Originally posted on materialism, mysticism and art:
Rachel Weisz as Hypatia in ‘Agora’
The NASA website, appropriately and to their credit, has a page on the Neoplatonist Hypatia.
The text states:
‘Sixteen hundred years ago, Hypatia became one of the world’s leading scholars in mathematics and astronomy. Hypatia’s legendary knowledge, modesty, and public speaking ability flourished during the era of the Great Library of Alexandria. Hypatia is credited with contributions to geometry and astrometry, and she is thought instrumental in the development of the sky-measuring astrolabe. “Reserve your right to think, for even to think wrongly is better than not to think at all,” Hypatia is credited with saying. “To teach superstitions as truth is a most terrible thing.'”
If only the scientists at NASA were to study and understand Hypatia’s philosophy and developments on it by others, particularly Hegel and then Marx and Engels, who stood it on its feet in a material world, they would…
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There’s never been an age of reason.
Loneliness marched upon us
as ashes thrown back upon
fields of blood soaked memories
of ungrateful departed…
Loneliness doesn’t reason;
it just sinks thought and unthought
requiems of undreamed nightmares…
The day our consciousness
became attached to reason,
another age was born:
the age of treason…
No one came to my funeral.
They came to say goodbye,
to mourn, to cry…
Dressed in black like crows
awaiting patiently until the first worms
shall make their way from underneath my skin.
Yes, they came,
but not to my funeral.
There was I,
alone, dressed in black like a monstrous raven,
nested uncomfortably amongst shiny cushions
filled with cheap fibre; hollow fibre…
They all came in the end;
where were they when I needed them most?
When all my innermosts were screaming
for anything to ease the pain of screaming
There alone, blind, wrapped in blood,
so unlike the orgasm which conceived me…
Dumb little sucker,
tossed around like a bushel of cheap meat…
Nope, no one came that day.
They were busy with their own funerals and stuff;
except for the dying ones, themselves.
They’re all here today;
adorned with cheap, dead flowers,
choir of drunk undertakers
digging the last trenches of dignity.
Photo by Wikipedia