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.

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• From Action (2014)

  Listen closely: Charisma isn’t anything but the skillful delivery of focused attention. I have a rampant case of ADHD and still know better than to interrupt. Or maybe, because my brain is inclined to tug me in every direction at once, I have carefully practiced the great art of clamming up for a change. Pretend you have ADHD, I guess? Just don’t extend that to neural drifting while someone speaks to you. Endeavor to hear them as though you’ll be tested on the information later. Unlike coursework: If you know squat about the material at hand, listening closely becomes even easier. The interests belonging to my past sexual partners that I thought were most captivatingly hot never coincided with my own. Oral histories of anything I’ve never previously been inclined to be curious about absolutely do it for me: I don’t care much about clothes, but I was totally fascinated and charmed when one dude rhapsodized about the structures and colorways of classic sneakers. I maintain no grandiose passion for primatology, but the dude I saw who knew everything there was to know about chimpanzees was going to get smashed from the second he said the words “animal behaviorism.” Encouraging people to talk about the things they care for most in the world is equitably rad for both parties—watch your orator’s enthusiasm compound and compound as they motormouth their greatest loves at you. They seem equal parts blissed out, relaxed, engaged, and excited, right? Hmm… in which other kinds of interactions is that a totally advantageous state of mind? (Which is to say… of bodyyy?) You are going to hella learn from the tiny colloquia people spout your way when you ask them what they think the best thing in the world is. Making people feel heard, as with making them feel seen, is valuable even if you don’t score. You collect its primary benefit—personal edification—and then the added bonus of being able to offer it up to other dreamboats in future conversations about the topic at hand. Either way, once you train your ears to pick up each and every frequency coming outta the mouths of others: Buy some condoms, because people not only LURVE talking about themselves, but also boning the people who allow for and adore that.

• From The Nasty Bits: Collected Varietal Cuts, Usable Trim, Scraps, and Bones (2006)

  Or do you want somebody who's come up the hard way? A guy who has started at the bottom, worked his way up, educated himself, step by step, station by station in the intricacies of your particular operation—who knows where everything is, in every corner of your restaurant, who has been shown, again and again until it's implanted in his cell structure, the way you want it cooked? He may not know what a soubise is, but he can sure make one! He may not know the term monter au beurre, or know who Vatel was—but who cares? Vatel punked out over a late fish delivery and offed himself like a bad poet. Somebody had to cover his station the next day. Manuel would have shrugged and soldiered on. No shrieking and wailing and rending of garments for Manuel. He's a professional, not some flighty "artist" who can't handle a little pressure. No disrespect to my alma mater. The CIA is, without question, the finest professional culinary school in the country, maybe the world. It has, in my lifetime, raised the level of performance, the expectation of excellence, to previously unseen heights. To graduate from the CIA—or any other major culinary school—ensures basic, standardized knowledge of history, terminology, and procedures of our trade. A CIA diploma should, and does, mean a lot to potential employers; it represents an accumulation of valuable classroom experience and impeccable standards. But it is no guarantee of character. It speaks nothing of one's heart and soul and willingness to work, to learn, to grow—or one's ability to endure. The Mexican ex-dishwashers usually come from a culture where cooking and family are important. They have, more often than not, a family to provide for, and are used to being responsible for others. They are, more than likely, inured to regimes despotic, ludicrous, and hostile. They've known hardship—real hardship. The incongruities, contradictions, and petty injustices of kitchen life are nothing new compared to la mor-dida, wherein every policeman is a potential extortionist, and what was, until recently, a one-party system. You see an expression on the faces of veteran American cooks who've been around the block a few times, had their butts kicked, a look that says, "I expect the worst—and I'm ready for it." The Mexican ex-dishwasher has that look from the get-go.

• From The Genius of Judy: How Judy Blume Rewrote Childhood for All of Us (2023)

  Why are we talking about intercourse with four- and five-year-olds? If a four- or five-year-old wants to know how a sperm and egg meet, that’s fine, it’s not harmful to them, but it’s also not in any way relevant to them.” What is relevant to them—or will be so much sooner than conception—is what it feels like to have a body that’s constantly in flux, in a world where allusions to sex are all around, all the time, in songs, on billboards, in television commercials, and on YouTube. “Kids are [watching] movies and have feelings about things. Kids overhear other older siblings listening to music. Kids know about advertising. They hear other kids say stuff about gender,” Silverberg said. They need to learn how to process all these stimuli through their own eyes and not through the eyes of a pedantic adult, Silverberg went on. “We’re figuring out ways to help young people learn, in their own way, in their own path, in a way that honors all the things that they already know,” Silverberg said of their colorful comic-style books with artist Fiona Smyth. “When you’re seven, you’ve lived a lifetime in your seven-year-old body and nobody knows what that’s like other than you.” Judy Blume understood that. She got it, instinctively, and was able to authentically channel a pre-teen’s perspective better than anyone else could. That was the thrust and the sparkle of her talent. Her genius, if you will. The literary gatekeepers finally started to recognize Blume’s unique contribution. Ironically, the relentless attacks on her books in the 1980s served to put her in a category with the world’s finest writers. In 1989, after Ayatollah Khomeini issued his fatwa against Salman Rushdie, authors gathered at the Atlanta-Fulton central library to read aloud from The Satanic Verses , as well as other frequently banned books, including Henry Miller’s Tropic of Cancer and Blume’s novels. Before that, in November 1987, the then-forty-nine-year-old Judy was dubbed a Library Lion by the New York Public Library, among a class of fellow honorees that included Raymond Carver, Mary McCarthy, and Harold Pinter. On a Wednesday night, Blume flitted among the city’s literati—and its stylish upper crust—for a decadent dinner of beef Stroganoff in the ornate Stephen A. Schwarzman Building’s Special Collections room, heralded by trumpets. The author of popular children’s books, who had been dismissed for so long as a purveyor of addictive, junky pseudo-literature, accepted a gold medallion strung from a red ribbon around her neck. Fashion designer Bill Blass chaired the event; Jacqueline Onassis, Brooke Astor, and Oscar de la Renta were among the posh crowd, cheering her on. Judy had something else to celebrate that night: she was a newlywed. Before they tied the knot, she and George had lived together for the better part of a decade. They’d sold the house in Santa Fe and moved back to New York City, buying a country home in western Connecticut.

• From Apprenticed to Venus: My Secret Life with Anaïs Nin (2017)

  I knew that upon Anaïs’s return from a European trip, she would want to see my commune. She was avid about keeping up with the alternative culture scene: she’d tramped through a field to see geodesic domes, attended love-ins and sit-ins, and turned me on to Judy Chicago’s feminist art installations. So as I was driving to Silver Lake, I formulated my plan. I’d invite her to the commune for a collectively prepared dinner, and afterwards in our expansive living room, she could address my women’s group and class. I’d prove to Clara that Anaïs didn’t consider our group small potatoes. I’d offer Anaïs my course speaker stipend, because I knew she would appreciate the resonance that I was proffering her a real invitation, with a real stipend, for a real university event, whereas my apprenticeship had begun seven years earlier by sending a fictitious invitation, with a fictitious stipend, for a nonexistent university event. That’s the way it was with Anaïs. Whatever she imagined—her mariage a trois, her literary stardom, her financial independence—eventually actualized. She had taught me to dream and to actualize my dreams as she had. When I entered the open front door, Anaïs and Renate were huddled on the built-in couch, discussing their facelift experiences. They changed the subject, knowing that as a doctrinaire feminist now, I considered plastic surgery to hide a woman’s age politically incorrect. After I’d kissed their lifted cheeks, they insisted on hearing all about my new Women’s Lit class. It was the first time anyone had taught Anaïs’s Diaries in a university. Anaïs wanted to know the other authors on my syllabus, but when I listed Virginia Woolf, Doris Lessing, Maya Angelou, Sylvia Plath, and Nikki Giovanni, she wrinkled her nose in distaste while nodding discreetly. I described the first meeting of my class, when eager young women had lined up in the hallway and poured out into the courtyard, hoping to get on the waiting list. “They limited the enrollment to thirty-two, and over a hundred women showed up!” I enthused. “One guy pushed his way into the classroom and shouted, ‘This is sexism! I should be able to take this class!’” “What did you say?” Renate was enjoying this. “I told him, ‘This class is for women only. There are plenty of classes you can take that were designed just for men.’” “Did he leave?” Renate asked. “No! He threatened to sue me and the university for discrimination against him for being the wrong gender!” Renate exclaimed, “Oh, no, Tristine!” After her ordeal of being sued and losing her house to her contractor, Renate was terrified of lawsuits. “That kid won’t sue me,” I assured Renate. “I told him he could get in line with the women in the hallway and sign up on the waiting list. I said, ‘I promise you, you’ll have as much of a chance of getting in the class as they do, so you are being treated equally.’”

• From Escape (2007)

  But I came into the world as a feisty seven-pound baby, my mother’s second daughter. My father said she could name me Carolyn or Annette. She looked up both names and decided to call me Carolyn because it meant “wisdom.” My mother always said that even as a baby, I looked extremely wise to her. I was born into six generations of polygamy on my mother’s side and started life in Hildale, Utah, in a fundamentalist Mormon community known as the FLDS, or the Fundamentalist Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. Polygamy was the issue that defined us and the reason we’d split from the mainstream Mormon Church. My childhood memories really begin in Salt Lake City. We moved there when I was about five. Even though my parents believed in polygamy, my father had only one wife. He owned a small real estate business that was doing well and decided it made sense to use Salt Lake as a base. We had a lovely house with a porch swing and a landscaped yard and trees. This was a big change from the tiny house in Colorado City with dirt and weeds in the yard and a father who was rarely home. But the biggest difference in moving to Salt Lake City was that my mother, Nurylon, was happy. She loved the city and delighted in having my father home every night after work. My dad was doing well, and Mom had enough money to buy plenty of groceries when we went to the store and even had some extra for toys. There were soon four of us. I had two sisters, Linda and Annette. I was in the middle—Linda was eighteen months older than I and Annette two years younger. My baby brother Arthur arrived a few years after Annette. My mother was thrilled to finally have a son because in our culture, boys have more value than girls. Linda and my mother were very close. But my mother always seemed very irritated by me, in part, I think, because I was my father’s favorite. I adored my dad, Arthur Blackmore. He was tall and thin, with large bones and dark, wavy hair. I remember that whenever we were around other families I thought I had the best-looking father in the entire world. I saw him as my personal protector and felt safe when I was in his presence. His face lit up when I entered the room; I was always the daughter he wanted to introduce when friends visited our house. My mother complained that he didn’t discipline me as much as he did my sister Linda, but he ignored her and didn’t seem to care.

• From Apprenticed to Venus: My Secret Life with Anaïs Nin (2017)

  “That was good.” Anaïs smiled. She didn’t approve of men being seen as the enemy. She repeatedly reminded me that a woman should be responsible for her own emotional issues and not put them on the man. I shared with Anaïs and Renate my mother’s reaction when I’d told her about my consciousness group’s victory in getting funding for our classes. “That’s wonderful, Trissy!” Mother’s heavily jowled face, exhausted from overwork, had lifted with a rare smile of hope and pride. It was the same with Renate and Anaïs. Their faces were already lifted, and they were already full of hope because of the success of Anaïs’s Diaries; but they glowed, too, with pride for what we younger women had accomplished. This gave me my opening. I invited Anaïs to address my class and women’s group. “Don’t you dare, Anaïs!” Renate butted in. “You have to preserve your strength.” Damn, Renate was working at a cross-purpose. I should have talked to her beforehand. I moaned to Anaïs, “Oh, my students will be so disappointed if you don’t come!” Anaïs looked stricken at the thought of disappointing them. She routinely accepted speaking engagements at remote Midwestern colleges where she had to sleep in associate professors’ guestrooms, and she personally answered every letter she received in sack loads because, she said, “I don’t want my readers to feel rejected. I know what that feels like.” True, she loved the rock star reception when she entered an overflowing auditorium, but in fairness she loved her admirers back. She invited to her parties at the Silver Lake house the loneliest souls met on her travels, people who had told her their sob stories in their letters and then stalked her for, in their floaty words, “a touch of her magic.” She felt it was her job to save them, so Renate and I would find ourselves having to socialize with these airheaded young people—the painfully shy poet who would only speak if asked a question, the girl disfigured in a riding accident who kept one side of her face angled away from you, the runaway with the bad teeth, and the recently released ex-con—all sipping Chablis while standing next to Bebe Barron, a pioneer of electronic music; or James Herlihy, whose novel Midnight Cowboy had become an Academy Award–winning movie. Anaïs would glide over to talk to the most awkward and shy guest at the party and shame the rest of us into following her example. She described herself accurately when she wrote that out of her father calling her ugly as a child had come her x-ray vision. People were made of crystal for her. She saw right through their defects—the humped back, the duck walk, the embarrassing acne—straight to their essence, the shadow of their disappointments, the outline of their desires, the glow of their dreams. She completely lacked snobbery and practiced an almost saintly kindness.

• From Apprenticed to Venus: My Secret Life with Anaïs Nin (2017)

  I’d seen photos of her male psychiatrists Rene Allende and Otto Rank, both of whom she’d told me she’d slept with to “help return them to their bodies.” The thought of Anaïs giving charity sex to these aggressively ugly men revolted me. Yet, as they had, I was now playing on her saintly impulses to get what I wanted, and Renate knew exactly what I was doing. “How can your students be disappointed?” Renate chided me. “Did you promise them Anaïs’s appearance without even asking her?” I thought Anaïs would object, “Oh, I enjoy the appearances. They energize me,” as she always did when Renate tried to get her to slow down. Instead, she sighed, “I am getting tired of repeating myself. And I’m beginning to feel, I don’t know, insincere.” This was something new! In response to Renate’s and my double-take, Anaïs explained, “I say I value intimacy, but the crowds of people are the opposite of intimate. I don’t think all this celebrity is good for me.” “Now you see the horror of fame,” Renate said with satisfaction. “It’s not that bad, Renate.” Anaïs’s laugh was a tiny cough. “Besides, this would be for Tristine.” She smiled on me. “And it’s not like I have to get on a plane.” “And it will be intimate,” I promised. “It’ll only be the fourteen women from my consciousness group, my thirty students, and my five commune members.” “You moved into the commune, Tristine?” Anaïs exclaimed. “We found a mansion in Santa Monica. We have an acre of grounds and a big rolling lawn in front.” “I’ve visited communes.” Renate wrinkled her aristocratic nose. “I don’t object to the polymorphously perverse sex, but the houses are so unkempt.” “Not ours. We have the cleanest, most anally retentive commune ever.” Anaïs laughed, but Renate harrumphed. “Well, that doesn’t sound like the Birkenstock communes I’ve seen. What about Jadu?” Renate was always concerned about my cat. She’d identified him as my “familiar.” “He’s the house mascot,” I said. “I assume you play musical beds.” Renate raised a penciled eyebrow. “No! I told you, Renate, it’s a socio-political experiment.” Anaïs coaxed, “Come now. You can’t tell us that there isn’t at least one man in this commune you find desirable.” After Neal’s disappearance, Sabina had returned to me, and now my varied sex life provided entertainment for our little cabal. “Give us the latest installment in the Adventures of Donna Juana,” Anaïs commanded gaily. “Donna Juana has found a Don Juan,” I began. “That sounds promising!” Anaïs sang. “What’s his name?” “Don.” “No, his real name.” “Don Brannon. The problem is he’s my brother.” “No, Tristine!” Anaïs cried. “I thought you were an only child.” Renate scowled. “I told you before, I have a younger sister and a half-brother.” I was concerned about Renate; she was struggling financially, doing temp work assisting old people, and I was afraid the stress was affecting her usually impeccable memory.

• From Christian Saints

  13. Martín de Porres: Healer of Peru Being a man of practical mind (and the one who had to clean up infirmary messes), he strictly instructed them not to urinate indoors—and they obeyed. Martín’s Journey to Sainthood Martín’s asceticism, his humility, and his miraculous healing touch made him a highly respected figure in a society that was desperately seeking new holy models to help make sense of their world. Scholars have pointed out that Martín’s attraction as a saint and his characterization as a saint were very much molded by his blended identities. He was the kind of holy intermediary the Catholic Church and its laity were searching for, intimately connected with societies that were a fusion of old and new, of brutal oppression and growing faith communities. In 1639, having served El Rosario and the people of Lima for 40 years, Martín succumbed to typhoid fever. He was already considered a holy man, almost a living saint, and his community was acutely attuned to this fact as he lay dying. Martín asked his superiors for permission to die without being questioned about his mystical experiences and visions. This may have been from humility, or it may have been his order’s desire to spare Martín’s cult additional scrutiny from the Inquisition, which made a habit of examining mystics’ texts for signs of heretical beliefs. Testimony began to be gathered in 1660, but Martín’s process moved slowly through the Vatican. He was identified as a “venerable” a century later. The next phase came in step with the abolitionist movement. In 1837, he was beatified with his compatriot Juan Macias, 2 years before Gregory XVI condemned the transatlantic slave trade in his bull In supremo apostolatus. With the rise of the civil rights movement, the Vatican was moved to seek additional evidence of miracles attached to his cult that could be verified under the new requirements. He was canonized on May 6, 1962. John XXIII’s homily on the occasion portrayed him as the “vindication of all the oppressed of the world.” Martín de Porres’s feast day is November 3, and he is the patron saint of social justice, mixed-race peoples, barbers, and public health workers. 101 13. Martín de Porres: Healer of Peru Martín’s cult was always strong in Peru, where he is remembered by the sobriquet Fray Escoba (“the man of the broom”). Reading Cussen, Celia L. Black Saint of the Americas: The Life and Afterlife of Martín de Porres. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2014. 102

• From The Mystical Tradition

  4. Through writings and personal contacts, Merton also engaged pressing social issues of the day, such as the civil rights movement, the Cold War, and nuclear armament. B. Pierre Teilhard de Chardin (1881(cid:16)1955) was a Jesuit priest and paleontologist who sought to fuse the horizons of evolutionary science and faith. 1. He participated in significant scientific discoveries (such as the discovery of Peking man in 1929) while remaining faithful to the priesthood and his vow of obedience. His controversial views circulated privately because of censorship by the Vatican and were published posthumously. 2. In The Phenomenon of Man (1955), Teilhard offered an evolutionary interpretation of spirit (consciousness) as arising from the complexification of matter in accord with God’s plan, leading to the development of a cosmic “Noosphere.” 3. The greatest challenge to humanity was moral: Would humans evolve toward unity or divisiveness? Teilhard’s hope is expressed in the phrase: “Everything that rises must converge.” 4. Shorter writings, such as those found in Hymn of the Universe (1965), show the roots of his vision in an intense mystical outlook. C. Simone Weil (1909(cid:16)1943) was a brilliant philosopher and political activist whose mysticism stayed on the fringes of Christianity. 1. Raised in an agnostic Jewish family with a brilliant sibling, from childhood, she identified with the poor and outcast. She was a Marxist, fought in the Spanish Civil War and worked for a time in a factory. Her severe fasting may have been a form of anorexia; she died from tuberculosis at the age of 34. 2. Weil had powerful mystical experiences in 1937 that drew her to Catholicism, and she corresponded with a priest, but on principle, she was never baptized, finding much to embrace in “outsiders” to Christianity. 3. In her published work, her view of reality has striking similarities to forms of Kabbalism, and her mystic sensibility has a strong element of affliction. Recommended Reading: Weil, S. Waiting for God. 102 ©2008 The Teaching Company. Questions to Consider: 1. Discuss the ways in which modernity in thought and in fact has threatened the credibility of Christian convictions. 2. How do the three mystics of modernity (Merton, Teilhard, and Weil) exemplify a “move toward the world”? ©2008 The Teaching Company. 103

• From The Mystical Tradition

  those of 71 other masters, in the Friends of God by Faridu d-Din ‘Attar (d. 1230). 1. The significance of, and reasons for, honoring R(cid:407)bi’a as a woman are explained in the first sections of the book. 2. The individual entries by R(cid:407)bi’a resemble those found in the Christian Sayings of the Desert Fathers and the ancient chreia. 3. R(cid:407)bi’a lived a life of extreme poverty and trust in Allah, exhibiting utterly selfless devotion. 4. Her sanctity is marked by the wonders that are attributed to her. B. Abu Yazid al-Bistami (d. 874) was a Persian who grew up in a family of ascetics and was noted for his dramatic experiences and the radical statements he made with reference to his states. 1. We have several versions of Bistami’s miraj, including that in ‘Attar’s Friends of God: Like the Prophet, he ascends to the seventh heaven, then flies freely through all the Earth. 2. The scholastic character of the early Sufi movement is seen in The Book of Flashes by Abu Nasr as-Sarraj (d. 988), in which Junayd and Sarraj engage in an imaginary dialogue interpreting Bistami’s shocking statements. III. The writing of early masters reveals the serious intellectual attention given to the Sufi’s path toward al-haqq. A. In The Book of Observance of the Rights of God, al-Muhasibi (d. 857) uses the form of a dialogue between master and student to elaborate a moral psychology that focuses on the elimination of human egoism. B. In his exposition of the seven stages in The Book of Flashes, as- Sarraj proceeds dialectically, treating the views of the beginners, then the select, then the knowing, building, in this fashion, a complex understanding of each stage in conversation with earlier authorities. C. In the short essays called Some Points on Tawhid (unity), al- Junayd offers four remarkably compressed statements on the mystic’s experience of annihilation (fana). IV. One of the most controversial figures in the history of Sufism is Mansur al-Hallaj (d. 922), whose life and teaching generated both rejection and admiration. ©2008 The Teaching Company. 121

• From The Mystical Tradition

  A. Born in Iran, Hallaj made a pilgrimage to Mecca and traveled and taught extensively; he studied with Junayd but was ultimately rejected by him. 1. It is not clear whether the controversy surrounding Hallaj arose from his popularization of Sufi teachings outside the taquiya or the radical character of his statements concerning Tawhid: “I am al-haqq. I am truth.” 2. He was brought to trial for heresy in the ‘Abbasid capital of Baghdad, imprisoned, tortured, and executed; the manner in which he bore his trials was much admired. B. The few extant writings from al-Hallaj show that he was a serious student of the Sufi way. 1. In addition to collected aphorisms (The Sayings of Hallaj) and some poetry of disputed attribution, only a single sustained work of al-Hallaj remains, the Tawasin. 2. In the Tawasin, Hallaj reflects on Iblis (the devil) as a tragic lover. Recommended Reading: Sells, M. A. Early Islamic Mysticism (Classics of Western Spirituality.) Questions to Consider: 1. Comment on the remarkable sophistication of the Sufi way already in the early centuries of the Islamic era. 2. How do the statements of oneness with Allah affect the perception of what constitutes Monotheism? 122 ©2008 The Teaching Company. Lecture Thirty-One The Limits of Mysticism—Al-Ghazzali Scope: The first centuries of Islam saw both a spectacular spread of the religion and an explosion of intellectual energy. Islam provided the context for innovative speculation in philosophy and theology. This lecture touches on some of the issues raised, their influence on medieval Jewish and Christian thinkers, and the contributions made by one of Islam’s most important thinkers, Abu Hamed Mohammad ibn Mohammad al-Ghazzali, whose life as a Sufi was exemplary and whose intellectual labors brought mystical speculation firmly within the framework of the Shari’ah. Outline I. The creative energy unleashed by early Islam expressed itself not only in political and religious expansion but equally in cultural excellence. A. In virtually every field—mathematics, science, medicine, architecture, literature, and music—Muslim contributions were superior to their Christian counterparts in Europe. 1. The era of Islamic ascendancy was that of Europe’s darkest hours, from the 7th to the 9th centuries. 2. Europe only slowly caught up with the period of Islam’s greatest brilliance, from the 10th to the 12th centuries, with the universities that came into being in the 12th and 13th centuries. B. Internal to Islam, the same creative impulses led to intellectual tensions that required attention. 1. Could ijtihad (“free inquiry”) be applied as much to the doctrines of Islam as to its law? This is the question of theology (kalam). 2. Was there any possibility of reconciling the rational inquiry associated especially with Greek philosophy and the Qur’an? 3. Were there limits to the Sufi experience for it to remain within Islam? C. On each of these points, one of the great figures in the history of Islam, Abu Hamed Mohammad ibn Mohammad al-Ghazzali (1058(cid:16)1111), made a fundamental contribution. ©2008 The Teaching Company. 123

• From Augustine: A New Biography (2005)

  Without the Confessions, a work so preternaturally designed to survive the decay and rebirth of several cycles of western cultural imagination since his lifetime, perhaps he would not be so elusive. Other writers of Christian late antiquity can be found who have in their works as much poetry and imagination and passion as Augustine does. John Chrysostom, Gregory the Great, and the fathers of the Greek Philocalia all have their followers and devout readers today, and even the impassioned John Cassian has pages that inspire. Gregory Nazianzen’s poem “On His Own Life” is nearly contemporaneous with Augustine and tells a story outwardly similar to the Confessions and is barely known. But all those writers impose themselves in the first instance on readers who have already chosen to make themselves open to Christian claims. Augustine reaches a broader readership. Readers will persist with him for their own reasons and choose the links they please to spin together a web between him, his books, and their own concerns. But reading him is far from a simple business. Here are a few words of guidance for Augustine hunters. The translations that bring us Augustine come out of an artless tradition, which assumes the conventional is accurate. Augustine today too often reads like an old-fashioned preacher man, and he can still be found full of thees and thous, reminding us of a long tradition of establishment religion. Nobody in his own time heard or read him that way. When he wanted to sound like a traditionalist, he made himself sound like a classical writer, so imagine him writing sonatas after the style of Brahms. And when he wanted to depart from that mode and when he sought to infuse his style with the Christian vocabulary and scriptural resonance, he sounded to many of his contemporaries dissonant and “modern,” so imagine him producing short pieces of uncertain genre in the manner of Schoenberg or Shostakovich. Finding translations of Augustine that give him the directness of his voice, the modernity and freshness of his style, is hard. Garry Wills’s Saint Augustine and his translations of individual books of the Confessions626 have some fresh and vivid versions of the passages he quotes. In what I quote in this book, I have tried to capture freshness of voice and accuracy of tone (often sacrificing the elegance of long, balanced periodic sentences in the process), but I cannot conceal how extraordinarily difficult it is to translate an author who is separated from us by such a long period of respectability, familiarity, and drearification. If every banker and every politician of the last century had written in painfully unimaginative imitation of Emily Dickinson’s verse, her own work would be far harder to hear fairly and carefully and far less likely to knock us off our chairs. You have not heard Augustine properly if he has not made you hang on to the armrests of your chair for dear life now and then.

• From Augustine: A New Biography (2005)

  “A massively scholarly…lively biography.” —The Economist “Dr. O’Donnell begins his story of Augustine not as a child or even as a recent convert but as a man in his late thirties about to become a priest…[and] here is where Dr. O’Donnell’s biography is new and—dare one say—postmodern.” —National Catholic Reporter “O’Donnell’s vibrant new study brings this imperfect saint to life, both in his wrenching smallness and in his exhilarating grandeur.” —The New Republic ALSO BY JAMES J. O’DONNELLCassiodorus (1979) Boethius, Consolatio Philosophiae (edition and commentary, 1984) Augustine (1985) Augustine, Confessions (edition and commentary, 1992) Scholarly Journals at the Crossroads (with A. Okerson, 1995) Avatars of the Word (1998) LC21: A Digital Strategy for the Library of Congress (editor and contributor, 2000) CopyrightAUGUSTINE. A NEW BIOGRAPHY Copyright © 2005 by James J. O’Donnell. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books. EPub Edition © DECEMBER 2007 ISBN: 9780061864728 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1 [image file=image_rsrc604.jpg] About the PublisherAustralia HarperCollins Publishers (Australia) Pty. Ltd. 25 Ryde Road (PO Box 321) Pymble, NSW 2073, Australia http://www.harpercollinsebooks.com.au Canada HarperCollins Publishers Ltd. 55 Avenue Road, Suite 2900 Toronto, ON, M5R, 3L2, Canada http://www.harpercollinsebooks.ca New Zealand HarperCollinsPublishers (New Zealand) Limited P.O. Box 1 Auckland, New Zealand http://www.harpercollinsebooks.co.nz United Kingdom HarperCollins Publishers Ltd. 77-85 Fulham Palace Road London, W6 8JB, UK http://www.harpercollinsebooks.co.uk United States HarperCollins Publishers Inc. 10 East 53rd Street New York, NY 10022 http://www.harpercollinsebooks.com

• From American Swing (2008)

  ♪ HOT CHILD IN THE CITY. ♪ WHAT MADE YOU ORGANIZE-- ORIGINATE PLATO'S RETREAT, A PLACE FOR SWINGING COUPLES? - WHAT IS THE SWINGING MOVEMENT? - IT'S A COUPLES' MOVEMENT. COUPLES THAT WANT TO BE FREE-THINKING, FREE-LIVING ADULT COUPLES. THEY DON'T BELIEVE IN MONOGAMOUS RELATIONSHIPS. THEY WOULD RATHER GET INVOLVED WITH OTHER PEOPLE BUT TOGETHER WITH THEIR SPOUSES INSTEAD OF CHEATING WITH THEM. ♪ I WAS BORN WITH A SMILE ON MY FACE ♪ ♪ THE WHOLE OF MY LIFE'S BEEN A PANTOMIME... ♪ Leo: LARRY HAD THE PITCH AND TONE OF A MISSIONARY. HE THOUGHT HE WAS THE FUTURE AND HE WAS PULLING BACK THE CURTAIN ON SOMETHING WHOLESOME AND HAPPY. I ONLY ACTUALLY MET HIM ONCE, AND I WAS UNABLE TO SHAKE HIS HAND BECAUSE JUST BEFORE HE EXTENDED IT, HE WAS DOING SOMETHING WITH IT THAT WOULD TEND TO MAKE YOU WANT TO STAY SEVERAL YARDS AWAY. ♪ BORN WITH A SMILE ON MY FACE... ♪ Hanson: LARRY SAID, "I FALL IN LOVE WITH EVERY WOMAN I HAVE SEX WITH, EVEN IF I HAVE SEX WITH 10 WOMEN A NIGHT." AND LARRY COULD HAVE SEX WITH 10 WOMEN A NIGHT. HE WAS PHENOMENAL THAT WAY. HE SAID, "IT'S ALWAYS ROMANCE, IT'S ALWAYS EXCITING AND I'M ALWAYS GRATEFUL." ♪ TO HAVE YOUR LEISURE GIVE YOU PLEASURE... ♪ THE THING I MOSTLY REMEMBER IS HE HAD THESE GIANT TEETH. HE HAD REALLY HUGE TEETH. THERE'S A YIDDISH WORD-- HAMISCH-- AND THAT'S WHAT HE WAS. HE WAS LIKE YOUR NICEST UNCLE. - A HUGH HEFNER. - A MAITRE D'. LARRY WAS... NO QUESTION A TRAILBLAZER. HE WAS A PIONEER IN HIS FIELD. QUITE THE GUY. WHETHER YOU WERE IN THE BUSINESS, WHETHER YOU WERE RICH, WHATEVER, LARRY ALWAYS HAD TIME FOR YOU... ESPECIALLY IF YOU HAD A GREAT-LOOKING WIFE. I THINK HE WAS LONELY. I THINK HE LOVED ATTENTION. HE LOVED HAVING PEOPLE AROUND HIM, YOU KNOW? AND HE LOVED BEING, I GUESS, YOU KNOW, THE GUY WITH-- THE KID WITH THE-- WITH THE BASEBALL BAT. IT WAS HIS GLOVE, HIS BAT, HIS BALL, YOU KNOW? HI THERE. IT'S LARRY AND MARY AGAIN TO TELL YOU ABOUT PLATO'S RETREAT, THE FIRST AND ONLY COUPLES' CLUB OF ITS KIND ANYWHERE. YES, THERE'S A FULL-LENGTH SWIMMING POOL AND OUTRAGEOUS WHIRLPOOL WHICH HOLDS ABOUT 30 PEOPLE AT A TIME, DISCO DANCING WITH A LIVE DJ. I GREW UP IN THE UPPER-MIDDLECLASS JEWISH CATSKILLS OF THE CONCORD HOTEL. I WAS MISS CONCORD HOTEL AT 16. AND IT SEEMED TO ME THAT ALL OF THOSE PEOPLE HAD CHILDREN, AND ALL THOSE CHILDREN MOVED TO LONG ISLAND, AND SOUTHERN JERSEY. AND ALL OF THEM WENT TO PLATO'S. ♪ WHEN I WAKE UP ♪ ♪ IN THE MORNING LIGHT... ♪ Ferrato: THE CROWD AT PLATO'S WAS CONVENTIONAL. Abigail: IT WASN'T FILLED WITH MY FRIENDS, BUT IT DID A GREAT JOB IN SOME WAYS BECAUSE IT SORT OF LIBERATED LONG ISLAND. IT LIBERATED NEW JERSEY. Haden-Guest: I NEVER SAW A VELVET-ROPE TYPE SITUATION THERE.

• From American Swing (2008)

  I DON'T THINK THERE MIGHT HAVE BEEN A VELVET ROPE. I NEVER SAW AN EAGER CROWD WAITING TO GET IN WITH BOUNCERS KEEPING THEM OUT. EVERYTHING AT PLATO'S, EVEN THE UGLY PERSON-- I DON'T THINK THERE WERE ANY-- WAS-- WAS-- HAD A CERTAIN CHARM. - IT WAS A POOR MAN'S PLAYBOY MANSION. - ABSOLUTELY. Matuschka: I ACTUALLY ADMIRE PEOPLE THAT ARE THAT FREE THAT COULD GO INTO A PLACE LIKE THAT AND JUST LET IT ALL HANG OUT, TAKE ALL THEIR CLOTHES OFF AND WALK AROUND-- INCLUDING THOSE FAT PEOPLE THAT LOOK LIKE THEY'VE GOT, YOU KNOW, DOUBLE SETS OF TWINS IN THEIR BELLY. I'M AMAZED THAT THEY CAN DO THAT BECAUSE EVEN THOUGH I LOOKED A LOT DIFFERENT THEN-- I WAS SKINNIER AND I HAD TWO BREASTS-- I COULDN'T TAKE MY CLOTHES OFF IN FRONT OF STRANGERS. I MEAN, I THINK IT TAKES A LOT OF SOMETHING TO BE ABLE TO DO THAT. ♪ I'LL MEET YA IN THE USUAL PLACE...♪ Dorfman: I THOUGHT THEY HAD RESUSCITATED THE ORGY FOR THE MAN IN THE STREET, WHICH IS EXACTLY WHAT THEY DID. YOU PAY WHATEVER IT IS-- 20, 25 BUCKS-- YOU GET IN AND YOU CAN JOIN IN AN ORGY. WHERE CAN YOU DO THAT IN THE UNITED STATES? YOU COULD DO IT AT PLATO'S. MY FRIENDS WERE VERY... YOU KNOW, BACKWARDS. AND I-- I GREW AWAY FROM MY FRIENDS. I GREW AWAY. I WENT TO THE CITY. I WENT TO BARS. I WENT UP ON SECOND AVENUE, FIRST AVENUE, UP TO UPTOWN. I WANTED TO MEET A MORE EDUCATED CROWD. I WAS NO BOY SCOUT. I WAS A WILD GUY, VERY UNINHIBITED. I WAS A MODEL. THE FIRST TIME I HEARD ABOUT PLATO'S RETREAT WAS I WENT TO CLUB MED AT MARTINIQUE WITH A FRIEND OF MINE AND THIS GUY WAS TELLING ME, "MILES, YOU'RE GONNA LOVE THIS PLACE. IT'S WILD. EVERYONE'S HAVING SEX ALL OVER THE PLACE." MY BOYFRIEND WAS A MINISTER. AND HE ASKED ME TO GO TO PLATO'S RETREAT THAT NIGHT AND WE WENT. I WAS A TINGLING MESS OF HORMONES. I WAS LIKE-- ALMOST LIKE WHEN YOU'RE A TEENAGER. Miles: AS SOON AS I WALKED DOWN THE STAIRS, A LITTLE REDHEADED GIRL COMES UP TO ME, REALLY PRETTY, GRABS ME BY THE ARM AND SAYS, "COME HERE. COME WITH ME." Betsy: AT FIRST WE TALKED TO EACH OTHER FOR A LITTLE BIT. AND, UM, YOU KNOW, HE WAS OBVIOUSLY MORE COMFORTABLE THERE THAN I WAS. WE GO RIGHT INTO A LITTLE PRIVATE ROOM. YOU'LL LOVE THAT. WE'RE IN PLATO'S RETREAT, WHERE EVERYONE'S HAVING SEX ALL OVER THE PLACE, THERE ARE LITTLE ROOMS CALLED "FOR THE INHIBITED." EVERYBODY WAS SO NICE TO ME. EVERYBODY MADE YOU FEEL AT HOME. I HAD A CHANCE TO... LOOK AROUND A LITTLE BIT. AND SOMEWHERE IN THERE HE DISAPPEARED. AND I FOUND MYSELF WITH A CONSTRUCTION WORKER FROM CONNECTICUT.

• From Educated (2018)

  Tyler stayed in school that whole year, from the fall of 1991 through the spring of 1992. He learned algebra, which felt as natural to his mind as air to his lungs. Then the Weavers came under siege that August. I don’t know if Tyler would have gone back to school, but I know that after Dad heard about the Weavers, he never again allowed one of his children to set foot in a public classroom. Still, Tyler’s imagination had been captured. With what money he had he bought an old trigonometry textbook and continued to study on his own. He wanted to learn calculus next but couldn’t afford another book, so he went to the school and asked the math teacher for one. The teacher laughed in his face. “You can’t teach yourself calculus,” he said. “It’s impossible.” Tyler pushed back. “Give me a book, I think I can.” He left with the book tucked under his arm. The real challenge was finding time to study. Every morning at seven, my father gathered his sons, divided them into teams and sent them out to tackle the tasks of the day. It usually took about an hour for Dad to notice that Tyler was not among his brothers. Then he’d burst through the back door and stride into the house to where Tyler sat studying in his room. “What the hell are you doing?” he’d shout, tracking clumps of dirt onto Tyler’s spotless carpet. “I got Luke loading I-beams by himself—one man doing a two-man job—and I come in here and find you sitting on your ass?” If Dad had caught me with a book when I was supposed to be working, I’d have skittered, but Tyler was steady. “Dad,” he’d say. “I’ll w-w-work after l-l-lunch. But I n-n-need the morning to s-st-study.” Most mornings they’d argue for a few minutes, then Tyler would surrender his pencil, his shoulders slumping as he pulled on his boots and welding gloves. But there were other mornings—mornings that always astonished me—when Dad huffed out the back door, alone. —I DIDN’T BELIEVE TYLER would really go to college, that he would ever abandon the mountain to join the Illuminati. I figured Dad had all summer to bring Tyler to his senses, which he tried to do most days when the crew came in for lunch. The boys would putter around the kitchen, dishing up seconds and thirds, and Dad would stretch himself out on the hard linoleum—because he was tired and needed to lie down, but was too dirty for Mother’s sofa—and begin his lecture about the Illuminati. One lunch in particular has lodged in my memory. Tyler is assembling tacos from the fixings Mother has laid out: he lines up the shells on his plate, three in a perfect row, then adds the hamburger, lettuce and tomatoes carefully, measuring the amounts, perfectly distributing the sour cream. Dad drones steadily.

• From Christian Saints

  24. Saints in Our Everyday World presents by good Saint Nick. But while the saint’s historical connection with Christmas seems tenuous at best, his reputation as an open-handed gift-giver comes straight from the early accounts of his miracles. At the time, girls whose families couldn’t provide a dowry for them might not marry at all, and their families could not continue to support them— possibly forcing them into sex work to survive. The bishop, hearing about such a situation, made a quiet nighttime visit to the family and left funds for their daughters’ marriages in secret. The good bishop would no doubt be extremely puzzled by modern depictions of his red-cheeked namesake, warmly dressed in furs for snowy expeditions—an image conjured up by the 19th-century poem “A Visit from St. Nicholas,” also commonly known as “The Night before Christmas.” Each of the saints we’ve explored lived a deeply human, flawed, and ultimately well-intentioned life. Each was transformed into a potent symbol by those who came after and crafted their legend to suit their own needs. There are thousands of saints to explore just within Christianity and many more fascinating lives of holy men and women cherished by other faiths across the world. The more we read and learn about the holy dead and what people have made of their legends and legacies, the better we can understand our own history and the forces that shape our beliefs and our world. 186 Image Credits 2: Getty Images; 7: Painterpassion/Fiverr.com; 9: The Metropolitan Museum of Art, www.metmuseum.org; 15: Painterpassion/Fiverr.com; 17: Painterpassion/ Fiverr.com; 20: The Walters Art Museum, Acquired by Henry Walters, before 1922; 22: Painterpassion/Fiverr.com; 28: Painterpassion/Fiverr.com; 34: Painterpassion/ Fiverr.com; 41: Painterpassion/Fiverr.com; 43: Getty Images; 46: The Cleveland Museum of Art, Purchase from the J. H. Wade Fund; 57: Painterpassion/Fiverr.com; 60: Painterpassion/Fiverr.com; 67: Painterpassion/Fiverr.com; 75: Painterpassion/ Fiverr.com; 81: Painterpassion/Fiverr.com; 88: The Metropolitan Museum of Art, Gift of George Blumenthal, 1941. www.metmuseum.org; 90: Felton Davis/Flickr/ CC BY 2.0; 93: Amaury Laporte/Flickr/CC BY 2.0; 98: Painterpassion/Fiverr.com; 108: Painterpassion/Fiverr.com; 113: Painterpassion/Fiverr.com; 123: Painterpassion/ Fiverr.com; 135: Courtesy National Gallery of Art, Washington. Corcoran Collection (William A. Clark Collection); 137: Painterpassion/Fiverr.com; 144: W. Bulach/ Wikimedia Commons/CC BY-SA 4.0; 147: Larry Koester/Flickr/CC BY 2.0; 148: Painterpassion/Fiverr.com; 156: Painterpassion/Fiverr.com; 163: Painterpassion/ Fiverr.com; 168: Painterpassion/Fiverr.com; 176: Painterpassion/Fiverr.com; 182: Bavarian State Painting Collections - State Gallery in the Katharinenkirche Augsburg/CC BY-SA 4.0; 185: The Metropolitan Museum of Art 187 Notes

• From Buddenbrooks: The Decline of a Family (1901)

  'Nice,' she said, 'thank you, Anton; I go to him.« But first she walked past the office entrance, a little to the right, to where the colossal stairwell opened up above her, this stairwell that was formed on the first floor by the continuation of the cast-iron banister, but at the height of the second floor it became one wide gallery of columns in white and gold, while from the dizzying heights of the "incoming light" a mighty, golden luster floated down ... "Noble!" said Mrs. Permaneder quietly and contentedly, while she looked into this open and bright splendor, which she quite simply signified the power, splendor and triumph of the Buddenbrooks. But then she remembered that she had come here on a distressing matter, and slowly turned towards the entrance to the office. Thomas was in there all alone; he sat at his window seat and wrote a letter. He looked up, raising one of his fair brows, and held out his hand to his sister. 'Evening, Tony. What good do you bring.« "Oh, not much good, Tom!... No, the stairwell is too lovely!... By the way, you're sitting here in the semi-dark and writing." “Yes… an urgent letter. - So nothing good? In any case, we want to walk around the garden a bit; that's more comfortable. Come." A violin adagio tremoled down from the first floor as they walked down the hall. "Listen!" said Frau Permaneder and stopped for a moment ... "Gerda is playing. How heavenly! Oh god, that woman... she's a fairy! How is Hanno, Tom?” 'He's about to have dinner with Frau Jungmann. It's too bad that it still doesn't really want to move forward with its walking..." 'It'll come, Tom, it'll come! How are you satisfied with Ida?” "Oh, how could we not be content..." They passed the rear stone hallway, leaving the kitchen on the right, and exited through a glass door, up two steps, into the delicate and fragrant flower garden. "Well?" asked the senator. It was warm and still. The scents of the neatly delineated beds hung in the evening air, and the fountain, surrounded by tall lilac irises, sent its jet with peaceful splashing towards the dark sky, where the first stars were beginning to gleam. In the background, a small flight of steps flanked by two low obelisks led up to a raised gravel square, on which stood an open wooden pavilion, which, with its awning lowered, sheltered a few garden chairs. On the left the property went through a wall separated from the neighboring garden; on the right, however, the side wall of the adjoining house was clad over its entire height with a wooden scaffolding, which was destined to be covered with creepers over time. There were a few currant and gooseberry bushes on the sides of the stairway and the pavilion square; but only one large tree was there, a gnarled walnut tree, which stood against the wall to the left. "The thing is," Mrs.

• From Apprenticed to Venus: My Secret Life with Anaïs Nin (2017)

  When at 7:00 she had yet to arrive, I became concerned. Anaïs was always punctual. I saw Don standing under the wide arch to our dining room, looking more like Robert Redford than ever with the Sundance Kid mustache he’d recently grown. His arm was around a pretty brunette he’d invited. I was annoyed that he hadn’t asked me if he could bring her, but then, the house was full of crashers who hadn’t asked. They were becoming loud and disorderly. I tried to quiet them by lecturing about Anaïs’s work, but they lapsed into side discussions, too excited to pay attention. They fell silent, though, when we saw through the front windows the Thunderbird double park on the street, and a cloaked, regal woman stride alone up the inclined path to the porch. Anaïs was making an entrance for me! She swept through the open front door and, loosening the tie of her black cape, let it fall into red-bearded Bob’s outstretched arms. I’d thought that Bob, as a nuclear scientist, would have been immune to Anaïs’s charm, but he blushed through his freckles and later marveled, “It was like the appearance of a white witch in a Disney film. You could almost see a trail of sparkling fairy dust in her wake!” Sticking to the evening I’d planned, I ignored the crashers and said, “Before I give the floor to Anaïs, I’d like to introduce my fellow commune members, who are our hosts tonight.” They each stepped forward as I said their names. Anaïs looked directly into Don’s blue eyes when she said, “Thank you so much for allowing me to visit your beautiful home.” I could tell he was smitten. I then introduced my students, who shot up their hands. “And what about the women in your consciousness group, Tristine?” Anaïs said. “I’ve wanted to meet them for so long.” The women in my group half-raised their hands, including Clara, whom I’d wanted to impress by delivering Anaïs. Anaïs bowed her head in tribute to them. “You are to be honored for transforming the world by first transforming yourselves. The Women’s Movement has been an example of what I have always advocated, proceeding from the dream outward.” She quoted herself from the Diary: “‘The personal life deeply lived always expands into truths beyond itself.’”

• From Naked Ambition

  Bunny was really the one that blew her up. And what she loved about Maria is that Maria had no fear. [pleasant music] - [Sarahjane] Maria Stinger was a handful, Maria Stinger was Bunny's best friend. Maria Stinger had a smile that could get anyone in trouble. - One of my favorite set of photos that bunny took of my grandmother was at Africa USA, which at the time in Miami was this safari theme park. [pleasant music] There's no fear in my grandmother's eyes. She looks gorgeous, they're having a wonderful time. Those were the first set of pictures that Bunny professionally sold. [pleasant music] - I did know Maria Stinger a little bit. I remember us going over to their house one time and me playing with her daughters. - [ASL Interpreter] I do remember meeting one of the models, Maria Stinger. I didn't know who she was at that time or what her name is, but she was always very good to me. - When I was in my early teens, I started to ask more questions about who my grandmother was. [upbeat music] My family was kind of almost afraid of what they would find if they dug too deeply into my grandmother's life and work. My grandmother was basically an exhibitionist. Bunny talks about how she didn't have a lot of women friends back in the day. She used to like to tease my grandmother and say, "Maria, just, you know, take off your shirt." "Come on, you know you want to." And then inevitably, she'd always take off her shirt. Really, it was this like fun, playful dynamic they had together. [upbeat music] [pleasant music] ♪ I saw the capercaillie play today ♪ - I think you can see how daring Bunny Yeager was as a photographer from her earliest days by the locations she was choosing. She would photograph models nude on the beach early in the morning. She would get access to amusement parks, like Playland. Her first published photograph was taken at a wild animal park. She would ask her friends for use of their mansions, and she would even film people nude in front of her Christmas tree. - As soon as Bunny started taking pictures, every magazine wanted to have her stuff in there. - Bunny gave cache to magazines. If you published Bunny Yeager photographs, not only were you getting great photos, you were also getting to say that you were getting photos by Bunny Yeager, the world's prettiest photographer. - She understood what the magazines wanted, and what was commercial. - [Sarahjane] She was able to take the fact that she was working both in front of and behind the camera, and turn that into a brand. - Not many people are on both sides of the camera, and Bunny was on both sides of the camera. - Smile, sparkle. Good. All right, let's try something with your arms around your head.