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Если вам нравится идея, что «боги» действуют через людей, а люди это такое «поле битвы Добра и Зла», то вам ведь и должно быть понятно, что перевоспитать злобную сверхчеловеческую сущность задача не из простых. И сколько Любви и Милосердия в такие сущности не вбухивай, ничего это не даёт. Имеются в виду те, кого в Индии называют «асуры», потом там идут «ракшасы», и самые мелкие из подобных тварей называются «пишачи». Деятельность которых в наше время можно наблюдать даже в интернете в виде разных мелких пакостников и троллей. Всё это подробно описывал Шри Ауробиндо. <a href="https://knigogid.com/books/religija-i-duhovnost/samosovershenstvovanie/page-45-180811-shri-aurobindo-shri-aurobindo-pisma-o-ioge--ii.html" target="_blank" rel="nofollow noreferrer noopener">knigogid.com/books/religija-i-duhovnost/samosovershenstvovanie/page-45-180811-shri-aurobindo-shri-aurobindo-pisma-o-ioge--ii.html</a><br/>
Ну так вот. Если «Асуры» это ментализированная витальность, то вы уверены, что можете так уж хорошо отличать проявления «Любви и Милосердия» от проявлений этой «ментализированной витальности»? Для этого нужно обладать достаточно развитой Душой. В основном же люди отличать эти вещи не умеют. И поэтому сплошь и рядом попадают под влияние этой «ментализированной витальности» искренне принимая её за «Любовь и Милосердие». Таким образом и становясь проводниками воли этих «асуров», сами того не ведая. И поэтому наш мир, на данный момент, по большей части «асурический». Включая и культуру. И пока это так, кошмар полностью прекратить нельзя. Он прекращается в одном месте, а через какое-то время вновь возникает в другом. С другими игроками, но по сути совершенно аналогичный.

У меня такое впечатление, что Вы прочитали оригинал. <br/>
<br/>
Эту фразу произнес проф. Кейзер — недруг доктора Тайвуда. Вот, как она звучит в оригинале:<br/>
<br/>
«Mathematics has no existence of its own. It is merely an arbitrary code devised to describe physical observations or philosophical concepts. Every man can adapt it to his own particular needs. „<br/>
<br/>
Дословный (моноэквивалентный) перевод:<br/>
<br/>
«Математика не существует сама по себе. Это просто произвольный код, разработанный для описания физических наблюдений или философских концепций. Каждый человек может адаптировать его к своим конкретным потребностям».<br/>
<br/>
Как видите, мифом и не пахнет! ) Однако надо признать, что миф — это то, что не существует в реальности, но в наших головах. Так и с математикой. Ведь в природе нет математики. Она изобретение человека. <br/>
<br/>
Полиэквивалентный перевод:<br/>
<br/>
«Математика — это миф, условный код, описывающий физические явления или философские концепции. И каждый человек может приспособить её под свои нужды.»©<br/>
<br/>
Скажу по секрету Вам. Перед озвучкой я сравниваю оригинал и перевод. )<br/>
<br/>
А вот, полный абзац (в хорошем смысле!): <br/>
<br/>
“Keyser added petulantly: “It’s a fallacy you laymen have that scientists can look at an equation and say,, Ah, yes-’ and go on to write a book about it. Mathematics has no existence of its own. It is merely an arbitrary code devised to describe physical observations or philosophical concepts. Every man can adapt it to his own particular needs. For instance no one can look at a symbol and be sure of what it means. So far, science has used every letter in the alphabet, large, small and italic, each symbolizing many different things. They have used bold-faced letters, Gothic-type letters, Greek letters, both capital and small, subscripts, superscripts, asterisks, even Hebrew letters. Different scientists use different symbols for the same concept and the same symbol for different concepts. So if you show a disconnected page like this to any man, without information as to the subject being investigated or the particular symbology used, he could absolutely not make sense out of it.”

Jerry, перевод сохранил большую точность:<br/>
<br/>
The baron of Smaylho'me rose with day,<br/>
He spurr'd his courser on,<br/>
Without stop or stay, down the rocky way,<br/>
That leads to Brotherstone.<br/>
<br/>
He went not with the bold Buccleuch,<br/>
His banner broad to rear;<br/>
He went not 'gainst the English yew,<br/>
To lift the Scottish spear.<br/>
<br/>
Yet his plate-jack was braced, and his helmet was laced,<br/>
And his vaunt-brace of proof he wore;<br/>
At his saddle-gerthe was a good steel sperthe,<br/>
Full ten pound weight and more.<br/>
<br/>
The Baron return'd in three days' space,<br/>
And his looks were sad and sour;<br/>
And weary was his courser's pace,<br/>
As he reach'd his rocky tower.<br/>
<br/>
He came not from where Ancram Moor<br/>
Ran red with English blood;<br/>
Where the Douglas true, and the bold Buccleuch,<br/>
'Gainst keen Lord Evers stood.<br/>
<br/>
Yet was his helmet hack'd and hew'd,<br/>
His acton pierced and tore,<br/>
His axe and his dagger with blood inbrued,-<br/>
But it was not English gore.<br/>
<br/>
He lighted at the Chapellage,<br/>
He held him close and still;<br/>
And he whistled thrice for his little foot-page,<br/>
His name was English Will.<br/>
<br/>
'Come thou hither, my little foot-page,<br/>
Come hither to my knee;<br/>
Though thou art young, and tender of age,<br/>
I think thou art true to me.<br/>
<br/>
'Come, tell me all that thou hast seen,<br/>
And look thou tell me true!<br/>
Since I from Smaylho'me tower have been,<br/>
What did thy lady do?'-<br/>
<br/>
'My lady, each night, sought the lonely light,<br/>
That burns on the wild Watchfold;<br/>
For, from height to height, the beacons bright<br/>
Of the English foemen told.<br/>
<br/>
'The bittern clamour'd from the moss,<br/>
The wind blew loud and shrill;<br/>
Yet the craggy pathway she did cross<br/>
To the eiry Beacon Hill.<br/>
<br/>
'I watch'd her steps, and silent came<br/>
Where she sat her on a stone;-<br/>
No watchman stood by the dreary flame,<br/>
It burned all alone.<br/>
<br/>
'The second night I kept her in sight,<br/>
Till to the fire she came,<br/>
And, by Mary's might! an Armed Knight<br/>
Stood by the lonely flame.<br/>
<br/>
'And many a word that warlike lord<br/>
Did speak to my lady there:<br/>
But the rain fell fast, and loud blew the blast,<br/>
And I heard not what they were.<br/>
<br/>
'The third night there the sky was fair,<br/>
And the mountain-blast was still,<br/>
As again I watch'd the secret pair,<br/>
On the lonesome Beacon Hill.<br/>
<br/>
'And I heard her name the midnight hour,<br/>
And name this holy eve;<br/>
And say, 'Come this night to thy lady's bower;<br/>
Ask no bold Baron's leave.<br/>
<br/>
'He lifts his spear with the bold Buccleuch;<br/>
His lady is all alone;<br/>
The door she'll undo, to her knight so true,<br/>
On the eve of good St. John.'-<br/>
<br/>
''I cannot come; I must not come;<br/>
I dare not come to thee;<br/>
On the eve of St. John I must wander alone:<br/>
In thy bower I may not be.'-<br/>
<br/>
''Now, out on thee, faint-hearted knight!<br/>
Thou shouldst not say me nay;<br/>
For the eve is sweet, and when lovers meet,<br/>
Is worth the whole summer's day.<br/>
<br/>
''And I'll chain the blood-hound, and the warder shall not sound,<br/>
And rushes shall be strew'd on the stair;<br/>
So, by the black rood-stone, and by Holy St. John,<br/>
I conjure thee, my love, to be there!'-<br/>
<br/>
''Though the blood-hound be mute, and the rush beneath my foot,<br/>
And the warder his bugle should not blow,<br/>
Yet there sleepeth a priest in the chamber to the east,<br/>
And my footstep he would know.'-<br/>
<br/>
''O fear not the priest, who sleepeth to the east!<br/>
For to Dryburgh the way he has ta'en;<br/>
And there to say mass, till three days do pass,<br/>
For the soul of a knight that is slayne.'-<br/>
<br/>
'He turn'd him around, and grimly he frown'd;<br/>
Then he laugh'd right scornfully-<br/>
'He who says the mass-rite for the soul of that knight,<br/>
May as well say mass for me:<br/>
<br/>
''At the lone midnight hour, when bad spirits have power,<br/>
In thy chamber will I be.'-<br/>
With that he was gone, and my lady left alone,<br/>
And no more did I see.'<br/>
<br/>
Then changed, I trow, was that bold Baron's brow,<br/>
From the dark to the blood-red high;<br/>
'Now, tell me the mien of the knight thou hast seen,<br/>
For, by Mary, he shall die!'-<br/>
<br/>
'His arms shone full bright, in the beacon's red light;<br/>
His plume it was scarlet and blue;<br/>
On his shield was a hound, in a silver leash bound,<br/>
And his crest was a branch of the yew.'-<br/>
<br/>
'Thou liest, thou liest, thou little foot-page,<br/>
Loud dost thou lie to me!<br/>
For that knight is cold, and low laid in the mould,<br/>
All under the Eildon-tree.'-<br/>
<br/>
'Yet hear but my word, my noble lord!<br/>
For I heard her name his name;<br/>
And that lady bright, she called the knight<br/>
Sir Richard of Coldinghame.'-<br/>
<br/>
The bold Baron's brow then changed, I trow,<br/>
From high blood-red to pale — <br/>'The grave is deep and dark — and the corpse is stiff and stark-<br/>
So I may not trust thy tale.<br/>
<br/>
'Where fair Tweed flows round holy Melrose,<br/>
And Eildon slopes to the plain,<br/>
Full three nights ago, by some secret foe,<br/>
That gay gallant was slain.<br/>
<br/>
'The varying light deceived thy sight,<br/>
And the wild winds drown'd the name;<br/>
For the Dryburgh bells ring, and the white monks do sing,<br/>
For Sir Richard of Coldinghame!'<br/>
<br/>
He pass'd the court-gate, and he oped the tower-gate,<br/>
And he mounted the narow stair,<br/>
To the bartizan-seat, where, with maids that on her wait,<br/>
He found his lady fair.<br/>
<br/>
That lady sat in mournful mood;<br/>
Look'd over hill and vale;<br/>
Over Tweed's fair flod, and Mertoun's wood,<br/>
And all down Teviotdale.<br/>
<br/>
'Now hail, now hail, thou lady bright!'-<br/>
'Now hail, thou Baron true!<br/>
What news, what news, from Ancram fight?<br/>
What news from the bold Buccleuch?'-<br/>
<br/>
'The Ancram Moor is red with gore,<br/>
For many a southron fell;<br/>
And Buccleuch has charged us, evermore,<br/>
To watch our beacons well.'-<br/>
<br/>
The lady blush'd red, but nothing she said:<br/>
Nor added the Baron a word:<br/>
Then she stepp'd down the stair to her chamber fair,<br/>
And so did her moody lord.<br/>
<br/>
In sleep the lady mourn'd, and the Baron toss'd and turn'd,<br/>
And oft to himself he said,-<br/>
'The worms around him creep, and his bloody grave is deep……<br/>
It cannot give up the dead!'-<br/>
<br/>
It was near the ringing of matin-bell,<br/>
The night was wellnigh done,<br/>
When a heavy sleep on that Baron fell,<br/>
On the eve of good St. John.<br/>
<br/>
The lady look'd through the chamber fair,<br/>
By the light of a dying flame;<br/>
And she was aware of a knight stood there-<br/>
Sir Richard of Coldinghame!<br/>
<br/>
'Alas! away, away!' she cried,<br/>
'For the holy Virgin's sake!'-<br/>
'Lady, I know who sleeps by thy side;<br/>
But, lady, he will not awake.<br/>
<br/>
'By Eildon-tree, for long nights three,<br/>
In bloody grave have I lain;<br/>
The mass and the death-prayer are said for me,<br/>
But, lady, they are said in vain.<br/>
<br/>
'By the Baron's brand, near Tweed's fair strand,<br/>
Most foully slain, I fell;<br/>
And my restless sprite on the beacon's height,<br/>
For a space is doom'd to dwell.<br/>
<br/>
'At our trysting-place, for a certain space,<br/>
I must wander to and fro;<br/>
But I had not had power to come to thy bower<br/>
Had'st thou not conjured me so.'-<br/>
<br/>
Love master'd fear — her brow she cross'd;<br/>
'How, Richard, hast thou sped?<br/>
And art thou saved, or art thou lost?'-<br/>
The vision shook his head!<br/>
<br/>
'Who spilleth life, shall forfeit life;<br/>
So bid thy lord believe;<br/>
That lawless love is guilt above,<br/>
This awful sign receive.'<br/>
<br/>
He laid his left palm on an oaken beam;<br/>
His right upon her hand;<br/>
The lady shrunk, and fainting sunk,<br/>
For it scorch'd like a fiery brand.<br/>
<br/>
The sable score, of fingers, four,<br/>
Remains on that board impress'd;<br/>
And for evermore that lady wore<br/>
A covering on her wrist.<br/>
<br/>
There is a nun in Dryburgh bower,<br/>
Ne'er looks upon the sun;<br/>
There is a monk in Melrose tower,<br/>
He speaketh word to none.<br/>
<br/>
That nun, who ne'er beholds the day,<br/>
That monk, who speaks to none-<br/>
That nun was Smaylho'me's Lady gay,<br/>
That monk the bold Baron.