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among the captured things were bags of coffee, and the Turkish prisoners explained the character of it and how to make a pleasant drink out of it, and now he always kept coffee by him, to drink himself and also to astonish the ignorant with.
He went on coaxing, in his soft, persuasive way; and when we saw that the pipe did not blow up and nothing happened, our confidence returned by little and little, and presently our curiosity got to be stronger than our fear, and we ventured back--but slowly, and ready to fly at any alarm.
And so he weaves the web, drawing them in. It's funny how comfort eventually gets us to put our guard down, unaware of the danger right there in our midst.
It was only he that I was named for who ate of the fruit of the tree and then beguiled the man and the woman with it. We others are still ignorant of sin; we are not able to commit it; we are without blemish, and shall abide in that estate always.
Interesting theory, that Satan ate the fruit, then gave it to Adam and Eve. The concept of sinless angels is not new, even that they are different from us as humans because they are not ABLE to sin. Hence, the reason Satan eating the fruit is so interesting. He gained the ability to sin, by this theory.
"We cannot do wrong; neither have we any disposition to do it, for we do not know what it is."
Right in the middle of his "we cannot sin" speech, without a thought, he simply crushes those creations and tosses them away. The question is: were they actually humans? Was it truly murder? If he created them from clay, and then animated them, are they in the category of "murderable"?
But he went on talking right along, and worked his enchantments upon us again with that fatal music of his voice. He made us forget everything; we could only listen to him, and love him, and be his slaves, to do with us as he would.
It made one mad, for pleasure; and we could not take our eyes from him, and the looks that went out of our eyes came from our hearts, and their dumb speech was worship.
It was an ecstasy; and an ecstasy is a thing that will not go into words; it feels like music, and one cannot tell about music so that another person can get the feeling of it.
He has the Moral Sense. That would seem to be difference enough between us, all by itself."
Very interesting conversation. Especially the last phrase. "Man has the Moral Sense...That would seem to be difference enough, all by itself."
"Is it valuable?" "Valuable? Heavens! lad, it is the one thing that lifts man above the beasts that perish and makes him heir to immortality!"
He hadn't so very much talent, but he was handsome and good, and these are a kind of talents themselves and help along.
Like the rest of the village, she could tell every-day lies fast enough and without taking any precautions against fire and brimstone on their account; but this was a new kind of lie, and it had a dangerous look because she hadn't had any practice in it. After a week's practice it wouldn't have given her any trouble. It is the way we are made.
although he told a good many lies, it was no harm in him, for he was only an angel and did not know any better.
He seems more and more like Satan himself, and not simply Satan's nephew named Satan. The lying and lack of morality. The influencing of people so that they worship himself. These are characteristics that are counter to the ones we see described of true angels in the Bible.
I said it was a brutal thing. "No, it was a human thing. You should not insult the brutes by such a misuse of that word; they have not deserved it,"
No brute ever does a cruel thing--that is the monopoly of those with the Moral Sense. When a brute inflicts pain he does it innocently; it is not wrong; for him there is no such thing as wrong. And he does not inflict pain for the pleasure of inflicting it --only man does that. Inspired by that mongrel Moral Sense of his! A sense whose function is to distinguish between right and wrong, with liberty to choose which of them he will do. Now what advantage can he get out of that? He is always choosing, and in nine cases out of ten he prefers the wrong. There shouldn't be any wrong; and without
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Is this Twain's personal assessment coming through in his writing? Or is he building a case for something else? Either way, there is a sense in which I have heard this argument before - that moral, even religious, people are responsible for so much suffering and pain in the world. But that isn't true, is it? SINNERS are responsible for causing much suffering and pain. SINNERS are the ones who choose wrongly - because, in a sense, they can't do anything BUT choose wrongly. Only when we are redeemed, justified, and being sanctified by Christ do we come to the fuller understanding of ourselves and our sin before God and in this world. Only then do we begin to make choices, with the help of the Holy Spirit, for righteousness, for helping and serving others, for glorifying the Father.
It is the Moral Sense which teaches the factory proprietors the difference between right and wrong--you perceive the result.
But then, as we know in our Moral Sense the difference, it is still our choice. As sin-bent and broken as we are, why wouldn't we choose the most beneficial to us, even if it is morally wrong?
there is a sort of pathos about it when one remembers how few are your days, how childish your pomps, and what shadows you are!"
And fear. If this life is all there is, why not live how you want. But, if there is something more, something beyond, isn't it worth it to find out what? And to figure out how to get there? Pathos and fear. And hopefully it leads to curiosity.
It seemed such a pity that in a world where so many people have difficulty to put in their time, one little hour could not have been spared for this poor creature who needed it so much, and to whom it would have made the difference between eternal joy and eternal pain.
It gave an appalling idea of the value of an hour, and I thought I could never waste one again without remorse and terror.
We found that we were not manly enough nor brave enough to do a generous action when there was a chance that it could get us into trouble.
If we could only make a change like that whenever we wanted to, the world would be easier to live in than it is, for change of scene shifts the mind's burdens to the other shoulder and banishes old, shop-worn wearinesses from mind and body both.
Every man is a suffering-machine and a happiness-machine combined. The two functions work together harmoniously, with a fine and delicate precision, on the give-and-take principle.
Interesting thought. Machine implies production - does mankind produce suffering and happiness within himself? Maybe. Certainly in the world he does. But this places all the burden of guilt on the choices of man, specifically excluding his sinful, flesh.
it is true that they are nothing to me. It is not possible that they should be. The difference between them and me is abysmal, immeasurable.
Again, more like Satan in his character than "nephew." What incredible pride he has!
A man imagines a silk thread, imagines a machine to make it, imagines a picture, then by weeks of labor embroiders it on canvas with the thread. I think the whole thing, and in a moment it is before you--created.
For the purposes of fiction, I can accept this description. But reality, what we have testified in the Scriptures, indicates otherwise. Satan cannot create from nothing as God can. Satan cannot will things into existence. He betrays and deceives. He influences. But "ex nihilo" belongs to God and God alone.
I have examined his billion of possible careers, and in only one of them occurs the discovery of America.
This reads like Molinism. But, this is not an ability of Satan's or the Angels or anyone else. Only God could look at all the possible futures of a man and determine what choice leads to which end.
Now, then, no man ever does drop a link--the thing has never happened!
And yet, it is not Molinism. It is determinism. It is the understanding that no matter how hard a man tries, he cannot change the predetermined results of his actions. He only has the illusion of choice.
"We always prized him, but never so much as now, when we are going to lose him."
It was an awful eleven days; and yet, with a lifetime stretching back between to-day and then, they are still a grateful memory to me, and beautiful. In effect they were days of companionship with one's sacred dead, and I have known no comradeship that was so close or so precious.
this talk of his was a disappointment to us, for it showed that we had made no deep impression upon him. The thought made us sad, and we knew then how the missionary must feel when he has been cherishing a glad hope and has seen it blighted. We kept our grief to ourselves, knowing that this was not the time to continue our work.
In my own strength, I will be disappointed. I will feel not at all effective. I will be discouraged. But, there is a time to speak and a time to be silent. There is a time to try to "convince" and a time to listen. Most importantly, there is always time to reflect on the fact that it is not ME who does the convincing, but GOD. And I can trust Him in that.
They all did their best--to kill being the chiefest ambition of the human race and the earliest incident in its history--but only the Christian civilization has scored a triumph to be proud of. Two or three centuries from now it will be recognized that all the competent killers are Christians; then the pagan world will go to school to the Christian--not to acquire his religion, but his guns. The Turk and the Chinaman will buy those to kill missionaries and converts with."
Of course, Twain knows nothing of Hitler or Stalin or ISIS. He knows nothing of the terrible suffering that has been wrought in the name of Nothing and Allah. Regardless, it is not religion at fault here, but religious people, trusting in religion and religious things to be their salvation. It is sinners, with sinful natures, doing sinful things, in a sinful world. What other result could one expect?
"Oh, it's true. I know your race. It is made up of sheep. It is governed by minorities, seldom or never by majorities. It suppresses its feelings and its beliefs and follows the handful that makes the most noise.
"There has never been a just one, never an honorable one--on the part of the instigator of the war.
Interesting in comparison to "just war theory." It seems Twain was a pacifist. What does he do with the idea of "only as a last resort, when it is a regrettable choice, but better than the alternative"?
Next the statesmen will invent cheap lies, putting the blame upon the nation that is attacked, and every man will be glad of those conscience-soothing falsities, and will diligently study them, and refuse to examine any refutations of them; and thus he will by and by convince himself that the war is just, and will thank God for the better sleep he enjoys after this process of grotesque self-deception."
"Are you so unobservant as not to have found out that sanity and happiness are an impossible combination? No sane man can be happy, for to him life is real, and he sees what a fearful thing it is. Only the mad can be happy, and not many of those.
What a sad and hopeless conclusion.
For your race, in its poverty, has unquestionably one really effective weapon--laughter. Power, money, persuasion, supplication, persecution --these can lift at a colossal humbug--push it a little--weaken it a little, century by century; but only laughter can blow it to rags and atoms at a blast. Against the assault of laughter nothing can stand.
You are always fussing and fighting with your other weapons. Do you ever use that one? No; you leave it lying rusting.
the people crowded around Satan and kissed his hand, and praised him, calling him the prince of jugglers. The news went about the town, and everybody came running to see the wonder--and they remembered to bring baskets, too.
Just like in Luke 4 when the people were more concerned with Jesus' miracles than with the Gospel. As a race we tend to be more interested in the gift than the Giver.
"Nothing exists; all is a dream. God--man--the world--the sun, the moon, the wilderness of stars--a dream, all a dream; they have no existence. Nothing exists save empty space--and you!"
What a sad, sad conclusion. Even further he expands on this thought and condemns God, while at the same time denying His existence. Logic doesn't allow for this, if Twain is honest. And if his conclusion is true, then it is self-contradicting. The simultaneous denial and condemnation of God is ridiculous. The phrase/thought/idea of "all reality is a dream", by existing in order to communicate non-existence, refutes itself. If nothing is real, if all is a dream, then dream up something on command! Tell the thoughts of another person to be something other than they are. Tell history to reverse itself. End all the pain and suffering in this world. Of course, you cannot do that. You have reality to deal with.
But he did not know where he ought to stand; and so, through error, he stood between the picture and the mirror. The result was that the picture had no chance, and didn't show up.
Fable, indeed. How many people come from the wrong perspective, and miss understanding entirely as a result?
You can find in a text whatever you bring, if you will stand between it and the mirror of your imagination. You may not see your ears, but they will be there.
I will explain that whenever I want a thing, and Mrs. McWilliams wants another thing, and we decide upon the thing that Mrs. McWilliams wants--as we always do --she calls that a compromise.
The first time this happened I thought the last day was come sure. I didn't think it in bed--no, but out of it--for the first effect of that frightful gong is to hurl you across the house, and slam you against the wall, and then curl you up, and squirm you like a spider on a stove lid, till somebody shuts the kitchen door. In solid fact, there is no clamor that is even remotely comparable to the dire clamor which that gong makes. Well, this catastrophe happened every morning regularly at five o'clock, and lost us three hours sleep; for, mind you, when that thing wakes you, it doesn't merely
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