Even More Randomity

The obsession with Warhammer 40k continues with this cover page of the novel Flight of the Eisenstein. In this scene, two loyalist Space Marines of the traitorous Death Guard Space Marine Legion fight alongside their gold-armoured brothers from the Imperial Fists Space Marine Legion to defend the Emperor's Palace on Holy Terra against the traitor Legions. The Marine on the left is presumably Captain Nathanael Garro of the Death Guard 7th Grand Company, leader of the 70 Loyalists from the Traitor Legions.

The whole damn world is so Hobbesian. Thomas Hobbes would have been proud indeed. Totalitarian autocracy on the one hand and chaos and anarchy and limitless evil on the other. The Choice of Hobbes indeed.

Randomity

So who or what defines moral values?

That's the biggest problem that humanity has always faced. Always seeking justification and reason for the things we do or hope to do.

It's a supremely subjective thing, morality. It has billions and billions of variations, each legitimate in its own way to its owner- an individual human being.

For instance, we all know it is an abominable act to kill an infant human.

But what if by doing so, by killing the infant, we could save the lives of one million other infants who would otherwise be doomed to a more painful, excrutiating, death?

What about a thousand other infants?

Or even a dozen others?

Or even one?

Ok, so this is an EXTREME example I'm using and it's highly disturbing. It's right out of a psychopath's deranged mouth. But I hope the shock is enough to convey the immense gravity and import of my general questioning. (It's always unorthodox to use the seed of a madman's thought to sow truth in the minds of the sane, but it is highly effective and instructive.)

You see, if you were put in that horrible position of choosing between one life on one hand and a million on the other, what would be your choice?

Alright, for simplicity's sake: a choice between one infant's life on the one hand, and another infant's life on the other.

("Simplicity" indeed).

Who is to say that to choose one is more morally correct than to choose the other?

And, having seen that person make his terrible choice, which of us are in a position to judge him?
Who among us has the right to judge?

And by what standards do we judge?

That's why there will never be a moral answer to the great questions of history.

Contrast the sad, muddled case of morality with the clear case of power.

In comparisons and debates of power, the outcome is always clear. The side with more power wins. Enough said.

That's why in all of history the great decisions were always made by power, because morality could never give a clear answer.

Might makes right.

And in case this post isnt making sense, look at the title. I'm on a random stream of thought here.

Henry Leaves Arsenal

That's it. The very embodiment of Arsenal is leaving Arsenal.

I must eulogize, mourning is a must.

This is the passing of an era, a time of epic swashbuckling adventure when the Heroes of Highbury stood up against the Monstrous Monopoly of the Red Devils and later the Evil Scumbag Filth from Stamford Bridge.

Thierry Henry was and still is the best soccer player ever. Better even than Pele, in my opinion. And I'm not just saying that because I'm an Arsenal fan.

I believe that he has single-handedly transformed the ideal of a striker into that of his own image. I mean, just look at his eight years in England. Words fail me. Words fail him. What he did is beyond description.

And I say this not because I'm lazy to find the words, nor because I'm a sucker for cheap hyperbole (not now, at least), but because there is no use trying to put Thierry Henry into words. As much as I want to put down a long, long description of the many things he did, I can't. I simply can't.

And its so much worse than losing even good old Paddy V.

Someone once said that Patrick Viera was 40% of Arsenal. If that's the case, Henry was the other 60%. Looking at how the Gunners struggled without Viera, I fear the worst for them next season now that Henry has gone.

No bitterness towards Thierry Henry, though. There can be no comparison made to the pussy-pissface Jose "CryBaby" Reyes or Dirty Little Cashley Hole. In fact, I have only gratitude and admiration for him even as he leaves, for all he has done for the club. For all he's done for the Arsenal, all Gunners fans should support him always, even in such a time as this. He is Thierry Henry. Enough said. Thus,

All the Best to the King of Cool, TH14 Va Va Voom in his future endeavours! Long Live Thierry Henry and may his ever-scoring boots always shine!

The problem now lies with Master Wenger. He'd better sign someone, quick (even though nobody can ever replace Henry). The thought of Emmanuel "Cannot Score" Adebayour leading our line is a nightmare.

Oh well. In any case, Division One Tickets are cheaper than Premier League ones.

The Most Pro MTV In The World. Ever.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=etp8L9pbqeM

No End in Sight

I cannot understand the allure that I find in that voice.

The problem must be dealt with immediately. It must be eradicated.

I must send a merciful bullet to the head of that malignant ideology of a False Hope which they call affection, for it is a grotesque weakness that I can ill afford.

But that is not my only trouble.

I find myself reading more and more about the nightmare world of Warhammer 40 000, a world I have visited before in computer games and books
(see http://nobilitas.blogspot.com/2006_02_01_archive.html, Monday, February 06, 2006, The Shaping).

I have read more about the Space Marines of the Imperium of Man, and the world of endless slaughter and bloodshed and hatred and demonology that they exist in. And yet this appeals to me, because in such dark times there are epic tales of heroism and valour, of courage, strength, and fortitude, and of moral struggle and torment, and I cannot help but find myself in empathy with such a life.

The most epic of these mythologies of the future are the twenty Primarchs of the Space Marine Legions and the names of the Legions themselves- names of epic quality, names such as
Emperor's Children, Raven Guard, Thousand Sons, Blood Angels, Night Lords. And of their Primarchs, their superhuman lords and leaders. And the tale of darkest betrayal and and treachery and heresy.

To be a man in these times is to be one amongst untold billions. It is to live under the cruellest and most bloody regimes inmaginable. These are the tales of those times. Forget the power of science and technology, for much has been forgotten and never to be re-learned. Forget the promises of progress and understanding, for in the grim dark future there is only war. There is no peace among the stars, only carnage and slaughter, and the laughter of thirsty gods.

This is wrong. A world like this is evil. It goes against every thing I have held dear.

And yet, and yet, I cannot destroy this fascination, for in my own pain and struggle and weakness and failure, I see a mirror in the desperation and hopelessness of such a dystopian nightmare.

And thus while I cannot force myself to destroy my False Hope, I also cannot bring myself to destroy this fascination with this other nightmare.

A Long Overdue Update

The page turns, and now I am on the verge of a new course.

With new motivation, first to seek God, and then to arise to the greatest heights of achievement under His Will, I intend to push forward into the future with nothing less than those much-lauded qualities which the Champions of old personified- courage, determination, fortitude, resilience, faith.

But because of the huge hiatus, the extended Interregnum, which I allowed this blog to undergo, I must dwell for a while on the past two months.

Went to Oxford with the parents to check out my college and the place. Even now I still cannot find the words to capture the splendour of that ancient seat of learning, of knowledge, and hence, of power. Those were the walls that saw Tolkien drafting the Lord of the Rings, Hollywood filming Harry Potter, Bill Clinton pursuing his degree, Boyle discovering Boyle's law, and Tony Blair making an absolute fool of himself.

The professors there were nice people, especially the ones directly tutoring me, but they were intimidating as well. There was my history professor for instance, Professor Henrietta Leyser of Saint Peter's College. An immensely charming person, but her gaze was one which suggested an incredibly formidable intellectual power that could flay alive any errant student in an instant. I have not seen that kind of look before in anyone's eyes anywhere else. It radiated both charming cordiality and cold mental metal at the same time, and consequently I could not help but feel both cheerful and unnerved in conversation with her.

Then it was off to London, where my sole overwhelming priority was to pay homage at the hallowed grounds of the Emirates Stadium, the pitch of the Lords of the Beautiful Game in the UK. Again, words have failed me in describing the majesty of the place. We did not tarry there for long as my parents were in a hurry, but I vowed to return and lend my support to the Causa Honoris of the Gunners. Come on Arsenal!

Speaking of soccer, though, leaves a bitter feeling in my football heart. It is slightly less bitter than last year because the False Champions have been overthrown, but it is still galling to be stuck in fourth place. The arrogant Manchester United meatheads, powered by that f*ckhole diver Ronaldo, finally knocked the Stamford Bridge Scum off their non-deserved perch. A case of the much lesser of the two evils triumphing. Don't get me wrong, though. Aside from Ronaldo and a few others (Vidic the Serbian Thug, Carrick the Spurs Scum) I deeply respect the team from Old Trafford for accomplishing what they have accomplished this season. It was richly deserved, unlike the trophies that were purchased by Chelski. I must admit that full credit must go to Man U for cutting the Enemy of Football down to size, and doing it in style as well. Of course, it's equally important to me that Arsenal's pride was salvaged somewhat as well thanks to our double over the Mancurians. It's a case of us winning the battle and then losing the war, but at least we've got some pride even as the Mancurians got their trophy. It's obvious that I'd prefer to get the trophy instead of the double win, but well, it could have been worse. And Man U fully deserved their trophy (this time, at least).

Back home things became much clearer. The scholarship organisation's provisional offer became a firm one, and now the die is cast, and the Rubicon awaits my crossing.

After that it was Outward Bound School, where I was to meet my fellow scholars and sail a cutter out at sea like Captain Jack Sparrow of the (in)famous Black Pearl. I have yet to fully collect my thoughts on the exhausting yet fulfilling experience, but the following quote will have to suffice:

"You cannot stay on the summit forever; you have to come down again. So why bother in the first place? Just this: What is above knows what is below, but what is below does not know what is above. One climbs, one sees. One descends, one sees no longer, but one has seen. There is an art of conducting oneself in the lower regions by the memory of what one saw higher up."
-Rene Dumal

Ok, so we sailed a boat and did not climb a mountain, but I believe this captures the point perfectly.

Thus ends my first proper post after The Interregnum. More will follow shortly.

Return

Much has transpired in the two months since I last updated this blog.

Much will be updated in the days to come.

I have returned, and there is much to tell.