They were under the direction of their god- Satan.
And of course in the Amelekites view the Israleites were led by satan and thus were guilty by association and as such the Amelikites were properly justified in their attack upon them.
Such is the thought pattern of those who support genocide.The nazis also had such illusions of proper superiority based on "truth" only they were privy to.Upon such arrogance is found the root of the attrocities men commit.
I watched a documentary the other night here concerning a muslim extremist who calimed that the slitting of the throats of people is assured to be painless according to the beliefs he attains to and is thus a "humane"{LOL *puke!*} means of dispatching enemies.
I mentioned this to my fellow workers and we agred that perhaps he should avail himself of the opportunity to test his assertion.It seems so easy for people to shut down their asssumed morals when it comes to those who do not share their view.Such people were mentioned by the WWI poet Wilfred Owen.
Insensibility
I
Happy are men who yet before they are killed
Can let their veins run cold.
Whom no compassion fleers
Or makes their feet
Sore on the alleys cobbled with their brothers.
The front line withers.
But they are troops who fade, not flowers,
For poets' tearful fooling:
Men, gaps for filling:
Losses, who might have fought
Longer; but no one bothers.
II
And some cease feeling
Even themselves or for themselves.
Dullness best solves
The tease and doubt of shelling,
And Chance's strange arithmetic
Comes simpler than the reckoning of their shilling.
They keep no check on armies' decimation.
III
Happy are these who lose imagination:
They have enough to carry with ammunition.
Their spirit drags no pack.
Their old wounds, save with cold, can not more ache.
Having seen all things red,
Their eyes are rid
Of the hurt of the colour of blood for ever.
And terror's first constriction over,
Their hearts remain small-drawn.
Their senses in some scorching cautery of battle
Now long since ironed,
Can laugh among the dying, unconcerned.
IV
Happy the soldier home, with not a notion
How somewhere, every dawn, some men attack,
And many sighs are drained.
Happy the lad whose mind was never trained:
His days are worth forgetting more than not.
He sings along the march
Which we march taciturn, because of dusk,
The long, forlorn, relentless trend
From larger day to huger night.
V
We wise, who with a thought besmirch
Blood over all our soul,
How should we see our task
But through his blunt and lashless eyes?
Alive, he is not vital overmuch;
Dying, not mortal overmuch;
Nor sad, nor proud,
Nor curious at all.
He cannot tell
Old men's placidity from his.
VI
But cursed are dullards whom no cannon stuns,
That they should be as stones.
Wretched are they, and mean
With paucity that never was simplicity.
By choice they made themselves immune
To pity and whatever mourns in man
Before the last sea and the hapless stars;
Whatever mourns when many leave these shores;
Whatever shares
The eternal reciprocity of tears
A merry christmas to you and yours from an atheist who cares if people suffer in their situations in life.May you and the family have a great time and really share your time together fully.Talk at you later.
™ Version 4.2
