common herd

anonymous asked:

What is the difference between nobles and merchants the idea is that merchants only sit around doing nothing making money of others work but isint that basically the same thing nobles do except they make it law that the people under them a half to pay taxes that the nobles use to buy pointless things like dresses

As with most questions of class, it comes down to questions of ideology and and power. 

Ideologically, the ideals of the nobility and of the merchant class were entirely opposite: noblemen were supposed to be open-handed (especially since their power originated from them acting as “ring-givers” to armed men), ostentatiously luxurious (so as to display their glory and magnificence that set them apart from the common herd) and pleasure-seeking, bold and reckless in pursuit of fame and glory; merchants were supposed to be thrifty, sober, and prudent. 

The nobleman saw in the merchant a coward who would debase himself (and debase others) for mere profit, and who valued his skin more than his honor; the merchant saw the nobleman as a hypocritical parasite who despised anyone who worked for a living and exalted his own idleness, while excusing mindless debauchery and bloodshed by appeal to obsolete virtues. 

But as a Marxist historian would argue, there is always the means of production. The power of the nobility was in landed wealth and their rights to extract labor and taxes from those who dwelt on their land. The power of the merchant was in capital, and thus to a feudal mindset represented that terrifying impossibility: wealth not based on land and feudal tenure, notional, imaginary wealth that could fly through the air invisible like spirits and reshape entire economies, and somehow turn a peasant into a magnate richer than any nobleman, threatening the social hierarchy

And to a merchant, the medieval order itself was the dead hand of the past, the obstacle to all progress. As Polayni notes, capitalism requires free markets in land, labor, and money - feudalism had frozen land into an unbreakable chain of agreements between lords and vassals; serfdom had chained men to their land and their ancestral occupations; faith had deemed lending money at interest to be a mortal sin. 

una-salda-torre  asked:

Hi!I don't really understand Nietzsche's master and slave morality, and I have a philosophy exam on Monday.Please, use simple concepts, as I am a sweet high school child.Thanks!

there are two types of people buddy, according to nietzsche. those who are slaves and those who are masters. the masters make their own morality, and the slaves are those who follow the morality of others. slave morality is defined by following ideas set down by others (hence its common name, herd morality) whereas master morality is decided by the individual. slave morality is defined by adherence to ideas of being humble, kind and sympathetic and intention whereas master morality values the actual good outcomes of the act, be it in a consequentialist sense like actual good vs bad, or in adherence to virtues. for nietzsche an act isnt good or bad, but you interpret it morally based on its utility if you are a master morality follower, but the subservient slaves judge by intention. if you need to ask more, or want clarification at all feel free to message me, i reckon i can sort you out. good luck on your test buddy! lots of love from conor xo

ASTROLOGY AESTHETICS | leo

leos always aim to get above the common herd of humanity, and they themselves in turn are naturally attracted to strong personalities – in fact, they will forgive any fault in the people they like so long as they have individuality and purpose. they are usually generous, kind, and openhearted, they find it hard to believe ill of others. if injured, they strike back quickly, but they also forgive easily and never hold a grudge. the bright side of leo is very bright indeed, “sunny side up” they are very much attuned to the life giving properties of our sun itself. the typical Leo is flamboyant and generous with tremendous charm and a magnanimous spirit.

credit to cheap-glitter for helping me find pictures !

You are who you are

I feel the problem with most people who choose a religion have a problem with wanting to change themselves to more properly follow their scripture. this does not exclude satanists nor athiests either. This is unatural though. when you follow a certain religion, scripture, or philosophy that makes up such a massive part of your life you shouldnt have to compromise to follow it. if you truly believe in it then following it should be second nature. when reading the satanic bible never once did i say, “well ok, i guess im a satanists now time to start living my life this way!” when reading the satanic bible i said, “Exactly!!! this is how ive always felt!” nothing changed, the satanic bible only provided an explanation to me of how i felt on the inside, it didnt provide a guide to live my life by it spelled out the guide that i was already following. that being said no matter what religion you follow be it chritianity or satanism or hinduism or whatever it may be, just ask yourself if this religion is you, or are you being slowly molded into the model slave that your religion wants you to be? im not saying that the world would be better without religion, i just think the world would be a better place if everyone stop letting religion change the person they truly are. the happiness the satanic bible has provided me is unreal. a religious text shouldnt say you are brokenn here is the way to be, it should say youre a wonderful person, be the best you that you can be! how ironic to the common members of the herd that such a possitive message can be found in the book of the beast!

Shemhamforash! Hail Satan!

Galileo, Copernicus and the heliocentric model

Although scientists as early as Aristarchus of Samos knew the relationship between the sun and earth around 270 BCE, it wasn’t until 1543 that Nicholas Copernicus (born on February 19, 1473) published his masterwork De revolutionibus orbium coelestium (On the Revolutions of the Celestial Spheres), published the same year that he died that the heliocentric model received wide distribution. Perhaps his death and inability to defend his thesis led to the very slow spread and adoption of his idea, so that by the year 1616 a group of cardinals and bishops under the direction of the Vatican met to denounce Galileo Galilei, who was using the results of his observations made with the new technology of the telescope to re-introduce the heliocentric model of the solar system.

A decade and half passed before Galileo was dangerous enough to draw a trial, which commenced in 1633. Galileo was furious with the philosophers, theologians and scientists who denounced his idea, complaining to his friend and fellow astronomer Johannes Kepler,
My dear Kepler, I wish that we might laugh at the remarkable stupidity of the common herd. What do you have to say about the principal philosophers of this academy who are filled with the stubbornness of an asp and do not want to look at either the planets, the moon or the telescope, even though I have freely and deliberately offered them the opportunity a thousand times? Truly, just as the asp stops its ears, so do these philosophers shut their eyes to the light of truth.
He lost the trial and spent his last eight years under house arrest, working on his theories from his home in Pisa.
The word heliocentric comes from Ancient Greek, a combination of the words ἥλιος (helios) meaning sun and κέντρον (kentron) meaning center. It would take another three centuries for scientists to understand that not only is the Earth not the center of the Universe, neither is the Sun.
Painting of Galileo Facing the Roman Inquisition by Cristiano Banti, 1857, in the public domain.
Image from Copernicus in the public domain.

they began discussing Nietzsche. I took part, expressing my enthusiasm over the great poet-philosopher and dwelling on the impression of his works on me. [James] Huneker was surprised. “I did not know you were interested in anything outside of propaganda,” he remarked. “That is because you don’t know anything about anarchism,” I replied, “else youould understand that it embraces every phase of life and effort and that it undermines the old, outlived values.” Yelineck asserted that he was an anarchist because he was an artist; all creative people must be anarchists, he held, because they need scope and freedom for their expression. Huneker insisted that art has nothing to do with any ism. “Nietzsche himself is the proof of it,” he argued; “he is an aristocrat, his ideal is the superman because he has no sympathy with or faith in the common herd.” I pointed out that Nietzsche was not a social theorist but a poet, a rebel and innovator. His aristocracy was neither of birth nor of purse; it was of the spirit. In that respect Nietzsche was an anarchist, and all true anarchists were aristocrats, I said
—  Emma Goldman
Galileo and the heliocentric model

Although scientists as early as Aristarchus of Samos knew the relationship between the sun and earth around 270 BCE, it wasn’t until 1543 that Nicholas Copernicus published his masterwork De revolutionibus orbium coelestium (On the Revolutions of the Celestial Spheres), published the same year that he died that the heliocentric model received wide distribution. Perhaps his death and inability to defend his thesis led to the very slow spread and adoption of his idea, so that by the year 1616 a group of cardinals and bishops under the direction of the Vatican met to denounce Galileo Galilei, who was using the results of his observations made with the new technology of the telescope to re-introduce the heliocentric model of the solar system.

A decade and half passed before Galileo was dangerous enough to draw a trial, which commenced in 1633. Galileo was furious with the philosophers, theologians and scientists who denounced his idea, complaining to his friend and fellow astronomer Johannes Kepler,

My dear Kepler, I wish that we might laugh at the remarkable stupidity of the common herd. What do you have to say about the principal philosophers of this academy who are filled with the stubbornness of an asp and do not want to look at either the planets, the moon or the telescope, even though I have freely and deliberately offered them the opportunity a thousand times? Truly, just as the asp stops its ears, so do these philosophers shut their eyes to the light of truth.

He lost the trial and spent his last eight years under house arrest, working on his theories from his home in Pisa.

The word heliocentric comes from Ancient Greek, a combination of the words ἥλιος (helios) meaning sun and κέντρον (kentron) meaning center. It would take another three centuries for scientists to understand that not only is the Earth not the center of the Universe, neither is the Sun.

Happy Birthday Galileo Galilei, born February 15, 1564.

Painting of Galileo Facing the Roman Inquisition by Cristiano Banti, 1857, in the public domain.

Image from Copernicus in the public domain.

“All Religions and all Sciences connect themselves with one single science, always hidden from the common herd, and transmitted from age to age, from initiate to initiate, beneath the veil of fables and symbols. It preserves for a world yet to come the secrets of a world that has passed away. The Gymnosophists contemplated it on the banks of the Ganges; Zoroaster and Hermes preserved it in the East; Moses transmitted it to the Hebrews; Orpheus revealed its mysteries to Greece; Pythagoras and Plato almost guessed it. It was called the Priestly or Royal Science, because it raised the initiated to the ranks of Kings and Pontiffs; it is portrayed in the Bible by the mysterious personage Melchisedec, the peaceful king and eternal priest, who has neither father nor mother nor genealogy. He stands by himself like Truth.”

~ Eliphas Levi: The Paradoxes Of The Highest Science: In Which The Most Advanced Truths Of Occultism Are For The First Time Revealed

Seifukubu side story, part 3 of 9

Took a while with this one, sorry - last part of the side story where the student council try to recruit a new member. Will they or won’t they? Have a guess.

Commentary in [italics] . Accuracy not guaranteed. Any mistakes, scream in my ask box. ^_^ 

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9]


The three original student council members had failed to find someone new to join them. Looking serious, they turned to polishing a new strategy.

Kinshirou: “… Why did that strategy fail, I wonder.”

Akoya: “… and it’s been so long since I got to wear kimono, and it was so much fun, wasn’t it!”

Kinshirou: “Arima, what do you think?”

Arima: “That’s the thing, isn’t it… I wonder if it’s not that we’ve set the bar too high.”

Keep reading

The character of Alexander Hamilton was a jumble of contradictions. Witty and earnest, affable and distant, and alternately animated by a tender-hearted concern for the sufferings of the disadvantaged and an aristocratic contempt for the common herd, Hamilton has always been a bit of an enigma. Arguably the most impressive of the founding fathers, Hamilton was also in the words of one of his biographers, “by far the most psychologically troubled.” This is not to say that Hamilton was a villain. Quite the contrary, he was a deeply principled and essentially decent man, one blessed with remarkable talents. Yet even his greatest virtues and most remarkable abilities were complicated by contradictory flaws.
—  Darren Staloff, Hamilton, Adams, Jefferson: The Politics of Enlightenment and the American Founding
This is one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever read.

Wislawa Szymborska’s speech after receiving the Nobel Prize for Literature, december 1996.

The Poet and the World

They say the first sentence in any speech is always the hardest. Well, that one’s behind me, anyway. But I have a feeling that the sentences to come - the third, the sixth, the tenth, and so on, up to the final line - will be just as hard, since I’m supposed to talk about poetry. I’ve said very little on the subject, next to nothing, in fact. And whenever I have said anything, I’ve always had the sneaking suspicion that I’m not very good at it. This is why my lecture will be rather short. All imperfection is easier to tolerate if served up in small doses.

Contemporary poets are skeptical and suspicious even, or perhaps especially, about themselves. They publicly confess to being poets only reluctantly, as if they were a little ashamed of it. But in our clamorous times it’s much easier to acknowledge your faults, at least if they’re attractively packaged, than to recognize your own merits, since these are hidden deeper and you never quite believe in them yourself … When filling in questionnaires or chatting with strangers, that is, when they can’t avoid revealing their profession, poets prefer to use the general term “writer” or replace “poet” with the name of whatever job they do in addition to writing. Bureaucrats and bus passengers respond with a touch of incredulity and alarm when they find out that they’re dealing with a poet. I suppose philosophers may meet with a similar reaction. Still, they’re in a better position, since as often as not they can embellish their calling with some kind of scholarly title. Professor of philosophy - now that sounds much more respectable.

But there are no professors of poetry. This would mean, after all, that poetry is an occupation requiring specialized study, regular examinations, theoretical articles with bibliographies and footnotes attached, and finally, ceremoniously conferred diplomas. And this would mean, in turn, that it’s not enough to cover pages with even the most exquisite poems in order to become a poet. The crucial element is some slip of paper bearing an official stamp. Let us recall that the pride of Russian poetry, the future Nobel Laureate Joseph Brodsky was once sentenced to internal exile precisely on such grounds. They called him “a parasite,” because he lacked official certification granting him the right to be a poet …

Several years ago, I had the honor and pleasure of meeting Brodsky in person. And I noticed that, of all the poets I’ve known, he was the only one who enjoyed calling himself a poet. He pronounced the word without inhibitions.

Just the opposite - he spoke it with defiant freedom. It seems to me that this must have been because he recalled the brutal humiliations he had experienced in his youth.

In more fortunate countries, where human dignity isn’t assaulted so readily, poets yearn, of course, to be published, read, and understood, but they do little, if anything, to set themselves above the common herd and the daily grind. And yet it wasn’t so long ago, in this century’s first decades, that poets strove to shock us with their extravagant dress and eccentric behavior. But all this was merely for the sake of public display. The moment always came when poets had to close the doors behind them, strip off their mantles, fripperies, and other poetic paraphernalia, and confront - silently, patiently awaiting their own selves - the still white sheet of paper. For this is finally what really counts.

It’s not accidental that film biographies of great scientists and artists are produced in droves. The more ambitious directors seek to reproduce convincingly the creative process that led to important scientific discoveries or the emergence of a masterpiece. And one can depict certain kinds of scientific labor with some success. Laboratories, sundry instruments, elaborate machinery brought to life: such scenes may hold the audience’s interest for a while. And those moments of uncertainty - will the experiment, conducted for the thousandth time with some tiny modification, finally yield the desired result? - can be quite dramatic. Films about painters can be spectacular, as they go about recreating every stage of a famous painting’s evolution, from the first penciled line to the final brush-stroke. Music swells in films about composers: the first bars of the melody that rings in the musician’s ears finally emerge as a mature work in symphonic form. Of course this is all quite naive and doesn’t explain the strange mental state popularly known as inspiration, but at least there’s something to look at and listen to.

But poets are the worst. Their work is hopelessly unphotogenic. Someone sits at a table or lies on a sofa while staring motionless at a wall or ceiling. Once in a while this person writes down seven lines only to cross out one of them fifteen minutes later, and then another hour passes, during which nothing happens … Who could stand to watch this kind of thing?

I’ve mentioned inspiration. Contemporary poets answer evasively when asked what it is, and if it actually exists. It’s not that they’ve never known the blessing of this inner impulse. It’s just not easy to explain something to someone else that you don’t understand yourself.

When I’m asked about this on occasion, I hedge the question too. But my answer is this: inspiration is not the exclusive privilege of poets or artists generally. There is, has been, and will always be a certain group of people whom inspiration visits. It’s made up of all those who’ve consciously chosen their calling and do their job with love and imagination. It may include doctors, teachers, gardeners - and I could list a hundred more professions. Their work becomes one continuous adventure as long as they manage to keep discovering new challenges in it. Difficulties and setbacks never quell their curiosity. A swarm of new questions emerges from every problem they solve. Whatever inspiration is, it’s born from a continuous “I don’t know.”

There aren’t many such people. Most of the earth’s inhabitants work to get by. They work because they have to. They didn’t pick this or that kind of job out of passion; the circumstances of their lives did the choosing for them. Loveless work, boring work, work valued only because others haven’t got even that much, however loveless and boring - this is one of the harshest human miseries. And there’s no sign that coming centuries will produce any changes for the better as far as this goes.

And so, though I may deny poets their monopoly on inspiration, I still place them in a select group of Fortune’s darlings.

At this point, though, certain doubts may arise in my audience. All sorts of torturers, dictators, fanatics, and demagogues struggling for power by way of a few loudly shouted slogans also enjoy their jobs, and they too perform their duties with inventive fervor. Well, yes, but they “know.” They know, and whatever they know is enough for them once and for all. They don’t want to find out about anything else, since that might diminish their arguments’ force. And any knowledge that doesn’t lead to new questions quickly dies out: it fails to maintain the temperature required for sustaining life. In the most extreme cases, cases well known from ancient and modern history, it even poses a lethal threat to society.

This is why I value that little phrase “I don’t know” so highly. It’s small, but it flies on mighty wings. It expands our lives to include the spaces within us as well as those outer expanses in which our tiny Earth hangs suspended. If Isaac Newton had never said to himself “I don’t know,” the apples in his little orchard might have dropped to the ground like hailstones and at best he would have stooped to pick them up and gobble them with gusto. Had my compatriot Marie Sklodowska-Curie never said to herself “I don’t know”, she probably would have wound up teaching chemistry at some private high school for young ladies from good families, and would have ended her days performing this otherwise perfectly respectable job. But she kept on saying “I don’t know,” and these words led her, not just once but twice, to Stockholm, where restless, questing spirits are occasionally rewarded with the Nobel Prize.

Poets, if they’re genuine, must also keep repeating “I don’t know.” Each poem marks an effort to answer this statement, but as soon as the final period hits the page, the poet begins to hesitate, starts to realize that this particular answer was pure makeshift that’s absolutely inadequate to boot. So the poets keep on trying, and sooner or later the consecutive results of their self-dissatisfaction are clipped together with a giant paperclip by literary historians and called their “oeuvre” …

I sometimes dream of situations that can’t possibly come true. I audaciously imagine, for example, that I get a chance to chat with the Ecclesiastes, the author of that moving lament on the vanity of all human endeavors. I would bow very deeply before him, because he is, after all, one of the greatest poets, for me at least. That done, I would grab his hand. “‘There’s nothing new under the sun’: that’s what you wrote, Ecclesiastes. But you yourself were born new under the sun. And the poem you created is also new under the sun, since no one wrote it down before you. And all your readers are also new under the sun, since those who lived before you couldn’t read your poem. And that cypress that you’re sitting under hasn’t been growing since the dawn of time. It came into being by way of another cypress similar to yours, but not exactly the same. And Ecclesiastes, I’d also like to ask you what new thing under the sun you’re planning to work on now? A further supplement to the thoughts you’ve already expressed? Or maybe you’re tempted to contradict some of them now? In your earlier work you mentioned joy - so what if it’s fleeting? So maybe your new-under-the-sun poem will be about joy? Have you taken notes yet, do you have drafts? I doubt you’ll say, 'I’ve written everything down, I’ve got nothing left to add.’ There’s no poet in the world who can say this, least of all a great poet like yourself.”

The world - whatever we might think when terrified by its vastness and our own impotence, or embittered by its indifference to individual suffering, of people, animals, and perhaps even plants, for why are we so sure that plants feel no pain; whatever we might think of its expanses pierced by the rays of stars surrounded by planets we’ve just begun to discover, planets already dead? still dead? we just don’t know; whatever we might think of this measureless theater to which we’ve got reserved tickets, but tickets whose lifespan is laughably short, bounded as it is by two arbitrary dates; whatever else we might think of this world - it is astonishing.

But “astonishing” is an epithet concealing a logical trap. We’re astonished, after all, by things that deviate from some well-known and universally acknowledged norm, from an obviousness we’ve grown accustomed to. Now the point is, there is no such obvious world. Our astonishment exists per se and isn’t based on comparison with something else.

Granted, in daily speech, where we don’t stop to consider every word, we all use phrases like “the ordinary world,” “ordinary life,” “the ordinary course of events” … But in the language of poetry, where every word is weighed, nothing is usual or normal. Not a single stone and not a single cloud above it. Not a single day and not a single night after it. And above all, not a single existence, not anyone’s existence in this world.

It looks like poets will always have their work cut out for them.