Canon law pertains to Catholics. Jewish law pertains only to Jews. But the sharia dictates every basic aspect of human life, asserts its authority over non-Muslims, unlike Jewish law and unlike canon law, which is why they're slaughtering Christians, they're slaughtering secular Muslims across the Muslim world.
Food is a great metaphor for the consolidation of corporate power in the hands of very few, who are mostly interested in their own profits and not the wellbeing of the animals they're slaughtering, or the land and the water they're using or abusing, or the workforce they're exploiting or even the people eating it.
There's nothing wild about me. I'm a solid middle-aged man." "Except that once a month you turn into a wolf and go tearing around slaughtering things," Clary said. "It could be worse," Luke said. "Men my age have been known to purchase expensive sports cars and sleep with supermodels.
The First Crusade ... set off on its two-thousand-mile jaunt by massacring Jews, plundering and slaughtering all the way from the Rhine to the Jordan. "In the temple of Solomon," wrote the ecstatic cleric Raimundus de Agiles, "one rode in blood up to the knees and even to the horses" bridles, by the just and marvelous judgment of God.
Herbert J. Muller
We are opposed to all cruelty, so as advocates of non-violence, opponents of oppression, people who abhor the cruelty inherent in slaughtering we say the only ethical way to consume flesh is to pick up the carcass of an animal who has died naturally or been killed accidentally, say by being hit by a car, and eat that.
My nostrils dilate while savoring the acrid odor of gunpowder and blood... Crazy with fury I will stain my rifle red while slaughtering any surrendered enemy that falls in my hands! With the deaths of my enemies I prepare my being for the sacred fight and join the triumphant proletariat with a bestial howl!
If that's the price of getting together, then I'll be damned if I want to live on the same earth with any human beings! If the rest of them can survive only by destroying us, then why should we wish them to survive? Nothing can make self-immolation proper. Nothing can give them the right to turn men into sacrificial animals. Nothing can make it moral to destroy the best. One can't be punished for being good. One can't be penalized for ability. If that is right, then we'd better start slaughtering one another, because there isn't any right at all in the world!
In terms of the historical record, I should also point out that there is no account in any ancient source whatsoever about King Herod slaughtering children in or around Bethlehem, or anyplace else. No other author, biblical or otherwise, mentions this event. Is it, like John's account of Jesus' death, a detail made up by Matthew in order to make some kind of theological point?
Bart D. Ehrman
The seriousness or otherwise of the subject matter is often irrelevent to the question of whether a book is any good. F Scott Fitzgerald wrote a great and beautiful novel which mainly involved shallow people going to parties in a rich guy's house. By contrast, all sorts of terrible books are published every month about men slaughtering people for no reason - a serious matter which, in itself, does not make the author worthy of serious consideration.
No one just starts giggling and wearing black and signs up to become a villainous monster. How the hell do you think it happens? It happens to people. Just people. They make questionable choices, for what might be very good reasons. They make choice after choice, and none of them is slaughtering roomfuls of saints, or murdering hundreds of baby seals, or rubber-room irrational. But it adds up. And then one day they look around and realized that they're so far over the line that they can't remember where it was.
War, " Beranabus murmurs, face crinkling. "Most humans know nothing of true warfare. They wage their silly territorial battles, kill each other ruthlessly and freely, and consider themselves experts on war and suffering. But the real war has always been ahead of them, unseen, unimagined. Enemies who can't be killed by normal weapons, who have their base in an alternate universe, who are interested only in slaughtering every living being on the face of the planet.
Investors, monarchies, and parliamentarians devised methods to control the processes of wealth accumulation and the power that came with it, but the ideology behind gold fever mobilized settlers to cross the Atlantic to an unknown fate. Subjugating entire societies and civilizations, enslaving whole countries, and slaughtering people village by village did not seem too high a price to pay, nor did it appear inhumane. The systems of colonization were modern and rational, but its ideological basis was madness.
Autumns reward western Kansas for the evils that the remaining seasons impose: winter's rough Colorado winds and hip-high, sheep-slaughtering snows; the slushes and the strange land fogs of spring; and summer, when even crows seek the puny shade, and the tawny infinitude of wheatstalks bristle, blaze. At last, after September, another weather arrives, an Indian summer that occasionally endures until Christmas.
Alaska Governor Sarah Palin pardoned a turkey, though she said she was amazed to find out that, besides being a bird, Turkey is also a country. Did you see that all over the Internet today? While Sarah Palin was pardoning a turkey, right behind her was a guy slaughtering turkeys. But, see, like most Internet stories, a little half-true. Turns out that, after a couple of minutes listening to Sarah Palin's voice, the turkeys said 'Kill us now.'
Satan, on the contrary, is thin, ascetic and a fanatical devotee of logic. He reads Machiavelli, Ignatius of Loyola, Marx and Hegel; he is cold and unmerciful to mankind, out of a kind of mathematical mercifulness. He is damned always to do that which is most repugnant to him: to become a slaughterer, in order to abolish slaughtering, to sacrifice lambs so that no more lambs may be slaughtered, to whip people with knouts so that they may learn not to let themselves be whipped, to strip himself of every scruple in the name of a higher scrupulousness, and to challenge the hatred of mankind because of his love for it-an abstract and geometric love.
For all its outwardly easy Latin charm, Buenos Aires was making me feel sick and upset, so I did take that trip to the great plains where the gaucho epics had been written, and I did manage to eat a couple of the famous asados: the Argentine barbecue fiesta (once summarized by Martin Amis's John Self as 'a sort of triple mixed grill swaddled in steaks') with its slavish propitiation of the sizzling gods of cholesterol. Yet even this was spoiled for me: my hosts did their own slaughtering and the smell of drying blood from the abattoir became too much for some reason (I actually went 'off' steak for a good few years after this trip). Then from the intrepid Robert Cox of the Buenos Aires Herald I learned another jaunty fascist colloquialism: before the South Atlantic dumping method was adopted, the secret cremation of maimed and tortured bodies at the Navy School had been called an asado. In my youth I was quite often accused, and perhaps not unfairly, of being too politicized and of trying to import politics into all discussions. I would reply that it wasn't my fault if politics kept on invading the private sphere and, in the case of Argentina at any rate, I think I was right. The miasma of the dictatorship pervaded absolutely everything, not excluding the aperitifs and the main course.
He is a demon, Clarissa, ' said Valentine, still in the same soft voice. 'A demon with a man's face. I know how deceptive such monsters can be. Remember, I spared him once myself.' 'Monster?' echoed Clary. She thought of Luke, Luke pushing her on the swings when she was five years old, higher, always higher; Luke at her graduation from middle school, camera clicking away like a proud father's; Luke sorting through each box of books as it arrived at his store, looking for anything she might like and putting it aside. Luke lifting her up to pull apples down from the trees near his farmhouse. Luke, whose place as her father this man was trying to take. 'Luke isn't a monster, ' she said in a voice that matched Valentine's, steel for steel. 'Or a murderer. You are.' 'Clary!' It was Jace. Clary ignored him. Her eyes were fixed on her father's cold black ones. 'You murdered your wife's parents, not in battle but in cold blood, ' she said. 'And I bet you murdered Michael Wayland and his little boy, too. Threw their bones in with my grandparents' so that my mother would think you and Jace were dead. Put your necklace around Michael Wayland's neck before you burned him so everyone would think those bones were yours. After all your talk about the untainted blood of the Clave - you didn't care at all about their blood or their innocence when you killed them, did you? Slaughtering old people and children in cold blood, that's monstrous.
WE SMELLED THE GREASEPAINT IN THE AIR, THEY STUMBLED INTO TOWN LAST NIGHT, COMPLETELY UNAWARE, CLAD IN SHIRTS OF MESH AND WITH MASCARA ON THEIR EYES WE SAW A KEYBOARD PLAYER AND WE KNEW THEY HAD TO DIE. THEY PLAYED A SHOW AT IVAN'S INN, FROM UNDERNEATH THE STAGE WE HEARD THE CATERWAULING DIN, THEY SANG OF FORESTS, ELVES, AND TROLLS, THE URGE TO KILL THEM ON THE SPOT WE BARELY COULD CONTROL AFTER THE SHOW THEY ALL GOT DRUNK, APPARENTLY TO CELEBRATE A SET THAT REALLY STUNK, TO THE GRAVEYARD THEY PREDICTABLY PAID CALL, THESE LORDS OF CHAOS WHINED ABOUT THEIR TOUR BUS BEING SMALL THEY SPOKE OF NORWAY AND 'THE SCENE' THE SOUND OF LAUGHING GHOULS REVERBERATED THROUGH THE TREES 'WE SHOULD TAKE SOME PICTURES!' THE ONE IN CHAIN MAIL SAID, 'THAT'S IT.' CREMATOR GROWLED, 'IT'S TIME THESE IDIOTS WERE DEAD.' THEY SCATTERED LIKE RATS WHEN THEY SAW GHOUL ATTACK, THE DRUMMER WAS THE FIRST TO GO, A HOOK IN HIS BACK MACHETES WERE SINKING INTO PAINTED FLESH CARNAGE AND GORE SOAKING LEATHER AND MESH THE KEYBOARDIST BEGGED BUT FERMENTOR JUST LAUGHED WE HACKED OFF HIS HANDS AND THEN CHOPPED HIM IN HALF THE VOCALIST WAS STRANGLED WITH HIS VERY GUTS HIS FEMALE BACK-UP EXPIRED FROM HER CUTS SPLATTERING BRAIN PANS AS A MATTER OF COURSE VIOLENTLY MURDERING WITH NO FUCKING REMORSE THEIR BASSIST, TO A BOOBYTRAP, PAID A TOLL HIS HEAD HAVING GAINED FIVE OR SIX EXTRA HOLES THE BLOOD FROM HIS MOUTH MADE A HOT, STEAMY TREAT WE SAVOURED THE MOMENT, THEN SAWED OFF HIS FEET BOTH OF THE GUITARISTS MADE A RUN FOR THE GATE DIGESTOR CUT THEM OFF AND SEALED THEIR FATE ONE OF THEM CRIED WHILE THE OTHER WAS KILLED, HIS TEARS DID NO GOOD AS HIS SKULL WAS STILL DRILLED SLICING AND DICING, OUR FANATIC OBSESSION OF SLAUGHTERING POSEURS, WE'VE MADE A PROFESSION IN OUR FORBIDDEN... FORBIDDEN CRYPTS!!!
What is so often said about the solders of the 20th century is that they fought to make us free. Which is a wonderful sentiment and one witch should evoke tremendous gratitude if in fact there was a shred of truth in that statement but, it's not true. It's not even close to true in fact it's the opposite of truth. There's this myth around that people believe that the way to honor deaths of so many of millions of people; that the way to honor is to say that we achieved some tangible, positive, good, out of their death's. That's how we are supposed to honor their deaths. We can try and rescue some positive and forward momentum of human progress, of human virtue from these hundreds of millions of death's but we don't do it by pretending that they'd died to set us free because we are less free; far less free now then we were before these slaughters began. These people did not die to set us free. They did not die fighting any enemy other than the ones that the previous deaths created. The beginning of wisdom is to call things by their proper names. Solders are paid killers, and I say this with a great degree of sympathy to young men and women who are suckered into a life of evil through propaganda and the labeling of heroic to a man in costume who kills for money and the life of honor is accepting ordered killings for money, prestige, and pensions. We create the possibility of moral choice by communicating truth about ethics to people. That to me is where real heroism and real respect for the dead lies. Real respect for the dead lies in exhuming the corpses and hearing what they would say if they could speak out; and they would say: If any ask us why we died tell it's because our fathers lied, tell them it's because we were told that charging up a hill and slaughtering our fellow man was heroic, noble, and honorable. But these hundreds of millions of ghosts encircled the world in agony, remorse will not be released from our collective unconscious until we lay the truth of their murders on the table and look at the horror that is the lie; that murder for money can be moral, that murder for prestige can be moral. These poor young men and woman propagandized into an undead ethical status lied to about what is noble, virtuous, courageous, honorable, decent, and good to the point that they're rolling hand grenades into children's rooms and the illusion that, that is going to make the world a better place. We have to stare this in the face if we want to remember why these people died. They did not die to set us free. They did not die to make the world a better place. They died because we are ruled by sociopaths. The only thing that can create a better world is the truth is the virtue is the honor and courage of standing up to the genocidal lies of mankind and calling them lies and ultimate corruptions. The trauma and horrors of this century of staggering bloodshed of the brief respite of the 19th century. This addiction to blood and the idea that if we pour more bodies into the hole of the mass graves of the 20th century, if we pour more bodies and more blood we can build some sort of cathedral to a better place but it doesn't happen. We can throw as many young men and woman as we want into this pit of slaughter and it will never be full. It will never do anything other than sink and recede further into the depths of hell. We can't build a better world on bodies. We can't build peace on blood. If we don't look back and see the army of the dead of the 20th century calling out for us to see that they died to enslave us. That whenever there was a war the government grew and grew. We are so addicted to this lie. What we need to do is remember that these bodies bury us. This ocean of blood that we create through the fantasy that violence brings virtue. It drowns us, drowns our children, our future, and the world. When we pour these endless young bodies into this pit of death; we follow it.