Date: March 12th, 2016 06:47 (UTC)
vaecrius: a crude scrawl of a grinning, blazing yellow sun. (hier kommt die sonne)
From: [personal profile] vaecrius
It occurs to me, while thinking about medieval hell versus the hell of Lewis, Weil and other 20th-century writers, and how they focus on such different kinds of torment (Dante notwithstanding, cf. Eliot) while the message of Christ's love remains substantially similar:

The NIV translators just implicitly assumed that fire=bad, without any of the usual(!) mythic ideas of a purifying flame.

Anselm's work penal sub should be understood as being similarly contextually constrained: the necessity of the honour debt and its basis was assumed without it even occurring to anyone that it may be any other way.
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if life is illusion, then I am no less an illusion, and being thus, the illusion is real to me. I live, I burn with life, I love, I slay, and am content.

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