Admiration

Passages

Every passage tagged with this emotion in the Vela corpus. Search the body text, narrow by source or register, click through to a book’s profile to see how the passage sits with the rest of the work.

Page 148 of 288 · 20 per page

• From Macho Sluts (1988)

  Each of his heroes required a different form of worship. Over the years, he had learned how to do tattooing. He had pierced his own tits, perineum, and cock-head to teach himself how to run needles through the body. He had spent weeks constructing an apparatus that could hang a man without killing him, and tested it on himself. He collected, piece by piece, a complete and authentic uniform for an officer of a disbanded and disgraced army that was nevertheless the ultimate fetish of a particularly handsome and worn-out man. The trunk of his car was specially altered so a victim could be kept bound securely there for hours without smothering. A friend of his who owned a ranch kept one stall vacant for his use, equipped with a saddle and bridle tailored for a human beast of burden. He had a trunk full of diving gear, pieces of firemen’s garb, latex garments imported from England and Denmark. He had learned enough kendo to enter a local contest and lose to the appropriate party. Under his bathroom sink, he kept the largest collection of catheters and enema nozzles to be found outside a medical museum. One pursuit had required him to give up coffee and asparagus for months and subsist for three days on nothing but fresh strawberries. Somewhere, in one of his closets, there was even a suitcase containing a makeup kit, a pair of false eyelashes and another pair of equally false tits, a red Spandex minidress, crotchless fishnet hose, a blonde wig, and seven-inch patent leather spike heels. There was nothing, nothing he would not try to learn or concoct or arrange if it would snare a topman, master, sadist, or dominant for a few precious hours. It never occurred to him to wonder what impact he had on the lives of the men he ministered to. He assumed that they continued on exactly as they were before they met him. Why shouldn’t they? Their reputations were not besmirched or tarnished—he never told anyone about his adventures since he knew no one else would understand them. He was available if they wanted him again, so there was no need for them to submit to someone who was less discreet or kind. Why would they feel reduced or humiliated? If he had thought about it, he would have assumed they felt flattered, since he himself felt only gratitude and admiration for them. He was obsessed, and that is not the best frame of mind for tracking one’s impact on the world. He paid no attention at all to his backwash. In other words, he wasn’t watching his ass.

• From Macho Sluts (1988)

  But there were other voices now, reviewers who could tell the difference between a sexual fantasy and an assault. The book got at least some of the credit that it deserved for being thought-provoking, well-written (says the person who revised every story till my eyes bled), unique, and arousing. It was especially wonderful to see reviews that recognized the worth of erotic literature as a form of writing that could challenge the status quo and take readers to a place of liberation as well as help them get horny for a little solo sex or an adventure with a partner (or two or three). But Canada Customs had no sense of humor, no respect for queer sexuality, and above all else, no feminist consciousness. Macho Sluts got confiscated at the border, and became one of the key books defended in a major censorship case. I have no idea how the folks at Little Sister’s Bookstore in Vancouver fought their federal government for so many years. The Supreme Court of Canada eventually agreed that customs officials had indeed overstepped their bounds and were systematically censoring gay literature. They had confiscated issues of The Advocate , gay sex manuals like The Joy of Gay Sex , fiction by Edmund White, John Preston, John Rechy, the books of anti-porn stalwart Andrea Dworkin, and a long list of other gay and lesbian authors. Little Sister’s is still defending queer literature from the bonfire-happy homophobes at the border. Next time you are having trouble buying gifts, consider giving them a donation on behalf of the Lipstick Lesbian or the Club Kid Who Has Everything. So there you are. You’re holding a bit of queer history in your hands. But does it still strike a raw nerve today and make it vibrate until you think you can’t stand it any more, and you just have to come? Why, yes, I think it does. Only you can be the final judge of that, of course, but it’s my hope that the twisted plots and carefully drawn characters in these stories can still take readers on a good, hard ride. It has always been important to me to give my readers stories that flow smoothly, so that they aren’t jolted by inconsistencies or bad grammar.

• From Macho Sluts (1988)

  There were times in our many attempts to import the book that I wish the title had been Submissive Ladies —that would have been a title that would have raised no eyebrows, would have quietly crossed the border, much in the way that Jane Austen’s novels have quietly defined how a young lady should behave. In many ways, Pat Califia’s Macho Sluts is the antidote to Jane Austen; Califia did not simply push the boundaries with this book, she blew up a transnational border, like a burning cigarette in a fireworks warehouse. Strong women in charge of their lives and their sexuality were not something that Canada Customs had much experience with, and it was time that they learned. It is one thing to write an important book in the privacy of your home, hunched over a computer keyboard, just you and the words in front of you. It is entirely another to come out into the light of a judgmental society, eager to condemn all that is confrontational and new. Pat Califia not only talked the talk, Pat walked the walk with the bold and brave defense of the book during our long and important court case. Pioneers who dare to challenge existing codes of conduct often face societal condemnation, and those who truly attempt to change the world in any significant way can expect overwhelming opposition. Pat Califia faced this hostile judgment in a Canadian courtroom and came out the proud victor. Pat Califia will forever remain one of my heroes in our epic fight for the right to choose what we read and view. Now a whole new generation of readers will be able to appreciate the bravery of this important book and author. Please savor and enjoy. Macho Sluts P ATRICK C ALIFIA’S writing and activism have revolutionized the concept of queer sex. He has written over a dozen books, including Coming to Power, Melting Point, No Mercy, and Speaking Sex to Power. His work has been translated into six other languages. Almost ten years ago, Califia transitioned from female to male; he now lives as a bisexual transman in San Francisco. W ENDY C HAPKIS is a Professor of Sociology and Women & Gender Studies at the University of Southern Maine in Portland. She is also the co-author of Dying to Get High: Marijuana as Medicine (New York University Press, 2008).

• From The Story of My Experiments with Truth (An Autobiography) (1927)

  She had once an occasion to take £ 40 from me, but she insisted on having it as a loan, and repaid the full amount last year. Her courage was equal to her sacrifice. She is one of the few women I have been privileged to come across, with a character as clear as crystal and courage that would shame a warrior. She is a grown up woman now. I do not know her mind quite as well as when she was with me, but my contact with this young lady will ever be for me a sacred recollection. I would therefore be false to truth if I kept back what I know about her. She knew neither night nor day in toiling for the cause. She ventured out on errands in the darknes of the night all by herself, and angrily scouted any suggestion of an escort. Thousands of stalwart Indians looked up to her for guidance. When during the Satyagraha days almost every one of the leaders was in jail, she led the movement single- handed. She had the management of thousands, a tremendous amount of correspondence, and Indian Opinion in her hands, but she never wearied. I could go on without end writing thus about Miss Schlesin, but I shall conclude this chapter with citing Gokhale’s estimate of her. Gokhale knew every one of my co-workers. He was pleased with many of them, and would often give his opinion of them. He gave the first place to Miss Schlesin amongst all the Indian and European co-workers. ‘I have rarely met with the sacrifice, the purity and the fearlessness I have seen in Miss Schlesin,’ said he. ‘Amongst your co- workers, she takes the first place in my estimation.’ 92.

• From The Story of My Experiments with Truth (An Autobiography) (1927)

  Pandya it was a thing after his heart. He did not like the campaign to end without someone undergoing suffering in the shape of imprisonment for something done consistently with the principles fof Satyagraha. So he volunteered to remove the onion crop from the field, and in this seven or eight friends joined him. It was impossible for the Government to leave them free. The arrest of Sjt. Mohanlal and his companions added to the people’s enthusiasm. When the fear of jail disappears, repression puts heart into the people. Crowds of them besieged the court-house on the day of the hearing. Pandya and his companions were convicted and sentenced to a brief term of imprisonment. I was of opinion that the conviction was wrong, because the act of removing the onion crop could not come under the definition of ‘theft’ in the Penal Code. But no appeal was filed as the policy was to avoid the law courts. A procession escorted the ‘convicts’ to jail, and on that day Sjt. Mohanlal Pandya earned from the people the honoured title of dungli Chor (onion thief) which he enjoys to this day. The conclusion of the Kheda Satyagraha I will leave to the next chapter. 151.

• From The Story of My Experiments with Truth (An Autobiography) (1927)

  A MONTH WITH GOKHALE -- II Whilst living under Gokhlae’s roof I was far from being a stay-at- home. I had told my Christian friends in South Africa that in India I would meet the Christian Indians and acquint myself with their condition. I had heard of Babu Kalicharan Banerji and held him in high regard. He took a prominent part in the Congress, and I had none of the misgivings about him that I had about the average Christian Indian, who stood aloof from the Congress and isolated himself from Hindus and Musalmans. I told Gokhale that I was thinking of meeting him. He said: ‘What is good of your seeing him? He is a very good man, but I am afraid he will not satisfy you. I know him very well. However, you can certainly meet him if you like?.’ I sought an appointment, which he readly gave me. When I went, I found that his wife was on her death- bed. His house was simple. In the Congress I had seen him in a coat and trusers, but I was glad to find him now wearing a Bengal #dhoti# and shirt. I liked his simple mode of dress, though I myself then wore a Parsi coat and trousers. Without much ado I presented my difficulties to him. He asked: ‘DO you believe in the doctrine of original sin?’ ‘I do,’ said I. ‘Well then, Hinduism offers no absolution therefrom, Christianity does, and added: The wages of sin is death, and the Bible says that the only way of deliverance is surrender unto Jesus.’ I put forward #Bhakti-marga# (the path of devotion) of the #Bhagavadgita#, but to no avail. I thanked him for his goodness. He failed to satisfy me, but I benefited by the interview.

• From Macho Sluts (1988)

  Thank you. You are indispensable and irreplaceable.” Chris had followed Joyous Day down to the Saint Andrew’s cross and was uncoiling her bullwhip. She picked a spot to stand about nine feet from the X-shaped beams and began to take practice shots. The crack of the long whip was as loud as a pistol going off. Joy looked up from arranging her equipment on the cart and shot a fist into the air. “Jah love!” she shouted. “I thought you was an atheist,” Chris shouted back. “I could mebbe bring myself t’believe in your right arm, Chrissie.” The two of them cackled like the hags in Macbeth . Alex put a hand on Tyre’s shoulder. “They all look like pros, madam.” “They are,” she said. Apparently some doubt still lingered. “Yeah, it’s a hot-looking bunch, but how do you know if they’ll follow through?” EZ, absorbed in the tape deck, was still close enough to hear them. She snorted, then smothered her laugh. “Because they got the same test every dominant who works at the Calyx gets. I’ve played with all of them,” Tyre said. “They won’t have any performance problems, believe me.” Take that, you supercilious switch-hitter, she thought. “Well, well. All of them?” “All of the women here tonight. Except Roxanne. Think she’ll follow through?” “Damn straight.” Tyre shrugged. “So don’t sweat the small stuff. Everybody knows it’s really the bottom who runs the scene. EZ, quit dickin’ around with that deck and put on some music. We need something high-energy and mean. Alex, who do you want to bring Roxanne in?” Alex pointed at EZ, who hand just punched in some redneck rock’n’roll, and Joy. “I’ll go along to supervise,” she said, “but I don’t want to say anything or touch her. I want to make absolutely sure she doesn’t know I’m here.” “Better ask Michael to help you, then,” Tyre said. “Don’t take any risk of dropping her. She’s going to be too disorientated by sensory deprivation to walk.” “Aye-aye. Come on, crew. Shanghai time.” Tyre and Kay stolled over to keep Anne-Marie company. They could hear Chris’s bullwhip break the sound barrier, even over the shit-kicking music EZ had put on. Anne-Marie tapped her toe sedately to both rhythms and pumped up the bulb on her Bardex enema apparatus. She smiled at them and slowly released the air, then hung it on something that looked like a steel hat-rack (actually made to hold IV bottles) by the operating table. Then she went over to the wall and took down each cane, examining them minutely for cracks, and took a few practice swishes with each one. She handed one, easily a foot longer than any of the others, to Tyre, who cleaned its tip with an alcohol swap.

• From The Story of My Experiments with Truth (An Autobiography) (1927)

  ‘We will certainly go to jail, provided you lead us. As kathiawadis, we have the first right on you. Of course we do not mean to detain you now, but you must promise to halt here on your return. You will be delighted to see the work and the spirit of our youths, and you may trust us to respond as soon as you summon us.’ Motilal captivated me. His comrade eulogizing him, said: ‘Our friend is but a tailor. But he is such a master of his profession that he easily earns Rs. 15 a month which is just what he needs working an hour a day, and gives the rest of his time to public work. He leads us all, putting our education to shame. Later I came in close contact with Motilal, and I saw that there was no exaggeration in the eulogy. He made a point of spending some days in the then newly started Ashram every month to teach the children tailoring and to do some of the tailoring of the Ashram himself. He would talk to me every day of Viramgam, and the hardships of the passengers, which had become absolutely unbearable for him. He was cut off in the prime of youth by a sudden illness, and public life at Wadhwan suffered without him. On reaching Rajkot, I reported myself to the Medical officer the next morning. I was not unknown there. The Doctor felt ashamed and was angry with the inspector. This was unnecessary, for the inspector had only done his duty. He did not know me, and even if he had known me, he should done have otherwise. The Medical Officer would not let me go to him again insisted on sending an inspector to me instead. Inspection of third class passangers for sanitary reasons is essential on such occasions. If big men choose to travel third, whatever their position in life, they

• From The Story of My Experiments with Truth (An Autobiography) (1927)

  TWO PASSIONS Hardly ever have I known anybody to cherish such loyalty as I did to the British Constitution. I can see now that my love of truth was at the root of this loyalty. It has never been possible for me to simulate loyalty or, for that matter, any other virtue. The national Anthem used to be sung at every meeting that I attended in Natal. I was unaware of the defects in British rule, but I thought that it was on the whole acceptable. In those days I believed that British rule was on the whole beneficial to the ruled. The colour prejudice that I saw in South Africa was, I thought, quite contrary to British traditions, and I believed that it was only temporary and local. I therefore vied with Englishmen in loyalty to the throne. With careful perseverance I learnt the tune of the ‘national anthem’ and joined in the singing whenever it was sung. Whenever there was an occasion for the expression of loyalty without fuss or ostentation, I readily took part in it. Never in my life did I exploit this loyalty, never did I seek to gain a selfish end by its means. It was for me more in the nature of an obligation, and I rendered it without expecting a reward. Preparations were going on for the celebration of Queen Victoria’s Diamond Jubilee when I reached India. I was invited to join the committee appointed for the purpose in Rajkot. I accepted the offer, but had a suspicion that the celebrations would be largely a matter of show. I discovered much humbug about them and was considerably pained. I began to ask myself whether I should remain on the committee or not, but ultimately decided to rest content with doing my part of the business.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  Meanwhile the servant sent to Pavia did his errand to the lady, who, with no womanly, but with a royal spirit, let call in haste a great number of the friends and servants of Messer Torello and made ready all that behoved unto a magnificent banquet. Moreover, she let bid by torchlight many of the noblest of the townfolk to the banquet and bringing out cloths and silks and furs, caused throughly order that which her husband had sent to bid her do. The day come, Saladin and his companions arose, whereupon Messer Torello took horse with them and sending for his falcons, carried them to a neighbouring ford and there showed them how the latter flew; then, Saladin enquiring for some one who should bring him to Pavia and to the best inn, his host said, 'I will be your guide, for that it behoveth me go thither.' The others, believing this, were content and set out in company with him for the city, which they reached about tierce and thinking to be on their way to the best inn, were carried by Messer Torello to his own house, where a good half-hundred of the most considerable citizens were already come to receive the stranger gentlemen and were straightway about their bridles and stirrups. Saladin and his companions, seeing this, understood but too well what was forward and said, 'Messer Torello, this is not what we asked of you; you have done enough for us this past night, ay, and far more than we are worth; wherefore you might now fitly suffer us fare on our way.' 'Gentlemen,' replied Messer Torello, 'for my yesternight's dealing with you I am more indebted to fortune than to you, which took you on the road at an hour when it behoved you come to my poor house; but of your this morning's visit I shall be beholden to yourselves, and with me all these gentlemen who are about you and to whom an it seem to you courteous to refuse to dine with them, you can do so, if you will.'

• From The Story of My Experiments with Truth (An Autobiography) (1927)

  EUROPEAN CONTACTS (Contd.) In Johannesburg I had at one time as many as four Indian clerks, who were perhaps more like my sons than clerks. But even these were not enough for my work. It was impossible to do without typewriting, which, among us, if at all, only I knew. I taught it to two of the clerks, but they never came up to the mark because of their poor English. And then one of these I wanted to train as an accountant. I could not get out anyone from Natal, for nobody could enter the Transvaal without a permit, and for my own personal convenience I was not prepared to ask a favour of the Permit Officer. I was at my wits’ end. Arrears were fast mounting up, so much so that it seemed impossible for me, however much I might try, to cope with professional and public work. I was quite willing to engage a European clerk, but I was not sure to get a white man or woman to serve a coloured man like myself. However I decided to try. I approached a typewriter’s agent whom I knew, and asked him to get me a stenographer. There were girls available, and he promised to try to secure the services of one. He came across a Scotch girl called Miss Dick, who had just come fresh from Scotland. She had no objection to earning an honest livelihood, wherever available, and she was in need. So the agent sent her on to me. She immediately prepossessed me. ‘Don’t you mind serving under an Indian?’ I asked her. ‘Not at all,’ was her firm reply. ‘What salary do you expect?’ ‘Would £ 17/10 be too much?’ ‘Not too much if you will give me the work I want from you. When can you join?’ ‘This moment if you wish.’

• From The Well of Loneliness (1928)

  All alone he had gone over to no-man’s-land and had rescued his friend where he lay unconscious, receiving a bullet through the head at the moment of flinging the wounded man into safety. Roger—so lacking in understanding, so crude, so cruel and remorseless a bully—Roger had been changed in the twinkling of an eye into something superb because utterly selfless. Thus it was that the undying urge of mankind towards the ideal had come upon Roger. And Stephen as she sat there and read of his passing, suddenly knew that she wished him well, that his courage had wiped one great bitterness out of her heart and her life for ever. And so by dying as he had died, Roger, all unknowing, had fulfilled the law that must be extended to enemy and friend alike—the immutable law of service. 4 Events gathered momentum. By the June of that year 700,000 United States soldiers, strong and comely men plucked from their native prairies, from their fields of tall corn, from their farms and their cities, were giving their lives in defence of freedom on the blood-soaked battlefields of France. They had little to gain and much to lose; it was not their war, yet they helped to fight it because they were young and their nation was young, and the ideals of youth are eternally hopeful. In July came the Allied counter-offensive, and now in her moment of approaching triumph France knew to the full her great desolation, as it lay revealed by the retreating armies. For not only had there been a holocaust of homesteads, but the country was strewn with murdered trees, cut down in their hour of most perfect leafing; orchards struck to the ground, an orgy of destruction, as the mighty forces rolled back like a tide, to recoil on themselves—incredulous, amazed, maddened by the outrage of coming disaster. For mad they must surely have been, since no man is a more faithful lover of trees than the German. Stephen as she drove through that devastated country would find herself thinking of Martin Hallam—Martin who had touched the old thorns on the hills with such respectful and pitiful fingers: ‘Have you ever thought about the enormous courage of trees? I have and it seems to me amazing. The Lord dumps them down and they’ve just got to stick it, no matter what happens—that must need some courage.’ Martin had believed in a heaven for trees, a forest heaven for all the faithful; and looking at those pitiful, leafy corpses, Stephen would want to believe in that heaven. Until lately she had not thought of Martin for years, he belonged to a past that was better forgotten, but now she would sometimes wonder about him.

• From The Well of Loneliness (1928)

  Dickie was short, plump and very young; she could not have been more than twenty-one and she still looked considerably under twenty. She was wearing a little dark blue béret; round her neck was knotted an apache scarf — for the rest she was dressed in a neat serge suit with a very well cut double-breasted jacket. Her face was honest, her teeth rather large, her lips chapped and her skin much weather-beaten. She looked like a pleasant and nice-minded schoolboy well soaped and scrubbed for some gala occasion. When she spoke her voice was a little too hearty. She belonged to the younger, and therefore more reckless, more ag- gressive and self-assured generation; a generation that was march- ing to battle with much swagger, much sounding of drums and trumpets, a generation that had come after war to wage a new war on a hostile creation. Being mentally very well clothed and well shod, they had as yet left no blood-stained foot-prints; they were hopeful as yet, refusing point-blank to believe in the existence of a miserable army. They said: ‘ We are as we are; what about it? We don’t care a damn, in fact we’re delighted! ° And being what they were they must go to extremes, must quite often outdo men in their sinning; yet the sins that they had were the sins of youth, the sins of defiance born of oppression. But Dickie was in no way exceptionally vile — she lived her life much as a man would have lived it. And her heart was so loyal, so trustful, so kind that it caused her much shame and much secret blushing. Generous as a lover, she was even more so when there could not be any question of loving. Like the horseleech’s daugh- THE WELL OF LONELINESS 441 ter, her friends cried: ‘ Give! Give!’ and Dickie gave lavishly, asking no questions. An appeal never left her completely un- moved, and suspecting this, most people went on appealing. She drank wine in moderation, smoked Camel cigarettes till her fingers were brown, and admired stage beauties. Her greatest de- fect was practical joking of the kind that passes all seemly limits. Her jokes were dangerous, even cruel at times — in her jokes Dickie quite lacked imagination. Jeanne Maurel was tall, almost as tall as Stephen. An elegant person wearing pearls round her throat above a low cut white satin waistcoat. She was faultlessly tailored and faultlessly bar- bered; her dark, severe Eton crop fitted neatly. Her profile was Greek, her eyes a bright blue — altogether a very arresting young woman. So far she had had quite a busy life doing nothing in particular and everything in general. But now she was Valérie Seymour’s lover, attaining at last to a certain distinction.

• From The Story of My Experiments with Truth (An Autobiography) (1927)

  considerable expenditure. But it was willingly defrayed by patriotic friends, lovers of the motherland, who had faith in Khadi. The money thus spent, in my humble opinion, was not wasted . It brought us a rich store of experience, and revealed to us the possibilities of the spinning wheel. I now grew impatient for the exculsive adoption of Khadi for my dress. Mt dhoti was still of Indian mill cloth. The coarse Khadi manufactured in the Ashram and at Vijapur was only 30 inches in width. I gave notice to Gangabehn that, unless she provided me with a Khadi dhoti of 45 inches with within a month. I would do with coarse, short Khadi dhoti. The ultimatum came upon her as a shock. But she proved equal to the demand made upon her. Well within the month she sent me a pair of Khadi dhotis of 45 inches width, and thus relieved me from what would then have been a difficult situation for me. At about the same time Sjt. Lakshmidas brought Sjt. Ramji, the weaver, with his wife Gangabehn from Lathi to the Ashram and got Khadi dhotis woven at the Ashram. The part played by this couple in the spread of Khadi was by no means insignificant. They initiated a host of persons in Gujarat and also outside into the art of weaving hand- spun yarn. To see Gangabehn at her loom is a stirring sight. When this unlettered but self-possessed sister plies at her loom, she becomes so lost in it that it is difficult to distract her attention, and much more difficult to draw her eyes off her beloved loom. 167.

• From The Story of My Experiments with Truth (An Autobiography) (1927)

  Thereafter I at once advertised for a piece of land situated near a railway station in the vicinity of Durban. An offer came in respect of Phoenix. Mr. West and I went to inspect the estate. Within a week we purchased twenty acres of land. It had a nice little spring and a few orange and mango trees. Adjoining it was a piece of 80 acres which had many more fruit trees and a dilapidated cottage. We purchased this too, the total cost being a thousand pounds. The late Mr. Rustomji always supported me in such enterprises. He liked the project. He placed at my disposal second-hand corrugated iron sheets of a big godown and other building material, with which we started work. Some Indian carpenters and masons, who had worked with me in the Boer War, helped me in erecting a shed for the press. This structure, which was 75 feet long and 50 feet broad, was ready in less than a month. Mr. West and others, at great personal risk, stayed with the carpenters and masons. The place, uninhabited and thickly overgrown with grass, was infested with snakes and obviously dangerous to live in. At first all lived under canvas. We carted most of our things to Phoenix in about a week. It was fourteen miles from Durban, and two and a half miles from Phoenix station. Only one issue of Indian Opinion had to be printed outside, in the Mercury press. I now endeavoured to draw to Phoenix those relations and friends who had come with me from India to try their fortune, and who were engaged in business of various kinds. They had come in search of wealth, and it was therefore difficult to persuade them; but some agreed. Of these I can single out here only Manganlal Gandhi’s name. The others went back to business. Manganlal Gandhi left his business for good to cast in his lot with me, and by ability, sacrifice and devotion stands foremost among my original co-workers in my ethical experiments. As a self-taught handicraftsman his place among them is unique. Thus the Phoenix Settlement was started in 1904, and there in spite of numerous odds Indian Opinion continues to be published. But the initial difficulties, the changes made, the hopes and the disappointments demand a separate chapter. 99.

• From The Wrestler: A Life of Passion and the Pursuit of Greatness (2016)

  and wholeness to our lives and to our world. Bravo Michael Fessler! – Jack Spates, MDiv Baptist Bible Seminary, and former Head Wrestling Coach at the University of Oklahoma Fessler moves into round two with a dominant lead. In this second writing, he continues the essence of the brutality of life and godliness that is embodied in wrestling. Only those who have endured the grueling final minutes of a wrestling match can understand the pain, agony and torment that your soul endures. But somehow, I get the feeling that those who dare to read his thoughts will experience the same. Each line in this book is thought provoking and challenging. Each paragraph you complete leaves you with a sense of accomplishment. And by the time you complete the book, you will be champion minded and ready for even more. – Fred Corona, Pastor at Celebration Church (Las Vegas, NV) and the author of Beyond the End As with his first book, Fessler is able to wrestle with challenging issues of making Christianity meaningful to those who aren’t churchgoers but consider themselves to be spiritual and are seeking “something more” to their lives...as well as to Christians who may have lost some of the intimacy that was foundational to their faith in earlier times. Nor does one have to be a theologian – or even someone who knows the Bible backwards and forwards – to gain from reading They’re Just Not Interested. Michael Fessler has a gift for making his case in the clearest language, often referring to his own life story and faith journey to make the book all the more compelling and clear. – Intermatwrestle.com The Wrestler: A Life of Passion and the Pursuit of Greatness By Michael Fessler ©2016

• From The Decameron (1353)

  The Saracens marvelled and manifestly perceived that Messer Torello was minded to leave no particular of hospitality undone them; nay, seeing the magnificence of the unmerchantlike gowns, they misdoubted them they had been recognized of him. However, one of them made answer to the lady, saying, 'Madam, these are very great matters and such as should not lightly be accepted, an your prayers, to which it is impossible to say no, constrained us not thereto.' This done and Messer Torello being now returned, the lady, commending them to God, took leave of them and let furnish their servants with like things such as sorted with their condition. Messer Torello with many prayers prevailed upon them to abide with him all that day; wherefore, after they had slept awhile, they donned their gowns and rode with him somedele about the city; then, the supper-hour come, they supped magnificently with many worshipful companions and in due time betook themselves to rest. On the morrow they arose with day and found, in place of their tired hackneys, three stout and good palfreys, and on likewise fresh and strong horses for their servants, which when Saladin saw, he turned to his companions and said, 'I vow to God that never was there a more accomplished gentleman nor a more courteous and apprehensive than this one, and if the kings of the Christians are kings of such a fashion as this is a gentleman, the Soldan of Babylon can never hope to stand against a single one of them, not to speak of the many whom we see make ready to fall upon him.' Then, knowing that it were in vain to seek to refuse this new gift, they very courteously thanked him therefor and mounted to horse.

• From History of the Christian Church: The Complete Set of Eight Volumes (1858)

  The patriotism of ancient Greece and republican Rome, while it commands our admiration by the heroic devotion and sacrifice to the country, was after all an extended selfishness, and based upon the absolutism of the State and the disregard of the rights of the individual citizen and the foreigner. It was undermined by causes independent of Christianity. The amalgamation of different nationalities in the empire extinguished sectionalism and exclusivism, and opened the wide view of a universal humanity. Stoicism gave this cosmopolitan sentiment a philosophical and ethical expression in the writings of Seneca, Epictetus, and Marcus Aurelius. Terence embodied it in his famous line: "Homo sum: humani nihil a me alienum puto." But Christianity first taught the fatherhood of God, the redemption by Christ, the common brotherhood of believers, the duty of charity for all men made in the image of God. It is true that monasticism, which began to develop itself already in the third century, nursed indifference to the state and even to the family, and substituted the total abandonment of the world for its reformation and transformation. It withdrew a vast amount of moral energy and enthusiasm from the city to the desert, and left Roman society to starvation and consumption. But it preserved and nursed in solitude the heroism of self-denial and consecration, which, in the collapse of the Roman empire, became a converting power of the barbarian conquerors, and laid the foundation for a new and better civilization. The decline and fall of the Roman empire was inevitable; Christianity prolonged its life in the East, and diminished the catastrophe of its collapse in the West, by converting and humanizing the barbarian conquerors.621 St. Augustin pointed to the remarkable fact that amid the horrors of the sack of Rome by the Goths, "the churches of the apostles and the crypts of the martyrs were sanctuaries for all who fled to them, whether Christian or pagan," and "saved the lives of multitudes who impute to Christ the ills that have befallen their city."622 § 97. The Church and Slavery. See Lit. vol. I. § 48, especially Wallon’s Histoire de l’esclavage (Paris, new ed. 1879, 3 vols). Comp. also V. Lechler: Sklaverei und Christenthum. Leipzig, 1877, 1878; Theod. Zahn: Sklaverei und Christenthum In Der Alten Welt. Heidelberg, 1879. Overbeck: Verh. d. alten Kirche zur Sclaverei im röm. Reiche. 1875.

• From History of the Christian Church: The Complete Set of Eight Volumes (1858)

  The Stoic philosophy was born in Greece, but grew into manhood in Rome. It was predestinated for that stern, grave, practical, haughty, self-governing and heroic character which from the banks of the Tiber ruled over the civilized world.569 In the Republican period Cato of Utica lived and died by his own hand a genuine Stoic in practice, without being one in theory. Seneca, the contemporary of St. Paul, was a Stoic in theory, but belied his almost Christian wisdom in practice, by his insatiable avarice, anticipating Francis Bacon as "the wisest, brightest, meanest of mankind."570 Half of his ethics is mere rhetoric. In Epictetus and Marcus Aurelius the Stoic theory and practice met in beautiful harmony, and freed from its most objectionable features. They were the last and the best of that school which taught men to live and to die, and offered an asylum for individual virtue and freedom when the Roman world at large was rotten to the core. Stoicism is of all ancient systems of philosophy both nearest to, and furthest from, Christianity: nearest in the purity and sublimity of its maxims and the virtues of simplicity, equanimity, self-control, and resignation to an all-wise Providence; furthest in the spirit of pride, self-reliance, haughty contempt, and cold indifference. Pride is the basis of Stoic virtue, while humility is the basis of Christian holiness; the former is inspired by egotism, the latter by love to God and man; the Stoic feels no need of a Saviour, and calmly resorts to suicide when the house smokes; while the Christian life begins with a sense of sin, and ends with triumph over death; the resignation of the Stoic is heartless apathy and a surrender to the iron necessity of fate; the resignation of the Christian, is cheerful submission to the will of an all-wise and all-merciful Father in heaven; the Stoic sage resembles a cold, immovable statue, the Christian saint a living body, beating in hearty sympathy with every joy and grief of his fellow-men. At best, Stoicism is only a philosophy for the few, while Christianity is a religion for all. § 91. Epictetus. Epicteti. Dissertationum ab Arriano digestarum Libri IV. Euiusdem Enchiridion et ex deperditis Sermonibus Fragmenta ... recensuit ... Joh. Schweighäuser. Lips. 1799, 1800. 5 vols. The Greek text with a Latin version and notes. The Works of Epictetus. Consisting of his Discourses, in four books, the Enchiridion, and Fragments. A translation from the Greek, based on that of Mrs. Elizabeth Carter, by Thomas Wentworth Higginson. Boston (Little, Brown & Co.), 1865. A fourth ed. of Mrs. Carter’s translation was published in 1807 with introduction and notes. The Discourses of Epictetus, with the Enchiridion and Fragments. Translated, with Notes, etc., by George Long. London (George Bell & Sons), 1877. There are also other English, as well as German and French, versions.

• From History of the Christian Church: The Complete Set of Eight Volumes (1858)

  "Calvin fut, dans le protestantisme, après Luther, ce qu’est la conséquance après le principe; dans la Suisse, ce qu’est la règle après une révolution.... Calvin, s’il n’avait ni le génie de l’invention ni celui de la conquète; s’il n’était ni un révolutionnaire comme Luther ni un missionaire comme Farel, il avait une force de logique qui devait pousser plus loin la réforme du premier, et une faculté d’organisation qui devait achever l’oeuvre du second. C’est par là qu’il renouvela la face du protestantisme at qu’il constitua Genève." Jules Michelet (1798–1874). Histoire de France, vol. XI. (Les Guerres De Religion), Paris, 1884, pp. 88, 89, 92. "C’était un travailleur terrible, avec un air souffrant, une constitution misérable et débile, veillant, s’usant, se consumant, ne distinguant ni nuit ni jour.... "C’était une langue inouïe [Calvin’s French style], la nouvelle langue française. Vingte ans après Commines, trente ans avant Montaigne, dejà la langue de Rousseau.... Son plus redoutable attribut, c’est sa pénétrante clarté, son extrême lumière d’argent, plutôt d’acier, d’une lame qui brille, mais qui tranche. On sent que cette lumière vient du dedans, du fond de la conscience, d’un coeur âprement convaincu, dont la logique est l’aliment.... "Le fond de ce grand et puissant théologien était d’être un légiste. Il l’était de culture, d’esprit, de caractère. Il en avait les deux tendances: l’appel au juste, au vrai, un àpre besoin de justice; mais, d’autre part aussi, l’esprit dur, absolu, des tribunaux d’alors, et it le porta dans la théologie.... La prédestination de Calvin se trouva, en pratique, une machine a faire des martyrs." Bon Louis Henri Martin (1810–1883). Histoire de France depuis les temps les plus reculés jusqu’en 1789, Tom. VIII. p. 325, of the fourth edition, Paris, 1860. Crowned by the French Academy. Martin, in his standard work, thus describes the influence of Calvin upon the city of Geneva: "Calvin ne la sauve pas seulement, mais conquiert â cette petite ville une grandeur, une puissance morale immense. Il en fait la capitale de la Réforme, autant que la Réforme peut avoir une capitale, pour la moitié du monde protestant, avec une vaste influence, acceptée ou subie, sur l’autre moitié. Genève n’est rien par la population, par les armes, par le territoire: elle est tout par l’esprit. Un seul avantage matériel lui garantit tons ses avantages moraux: son admirable position, qui fait d’elle une petite France républicaine et protestante, indépendante de la monarchie catholique de France et â l’abri de l’absorption monarchique et catholique; la Suisse protestante, alliée nécessaire de la royauté française contre l’empereur, couvre Genève par la politique vis-à-vis du roi et par l’épée contra les maisons d’Autriche et de Savoie." Ernest Renan (1823–1892). Renan, a member of the French Academy, a brilliant genius, and one of the first historians of France, was educated for the Roman Catholic priesthood, but became a skeptic. This makes his striking tribute all the more significant. From his article on John Calvin in his Études d’histoire religieuse, 7th ed. Paris, 1880, pp. 337–367.