Трансформација на Света Софија во џамија

Darling

uwu
Член од
5 јуни 2009
Мислења
8.232
Поени од реакции
13.075
Турскиот суд донесе одлука да се откаже одлуката со која Света Софија служеше како музеј, така што сега турците ќе работат на трансформација на оваа историска византиска градба во повторно исламизирање.
Света Софија е православна црква изградена во 23 February 532 од Јустинијан.
Прв пат е претворена во џамија со доаѓањето на османлиите во 1 June 1453.
Оваа црква со својата архитектура служи за инспирација за понатамошните џамии кои биле изградени.

 

Anon

/b/ House /b/
Член од
13 декември 2007
Мислења
12.981
Поени од реакции
20.333
А по првото претворање во џамија, после кој ја претворил пак во црква?
 
Последно уредено:

мкд владе

Гостин
Член од
21 ноември 2009
Мислења
11.594
Поени од реакции
7.969
I kako na random tukasen pravoslaven vernik bi mu znacelo ova na bilo koj nacin.
Автоматски споено мислење:

Potoa bese donesena odluka da sluzi kako muzej vo 1935, zatoa shto e kulturno nasledstvo na cel svet.
Oti djamiite nemozat da bidat kulturno nasledstvo? Sto ti menuva tebe dali e crkva ili djamija? Ne deka e vo imot na MPC ili kako i da se vikame sega pa ke se ispotresuvame, gotovo kraj na svetot.
 

Стев

Word Bearer of the New World Chaos
Член од
19 декември 2019
Мислења
1.861
Поени од реакции
1.954
Искрено не ме брига. Пошто византиската култура е јунанистанско наследство, се што нив им пречи и ги нервира е плус за мене.
 

Darling

uwu
Член од
5 јуни 2009
Мислења
8.232
Поени од реакции
13.075
Искрено не ме брига. Пошто византиската култура е јунанистанско наследство, се што нив им пречи и ги нервира е плус за мене.
Justinijan e roden vo skopsko, i vizantija znaci istocno rimsko carstvo, a zitelite se vikale rimjani.
 

Стев

Word Bearer of the New World Chaos
Член од
19 декември 2019
Мислења
1.861
Поени од реакции
1.954
Justinijan e roden vo skopsko, i vizantija znaci istocno rimsko carstvo, a zitelite se vikale rimjani.
Објасни им го тоа на нив. Они биле антички грци, они го оснивале рим, они биле византија, они напишале библија, они останале непокорени, они останале чисти, они сами се ослободиле дрн дрн дрн....
Сакале нејкеле, поради ескападите на г-дин зајко, они само си ја зацврстиле таа делузија со тапија. Немат наследство, немат делузија.
 

Beric Dondarrion

Lord of Blackhaven
Член од
14 август 2006
Мислења
30.720
Поени од реакции
42.857
А по првото претворање во џамија, после кај ја претворил пак во црква?
Нигде.
Во музеј била претворена џамијата, која настанала кога Османлиите го освоиле Цариград. Претходно била црква. Најголема во православието. Тоа се дешавало многу пред Ердоган. Пред Ердоган се десило и нејзиното претворање во музеј, од страна на Ататурк, во триесетите.

Така да немаат врска со Ердоган, хронолошки уназад, трансформациите на Света Софија.
 
Член од
27 јуни 2020
Мислења
1.235
Поени од реакции
2.661
Искрено не ме брига. Пошто византиската култура е јунанистанско наследство, се што нив им пречи и ги нервира е плус за мене.
Читај токмак неписмен, за византиското наследство и Македонија.

Rebecca West
, Black Lamb and Grey Falcon


I was extremely frightened as we stood there, for I thought it possible that a number of people, packed together and constantly stirring in their discomfort and all holding lighted tapers, might set themselves on fire. But I forgot my alarm, because I was standing opposite a peasant woman sitting on a window ledge who was the very essence of Macedonia, who was exactly what I had come back to see. She was the age that all Macedonian women seem to become as soon as they cease to be girls: a weather-beaten fifty. There was a dark cloth about her hair and shoulders, and in its folds, and in her noble bones and pain-grooved flesh, she was like many Byzantine Madonnas to be seen in frescoes and mosaics. In her rough hand she mothered her taper, looking down on its flame as if it were a young living thing; and on the sleeve of her russet sheepskin jacket there showed an embroidery of stylized red and black trees which derived recognizably from a pattern designed for elegant Persian women two thousand years before. There was the miracle of Macedonia, made visible before our eyes.
This woman had suffered more than most other human beings, she and her forebears. A competent observer of this countryside has said that every single person born in it before the Great War (and quite a number who were born after it) has faced the prospect of violent death at least once in his or her life. She had been born during the calamitous end of Turkish maladministration, with its cycles of insurrection and massacre, and its social chaos. If her own village had not been murdered, she had certainly heard of many that had, and had never had any guarantee that hers would not some day share the same fate. Then, in her maturity, had come the Balkan wars and the Great War, with a cholera and typhus epidemic in between. Later had come I.M.R.O.; and there was always extreme poverty. She had had far less of anything, of personal possessions, of security, of care in childbirth, than any Western woman can imagine. But she had two possessions which any Western woman might envy. She had strength, the terrible stony strength of Macedonia; she was begotten and born of stocks who could mock all bullets save those which went through the heart, who could outlive the winters when they were driven into the mountains, who could survive malaria and plague, who could reach old age on a diet of bread and paprika. And cupped in her destitution as in the hollow of a boulder there are the last drops of the Byzantine tradition.
With our minds we all know what Byzantium was. We are aware that the Easter continuance of the Roman Empire was a supremely beautiful civilization. It was imperfect because it was almost totally ignorant of economics, and the people were distraught with hungry discontents which they could not name. We know that by the Golden Horn the waning empire developed a court ceremonial, which the earlier emperors had borrowed from Asia, until it made all those who watched it wise about the symbols of spiritual things that can be expressed by sight and sound. The Church itself learned from its partner the State, and raised the Mass to a supreme masterpiece of communal art; and the people, saturated with ritual impressions of the idea of God and of the Emperor, who was by theory the Viceroy of God, produced an art that is unique in its nobility, that in its architecture and painting and mosaics and metal-work and textiles found a calligraphy for the expression of man's graver experiences which makes all other arts seem a little naive or gross. We know that these achievements were not technical tricks but were signs of a real spiritual process, for the Byzantines were able to live in dignity and decency for four centuries in the knowledge that they were doomed, that one day they would be destroyed root and branch by the merciless Turks. They were not merely stoical in that shadow; they continued to live in the fullness of life, to create, even, in the very last phase of their doom, to the point of pushing out the shoots of a new school of painting.
All this we know with our minds, and with our minds only. But this woman knew it with all her being, because she knew nothing else. It was the medium in which she existed. Turkish misrule had deprived her of all benefit from Western culture; all she had had to feed on was the sweetness spilled from the overturned cup of Constantinople. Therefore she was Byzantine in all her ways, and in her substance. When she took up her needle it instinctively pricked the linen in Byzantine designs, and she had the Byzantine idea that one must decorate, always decorate, richly decorate. As she sat there she was stiff, it might almost be said carpeted, in the work of her own hands. The stiffness was not an accidental effect of her materials, it was a symbol of her beliefs about society. She believed that people who are to be respected practise a more stately bearing than those who are of no account; her own back was straight, she did not smile too easily. Therefore she found nothing tedious in the ritual of her Church. She could have sat for long hours as she was then, nursing her taper in quiet contentment, watching grave and slow-moving priests evoke the idea of magnificence, and induce the mood of adoration which is due to the supremely magnificent. She was not gaping at a peepshow, she was not merely passing the time. She was possessed by the same passion that had often astounded the relief workers who came here at the beginning of the century to fight the famine that always followed the suppression of the Christian revolts. Again and again, in villages which had fallen under Turkish disfavour and were therefore subject without cease to murder and arson and pillage, they urged inhabitants to emigrate to Serbia and Bulgaria; and the peasants always answered that that might be the wisest course, but that they could not desert their churches. This was not superstition. Before the altars, the offshoot of Byzantinism had passed the same test as its parent; it had prevented doom from becoming degradation. This woman's face was unresentful, exalted, sensitive to her sorrows yet preoccupied by that which she perceived to be more important, magnificence and its adoration.
 
S

ski

Гостин
Борба за гласови на Ердоган,изиграва заштитник на исламот да врати симпатии кај дел од народот за следните избори.
На последниве локални таму и со повторено гласање на изборите изгуби неговата партија па сега мора со драстични мерки.
 

Стев

Word Bearer of the New World Chaos
Член од
19 декември 2019
Мислења
1.861
Поени од реакции
1.954
Читај токмак неписмен, за византиското наследство и Македонија.

Rebecca West
, Black Lamb and Grey Falcon


I was extremely frightened as we stood there, for I thought it possible that a number of people, packed together and constantly stirring in their discomfort and all holding lighted tapers, might set themselves on fire. But I forgot my alarm, because I was standing opposite a peasant woman sitting on a window ledge who was the very essence of Macedonia, who was exactly what I had come back to see. She was the age that all Macedonian women seem to become as soon as they cease to be girls: a weather-beaten fifty. There was a dark cloth about her hair and shoulders, and in its folds, and in her noble bones and pain-grooved flesh, she was like many Byzantine Madonnas to be seen in frescoes and mosaics. In her rough hand she mothered her taper, looking down on its flame as if it were a young living thing; and on the sleeve of her russet sheepskin jacket there showed an embroidery of stylized red and black trees which derived recognizably from a pattern designed for elegant Persian women two thousand years before. There was the miracle of Macedonia, made visible before our eyes.
This woman had suffered more than most other human beings, she and her forebears. A competent observer of this countryside has said that every single person born in it before the Great War (and quite a number who were born after it) has faced the prospect of violent death at least once in his or her life. She had been born during the calamitous end of Turkish maladministration, with its cycles of insurrection and massacre, and its social chaos. If her own village had not been murdered, she had certainly heard of many that had, and had never had any guarantee that hers would not some day share the same fate. Then, in her maturity, had come the Balkan wars and the Great War, with a cholera and typhus epidemic in between. Later had come I.M.R.O.; and there was always extreme poverty. She had had far less of anything, of personal possessions, of security, of care in childbirth, than any Western woman can imagine. But she had two possessions which any Western woman might envy. She had strength, the terrible stony strength of Macedonia; she was begotten and born of stocks who could mock all bullets save those which went through the heart, who could outlive the winters when they were driven into the mountains, who could survive malaria and plague, who could reach old age on a diet of bread and paprika. And cupped in her destitution as in the hollow of a boulder there are the last drops of the Byzantine tradition.
With our minds we all know what Byzantium was. We are aware that the Easter continuance of the Roman Empire was a supremely beautiful civilization. It was imperfect because it was almost totally ignorant of economics, and the people were distraught with hungry discontents which they could not name. We know that by the Golden Horn the waning empire developed a court ceremonial, which the earlier emperors had borrowed from Asia, until it made all those who watched it wise about the symbols of spiritual things that can be expressed by sight and sound. The Church itself learned from its partner the State, and raised the Mass to a supreme masterpiece of communal art; and the people, saturated with ritual impressions of the idea of God and of the Emperor, who was by theory the Viceroy of God, produced an art that is unique in its nobility, that in its architecture and painting and mosaics and metal-work and textiles found a calligraphy for the expression of man's graver experiences which makes all other arts seem a little naive or gross. We know that these achievements were not technical tricks but were signs of a real spiritual process, for the Byzantines were able to live in dignity and decency for four centuries in the knowledge that they were doomed, that one day they would be destroyed root and branch by the merciless Turks. They were not merely stoical in that shadow; they continued to live in the fullness of life, to create, even, in the very last phase of their doom, to the point of pushing out the shoots of a new school of painting.
All this we know with our minds, and with our minds only. But this woman knew it with all her being, because she knew nothing else. It was the medium in which she existed. Turkish misrule had deprived her of all benefit from Western culture; all she had had to feed on was the sweetness spilled from the overturned cup of Constantinople. Therefore she was Byzantine in all her ways, and in her substance. When she took up her needle it instinctively pricked the linen in Byzantine designs, and she had the Byzantine idea that one must decorate, always decorate, richly decorate. As she sat there she was stiff, it might almost be said carpeted, in the work of her own hands. The stiffness was not an accidental effect of her materials, it was a symbol of her beliefs about society. She believed that people who are to be respected practise a more stately bearing than those who are of no account; her own back was straight, she did not smile too easily. Therefore she found nothing tedious in the ritual of her Church. She could have sat for long hours as she was then, nursing her taper in quiet contentment, watching grave and slow-moving priests evoke the idea of magnificence, and induce the mood of adoration which is due to the supremely magnificent. She was not gaping at a peepshow, she was not merely passing the time. She was possessed by the same passion that had often astounded the relief workers who came here at the beginning of the century to fight the famine that always followed the suppression of the Christian revolts. Again and again, in villages which had fallen under Turkish disfavour and were therefore subject without cease to murder and arson and pillage, they urged inhabitants to emigrate to Serbia and Bulgaria; and the peasants always answered that that might be the wisest course, but that they could not desert their churches. This was not superstition. Before the altars, the offshoot of Byzantinism had passed the same test as its parent; it had prevented doom from becoming degradation. This woman's face was unresentful, exalted, sensitive to her sorrows yet preoccupied by that which she perceived to be more important, magnificence and its adoration.
ШШшшшшш. Не е наше. Во тапија стои дека е нивно. Македонија сега е грчка. Од таа република македонија сега само "северна "остана. немаме наследство, немаме историја, освен тоа што не не прави да изгледаме џукели и ги глорифицира другите , баш заради тие тапии.
Пошто не е наше, нека гори, да не биде и нивно.
За 100 или иљада години, ако нема докази и документи, не ќе може да се вадат на ништо.
 
Член од
27 јуни 2020
Мислења
1.235
Поени од реакции
2.661
ШШшшшшш. Не е наше. Во тапија стои дека е нивно. Македонија сега е грчка. Од таа република македонија сега само "северна "остана. немаме наследство, немаме историја, освен тоа што не не прави да изгледаме џукели и ги глорифицира другите , баш заради тие тапии.
Пошто не е наше, нека гори, да не биде и нивно.
Во ниедна тапија не стои дека Византија е грчко наследство, престанете да лупате глупости.
 
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