Sunday, 29 March 2009
Saturday, 28 March 2009
Graham Hancock Site
There have already been a few comments. It would be great if some of you bloggers joined in the debates with the same level of enthusiasm as you do on here.
This can be found at:
http://www.grahamhancock.com/phorum/list.php?f=8
Icoana şi Scriptura
Culorile, formele şi mozaicurile iconografiei bizantine par - pentru ochiul superficial - desuete, abstracte, impersonale, statice, greoaie şi mute. Şi aceasta pentru că artistul bizantin dispare înapoia Tradiţiei care vorbeşte. Înaintea icoanei nu putem fi simpli spectatori (ci trebuie să ne închinăm, printr-un act de adorare şi rugăciune) tot aşa cum înaintea Bibliei nu putem fi doar simpli cititori. Icoanele nu sunt, aşadar, o nouă fază în istoria picturii, ci o altă modalitate de a de a interpreta corect şi de a comunica mesajul Sfintei Scripturi. Dar ce înseamnă „interpretare corectă”? De bună seamă că, de-a lungul vremii, arta iconografică a fost deliberat controlată şi articulată pentru a reprezenta – cu un limbaj plastic ale cărui norme (canoane) se cer încă desluşite – Sfânta Scriptură. Dar, atenţie, este vorba de reprezentare (cinstită, nepărtinitoare), nu ilustrare (orice înfloritură sufletească, gest dramatic, poză, agitaţie este suprimat cu desăvârşire). Cartea Icoana ca Scriptură (a cărei coda este studiul „Râul de foc” de Dr. Alexandre Kalomiros) devine astfel un prilej de călătorie întru descoperirea sau redescoperirea frumuseţii restauratoare spre care ne îndreaptă privirea aceste „ferestre spre absolut”.
În lucrarea sa, Iconostasul (Editura Anastasia, Bucureşti, 1994), Pavel Florenski avertiza atenţia că tendinţa modernă potrivit căreia, în iconografie, trebuie să vedem „o artă veche, o pictură veche” este profund falsă. Abandonarea icoanei în muzee şi spaţii artizanale (sau înlocuirea ei – chiar în bisericile ortodoxe, unde te-ai aştepta mai puţin – de către diverse reprezentări religioase romantic-naturaliste) echivalează cu tăgăduirea forţei sale specifice: mărturisirea de credinţă. Cartea Arhiepiscopului Lazar Puhalo îşi propune să recupereze tocmai forţa mărturiei de credinţă din icoană. Sunt abordate aspecte legate de geneza şi simbolistica ei (semnificaţia absenţei umbrelor, profilelor, nimburilor din icoane), de dreapta ei cinstire (ca imagine nu a naturii divine, ci a unei Persoane divine întrupate), dar mai ales de unitatea dintre imaginea liturgică şi cuvântul liturgic; cele două moduri de expresie - cuvântul şi imaginea – se controlează reciproc, trăiesc aceeaşi existenţă şi au, în cult, o acţiune ziditoare comună. A venera o icoană înseamnă deci a înţelege corect Sfânta Scriptură şi viceversa. Şi aceasta fiindcă iconografia este liturgică prin chiar natura ei: nu slujind drept cadru Liturghiei sau completând-o, ci pentru că îi corespunde întru totul.
Iconografia – ne atrage atenţia cartea lui Lazar Puhalo – s-a dezvoltat pe baza principiilor semitice, ceea ce presupune „reprezentarea lucrurilor într-o perspectivă care-L plasează în mod evident pe Dumnezeu deasupra tuturor, care pune totul în legătură cu Dumnezeu, înălţând pe toate la Dumnezeu şi folosind un simbolism convingător”. Ritmicitatea formelor (supuse canoanelor) este menită să facă legătura dintre icoană şi Sfânta Scriptură, icoanele devenind astfel echivalentul vizual al Scripturii. În Bizanţ, aceste principii iconografice de bază nu au fost compromise de dezvoltarea formelor printr-o anumită graţie şi frumuseţe, prin aderenţa la diferitele stiluri şi curente artistice. Diversele şcoli de iconografie canonică nu diferă în această privinţă. Pictorul ortodox renunţă la reprezentarea naturalistă a spaţiului – atât de marcantă în arta romană – pentru că ceea ce contează nu este atât acţiunea reprezentată, cât mai ales comuniunea cu privitorul. În ochii Bisericii, icoana nu este o artă care ilustrează Scriptura, ci un limbaj care este echivalent nu literei biblice şi nici cărţii ca obiect, ci propovăduirii evanghelice. Astfel, icoana are aceeaşi semnificaţie, acelaşi sens liturgic, dogmatic şi educativ ca şi Scriptura. Prin comparaţie, arta religioasă din Occident - următor vremurilor ortodoxe de acolo - a început să împrumute din principiile Greciei păgâne, unde înţelegerea omului trupesc şi a celor nevăzute era condiţionată de nivelul naturii umane, de epocile istorice, de circumstanţele politice etc. Se cuvine, aşadar, sînţelegem că perspectiva răsturnată din iconografie (tehnică aleasă deliberat de pictorii iconografi) constituie un element esenţial de limbaj plastic - extrem de sugestiv şi de relevant - ce asigură corectitudinea icoanei din punct de vedere scriptural. Şi aceasta pentru că Evanghelia ne invită să ne răsturnăm perspectiva, să privim viaţa, lumea şi pe noi înşine dintr-o perspectivă diametral opusă felului în care lumea priveşte aceste lucruri.
Un loc aparte în lucrarea Arhiepiscopului Lazar Puhalo îl ocupă referinţele critice la şcolile de iconografie necanonice, dezvoltate – de la Reformă încoace - nu doar sub o puternică influenţă latină şi protestantă, ci şi sub influenţa unei gândiri şi sensibilităţi populare, lumeşti. Produsele edulcorate şi pestriţe ale acestor şcoli de pictură îl zugrăvesc „nu pe Dumnezeul-om, Iisus Hristos, ci pe liderul unui cult religios din California: un şarlatan cu mult sex appeal, o combinaţie de Robert Redford şi Charles Manson”. Aceste tablouri degenerate – foarte răspândite în mediul ortodox - reprezintă „tot ceea ce Hristos nu este şi nu reprezintă nimic din ceea ce este El. Sunt pur şi simplu reprezentări ale unui Antihrist ce se dă Iisus Hristos”. Alteori Hristos este surprins „sub forma unui actor efeminat, cu ruj pe buze şi pudră roşie acoperindu-i trăsăturile fade”. Ori părul lung, se ştie, a fost cu desăvârşire interzis de hotărârile Celui de-al Treilea Sinod Ecumenic. „Reprezentarea este cu atât mai blasfemiatoare – afrimă autorul - cu cât se vrea în mod intenţionat o icoană a lui Hristos”. Prin urmare, avem de ales între icoană şi tablou religios (care adesea e luat drept icoană şi folosit ca atare). De bună seamă că reprezentările „originale” în iconografia necanonică nu se rezumă la portretizarea „emancipată” a lui Iisus. Sfinţii şi natura sunt de asemenea prezentaţi cât mai naturalist, mai romantic, mai dulceag posibil, astfel că prezenţa unei icoane canonice, ortodoxe, printre aceste mostre de „sensibilitate populară, lumească” e de-a dreptul bizară. În mod categoric, icoana e, în acest caz, dintr-un alt „film”.
Icoana n-a fost şi nu este pictură ilustrativă pe teme religioase. Meritul excepţional al cărţii de faţă este acela de a ne reactiva – nota bene: în lumina învăţăturii scripturale şi a Tradiţiei Bisericii Ortodoxe - spiritul critic şi discernământul (sau dreapta socotinţă) atunci când ne raportăm la icoane. De dorit ar fi ca predania despre frumuseţea restauratoare a icoanei (faţă de clişeele telenovelistice de tip kitsch ale aşa-ziselor icoane) să transceadă litera cărţii de faţă şi să ne problematizeze vis à vis de imaginile pe care le cinstim. Şi poate că acum, mai mult ca niciodată, este nevoie să ne amintim şi să conştientizăm cuvintele afirmate cândva de Sf. Ioan Damaschinul: „Arată-mi icoanele la care te închini ca să pot să-ţi înţeleg credinţa.”
Living with Demons
Hi All
I posted the following at Martin's blog, and he suggested I post it here also, since the movie in question is one favored by ITLADians. The piece comes from The Blood Poets: A Cinema of Savagery, vol. two, "Millennial Blues."
If the eye could see the demons that populate the universe, existence would be impossible.
Demons come in all shapes and sizes; they can be metaphor or metaphysic, troll or goblin or gremlin or vampire, werewolf or poltergeist, serial killer or zombie. But, whatever they are, the horror film is a washout without them. Very few movies, horror or otherwise, have endeavoured to deal with demons in the true, theological sense of the word—that is, the inverse of angels, spiritual (therefore invisible) beings that populate the Earth and meddle in the affairs of men, specifically, to possess his body and/or torment his soul. Adrian Lyne’s overwrought but genuinely terrifying thriller, Jacob’s Ladder (1991), is the only, outstanding case I know of of a Hollywood mainstream movie (until Fallen, that is) dealing with “the problem of demons,” more or less directly and (what’s more) intelligently. The fact that, by the end of the movie, the whole story has proven to be no more (but also no less) than the hallucinations of a dying man does little or nothing to detract from the film’s intensity (though it may undermine its integrity somewhat). This is, after all, the story of one man’s soul, and its battle to come to terms with the life it has lived, to overcome the demons of the past that refuse to let it go. Jake’s doctor, played by Danny Aellio, quotes Eckhart on the subject:
The only thing that burns in hell is the part of you that won’t let go... Your memories, your attachments; they burn them all away. They’re not punishing you, they’re freeing your soul. If you’re frightened of dying and you’re holding on, you’ll see devils tearing your life away. But if you’ve made your peace, then the devils are really angels freeing you from the Earth. It’s just a matter of how you look at it, that’s all.
Although as a thriller, Jacob’s Ladder appears to be little more than medieval-gothic/new age hokum, at a more esoteric level, the film is surprisingly, at times disturbingly, persuasive. The writer, Bruce Joel Rubin (who went on to write the insipid Ghost and the loopy Deep Impact ), has obviously taken the time to research his subject, and the film achieves an atmopshere of occult menace and paranoia such as few horror films ever come close to (Polanski’s The Tenant, though a more obviously psychological thriller, is one of the few). Lyne’s direction is characteristically unimaginative, slick and assured but lacking either subtlety or sensitivity. Yet his commerical touch here (Lyne is yet another English filmmaker trained in advertising) is more suited to his material than in his other, uniformly lousy sex-orientated films (Flashdance, 9½ Weeks, Fatal Attraction, Indecent Proposal). He shows a horrifying flare for depictions of demonic presences and hellish landscapes, and the monsters here, which are the monsters of the protagonist’s mind—are amongst the most appalling ever put on the screen.
Lyne’s lack of empathy as a director is compensated for (as it isn’t in his other films) by the presence of Tim Robbins in the lead role of Jake. It’s Robbins’s first major role, and although he doesn’t do anything really suprising here, he’s sympathetic enough in what amounts to a difficult part (like Harry Angel, Jake is the fall-guy), and his proficiency carries the film along. The story concerns not merely demons of the spiritual kind, in fact, but also of the political and technological variety: it’s about a secret mind control drug used on American troops in Vietnam, designed to bring out the savage, aggressive side of the psyche (to tap into the liminal part of the brain?) and to turn the soldiers into “unstoppable killing machines.” The drug proves too effective by half, however, as even the most miniscule doses turn the troops into homicidal maniacs who tear into anything in sight, including each other. What’s worse, a side-effect of the drug is the onset of intense hallucinations, and a kind of sickly, encroaching paranoia. The survivors (of which Jake is one) suffer from the conviction that they are being persecuted by inhuman forces, and literally see demons on every side.
The trouble with the film’s resolution (that Jake is in fact dead) is that, if all this is just a dying man’s dream or vision, then how are we supposed to take it? As a creation of his own mind, or as a projection of a future which he might have lived, had he survived? The film seems to want to have it both ways. After all, we’ve watched the whole movie taking it to be “true,” then, in the last few minutes, we are asked to accept it as a dying man’s fantasy. Obviously, the first hundred minutes far outweigh the last two, no matter how much of a “revelation” they may be. And in actual fact, the last scene is a bust, anyway, because it doesn’t add anything to the film, really, but only takes (or attempts to take) everything we’ve just seen away from us. The film closes with a rather lacklustre caption informing us that, “the hallucinatory drug BZ was used in experimentation on soldiers during the Vietnam war. The Pentagon denied the story.” This—the fact of mind control experimentation by the government—is a reality that I trust most discerning American citizens are aware of by now, however dimly; but the film itself offers us no specifics, no authentic details, no single reason for us to take it as factual. The case it presents us with (even if it hadn’t just been exploded as “fictitious” by the film itself) seems flaky, not because it’s far-fetched or exaggerated (anything but, I fear), but simply because it is insufficiently well-researched, and therefore seems to lack plausibility. Actually, the whole script is a mess, because it seems to be unsure itself, as to whether the demons are an hallucination caused by the army drug, or whether the whole army-drug story is just an hallucination created by the demons, or whether it’s all just a metaphor anyway, created by the human mind, as it prepares to face its annihilation. Etc., etc...
Still, to a large extent, this chaotic lack of structure, of coherent intentions, works for the film and not against it, because it creates an appropriate level of uncertainty and mental panic in the viewer, provided of course that he’s prepared to suspend his disbelief and go along with the action, at a more emotional level; which is where the infernal presences and nightmare visions come in. Jacob’s Ladder is one of the very few recent movies (perhaps the first since The Manchurian Candidate) that successfully describes, or evokes, something of the despair, dread, paranoia and outright horror of modern life, in the age of psychological/germ warfare and shadow governments. It may even be that, with this film, “covert operations” became the modern version of “occult forces,” hence the use of theological terminology here meshes almost seamlessly with the espionage-paranoia plot. Jacob’s Ladder is an outstanding film of the ’80s, because it brings two very distinct kinds of horror together into a single nightmare: the nightmare of control. This effectively combines the ancient fear of possession (i.e., demons) with the modern fear of corruption (i.e., evil men, or government).
Jacob’s Ladder is like an update, for TV generations, of the Frankenstein myth. The hidden forces of the American government, and their Nazi-like doctors (standing in for the old Baron), are never seen in the film—as befits their covert nature—but their presence is certainly felt. No longer working to create life, modern science is now dedicated to conquering the human mind, to turning man into a machine that can be controlled and deployed, like a living weapon. And of course, in the process of harnessing this forbidden knowledge, the demons of the psyche are unleased. Once unleashed, these demons (like Frankenstein’s monster) cannot be placated, they can only be confronted. Knowledge, science, technology, in this myth they all equal disaster. In Lyne’s film, mankind itself, represented by the shadowy, omnipotent but wholly corrupt powers of the Pentagon, has become the modern Prometheus; while society, as the laboratory in which these infernal powers-that-be operate, has become the arena where the unspeakable consequences unfold. It has become Hell on Earth.
Jacob’s Ladder is an authentic apocalyptic vision of a society on the brink of devouring itself, of succumbing to its own insanity, and being overrun by its own demons. Like its protagonist, it walks the razor’s edge between madness and illumination, between paranoia and heightened awareness; and the awful, unthinkable visions it conjurs up are—far from being the deranged rantings of a diseased mind or mere chimera summoned up by blind hysteria—images of things to come. The Vietnam war was a bizarre and covert kind of sociological experiment, as much as it was a bid for power. Drugs were used (on both US and Viet Cong), not only in an insane attempt to win the war, but, more disturbingly, in order to test their properties and discover more about the workings of the human mind, ways in which it might be controlled, manipulated, reshaped, destroyed, and to discover just what the human being was capable of. The war itself was unlike any other war before it or since; none but the very few know what really happened there, or why, and those few aren’t talking.
There’s so such thing as f**ing demons!
—Jacob’s Ladder
Wednesday, 18 March 2009
"Author of the Month" Award on the Graham Hancock Website
Tuesday, 10 March 2009
Major Opportunity to advance ITLAD to UK press
One of UKs leading 'broadsheet' type newspapers, the Independent, today majored with a full page news article (AND leading editorial too!) on scientists claims to have found the parts of the brain connected to 'religious faith', and even mention the link to TLE!
So this is a major opportunity for us to highlight to them all of Tony and Karl and everyone's theories and bring these into the mainstream - the more of us who write to their letters page the likelihood is that the more seriously they will take the comments.
The way the UK press works, this needs to be done asap, as todays news is tomorrows fish and chip wrappers, so anything you can do would be great! (not sure if they have a forum or blog, will check)
http://www.independent.co.uk/news/science/belief-and-the-brains-god-spot-1641022.html
Aloha
Gary
Monday, 9 March 2009
Another USA Interview - "Shadows In The Dark Radio" - North Carolina.
Saturday, 7 March 2009
Anthony Peake at The National Theatre 24th July 2009
Above is a scan of the leaflet.