Anger

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 Little Sister: A Memoir (2019)

  No rationale was given, no opportunity to ask questions or to discuss, much less object. Brother Henry delivered his edict and left. We were sure he was carrying out Father’s orders.” She paused before finishing her thought. “There was nothing we could do. We had promised to obey Father when we signed on as religious members in 1949.” I thought she might cry, but she regained her composure and repeated, shaking her head, “It was the most awful day of my life.” That was but the first step in the gradual destruction of family life for them. They had hardly acclimated to that devastating blow when Father summoned them to a private meeting at which he asked them if they would be willing to take vows of chastity; in other words, to forgo their marriage vows in favor of those of a religious nun and brother. My father told me that he responded with an adamant “No,” telling Father that their marital vows were of paramount importance to them. “I was hoping for twelve children,” my mother said, chuckling, “one for each of the twelve apostles. I loved having babies, and I wanted to raise as many good Catholics as I could.” But succumb they did after several more meetings with Father, who let them know that the other eleven couples had agreed to the new arrangement, and they were the only holdouts. It would be decades before I learned that other couples were also coerced into forsaking their marriage vows by Father’s duplicity—telling them that they, too, were alone in their decision not to embrace celibacy. At the time, Brother Augustine (one of the parents who had three boys, the youngest of whom was less than six months old) was seriously ill with cancer. My parents spoke of their soul searching and angst as they gradually convinced themselves that perhaps if they made the sacrifice of renouncing their marriage vows in favor of celibacy, God might cure Brother Augustine. With that rationalization, they acquiesced to the pressure that Father put on them. When Brother Augustine died several weeks later, there was no option to go back to their life as a married couple. “Did you think you would have been forced out of the Center if you had not agreed to keep that vow?” I asked them. My father paused. He was generally slow to answer questions that dealt with complex issues, and I could see he was choosing his words carefully. “That was never openly discussed,” he replied, “but your mother and I had the clear sense that if we didn’t comply, we would be asked to leave.” I felt a surge of anger—anger at Father and Sister Catherine who, for all those years I was a child, acted as though I had two parents whose sole objective was to dedicate their lives to God as members of a religious order.

• From Little Sister: A Memoir (2019)

  Afterword F riends have asked me why I’m not angry, why I don’t hate my parents, and why I seem so “normal.” To be honest, I have spent little time analyzing why I’m happy. That is not to imply that I have been free of any anger; rather that the anger I have felt has been directed, not at my parents, but at Catherine Clarke. From an early age, I had a subliminal conviction that my parents were somehow victims of the powerful Leonard Feeney and Catherine Clarke. It appeared to me that my parents, my siblings and I were thrust together in a world that was foreign to our kinship. With the benefit of adulthood and maturity, I came to realize that my parents were free to have left the Center and thus to have prevented our family from being sundered. They allowed their religious zealotry to supersede their parental obligations and the joys associated with them. When I try to understand why my parents did what they did, I cannot. I could never have made such a sacrifice. Nor do I pretend that I didn’t wish my childhood had been different. Those endless hours consumed craving family life, wondering if we were the only thirty-nine children in the whole world who were being raised in a religious order, forbidden to call our parents “mummy” and “daddy.” This incomprehension is real, as is the pain. What anger I have experienced is aimed fully at Catherine Clarke, the power behind the throne of Leonard Feeney. Tall and powerful, she exuded an Amazonian force. As a mere child, I was her challenge—unmalleable, a free spirit in the claustrophobic world of the Center. She and I engaged in a battle of the wills, and try as she might, she was unable to forge me into a submissive member of the community. And so she banished me. At the time, I felt like a failure, but in truth it was she who had failed. I was David to her Goliath. Despite the pain and the anger, I am most conscious of the many ways in which I have been blessed, not the least of which is that I’m hardwired to tackle challenges, disappointments, humiliations, and other hurdles in life. I’m an optimist through and through—no matter how bad the news, or how daunting the situation, my instinct is to create a solution and see it through to make the situation right again. I left the Center at the tender age of seventeen, brokenhearted and feeling deserted. But that door through which I was kicked out was the same door that opened onto a world I had so passionately wanted to explore since I was a small child. The optimist in me seized the opportunity to learn (silently and timidly at first) and to vault forward on the expedition of my life. Some ventures were formidable, but the journey has been extraordinarily fulfilling. There simply has been no time for self-pity.

• From The Girls (2016)

  great, like you do. Why did Dad leave if you’re so fucking great?” She reached forward and slapped me, not hard, but hard enough so there was an audible sound. I smiled, like a crazed person, showing too many teeth. “Get out.” Her neck was mottled with hives, her wrists thin. “Get out,” she hissed again, weakly, and I darted away. — I took the bicycle down the dirt road. My heart thudding, the tightness of pressure behind my eyes. I liked feeling the sting of my mother’s slap, the aura of goodness she had so carefully cultivated for the last month—the tea, the bare feet—curdled in an instant. Good. Let her be ashamed. All her classes and cleanses and readings had done nothing. She was the same weak person as always. I pedaled faster, a flurry in my throat. I could go to the Flying A and buy a bag of chocolate stars. I could see what was playing at the movie theater or walk along the brothy soup of the river. My hair lifted a little in the dry heat. I felt hatred hardening in me, and it was almost nice, how big it was, how pure and intense. My furious pedaling went abruptly slack: the chain slipped its bearings. The bike was slowing. I lurched to a stop in the dirt by the fire road. My armpits were sweating, the backs of my knees. The sun hot through the cutwork lattice of a live oak. I was trying not to cry. I crouched on the ground to realign the chain, tears skimming off my eyes in the sting of the breeze, my fingers slippery with grease. It was too hard to grip, the chain falling away. “Fuck,” I said, then said it louder. I wanted to kick the bicycle, silence something, but that would be too pitiful, the theater of upset performed for no one. I tried one more time to hook the chain onto the spoke, but it wouldn’t catch, snapping loose. I let the bike drop into the dirt and sank down beside it. The front wheel spun a little, then slowed to a stop. I stared at the bike, splayed and useless: the frame was “Campus Green,” a color that had conjured, in the store, a hale college boy walking you home from an evening class. A prissy fantasy, a stupid bike, and I let the string of disappointments grow until they looped into a dirge of mediocrity. Connie was probably with May Lopes. Peter and Pamela buying houseplants for an Oregon apartment and soaking lentils for supper.

• From I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings (1969)

  He made no comment, orally or facially. “She had this toothache purt' near four days now, and today I said, ‘Young Lady, you going to the dentist.’” “Annie?” “Yes, sir, Dentist Lincoln.” He was choosing words the way people hunt for shells. “Annie, you know I don't treat nigra, colored people.” “I know, Dentist Lincoln. But this here is just my little grandbaby and she ain't gone be no trouble to you ...” “Annie, everybody has a policy. In this world you have to have a policy. Now, my policy is I don't treat colored people.” The sun had baked the oil out of Momma's skin and melted the Vaseline in her hair. She shone greasily as she leaned out of the dentist's shadow. “Seem like to me, Dentist Lincoln, you might look after her, she ain't nothing but a little mite. And seems like maybe you owe me a favor or two.” He reddened slightly. “Favor or no favor. The money has all been repaid to you and that's the end of it. Sorry, Annie.” He had his hand on the doorknob. “Sorry.” His voice was a bit kinder on the second “Sorry,” as if he really was. Momma said, “I wouldn't press on you like this for myself but I can't take No. Not for my grandbaby. When you come to borrow my money you didn't have to beg. You asked me, and I lent it. Now, it wasn't my policy. I ain't no moneylender, but you stood to lose this building and I tried to help you out.” “It's been paid, and raising your voice won't make me change my mind. My policy ...” He let go of the door and stepped nearer Momma. The three of us were crowded on the small landing. “Annie, my policy is I'd rather stick my hand in a dog's mouth than in a nigger's.” He had never once looked at me. He turned his back and went through the door into the cool beyond. Momma backed up inside herself for a few minutes. I forgot everything except her face which was almost a new one to me. She leaned over and took the doorknob, and in her everyday soft voice she said, “Sister, go on downstairs. Wait for me. I'll be there directly.” Under the most common of circumstances I knew it did no good to argue with Momma. So I walked down the steep stairs, afraid to look back and afraid not to do so. I turned as the door slammed, and she was gone. Momma walked in that room as if she owned it. She shoved that silly nurse aside with one hand and strode into the dentist's office. He was sitting in his chair, sharpening his mean instruments and putting extra sting into his medicines. Her eyes were blazing like live coals and her arms had doubled themselves in length. He looked up at her just before she caught him by the collar of his white jacket.

• From The Well of Loneliness (1928)

  He looked at her, and there was warning in his eyes, but she babbled on wildly: ‘I’ve seen it for years—the cruelty of it; she’s taken you from me, my own child—the unspeakable cruelty of it!’ ‘Cruelty, yes, but not Stephen’s, Anna—it’s yours; for in all the child’s life you’ve never loved her.’ Ugly, degrading, rather terrible half-truths; and he knew the whole truth, yet he dared not speak it. It is bad for the soul to know itself a coward, it is apt to take refuge in mere wordy violence. ‘Yes, you, her mother, you persecute Stephen, you torment her; I sometimes think you hate her!’ ‘Philip—good God!’ ‘Yes, I think you hate her; but be careful, Anna, for hatred breeds hatred, and remember I stand for the rights of my child—if you hate her you’ve got to hate me; she’s my child. I won’t let her face your hatred alone.’ Ugly, degrading, rather terrible half-truths. Their hearts ached while their lips formed recriminations. Their hearts burst into tears while their eyes remained dry and accusing, staring in hostility and anger. Far into the night they accused each other, they who before had never seriously quarrelled; and something very like the hatred he spoke of leapt out like a flame that seared them at moments. ‘Stephen, my own child—she’s come between us.’ ‘It’s you who have thrust her between us, Anna.’ Mad, it was madness! They were such faithful lovers, and their love it was that had fashioned their child. They knew it was madness and yet they persisted, while their anger dug out for itself a deep channel, so that future angers might more easily follow. They could not forgive and they could not sleep, for neither could sleep without the other’s forgiveness, and the hatred that leapt out at moments between them would be drowned in the tears that their hearts were shedding. 3 Like some vile and prolific thing, this first quarrel bred others, and the peace of Morton was shattered. The house seemed to mourn, and withdraw into itself, so that Stephen went searching for its spirit in vain. ‘Morton,’ she whispered, ‘where are you, Morton? I must find you, I need you so badly.’ For now Stephen knew the cause of their quarrels, and she recognized the form of the shadow that had seemed to creep in between them at Christmas, and knowing, she stretched out her arms to Morton for comfort: ‘My Morton, where are you?

• From The Well of Loneliness (1928)

  I’d have gone away because you’re my friend, but before I went I’d have said all this to you; I’d have begged and implored you to set Mary free if you love her. I’d have gone on my knees to you, Stephen . . .’ He paused, and she heard herself saying quite calmly: ‘You don’t understand, I have faith in my writing, great faith; some day I shall climb to the top and that will compel the world to accept me for what I am. It’s a matter of time, but I mean to succeed for Mary’s sake.’ ‘God pity you!’ he suddenly blurted out. ‘Your triumph, if it comes, will come too late for Mary.’ She stared at him aghast: ‘How dare you!’ she stammered, ‘How dare you try to undermine my courage! You call yourself my friend and you say things like that . . .’ ‘It’s your courage that I appeal to,’ he answered. He began to speak very quietly again: ‘Stephen, if I stay I’m going to fight you. Do you understand? We’ll fight this thing out until one of us has to admit that he’s beaten. I’ll do all in my power to take Mary from you—all that’s honourable, that is—for I mean to play straight, because whatever you may think I’m your friend, only, you see—I love Mary Llewellyn.’ And now she struck back. She said rather slowly, watching his sensitive face as she did so: ‘You seem to have thought it all out very well, but then of course, our friendship has given you time . . .’ He flinched and she smiled, knowing how she could wound: ‘Perhaps,’ she went on, ‘you’ll tell me your plans. Supposing you win, do I give the wedding? Is Mary to marry you from my house, or would that be a grave social disadvantage? And supposing she should want to leave me quite soon for love of you—where would you take her, Martin? To your aunt’s for respectability’s sake?’ ‘Don’t, Stephen!’ ‘But why not? I’ve a right to know because, you see, I also love Mary, I also consider her reputation. Yes, I think on the whole we’ll discuss your plans.’ ‘She’d always be welcome at my aunt’s,’ he said firmly . ‘And you’ll take her there if she runs away to you? One never knows what may happen, does one? You say that she cares for you already . . .’ His eyes hardened: ‘If Mary will have me, Stephen, I shall take her first to my aunt’s house in Passy.’ ‘And then?’ she mocked. ‘I shall marry her from there.’ ‘And then?’ ‘I shall take her back to my home.’ ‘To Canada—I see—a safe distance of course.’ He held out his hand: ‘Oh, for God’s sake, don’t! It’s so horrible somehow—be merciful, Stephen.’

• From Tropic of Cancer (1934)

  Paris is filled with poor people—the proudest and filthiest lot of beggars that ever walked the earth, it seems to me. And yet they give the illusion of being at home. It is that which distinguishes the Parisian from all other metropolitan souls. When I think of New York I have a very different feeling. New York makes even a rich man feel his unimportance. New York is cold, glittering, malign. The buildings dominate. There is a sort of atomic frenzy to the activity going on; the more furious the pace, the more diminished the spirit. A constant ferment, but it might just as well be going on in a test tube. Nobody knows what it’s all about. Nobody directs the energy. Stupendous. Bizarre. Baffling. A tremendous reactive urge, but absolutely uncoordinated. When I think of this city where I was born and raised, this Manhattan that Whitman sang of, a blind, white rage licks my guts. New York! The white prisons, the sidewalks swarming with maggots, the breadlines, the opium joints that are built like palaces, the kikes that are there, the lepers, the thugs, and above all, the ennui, the monotony of faces, streets, legs, houses, skyscrapers, meals, posters, jobs, crimes, loves. ... A whole city erected over a hollow pit of nothingness. Meaningless. Absolutely meaningless. And Forty-second Street! The top of the world, they call it. Where’s the bottom then? You can walk along with your hands out and they’ll put cinders in your cap. Rich or poor, they walk along with head thrown back and they almost break their necks looking up at their beautiful white prisons. They walk along like blind geese and the searchlights spray their empty faces with flecks of ecstasy. Life,” said Emerson, “consists in what a man is thinking all day.” If that be so, then my life is nothing but a big intestine. I not only think about food all day, but I dream about it at night. But I don’t ask to go back to America, to be put in double harness again, to work the treadmill. No, I prefer to be a poor man of Europe. God knows, I am poor enough; it only remains to be a man. Last week I thought the problem of living was about to be solved, thought I was on the way to becoming self- supporting. It happened that I ran across another Russian—Serge is his name. He lives in Suresnes where there is a little colony of émigrés and run-down artists.

• From Tropic of Cancer (1934)

  The princess was nervous—she kept scratching her thigh and rubbing her nose. “Why does he want to make his bed now?” she asked me abruptly. “Does he think he will get me that way? He’s a big child. He behaves disgracefully. I took him to a Russian restaurant and he danced like a nigger.” She wiggled her bottom to illustrate. “And he talks too much. Too loud. He talks nonsense.” She swished about the room, examining the paintings and the books, keeping her chin well up all the time but scratching herself intermittently. Now and then she wheeled around like a battleship and delivered a broadside. Fillmore kept following her about with a bottle in one hand and a glass in the other. “Stop following me like that!” she exclaimed. “And haven’t you anything to drink but this? Can’t you get a bottle of champagne? I must have some champagne. My nerves! My nerves!” Fillmore tries to whisper a few words in my ear. “An actress... a movie star... some guy jilted her and she can’t get over it. ... I’m going to get her cockeyed. ...” “I’ll clear out then,” I was saying, when the princess interrupted us with a shout. “Why do you whisper like that?” she cried, stamping her foot. “Don’t you know that’s not polite? And you, I thought you were going to take me out? I must get drunk tonight, I have told you that already.” “Yes, yes,” said Fillmore, “we’re going in a minute. I just want another drink.” “You’re a pig!” she yelled. “But you’re a nice boy too. Only you’re loud. You have no manners.” She turned to me. “Can I trust him to behave himself? I must get drunk tonight but I don’t want him to disgrace me. Maybe I will come back here afterward. I would like to talk to you. You seem more intelligent.” As they were leaving the princess shook my hand cordially and promised to come for dinner some evening—“when I will be sober,” she said. “Fine!” I said. “Bring another princess along—or a countess, at least. We change the sheets every Saturday.” About three in the morning Fillmore staggers in... alone. Lit up like an ocean liner, and making a noise like a blind man with his cracked cane. Tap, tap, tap, down the weary lane. ... “Going straight to bed,” he says, as he marches past me. “Tell you all about it tomorrow.” He goes inside to his room and throws back the covers. I hear him groaning—“what a woman! what a woman!” In a second he’s out again, with his hat on and the cracked cane in his hand. “I knew something like that was going to happen. She’s crazy!”

• From I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings (1969)

  Then one evening Miss Glory told me to serve the ladies on the porch. After I set the tray down and turned toward the kitchen, one of the women asked, “What's your name, girl?” It was the speckled-faced one. Mrs. Cullinan said, “She doesn't talk much. Her name's Margaret.” “Is she dumb?” “No. As I understand it, she can talk when she wants to but she's usually quiet as a little mouse. Aren't you, Margaret?” I smiled at her. Poor thing. No organs and couldn't even pronounce my name correctly. “She's a sweet little thing, though.” “Well, that may be, but the name's too long. I'd never bother myself. I'd call her Mary if I was you.” I fumed into the kitchen. That horrible woman would never have the chance to call me Mary because if I was starving I'd never work for her. I decided I wouldn't pee on her if her heart was on fire. Giggles drifted in off the porch and into Miss Glory's pots. I wondered what they could be laughing about. Whitefolks were so strange. Could they be talking about me? Everybody knew that they stuck together better than the Negroes did. It was possible that Mrs. Cullinan had friends in St. Louis who heard about a girl from Stamps being in court and wrote to tell her. Maybe she knew about Mr. Freeman. My lunch was in my mouth a second time and I went outside and relieved myself on the bed of four-o'clocks. Miss Glory thought I might be coming down with something and told me to go on home, that Momma would give me some herb tea, and she'd explain to her mistress. I realized how foolish I was being before I reached the pond. Of course Mrs. Cullinan didn't know. Otherwise she wouldn't have given me the two nice dresses that Momma cut down, and she certainly wouldn't have called me a “sweet little thing.” My stomach felt fine, and I didn't mention anything to Momma. That evening I decided to write a poem on being white, fat, old and without children. It was going to be a tragic ballad. I would have to watch her carefully to capture the essence of her loneliness and pain. The very next day she called me by the wrong name. Miss Glory and I were washing up the lunch dishes when Mrs. Cullinan came to the doorway. “Mary?” Miss Glory asked, “Who?” Mrs. Cullinan, sagging a little, knew and I knew. “I want Mary to go down to Mrs. Randall's and take her some soup. She's not been feeling well for a few days.” Miss Glory's face was a wonder to see. “You mean Margaret, ma'am. Her name's Margaret.” “That's too long. She's Mary from now on.

• From The Well of Loneliness (1928)

  Angela stared at her, white and aghast: ‘You are mad,’ she said slowly, ‘you’re raving mad. Tell him what? Have I let you become my lover? You know that I’ve always been faithful to Ralph; you know perfectly well that there’s nothing to tell him beyond a few rather schoolgirlish kisses. Can I help it if you’re—what you obviously are? Oh, no, my dear, you’re not going to tell Ralph. You’re not going to let all hell loose around me just because you want to save your own pride by pretending to Ralph that you’ve been my lover. If you’re willing to give up your home I’m not willing to sacrifice mine, understand that, please. Ralph’s not much of a man but he’s better than nothing, and I’ve managed him so far without any trouble. The great thing with him is to blaze a false trail, that distracts his mind, it works like a charm. He’ll follow any trail that I want him to follow—you leave him to me, I know my own husband a darned sight better than you do, Stephen, and I won’t have you interfering in my home.’ She was terribly frightened, too frightened to choose her words, to consider their effect upon Stephen, to consider anyone but Angela Crossby who stood in such dire and imminent peril. So she said yet again, only now she spoke loudly: ‘I won’t have you interfering in my home!’ Then Stephen turned on her, white with passion: ‘You—you—’ she stuttered, ‘you’re unspeakably cruel. You know how you make me suffer and suffer because I love you the way I do; and because you like the way I love you, you drag the love out of me day after day—Can’t you understand that I love you so much that I’d give up Morton? Anything I’d give up—I’d give up the whole world. Angela, listen; I’d take care of you always. Angela, I’m rich—I’d take care of you always. Why won’t you trust me? Answer me—why? Don’t you think me fit to be trusted?’ She spoke wildly, scarcely knowing what she said; she only knew that she needed this woman with a need so intense, that worthy or unworthy, Angela was all that counted at that moment. And now she stood up, very tall, very strong, yet a little grotesque in her pitiful passion, so that looking at her Angela trembled—there was something rather terrible about her. All that was heavy in her face sprang into view, the strong line of the jaw, the square, massive brow, the eyebrows too thick and too wide for beauty; she was like some curious, primitive thing conceived in a turbulent age of transition. ‘Angela, come very far away—anywhere, only come with me soon—to-morrow.’ Then Angela forced herself to think quickly, and she said just five words: ‘Could you marry me, Stephen?’

• From I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings (1969)

  Heat that soup from last night and put it in the china tureen and, Mary, I want you to carry it carefully.” Every person I knew had a hellish horror of being “called out of his name.” It was a dangerous practice to call a Negro anything that could be loosely construed as insulting because of the centuries of their having been called niggers, jigs, dinges, blackbirds, crows, boots and spooks. Miss Glory had a fleeting second of feeling sorry for me. Then as she handed me the hot tureen she said, “Don't mind, don't pay that no mind. Sticks and

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

  The university was constantly having conflicts with the town and its authorities. The most notable one occurred in 1354. As usual, it originated in a tavern brawl, the keeper of the place being supported not only by his fellow-townsmen but by thousands from the neighboring country.1308 The chancellor fled. The friars brought out the host and placed it between the combatants, but it was crushed to the earth and a scholar put to death while he was clinging to the friar who held it. Much blood was shed. The townsmen, bent upon paying off old scores, broke into twenty college inns and halls and pillaged them. Even the sanctity of the churches was not respected, and the scholars were hunted down who sought shelter in them. The students left the city. The chancellor appealed the case to the king, and through his authority and the spiritual authority of the bishop the town corporation was forced to make reparation. The place was put under interdict for a year. Officials were punished and restitution of goods to the students was made. The interdict was withdrawn only on condition that the mayor, bailiffs, and sixty burghers should appear in St. Mary’s church on the anniversary of the breaking out of the riot, St. Scholastica’s day, and do penance for the slaughtered students, each burgher laying down a penny on the high altar, the sum to be divided equally between poor students and the curate. It was not till 1825, that the university agreed to forego the spectacle of this annual penance which had been kept up for nearly five centuries. Not for several years did the university assume its former aspect.1309 Among the students themselves peace did not always reign. The Irish contingent was banished, 1413, by act of parliament for turbulence.1310 The arrival of the Dominicans and Franciscans, as has been said in other places, was an event of very great interest at Oxford, but they never attained to the independent power they reached in Paris. They were followed by the Carmelites, the Augustinians, and other orders. The next important event was the controversy over Wyclif and the doctrines and persons of the Lollards, which filled the years of the last quarter of the fourteenth century and beyond.

• From Reading Biblical Literature: Genesis to Revelation (2016)

  99 LECTURE 15 Justice and Love in Amos and Hosea I n a classic study, the scholar Abraham Heschel called the biblical prophets “the most disturbing people who ever lived.” They see and feel things with an intensity that modern readers may find inexplicable. Heschel notes that we learn to take the world as it is. We know the world’s not perfect, but we get used to it. Yet the prophets speak as if the unjust treatment of the poor is a national catastrophe. They regard misguided religious practice as a disaster. And the explosive quality of the prophets’ words aims at what Heschel calls “a ceaseless shattering of indifference.” In this lecture, we’ll look at two of these prophets, Amos and Hosea, whose stories come first in Israel’s history. Amos ‹ The opening line of the book of Amos says that he was a shepherd who lived at the village of T ekoa, which was south of Jerusalem. But Amos preaches judgment against Israel, which was the kingdom to the north. What’s more, Amos lived at a time (about 760 B.C.) when things were relatively peaceful and prosperous, at least within Israel and Judah. That impression of prosperity would make it difficult for Amos to get a hearing. ‹ Chapters 1 and 2 show us the prophet’s rhetorical strategy. Amos initially condemns the sins of all the surrounding peoples. As he lists the hideous crimes that everyone else has done, he allows the people of Israel to feel superior. But then he strikes at the center—at Israel itself—pummeling the people for the injustice that is rampant in their own society. ‹ There are seven messages of judgment against other peoples, and each has the same form. First, the prophet condemns the violent actions that have been committed by each city or region. Second, he warns of the violent destruction that is coming because of those actions.

• From Reading Biblical Literature: Genesis to Revelation (2016)

  Reading Biblical Literature: Genesis to Revelation64 step in David’s rise and Saul’s downfall comes when David achieves renown by killing the giant Philistine named Goliath. Finally, Saul’s rage gets out of control; he throws a spear at David, who must run for his life. The Philistine Goliath dares the Israelites to send one of their best soldiers to take him on in single combat, but no one is willing— until David says that he will fight and, of course, wins the seemingly impossible contest. Lecture 9—Saul, the T ragic King 65 ‹ David flees to the desert, where he becomes the leader of an outlaw band. From Saul’s perspective, David has become a kind of charismatic gang boss. Saul makes a desperate attempt to capture David, but he fails. Eventually, Saul must give up the chase, because the Philistines are on the march again and are threatening to bring down Saul’s kingdom. ‹ As we approach the end of the story, Saul is a failed king, who is running out of options. The Philistine armies are encircling his kingdom. As he faces the greatest battle of his career, Saul can see that his army has no chance. In the blackness of night, he makes a final plea for help from the spirit world. He makes his way to the home of a woman who claims to be able to consult the spirits of the dead. ‹ Saul asks the woman to bring up the spirit of Samuel, who had died some years before. The woman says that she sees a figure who looks like an old man. Saul believes it to be Samuel’s ghost and pleads with the spirit of the dead man for help. Saul tells the spirit that God no longer answers him. But the spirit responds by saying that Saul has brought this on himself, because Saul is the one who turned away from God, and God is now letting Saul’s destructive decision take its course. The spirit warns that in battle the following day, the end will come. Saul and his sons will soon join Samuel in the realm of the dead. ‹ On the day of battle, the spirit’s words come true. The Philistine army overwhelms Saul, and Saul is mortally wounded. In an act of self-assertion, he commands his armor-bearer to kill him so that his enemies might not have the pleasure of doing so. But the armor-bearer refuses, and Saul falls on his own sword. Having set this course of self-destruction, Saul follows it out to the end. Interpreting 1 Samuel ‹ One major approach to interpreting this tragedy is to see Saul as a negative moral example. We see how bad decisions lead to bad results, and we trace the way his early acts of decisive leadership became tainted by arrogance and jealousy. We must guard against the sins of pride and envy, because they inevitably lead to a person’s downfall.

• From Reading Biblical Literature: Genesis to Revelation (2016)

  Lecture 15—Justice and Love in Amos and Hosea 101 he warns that the sanctuaries of the country will be destroyed and the royal house will fall by the sword. ‹ In response, one of the priests from the sanctuary at Bethel accuses Amos of conspiracy against the government and tells the prophet to return to the south. Amos reiterates that disaster is coming. A society that crushes its poorest members will eventually be crushed, and the people will be taken away into exile. That is, of course, what happened several decades later, when the armies of Assyria brought an end to the northern kingdom. Hosea ‹ In the book of Hosea, the focus shifts from issues of social justice to the problem of unfaithfulness to God. Hosea’s basic assumption is that God loves his people deeply, yet he says that God is anguished because estrangement has occurred. Hosea shows us a God who feels outrage because he has been rejected, yet a God who wants nothing more than to be reconciled with those he loves. ‹ The opening chapter introduces the theme by involving Hosea in a public scandal: God tells the prophet to marry Gomer, a promiscuous woman, whose children will come from her adulterous relationships. The scene is intentionally shocking. T o have Hosea marry someone who would sleep around with other men made a mockery of basic values. Yet the prophet was to live in this scandalous relationship to show how scandalous it was for God to have his people prove unfaithful to him. ‹ The underlying idea is that God’s relationship with Israel involves mutual commitment. For Hosea, God showed his commitment by delivering his people out of slavery in Egypt and bringing them to the land of Canaan, as he had promised. That meant, in turn, that people were to be faithful to God. Yet Hosea lived in a context where it was common for people to participate in local cults, particularly that of Baal. ‹ In Hosea’s eyes, worshipping Baal seemed to violate Israel’s unique relationship with the God who delivered them from slavery. For him, that relationship was not one among many. It centered on a religious covenant that gave Israel its

• From Reading Biblical Literature: Genesis to Revelation (2016)

  Lecture 20—Jewish Identity and Rebuilding after Exile 137 ‹ In chapter 3, the fish spits Jonah out onto the shore, and the prophet finally goes to Nineveh as commanded. He trudges into the middle of town and utters a single sentence: “Forty days more and Nineveh will be overthrown!” Immediately, everyone in the city of Nineveh repents. ‹ God responds positively and decides not to bring judgment against the city after all. But Jonah is outraged. He is grateful that God has been merciful to him but outraged that God would be merciful to others. He stomps out of the city in disgust. ‹ God is taken aback by Jonah’s narrow-mindedness. As the prophet sits outside Nineveh, hoping that God might change his mind and blast the city in judgment, God has a shady plant grow over Jonah’s head to shield him from the sun. Again, Jonah is grateful. But when the plant dies the next day, Jonah sits in the heat and returns to his martyr complex. ‹ Again, God is taken aback. He asks how Jonah can be so upset about a plant that gave him the comfort of a little shade, yet he refuses to let God be concerned about the welfare of an entire city full of people and animals. And that’s where the book ends: with a question that’s left for readers themselves to answer. Shouldn’t we seek the welfare of people everywhere, even those outside our own communities? Suggested Reading Blenkinsopp, Ezra–Nehemiah. Limburg, Jonah: A Commentary. Questions to Consider 1. Ezra and Nehemiah focus on the temple, the law, and Jerusalem’s walls. Why did the writers see such an urgent need to reestablish each of these three things after the exile? 2. The book of Jonah uses humor to critique the self-absorbed attitudes that have become a problem. Why draw out the aspect of humor instead of offering a direct criticism, as many prophetic writers did?

• From Reading Biblical Literature: Genesis to Revelation (2016)

  Reading Biblical Literature: Genesis to Revelation 100 ●The first city Amos condemns is Damascus, which lies to the north. In Amos 1:3, he tells us that the people there have threshed the neighboring region of Gilead with threshing sledges of iron. They have devastated the region to gain plunder, just as a sledge destroys the stalks of wheat to knock loose the grain. Because of that, the message warns that Damascus itself will suffer destruction in war, and its people will be taken away as captives. ●In the messages that follow, Amos condemns the brutality of Gaza to the southwest and Tyre to the northwest. Both are indicted for their role in the slave trade. Amos says that both have handed over entire communities to Edom, which was to the southwest. And Edom is the next region condemned. ●There are indictments of Ammon and Moab to the east and Judah to the south. But then, after pronouncing judgment against all those other peoples, Amos finally comes to the center of things: the injustice in Israel itself. In Amos 2:6, he says that the people of Israel “sell innocent people for silver, and needy people for a pair of sandals. They trample the head of the poor into the dust of the earth, and they push those who are destitute out of the way.” Here, the prophet declares that the same kind of wrongdoing that listeners could see everywhere else was taking place in their own society. ‹In chapter 5, Amos makes a scathing critique of the way people use the trappings of religion to cover up these social and economic abuses. He says that God rejects the festivals and offerings of Israel—a stunning idea given that these traditions were mandated. According to Amos, God also rejects the sacred music intended to honor him. The prophet’s words are rhetorically powerful, because if listeners hear that God does not want the festivals, the offerings, and the music, then they have to ask what God does want. ‹And here, Amos speaks his most famous line. What God wants is to “Let justice roll down like waters, and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream.” The prophet understands that God has a fundamental commitment to forming a society in which people are treated decently. Yet the callous indifference to human need that the prophet describes is crushing the vulnerable. ‹What captured the attention of Amos’s listeners was not only his vision of a just society. It was also his warning of judgment, especially his warning about the coming collapse of the kingdom and the deportation of its people. In chapter 7,

• From Reading Biblical Literature: Genesis to Revelation (2016)

  Reading Biblical Literature: Genesis to Revelation102 identity as a people. For Hosea, worshipping Baal was like having an extramarital affair. And just as sexual infidelity could end a marriage, religious infidelity could end Israel’s covenant with the God of the Exodus. If that happened, Israel would no longer exist as a people. ‹ Hosea’s task was to shock people by his marriage to Gomer. He could expect people to react to the scandal by asking how he could possibly allow the marriage to continue. The prophet could then ask how God could possibly allow his marriage with Israel to continue, given their infidelity. ‹ T o underscore God’s outrage at the situation, Hosea gives the three children in this family symbolic names. The first child is Jezreel, a name associated with a place of violence and destruction in Israel. The second child is Lo-ruhamah, which means “not pitied,” and the third child is Lo-ammi, which means “not my people.” The dominant form of local fertility cults centered on the god Baal, who was said to make rainfall (Baal’s temple at Palmyra). Lecture 15—Justice and Love in Amos and Hosea 103 ‹ Chapter 2 shows dramatic movement. It begins with divine outrage at Israel’s infidelity in disturbing language. But it ends with the prospect of reconciliation and the hope that God’s marriage with Israel can be restored. ● Hosea 2:2 sets the basic direction. It’s a plea from God that Israel—his wife— give up her adulterous relationships. Change is what God desires. But starting Hosea’s portrayal of God as an outraged husband may evoke images of domestic violence, whether in the prophet’s time or in our own.

• From Reading Biblical Literature: Genesis to Revelation (2016)

  Reading Biblical Literature: Genesis to Revelation 26 to hunt some wild game and prepare a special meal before he receives the blessing. ‹Rebekah then moves into action to ensure that Jacob, her favorite son, wins out. She contrives a way to conceal Jacob’s identity from the nearly blind Isaac. The old man is suspicious at first but is ultimately fooled by the disguise. He calls for God to give Jacob the special blessing and unwittingly makes Jacob the privileged one in the family. ‹When Esau discovers the deception, he is livid. Rebekah sends Jacob away to stay with family elsewhere until Esau has a chance to calm down. And it’s on this journey that God intrudes into the story, choosing to communicate with the morally dubious Jacob through a dream. ‹As Jacob sleeps that night, he dreams of a ladder that stretches from earth to heaven, with the angels of God going up and down. Over the centuries, some readers have construed this vision as a vivid description of spiritual life: People rise spiritually by humility, which brings them closer to God, while self- obsession draws people away from God. ‹Of course, the narrative tells us nothing about the meaning of the angels’ movement. Instead, attention centers on what God communicates to Jacob. ●We’ve seen that Jacob is a trickster, who gets what he wants through deception. In this context, he’s running away from the conflict at home, which his actions have created. Yet the dream gives us a glimpse of God’s purposes, which are otherwise hidden by the human flaws and failings that dominate the story. ●In the face of human conflict, God’s intent is for something greater. He will bring Jacob back to the land that he is now leaving, give him a large family, and make him a source of blessing for others. Jacob as a Striver ‹In the second part of the story, Jacob arrives at the home of his mother’s family at Haran (southern Turkey). Among the members of this household are two young women: Leah, the elder, and Rachel, the younger. Jacob becomes so Lecture 4—Jacob, Joseph, and Reconciliation 27 Many interpreters see the angels’ movement up the ladder in Jacob’s dream as representing humility—the goal of spiritual life—while their downward movement signifies self- obsession.

• From Comrade Loves of the Samurai (1972)

  If you refuse to impart his name, I shall fight with you wherever I meet you, to avenge my honour as a samurai; for you have insulted it.'He could easily have died from pride and spleen. Jinnosuke told the whole Story to Gonkuro, although he had till then kept silent about it so as not to trouble his friend to little purpose. He wanted to warn his dear Gonkuro. Now the latter was older and more cautious than Jinnosuke, and advised him: 'You ought not to have despised his love, although he is a man of mean condition. We can only love each other because we are alive; let us not waste our life unprofitably. Be more amiable to Ibei, and write him a kind letter to appease him, Jinnosuke.'But this proposal made Jinnosuke furious, and he answered with bloodshot eyes: 'I would reject the love even of my Lord, for it is to you that I have pledged my passion.'He was so angry that he would have killed Gonkuro on the spot; but he calmed himself and resolved to kill Gonkuro after having got rid of Ibei. He said farewell to Gonkuro as usual, and returned home. Then he wrote to Ibei: 'To-night there is no moon. Come this evening to the pine-tree-field of the god Teujin, and fight a duel with me because of your grievance. I will await you there.'Then, after greeting his parents, he retired to his room and wrote several farewell letters to his friends and relations. He also wrote a letter of reproach to Gonkuro, in which he said: 'I pledged my love to you for life, and was ready to defend that love with that life, against every obstacle. I am not afraid of this quarrel with Ibei. I am going to meet him this evening in the pine-tree-field of the god Teujin. If you think of our love years, you will not hesitate to come and die with me. I have much with which to reproach you and, if I cannot tell these things, I feel that I shall not die peacefully. Therefore I wish to tabulate them in this fare-well letter. 'The distance between your house and mine is too great. I have traversed that long road three hundred and twenty-seven times during the three years in which our love has lasted; and every evening I encountered some kind of obstacle or difficulty. I had to hide myself from vigilant people, from guards and watchmen. Often I had to disguise myself as a servant, as an adult with a long lantern. At other times I have travestied myself as a priest. It was not easy for me to perform such humiliating actions, although you may not think so very much of them. 'Last year, on the twentieth of November, my mother lingered in my room and I could not come.