Tag: life

…The Islamic geographer and scholar Yaqut (d. 1229 [C.E.]) tells a distinctly uncharming story of life in [the Mongolian] steppe lands.

If a man begets a son, he would bring him up and provide for him and take care of him until he reaches puberty. Then he would hand him a bow and arrows and drive him from the family home crying, ‘Go fend for yourself!‘ Henceforward he would treat him both as a stranger and a foreigner. There are also among these people those who will sell their sons and daughters.

There are always harsh customs in hard lands…. Surplus children were an encumbrance to the survival of the family unit and the boys might become a possible challenge to the authority of the paterfamilias. Indeed, one way of reading Yaqut’s passage is that if you are prepared to kick your adolescent son out of your home and never acknowledge his existence thereafter, you may as well receive some profit from his departure and from your investment in his young life….

— Knights of Islam, Chapter 1

Timo Cruz:

Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness, that most frightens us.

Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won’t feel insecure around you.

We were all meant to shine as children do. It’s not just in some of us; it’s in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsiously give other people permission to do the same.

As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.

— “Coach Carter” (2005)

Delenn:

It should never have been allowed to happen. Not for my sake.

Lenier:

If not for yours, then who else?

Delenn:

He could have been killed.

Lenier:

Delenn, all we know is that we will die. It is only a matter of how, when, and whether or not it is with honor. He did what any of us would have done.

Respectfully, Delenn, I think this is the one thing about your position you do not yet understand. You cherish life. Life is your goal. But for the greater part to live, some must die or be harmed in its defense—and yours. There is no other way.

— “Grey-17 Is Missing” – Babylon 5, Season 3 (1996)

Sherif Ali:

How if I take it?

T.E. Lawrence:

Then you would be a thief.

Sherif Ali:

Have you no fear, English?

T.E. Lawrence:

My fear is my concern.

Sherif Ali:

Truly.

— “Lawrence of Arabia” (1962)

The furniture of the thirteenth century [C.E.] was limited to beds in their various forms, and with their accompanying bedding, tables, still normally made of boards placed on trestles, and chairs, or more frequently benches. There were also chests of several sizes, many of which were large enough to be considered as furniture. The chest was usually very sturdily made, bound with iron and closed with lock and key. It was in constant use as a safe depository for any articles of value. Small caskets for jewels were often decorated with ivory or enamel and were very elegant.

— A Baronial Household of the Thirteenth Century, p. 34

Men-at-arms got a good deal of protein from cheese and a much wider variety of fish and meats than is common today (including, for example, crows and smaller wildfowl, cranes, larks, boars’ heads, eels and lampreys, squirrel, goat, mutton, rabbit, venison, and swans and peacocks for great feasts); this made them taller and stronger than the common folk, especially in Mediterranean regions, where the peasants had less dairy in their diets. Men-at-arms commonly drank wine, while lesser folk more often consumed ale or cider, which were much cheaper. In the household of the sober Sire Jean de Joinville (1225-1317), Seneschal of Champagne and boon companion of St. Louis ([King] Louis IX of France), young valets were given wine heavily diluted with water, squires got a stronger mixture, and knights had separate flagons of wine and water, to blend as they wished….

— Soldiers’ Lives Through History, p. 10

The bulk of Japan’s people in the early feudal age were peasants, as in any simple agrarian society. Most of them were serfs bound to the land they cultivated and forced to surrender a large part of their crop to a landlord, usually a nobleman or a monastery. To these masses who tilled the soil, the comparative stability imposed by the early feudal rulers brought little change, but it had far-reaching consequences for the merchants and skilled artisans, whose numbers increased in Kamakura times. The coming and going between the imperial capital, Kyoto, and the shogun’s headquarters at Kamakura, some 300 miles apart, stimulated travel and thereby opened new market areas to the merchant class. This led to the growth of commercial towns, which formed in much the same way as trading centers in medieval Europe. Settlements of merchants gathered at road junctions, at the gates of important monasteries, near the strongholds of noblemen who offered good protection and at natural harbors along the seacoast. The merchants attracted artisans and encouraged them to produce goods that could be sold, sent to other districts or shipped abroad….

— Early Japan, p. 75

Clara Oswald:

I know you’re afraid, but being afraid is all right. Because didn’t anybody ever tell you? Fear is a superpower. Fear can make you faster, and cleverer, and stronger…. Fear doesn’t have to make you cruel or cowardly. Fear can make you kind….

— “Listen” – Doctor Who, Season 8 (2014)

Arthur:

Which is the greatest quality of knighthood? Courage? Compassion? Loyalty? Humility?

What do you say, Merlin?

Merlin:

Hmm? Ah, the greatest…. Well, they blend, like the metals we mix to make a good sword….

Arthur:

No poetry. Just a straight answer. Which is it?

Merlin:

All right, then. Truth! That’s it! It must be truth. Above all! When a man lies, he murders some part of the world.

You should know that.

— “Excalibur” (1981)

Homer has little time for comment on his characters. They reveal themselves in word and action, not in the poet’s commentary. But we feel from the outset that the human characters are caught like strong swimmers in an undertow that is much stronger than their most strenuous strivings, an undertow that will take them where it will, despite their efforts. At the same time, this undertow is not entirely a substance apart: it is rather the sum of all the characters, both gods and men, for both gods and men are driven by their need for honor. Hera and Athena’s dishonor at the hands of Aphrodite and Menelaus’s subsequent dishonor at the hands of Paris have made the war inevitable; Apollo is dishonored by the dishonor shown his suppliant, Chryses; Agamemnon’s need to appear as supreme commander clashes with Achilles’s need to be honored as supreme warrior.

Somehow, we feel, these motivations—and others’ yet to be revealed—are propelling the action of the poem toward its inevitable conclusion. As the seer Calchas says in his fear of Agamemnon’s rage:

A mighty king,
raging against an inferior, is too strong.
Even if he can swallow down his wrath today,
still he will nurse the burning in his chest
until, sooner or later, he sends it bursting forth.

That’s just the way of mighty kings; there’s nothing to be done about it. But it’s not as if Agamemnon can in his rage own the field. His rage must contend with the rage and will of others. When he taunts Achilles that he will come personally to take away Achilles’s concubine—”so you can learn just how much greater I am than you”—Homer shows us Achilles’s heart pounding “in his rugged chest,” torn between alternatives:

Should he draw the long sharp sword slung at his hip, thrust through the ranks and kill Agamemnon now?—or check his rage and beat his fury down?

Only the intervention of Hera “of the white arms,” who “loved both men and cared for both alike,” prevents Achilles’s wrath from finding its target. She speeds down to earth the battle goddess Athena, who, unseen by all but Achilles, constrains him, seizing his “fiery hair”; and Achilles submits, though, as he says, “his heart breaks with fury,” so dearly would he love to see Agamemnon’s “black blood gush and spurt around my spear!” But “if a man obeys the gods, they’re quick to hear his prayer.”

— Sailing the Wine-Dark Sea, pp. 23-25

Herger:

The All-Father wove the skein of your life a long time ago. Go and hide in a hole if you wish, but you won’t live one instant longer.

Your fate is fixed. Fear profits a man nothing.

— “The 13th Warrior” (1999)

Madame Kovarian:

The anger of a good man is not a problem. Good men have too many rules.

The Doctor:

Good men don’t need rules. Today is not the day to find out why I have so many!

— “A Good Man Goes to War” – Doctor Who, Series 6 (2011)

Backlinks

• EOW Links 107 – Weaver Skeptical

…[The] Minoans were worshippers of the Great Goddess, a faith which they had brought with them from their homeland in the Middle East, most probably the fertile crescent of Mesopotamia.

To the followers of this faith (which had held unchallenged supremacy in Europe and the Middle East for nearly twenty thousand years), the entire cosmos—earth, sky, waters, and the plants and animals within and upon them—was a single entity enveloped by the life-giving and -receiving Great Mother, she who created, nurtured, and took into her bosom all living things, just as, on a much smaller scale, the females of every species daily performed mirroring aspects of the same miracle. The statues that were offered to her, or fashioned to be worshipped in her stead, were the same tiny but enormously voluptuous female figurines that the Greeks had made such cautious fun of upon their arrival in the area. Wide-hipped, sometimes large-vulvaed, and full-breasted, these effigies were the essence of Earth in all its endless fecundity. Some of them, however, were tellingly blind. The goddess, who could at one moment bestow wondrous bounties upon her creation and the next, visit it with all manner of afflictions—earthquakes, plagues, storms, floods, and droughts, all without apparent provocation—was utterly indifferent to individuals, blind to their tiny needs and little sorrows. She cherished only Life itself.

— Zeus, pp. 17-18

It is often a mistake to refer to a religion as a “faith,” or to its adherents as “believers.” As odd as this might sound, faith and belief don’t matter much in most religions. Often ritual is far more important, as in Confucianism. Or story, as in Yoruba religion. Many Jews do not believe in God, and the world’s Hindus get along quite well without any creed. When it comes to religion, we are more often what we do than what we think. Of course, there are churchgoers who baptize their children and partake of the bread and wine of Holy Communion without much regard for what it all means, but to be a Christian has typically been to care about both faith and belief….

— God Is Not One, p. 69

Backlinks

• EOW Links 101 – Weaver Skeptical

Motivation is the reason your characters do the things they do. Characters need to have a solid motivation for all the decisions they make throughout the story, but…the most important motivation you need to give them is the motivation to participate in the story in the first place. Motivation is the reason the stakes matter.

[Harry Potter’s] goal is to destroy Voldemort.

Voldemort will take over the wizarding world otherwise—this is what’s at stake.

But why does Harry want to stop Voldemort himself? Why not step back and let someone else do it? Because Voldemort killed Harry’s parents. That’s Harry’s motivation.

Motivation is the emotional investment in the story for both the character and the reader. It gives the characters depth, which makes them more engaging. The reader wouldn’t be very interested if, at any point, the protagonist could decide that the stakes aren’t such a big deal after all and go home. Motivation locks the character into the story.

— 5 Places to Look for your Character’s Motivation – Jackal Editing

Author’s emphases.

Thank the gods for the Internet Archive Wayback Machine, else I could not have linked to the source blogpost.

It’s important to understand the particular way in which human beings have affinities with the physical world according to the ancients. They believed in a quite literal way that nothing inside us is without a correspondence in nature. Worms, for example, are the shape of intestines and worms process matter as intestines do. The lungs that enable us to move freely through space with a bird-like freedom are the same shape as birds. The visible world is humanity turned inside out. Lung and bird are both expressions of the same cosmic spirit, but in different modes.

To the teachers of the Mystery schools it was significant that if you looked down on to the internal organs of the human body from the skies, their disposition reflected the solar system.

In the view of the ancients, then, all biology is astrobiology….

— The Secret History of the World, Chapter 2

Author’s emphasis.

Human nature is so formed that any power I may have to resist my animal desires—indeed what stops me from becoming a mere animal—derives from my capacity for thought and reflection. Venus was traditionally depicted holding a mirror, but not out of vanity as is nowadays supposed. The mirror was a symbol of the power of reflection to modify desire.

The god of reflection was the god of the great reflector in the sky—the moon. In all ancient cultures the moon regulated not only fertility but thought.

— The Secret History of the World, Chapter 4

Author’s emphasis.

Susan Ivanova:

Babylon 5 was last of the Babylon stations. There would never be another. It changed the future and it changed us.

It taught us that we have to create the future…or others will do it for us. It taught us that we have to care for one another; because if we don’t, who will? And that true strength sometimes comes from the most unlikely of places.

Mostly, though, I think it gave us hope that there can always be new beginnings. Even for people like us.

— “Sleeping In Light” – Babylon 5, Season 5 (1998)

Heroes always emerge in a time of dying—of self, of social sanctions, of society’s forms, of standard-brand religions, governments, economics, psychologies, and relationships. In answering the call of the eternal, they discover the courage to perform the first great task of the hero or heroine—to undergo all the gestations, growth, and trauma required for a new birth. This occurs so that they can then serve as midwife in the larger society for the continuum of births necessary to redeem both the time and the society in which they live and bring them to a higher level of functioning.

Thus, the second great task of the hero or heroine—as The Odyssey and many other myths show us—is to return to the world. Plato tells us that, after receiving illumination in the vast world of eternal realities, philosophers must go back into the cave of ordinary society. In just such a fashion, Jesus comes back from the desert. The Buddha returns from his ascetic meditations. And Odysseus returns, at last, from his voyage into the depth world. All are deeply changed; some are transformed. And they immediately begin teaching the lessons they have learned of palingenesia, of life renewed and deepened.

— The Hero and the Goddess, p. 73

Author’s emphasis.

The Champawat Tiger killed, as far as anyone was able to record, 436 human beings in her lifetime. Mostly they were women and children, gone out into the forest to collect firewood or livestock fodder. She killed strategically, never hitting the same location twice and constantly staying on the move.

By any stretch of the imagination that is more than enough to call her a monster. It’s a perfectly fair assessment, and the leap of faith to ascribe it supernatural power would be quite small, given the circumstances. It’s as close to a true monster as you’re liable to get.

When the tiger finally died at the hands of Jim Corbett, the body revealed a different story: The two canine teeth on the right side of her jaw had been broken by a hunter’s bullet some 8 years before.

The Champawat Tiger was starving.

The damage to her teeth meant that she was unable to hunt her normal prey, and given the long-term pressure of habitat loss she would have been hard-up to find sufficient food in the first place. The killings were acts of desperation, brought upon by circumstances that made life as a normal tiger impossible. Perhaps it’s still right to call her a monster, but she was not a monster because she was born with some innate malice—she was only a very large cat getting on in years, desperate for food.

Jim Corbett was called upon to hunt down another fifty maneaters over the course of the next 35 years. Together, those tigers had killed over 2000 people, for much the same reasons as the Champawat Tiger—injury, desperation, starvation, and habitat loss.

Would you look at that.

The root cause was British colonialism.

436 people dead because some dumb shit went trophy hunting, because he just had to prove how big and strong his penis was to all his dumb shit friends….

Monsters have a cause.

That is the lesson of the Champawat Tiger.

Monsters are made to be so.

— D&D Doesn’t Understand What Monsters Are – Throne of Salt

Author’s emphases.