O hushed October morning mild, Thy leaves have ripened to the fall; Tomorrow’s wind, if it be wild, Should waste them all. The crows above the forest call; Tomorrow they may form and go. O hushed October morning mild, Begin the hours of this day slow. Make the day seem to us less brief. Hearts … Continue reading Robert Frost: October
There is a natural human longing to understand where we came from. Finite as we are, we fear where we are going and demand understanding of where we came. For this reason, theologies, doctrines, and dogmas become not frameworks around which we develop, and to the best of our abilities, answer the questions of our existence, but rigid courses of supposed understanding.
In speaking with an atheist acquaintance, it was suggested that the burden of proving the existence of God, or rather, of any god at all, rested with the believer. Believers are the ones making the claim, so it must be believers who provide the evidence therefore. Must it, though? Perhaps it would behoove us to … Continue reading Whence Does the Burden of Proof Lie?
“I suspect that men have sometimes derived more spiritual sustenance from myths they did not believe than from the religion they professed. To be truly Christian we must both assent to the historical fact and also receive the myth (fact though it has become) with the same imaginative embrace which we accord to all myths.
Tolkien’s dislike of modernism can be found scattered throughout the tales, but can be observed perhaps the most clearly in the various portrayals of the Wizard’s Vale, Isengard. A great circle of stone and iron, from the middle of which rose an imposing jet-black tower known as Orthanc, Isengard experiences dynamic transformation throughout the course … Continue reading Tolkien’s Modern Man
From fairest creatures we desire increase, That thereby beauty's rose might never die, But as the riper should by time decease, His tender heir might bear his memory: But thou contracted to thine own bright eyes, Feed'st thy light's flame with self-substantial fuel, Making a famine where abundance lies, Thy self thy foe, to thy … Continue reading Shakespeare: Sonnet no.1
Hwæt! We Gar-Dena in gear-dagum þeod-cyninga, þrym gefrunon, hu ða æþelingas ellen fremedon! Oft Scyld Scefing sceaþena þreatum monegum mægþum meodo-setla ofteah; egsode eorl[as] syððan ærest wearð feasceaft funden; he þæs frofre gebad, weox under wolcnum, weorð-myndum þah, oðæt him æghwylc þara ymb-sittendra ofer hron-rade hyran scolde, gomban gyldan. Þæt wæs god cyning! And now, for you who cannot read old English… What were we War-Danes … Continue reading Beowulf (Opening Lines)