If we are preaching the gospel faithfully, we will clash with the various, proliferating religions of the “postmodern” world — with Mormons, Hare Krishna, Moonies, and Scientologists. But, we will also be clashing with other “competitors”. The Church’s competitors are nation-states and international political bodies like the United Nations. The Church’s ethos and culture are not just a challenge to other “religions,” but to the ethos of Americanism and the culture of globalization, insofar as such an ethos and culture exist. (Against Chrsitianity, Peter J. Leithart, pg. 34)
An allegory is a story which is specifically symbolic for another story. This broad definition is widely accepted — but the question has arisen: Is a story an allegory only if the author intended it to be so?
There have been two different definitions of “allegory” presented. First: a story which is symbolic for another story, and obviously intended to be so. Second: a story which is apparently symbolic for another story — but whether or not it is actually an allegory depends on reader interpretation. It does have a good deal to do with the author’s intent, however; because it’s difficult to find an underlying symbolic story if the author had absolutely no intention of an allegory. The second definition simply does not limit an allegory to what the author might have intended — since that is arbitrary and often subject to debate — and says rather that calling something an allegory depends more the reader’s interpretation.
See how above
Not directly, but
At forty-five degrees,
The wispy clouds float–
Idyllic, distant,
Lazy breakers
In the sky-blue sea.
The dark outline
Of tropical verdure,
Sings a silent song
Against a backdrop
Of glittering sun–
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Surprise! I’m alive, contrary to popular opinion (and presidential edict). This is a parody (?) of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow’s poem “The Children’s Hour”, available here.
I’m not quite sure how to explain this. Or how it progresses, if it progresses at all. I think the “conclusion” in particular captures a certain layer of illogical thinking common to my brain during Week Mortis. Enjoy, those of ye who are unafflicted by exams.
She entered the elevator after my grandma and I. I was shy, and looked down as I said hello. If I saw her face again I would not recognize it. But her hands, her hands were where my eyes rested, and they still stand out to me.
The rest of her was all wrinkles. All sagging, all stooped. But that wasn’t what made her old. Anyone can hunch, and even I, at eighteen, have wrinkles. It was her hands that made her old. It wasn’t that they were wrinkled– the skin was stretched tight and smooth, a mottled and discolored skin on shriveled claws. View Full Post
Ella writes:
The first of these was an attempt at a poem in the tradition of mediaeval ballads, though with a classical subject. In it, Queen Dido (a.k.a. Elisa) speaks of Aeneas to her sister Dido. It is the only one of the three meant to be taken seriously. The second was inspired (or rather provoked) by a photograph of a Greek statue, and the third by who knows what.
Queen Elisa
‘O see, my sister Anna, see,
Most dreadful of my fears,
My lover is deaf to all my pleas
And blind to all my tears.
I think my reply to Mr. Ahern’s post warrants a whole new post.
For a start, Mr. Ahern dismissed rather summarily the issue of canonicity, which is, from a practical perspective, the most important issue of the lot. The infallibility of the whole depends on the infallibility of the parts. The choice of infallible parts, therefore, is extremely important.
