11-06-2013, 11:18 AM
"Lex parsimoniae," Occam's Razor Armande uttered. His tone was flat, yet his intention was leading. In the Regus was bred the soul of a teacher, a leader. He was going to participate in the conversation with Mr. Smith as both. The principle he was demonstrating preceded William of Ockham's death by philosophers such as Thomas Aquinas, Aristotle and all the way back to Ptolemy in the first century. Occam's razor was, of course, not an arbitrary rule nor one justified by its practical success. It simply said that unnecessary elements in a symbolism mean nothing. Signs which serve one purpose were logically equivalent, signs which serve no purpose were logically meaningless.
The simplest hypothesis to explain the existence of what cannot logically exist was that the tablets were fraud, however Armande knew of hundreds of beasts, signs, portals, and spirits which existed despite their inconsistency with logic. The question was, did Mr. Smith? Was he the sort of man to believe in the existence of what lived beyond the farthest reaches of human logic? Beyond faith. Could he accept reality when it was in utter contradiction with his definition of realism? He was currently engaged in conversation with the Regus of the Vatican Historical Society, after all. Would he be able to accept that the Vicar of Iscariot was a brother equally burdened with responsibility as the Vicar of Christ?
"You will never be able to translate the fourth tablet." Armande said, then upon Mr. Smith's shocked expression, he explained farther.
"You are correct, it is no cypher. It is glossolalia: verbal behavior resembling human speech intonation, rhythm, and melody but is only a string of sounds the speaker understood. A façade of a language." A knowing look hinted in the planes of his face. Yes, he recognized it. Question was whether the Regus UNDERSTOOD it. He was impressed with Mr. Smith so far. They continued to hold one another's gaze. Each bearing cards they had yet to reveal.
Mr. Smith was correct to assume Armande's reaction to the naming of an anti-christ.
"What evidence have you of such a claim?" He asked, however, he neither substantiated nor refuted the claim itself, for his enlightened mind was filled with many grave doubts that the Ascendancy was the anti-christ, but he had not ruled out the possibility. More likely, if anything, he was something else altogether: the angel of the bottomless pit.
Instead, he only continued to ask questions, drawing out the inner recesses of Mr. Smith's mind: thoughts he'd not dared suggest to anyone else yet he was now going to share with a representative of the Vatican. A disassociated member of the Holy See, separate enough to entertain the outrageous without drawing the controversy of the world's billions of believers, but nonetheless, a man burning with all the Church's secrets inside him that he could assimilate the claims across the entire span of what was, what is, and what was yet to come.
If Mr. Smith proved to be an asset, he might view a glimpse of the larger picture the Regus studied daily. Things known only between he and His Holiness, himself.
The simplest hypothesis to explain the existence of what cannot logically exist was that the tablets were fraud, however Armande knew of hundreds of beasts, signs, portals, and spirits which existed despite their inconsistency with logic. The question was, did Mr. Smith? Was he the sort of man to believe in the existence of what lived beyond the farthest reaches of human logic? Beyond faith. Could he accept reality when it was in utter contradiction with his definition of realism? He was currently engaged in conversation with the Regus of the Vatican Historical Society, after all. Would he be able to accept that the Vicar of Iscariot was a brother equally burdened with responsibility as the Vicar of Christ?
"You will never be able to translate the fourth tablet." Armande said, then upon Mr. Smith's shocked expression, he explained farther.
"You are correct, it is no cypher. It is glossolalia: verbal behavior resembling human speech intonation, rhythm, and melody but is only a string of sounds the speaker understood. A façade of a language." A knowing look hinted in the planes of his face. Yes, he recognized it. Question was whether the Regus UNDERSTOOD it. He was impressed with Mr. Smith so far. They continued to hold one another's gaze. Each bearing cards they had yet to reveal.
Mr. Smith was correct to assume Armande's reaction to the naming of an anti-christ.
"What evidence have you of such a claim?" He asked, however, he neither substantiated nor refuted the claim itself, for his enlightened mind was filled with many grave doubts that the Ascendancy was the anti-christ, but he had not ruled out the possibility. More likely, if anything, he was something else altogether: the angel of the bottomless pit.
Instead, he only continued to ask questions, drawing out the inner recesses of Mr. Smith's mind: thoughts he'd not dared suggest to anyone else yet he was now going to share with a representative of the Vatican. A disassociated member of the Holy See, separate enough to entertain the outrageous without drawing the controversy of the world's billions of believers, but nonetheless, a man burning with all the Church's secrets inside him that he could assimilate the claims across the entire span of what was, what is, and what was yet to come.
If Mr. Smith proved to be an asset, he might view a glimpse of the larger picture the Regus studied daily. Things known only between he and His Holiness, himself.