#then a heathen philosophizes

[aheathen-conceivably]

On the floor screaming and crying FLORENCE BABY I'LL MISS YOU - LGL

My dearest LGL, congratulations on making it to the end of week one that is the emotional roller coaster of the year 1929. I’m proud of us, babes. Let me just say….

This is about to be me trying to drink and act casual with friends this weekend but actually being in deep mourning for Florence. Gotta wear all black for the occasion, of course.

I got the strangest, most distinct sadness when silly little grim showed up for her, like this whole legacy has actually grown past it’s original roots in the same way you often see families begin to form their own branches when the matriarch/patriarch dies.

[dragonpastels]

Master post time!🐢

since I seem to have lost all control, I thought I'd put together this post to organize everything for you peeps!

Cracked Conscience

After Donnie has some rough few nights fighting the purple dragons him and the others are greeted by... A quite interesting version of Donnie's future self? What could this mean?

Main Comic

Chapter 1. Drama and Dragons

Chapter 2. A Different Shade of Purple

CC Ref Sheets

Evil Donnie Ref Sheets (Colored) Evil Donnie Ref Sheets (Linework) Tech Maintenance Fit Ref Sheet Evil Donnie Early Fit Ref Sheet

Future Leo Ref Sheet

Outdated: Evil Donnie Ref Sheets

Q&A With the Hidden City's Most Wanted!

Do you have a burning question to ask our wonderful host? Like their favorite color? What did they do today? Or deep philosophical questions? Or do you just want to give them unwarranted gifts? Well, here is your chance to ask until the feed drops!

���️Warning by submitting a question you accept the risk of the following: kidnapping, experimentation, dismemberment, collection, emotional damage, death. Any or all of these may occur per the host's discretion. This contract is legally binding and cannot be broken or altered.⚠️

FAQ: Frequently asked questions

what if I bribe Evil Donnie with uranium?

4th wall breaks (Jack Horner Animatic Related) You're all on my list You Heathen Brother Opinions

Shiny Rock Bribe

Can I Pet him? (Bad Ending)

The Poke/Jupiter Jim Marathon Time!

Snack time with Insults for dessert!

What if I got in a Sparring Match?

Does he like plushies?

How many times have you set a building on fire?

A gift of flowers

WHY ARE YOU GrAY???

GMF: Genetically Modified Furbies

How much sleep have you gotten? (why are you gray pt. 2)

IT'S 15 Rip Bozo (why are you gray pt. 3)

has he always looked this way?

the universe decides

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~End of Color Reveal Saga~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

about the color thing

jobs for hire

Still not kidnapping

Can I dig in your walls?

I wanna study him like a bug

music tastes

shared dumplings

Trick or Treat! (late, whoopsie), Happy Halloween (ft body horror)

one more uranium bribe ought to do

CC Year 1 Anniversary Mini Masterpost 🎈

CC Animatic Corner🎞️

Year 1 Anniversary Animatic (villain/character voice line compilation)

A very important message

Jack Horner Animatic (read disclaimer) Disclaimer: I recommend reading through Chapter 2 of CC. Although a few things have changed/are no longer canon. There are still a few scenes that are relevant to the comic. Therefore I recommend reading through Chpt 2 first to be surprised

How to Train Your Turtle

You like How to Train Your Dragon and Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles? Well, you're in luck! Because these boys are now dragons and poor April is stuck with them after crashing on their island.

Chapter 1. Stranded

Ask Shenanigans

Dragon Logs

Dragon Shenanigans

Pre-Besties April/Donnie dynamic

Mikey the cuddle gremlin

A shiny rock for Donnie, tasty book snack

Have they heard music/do they like it?

will they have mutant forms/can Raph change his size?

[jetblack4realz]

unexpressed - jacaerys velaryon x reader

summary - jace has kept his feelings from you for too long

warnings - nah

word count - 1.3k

______________________________________________________________

the grey swirling clouds dripped rain into the salty seas below, an accompanying wind blowing the droplets into the sides of the sea walls and through the windows of dragonstone, wetting the deep red carpeting. lightning flashed through the skies, thunder shaking the bones of jacaerys as he walked through the halls hastily.

visions of aemond and y/n danced in his mind, only encouraging the anger fueling his steps. the way she looked at him with her big, doe eyes, as though every word he said held some deep, philosophical meaning that no one else in the world could ever understand. how she offered him simple touches to the shoulder, the wrist in attempts to bring them akin. the smirk that pulled at aemond's lips every time she did so and he caught sight of jace's knitted brows.

he wondered why his uncle had taken a visit to their island. he hadn't seen him in years and yet here he was now and y/n was being all too kind to him.

when her father, daemon, had spoken up finally, his eyes were only on jacaerys.

"king viserys and i have come to an arrangement..."

and suddenly it all made sense. why she was being so sickly sweet to a man she used to lament with jace over and why he continued to indulge in it, though he only had his eye on jace. why jace had felt the shift in power upon entering the dining hall.

he wasn't a quiet boy. he never had been and he reckoned he never would be.

"the war is inevitable, why subject y/n to a lifetime of pain and misery with this heathen?"

"jace," his mother had warned, but he was unrelenting, his gaze resting harshly on daemon.

"this does our family no justice, and no unification will be found. this is a reckless, unthoughtful decision with only-"

"jace." he halted when y/n spoke. she offered him a frown, shaking her head slightly. "you're not helping."

"nephew, while i appreciate your concern for my betrothed's wellbeing, you needn't fear." aemond looked at y/n with a smirk that unsettled the entire table. next to him, luke's eyes pointed into a glare at the white-haired man. "i'll take good care of her."

"you're sounding too much like your brother," jace said, brows furrowing deeply.

"perhaps aegon is wise in some aspects."

"not this one," jace countered.

the tension in the room was palpable, rhaenyra and daemon exchanging looks of uncertainty. jace's withholdings were understood and they debated silently with them as well. was the war inevitable enough to keep y/n at home? daemon certainly held his own misgivings towards his nephew, but he loved his brother and it was viserys who had requested a betrothal be made, a sort of peace offering. before he died. before the world fell into chaos.

"if you'll excuse me," y/n had said, rising from her seat and entering the thunderstorm-ridden walkways that had jace chasing after her.

he attempted to speak to her, to reason with her, to convince her to have daemon call it off, to fly away with him but everything he said only made her pull farther from him, further into the storm.

jace knew that she'd always loved the rain, that it always brought a certain comfort to her that wasn't found in front of fiery hearths and under thick blankets. he couldn't ever find that same comfort in it, only ever finding comfort in her. and now he'd royally screwed that up.

he called out her name, his hands coming up in annoyance and desperation. she refused to turn and face him, instead wiping the tears from her cheeks and willing the oncoming ones away. he called out once more, but she chose to not hear him as she ducked into the courtyard, a loud rumble thundering through the corridors.

the overhang of the walkway did little to shield her from the storm, but she failed to care.

"listen to me!" jace cried, following the girl and reaching out for her arm. she attempted to pull it from him, but he held on tight, instead dragging her closer to him. his shirt was completely soaked through and yet for the first time in her life, she was not paying attention to it. he released her arm once she stayed still, instead running his hand through his dripping hair.

"i think you've said all that you need to, but by all means, continue berating me," she said, her voice making it clear that she'd spilled tears over the matter. he sighed heavily.

"i'm not berating you-"

"then what is it that you are trying to do here? because all you've done since i told you was tell me what a horrible decision i was making and how you despise him so," she cut him off.

"what do you expect me to say? aemond is vile and cruel and undeserving of you in every manner," jace said, nearly spitting the words out of annoyance towards his uncle. "he's never once spoken of you kindly or offered you to dance at supper. i haven't seen anything close to a touch, or a hug, or a smile and you deserve better."

"just because you don't see it doesn't mean that it doesn't happen," she defended, but he wasn't done.

"do you think it's easy for me to see you following him around all infatuated? believe me, it's not," he said, taking a frustrated breath before continuing. "you know, maybe he does care for you. maybe he will learn to be a kind husband. but, i know that he will never love you in the same way, with the same fervor and dedication that i will. that i do. and it kills me that you've been oblivious to this our entire childhood, that everyone has, to the point that you ended up betrothed to aemond of all people!"

she didn't say a word. he stood there, breathless, waiting.

her eyes were cast to the cobblestone floor, her hands folded in front of her delicately.

puffs of jacaerys' breath danced with the rainwater, the cold finally setting in as he wrung his hands together, one coming up to rub the back of his neck.

"i'm sorry. i.. i shouldn't have-"

"shut up."

she closed the distance between them quickly, standing on her tiptoes to pull him towards her. jace reacted instantly, letting her hold his shoulders and resting one hand on her cheek, the other wrapped snugly around her waist as she pressed her lips to his.

he was smiling softly as their lips moved against one another, the boy tilting his head slightly to recapture her lips at a more accessible angle. one hand pulled her closer to him, feeling her heat against him as one of her hands slid off his shoulder to rest against his chest. slowly, very slowly, she pushed him away, a grin on her face when she finally broke free.

they stayed close, jace smiling down at her as he tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear, his hand resting on her jaw as he pressed a kiss to her forehead.

"you don't know how long i've been waiting for you to say that," she admitted, hugging him closer to her.

"you don't know how many times i've almost said it," he chuckled.

"you're not great at timing, you know," she pointed out, smiling knowingly at the boy. he shrugged.

"he can try to win you back, but as far as i'm concerned, he can't do anything about it. my mother's the queen," he said, winking at her. she laughed loudly, resting her head against his chest.

"i love you too, by the way."

"that's good. if you didn't, you would be the cruelest girl in the world."

[skaldish]

When people ask me "How do I be Heathen?" it's like they've asked me "How do I ride a bicycle?"

Let's pretend this, actually. Let's pretend Heathenry is a bicycle.

I reply that in order to ride the bike of Heathenry, "You put your hands on the handlebars and your feet on the peddles and start peddling."

When people try this and fall over, they ask me why this happened.

And I reply, "Riding a bike isn't something you 'get' just by recreating the motions. You have to apply your sense of balance to it."

That's when people get uppity and I hear things like "Balance? That's New Age bullshit. I don't believe in it." or "Do you have any evidence of this?" or "Balance isn't a real biking value."

And then I reply, "Ok, back up. Balance isn't some kind of philosophical idea or esoteric concept. It's a sense. It's a faculty of the human body. You experience your sense of balance by engaging it, and you get better at this when you exercise it like a muscle."

And if people haven't already walked away because none of this matches their idea of how a vehicle works, they ask, "How do I exercise this muscle?"

I reply, "You practice riding the bike."

And then they ask, "Well...how do I ride the bike?"

[whencyclopedia]

Saint Cyril

Saint Cyril (aka Kyrillos and Constantine the Philosopher, d. 867 CE) was a Byzantine linguist, teacher, scholar and missionary who famously preached Christianity to the Slavs in Moravia with his brother Methodius during the 9th century CE. He created the Glagolitic alphabet, the forerunner to the Cyrillic alphabet that bears his name, and did much to spread the religion, art and culture of the Byzantine empire into central Europe.

Early Life

Cyril is the monastic name the saint chose near the end of his life but he was born Constantine, the son of a military officer called Leo stationed in Thessaloniki; his mother may have been a Slav. He was a gifted linguist from an early age and was sent to Constantinople to further his education and study such languages as Syriac and Hebrew. Looked after by the eunuch Theoktistos, Cyril was ordained as a priest and served as an official at the Hagia Sophia church where he developed a close relationship with the Patriarch of Constantinople, the bishop Photios. The brilliant scholar quickly became the bishop's librarian. Cyril became a teacher of philosophy at the Magnaura university in Constantinople where he gained the epithet “Constantine the Philosopher”.

Cyril was next sent on two diplomatic missions, the first to the Muslim court at Samarra and the second to the Khazars, a Turkic tribe in the Caucasus, c. 860 CE. According to Cyril's 9th century CE biography, attributed to one of his disciples, the scholar monk was enthusiastic for the opportunity to spread the Gospel:

If you command, lord, on such a mission I shall gladly go on foot and unshod, lacking all the Lord forbade Hi disciples to bring.' The emperor answered, saying,: 'Well spoken, were you to do this ! But bear in mind the imperial power and honour, and go honourably and with imperial help.

Life of Constantine (in Shepard, 315)

The trip, unfortunately, ended in failure if it had intended to convert the Khazars to Christianity as the Byzantines only managed to baptise around 200 of them. The Khazaria state eventually adopted Judaism instead. Cyril did bring back souvenirs, though, said to be the relics of the exiled 1st century CE Bishop of Rome, Saint Clement. His ambitions were not dampened either as he promptly set off of his own accord into the Crimea to spread his message to the heathen Phoullai people. It is likely Cyril was not any more popular there, though, especially when he chopped down their sacred oak tree.

Continue reading...

[civilotterneer]

"Well, gotta refuel before I make my way to Prescott Valley. I didn't see this town on my map, but gas is gas." He doesn't realize he's about to enter just as the hysteria hits.

Decided to make a fun little art piece about Echo, my current reading material. However, I kinda have a lot of thoughts about it so far.

I'll keep my dialogue here spoiler-light, and will avoid giving anything important away.

Echo is one of those stories that, as much as I typically detest horror, has completely enthralled me. Not to get to philosophical, but its use of foreshadowing reminds me of a few strong mystery and sci-fi points:

The overall foreshadowing reminds me of solid Arthur Conan Doyle-style. ACD was known for his novels having given you everything you need to solve the mystery long before the characters can. While the mystery isn't solved in each ending, there is a heavy amount of this foreshadowing that is just like ACD. Things mentioned early on that feel like minor statements become important later. For example, swimming is heavily mentioned by Chase early on in TJ's route, and to those who have done the route, they realize why. With Leo, its the trainyard. These are the only routes I've completed so far, but I will be watching for these now when I do the rest.

Another neat note is how each story gives a bit of foreshadowing to each other. In Flynn's route, its mentioned that the railing by Lake Emma wouldn't stop a car from going in. Though I haven't finished Flynn's route yet to see if this is direct foreshadowing, I do remember the car doing exactly this in Leo's route, and it's never mentioned there.

Second is the push for "Man is the Monster", akin to Frankenstein. So far, TJ's route was heavily this (Chase you heathen), and Leo's was from Leo. The use of the monster physically in Leo's is almost unnecessary, as the monster's been with them the whole time. It's a great dive into man is the monster that reminds me of the common scifi tropes that aim to point that out instead of just putting a monster in the way (See Alien and how though the monster is a very real threat, the true monster is the company that keeps sacrificing people to study the alien).

This story is so well written and uses a lot of very-strong scifi writing traits, and I'm excited to continue and analyze these more. Props to The Echo Project for really having some great writers so far!

It feels really weird (and even moreso enthralling!) because I don't live that far from the approximate location Echo should be, not to far away from Prescott. I've even located Lake Alamo, which has a lot of similarities to Lake Emma, though there isn't a nearby settlement that matches Echo's description. I'm tempted to do a quick study of the area, take a weekend and hike around after doing like a week of local research to see what I could find that matches the descriptions of Echo. Maybe make some kind of literary analysis out of the photos and the story itself once I complete all the routes.

Note: I noticed a render error and re-uploaded the fixed version.

[dc-and-damirae]

tim made a horrifying mistake and came to damian for help asking out benard

damian: it seems to me that he is a fussbudget and you insist on being chicken-hearted and until you stop being a Duke of limbs your endeavors are doome you to be a heathen philosopher tim: wtf I did not understand most of that and what I did I didn't like damian: don't use contractions it is unbecoming.

[apenitentialprayer]

I was asked why someone should be Catholic if they're Orthodox and therefore can participate in the Eucharist. I didn't have a good answer for him, but I was wondering if you did?

The Russian Orthodox philosopher Vladimir Soloviev never technically converted to Catholicism, but he was a major advocate of the reunification of the Churches and believed that the Pope in fact did have primacy over the Universal Church. He wrote a book in 1895 called Russia and the Universal Church, which you (or the person who asked this question to you) can read in its entirety here.

Soloviev emphasizes that the church is supposed to be universal in nature, but since the East-West Schism the Eastern Orthodox Churches have taken on increasingly nationalistic characters. Without union with a visibly global Patriarch that transcends national borders, he argues that the Eastern Churches will become subjected by the secular state.

This fear is highlighted by the Holy Synod established by Emperor Peter the Great in 1721, which abolished the office of the Patriarch of Moscow and established a ruling body more amenable to Peter's Enlightenment-inspired Church reforms. Over 150 years after this event, Soloviev can quote Ivan Aksakov, who says:

As is well known, the Russian Church is governed by an administrative council called a Spiritual Conclave or Holy Synod, whose members are nominated by the Emperor and presided over by a civil or military official, the High Procurator of the Holy Synod, who has complete control of the government of the Church. The dioceses, or eparchies, are nominally ruled by the bishops nominated by the Head of State on the recommendations of the Synod, that is, of the High Procurator who may subsequently depose them at pleasure.

So, Soloviev argues that without the universal jurisdiction of the Roman Pontiff, there is no one to appeal to in the event that a secular authority seeks to usurp ecclesial authority.

Soloviev also recounts a story about a potential convert who despaired of finding his place in the Orthodox Church and became Catholic instead:

William Palmer, a distinguished member of the Anglican Church and of the University of Oxford, wished to join the Orthodox Church. He went to Russia and Turkey to study the contemporary situation of the Christian East and to find out on what conditions he would be admitted to the communion of the Eastern Orthodox. At St. Petersburg and at Moscow he was told that he had only to abjure the errors of Protestantism before a priest, who would thereupon administer to him the sacrament of Holy Charism or Confirmation. But at Constantinople he found that he must be baptized afresh. As he knew himself to be a Christian and saw no reason to suspect the validity of his baptism (which incidentally was admitted without question by the Russian Orthodox Church), he considered that a second baptism would be sacrilege. On the other hand, he could not bring himself to accept Orthodoxy according to the local rules of the Russian Church since he would then become Orthodox only in Russia while remaining a heathen in the eyes of the Greeks; and he had no wish to join a national Church but to join the Universal Orthodox Church. No one could solve his dilemma, and so he became a Roman Catholic.

Soloviev points here to what he sees as another severe problem in the Orthodox Communion: "The Eastern Church is not a homogeneous body. […] If the Russian and Greek Churches give no evidence of their solidarity by any vital activity, their 'unity of faith' is a mere abstract formula producing no fruits and involving no obligations." The disagreement over whether Palmer's baptism was valid or not placed the man in such an exasperating situation that he straight up left for Rome.

The question becomes, when you have varying customs and disciplines that are causing problems and contradictions with something as essential to the faith of baptism, whose authority do you turn to in order to find a solution? Saint Irenaeus answered Soloviev's concern over 1700 years earlier: "For it is a matter of necessity that every Church should agree with this Church [i.e., Rome] on account of its preeminent authority."

Soloviev believed that "on the day which the Russian and Greek Churches formally break with each other the whole world will see that the Œcumenical Eastern Church is a mere fiction and that there exists in the East nothing but isolated national Churches." Soloviev paints an incredibly bleak picture here, I think, but even if it's exaggerated, well, it's also an important question now that Particular Churches within the Eastern Orthodox communion have been in schism since 2018. It's not the first time a schism has occurred between Moscow and Constantinople (one lasted slightly less than a hundred years), but, y'know...

[stantler]

Hey I need all the wenches hags and peasants to tap in I’m throwing a gathering and it’s going to be a gapeseed so if you a calf-lolly just stay at home cause there’s gonna be beard splitters and merchants everywhere so make sure that the side hoops match the corset ladies and guess what we got Brother of the String on the harp and Brother of the Blade at the front door so don’t even be tryna come over here on no tyranny shit cause we all just tryna have a chirping merry you feel me? If you a heathen philosopher stay at the dock put y’all roast meat clothes on or go milk the cows and by the way the streets a little jumblegut right now we are missing a few cobblestone on this side of town so make sure your carriages got fresh bolts I’m not responsible for your hooptie folding in front of the hoes bruh and if you bringing a horse park it in the back nobody’s trying to smell that shit like they just cleaned the streets two sunsets ago and no pickthank allowed let’s play fair and if it starts getting affray take it to the field and fence it out and make sure you got them coins on you cause we got the apothecary on site so if you need that let me know we also got that tapster all night let’s have a ball ima send a smoke signal after the final church bell and that’s when you know it’s time to commence

[pharmaciacatholica]

We said above that in the Church of God the teacher's error is the people's trial, a trial by so much the greater in proportion to the greater learning of the erring teacher. This we showed first by the authority of Scripture, and then by instances from Church History, of persons who having at one time had the reputation of being sound in the faith, eventually either fell away to some sect already in existence, or else founded a heresy of their own. An important fact truly, useful to be learned, and necessary to be remembered, and to be illustrated and enforced again and again, by example upon example, in order that all true Catholics may understand that it behooves them with the Church to receive Teachers, not with Teachers to desert the faith of the Church.

My belief is, that among many instances of this sort of trial which might be produced, there is not one to be compared with that of Origen, in whom there were many things so excellent, so unique, so admirable, that antecedently any one would readily deem that implicit faith was to be placed all his assertions. For if the conversation and manner of life carry authority, great was his industry, great his modesty, his patience, his endurance; if his descent or his erudition, what more noble than his birth of a house rendered illustrious by martyrdom? Afterwards, when in the cause of Christ he had been deprived not only of his father, but also of all his property, he attained so high a standard in the midst of the straits of holy poverty, that he suffered several times, it is said, as a Confessor. Nor were these the only circumstances connected with him, all of which afterwards proved an occasion of trial. He had a genius so powerful, so profound, so acute, so elegant, that there was hardly any one whom he did not very far surpass. The splendour of his learning, and of his erudition generally, was such that there were few points of divine philosophy, hardly any of human which he did not thoroughly master. When Greek had yielded to his industry, he made himself a proficient in Hebrew. What shall I say of his eloquence, the style of which was so charming, so soft, so sweet, that honey rather than words seemed to flow from his mouth! What subjects were there, however difficult, which he did not render clear and perspicuous by the force of his reasoning? What undertakings, however hard to accomplish, which he did not make to appear most easy? But perhaps his assertions rested simply on ingeniously woven argumentation? On the contrary, no teacher ever used more proofs drawn from Scripture. Then I suppose he wrote little? No man more, so that, if I mistake not, his writings not only cannot all be read through, they cannot all be found; for that nothing might be wanting to his opportunities of obtaining knowledge, he had the additional advantage of a life greatly prolonged. But perhaps he was not particularly happy in his disciples? Who ever more so? From his school came forth doctors, priests, confessors, martyrs, without number. Then who can express how much he was admired by all, how great his renown, how wide his influence? Who was there whose religion was at all above the common standard that did not hasten to him from the ends of the earth? What Christian did not reverence him almost as a prophet; what philosopher as a master? How great was the veneration with which he was regarded, not only by private persons, but also by the Court, is declared by the histories which relate how he was sent for by the mother of the Emperor Alexander, moved by the heavenly wisdom with the love of which she, as he, was inflamed. To this also his letters bear witness, which, with the authority which he assumed as a Christian Teacher, he wrote to the Emperor Philip, the first Roman prince that was a Christian. As to his incredible learning, if any one is unwilling to receive the testimony of Christians at our hands, let him at least accept that of heathens at the hands of philosophers. For that impious Porphyry says that when he was little more than a boy, incited by his fame, he went to Alexandria, and there saw him, then an old man, but a man evidently of so great attainments, that he had reached the summit of universal knowledge.

Time would fail me to recount, even in a very small measure, the excellencies of this man, all of which, nevertheless, not only contributed to the glory of religion, but also increased the magnitude of the trial. For who in the world would lightly desert a man of so great genius, so great learning, so great influence, and would not rather adopt that saying, That he would rather be wrong with Origen, than be right with others.

What shall I say more? The result was that very many were led astray from the integrity of the faith, not by any human excellencies of this so great man, this so great doctor, this so great prophet, but, as the event showed, by the too perilous trial which he proved to be. Hence it came to pass, that this Origen, such and so great as he was, wantonly abusing the grace of God, rashly following the bent of his own genius, and placing overmuch confidence in himself, making light account of the ancient simplicity of the Christian religion, presuming that he knew more than all the world besides, despising the traditions of the Church and the determinations of the ancients, and interpreting certain passages of Scripture in a novel way, deserved for himself the warning given to the Church of God, as applicable in his case as in that of others, “If there arise a prophet in the midst of you,... you shall not hearken to the words of that prophet,...because the Lord your God does make trial of you, whether you love Him or not.” Deuteronomy 13:1 Truly, thus of a sudden to seduce the Church which was devoted to him, and hung upon him through admiration of his genius, his learning, his eloquence, his manner of life and influence, while she had no fear, no suspicion for herself — thus, I say, to seduce the Church, slowly and little by little, from the old religion to a new profaneness, was not only a trial, but a great trial.

But some one will say, Origen's books have been corrupted. I do not deny it; nay, I grant it readily. For that such is the case has been handed down both orally and in writing, not only by Catholics, but by heretics as well. But the point is, that though himself be not, yet books published under his name are, a great trial, which, abounding in many hurtful blasphemies, are both read and delighted in, not as being some one else's, but as being believed to be his, so that, although there was no error in Origen's original meaning, yet Origen's authority appears to be an effectual cause in leading people to embrace error.

Saint Vincent of Lerins, Commonitory on the Antiquity and Universality of the Catholic Faith (AD 450)

[eternal-echoes]

“Monks did more than simply preserve literacy. Even an unsympathetic scholar could write of monastic education: "They studied the songs of heathen poets and the writings of historians and philosophers. Monasteries and monastic schools blossomed forth, and each settlement became a center of religious life as well as of education."1 Another unsympathetic chronicler wrote of the monks, "They not only established the schools, and were the schoolmasters in them, but also laid the foundations for the university. They were the thinkers and philosophers of the day and shaped the political and religious thought. To them, both collectively and individually, was due the continuity of thought and civilization of the ancient world with the later Middle Ages and with the modern period.”2”

- Thomas E. Woods Jr., Ph.D., “How the Monks Saved Civilization,” How the Catholic Church Built Western Civilization

—

1. Adolf von Harnack, quoted in John B. O'Connor, Monasticism and Civilization (New York: P. J. Kennedy & Sons, 1921), 90.

2. Alexander Clarence Flick, The Rise of the Mediaeval Church (New York: Burt Franklin, 1909), 222-223.

[theseventhoffrostfall]

I saw your post where you said your pet theory about Judge Holden is that he’s the narrator of Blood Meridian, which I found both very intriguing and fun.

But the more I thought about it, I eventually realized there seems to be two things possibly hindering the legitimacy of the theory, and I wanted to discuss, if you don’t mind. I know you made your post months ago, so I don’t know if you still stand by your theory, but I don’t really have anybody to discuss BM with.

The first potential snag is a simple question: If we want to assume Holden is the narrator, how would he know about where the Kid came from, why he ran away, what he did before they met, etc. when it seems like the Kid never told anyone about those things, and Holden - for all his incredible knowledge - isn’t omniscient. Do we have to assume he DID tell someone like Toadvine or Tobin off-page during their long travels and the judge overheard him? With how guarded emotionally the Kid is, I didn’t think that would happen.

How I came to an answer for it was by considering that maybe at some point the Judge decided to do research on this boy to understand him, to find out WHY he showed “clemency to the heathen”, in the hopes of one day dominating him, and used reasoning to retrace the Kid’s steps, like perhaps starting off with remembering the Kid would have a Tennessean accent and going to TN as a starting point. It’s a stretch, but that’s what I came up with.

The second hiccup regards the narration’s physical descriptions of the Judge throughout the novel, which come off like we’re supposed to view Holden as strange, off-putting, and kind of disgusting-looking. The example that sticks out in my mind is when the gang is at the bathhouse in Chihuahua City and he’s directly compared to a manatee, which has pretty much never been used as a flattering comparison. In contrast, the way Holden acts shows he’s very comfortable in his own skin to the point where he frequently goes naked, with nothing to suggest he deals with any sort of insecurity, or even a self-deprecating nature.

The only justification I can come up with is that he’s like SpongeBob in that one episode where he goes “I’M UGLY AND I’M PROUD!!!”

All in all, I still find your “Holden is the narrator theory” to be fun on a surface level, but for now I wouldn’t personally believe it. Heck, maybe this whole time you never took the theory seriously either and I’ve just been babbling inanely, but even three months after reading BM I still got it lodged in my brain and I gotta let some of my thoughts out.

Yo, sorry for the late answer.

I wouldn't say the theory is something I dwelt a very long time on, so I don't think it's foolproof by any means, but I might be able to address those two points you mentioned.

One, it's possible Holden out of curiosity did walk up the kid's backtrail--he's shown to be obsessive about knowing everything, especially something like a young kid who manages to defy his influence. He's not omniscient, but he also routinely shows that he has knowledge that no one else has and he has no way of knowing, such as the ancient stone-builders he goes on his infamous rant about. Some thirty years pass between the kid escaping him and their reunion, so he'd have plenty of time to follow up through means mundane or (if you buy into the common theories) supernatural. He's a convincing enough authority figure/intellectual that him showing up at the kid's family farm and ascertaining that the current owners' uncle or whatever ran away at fourteen is well within the realm of possibility.

Two, he clearly delights in making people squirm. Usually this takes the form of tearing down their philosophical and theological views, but it occasionally delves into more blunt methods (like his treatment of the native kid he 'rescues'). I don't think it's wholly coincidental that he resembles the Baron Harkonnen of Dune fame, who's stated to have cultivated a disgusting appearance out of perverse glee for being so loathsome. Being an ugly, unnerving figure galivanting around in 'polite' company seems to me to be completely up his alley.

Ultimately, though, my theory's based more on the voice it takes matching his voice more than any other, along with certain quirks of his--he's obsessive about the natural world while holding (or at least espousing) horrifically racist views, and the narration gets extremely purple regarding the landscape and natural world around them (recall a sunrise being described like the arrival of an eldritch god) while unflinchingly referring to Native peoples as 'savages' and dwelling on the squalor of Mexican and some American settlements.

But yeah, it's not something I'm 100% convinced on myself, and certainly not something I'd bicker over defending.

[jannwrites]

movie ask meme : JACOB'S LADDER (1990) directed by BRUCE JOEL RUBIN.

a selection of lines from the 1990 film jacob's ladder. modified slightly for rp purposes.

don't leave me.

yeah, you and everyone else.

fuck off! mind your own business!

i didn't want to wake you.

it is tomorrow. four a.m. how come you're so late?

why can't you remember their names?

they're biblical. they were prophets.

i don't let anybody call me that.

you're a real heathen, you know that, [name]?

you sold your soul, remember? that's what you told me.

is that the one who died?

sorry. it just took me by surprise. i didn't expect to see him this morning. god, what i wouldn't ...

he was the cutest little guy. like an angel, you know. he had this smile ...

i don't like things that make you cry.

it's amazing, huh [name]? your whole life, right in front of you.

they're gonna get me. they'll tear me to pieces.

i never hurt anybody when i was alive.

i don't understand you philosophers.

she said you were a son of a bitch and she regrets the day she set eyes on you.

i think she still loves you.

my brain is too small an organ to comprehend this chaos.

you know, you look like an angel, [name], an overgrown cherub. anyone ever tell you that?

this city is filled with creatures. everywhere.

they're like demons, [name].

it's the pressure, honey. that's all it is.

those guys tried to kill me tonight. they were aiming right at me.

says here the world's comin' to an end. the battle of heaven and hell they call it.

listen to me. i'm going out of my fucking mind here.

let me look at your hand.

according to this, you're already dead.

you are out of your mind, man. out of your fuckin' mind.

[name], you little devil. you never told me you could dance like that.

i wanna leave. get me out of here.

go to hell! go to hell, goddamn you!

if you go crazy on me you're goin' crazy by yourself. you understand?

there were all these demons and i was on fire.

i thought you said it was a nightmare?

i'm not going anywhere. i'm right here, [name].

come on, go back to sleep. you can still get a couple of hours.

you must have friends in high places, that's all i can say.

it's not worth it. you'll never win.

how many times can you die, huh?

god i hate this area. makes me nervous.

i'm not sure where i can talk anymore.

something's wrong, [name]. i don't know what it is but i can't talk to anybody about it.

you always used to listen, you know?

they've been followin' me. they're comin' outta the walls.

sometimes i think i'm just gonna jump outta my skin.

i don't know who they are, or what they are. but they're gonna get me and i'm scared, [name].

it's like i was coming apart at the seams.

they keep telling me i'm already dead, that they're gonna tear me apart, piece by piece, and throw me into the fire.

it's like they're crawling out of my brain.

he saw these creatures coming out of the woodwork. they were tryin' to get him, he said.

it's not worth goin' over again and again. whatever happened, happened. it's over.

i'm gettin' a headache just listenin' to you.

so tell me. am i still an angel?

this is your home. you're dead.

i'm not dead. i am not dead.

this is not a dream! this is my life.

i was in hell. i've been there. it's horrible. i don't want to die, [name].

you're a regular basket case, you know that?

you know what eckart said? the only thing that burns in hell is the part of you that won't let go of your life; your memories, your attachments. they burn 'em all away.

they're not punishing you. they're freeing your soul.

i'm not here. you haven't seen me.

the truth can kill, my friend.

hey, i'm not the problem. you've got bigger problems than me.

don't fight it. it's your own mind. it's your own fears.

it's hard to believe that the world could be so hellish on day and like heaven the next.

i love you when you're angry.

hello, [name]. i knew you'd come here in the end.

your capacity for self-delusion is remarkable.

you're a real dreamer, you know that? only it's time to wake up.

if you're frightened of dying you'll see devils tearing you apart. if you've made your peace then they're angels freeing you from the world.

[skaldish]

I got a folkist arguing with me that loki is only a bad god. Do you have any resources to prove he's been helpful?

Also how does Norse heathenry not have orthodoxy or orthopraxy?

That's entirely predicated on whether the folkist would accept any proof you give them. And in my experience, they don't, because that would require them to change their worldview, and their purpose of arguing with you is to reinforce what they already believe in.

You are simply a prop in the story they're telling themselves. I recommend blocking and moving on.

As for your second question: Norse Heathenry has no orthopraxy or orthodoxy because it never developed any.

A religion develops doctrines when its parent society develops centralized agricultural practices, which allows for a more effective division of labor. This allows for the development of an intellectual class, and praxis would develop as a byproduct of continued philosophical discussion. This is also when a religion starts addressing questions of transcendence (afterlife, greater design, nature of the soul, etc) in earnest.

But Northern Europe was late to the Iron Age and didn't see this development until after the Christian conversion, so the Heathen praxis everyone keeps digging around for can't be found because never existed in the first place.

We also can't retroactively conclude what may have emerged if Christianity hadn't been introduced. The only thing we can do is pick up where it left off and let it develop organically as it always has.

[whencyclopedia]

Saint Cyril

Saint Cyril (aka Kyrillos and Constantine the Philosopher, d. 867 CE) was a Byzantine linguist, teacher, scholar and missionary who famously preached Christianity to the Slavs in Moravia with his brother Methodius during the 9th century CE. He created the Glagolitic alphabet, the forerunner to the Cyrillic alphabet that bears his name, and did much to spread the religion, art and culture of the Byzantine empire into central Europe.

Early Life

Cyril is the monastic name the saint chose near the end of his life but he was born Constantine, the son of a military officer called Leo stationed in Thessaloniki; his mother may have been a Slav. He was a gifted linguist from an early age and was sent to Constantinople to further his education and study such languages as Syriac and Hebrew. Looked after by the eunuch Theoktistos, Cyril was ordained as a priest and served as an official at the Hagia Sophia church where he developed a close relationship with the Patriarch of Constantinople, the bishop Photios. The brilliant scholar quickly became the bishop's librarian. Cyril became a teacher of philosophy at the Magnaura university in Constantinople where he gained the epithet “Constantine the Philosopher”.

Cyril was next sent on two diplomatic missions, the first to the Muslim court at Samarra and the second to the Khazars, a Turkic tribe in the Caucasus, c. 860 CE. According to Cyril's 9th century CE biography, attributed to one of his disciples, the scholar monk was enthusiastic for the opportunity to spread the Gospel:

If you command, lord, on such a mission I shall gladly go on foot and unshod, lacking all the Lord forbade Hi disciples to bring.' The emperor answered, saying,: 'Well spoken, were you to do this ! But bear in mind the imperial power and honour, and go honourably and with imperial help.

Life of Constantine (in Shepard, 315)

The trip, unfortunately, ended in failure if it had intended to convert the Khazars to Christianity as the Byzantines only managed to baptise around 200 of them. The Khazaria state eventually adopted Judaism instead. Cyril did bring back souvenirs, though, said to be the relics of the exiled 1st century CE Bishop of Rome, Saint Clement. His ambitions were not dampened either as he promptly set off of his own accord into the Crimea to spread his message to the heathen Phoullai people. It is likely Cyril was not any more popular there, though, especially when he chopped down their sacred oak tree.

Continue reading...

[nicklloydnow]

“Few people ever attempt to define 'good'. What is 'good'? 'Good' for whom? Is there a common good - the same for all people, all tribes, all conditions of life? Or is my good your evil? Is what is good for my people evil for your people? Is good eternal and constant? Or is yesterday's good today's vice, yesterday's evil today's good?

When the Last Judgment approaches, not only philosophers and preachers, but everyone on earth - literate and illiterate - will ponder the nature of good and evil.

Have people advanced over the millennia in their concept of good? Is this concept something that is common to all people - both Greeks and Jews - as the Apostle supposed? To all classes, nations and States? Even to all animals, trees and mosses - as Buddha and his disciples claimed? The same Buddha who had to deny life in order to clothe it in goodness and love.

The Christian view, five centuries after Buddhism, restricted the living world to which the concept of good is applicable. Not every living thing - only human beings. The good of the first Christians, which had embraced all mankind, in turn gave way to a purely Christian good; the good of the Muslims was now distinct.

Centuries passed and the good of Christianity split up into the distinct goods of Catholicism, Protestantism and Orthodoxy. And the good of Orthodoxy gave birth to the distinct goods of the old and new beliefs.

At the same time there was the good of the poor and the good of the rich. And the goods of the whites, the blacks and the yellow races . . . More and more goods came into being, corresponding to each sect, race and class. Everyone outside a particular magic circle was excluded.

People began to realize how much blood had been spilt in the name of a petty, doubtful good, in the name of the struggle of this petty good against what it believed to be evil. Sometimes the very concept of good became a scourge, a greater evil than evil itself.

Good of this kind is a mere husk from which the sacred kernel has been lost. Who can reclaim the lost kernel?

But what is good? It used to be said that it is a thought and a related action which lead to the greater strength or triumph of humanity - or of a family, nation, State, class, or faith.

People struggling for their particular good always attempt to dress it up as a universal good. They say: my good coincides with the universal good; my good is essential not only to me but to everyone; in achieving my good, I serve the universal good.

And so the good of a sect, class, nation or State assumes a specious universality in order to justify its struggle against an apparent evil.

Even Herod did not shed blood in the name of evil; he shed blood in the name of his particular good. A new force had come into the world, a force that threatened to destroy him and his family, to destroy his friends and his favourites, his kingdom and his armies.

But it was not evil that had been born; it was Christianity. Humanity had never before heard such words: 'Judge not, that ye be not judged. For with what judgment ye judge, ye shall be judged: and with what measure ye mete, it shall be measured to you again . . . But I say unto you, Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them which despitefully use you, and persecute you . . . Therefore all things whatsoever ye would that men should do to you, do ye even so to them: for this is the law and the prophets.'

And what did this doctrine of peace and love bring to humanity? Byzantine iconoclasticism; the tortures of the Inquisition; the struggles against heresy in France, Italy, Flanders and Germany; the conflict between Protestantism and Catholicism; the intrigues of the monastic orders; the conflict between Nikon and Avakum; the crushing yoke that lay for centuries over science and freedom; the Christians who wiped out the heathen population of Tasmania; the scoundrels who burnt whole Negro villages in Africa. This doctrine caused more suffering than all the crimes of the people who did evil for its own sake . . .

In great hearts the cruelty of life gives birth to good; they then seek to carry this good back into life, hoping to make life itself accord with their inner image of good. But life never changes to accord with an image of good; instead it is the image of good that sinks into the mire of life - to lose its universality, to split into fragments and be exploited by the needs of the day. People are wrong to see life as a struggle between good and evil. Those who most wish for the good of humanity are unable to diminish evil by one jot.

Great ideas are necessary in order to dig new channels, to remove stones, to bring down cliffs and fell forests; dreams of universal good are necessary in order that great waters should flow in harmony . . . Yes, if the sea was able to think, then every storm would make its waters dream of happiness. Each wave breaking against the cliff would believe it was dying for the good of the sea; it would never occur to it that, like thousands of waves before and after, it had only been brought into being by the wind.

Many books have been written about the nature of good and evil and the struggle between them . . . There is a deep and undeniable sadness in all this: whenever we see the dawn of an eternal good that will never be overcome by evil - an evil that is itself eternal but will never succeed in overcoming good - whenever we see this dawn, the blood of old people and children is always shed. Not only men, but even God himself is powerless to lessen this evil.

'In Rama was there a voice heard, lamentation, and weeping, and great mourning, Rachel weeping for her children, and would not be comforted, because they are not.’

What does a woman who has lost her children care about a philosopher's definitions of good and evil?

But what if life itself is evil?

I have seen the unshakeable strength of the idea of social good that was born in my own country. I saw this struggle during the period of general collectivization and again in 1937; I saw people being annihilated in the name of an idea of good as fine and humane as the ideal of Christianity. I saw whole villages dying of hunger; I saw peasant children dying in the snows of Siberia; I saw trains bound for Siberia with hundreds and thousands of men and women from Moscow, Leningrad and every city in Russia - men and women who had been declared enemies of a great and bright idea of social good. This idea was something fine and noble - yet it killed some without mercy, crippled the lives of others, and separated wives from husbands and children from fathers.

Now the horror of German Fascism has arisen. The air is full of the groans and cries of the condemned. The sky has turned black; the sun has been extinguished by the smoke of the gas ovens. And even these crimes, crimes never before seen in the Universe - even by Man on Earth - have been committed in the name of good.

Once, when I lived in the Northern forests, I thought that good was to be found neither in man, nor in the predatory world of animals and insects, but in the silent kingdom of the trees. Far from it! I saw the forest's slow movement, the treacherous way it battled against grass and bushes for each inch of soil . . . First, billions of seeds fly through the air and begin to sprout, destroying the grass and bushes. Then millions of victorious shoots wage war against one another. And it is only the survivors who enter into an alliance of equals to form the seamless canopy of the young deciduous forest. Beneath this canopy the spruces and beeches freeze to death in the twilight of penal servitude.

In time the deciduous trees become decrepit; then the heavyweight spruces burst through to the light beneath their canopy, executing the alders and the beeches. This is the life of the forest - a constant struggle of everything against everything. Only the blind conceive of the kingdom of trees and grass as the world of good . . . Is it that life itself is evil?

Good is to be found neither in the sermons of religious teachers and prophets, nor in the teachings of sociologists and Popular leaders, nor in the ethical systems of philosophers . . . And yet ordinary people bear love in their hearts, are naturally full of love and pity for any living thing. At the end of the day's work they prefer the warmth of the hearth to a bonfire in the public square.

Yes, as well as this terrible Good with a capital 'G', there is everyday human kindness. The kindness of an old woman carrying a piece of bread to a prisoner, the kindness of a soldier allowing a wounded enemy to drink from his water-flask, the kindness of youth towards age, the kindness of a peasant hiding an old Jew in his loft. The kindness of a prison guard who risks his own liberty to pass on letters written by a prisoner not to his ideological comrades, but to his wife and mother.

The private kindness of one individual towards another; a petty, thoughtless kindness; an unwitnessed kindness. Something we could call senseless kindness. A kindness outside any system of social or religious good.

But if we think about it, we realize that this private, senseless, incidental kindness is in fact eternal. It is extended to everything living, even to a mouse, even to a bent branch that a man straightens as he walks by.

Even at the most terrible times, through all the mad acts carried out in the name of Universal Good and the glory of States, times when people were tossed about like branches in the wind, filling ditches and gullies like stones in an avalanche - even then this senseless, pathetic kindness remained scattered throughout life like atoms of radium.” (p. 404 - 408)