately related to power. When you go to a museum you look at various objects on pedestals under special lighting which makes them look magical, which is not too different to when you go to a shopping centre and you walk past all the shop-front displays; but what sets museums apart from any shopping experience is that you can’t buy any of the art on display, and that’s important. In the retail context of commodity fetishism, you correlate your aesthetic taste with material desire, whereas in the museum, because you can’t buy anything, you feel like your aesthetic pleasure is pure, that you’re simply enjoying out of context objects - but of course, that’s an illusion. The museum is the context, and the context is telling you that the things you’re looking at are art. So, whoever decides what’s in the museum decides what ‘good taste’ is, what’s beautiful and what’s valuable, and that goes the same with the art market.

It’s no secret that occultism has been viewed as ‘bad taste’. The resurgence of occultism in contemporary art and culture is not without precedent: the occult has faded in and out of the cultural arena for centuries, from the Witch Trials of 1580-1630 during the Counter-Reformation and the European wars of religion, as well as the 19th century - the setting of the first widespread occult revival since the Christianisation of Europe; the early-modern witch hunts and the so-called age of reason, to the development of Wicca after World War II, the esoteric counterculture of the 1960’s, to the rise of the ‘Satanic Panic’ that troubled the US throughout the 1980’s and early 1990’s. It’s no lie that occultism has had a roller coaster of a time throughout history, but we can recognise this desire in our current moment - steeped in advanced capitalism, swift gentrification and right-wing political gains - the occult and spirituality now holds the promise of connection and empowerment to those who feel powerless. So, of course during this time of uncertainty, a new wave of artists have once again been inspired by occult and spiritual ideologies and themes. Currently in the art market, occultism is on trend and as the art market sees it; political and social turmoil surrounds us, so it’s no surprise new age spiritualism is booming. For example: Damien Hirst’s (born 1965) ‘Mandalas' exhibition from 2019 at the White Cube had people queuing around the block on the opening day, the esoteric was on the ascendent at Frieze Art Fair 2019 with many works exploring the spiritual and supernatural, including high profile commercial galleries like Maureen Paley, Gagosian and the White Cube. A take by Marc Glimcher, the president and chief executive of Pace gallery says: “For many, organised religion’s rejection of universality has left a gap.” for context; he made this statement after opening his new gallery in New York with a blessing from a shaman (2019). It was, Glimsher says, “a moment for the family that is Pace to reflect and appreciate one another and the journey. [...] a growth in the search for an expansion of consciousness today; artists are often the first to recognise and articulate this”.

But many of these ideas have their roots in the counterculture of an earlier time. What Damien Hirst is doing at the White Cube exhibition isn’t particularly new; he’s just doing it in a more acceptable time. But with this, such ideas have entered the mainstream and have become a saleable commodity. The new Pace gallery in New York has crystals embedded in its walls and the London gallery Sadie Coles HQ was selling ‘healing’ gems and minerals in its pop-up shop with the US artist Andrea Zittel (born 1965) (exhibition 2019). Occultism and spiritualism has arguably been co-opted by capitalism and spiritualist art is a booming business. But with any subculture that is embraced by the mainstream and commodified, has the concept of the occult or spiritual lost its purpose?

Let’s take a step back to Marc Glimcher’s statement; what caught my eye here was “artists are often the first to recognise and articulate this”, and well, he’s right. So, let’s examine who the spiritual artist is: if we strip back major western figures, also known as blue-chip artists who created occult inspired or spiritual art in the 20th and 21st century; for example: Wassily Kandinsky (1866-1944), Salvador Dali and Bill Viola (born 1951), then we’re left with predominantly outsider-artists, artists who are considered to be from a minority group, or middle-class artists who weren’t credited for their work during their lifetime. You see, a lot of mainstream visual art inspiration, especially in the fine arts, works in what we might call a trickle-up model of aesthetics, especially with religious and spiritual imagery in 20th and 21st century art. This kind of imagery and philosophy is created by the most marginalised groups and communities, then they trickle up to the middle classes, and then finally to big named artists and commercial galleries. A great example of this is Pablo Picasso (1881-1973) and his African Period which is also known as Primitivism. Primitivism ultimately led to the invention of Cubism and produced one of Picasso’s most famous paintings, the ‘Les Demoiselles d’Avignon’ (1907). During Picasso’s Primitive Period, he painted in a style which was strongly influenced by African sculpture, particularly ceremonial African masks. In the early 20th century, African artworks with spiritual significance were being brought back to Paris museums in consequence of the expansion of the French empire into Sub-Saharan Africa, which brings up a lot of questions about colinialisation, the theft of important spiritual works, and the cultural appropriation of Picasso’s work. We could say that this is happening now, with the popularisation of occultism in contemporary art. That small communities of marginalised groups have been creating and forming a specific aesthetic and philosophy for decades, sometimes centuries, which have then been accessed and popularised by the middle classes with things like yoga becoming more mainstream, mindful meditation apps, healing crystals and Harry Potter, which has then trickled up to the very top and is now being commodified at the art market. The occult has once again gone from ‘bad taste’ to being viewed through the lens of ‘good taste’. 

It’s no secret that the art market has taken a turn in the past two decades, works by women and people of colour are more popular than ever; maybe this is the elite taking advantage of people’s cultural shift towards inclusion and diversity in a way to capitalise on it, or maybe the elite are like, totally ‘woke’ now? To understand the market better, let’s take a look at an institution like MoMA; one of the world’s most important artistic institutions, it came into being in 1929 after a small group of rich New York benefactors made an initial gift of eight prints and drawings. That initial donation grew into the new MoMA which reopened in 2019 after a $450 million renovation which shows more of the museum’s permanent collection of 200,000 artworks. Before the renovation the museum could only present 1,500 artworks on average, now it can show nearly 2,500 works permanently. To put that in perspective, if MoMA stopped collecting new works today, but continued turning over the entirety of its permanent collections gallery every 18 months, it would still need more than 80 years to put everything it owns on view to the public just one time. MoMA decided to take new liberties with the chronological presentation of its collection, and introduced a more theme-based approach which will promote a healthy diversification of genres - putting a Pablo Picasso next to a Faith Ringgold (born 1930) for example. But why is that important? MoMA’s acquisitions and choice of display radically affects the market, and their choice of contemporary art always stimulates the market. It is no surprise then, that MoMA opened one of it’s new gallery spaces with printmaking artist and mystic Betye Saar’s work in October 2019 with the exhibition ‘The Legends of Black Girl’s Window’; this exhibition had an immediate impact on the artist’s prices. Celebrating the acquisition of 42 rare, early works on paper, this was MoMA’s first dedicated examination of Saar’s work as a printmaker and those acquisitions had an inflationary effect on the prices and popularity. Spotlights by major museums almost always have a virtuous impact on demand, and growth in demand means higher prices. And so in October 2019, thanks to institutions like MoMA, we saw a huge resurgence in art exploring occult themes hit the market; right in time for Halloween. 

Even though MoMA’s new expansion did more to reinforce the established canon than to atomize it, the museum’s expansion did more to reinforce the art market status quo than to disrupt it. In a museum system still largely subject to the preferences of its super-rich private patrons, it’s important to recognise that the new MoMA was largely made possible by checks bearing the same old signatures (David Geffen, David Rockefeller, Debra & Leon Black, Ken Griffin and Steven A. Cohen being the largest MoMA donors since 2015). However, with the inclusion of spiritually influenced works like Betye Saar at MoMA as well as the other countless exhibitions of occult or spiritual themed work over the past ten years: like ‘A History of Magic’ at the British Library (2017-2018); ‘Spellbound’ at the Ashmolean Museum, Oxford (2018-2019); ‘The Medium’s Medium’ (2019) and ‘Art + Revolution in Haiti’ (2018) at The Gallery of Everything, London; as well as Damien Hirst's ‘Mandalas’ at the Whita Cube, London (2019); Lenore Tawney at Frieze as part of Alison Jacques Gallery (2019); Melanie Matranga’s wall hangings at Frieze as part of High Art (2019) and Shana Moulton at the Zabludowicz Collection (2019) to name some of the more recent exhibitions; I believe I can safely say that the occult is now going through a state of demystification (from the upper class patrons of MoMA, through to the working classes). The mystification of occult themes appears to be lifting and with this, a whole new occult perspective on not only current artistic practices, but also historic works of art are being discovered today; a good example of this is the Strasbourg Museum of Modern and Contemporary Art’s (MAMCS) exhibition ‘The Europe of Spirit or the Fascination of the Occult, 1750-1950’ (2011-2012) which explored a vast range of works from over 200 years which showed how the visual and literary arts were informed and inspired by appropriated occultism.  

With this demystification of history, we begin to see occult symbolism in the present: we gaze into pools of data, in a terminal trance running on light, power, numbers. We raise histories long dead on Wikipedia, we cast chat communiques to fellow citizens via vibrations. We summon demons, turn our base metal devices to the task of making gold, astral project into virtual worlds, program the very landscape we live in; and this resonates most strongly with working class and unrepresented artists across the UK (the trickle up model of aesthetics; the unrepresented artists are usually the first to notice). Artists like Chloe Langlois (born 1980), Arianne Churchman (born 1988), Joseph Winsborrow (born 1994), Craig David Parr (born 1990), and artist collectives like Chaos Magic, Dohm Ceramics and KÜHLE WAMPE are all exploring occult themes using digital ritualism. This could suggest that the current mining of the esoteric underground and the upsurge of mainstream interest in the occult mysteries serves a more practical function for young, unrepresented and working-class artists. It’s not about the return of Gods and the re-enactment of a technologically dischanted reality. Instead, it’s about the rediscovery of tools and strategies that are, paradoxically again, pragmatic and instrumental. These artists recognise that magic may help us map, manipulate, and navigate the weird political, social and technological landscape that yawns before us. 

Since the eighteenth century, the West has seen a profound transformation in the relationship between art and religion. The Reformation, the rise of capitalism, the ideals of the Enlightenment, the worship of Reason and the growth of the town all led to what Max Weber (1864-1920) called “the disenchantment of the world”. At the same time, the sense of the withdrawal of the divine that found expression in the Romantics, followed later by Nietzche’s announcement of the death of God, the advance of science, the emergence of psychoanalysis and the growing influence of Marxism, led to a reconsideration of Man’s place in creation and thus of his relationship to religion. It was in this landscape of belief violently unsettled that Modern Art came to birth. In the course of this long process the secularisation of society delivered artists from their subordination to occultism and spirituality; the crisis of religion did not at all mean the disappearance of metaphysical questioning. There remains a survival of such questioning today which continues to fuel the invention of contemporary artistic forms, and as such represents an essential key to the understanding of art history and contemporary art. 

Images: 1.  Shana Moulton, The Pink Tower and The Waterfall of Grief, 2019, exhibition view Zabludowicz Collection, London. Courtesy the artist and Zabludowicz Collection. Photo: Tim Bowditch

2. Madge Gill, Untitled, Undated, Courtesy Newham Archives and Local Studies Library

3. Damien Hirst, Mandalas, 2019, exhibition view The White Cube, London. Courtesy the artist and The White Cube.

4.  Left, Picasso’s Les Demoiselles d’Avignon, 1907 with Faith Ringgold’s American People Series #20: Die, 1967. Exhibition view Museum of Modern Art, New York, 2019.

5. KÜHLE WAMPE, Under Different Stars, 2019. Vivid Projects: Black Hole Club. Photo: Marcin Sz

[crimethinc]

Take Your Pick: Law or Freedom–How “Nobody Is above the Law” Abets the Rise of Tyranny

We saw you last night among thousands of other anti-Trump demonstrators around the US. Their signs proclaimed, “No one is above the law.” You were the one with the sign reading “I love laws.” We need to talk.

Really, this is what gets you into the streets? Trump’s goons have been kidnapping your neighbors, preparing to block your access to abortion, openly promoting “nationalism,” calling the targets for lone wolf assassins who send mail bombs and shoot up synagogues—and your chief concern is whether what they’re doing is legal?

And if Trump and his cronies were to change the laws—what then?

If you’re trying to establish the foundation for a powerful social movement against Trump’s government, “no one is above the law” is a self-defeating narrative. What happens when a legislature chosen by gerrymander passes new laws? What happens when the courts stacked with the judges Trump appointed rule in his favor? What will you do when the FBI cracks down on protests?

If everything that put Trump in a position to implement his agenda were legal, would you be at peace with it, then? When some nice centrist politician takes office after him, but the police keep enforcing the policies he introduced and the judges he appointed keep judging, will you withdraw from the streets? Come to think of it, where were you under Obama when people were being imprisoned and deported by the million? Perhaps you have no problem with millions of people being imprisoned and deported as long as no one colludes with Russia or talks over a journalist?

We saw other protesters with signs entreating us to “Save Democracy.” Didn’t democracy inflict Trump on us in the first place? Isn’t it democracy that just brought Bolsonaro to power in Brazil—a racist, sexist, and homophobic advocate of the Brazilian military dictatorship and extrajudicial killings? If democracy enables outright fascists to legitimize their authority rather than having to seize power by force, what’s so great about it, exactly?

If “no one is above the law,” that means the law is above all of us. It means that the law—any law, whatever law happens to be on the books—is more valuable than our dearest desires, more righteous than our most honorable aspirations, more important than our most deep-seated sense of right and wrong. This way of thinking prizes group conformity over personal responsibility. It is the kiss of death for any movement that aims to bring about change.

Social change has always involved illegal activity—from the American Revolution to John Brown’s raid at Harper’s Ferry, from the sit-in movement to the uprising in Ferguson. If not for the courageous deeds of people who were willing to break the law, we’d still be living under the king of England. Many of us would still be enslaved.

That is what makes your cheerleading for the FBI so chilling. You’re familiar with COINTELPRO, presumably, and many of the other ways that the FBI has set out to crush movements for social change? Imagine that your best-case scenario plays out and the FBI helps to orchestrate Donald Trump’s removal from power. What do you think that the FBI would do with all the legitimacy that would give them in the eyes of liberals and centrists? It would have carte blanche to intensify its attacks on poor people, people of color, and protesters, destroying the next wave of social movements before they can get off the ground. Nothing could be more naïve than to imagine that the FBI will focus on policing the ruling class.

The greatest peril we face is that Trump’s government will be replaced by a centrist government that will continue most of the current administration’s policies without violating any rules or norms. The more Trump’s regime is described as exceptional, the easier it will be for the next administration to get away with the same activities. In the long run, the system is at its most dangerous when it does not outrage people.

Mobilizing to support an FBI Director in response to the firing of one of the most racist Attorney Generals in living memory—this is the same “lesser of two evils” argument some have made for voting taken to its logical extreme; this approach guarantees that we will be reduced to advocating for the second worst of all possible evils. Firing Jeff Sessions helps Trump evade Mueller’s investigation, yes, but let’s be clear—men like Sessions, Trump, and Mueller do the most harm in the course of carrying out their official duties in strict observation of the law.

What Gives the Law Legitimacy in the First Place?

In the feudal era, when kingly authority was thought to be bequeathed by God and laws were decreed by kings, it was at least internally consistent to hold that everyone had a sacred duty to obey them. Today, this assumption lingers as a sort of holdover—yet without any rational basis. Certainly, the law decrees that no one is above it, but that’s just circular reasoning. What obliges us to regard laws as more valid then our own personal ethics?

Partisans of democracy like to imagine that laws arise because of their general utility to the population as a whole. On the contrary, for most of the history of the state, laws were decreed by monarchs and dictatorships—and only existed on account of their utility to rulers. Sovereignty itself is a fundamentally monarchist metaphor. If we no longer believe in the divine right of kings, that undermines any inherent claim that laws could have on our obedience. Rather than blindly complying, we have a responsibility to decide for ourselves how we should act. To cite Hannah Arendt, “No one has the right to obey.”

The law masquerades as a sort of social contract existing for everyone’s benefit. But if it’s really in everyone’s best interest, why is it so hard to get people to abide by it? The truth is, neither the powerful nor the oppressed have ever had good cause to obey laws—the former because the same privileges that enable them to write the laws release them from the necessity of observing them, the latter because the laws were not established for their benefit in the first place. It shouldn’t be surprising that a billionaire like Trump does not obey the laws. What’s surprising is that you still think that the rest of us ought to.

What’s the difference between the illegal activity of a Donald Trump and the illegal activity of a person who engages in civil disobedience? If “no one is above the law,” then they’re both equally in the wrong. No, the real distinction between them is that one is acting for selfish gain while the other is attempting to create a more egalitarian society. This is the important question—whether our actions serve to reproduce hierarchies or undermine them. We should focus on this question, not on whether any given action is legal.

What we are seeing today is the fracturing of our society. The peace treaties that stabilized capitalism through the second half of the 20th century are collapsing, and members of the ruling class are adopting rival strategies to weather the crises ahead. On one side, nationalists like Trump are betting on chauvinism and brute force, preparing to make the best of it as society splinters into warring groups. On the other side, centrist technocrats want to present themselves as the only imaginable alternative, using the specter of Trump and his kind to justify their own quest for authority. When they get back into office, you can bet that they won’t turn down any additional power that Trump has vested in the state. Your advocacy for “the rule of law” is music to their ears. And, of course, whatever additional power and legitimacy they concentrate in the state will be passed on to the next Trump, the next Bolsonaro.

Each side aims to instrumentalize the discourse of law and order in order to outflank the other in the battle for power. This isn’t new; it’s as old as the state itself. Immediately after the confirmation of Kavanaugh, you’re a sucker to imagine that the law represents some sort of social consensus rather than the edicts of whoever happens to control the institutions. To fetishize obedience to the law is to accept that might makes right.

To march under the banner “no one is above the law” is to spit in the faces of all those for whom the daily functioning of the law is an experience of oppression and injustice. It is to reject solidarity with the sectors of society that could give a social movement against Trump leverage in the streets. It is to assert the political center as a discrete entity that holds itself apart—that views both Trump and the social movements that oppose him as rivals to its own power. Finally, it is to legitimize the very instrument of oppression—the law—that Trump will eventually use to suppress your movement. Remember “Lock her up”?

You have to ask yourself some important questions now. Do you love laws—or justice? Do you love rights—or freedom?

If it’s laws you believe in, you’re on the right track. Just don’t have any illusions about what it means to value the law above everything else. If it’s justice you want, on the other hand, you need to be prepared to break the law. In that case, you need a totally different narrative to explain what you’re doing.

If it’s rights you’re after, you’ll need a government to grant them, protect them, and—inevitably—take them away when it sees fit. Whenever you use the discourse of rights, you set the stage for this to occur. There are no rights without a sovereign to bestow them. On the other hand, if you love freedom, rather than vesting legitimacy in the government, you’d better make common cause with everyone else who has a stake in collectively defending themselves against invasive efforts to impose authority, whether from Trump or his Democratic rivals.

From the anarchist perspective, all of us are above the law. Our lives are more precious than any legal document, any court decision, any duty decreed by the state. No social contract drawn up in the halls of power could provide a basis for mutually fulfilling egalitarian relations; we can only establish those on our own terms, working together outside any framework of imposed responsibilities. The law is not our salvation; it is the first and greatest crime.

Further Reading

The Centrists

From Democracy to Freedom

Don’t celebrate the exception; abolish the rule.

[wrath-ruin-reddawn]

Radicalism in Medieval Settings and the Scioa’tael

One of the most common complaints hurled against the Scioa’tael and its members is that, “they’re terrorists”. This slight is hard to refute, because, according to the most basic definition of terrorist– i.e. “ a person who uses unlawful violence and intimidation, especially against civilians, in the pursuit of political aims “– they are. However, as this essay will explain, calling the Scioa’tael terrorists overlooks several centuries of social, political, and martial development, making it an unfair comparison. 

First, we must address the elephant in the room. We live in a post 9/11 world; many of us from the United States grew up in the atmosphere of pervasive fear that dominated the Bush era and the so-called War on Terror. Other nations have been similarly affected by their own tragedies, their own acts of terrorism, both foreign and domestic. This makes it difficult to talk about terrorism because it evokes deeply rooted emotions, for everyone, and understandably so. Even so, we must endeavor to dissociate our present connotations from the word itself, in order to better discuss terrorism both as it now exists and how it functioned in medieval societies. The main problem with terrorism in modern free societies, and why it is particularly reviled, is that it is fundamentally unnecessary. In cultures where people are guaranteed the right to vote, protest, and assemble, resorting to violence, especially violence against civilians, is abhorrent because the will of the people can be expressed through other ways. Voting out people whose political views we disagree with and protesting unjust laws with marches and rallies are just two of the ways in which citizens of a democracy can communicate and enforce their wishes. 

Of course, even in a democracy, there are ways in which the will of the people can be subverted. Systemic factors like social class mean that the rich individuals and powerful companies can afford to lobby and donate money to politicians in ways that the poor cannot. Heck, I have seen politicians win the popular vote but still lose the presidential election twice in my lifetime thanks to the weird setup of the American electoral college. However, even with these issues, citizens still have important, legal rights that protect their ability to assemble and protest…. rights that were largely absent under feudal systems like the world of the Witcher. The consideration of this setting is what we will discuss in the rest of this essay, to better contextualize the Scioa’tael as a movement, and to led to a discussion of revolution under oppressive regimes.

SECTION I: FEUDAL SOCIETY

I. Contextualizing the Problem

Before we can even begin to talk about the social context of the Scioa’tael, we need to try and establish what kind of world the Witcher takes place in. Although, obviously, the setting is fictional, our best bet is to try and draw connections between the Witcher universe and our own. 

One of the easiest ways to narrow our focus is to try and establish what historical time-frame the Witcher roughly corresponds to. Now, there are multiple ways to do this, but I will focus primarily on the technology, vocabulary, and historical references. Of course, this is difficult, because the fantastical elements in the Witcher use very modern terms. For example, the words “mutagen” (1946) and “gene” (1909) which both appear in the series, were only conceived in the 20th century, which clashes heavily with the Witcher’s decidedly medieval aesthetic. However, these words are derived from pre-existing French/Latin bases, so they could have hypothetically been devised earlier in the universe of the Witcher to fulfill a need. (Sorceresses, after all, are able to do some pretty incredible things, and they clearly have an advanced understanding of biology. See: the fact that they can intentionally mutate living organisms via gene therapy.) 

As for historical references, we can see a few characters mentioned in the Witcher universe who have clear parallels to real life figures. For example, Dandelion mentions a revolutionary named “Joan of the Arc Coast”, whose name is obviously very close to Joan of Arc. The real life Joan of Arc lived between 1412 and 1431. Further backing up this rough estimate for the time period is the fashion. We see several men in the Witcher series wearing chaperons (Roche’s head-gear of choice), that became particularly fashionable in the 15th century. The attire of most nobles (hose, a tunic, and shoes) also fits with this time-frame.

This places the Witcher during the medieval period. 

II. The Medieval Period in Europe Was Especially Shitty, and Here’s Why! 

In news that probably surprises absolutely no one, the medieval period was pretty awful for anyone who wasn’t a rich male noble. The primary economic and political system was feudalism, a social structure that’s basically a pyramid. At the bottom of this structure were the peasants and serfs, who worked the land overseen by knights and vassals, who in turn reported to lords, who answered to the monarchy. Obviously, in this structure the king had absolute power, and the serfs practically none. 

This imbalance of power was maintained in a multitude of ways. For starters, even though peasants comprised the majority of European populations, they lacked the resources of the upper classes. If they wanted to resist with physical force, they could find themselves up against knights: men with expensive life-saving armor who were literally trained since childhood to fight. And refusing to pay their taxes simple wasn’t an option– they didn’t even legally own the land they worked on, remember. Even free peasants still technically rented their land from their lords. If they refused to work, they could suffer terrible repercussions, and without the ability to unionize or go on strike en masse any attempts to hurt their lords by refusing to work would fail. 

An additional form of control was the church. The clergy helped maintain the power structure of the feudal system by “sanctify[ing] the divine rule of the king and justify[ing] royal measures to the rest of the population” (Ishay). Under conventional European feudalism, the church was not “a free agent… but rather an intrinsic part of the apparatus of power” (Ishay). 

Now, admittedly, the religious structures in the Witcher are different than that of the Catholic church in medieval Europe. For starters, Catholicism was incredibly influential precisely because of how singular and all-encompassing it was. “Religion permeated every pore of medieval life,” (Ishay). However, in the Witcher universe, there are at least several different religious organizations in the North. The cult of Melitele is “the most widespread” of all the Nordling’s religions, but even so it is a far cry from the utter domination of the Catholic church in Western Europe. (Of course, eventually this would change during the Protestant Reformation, and the Orthodox Church has always held sway in the East. But the important factor here is more that there was utter hegemony by one religious institution than what institution it was.) 

Despite this difference, we do see that religious institutions do seem to prop up the monarchy in the world of the Witcher, even if their reach isn’t as lengthy. We see priests at peace talks, on battlefields, and most importantly performing coronations. Nobles still use the excuse of divine right to justify their actions and their rule. Clearly, this parallels the rhetoric used in medieval Europe. To my own interpretation, although the Cult of Melitele is no stand-in for the Catholic Church, it still bolstered the institution of feudalism.

Feudalism was a system of finance as much as a governmental one, and as such examining the economies of the Northern kingdoms can provide further insight to the political weight (or lack thereof) of the lower classes. Now, towards the end of the medieval period there was an increase in the power of merchants and traders-- essentially, the foundation of what we today call nouveau riche; people who were not from genteel families rising to prominence (think of the Medici in Florence). This correlated to the flourishing of city-states and the birth of the middle class. There was also a corresponding increase in the right to own private property; something that, while uncontroversial today, was revolutionary at the time. 

"The gradual decline of feudalism and its monopolistic economy, for instance, eventually would lead to the free markets of capitalism based on the concept of the individual’s right to private property, thereby providing greater individual autonomy and opportunities for the beneficiaries to transform their newfound economic power into political power.” (Lauren)

Of course, this point would be meaningless if the Witcher did not have a similar economy to typical ones in medieval Europe. Fortunately for us, it is-- or at the very least, it appears to be. Although Geralt isn’t exactly reading newspapers with descriptions of the stock market, we can see several things that provide insight into the fiscal reality of the Nordling economy. From what we can see, there is a decent merchant class in cities like Vizima, Flotsam, and Novigrad, and there is clearly a class of people who have risen themselves up above their station. This implies that the economic situation in the North does resemble that of late medieval Europe. 

However, it is important to note that greater economic mobility did not necessarily contribute to the development of better freedoms and living conditions nearly as much as other factors.  “As long as the public realm was dormant, closely linked to the private realm, and subservient to religious and feudal authority, the state, however backward, was still uncontested” (Ishay). Funnily enough, the sense of community built up through religious institutions eventually lead to people having a public outlet for their frustrations... but the world of the Witcher isn’t there yet, and so that will remain a topic for another day. 

SECTION II: THE ETHICS OF TERRORISM, ESPECIALLY IN A FEUDAL SOCIETY        

I. There Are No Alternatives

As shitty as it is to say, there really aren’t many options for nonhumans in the North. Hell, there aren’t many options for anyone in the North, even human peasants. Like we discussed above, the feudal system was crappy all around, and particularly resistant to change, as “no significant public space permitted democratic communication between the peasantry and feudal authorities” (Ishay). In some cases, like in Russia and parts of Eastern Europe serfdom continued up until “the wars, revolutions, and upheavals of the nineteenth century br[oke] practices of the past” (Lauren). 

Considering how marginalized nonhumans are, is it really surprising that the Scioa’tael formed? Although peaceful methods of resistance might be possible, it remains a fact that feudalism leaves no room “for the advancement of political and economic rights” (Ishay). Let us not forget what Dandelion says about nonhuman rights:

“It is a fact that, as the scrawlings on the wall of the University of Oxenfurt say: "Pacifying nonhumans is like wallowing in mud – everyone gets dirty, generally with blood."”

The dream of the Scioa’tael for a world in which they can self-determine, and have the same freedoms and respect that humans enjoy, is dangerous. Because “these visions of human rights possess the capacity to challenge, to generate fear, to hold out hope and inspire, and to change the world” (Lauren).     

In light of these facts, I don’t think that it’s really possible to deny that open rebellion is pretty much the only way for the Scioa’tael to gain any rights. As for how bad nonhumans have it... well, that’s an essay for another day. I’ll just say that there is definitely some racial/ethnic coding going on with the nonhumans, and that we can use this to form an even more grim outlook of their prospects than the already bleak view offered by the novels and video game series. 

II. Methodology and the Ethics of War

Now that we have established that nonhumans have almost no choices or ability to enact political change by peaceful means, we can now talk about the morality of terrorism, and try to come to a consensus about the Scioa’tael. 

Of course, ethics are inherently subjective. Although I have described, at length, how revolution in feudal societies practically demands violence, I am sure that some of you will remain unconvinced. That’s your prerogative. I think that it’s crazy, but you do you I guess. But for the rest of us, we now have to address the muddy waters of rebellion and warfare. Namely: what makes war just? What actions are permissible in war?

These questions are not easy to answer. Some believe that, as long as the cause is just, any action is justified; others that just actions are what make the cause just. I think that the reality is probably somewhere in the middle. 

This brings up another issue: namely, that the Scioa’tael don’t function as a single unit. Each unit reports to a commander, and therefore the conduct of each commando can vary wildly. For example, the unnamed leader of one Scioa’tael group abducted Ves as a young woman, keeping her as his sex slave and prisoner. Other commanders are more discerning-- although they may torch villages and kill merchants who infringe on their territories, these Scioa’tael don’t seem to take prisoners for such extended periods of time and seem to have some sense of decency. Sure, they’ll torture their enemies for information, but they draw the line at, you know, raping children.    

Two of the main criteria for defining whether a cause is just or not are just cause and right intention: i.e are you fighting for a good reason? And do you have good intentions? And in the case of most Scioa’tael groups, we can assuredly say that they have just cause (they want freedom), and right intentions (that one only does actions with the goal of seeing your cause realized-- and that you intend to stop when you win).    

And two of the main aspects of the waging of war itself is that of proportionality and non-combatant immunity. The ideal of proportionality essentially states that you should not use unnecessary force: or at the very least, force that is not greater than what you enemies use against you. Non-combatant immunity states that you should, you know, only attack viable military targets. 

Considering that the Scioa’tael aren’t using methods more extreme than the humans, we see that the moral of proportionality is maintained. Really, the only point of contention with the Scioa’tael is the principle of non-combatant immunity. Of course, the Scioa’tael would make the argument that humans violate this principle every day, and that they are only responding in kind; or they might make the argument that all humans are part of the system of oppression and thus bear some culpability for it. 

SECTION III: CONCLUSION  

In the previous sections, I have laid out the social context and justification for the Scioa’tael as best I can. I can’t offer a simple, easy answer as to whether they are doing the right thing or not. Their methods are definitely questionable, but, as American Revolutionary Thomas Paine once said, “Tyranny, like hell, is not easily conquered.” However, I do hope that this essay can help elevate the discourse from mud-slinging the term “terrorist” to an honest discussion, especially one that takes the sociopolitical setting of the Witcher into account instead of borrowing the word’s modern connotations wholesale. I think that, although difficult, the ethical questions raised about warfare and conduct are things that we must all consider, especially given the way the political climate is turning. How far can we go to defend liberty? Under what conditions are acts of violence permissible?  

References  

Ishay, Micheline R. The History of Human Rights: From Ancient Times to the Globalization Era. Berkeley: University of California Press, 2008   

Lauren, Paul Gordon. The Evolution of International Human Rights: Visions Seen (Third Edition). Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2011 

“Mutagen”, “Gene”. Oxford English Dictionary, www.oed.com. Retrieved 04/28/18.  

Steinhoff, Uwe. On the Ethics of War and Terrorism. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007 

[tipsycad147]

Tarot myths debunked! Nine "rules" of Tarot you can (mostly) ignore

by Michelle Gruben

As soon as you delve into the world of Tarot, you encounter a bunch of do-this, don't-do-that warnings and prescriptions about how to use the cards. (Why, it's almost as if we were dealing with something magical, not just 78 pictures on cardstock!) Some of these superstitions undoubtedly have a grain of truth in them, while others are just baloney dipped in snake oil. Now, for your amusement and your edification, Madame Michelle will feed each “should” and “shouldn’t” into the Truth-O-Matic Machine (i.e., her brain!) and declare a verdict.

You shouldn't read Tarot for yourself.

Mary Greer put a stake in this old truism with her groundbreaking 1984 book, defiantly titled Tarot for Your Self. Her Tarot method is based on the premise that Tarot is a mirror of the human psyche, and that relying on a reader to interpret your cards makes no more sense than asking someone else to explain your dreams.

These days, Tarot has become as mainstream as the Mississippi—we have weekend workshops, decks to suit every persuasion, and shelves of tarot books that owe more to 1970s self-help literature than to the Western esoteric tradition.   The more accessible Tarot becomes, the fewer people believe that reading the cards is the provenance of a gifted few. And even professional cartomancers have to learn somewhere—usually, by reading for themselves.

That’s not to say that it’s easy to do Tarot divination for yourself. The potential for self-deception is high. Accurate readings call for a clear head and an impartial attitude—easier said than done when it’s your burning question on the table. But with some practice, you can cultivate the necessary detachment to be your own best Tarot reader. Learn to distinguish the whining voice of worry and desire from the subtle whisper of intuition. And be ready to get a second opinion when your well-calibrated bullshit detector starts beeping.

Truth-O-Matic reading: Yeah, but…no.

Using Tarot cards is dangerous.

Well, it depends on what your definition of danger is, doesn’t it? If you believe that opening a deck of Tarot cards is going to unleash a frenzied horde of demons that will drag you kicking and screaming into the dark world of the occult, then you need a reality check. If, however, you're worried that diving into Tarot will change your perceptions, scramble your priorities, and launch you into a lifelong obsession, then your fears are entirely justified.

Truth-O-Matic reading: Maybe.

Don't let anyone else touch your cards.

This warning is based on the assumption that a Tarot deck collects and stores the psychic energy of the reader. When another person handles the deck, according to this idea, their energy scrambles, contaminates, or wipes away this accumulation of energy, making the deck less attuned to its owner.

Most readers I know do have a “professional” deck which many clients will handle, and another deck(s) reserved for their personal use. But their concerns are usually mundane—germy, grimy, or clumsy hands fondling a treasured deck, or cards going missing during a long evening of giving readings in low light. Bad vibes are really a non-issue. A Tarot reader who is skilled enough to detect psychic imprints left on their deck will easily be able to give it a good cleansing before the next use.

Not only that, but readers who allow the querent to handle their cards give better readings than people who bogart the deck. Passing the cards back and forth facilitates the exchange of energy that allows information to flow more freely during the reading. Not only that, allowing the querent to shuffle, cut, and/or draw cards is a great way to keep the person actively involved in the reading. We've all experienced the client who wants to sit passively on their side of the table while the all-knowing Tarot reader tells them exactly what fate has in store for them. Blech. Letting the querent choose their own cards from the deck gives them a greater sense of control over their destiny, and perhaps encourages them to take positive steps after the reading is over. Also, many people are nervous about having their cards read, and keeping their hands busy helps allay those jitters.

On a side note, my permissive attitude about Tarot-sharing doesn't go for other magical tools. I'll let any curious person thumb through my Tarot cards, but I'm choosy about who, if anyone, gets to see my scrying crystal or athame. To make an analogy, I'll happily lend a sweater or scarf to a friend, but not my lucky undies. (And shame on you for even asking, Mark.)

Truth-O-Matic reading: Nah.

Don’t buy a used Tarot deck.

A corollary to the above, this caveat is also based on worries about psychic contamination. There’s nothing wrong with buying a pre-loved deck (as long as you make sure all the cards are there). Just cleanse the used deck according to a method you trust, dedicate it to your purposes, and have fun reading it. Shunning used cards makes trees sad!

Incidentally, I’ve found that plenty of readers actually prefer vintage decks. They’re usually easier to shuffle, and may have acquired a patina of incense smoke and hand crud that newly-minted cards just can’t match. (And, if you’re seeking a rare or out-of-print deck, you may have no choice but to acquire it secondhand.) Of course, if you favor a crisp deck that’s never been read by anyone else, that’s fine too.  

Truth-O-Matic reading: Whatever floats your boat.

You should “reset” the deck by putting the cards back in order after each use.

This myth must be perpetuated by those folks who mistake their OCD for some kind of special magical sensitivity. I’m pretty sure the only people who follow this rule are Tarot dilettantes who read the cards once a year on their birthday. A pro would never undertake the Sisyphean task of “resetting” the deck after every spread. Sorting the cards and placing them back in their proper sequence can be a relaxing, meditative activity—but it's by no means necessary. A good shuffle or two to mix in the cards from the last reading is all the maintenance a Tarot deck requires.

Truth-O-Matic reading: Oh hell no.

You can't purchase your first Tarot deck—it has to be received as a gift.

Try as I might, I haven't been able to track down the origin of the idea that it’s somehow improper or inauspicious to buy your own Tarot deck. An acquaintance of mine who comes from a Romani (Gypsy) family tells me that this is one of their customs. To wait to be given a deck for card-reading exemplifies patience, humility, and a true calling—while buying one for yourself signifies vanity.

The prohibition against buying your own deck may also be a legacy of the 19th-century occult societies. Before the publication of the Rider-Waite deck made the Tarot images widely available, knowledge of the Tarot would have been mainly conveyed from initiate to aspirant. In the Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn, for instance, the Tarot Trumps and their “true” meanings were treated as a powerful secret. Members built on their knowledge of the Tarot in stages, as they progressed from grade to grade. Each initiate was expected to make his or her own Tarot deck from a master copy (probably painted by Moina Mathers) upon achieving the grade of Adeptus Minor.

These days, of course, there are few secrets left in the occult world, and self-initiation is the norm. So, go ahead and buy your own Tarot deck—I’m sure the powers that be have better things to do than to hang out at Barnes and Noble punishing Tarot interlopers. Besides, if you’re a Tarot beginner waiting for someone to guess that you want a Tarot deck and to buy it for you, you might be waiting for a long time. Just choose a deck that appeals to you, as long as it’s Rider-Waite (Kidding! Sort of.), and dive right in.

Truth-O-Matic reading: Piffle.

Beware the Death card!

We can thank Hollywood for this one. It’s a B-movie cliché that any character who gets this card won’t live until the credits roll.

As every single beginning Tarot book points out, drawing Death does not necessarily portend someone’s impending demise. It signifies change—often positive change. But let’s not be tempted to de-fang (de-scythe?) this card completely. The change it speaks of can still be dramatic, scary, and presently unwelcome. When drawn, it’s a wake-up call to embrace the flux within and around us, and to face the inevitable. In recent years, with the trend toward Tarot for self-development, the pendulum has arguably swung too far the other way. Now, instead of “Death” we get “Transformation,” “Renewal,” “End of Cycle,” and other polysyllabic affirmation-speak. O Death, where is thy sting? Why dost thou blatherest on so?

Truth-O-Matic reading: Don't fear the reaper (but don't ignore him, either).

Don’t ask the same question twice.

“Does this shirt look okay on me?”

“Mmmph.”

“No, really, how does this shirt look?”

“It's a little tight—”

“Aw, c'mon, don't you like my new shirt? I got it on sale.”

“It looks fine.”

And then, because you asked the same question too many times, you leave the house looking like a stack of donuts wrapped in Spandex.

The danger is not that the Tarot will punish you for your impudence—that's superstition. No, the danger is in finally hearing what you want to hear, rather than what you need to hear, and making poorer decisions because of it. It's hard enough to keep your hopes and biases out of a reading without giving yourself multiple spreads to choose from. Didn't get a clear answer the first time? Some readers will keep the spread in place and draw additional cards for clarification, but even that practice has its pitfalls. (Do you really not understand the answer, or are you just angling for cards you like better?)

You may have also noticed that the cards are, for lack of a better term, impatient with persistent needling on one question. Ever try for a re-do and get the same answer phrased a different way? Or even the same exact cards? That's the Tarot gods trying to clue you in—the answer you've received is the right one, so take it or leave it. Persist in fishing, and the tone sometimes turns a little nasty.

Of course, there are times when you may want to do a follow-up reading on a question that has been asked in the past. But that's recommended only after some time has elapsed, and only then if the situation is actively evolving.

Truth-O-Matic reading: Mostly true.

Sleeping with your Tarot deck under your pillow will enhance your bond with the cards.

Now isn't this just like one of these lazy-ass New Age fluffy-bunny ideas: “To become a Tarot master, all you have to do is take lots of naps!” No, sorry. I’ve tried the osmosis method, and it doesn’t work. The only way to become familiar with the Tarot images is too look at them, read them, read about them, and read them some more—preferably at regular intervals, and across several decades. If exploring the cards in dreams is your objective, you’ll probably have more luck if you to choose an image to meditate on before bed. However, if you happen to like the corner of a cardboard box poking you in the cheeks all night, then be my guest.

If it’s a bond with the physical deck that you crave, the best way to connect with your cards is to handle them—handle them a lot, until your cards smell like your hands and your hands smell like cards.

Bend ‘em and scuff ‘em up until the edges are all soft and you can shuffle with your eyes closed. Mentally acquaint yourself with the texture and dimensions, so that picking up your deck feels as comfortable as sliding into your favorite T-shirt.

Will taking your deck to bed imprint it with your personal energy? Yeah, I guess so, a little. But folks who practice psychometry (the art of reading vibes from objects) generally agree that paper is a poor conductor of psychic energy, compared to non-organic materials like metal or stone. So the energy clinging to a Tarot deck may not feel as potent or last as long as with other tools. Still, if you want to infuse your cards with your personal energy, you can do that with a ritual or visualization. I recommend charging them purposefully and consciously, rather than soaking them in the psychic equivalent of pillowcase drool.

Truth-O-Matic reading: Hmmph.

This article is excerpted from the book Tarot Tangents, or Little Essays Toward Thoth.

https://www.groveandgrotto.com/blogs/articles/77236103-tarot-myths-debunked-nine-rules-of-tarot-you-can-mostly-ignore

[ruminativerabbi]

Blasphemy

Readers of these letters will know already that one of the areas that I find the most interesting—and also the most challenging— to write about is the precise way my commitment to the values that underlie our American republic meshes (or doesn’t mesh) with my equally strong commitment to the Torah-based values that inhere in traditional Jewish life.

That was the reason I chose to write a few weeks ago about the Supreme Court’s decision to consider the case of the Colorado baker who declined to create a wedding cake for a same-sex couple, and why I continue to find that case so interesting. On the one hand, as someone unambiguously committed the notion that the civil rights of gay people deserve to be protected by law no less forcefully or fully than the civil rights of any other group within our American society, I can easily identify with the couple who felt discriminated against by the baker’s refusal to serve them. On the other hand, I also feel—and just as strongly—that it can never be a good thing—not for members of religious minorities but also not for the nation itself—for the freedom of religion guaranteed by the Bill of Rights to be attenuated by restrictive legislation or undermined by the courts. I wrote then how struck I was by the many articles and essays I read on both sides of the issue that appeared to consider the matter as unambiguously simple and clear-cut, whereas to me it seemed and seems thorny and complex.

I do not wish to write again about that specific case today, but rather to address a very interesting issue that I see growing out of it: the question of whether the freedom of religion guaranteed by the Constitution should rationally be taken to include speech itself. The baker, after all, is not arguing that anyone has restricted his right to practice his faith at home or in church in whatever manner he wishes, but rather that custom-baking a cake for a gay wedding reception would imply that he personally supports the notion of same-sex marriage and should for that reason only be something he has the constitutional right to decline to do. Leaving aside the question of whether non-verbal activity like baking a cake—even a super-fancy one—should be considered speech at all, I would like instead to consider the question of whether speech itself is can be reasonably qualified as enough of a religious act to be protected by the First Amendment.

Our Jewish tradition certainly thinks so, making blasphemy into the kind of capital crime so potentially injurious to the public weal that the entire people is called upon to participate together in the blasphemer’s execution. Nor does Scripture allow for the possibility that this is meant as some sort of kashrut-style prohibition meant to apply solely to Israelites: “as well the stranger as he that is born in the land,” the Torah solemnly announces, “when he blasphemeth the name of the Lord, he shall be put to death.” So that’s clear enough, but what is being prohibited exactly? Our ancient sources go back on forth regarding the details, but those discussions mostly center around the question of what specifically someone would have to do actually to merit execution as a blasphemer—whether such a person has to curse God using the most sacred of divine names, whether it counts if someone curses another individual using that name of God as part of the imprecation, whether speaking in a vulgar way about God is enough to warrant indictment, whether insulting God’s Torah counts, whether the crime even can be committed by someone who does not speak Hebrew, etc. But the notion that speaking aloud in a way that disrespects the name of God is sinful and wrong is a cornerstone of our Torah’s approach to the morality of speech itself.

And that brings me to a remarkable booklet entitled Respecting Rights? Measuring the World’s Blasphemy Laws, published just this last July by the United States Commission on International Religious Freedom, the federal commission with the mandate specifically to report on violations of religious freedom internationally and to make policy recommendations to the President, the Secretary of State, and to the Congress. It is, to say the least, an eye-opening read. (Click here to the see the full report online and here to see an abbreviated version.)

To my slight amazement, it turns out that a full third of the world’s nations, 71 countries in all, have laws that make blasphemy illegal. How this is specifically defined varies, but the basic principle is that there are 71 countries in which you can face serious punishment if you are convicted of having spoken out in a way deemed insulting to God or, in some cases, to religion itself.

Some of the countries on the list were no surprise at all, countries like Iran, Saudi Arabia, Egypt, Somalia, and Syria. But others were amazing to me, particularly Western-style democracies like Denmark, Switzerland, Ireland, and Spain. Israel is on the list. And, most unexpected of all (to me personally, at any rate), so is Canada.

The laws themselves vary widely. But the punishments are severe in almost every case: of the 71 nations that have laws prohibiting blasphemy, 59 punish individuals convicted of the crime with imprisonment. In two other nations, Iran and Pakistan, convicted blasphemers risk execution. Two more, Russia and Kazakhstan, punish convicted blasphemers with compulsory or corrective labor. One country, Sudan, punishes the blasphemer with the kind of corporal punishment administered with a whip.  Ireland, Spain, and Switzerland levy fines against anyone convicted of blasphemy. Three countries, Afghanistan, Eritrea, and Saudi Arabia, do not have specific punishments enshrined in law and rather ominously leave the decision in the hands of the presiding judge.

I read it, but I couldn’t believe it. Canada really imprisons blasphemers? In what century? And yet…there it is, in the Criminal Code of Canada, article 296: “Everyone who publishes a blasphemous libel is guilty of an indictable offence and liable to imprisonment for a term not exceeding two years.” Yes, the is a huge “but” that is also enshrined in Canadian law to the effect that no one may be convicted of an offense under this section of the code merely for expressing “in good faith and in decent language…an opinion on a religious subject.” So that softens the blow considerably: to qualify for your up-to-two years in prison, you have either to express your blasphemy hypocritically or to couch it in foul language. I was unable to discover how many Canadians, if any at all, have been convicted lately of blasphemy, but I suspect the number is quite low. In fairness, I should also note there is a bill before the House of Commons right now that would repeal the law in its entirety. But the fact that the law exists at all is what amazed me. And continues to amaze me!

What nations mean by blasphemy also varies. The law in Brazil refers to someone “publicly vilifying an act or object of religious worship.” The law in Bangladesh is much broader and makes indictable the individual who merely speaks in such a way that “hurts the religious sentiments” of another person. Finland takes a more biblical approach, specifically directing the law against any who “publicly blasphemes against God.” Article 173 of the Israeli Penal Code is somewhere in the middle and threatens with one single year’s imprisonment anyone who “publishes a publication that is liable to crudely offend the religious faith or sentiment of others” or who “voices in a public place and in the hearing of another person any word or sound that is liable to crudely offend the religious faith or sentiment of others.” In Indonesia, anyone who expresses “feelings of hostility, hatred, or contempt” towards any religion at all with the intention of discouraging someone from adhering to that faith or who speaks “disgracefully” about any religion is liable to up to five years in prison. You get the idea.

In America, of course, we have no such laws. The American approach was probably best summed up by Supreme Court Justice Tom Clark, who wrote in 1952 that, “from the standpoint of freedom of speech and the press, it is enough to point out that the state has no legitimate interest in protecting any or all religions from views distasteful to them which is sufficient to justify prior restraints upon the expression of those views. It is not the business of government in our nation to suppress real or imagined attacks upon a particular religious doctrine, whether they appear in publications, speeches, or motion pictures.” So that’s clear enough.

But what about me? I live within a tradition that takes blasphemy seriously and considers it the kind of offense that should apply to all, as a kind of universal wrong that society would do well to outlaw. But the American in me is with Justice Clark and finds the thought of punishing Americans for speaking out hostilely towards any religion—or towards religion itself or towards God—not something merely to be condemned a tasteless, but something wholly inconsonant with our democratic ideals as enshrined in the Bill of Rights.

So I get the baker’s argument that he does not wish to be forced by the courts to “say” something he finds spiritually repugnant. I wouldn’t wish to be either. Yet, for all the reasons I detailed in my previous letter, I think the Supreme Court should nevertheless uphold the lower court’s rulings and require that he not discriminate against gay couples merely because he doesn’t approve of same-sex unions. I suppose I can live with a little inconsistency when it comes to squaring my rootedness in Torah values and my devotion to the principles that underlie our American democracy. Just you’d think I’d be better at it by now!  

[sonia-marmeladova]

With all due respect, you have no idea what you’re talking about, and your anti-Catholic bigotry is showing.

The practice of Penance has taken place since the early Church days. It certainly was not instituted to facilitate any power dynamic or abuse children. Penance long predates any abuse scandal. In the early church, Penance was actually a public affair, where you announced your mortal sins before the community. This practice is usually justified in Scripture by verses explained here. While “hidden” sins need not be confessed in public, the sins which fractured the community - think murder, rape, adultery, perjury, apostasy, etc. - require reconciliation before the community. The Church later made use of individual confessions in the 12th century. 

I don’t like your implication that Catholics somehow invented the Sacrament of Penance to facilitate abuse and power dynamics. 

What exactly about this system keeps people “quiet and submissive”? The priests? Or are the priests the abusers? Your narrative isn’t quite clear. Who is being suppressed by the Sacrament and its rules? Do you know why we have the Seal of the Confessional?

The Sacrament of Penance is not about efficiently capturing criminals, and the Church is not a tool of the state. Penance is an encounter with the divine, an ancient tradition and practice aimed at reconciling God and the human heart.

The Catechism states:

1467 Given the delicacy and greatness of this ministry and the respect due to persons, the Church declares that every priest who hears confessions is bound under very severe penalties to keep absolute secrecy regarding the sins that his penitents have confessed to him. He can make no use of knowledge that confession gives him about penitents' lives. This secret, which admits of no exceptions, is called the "sacramental seal," because what the penitent has made known to the priest remains "sealed" by the sacrament. 

So why not violate the Seal?:

The violation of the seal of confession would not only be a grievous sin, but also a sacrilege. It would be contrary to the natural law because it would be an abuse of the penitent's confidence and an injury, very serious perhaps, to his reputation. It would also violate the Divine law, which, while imposing the obligation to confess, likewise forbids the revelation of that which is confessed.

And further, from an actual living priest, commenting on what it would mean if someone did confess committing sexual abuse:

For the sake of argument, let’s pretend that the Church allowed exceptions to the seal of confession. Let’s say that a priest was able to report a person who confessed to sexual abuse.

How would I go about reporting something like this?

The priests that I know, cannot recognize 90% of the people who come to confess to them. They work in large parishes and might recognize faces, but they do not know names.

In my case, I do not recognize 100% of the people who come to me for confession. Why is that? It is because I have only used the traditional style confession, which is two closets, with me sitting in the middle, speaking through a screen.

I cannot see the people who are confessing. They are all anonymous. Once in a great while, I might recognize a voice.

Then, I quickly get mixed up about who confessed what, and then completely forget everyone because I am hearing confessions for at least an hour and everything from anonymous confessions becomes jumbled in my brain.

For those priests, who hear confessions face to face, do they ask the person, “Excuse me, what is your name? Your address? Your phone?”

Or do they take out their cell phone and snap a picture of the person who confessed? Also, how are the police to know that the priest is the one telling the truth, since it is the priest’s word against the penitent?

What are people standing in the line supposed to think, when they hear the confrontation between the priest and the penitent, as the priest says, “YOU DID WHAT?”

Who in their right mind would stay in line, and want to go to confession, knowing that the priest has to call the police and report a person? People would not care that the priest is reporting a sexual abuse. In their mind, they would simply see that confession is not safe for them, and would leave and not confess anymore.

The idea that we priests can do any good, for sexually abused people, by reporting confessions and penitents to the police, is something out of a Hollywood drama. It simply is not real life.

Do you know who comes to confession to talk about sexual abuse? The victims. That’s who. And they speak of it years later, not when it’s happening. Usually, the priest is the only one they will speak to about this, as they search for healing. And they get this horrible pain off their chests, on the condition, that the priest will respect their confidentiality and take it to the grave.

. . .[The idea that confessors must break the Seal] is a futile exercise of virtue signaling, by people who do not realize that no one confesses the sin of sexual abuse of children, and then hands the priest a card with all their contact information since the priest usually has no way of identifying them.

That there has been any abuse at all, let alone the grave sins of the clergy who covered it up, is among the most abhorrent of evils. I do not pretend that all the members or leaders of the Catholic Church are good virtuous men. I do not pretend that they have not committed acts of the most heinous sort of evil.

But I also firmly believe in my doctrine, which is unique to the Catholic Church. The sins of her clergy did not change the truth in her doctrine. Either it still remains true and I was always supposed to be here, or it never was, and I should have never converted. And if that’s true, to whom would I go now?

Besides, these abuses are not inherent to Catholic priests, but it is a symptom of the larger culture. The sexual abuse in evangelicalism rivals the Catholic Church scandal of the early 2000s. Additionally, the physical sexual abuse of students in schools is likely more than 100 times the abuse by priests. And we should not even begin down the rabbit hole of sexual abuse in Hollywood. This is not to minimize the abuses of the Church by any means. However, you need to broaden your perception of the Church and sexual abuse as a whole. These are not inherently Catholic problems, nor were our ancient traditions instituted to facilitate abuse. Your accusations are simply silly and uncharitable.

[rosesnwater]

Strickler and The Enlightenment Era

Being born in the 1700d’s’1600d’s would still make Strickler centuries old by the 21st century so I’m hoping this next part makes a bit of sense.

Like I said in another post, the 1700d’s or the renaissance would be pretty close to Strickler’s character. Men (the upper classes at least) were cleanly, sophisticated and often stylish, unlike the medieval era (but maybe the renaissance) what with the large wigs and more feminine products being important to men like shoes with heels and face makeup.

Besides attitude, the whole air about Strickler screams Enlightenment Era, it’s when thinking was encouraged, revolutions were pretty common place and everything was being turned on it’s head, especially the typical hierarchy. Based on how quickly Strickler turned on Gunmar, I have no doubt that he was at the very least INFLUENCED by this era if he wasn’t born in it.

Now prior to 1600′ds or so Kings and Queens were viewed as pretty much gods, or at least the ultimate authority on earth besides popes or other religious figures. That is until one of the strongest countries in europe overthrew their ruler successfully.

Now if Strickler were from the medieval ages or earlier he’d probably be more loyal to Gunmar growing up in a society/culture with the idea that king=god and that rulers had the divine right to rule rather than the belief that they had simply fought their way into power, BUT if Strickler was born sometime close to the french revolution he’d probably be influenced by the growing discontentment and dislike of the royal family/authority in general. This might explain why he was a little more willing to turn against Gunmar since he was just another being that called himself a king.

Going through french revolution (or at least watching from afar) I imagine Strickler probably developed a lot of his ideals. Ends justify the means, masters abuse the servants (much like the gum-gums and the changelings).

Also as a history teacher it would make sense that he’d take an interest in Napoleon and his wars since Napoleon’s time was basically after the king’s (with the exception of Robespierre's short gruesome reign which I think Stickler would dislike). Napolean was a strong, charismatic man who was pretty tactically brilliant, much like Strickler, he wasn’t exactly born into a place of privilege and he had to fight and be clever in the way that he seized power. I personally like to imagine Strickler probably thinks of himself as a more modern/succesful Napoleon (which is actually kind of ironic considering the way both Napoleon and Strickler ended up loosing power).

Feel free to tell me if you think differently! I like reading all the general thoughts on these sorts of things and HC’s for the changeling’s backstories.

[tipsycad147]

Tarot myths debunked! Nine "rules" of Tarot you can (mostly) ignore

Posted by Michelle Gruben on Dec 21, 2015

As soon as you delve into the world of Tarot, you encounter a bunch of do-this, don't-do-that warnings and prescriptions about how to use the cards. (Why, it's almost as if we were dealing with something magical, not just 78 pictures on cardstock!) Some of these superstitions undoubtedly have a grain of truth in them, while others are just baloney dipped in snake oil. Now, for your amusement and your edification, Madame Michelle will feed each “should” and “shouldn’t” into the Truth-O-Matic Machine (i.e., her brain!) and declare a verdict.

 You shouldn't read Tarot for yourself. 

Mary Greer put a stake in this old truism with her groundbreaking 1984 book, defiantly titled Tarot for Your Self. Her Tarot method is based on the premise that Tarot is a mirror of the human psyche, and that relying on a reader to interpret your cards makes no more sense than asking someone else to explain your dreams.

These days, Tarot has become as mainstream as the Mississippi—we have weekend workshops, decks to suit every persuasion, and shelves of tarot books that owe more to 1970s self-help literature than to the Western esoteric tradition.   The more accessible Tarot becomes, the fewer people believe that reading the cards is the provenance of a gifted few. And even professional cartomancers have to learn somewhere—usually, by reading for themselves.

That’s not to say that it’s easy to do Tarot divination for yourself. The potential for self-deception is high. Accurate readings call for a clear head and an impartial attitude—easier said than done when it’s your burning question on the table. But with some practice, you can cultivate the necessary detachment to be your own best Tarot reader. Learn to distinguish the whining voice of worry and desire from the subtle whisper of intuition. And be ready to get a second opinion when your well-calibrated bullshit detector starts beeping.

Truth-O-Matic reading: Yeah, but…no.

Using Tarot cards is dangerous.

Well, it depends on what your definition of danger is, doesn’t it? If you believe that opening a deck of Tarot cards is going to unleash a frenzied horde of demons that will drag you kicking and screaming into the dark world of the occult, then you need a reality check. If, however, you're worried that diving into Tarot will change your perceptions, scramble your priorities, and launch you into a lifelong obsession, then your fears are entirely justified.

Truth-O-Matic reading: Maybe.

Don't let anyone else touch your cards.

This warning is based on the assumption that a Tarot deck collects and stores the psychic energy of the reader. When another person handles the deck, according to this idea, their energy scrambles, contaminates, or wipes away this accumulation of energy, making the deck less attuned to its owner.

Most readers I know do have a “professional” deck which many clients will handle, and another deck(s) reserved for their personal use. But their concerns are usually mundane—germy, grimy, or clumsy hands fondling a treasured deck, or cards going missing during a long evening of giving readings in low light. Bad vibes are really a non-issue. A Tarot reader who is skilled enough to detect psychic imprints left on their deck will easily be able to give it a good cleansing before the next use.

Not only that, but readers who allow the querent to handle their cards give better readings than people who bogart the deck. Passing the cards back and forth facilitates the exchange of energy that allows information to flow more freely during the reading. Not only that, allowing the querent to shuffle, cut, and/or draw cards is a great way to keep the person actively involved in the reading. We've all experienced the client who wants to sit passively on their side of the table while the all-knowing Tarot reader tells them exactly what fate has in store for them. Blech. Letting the querent choose their own cards from the deck gives them a greater sense of control over their destiny, and perhaps encourages them to take positive steps after the reading is over. Also, many people are nervous about having their cards read, and keeping their hands busy helps allay those jitters.

On a side note, my permissive attitude about Tarot-sharing doesn't go for other magical tools. I'll let any curious person thumb through my Tarot cards, but I'm choosy about who, if anyone, gets to see my scrying crystal or athame. To make an analogy, I'll happily lend a sweater or scarf to a friend, but not my lucky undies. (And shame on you for even asking, Mark.)

Truth-O-Matic reading: Nah.

Don’t buy a used Tarot deck.

A corollary to the above, this caveat is also based on worries about psychic contamination. There’s nothing wrong with buying a pre-loved deck (as long as you make sure all the cards are there). Just cleanse the used deck according to a method you trust, dedicate it to your purposes, and have fun reading it. Shunning used cards makes trees sad!

Incidentally, I’ve found that plenty of readers actually prefer vintage decks. They’re usually easier to shuffle, and may have acquired a patina of incense smoke and hand crud that newly-minted cards just can’t match. (And, if you’re seeking a rare or out-of-print deck, you may have no choice but to acquire it secondhand.) Of course, if you favour a crisp deck that’s never been read by anyone else, that’s fine too.  

Truth-O-Matic reading: Whatever floats your boat.

You should “reset” the deck by putting the cards back in order after each use.

This myth must be perpetuated by those folks who mistake their OCD for some kind of special magical sensitivity. I’m pretty sure the only people who follow this rule are Tarot dilettantes who read the cards once a year on their birthday. A pro would never undertake the Sisyphean task of “resetting” the deck after every spread. Sorting the cards and placing them back in their proper sequence can be a relaxing, meditative activity—but it's by no means necessary. A good shuffle or two to mix in the cards from the last reading is all the maintenance a Tarot deck requires.

Truth-O-Matic reading: Oh hell no.

You can't purchase your first Tarot deck—it has to be received as a gift.

Try as I might, I haven't been able to track down the origin of the idea that it’s somehow improper or inauspicious to buy your own Tarot deck. An acquaintance of mine who comes from a Romani (Gypsy) family tells me that this is one of their customs. To wait to be given a deck for card-reading exemplifies patience, humility, and a true calling—while buying one for yourself signifies vanity.

The prohibition against buying your own deck may also be a legacy of the 19th-century occult societies. Before the publication of the Rider-Waite deck made the Tarot images widely available, knowledge of the Tarot would have been mainly conveyed from initiate to aspirant. In the Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn, for instance, the Tarot Trumps and their “true” meanings were treated as a powerful secret. Members built on their knowledge of the Tarot in stages, as they progressed from grade to grade. Each initiate was expected to make his or her own Tarot deck from a master copy (probably painted by Moina Mathers) upon achieving the grade of Adeptus Minor.

These days, of course, there are few secrets left in the occult world, and self-initiation is the norm. So, go ahead and buy your own Tarot deck—I’m sure the powers that be have better things to do than to hang out at Barnes and Noble punishing Tarot interlopers. Besides, if you’re a Tarot beginner waiting for someone to guess that you want a Tarot deck and to buy it for you, you might be waiting for a long time. Just choose a deck that appeals to you, as long as it’s Rider-Waite (Kidding! Sort of.), and dive right in.

Truth-O-Matic reading: Piffle.

Beware the Death card!

We can thank Hollywood for this one. It’s a B-movie cliché that any character who gets this card won’t live until the credits roll.

As every single beginning Tarot book points out, drawing Death does not necessarily portend someone’s impending demise. It signifies change—often positive change. But let’s not be tempted to de-fang (de-scythe?) this card completely. The change it speaks of can still be dramatic, scary, and presently unwelcome. When drawn, it’s a wake-up call to embrace the flux within and around us, and to face the inevitable. In recent years, with the trend toward Tarot for self-development, the pendulum has arguably swung too far the other way. Now, instead of “Death” we get “Transformation,” “Renewal,” “End of Cycle,” and other polysyllabic affirmation-speak. O Death, where is thy sting? Why dost thou blatherest on so?

Truth-O-Matic reading: Don't fear the reaper (but don't ignore him, either).

Don’t ask the same question twice.

“Does this shirt look okay on me?”

“Mmmph.”

“No, really, how does this shirt look?”

“It's a little tight—”

“Aw, c'mon, don't you like my new shirt? I got it on sale.”

“It looks fine.”

And then, because you asked the same question too many times, you leave the house looking like a stack of donuts wrapped in Spandex.

The danger is not that the Tarot will punish you for your impudence—that's superstition. No, the danger is in finally hearing what you want to hear, rather than what you need to hear, and making poorer decisions because of it. It's hard enough to keep your hopes and biases out of a reading without giving yourself multiple spreads to choose from. Didn't get a clear answer the first time? Some readers will keep the spread in place and draw additional cards for clarification, but even that practice has its pitfalls. (Do you really not understand the answer, or are you just angling for cards you like better?)

You may have also noticed that the cards are, for lack of a better term, impatient with persistent needling on one question. Ever try for a re-do and get the same answer phrased a different way? Or even the same exact cards? That's the Tarot gods trying to clue you in—the answer you've received is the right one, so take it or leave it. Persist in fishing, and the tone sometimes turns a little nasty.

Of course, there are times when you may want to do a follow-up reading on a question that has been asked in the past. But that's recommended only after some time has elapsed, and only then if the situation is actively evolving.

Truth-O-Matic reading: Mostly true.

Sleeping with your Tarot deck under your pillow will enhance your bond with the cards.

Now isn't this just like one of these lazy-ass New Age fluffy-bunny ideas: “To become a Tarot master, all you have to do is take lots of naps!” No, sorry. I’ve tried the osmosis method, and it doesn’t work. The only way to become familiar with the Tarot images is too look at them, read them, read about them, and read them some more—preferably at regular intervals, and across several decades. If exploring the cards in dreams is your objective, you’ll probably have more luck if you to choose an image to meditate on before bed. However, if you happen to like the corner of a cardboard box poking you in the cheeks all night, then be my guest.

If it’s a bond with the physical deck that you crave, the best way to connect with your cards is to handle them—handle them a lot, until your cards smell like your hands and your hands smell like cards.

Bend ‘em and scuff ‘em up until the edges are all soft and you can shuffle with your eyes closed. Mentally acquaint yourself with the texture and dimensions, so that picking up your deck feels as comfortable as sliding into your favourite T-shirt.

Will taking your deck to bed imprint it with your personal energy? Yeah, I guess so, a little. But folks who practice psychometry (the art of reading vibes from objects) generally agree that paper is a poor conductor of psychic energy, compared to non-organic materials like metal or stone. So the energy clinging to a Tarot deck may not feel as potent or last as long as with other tools. Still, if you want to infuse your cards with your personal energy, you can do that with a ritual or visualisation. I recommend charging them purposefully and consciously, rather than soaking them in the psychic equivalent of pillowcase drool.

Truth-O-Matic reading: Hmmph.

https://www.groveandgrotto.com/blogs/articles/77236103-tarot-myths-debunked-nine-rules-of-tarot-you-can-mostly-ignore

[ehyeh-joshua]

"One may not use sinful means to attain even a good end" - that is exactly how government functions. Sinful means to obtain "good" however that word is defined by the state. I could pick any of thousands of examples from just my own country's history of how that leads to atrocities, because the standard situation that follows is the goal defined as good comes at the cost of the people. The last century alone saw the killings of more than 150 million people at the hands of their ruling government at the time of the deaths.

The problem for you is that you have to consider such actions as acceptable by virtue of the government position.

Which inherently leads to the defence by claiming that the divine authority can be withdrawn, such as at the Exodus or Sodom and Gomorrah. Which then leads to the problem of having to claim God supports the nations who do evil, given that it has been a very long time since He last destroyed a nation for sin directly. (plenty of arguable cases by using human forces, some of which did include armed rebellion as already mentioned)

These two premises - one by proclaiming a divine right of government, the other through failing to condemn and pass judgement - leads to the conclusion that good can be legitimately defined as genocide and conquest. After all, if the defence of the Mandate of Heaven and the divine right of kings is that the ruler is answerable to God, and God refuses to act in the cause of justice, what does that say about Him?

It leads to the conclusion that He condones the state that commits atrocities, a position no one should find comfortable given the result tends towards satanocracy. (or, if you accept the premise of total depravity - I don't, but the logical ramification of the notion must be stated - is inexorably destined towards satanocracy, with no other end possible if Believers refuse to take part in the governmental apparatus of state)

There is an alternative however - if we look at the statements that are traditionally used to justify things like the divine right of governments, and examine them as a guiding principle for the fair rule by government, recognising that any government that fails to meet the standard forfeits the protection implied, we have the basis for a government that is justified.

It doesn't have to mean a constitutional republic necessarily, only that the third basis for governmental authority - consent of the governed - is satisfied.

I posit that a government, in order to be considered as legitimate, must possess the military strength to defend the people (preferably by an armed population as Moses commanded, without recourse to standing professional armies) must possess the judicial apparatus to enforce morally acceptable law, must have an executive body answerable to the people, and functions according to the will of God. Legislative process must be subordinate to the moral Law, and where a state law contradicts the moral Law, that state law is void.

A question that I have been debating recently. Is it permittable under any circumstances for a Christian to rebel against the goverment (by rebel I mean try to forcibly overthrow or convince others to do so not just speak against or disobey)? By my reading I am inclined to say no but what is the general consensus? (To highlight a specific example was the American revolution justifiable.)

[ruminativerabbi]

Choosing Life

One of the most often-repeated talmudic aphorisms notes that “all Israel is responsible for each other,” a noble sentiment, surely, but one that most of us set into a set of larger and smaller concentric circles of obligation: we feel most of all responsible for our closest family members, then for more distant relatives, then for neighbors, then for the other members of the faith- or ethnic group with which we identify the most strongly, then for the other citizens of our country, and then for all humankind. Some of us go one step further too and include the inanimate world as well in the scheme, promoting the conviction that, as part of collective humanity, we have a kind of corporate responsibility not solely for the other residents of our planet, but for the planet itself. Eventually, in some distant age, the circle will probably widen to an even greater extent to allow for feelings of responsibility directed towards the inhabitants of the other populated planets with whom we will eventually learn that we share our galaxy.

None of the above will strike anyone as at all controversial. And even if some specific people might well order their circles differently—feeling more responsible for neighbors than for distant relatives, for example—the concept itself that responsibility for people other than ourselves inheres in our humanness hardly sounds like an even remotely debatable proposition.  But saying wherein that responsibility lies exactly—and how that sense of responsibility should manifest itself in law—is another question entirely.

The system of common law that undergirds American jurisprudence holds that one commits a crime by doing some specific illegal thing, not to failing to do something...and this principle applies even when the thing not done involves coming to the aid of someone in distress. There are, however, several exceptions to the rule. If you yourself are personally responsible for the other party being in distress, then you are in most cases deemed responsible to come to that person’s aid. Parents have an obligation to rescue their children from peril, as do all who act in loco parentis (like the administration of a child’s school or the staff in a child’s summer camp). Spouses have an obligation to rescue each other from peril. Employers have an obligation to come to the aid of workers imperiled in the workplace. In some places, property owners have a similar obligation of responsibility towards people invited onto that property; in others, that obligation extends even to unwanted visitors like trespassers. Otherwise, there is no specific legal obligation to come to the assistance of others. And this is more or less the way American law has evolved as well: other than with respect to the specific exceptions mentioned above and in Vermont, people are generally deemed to have no legal obligation to assist others in distress, much less to risk their own wellbeing to do so. Indeed, although all fifty states, plus the District of Columbia, have so-called Good Samaritan laws on the books that protect individuals who come to the aid of others from subsequent prosecution in the event of mishap, or some version of such laws, Vermont is the sole state to have a law on the books that actually requires citizens to step forward to help when they see others in peril or distress.

These last several weeks, I have been following with great interest the case in Taunton, Massachusetts, that culminated in the conviction of involuntary manslaughter of Michelle Carter, 20, in a case that involved a suicide for which she was not present and which her lawyers argued she therefore could not have prevented, but for which the court deemed her in some sense responsible nonetheless.

The story is a sad one from every angle. It revolves around two troubled teenagers who met while vacationing in Florida and subsequently began an intense twenty-first-century-style relationship that was primarily conducted digitally through emails and text messages. (After returning home to Massachusetts, the two only met in person on a few rare occasions.) But digital though their relationship may primarily have been, it was clearly intense. She was suffering from an eating disorder; he suffered from suicidal tendencies and had actually attempted suicide before, which fact he disclosed to her. At first, she was supportive and encouraged him to seek counseling and not to harm himself. But at a certain point, she became convinced—and we are talking about a teenager here not a mature adult, let alone a trained therapist—she became convinced that suicide was the right solution to her friend Conrad’s problems. And so she encouraged him, as any friend would, to do the right thing. “You can’t think about it,” she texted him on the day of his death. “You have to do it. You said you were gonna do it. Like I don’t get why you aren’t.”

Convinced that she was right, Conrad drove his truck to the secluded end of a K-Mart shopping plaza and prepared to asphyxiate himself with the fumes from his truck’s exhaust. And then we get to the crucial moment, at least in the judge’s opinion. Suddenly afraid and apparently wishing not to die, or at least willing to rethink his commitment to dying, Conrad got out of the truck and phoned his friend Michelle. Her response was as clear as it was definitive: “Get back in,” she told him. And he did, dying soon after that.

Was she responsible for his death? You could say that she did not force his hand in any meaningful way, that she merely told him to do something that he could have then chosen not to do. Or you could say that she had his life in her hands at that specific moment and that she chose to do nothing—not to phone his parents, for example, or 911—and thus was at least in some sense complicit in his death. “The time is right and you’re ready…just do it, babe,” she had texted him earlier in the day. That, in the judge’s opinion, was just talk. But when Conrad’s life was hanging in the balance—when he was standing outside the cab of his truck and talking on the phone as the cab filled with poison gas—and she could have exerted herself to save his life but chose instead to encourage him to get back in—that, the judge ruled, constituted involuntarily manslaughter in the Commonwealth of Massachusetts. And, as a result, Michelle Carter is facing up to twenty years in prison.

Involuntarily manslaughter, defined as behavior manifesting extreme indifference to human life that leads to the death of another, seemed to the judge to suit the details of this case. But what if Michelle truly believed that Conrad would be better off dead, that the dead rest in peace or reside in a state of ongoing bliss in heaven? What if she felt it was his right to die on his own terms and when he wished? What if she felt that he was right in his estimation that he would be better off dead than alive? Should she be held responsible for his death if she felt she truly believed any of the above? As someone who has spoken in public countless times about the dead resting in peace and their souls being resident in paradise beneath the protective wings of God’s enduring presence, there is something deeply unsettling for me personally even to ask that question aloud! Surely, I could answer, the metaphoric lyricism we bring to our efforts to deprive death of its sting aren’t meant to be taken literally, and certainly not to the point at which the taking of an unhappy person’s life feels like a justifiable decision! But what if someone did take them literally and then, not actually acting, chose not to act because of them—should that be considered criminal behavior?

I am neither a lawyer nor a legal scholar, so I won’t offer an opinion about the verdict in the Carter case per se, other than to note that it is controversial and may ultimately be reversed. But the burning question that smolders at the core of the matter—what it ultimately means to be responsible for another—is not something anyone who claims to be a moral person can be at peace being unable to answer. The sense of the interconnectedness of all living things that we reference so blithely in daily discourse can serve as the platform on which all who would enter the discussion may stand. And, surely, the responsibility towards others that develops naturally from our sense of society as a network of closer and more distant relationships is undeniably real. Still, it feels oddly difficult—both morally and apparently legally—to say precisely what it means for one individual to bear responsibility for another.

The most-often repeated commandment in the Torah requires the faithful to be kind to the stranger, to the “other,” to the person who is not yourself…which is all people. Theologically, being solicitous of the wellbeing of others is a way of acknowledging the image of God stamped on all humankind. Whether criminalizing the willful decision to look away from that divine image is a good idea, or a legally sound one, is a decision for jurists, not rabbis. But the notion that all behavior that shows disrespect, disregard, or contempt for others—and thus denies the principle that all human life is of inestimable value regardless of any individual’s circumstances—is inconsonant with the ethical values that should undergird society is something we all can and should affirm. When the Torah commands that the faithful Israelite “choose life” over death, it is specifically commanding that the faithful ever be ready to step into the breach to save a life in peril and thus to affirm our common createdness in God and the responsibility towards each other that derives directly from that belief.