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<p><span class=rvts14>Hello!</span></p>
<p><span class=rvts14><br></span></p>
<p><span class=rvts14>On 6 lutego 2009, John Watkins wrote:</span></p>
<p><span class=rvts14><br></span></p>
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<p><span class=rvts14><br></span></p>
<p><span class=rvts14><br></span></p>
<p><span class=rvts14><br></span></p>
<p><span class=rvts22>On Fri, Feb 6, 2009 at 10:26 AM, Jeff Wilson <</span><a class=rvts21 href="mailto:jwilson@io.com">jwilson@io.com</a><span class=rvts22>> wrote:</span></p>
<p><span class=rvts14><br></span></p>
<p><span class=rvts14><br></span></p>
<p><span class=rvts22>I'm not sure what the point of the story about the angel and the eagle, etc. really is intended to be. Angel is the English word that takes the place of the Greek angelos, "messenger", and someone bearing a message whose provenance is "I just guessed", is no messenger at all.</span></p>
<p><span class=rvts22> </span></p>
<p><span class=rvts22> </span></p>
<p><span class=rvts22>I take it that that is the point. The so-called "angels" of the story are not angels. They are aliens. Contrast them with the "messengers" in "The Queen" or Michael in The Wizard Knight. </span></p>
<p><span class=rvts22> </span></p>
<p><span class=rvts22> </span></p>
<p><span class=rvts22> </span></p>
<p><span class=rvts14><br></span></p>
<p><span class=rvts23>-- </span></p>
<p><span class=rvts14><br></span></p>
<p><span class=rvts22>Jeff Wilson - </span><a class=rvts21 href="mailto:jwilson@io.com">jwilson@io.com</a></p>
<p><span class=rvts14>...</span></p>
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<p><span class=rvts14><br></span></p>
<p><span class=rvts14>Exactly so! </span></p>
<p><span class=rvts14><br></span></p>
<p><span class=rvts14>In The Book of the New Sun there are NO supernatural beings at all - except for the Increate Himself, who is everywhere, and Theoanthropos, who was long ago.</span></p>
<p><span class=rvts14><br></span></p>
<p><span class=rvts14>Eg in "The Citadel of Autarch"</span></p>
<p><span class=rvts14><br></span></p>
<p><span class=rvts14>"</span><span class=rvts11>What struck me on the beach—and it struck me indeed, so that I staggered as at a blow—was that if the Eternal Principle had rested in that curved thorn I had carried about my neck across so many leagues, and if it now rested in the new thorn (perhaps the same thorn) I had only now put there, then it might rest in anything, and in fact probably did rest in everything, in every thorn on every bush, in every drop of water in the sea. The thorn was a sacred Claw because all thorns were sacred Claws; the sand in my boots was sacred sand because it came from a beach of sacred sand. The cenobites treasured up the relics of the sannyasins because the sannyasins had approached the Pancreator. But everything had approached and even touched the Pancreator, because everything had dropped from his hand. Everything was a relic. All the world was a relic. I drew off my boots, that had traveled with me so far, and threw them into the waves that I might not walk shod on holy ground. "</span></p>
<p><span class=rvts14><br></span></p>
<p><span class=rvts14>All miracles are results of superior technology; all "supernatural" beings simply try to guess the will of God. (This does not mean that they are not miracles willed by the Increate- as explained above, He is the Author of everything, of miracles no less). The world looks like the world of Neoplatonism, but in reality there are no gods, demons etc.</span></p>
<p><span class=rvts14><br></span></p>
<p><span class=rvts14>Wolfe likes very much that kind of deception. Similarly, the waning Sun is not the real problem. The real problem started long ago, and have afflicted tens of thousands of the worlds of men, not only the Earth. Hierogrammates are trying to fight that real problem, and the dying Sun is only a useful justification for their actions.</span></p>
<p><span class=rvts14><br></span></p>
<p><span class=rvts14><br></span></p>
<p><span class=rvts14>See Cyriaca's story in The Sword of the Lictor</span></p>
<p><span class=rvts14><br></span></p>
<p><span class=rvts14><br></span></p>
<p><span class=rvts14>"You must know the story of how the race of ancient days reached the stars, and how they bargained away all the wild half of themselves to do so, so that they no longer cared for the taste of the pale wind, nor for love or lust, nor to make new songs nor to sing old ones, nor for any of the other animal things they believed they had brought with them out of the rain forests at the bottom of time—though in fact, so my uncle told me, those things brought them. And you know, or you should know, that those to whom they sold those things, who were the creations of their own hands, hated them in their hearts. And truly they had hearts, though the men who had made them never reckoned with that. Anyway, they resolved to ruin their makers, and they did it by returning, when mankind had spread to a thousand suns, all that had been left with them long before.</span></p>
<p><span class=rvts14>"So much, at least, you should know. My uncle once told it to me as I have told it to you, and he found all that and more recorded in a book in his collection. It was a book no one had opened, as he believed, for a chiliad.</span></p>
<p><span class=rvts14>"But how they did what they did is less well known. I remember that when I was a child, I imagined the bad machines digging—digging by night until they had cleared away the twisted roots of old trees and laid bare an iron chest they had buried when the world was very young, and that when they struck off the lock of that chest, all the things we've spoken of came flying out like a swarm of golden bees. That's foolish, but even now I can hardly imagine what the reality of those thinking engines can have been like."</span></p>
<p><span class=rvts14>I recalled Jonas, with the light, bright metal where the skin of his loins ought to have been, but I could not picture Jonas setting free a plague to trouble mankind, and shook my head.</span></p>
<p><span class=rvts14>"But my uncle's book, he said, made clear what it was they did, and the things they let go free were no swarm of insects but a flood of artifacts of every kind, calculated by them to revive all those thoughts that people had put behind them because they could not be written in numbers. The building of everything from cities to cream pitchers was in the hands of the machines, and after a thousand lifetimes of building cities that were like great mechanisms, they turned to building cities that were like banks of cloud before a storm, and others like the skeletons of dragons."</span></p>
<p><span class=rvts14>"When was this?" I asked.</span></p>
<p><span class=rvts14>"A very long time ago—long before the first stones of Nessus were laid."</span></p>
<p><span class=rvts14>I had put an arm about her shoulders, and now she let her hand creep into my lap; I felt its heat and slow search.</span></p>
<p><span class=rvts14>"And they followed the same principle in all they did. In the shaping of furniture, for example, and the cutting of clothing. And because the leaders who had decided so long before that all the thoughts symbolized by the clothes and furniture, and by the cities, should be put behind mankind forever were long dead, and the people had forgotten their faces and their maxims, they were delighted with the new things. Thus all that empire, which had been built only upon order, passed away.</span></p>
<p><span class=rvts14>"But though the empire dissolved, the worlds were a long time dying. At first, so that the things they were returning to humans would not be rejected again, the machines conceived of pageants and' phantasmagoria, whose performances inspired those who watched them to think on fortune or revenge or the invisible world. Later they gave each man and woman a companion, unseen by all other eyes, as an advisor. The children had such companions long before.</span></p>
<p><span class=rvts14>"When the powers of the machines had weakened further—as the machines themselves wished—they could no longer maintain these phantoms in the minds of their owners, nor could they build more cities, because the cities that remained were already nearly empty.</span></p>
<p><span class=rvts14>"</span></p>
<p><span class=rvts14><br></span></p>
<p><span class=rvts14>Compare this to this quote from 'The Urth of the New Sun"</span></p>
<p><span class=rvts14><br></span></p>
<p><span class=rvts14>"</span><span class=rvts11>You do not comprehend what happened to you," Apheta told me. She sounded shamed. "That is why I am here—to explain it to you. But I will not explain until you are ready, until you ask me." </span></p>
<p><span class=rvts11>"And if I never ask?" </span></p>
<p><span class=rvts11>"Then I will never explain. It may be better, though, for you to know, especially if you are the New Sun." </span></p>
<p><span class=rvts11>"Is Urth really so important to you?" </span></p>
<p><span class=rvts11>She shook her head. </span></p>
<p><span class=rvts11>"Then why bother with it or me?" </span></p>
<p><span class=rvts11>"Because your race is important to us. It would be far less laborious if we could deal with it all at once, but you are sown over tens of thousands of worlds, and we cannot." </span></p>
<p><span class=rvts11>I said nothing. </span></p>
<p><span class=rvts11>"The worlds are very far apart. If one of our ships goes from one to another as fast as the starlight, the voyage takes many centuries. It does not seem so to those on the ship, but it does. If the ship goes even faster, tacking in the wind from the suns, time runs backward so that the ship arrives before it sails." </span></p>
<p><span class=rvts11><br></span></p>
<p><span class=rvts11>It is explicitly written that various Hiero-beings do not interest themselves in Earth at all. They act there, since they can act in only one place, and they have chosen this as the best place to execute their plans.</span></p>
<p><span class=rvts11><br></span></p>
<p><span class=rvts11>I think that human civilisation have made some mistake which cannot be repaired - Cyriaca's story hints as much. Hiero-beings want to repair that mistake, but they cannot. They decided that the only solution possible is to start from scratch; to destroy Earth and to begin with a few survivors who will start different, untainted civilisation.</span></p>
<p><span class=rvts11><br></span></p>
<p><span class=rvts11>Notice that in the Long Sun Typhon makes identical decision: Whorl is filled with different artificial cultures, which have no connection to Urth. All passangers have their memory erased.</span></p>
<p><span class=rvts19><br></span></p>
<p><span class=rvts19><br></span></p>
<p><span class=rvts19>-- </span></p>
<p><span class=rvts19>Best regards,</span></p>
<p><span class=rvts19>Stanislaus B.</span></p>
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