Every day spent lost, wandering aimlessly in the forest weakened their faith

Danko and His Fiery Heart
by Maxim Gorky

A tribe of strong men, with their families, were forced by their enemies to retreat into the depths of an old dark forest filled with swamps. Every day spent lost, wandering aimlessly in the forest weakened their faith. They were on the verge of surrendering to their enemy, exhausted from living in despair, resigned to live in slavery.

Danko loved his people very much. He knew that there must be a way out of the dark and hostile forest. He bravely led the people deeper inside, hoping to find a way out. After weeks lost in the forest, his followers started to grumble. Fueled by fear and darkness, frustration and anger grew among them. Danko looked at the people and saw only hatred in their faces. Despite the fear and pain a flame of desire to save them flared up in his heart.

This flame of love for his people became stronger and stronger, and suddenly, loudly, his heart, and his voice overpowering the sound of thunder, Danko exclaimed: 'What shall I do to save my people?' He tore apart his chest, tore out his heart and raised it high over his head. It blazed like the sun, even brighter than the sun, and the forest, stunned by this overwhelming love for the people, became quiet, shrank into nothingness and opened a way out of the darkness.

Danko ran forward, holding high his burning heart, lighting the road for his people, and they rushed after him. Suddenly, the forest ended, and they emerged into an ocean of sunshine and fresh air, cleansed by the rain. Danko looked at the free land, laughed proudly and suddenly fell dead to the ground. The happy people, filled with great hopes and expectations, ran past his body. They did not even notice Danko's death and did not see that next to his body his brave heart still burned brightly. Only one person noticed it, and fearfully, stomped on the proud heart and extinguished its flame.

Affe mit Schädel: The Rheinhold Monkey

Wolfgang Hugo Rheinhold | Affe mit Schädel (Ape  with Skull) | 1892

I don't think it is any sort of secret that I have a certain fascination for skulls. I must also admit to a similar obsession with monkeys. Put monkeys with skulls and you've got me all night. Over the years I have been given a number of variations of the Monkey with Skull theme: lamps, bookends and a small statuette.The basic elements of each are the "Philosophizing Monkey" holding a human skull, sitting on top of a stack of books, one of which has "Darwin" inscribed on the side. Inscribed on an open book at the base of the stack is the Latin phrase: "eritis sicut deus" from Genesis 3.5. The statue, Affe mit Schädel (ape with skull), was created by Wolfgang Hugo Rheinhold and first exhibited in 1893.

From the excellent pamphlet Rheinhold's Philosophizing Monkey .pdf (via Wikipedia):

The excised Biblical quote possibly suggests that good and evil cannot be known, or told apart. With the ape's study, the library of books and the caliper instruments, the suggestion is that the statue is warning against the application of rationalism in the absence of morality. Furthermore, when a human is depicted holding a skull it is usually a comment on mortality and the inevitability of death, famously Hamlet bereaves Yorick in one instance but is soon repulsed by this macabre souvenir as it brings him face-to-face with all life's grim destiny. But, for Hugo Rheinhold's ape it is something quite different. The ape is engaged in assessment and measurement (confirmed by the calipers). That we should even consider this level of intelligence in another species is a bold examination of ourselves through eyes that bear witness to the disproportionate leverage historically awarded humankind. Hugo Rheinhold's original inscription "eritis sicut deus" (sometimes wrongly "eritus …."), either suggests that Darwinian understanding may lead to Frankenstinian abuse of life's essence, or a more inclusive innocence that recognises a place for other advanced life‑forms on our intellectual podium, if only we can just accommodate those guests.

Atlas Obscura: Gabinetto Segreto with some fondness

From the very informative Atlas Obscura:

Amongst dozens of stone penises, phallic wind chimes, and naugthy mosiacs, one item became the most famous: The Goat. This piece de resistance was a detailed carving of a satyr having intercourse with a female goat, her cloven feet pressed up against his chest as she gazes back at him at him with some fondness.

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Atlas Obscura is a compendium of this age's wonders, curiosities, and esoterica. The Atlas Obscura is a collaborative project with the goal of cataloging all of the singular, eccentric, bizarre, fantastical, and strange out-of-the-way places that get left out of traditional travel guidebooks and are ignored by the average tourist. If you're looking for miniature cities, glass flowers, books bound in human skin, gigantic flaming holes in the ground, phallological museums, bone churches, balancing pagodas, or homes built entirely out of paper, the Atlas Obscura is where you'll find them.

Paideia: The spirit began to turn inwards upon itself

John William Godward | The Delphic Oracle | 1899

It shook all moral laws; it struck at the roots of religion. If the disaster was to be repaired, the process must start with religion and ethics. This realization entered both the theorizing of philosophers and the day-to-day life of average man; because of it, the fourth century was an age of constant endeavors at internal and external reconstruction. But the blow had struck so deep that, from this distance, it seems doubtful from the very start whether the innate Greek belief in the value of this world, their confidence that they could bring the 'the best state', 'the best life', into being here and now, could have ever survived such an experience to be re-created in its original purity and vigour. It was in that time of suffering that the Greek spirit first began to turn inwards upon itself - as it was to do more and more throughout the succeeding centuries. But the men of that age, even Plato, still believed that their task was a practical one. They had to change the world, this world - even though they might not manage to do it completely at the moment. And (although in a rather different sense) that is how even the practical statesmen now envisaged their mission.

- From Werner Jaeger's Paideia: The Ideals of Greek Culture, Volume II: In Search of the Divine Center

 One of the finest quotes on 4th century Greek thought that I have ever read. It is testimony to the power of Jaeger's prose that the catastrophe alluded to - the Fall of Athens - feels current with our time.  One begins to examine "the state within" in terms of "original purity and vigour."

Dier Mar Mousa: A positive voice in this collective scream of anguish

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From the New York Times: Modern-Day Pilgrims Find Interfaith Bond in Ancient Syrian Monastery by Robert F. Worth

DEIR MAR MOUSA, Syria — As darkness falls over the vast Syrian desert and the first winter stars emerge, a trail of modern-day pilgrims is slowly climbing the stone steps of this remote cliff-top monastery.

They are a motley crew of religious seekers and backpackers from a dozen countries, some hoping for divine wisdom, others merely curious. But all are hoping to meet the Rev. Paolo Dall’Oglio, the burly and dedicated Jesuit priest who has made this ancient sanctuary a center of Christian-Muslim dialogue.

“Some say this church looks like a mosque,” said Father Dall’Oglio, as his guests warmed their frost-stiffened hands over a wood-burning stove. “We are very proud of that.”

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Father Paolo, as he is known here, presides over a group of 10 monks, nuns, and volunteers who welcome guests year-round and struggle to build harmony around a religious fault line that has only grown more volatile since the terrorist attacks of Sept. 11, 2001. His passion for interfaith dialogue — he recently published a memoir titled “Believing in Jesus, Loving Islam” — has helped draw ever-larger flocks of visitors up the mountain to sleep in the monastery’s stone huts and take part in its multilingual prayer services.

Father Dall’Oglio, 55, is a big, ebullient Italian who seems constantly in motion. He is almost single-handedly responsible for restoring the monastery of Deir Mar Mousa, which is set in a craggy hillside 50 miles from Damascus, the Syrian capital.

When he first came here in 1982, he found only an abandoned Byzantine ruin, with faded 11th-century frescoes open to the wind and the rain. He spent 10 days praying and meditating here, he recalled, and conceived the idea of building a new house of worship that would help to address the region’s religious conflicts with an emphasis on manual labor and common spirituality.

“At the time, the Lebanese war was on, the Israeli-Palestinian problem was getting worse, the Islamic movement was growing,” he said.

Father Dall’Oglio set to work at once, and has lived here full time since 1991. Today, the frescoes and church have been painstakingly restored. Stone guest houses blend seamlessly into the hillside, along with offices, a library, and a broad esplanade where guests gather and eat. Recently another monastery was refurbished 30 miles away, along with some ancient caves where hermits once took shelter. The monastery draws thousands of visitors a year, many of them Muslims, who often come during religious holidays to pray. Father Dall’Oglio also works with local Muslim leaders on educational and environmental projects, and convenes conferences on theology.

In a sense, Deir Mar Mousa is one of the last outposts of a shrinking faith. When monks built the original monastery in the sixth century A.D., this was the geographic center of Christianity. Today, Christians are a minority, and many feel increasingly beleaguered, with the rise of militant Islam and the violent persecution of Iraqi Christians.

But Deir Mar Mousa’s rituals emphasize mutual understanding rather than Christian preservation.

“We try to be a positive voice in this collective scream of anguish,” said Father Dall’Oglio.

That voice can be heard in Deir Mar Mousa’s prayer rituals. On a recent winter evening, candles provided the only light in the chapel — a cavelike structure whose walls bear inscriptions in Arabic, Greek and Syriac, an ancient Aramaic language that is still used in the liturgy of Syrian Christianity. Two dozen visitors sat meditating for an hour in silence, a standard feature of the prayer ritual. A fresco showing the Last Supper glimmered on the wall opposite the altar.

Then Father Dall’Oglio entered and donned his robes. Gazing out cheerfully at the visitors, he explained the Syriac liturgy, like a college professor giving a familiar lecture. He recited prayers in Syriac and Arabic. Later, he cheerfully asked visitors to contribute their own prayers and thoughts, shifting easily from fluent Arabic to English to several European languages.

Afterward, the visitors slowly trailed out the church’s tiny door, and filed into a makeshift tent where supper was served: a hot lentil stew, with bread and olives spread out on the floor of a makeshift tent. Meals at Deir Mar Mousa are a cooperative affair, with guests helping prepare the food and wash the dishes. Accommodation is free, but visitors are expected to bring food or make contributions.

“As you see, our dinners go back to the Eucharistic tradition of the Lord,” Father Dall’Oglio said.

Part of Deir Mar Mousa’s tradition, Father Dall’Oglio added, includes manual labor as a spiritual exercise. Guests cook and clean, and help collect trash from surrounding hillsides.

As dinner ended, visitors huddled around a wood-burning stove, drinking tea and discussing theology. They were a remarkably diverse group: Indians, Japanese, Palestinians, various Europeans. As always, they plied Father Dall’Oglio with questions.

“If you hold one belief about God, and I hold another, aren’t we bound to come into conflict?” said one earnest-looking American.

Father Dall’Oglio weighed the question, rubbing his thin beard and looking a little tired after a long day. “I don’t claim to know the absolute,” he said. “I consider it a road, a path, that we are on together.”

Thanks, Shelton