She had been wrong in thinking Christ had been called up against his will to fight in a war. He didn't look - in spite of the crown of thorns - like someone making a sacrifice. Or even like someone determined to "do his bit". He looked instead like Marjorie had looked telling Polly she'd joined the Nursing Service, like Mr Humphreys had looked filling buckets with water and sand to save Saint Paul's, like Miss Laburnum had looked that day she came to Townsend Brothers with the coats. He looked like Captain Faulknor must have looked, lashing the ships together. Like Ernest Shackleton, setting out in that tiny boat across icy seas. Like Colin helping Mr Dunworthy across the wreckage.He looked ... contented. As if he was where he wanted to be, doing what he wanted to do.Like Eileen had looked, telling Polly she'd decided to stay. Like Mike must have looked in Kent, composing engagement announcements and letters to the editor. Like I must have looked there in the rubble with Sir Godfrey, my hand pressed against his heart. Exalted. Happy.To do something for someone or something you loved - England or Shakespeare or a dog or the Hodbins or history - wasn't a sacrifice at all. Even if it cost you your freedom, your life, your youth.

Was it permitted to believe that there was nowhere upon the earth, or above the earth, a heaven for hogs, where they were requited for all this suffering? Each one of these hogs was a separate creature. Some were white hogs, some were black; some were brown, some were spotted; some were old, some young; some were long and lean, some were monstrous. And each of them had an individuality of his own, a will of his own, a hope and a heart's desire; each was full of self- confidence, of self-importance, and a sense of dignity. And trusting and strong in faith he had gone about his business, the while a black shadow hung over him and a horrid Fate waited in his pathway. Now suddenly it had swooped upon him, and had seized him by the leg. Relentless, remorseless, it was; all his protests, his screams, were nothing to it— it did its cruel will with him, as if his wishes, his feelings, had simply no existence at all; it cut his throat and watched him gasp out his life. And now was one to believe that there was nowhere a god of hogs, to whom this hog personality was precious, to whom these hog squeals and agonies had a meaning? Who would take this hog into his arms and comfort him, reward him for his work well done, and show him the meaning of his sacrifice?

Jesus was stoned, but no rock hit him. He slipped into the crowd and was found later teaching on a hill somewhere. History tells us that he did nothing wrong, and we sacrificed him anyway. The day my father died, I assured him he was headed for heaven, though I had a hard time believing in something that floated so aimlessly through the minds of children. The concept seemed fair and unfair in such equal amounts that it appeared to cancel itself out. I’d never met someone so deserving of eternal bliss, yet from the time I was a child I was taught we all deserve hell. I wondered if heaven existed at all. But I wanted everlasting life to be real for the man who let me lie on his chest on a hammock in the backyard and taught me not to fear thunder. One of the many things my father taught me not to fear. His breaths were labored and aided by machines. He wore a white hospital gown. I remember thinking, “I can’t believe my father’s going to die in a gown.” “Are you afraid?” I asked.“Not at all,” he strained. “I’m going to be with the Lord.”I wished I shared his confidence. For him, it was a priceless thing no one could take. I wished the fear of death was like the fear of a passing storm cloud—something we outgrow with understanding. For men like my dad, I guess it was.

Every November of my boyhood, we put on red poppies and attended highly patriotic services in remembrance of those who had 'given' their lives. But on what assurance did we know that these gifts had really been made? Only the survivors—the living—could attest to it. In order to know that a person had truly laid down his life for his friends, or comrades, one would have to hear it from his own lips, or at least have heard it promised in advance. And that presented another difficulty. Many brave and now dead soldiers had nonetheless been conscripts. The known martyrs—those who actually, voluntarily sought death and rejoiced in the fact—had been the kamikaze pilots, immolating themselves to propitiate a 'divine' emperor who looked (as Orwell once phrased it) like a monkey on a stick. Their Christian predecessors had endured torture and death (as well as inflicted it) in order to set up a theocracy. Their modern equivalents would be the suicide murderers, who mostly have the same aim in mind. About people who set out to lose their lives, then, there seems to hang an air of fanaticism: a gigantic sense of self-importance unattractively fused with a masochistic tendency to self-abnegation. Not wholesome.The better and more realistic test would therefore seem to be: In what cause, or on what principle, would you risk your life?

There are matters in that book, said to be done by the express command of God, that are as shocking to humanity, and to every idea we have of moral justice, as any thing done by Robespierre, by Carrier, by Joseph le Bon, in France, by the English government in the East Indies, or by any other assassin in modern times. When we read in the books ascribed to Moses, Joshua, etc., that they (the Israelites) came by stealth upon whole nations of people, who, as the history itself shews, had given them no offence; that they put all those nations to the sword; that they spared neither age nor infancy; that they utterly destroyed men, women and children; that they left not a soul to breathe; expressions that are repeated over and over again in those books, and that too with exulting ferocity; are we sure these things are facts? are we sure that the Creator of man commissioned those things to be done? Are we sure that the books that tell us so were written by his authority?...The Bible tells us, that those assassinations were done by the express command of God. And to read the Bible without horror, we must undo every thing that is tender, sympathising, and benevolent in the heart of man. Speaking for myself, if I had no other evidence that the Bible is fabulous, than the sacrifice I must make to believe it to be true, that alone would be sufficient to determine my choice.

O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done,The ship has weather’d every rack, the prize we sought is won,The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring; But O heart! heart! heart! O the bleeding drops of red, Where on the deck my Captain lies, Fallen cold and dead.O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills,For you bouquets and ribbon’d wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding,For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning; Here Captain! dear father! This arm beneath your head! It is some dream that on the deck, You’ve fallen cold and dead.My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still,My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will,The ship is anchor’d safe and sound, its voyage closed and done,From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object won; Exult O shores, and ring O bells! But I with mournful tread, Walk the deck my Captain lies, Fallen cold and dead.

What’s the kindest thing you almost did? Is your fear of insomnia stronger than your fear of what awoke you? Are bonsai cruel? Do you love what you love, or just the feeling? Your earliest memories: do you look through your young eyes, or look at your young self? Which feels worse: to know that there are people who do more with less talent, or that there are people with more talent? Do you walk on moving walkways? Should it make any difference that you knew it was wrong �as you were doing it? Would you trade actual intelligence for the perception of being smarter? Why does it bother you when someone at the next table is having a conversation on a cell phone? How many years of your life would you trade for the greatest month of your life? What would you tell your father, if it were possible? Which is changing faster, your body, or your mind? Is it cruel to tell an old person his prognosis? Are you in any way angry at your phone? When you pass �a storefront, do you look at what’s inside, look at your reflection, or neither? Is there anything you would die for if no one could ever know you died for it? If you could be assured that money wouldn’t make �you any small bit happier, would you still want more money? What has �been irrevocably spoiled for you? If your deepest secret became public, �would you be forgiven? Is your best friend your kindest friend? Is it in any way cruel to give a dog a name? Is there anything you feel a need to confess? You know it’s a “murder of crows” and a “wake of buzzards” but it’s a what of ravens, again? What is it about death that you’re �afraid of? How does it make you feel to know that it’s an “unkindness �of ravens”?

Maana halisi ya falsafa ya 'Nitakuwa tayari kufungwa kwa ajili ya matatizo ya watu', au Falsafa ya Kufungwa, ni uvutano mkubwa uliopo kati ya Roho Mtakatifu na Roho wa Shetani kwa sisi wanadamu wote. Jambo lolote baya limtokealo mwanadamu husababishwa na Shetani na si Mungu na watu hupata matatizo kwa sababu ya kudharau miito ya mioyo yao wenyewe, au kudharau kile Roho Mtakatifu anachowambia. Unaweza kuvunja sheria kwa manufaa ya wengi kwani mibaraka haikosi maadui. Ukifungwa kwa kuvunja sheria kwa ajili ya manufaa ya wengi watu watakulaani lakini Mungu atakubariki. Kwa nguvu ya uwezo wa Roho Mtakatifu Mungu atamshinda Shetani kwa niaba yako. Tukijifunza namna ya kuwasiliana na Roho Mtakatifu hatutapata matatizo kwani Mungu anataka tuishi kwa amani katika siku zote alizotupangia, licha ya damu yetu kuwa chafu. Mtu anapokufa kwa mfano, Roho wa Shetani amemshinda Roho Mtakatifu na Roho Mtakatifu hatalipendi hilo kwa niaba ya Mungu. Ikitokea mtu akayashinda majaribu ya Shetani katika kipindi ambacho watu wote wameyashindwa; mtu huyo amebarikiwa na Mungu, ili aitumie mibaraka hiyo kuwaepusha wenzake na roho mbaya wa Shetani. Nikisema 'Kwa nguvu ya uwezo wa Roho Mtakatifu Mungu atamshinda Shetani kwa niaba yako' namaanisha, Roho Mtakatifu ana uwezo wake na Roho wa Shetani ana uwezo wake pia. Ukimshinda Roho wa Shetani uwezo wa Roho Mtakatifu umekuwa mkubwa kuliko uwezo wa Roho wa Shetani, na ukishindwa kumtii Roho Mtakatifu uwezo wa Roho wa Shetani umekuwa mkubwa kuliko uwezo wa Roho Mtakatifu, ilhali uwezo wa Mungu ni mkubwa kuliko wa Roho Mtakatifu na wa Roho wa Shetani kwa pamoja. Mungu humtumia Roho Mtakatifu kumlindia watoto wake ambao ni sisi dhidi ya Shetani … Kila akifanyacho Roho Mtakatifu hapa duniani ni kwa niaba ya Mungu, na tukimtii Roho Mtakatifu Mungu atamshinda Shetani kwa niaba yetu. Mtu anapofungwa kwa kutetea maslahi ya umma wewe unayemfunga umemtii Roho wa Shetani. Yule anayefungwa amemtii Roho Mtakatifu maana amebarikiwa, na mibaraka haikosi maadui.

Maana halisi ya falsafa ya 'Nitakuwa tayari kufungwa kwa ajili ya matatizo ya watu', au Falsafa ya Kufungwa, ni uvutano mkubwa uliopo kati ya Roho Mtakatifu na Roho wa Shetani kwa sisi wanadamu wote. Jambo lolote baya limtokealo mwanadamu husababishwa na Shetani na si Mungu na watu hupata matatizo kwa sababu ya kudharau miito ya mioyo yao wenyewe, au kudharau kile Roho Mtakatifu anachowambia. Unaweza kuvunja sheria kwa manufaa ya wengi kwani mibaraka haikosi maadui. Ukifungwa kwa kuvunja sheria kwa ajili ya manufaa ya wengi watu watakulaani lakini Mungu atakubariki. Kwa nguvu ya uwezo wa Roho Mtakatifu Mungu atamshinda Shetani kwa niaba yako. Tukijifunza namna ya kuwasiliana na Roho Mtakatifu hatutapata matatizo kwani Mungu anataka tuishi kwa amani katika siku zote alizotupangia, licha ya damu yetu kuwa chafu. Mtu anapokufa kwa mfano, Roho wa Shetani amemshinda Roho Mtakatifu na Roho Mtakatifu hatalipendi hilo kwa niaba ya Mungu. Ikitokea mtu akayashinda majaribu ya Shetani katika kipindi ambacho watu wote wameyashindwa; mtu huyo amebarikiwa na Mungu, ili aitumie mibaraka hiyo kuwaepusha wenzake na roho mbaya wa Shetani. Nikisema 'Kwa nguvu ya uwezo wa Roho Mtakatifu Mungu atamshinda Shetani kwa niaba yako' namaanisha, Roho Mtakatifu ana uwezo wake na Roho wa Shetani ana uwezo wake pia. Ukimshinda Roho wa Shetani uwezo wa Roho Mtakatifu umekuwa mkubwa kuliko uwezo wa Roho wa Shetani, na ukishindwa kumtii Roho Mtakatifu uwezo wa Roho wa Shetani umekuwa mkubwa kuliko uwezo wa Roho Mtakatifu, ilhali uwezo wa Mungu ni mkubwa kuliko wa Roho Mtakatifu na wa Roho wa Shetani kwa pamoja. Mungu humtumia Roho Mtakatifu kumlindia watoto wake ambao ni sisi dhidi ya Shetani … Kila akifanyacho Roho Mtakatifu hapa duniani ni kwa niaba ya Mungu, na tukimtii Roho Mtakatifu Mungu atamshinda Shetani kwa niaba yetu. Mtu anapofungwa kwa kutetea maslahi ya umma wewe unayemfunga umemtii Roho wa Shetani. Yule anayefungwa amemtii Roho Mtakatifu maana amebarikiwa, na mibaraka haikosi maadui.

Opposition to animal research ranges considerably in degree. “Minimalists” tolerate animal research under certain conditions. They accept some kinds of research but wish to prohibit others depending on the probable value of the research, the amount of distress to the animal, and the type of animal. (Few people have serious qualms about hurting an insect, for example.) They favor firm regulations on research.The “abolitionists” take a more extreme position and see no room for compromise. Abolitionists maintain that all animals have the same rights as humans. They regard killing an animal as murder, whether the intention is to eat it, use its fur, or gain scientific knowledge. Keeping an animal (presumably even a pet) in a cage is, in their view, slavery. Because animals cannot give informed consent to research, abolitionists insist it is wrong to use them in any way, regardless of the circumstances. According to one opponent of animal research, “We have no moral option but to bring this research to a halt. Completely. . . . We will not be satisfied until every cage is empty” (Regan, 1986, pp. 39–40). Advocates of this position sometimes claim that most animal research is painful and that it never leads to important results. However, for a true abolitionist, neither of those points really matters. Their moral imperative is that people have no right to use animals, even if the research is useful and even if it is painless.The disagreement between abolitionists and animal researchers is a dispute between two ethical positions: “Never knowingly harm an innocent” and “Sometimes a little harm leads to a greater good.” On the one hand, permitting research has the undeniable consequence of inflicting pain or distress. On the other hand, banning the use of animals for human purposes means a great setback in medical research as well as the end of animal-to-human transplants (e.g., using pig heart valves to help people with heart diseases) (Figure 1.12).

It is not the dead rather the ones who lives through war have seen the dreadful end of the war, you might have been victorious, unwounded but deep within you, you carry the mark of the war, you carry the memories of war, the time you have spend with your comrades, the times when you had to dug in to foxholes to avoid shelling, the times when you hate to see your comrade down on the ground, feeling of despair, atrocities of the war, missing families, home. They live through hell and often the most wounded, they live with the guilt, despair, of being in the war, they may be happy but deep down they are a different person. Not everyone is a hero. You live with the moments, time when you were unsuccessful, when your actions would have helped your comrades, when your actions get your comrades killed, you live with regret, joyous in the victory can never help you forget the time you have spent. You are victorious for the people you have lost, the decisions you have made, the courage you have shown but being victorious in the war has a price to pay, irrevocable. You can't take a memory back from a person, even if you lose your memory your imagination haunts you as deep down your sub conscious mind you know who you are, who you were. Close you eyes and you can very well see your past, you cant change your past, time you have spent, you live through all and hence you are a hero not for the glorious war for the times you have faced. Decoration with medals is not going to give your life back. the more you know, more experiences doesn't make it easy rather make its worse. Arms and ammunition kills you once and free you from the misery but the experiences of war kills you everyday, makes you cherish the times everyday through the life. You may forgot that you cant walk anymore, you may forget you cant use your right hand, you may forgot the scars on your face but you can never forgot war. Life without war is never easy and only the ones how survived through it can understand. Soldiers are taught to fight but the actual combat starts after war which you are not even trained for. You rely on your weapon, leaders, comrades, god, luck in the war but here you rely on your self to beat the horrors,they have seen hell, heaven, they have felt the mixed emotions of hope, despair, courage, victory, defeat, scared.

A cult is a group of people who share an obsessive devotion to a person oridea. The cults described in this book use violent tactics to recruit,indoctrinate, and keep members. Ritual abuse is defined as the emotionally,physically, and sexually abusive acts performed by violent cults. Mostviolent cults do not openly express their beliefs and practices, and theytend to live separately in noncommunal environments to avoid detection.Some victims of ritual abuse are children abused outside the home bynonfamily members, in public settings such as day care. Other victims arechildren and teenagers who are forced by their parents to witness andparticipate in violent rituals. Adult ritual abuse victims often includethese grown children who were forced from childhood to be a member of thegroup. Other adult and teenage victims are people who unknowingly joinedsocial groups or organizations that slowly manipulated and blackmailed theminto becoming permanent members of the group. All cases of ritual abuse, nomatter what the age of the victim, involve intense physical and emotionaltrauma.Violent cults may sacrifice humans and animals as part of religious rituals.They use torture to silence victims and other unwilling participants. Ritualabuse victims say they are degraded and humiliated and are often forced totorture, kill, and sexually violate other helpless victims. The purpose ofthe ritual abuse is usually indoctrination. The cults intend to destroy thesevictims' free will by undermining their sense of safety in the world and byforcing them to hurt others.In the last ten years, a number of people have been convicted on sexual abusecharges in cases where the abused children had reported elements of ritualchild abuse. These children described being raped by groups of adults whowore costumes or masks and said they were forced to witness religious-typerituals in which animals and humans were tortured or killed. In one case, thedefense introduced in court photographs of the children being abused by thedefendants[1] In another case, the police found tunnels etched with crossesand pentacles along with stone altars and candles in a cemetery where abusehad been reported. The defendants in this case pleaded guilty to charges ofincest, cruelty, and indecent assault[2] Ritual abuse allegations have beenmade in England, the United States, and Canada.[3]Many myths abound concerning the parents and children who report ritualabuse. Some people suggest that the tales of ritual abuse are "masshysteria." They say the parents of these children who report ritual abuse areoften overly zealous Christians on a "witch-hunt" to persecute satanists.These skeptics say the parents are fearful of satanism, and they use theirknowledge of the Black Mass (a historically well-known, sexualized ritual inwhich animals and humans are sacrificed) to brainwash their children intosaying they were abused by satanists.[4] In 1992 I conducted a study toseparate fact from fiction in regard to the disclosures of children whoreport ritual abuse.[5] The study was conducted through Believe the Children,a national organization that provides support and educational sources forritual abuse survivors and their families.

What was she thinking?” muttered Alexander, closing his eyes and imagining his Tania.“She was determined. It was like some kind of a personal crusade with her,” Ina said. “She gave the doctor a liter of blood for you—”“Where did she get it from?”“Herself, of course.” Ina smiled. “Lucky for you, Major, our Nurse Metanova is a universal donor.”Of course she is, thought Alexander, keeping his eyes tightly shut.Ina continued. “The doctor told her she couldn’t give any more, and she said a liter wasn’t enough, and he said, ‘Yes, but you don’t have more to give,’ and she said, ‘I’ll make more,’ and he said, ‘No,’ and she said, ‘Yes,’ and in four hours, she gave him another half-liter of blood.”Alexander lay on his stomach and listened intently while Ina wrapped fresh gauze on his wound.He was barely breathing.“The doctor told her, ‘Tania, you’re wasting your time. Look at his burn. It’s going to get infected.’ There wasn’t enough penicillin to give to you, especially since your blood count was solow.” Alexander heard Ina chuckle in disbelief. “So I’m making my rounds late that night, and who do I find next to your bed? Tatiana. She’s sitting with a syringe in her arm, hooked up to acatheter, and I watch her, and I swear to God, you won’t believe it when I tell you, Major, but I see that the catheter is attached to the entry drip in your IV.” Ina’s eyes bulged. “I watch herdraining blood from the radial artery in her arm into your IV. I ran in and said, ‘Are you crazy? Are you out of your mind? You’re siphoning blood from yourself into him?’ She said to me inher calm, I-won’t-stand-for-any-argument voice, ‘Ina, if I don’t, he will die.’ I yelled at her. I said, ‘There are thirty soldiers in the critical wing who need sutures and bandages and their wounds cleaned. Why don’t you take care of them and let God take care of the dead?’ And she said, ‘He’s not dead. He is still alive, and while he is alive, he is mine.’ Can you believe it, Major? But that’s what she said. ‘Oh, for God’s sake,’ I said to her. ‘Fine, die yourself. I don’t care.’ But the next morning I went to complain to Dr. Sayers that she wasn’t following procedure,told him what she had done, and he ran to yell at her.” Ina lowered her voice to a sibilant, incredulous whisper. “We found her unconscious on the floor by your bed. She was in a dead faint, but you had taken a turn for the better. All your vital signs were up. And Tatiana got up from the floor, white as death itself, and said to the doctor coldly, ‘Maybe now you can give him the penicillin he needs?’ I could see the doctor was stunned. But he did. Gave you penicillin and more plasma and extra morphine. Then he operated on you, to get bits of the shell fragment outof you, and saved your kidney. And stitched you. And all that time she never left his side, or yours. He told her your bandages needed to be changed every three hours to help with drainage,to prevent infection. We had only two nurses in the terminal wing, me and her. I had to take care of all the other patients, while all she did was take care of you. For fifteen days and nights she unwrapped you and cleaned you and changed your dressings. Every three hours. She was a ghost by the end. But you made it. That’s when we moved you to critical care. I said to her, ‘Tania, this man ought to marry you for what you did for him,’ and she said, ‘You think so?’ ” Ina tutted again. Paused. “Are you all right, Major? Why are you crying?