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 Another Country (1962)

  The way some people treat them—! They tell me about it, they tell me everything. I like them, I really do. They’re very sweet. And, of course, they make wonderful escorts. You haven’t got to worry about them.” “They don’t cost much, either,” said Vivaldo. “I’ll pick one up for you next week and we can keep him around the house as a pet.” “I simply am not able, today, am I, to say anything that will please you?” “Stop trying so hard. Ellis, where are you taking us for this business-mixed-with-pleasure drink?” “Curb your enthusiasm. We’re practically there.” They turned away from the park, toward Eighth Street, and walked into a downstairs bar. Ellis was known here, naturally; they found a booth and ordered. “Now, the extent of the business,” Ellis said, looking from Ida to Vivaldo, “is very simple. I’ve helped other people and I think I can help Miss Scott.” He looked at Ida. “You aren’t ready yet. You’ve got a hell of a lot of work to do and a hell of a lot to learn. And I’d like you to drop by my office one afternoon this week so we can go into all this in detail. You’ve got to study and work and you’ve got to keep alive while you’re doing all that and maybe I can help you work that out.” Then he looked at Vivaldo. “And you can come, too, if you think I’m trying to exploit Miss Scott unfairly. Is it your intention to act as her agent?” “No.” “You don’t have any reason to distrust me; you just don’t like me, is that it?” “Yes,” said Vivaldo after a moment, “I guess that’s right.” “Oh, Vivaldo,” Ida moaned. “That’s all right. It’s always good to know where you stand. But you certainly aren’t going to allow this—prejudice—to stand in Miss Scott’s way?” “I wouldn’t dream of it. Anyway, Ida does what she wants.” Ellis considered him. He looked briefly at Ida. “Well. That’s reassuring.” He signaled for the waiter and turned to Ida. “What day shall we make it? Tuesday, Wednesday?” “Wednesday might be better,” she said, hesitantly. “Around three o’clock?” “Yes. That’s fine.” “It’s settled, then.” He made a note in his engagement book, then took out his billfold, picked up the check and gave a ten-dollar bill to the waiter. “Give these people anything they want,” he said, “it’s on me.” “Oh, are you going now?” asked Ida. “Yes. My wife will kill me if I don’t get home in time to see the kids before I go to the studio. See you Wednesday.” He held out his hand to Eric. “Glad to have met you, Red; all the best. Maybe you’ll do a show for me, one day.” He looked down at Vivaldo. “So long, genius.

• From Push (1996)

  "OK, well I need a copy of your mother's budget, a current phone or utilities bill, OK?" "OK." I stare at her hard. "I got to go get all that now?" "No, no relax, we're gonna give you a few tests; test your reading and math level, see whether to put you in pre-G.E.D. or G.E.D." "What's the difference?" "Well G.E.D. classes are for students whose basic skills are up to par and they're ready to just go into a class and start working on their G.E.D. Pre-G.E.D. is when the student needs some work to get to the level of the G.E.D. class." "What level that?" "Well, to enter G.E.D. classes a student should be able to read on an eighth-grade level. They should score 8.0 or better on the TABE reading test." "I was in the ninfe grade at I.S. 146." "Then," Cornrows smile at me, "you should have no problem." "What's the problem?" I axes the fat dark-skin woman who is looking over my shoulder at my answer sheet. She got leggings like mine 'cept hers black. She got on blue blouse, look nice, like silk. She look OK I guess. I like light-skin people, they nice. I likes slim people too. Mama fat black, if I weigh two hundred she weigh three. The fat lady is looking at me. I looks back, she ain' answered my question. "What's the problem?" I axes again. "Well I think maybe you may need to take the test again—" "You the teacher?" "One of them." "What you teach?" "I teach the G.E.D. class." "Who the other teacher?" "Ms Rain." "What she teach?" "Ms Rain teaches the pre-G.E.D. reading class." I know thas where I b'long, "Thas where I b'long," I tell her. "Hmmm," go fat black heifer and look at me. I don't believe this bitch no teacher. "Do you want to take the test again?" "No." For me this nuffin' new. There has always been something wrong wif the tesses. The tesses paint a picture of me wif no brain. The tesses paint a picture of me an' my muver—my whole family, we more than dumb, we invisible. One time I seen us on TV. It was a show of spooky shit, an' castles, you know shit be all haunted. And the peoples, well some of them was peoples and some of them was vampire peoples. But the real peoples did not know it till it was party time. You know crackers eating roast turkey and champagne and shit. So it's five of 'em sitting on the couch; and one of 'em git up and take a picture. Got it? When picture develop (it's instamatic) only one person on the couch. The other peoples did not exist.

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

  "Let your pontiff boast as he may of the succession of Peter: even if he should make good his title to it, he will establish nothing more than that obedience is due to him from the Christian people so long as he himself maintains his fidelity to Christ, and does not deviate from the purity of the gospel … . A prophet should be judged by the congregation (1 Cor. 14:29). Whoever exempts himself from this must first expunge his name from the list of the prophets .... "As to your assertion, that our only aim in shaking off this tyrannical yoke was to set ourselves free for unbridled licentiousness after (so help us!) casting away all thoughts of future life, let judgment be given after comparing our conduct with yours. We abound, indeed, in numerous faults; too often do we sin and fall. Still, though truth would, modesty will not, permit me to boast how far we excel you in every respect, unless, perchance, you except Rome, that famous abode of sanctity, which having burst asunder the cords of pure discipline, and trodden all honor under foot, has so overflowed with all kinds of iniquity, that scarcely anything so abominable has ever been before." At the close of his letter, Sadolet had cited the Reformers as criminals before the judgment-seat of God, in an imaginary confession to the effect that they had been actuated by base motives of pride and disappointed ambition in their assaults upon the holy Church and the vicegerent of Christ, and become guilty of "great seditions and schisms." Calvin takes up the challenge by a counter-confession, which introduces us into the very heart of the great religious struggle of the sixteenth century, and is perhaps the ablest vindication of the Reformation to be found in the controversial literature of that time. He puts that movement on the ground of the Word of God against the commandments of men, and justifies it by the protests of the Hebrew prophets against the corruptions of the Levitical priesthood, and Christ’s fearful denunciations of the Pharisees and Sadducees, who nailed the Saviour to the cross. The same confession contains also an incidental account of the spiritual experience and conversion of the author, who speaks for himself as well as his colleagues. We give it in full. "Consider now what serious answer you are to make for yourself and your party. Our cause, as it is supported by the truth of God, will be at no loss for a complete defence. I am not speaking of our persons; their safety will be found not in defence, but in humble confession and suppliant deprecation. But in so far as our ministry is concerned, there is none of us who will not be able thus to speak: —

• From Little Women (1868)

  The tent is for your especial benefit and that oak is your drawing room, this is the messroom and the third is the camp kitchen. Now, let's have a game before it gets hot, and then we'll see about dinner." Frank, Beth, Amy, and Grace sat down to watch the game played by the other eight. Mr. Brooke chose Meg, Kate, and Fred. Laurie took Sallie, Jo, and Ned. The English played well, but the Americans played better, and contested every inch of the ground as strongly as if the spirit of '76 inspired them. Jo and Fred had several skirmishes and once narrowly escaped high words. Jo was through the last wicket and had missed the stroke, which failure ruffled her a good deal. Fred was close behind her and his turn came before hers. He gave a stroke, his ball hit the wicket, and stopped an inch on the wrong side. No one was very near, and running up to examine, he gave it a sly nudge with his toe, which put it just an inch on the right side. "I'm through! Now, Miss Jo, I'll settle you, and get in first," cried the young gentleman, swinging his mallet for another blow. "You pushed it. I saw you. It's my turn now," said Jo sharply. "Upon my word, I didn't move it. It rolled a bit, perhaps, but that is allowed. So, stand off please, and let me have a go at the stake." "We don't cheat in America, but you can, if you choose," said Jo angrily. "Yankees are a deal the most tricky, everybody knows. There you go!" returned Fred, croqueting her ball far away. Jo opened her lips to say something rude, but checked herself in time, colored up to her forehead and stood a minute, hammering down a wicket with all her might, while Fred hit the stake and declared himself out with much exultation. She went off to get her ball, and was a long time finding it among the bushes, but she came back, looking cool and quiet, and waited her turn patiently. It took several strokes to regain the place she had lost, and when she got there, the other side had nearly won, for Kate's ball was the last but one and lay near the stake. "By George, it's all up with us! Goodbye, Kate. Miss Jo owes me one, so you are finished," cried Fred excitedly, as they all drew near to see the finish. "Yankees have a trick of being generous to their enemies," said Jo, with a look that made the lad redden, "especially when they beat them," she added, as, leaving Kate's ball untouched, she won the game by a clever stroke. Laurie threw up his hat, then remembered that it wouldn't do to exult over the defeat of his guests, and stopped in the middle of the cheer to whisper to his friend, "Good for you, Jo! He did cheat, I saw him.

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

  For this offence he was imprisoned by the Council for two months and condemned to a fine of sixty dollars. He made an apology and retracted his words. But Calvin was not satisfied, and demanded a second trial. The Council condemned him to a degrading punishment called the amende honorable, namely, to parade through the streets in his shirt, with bare head, and a lighted torch in his hand, and to ask on bended knees the pardon of God, of the Council, and of Calvin. This harsh judgment provoked a popular outbreak in the quarter of St. Gervais, but the Council proceeded in a body to the spot and ordered the wine-shops to be closed and a gibbet to be erected to frighten the mob. The sentence on Ameaux was executed April 5, 1546. Two preachers, Henri de la Mare and Aimé Maigret, who had taken part in the drinking scene, were deposed. The former had said before the Council that Calvin was, a good and virtuous man, and of great intellect, but sometimes governed by his passions, impatient, full of hatred, and vindictive." The latter had committed more serious offences.766 4. Pierre Vandel was a handsome, brilliant, and frivolous cavalier, and loved to exhibit himself with a retinue of valets and courtesans, with rings on his fingers and golden chains on his breast. He had been active in the expulsion of Calvin, and opposed him after his recall. He was imprisoned for his debaucheries and insolent conduct before the Consistory. He was Syndic in 1548. He took a leading part in the conspiracy of Perrin and shared his condemnation and exile.767 5. Philibert Berthelier (or Bertelier, Bertellier), an unworthy son of the distinguished patriot who, in 1519, had been beheaded for his part in the war of independence, belonged to the most malignant enemies of Calvin. He had gone to Noyon, if we are to believe the assertion of Bolsec, to bring back scandalous reports concerning the early life of the Reformer, which the same Bolsec published thirteen years after Calvin’s death, but without any evidence.768 If the Libertines had been in possession of such information, they would have made use of it. Berthelier is characterized by Beza as "a man of the most consummate impudence" and "guilty of many iniquities." He was excommunicated by the Consistory in 1551 for abusing Calvin, for not going to church, and other offences, and for refusing to make any apology. Calvin was absent during these sessions, owing to sickness. Berthelier appealed to the Council, of which he was the secretary. The Council at first confirmed the decision of the Consistory, but afterwards released him, during the syndicate of Perrin and the trial of Servetus, and gave him letters of absolution signed with the seal of the Republic (1553).769

• From Another Country (1962)

  Vivaldo said, gently, “You know, what you’re doing to Leona—that’s not right. Even if she were doing what you say she’s doing—it’s not right. If all you can do is beat her, well, then, you ought to leave her.” Rufus seemed to smile. “I guess there is something the matter with my head.” Then he was silent again; he twisted his body on the bed; he looked over at Vivaldo. “You put her in a cab?” “Yes,” Vivaldo said. “She’s gone to your place?” “Yes.” “You going back there?” “I thought, maybe, I’d stay here with you for awhile—if you don’t mind.” “What’re you trying to do—be a warden or something?” He said it with a smile, but there was no smile in his voice. “I just thought maybe you wanted company,” said Vivaldo. Rufus rose from the bed and walked restlessly up and down the two rooms. “I don’t need no company. I done had enough company to last me the rest of my life.” He walked to the window and stood there, his back to Vivaldo. “How I hate them—all those white sons of bitches out there. They’re trying to kill me, you think I don’t know? They got the world on a string, man, the miserable white cock suckers, and they tying that string around my neck, they killing me .” He turned into the room again; he did not look at Vivaldo. “Sometimes I lie here and I listen—just listen. They out there, scuffling, making that change, they think it’s going to last forever. Sometimes I lie here and listen, listen for a bomb, man, to fall on this city and make all that noise stop. I listen to hear them moan, I want them to bleed and choke, I want to hear them crying , man, for somebody to come help them. They’ll cry a long time before I come down there.” He paused, his eyes glittering with tears and with hate. “It’s going to happen one of these days, it’s got to happen. I sure would like to see it.” He walked back to the window. “Sometimes I listen to those boats on the river—I listen to those whistles—and I think wouldn’t it be nice to get on a boat again and go someplace away from all these nowhere people, where a man could be treated like a man.” He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and then suddenly brought his fist down on the window sill. “You got to fight with the landlord because the landlord’s white! You got to fight with the elevator boy because the motherfucker’s white . Any bum on the Bowery can shit all over you because maybe he can’t hear, can’t see, can’t walk, can’t fuck—but he’s whiter! ” “Rufus. Rufus. What about——” He wanted to say, What about me, Rufus?

• From Another Country (1962)

  What have you got against our system? I think we’ve all made great strides under it.” He raised one bony hand, one manicured finger. “What would you replace it with?” “What,” asked Cass, unexpectedly, “ does one replace a dream with? I wish I knew.” Mr. Nash laughed, then stopped, as if embarrassed. Ida was watching her—watching her without seeming to watch. Then Cass sensed, for the first time in her life, the knowledge that black people had of white people—though what, really, did Ida know about her, except that she was lying, was unfaithful, and was acting? and was in trouble—and, for a second, she hated Ida with all her heart. Then she felt very cold again, the second passed. “I suppose,” said Ida, in an extraordinary voice, “that one replaces a dream with reality.” Everybody laughed, nervously. The music began again. She looked again toward the dance floor, but those dancers were gone. She grabbed her drink as though it were a spar, and held it in her mouth as though it were ice. “Only,” said Ida, “that’s not so easy to do.” She held her drink between her two thin hands and looked across at Cass. Cass swallowed the warm fluid she had been holding in her mouth, and it hurt her throat. Ida put down her drink and grabbed Ellis by the hand. “Come on, honey,” she said, “let’s dance.” Ellis rose. “You will excuse us,” he said, “but I am summoned.” “Indeed you are,” said Ida, and smiled at them all, and swept onto the dance floor. Ellis followed, rather like something entangled in her train. “She reminds me of the young Billie Holiday,” said Mr. Barry, wistfully. “Yes, I’d love to hear her sing,” said Mrs. Nash—rather venomously, and most unexpectedly. They all turned expectantly toward her, as though this were a seance and she were the medium. But she sipped her drink and said nothing more. Cass turned again toward the dance floor, watching Ida and Ellis. The light was still as bright, the floor somewhat more crowded; the juke box blared. There was a vast amount of cunning, conscious or not, in Ida’s choice of a costume for the place. She wore a very simple pale orange dress, and flat shoes, and very little make-up; and her hair, which was usually piled high, was pulled back tonight and held tightly in a severe, old-maidish bun. Therefore, she looked even younger than she was, almost like a very young girl; and the effect of this was to make Ellis, who was so much shorter than she, look older than he was, and more corrupt. They became an odd and unprecedented beauty and the beast up there; and, for the first time consciously, Cass wondered about their real relationship to one another.

• From Deceptions and Myths of the Bible (1975)

  And the Lord said unto Abram, after that Lot was separated from him, Lift up now thine eyes, and look from the place where thou art northward, and southward, and eastward, and westward: 15. For all the land which thou seest, to thee will I give it, and to thy seed for ever. 16. And I will make thy seed as the dust of the earth: so that if a man can number the dust of the earth, then shall thy seed also be numbered (Chap. 13). This is the Creator’s seed, and the promise it holds is but the promise contained in every seed. In its cosmic sense it is the earth. This is “the Promised Land,” this is “the Holy Land,” and it was not given to the Jews but to all life. 17. Arise, walk through the land in the length of it and in the breadth of it; for I will give it unto thee (Chap. 13). 6. And I will make thee exceeding fruitful, and I will make nations of thee, and kings shall come out of thee. 8. And I will give unto thee, and to thy seed after thee, the land wherein thou art a stranger, all the land of Canaan, for an everlasting possession; and I will be their God (Chap. 17). Canaan is the earth and the fulfillment of the promise, and yet it is upon this purely literal and mythological promise the Jews lay claim to Palestine. Here it is as recently stated: “For orthodox Zionism began with the divine pronouncement to our first Patriarch ‘lift up now thine eyes and look from the place where thou art, northward, southward, eastward, and westward, for all the land which thou seest to thee will I give it and to thy seed forever.’ These words which constitute our deed to Palestine, do not originate in the Balfour Declaration. They are in the Torah. The settlement of Palestine is a religious commandment which must be observed as a Divine decree.” Facts about Fictions Concerning the Jews , put out by the Anti-Defamation League of B’nai Brith. It should have been titled Fictions about Facts Concerning Reality . The Jews must learn that God’s decree is not in Torah but in terra, in history not mythology. According to able historians, the only part of Palestine they ever controlled was Jerusalem and its immediate vicinity; the rest was always under the dominant power of the time, Assyria, Persia, Greece, Rome, etc. Concerning this, G. B. Winton wrote thus: “Darius had divided his empire into satrapies, and Judea formed part of the satrapy which included Cyprus and the whole of Syria. It was a small territory, consisting only of Jerusalem and the country immediately round its walls.

• From Little Women (1868)

  "Yes, of course. Come, Demi," and Meg led her son away, feeling a strong desire to spank the little marplot who hopped beside her, laboring under the delusion that the bribe was to be administered as soon as they reached the nursery. Nor was he disappointed, for that shortsighted woman actually gave him a lump of sugar, tucked him into his bed, and forbade any more promenades till morning. "Iss!" said Demi the perjured, blissfully sucking his sugar, and regarding his first attempt as eminently successful. Meg returned to her place, and supper was progressing pleasantly, when the little ghost walked again, and exposed the maternal delinquencies by boldly demanding, "More sudar, Marmar." "Now this won't do," said John, hardening his heart against the engaging little sinner. "We shall never know any peace till that child learns to go to bed properly. You have made a slave of yourself long enough. Give him one lesson, and then there will be an end of it. Put him in his bed and leave him, Meg." "He won't stay there, he never does unless I sit by him." "I'll manage him. Demi, go upstairs, and get into your bed, as Mamma bids you." "S'ant!" replied the young rebel, helping himself to the coveted 'cakie', and beginning to eat the same with calm audacity. "You must never say that to Papa. I shall carry you if you don't go yourself." "Go 'way, me don't love Parpar." and Demi retired to his mother's skirts for protection. But even that refuge proved unavailing, for he was delivered over to the enemy, with a "Be gentle with him, John," which struck the culprit with dismay, for when Mamma deserted him, then the judgment day was at hand. Bereft of his cake, defrauded of his frolic, and borne away by a strong hand to that detested bed, poor Demi could not restrain his wrath, but openly defied Papa, and kicked and screamed lustily all the way upstairs. The minute he was put into bed on one side, he rolled out on the other, and made for the door, only to be ignominiously caught up by the tail of his little toga and put back again, which lively performance was kept up till the young man's strength gave out, when he

• From Another Country (1962)

  It won’t change anything, it won’t help.” He came and stood over her. “Let’s get this straight. We’ve been married almost thirteen years, and I’ve been in love with you all that time, and I’ve trusted you, and, except for a couple of times in the army, I haven’t had anything to do with any other woman. Even though I’ve thought about it. But it never seemed worth it. And I’ve worked, I’ve worked very hard, Cass, for you and our children, so we could be happy and so our marriage would work. Maybe you think that’s old-fashioned, maybe you think I’m dumb, I don’t know, you’re so much more— sensitive than I am. And now—and then—” He walked over to the bar and set his glass down. “Suddenly, for no reason, just when it begins to seem that things are really going to work out for us, all of a sudden—you begin to make me feel that I’m something that stinks, that I ought to be out of doors. I didn’t know what had happened, I didn’t know where you’d gone—all of a sudden. I’ve listened to you come into this house and go and look at the boys, and then crawl into bed—I swear, I could hear every move you made—and I’d stay on in the office like a little boy, because I didn’t know how, how , to come close to you again. I kept thinking, She’ll get over it, it’s just some strange kind of feminine shift that I can’t understand. I even thought, my God, that maybe you were going to have another baby and didn’t want to tell me yet.” He bowed his head on the bar. “And, Jesus, Jesus—Eric! You walk in and tell me you’ve been sleeping with Eric.” He turned and looked at her. “How long?” “A few weeks.” “Why?” She did not answer. He came toward her again. “Answer me, baby. Why?” He leaned over her, imprisoning her in the chair. “Is it that you wanted to hurt me?” “No. I have never wanted to hurt you.” “Why, then?” He leaned closer. “Did you get bored with me? Does he make love to you better than I; does he know tricks I don’t know? Is that it?” He wrapped the fingers of one hand in her hair. “Is that it? Answer me!” “Richard, you’re going to wake the children—” “ Now she worries about the children!” He pulled her head forward, then slammed it back against the chair, and slapped her across the face, twice, as hard as he could. The room dropped into darkness for a second, then came reeling back, in light; tears came to her eyes, and her nose began to bleed. “Is that it? Did he fuck you in the ass, did he make you suck his cock?

• From Another Country (1962)

  Just tell me that?” “Why, your husband did, you bitch. You told me yourself he had a thing on him like a horse. You told me yourself how he did you—he kept telling you how he had the biggest thing in Dixie, black or white. And you said you couldn’t stand it. Ha- ha. That’s one of the funniest things I ever heard.” “I guess,” she said, wearily, after a silence, “I told you a lot of things I shouldn’t have.” Rufus snorted. “I guess you did.” He said—to Vivaldo, the room, the river—“it was her husband ruined this bitch. Your husband and all them funky niggers screwed you in the Georgia bushes. That’s why your husband threw you out. Why don’t you tell the truth? I wouldn’t have to beat you if you’d tell the truth.” He grinned at Vivaldo. “Man, this chick can’t get enough”—and he broke off, staring at Leona. “Rufus,” said Vivaldo, trying to be calm, “I don’t know what you’re putting down. I think you must be crazy. You got a great chick, who’d go all the way for you—and you know it—and you keep coming on with this Gone with the Wind crap. What’s the matter with your head, baby?” He tried to smile. “Baby, please don’t do this. Please?” Rufus said nothing. He sat down on the bed, in the position in which he had been sitting when Vivaldo arrived. “Come on, Leona,” said Vivaldo at last and Rufus stood up, looking at them both with a little smile, with hatred. “I’m just going to take her away for a few days, so you can both cool down. There’s no point in going on like this.” “Sir Walter Raleigh—with a hard on,” Rufus sneered. “Look,” said Vivaldo, “if you don’t trust me, man, I’ll get a room at the Y. I’ll come back here. Goddammit,” he shouted, “I’m not trying to steal your girl. You know me better than that.” Rufus said, with an astonishing and a menacing humility, “I guess you don’t think she’s good enough for you.” “Oh, shit. You don’t think she’s good enough for you .” “No,” said Leona, and both men turned to watch her, “ain’t neither one of you got it right. Rufus don’t think he’s good enough for me .” She and Rufus stared at each other. A tugboat whistled, far away. Rufus smiled. “You see? You bring it up all the time. You the one who brings it up. Now, how you expect me to make it with a bitch like you?” “It’s the way you was raised,” she said, “and I guess you just can’t help it.” Again, there was a silence. Leona pressed her lips together and her eyes filled with tears. She seemed to wish to call the words back, to call time back, and begin everything over again.

• From Deceptions and Myths of the Bible (1975)

  As they pass through each, some garment or jewel is taken from them so that on arriving at the seventh plane (matter) they too are naked. This is the mythic way of telling us the Creative Principle loses its spirit nature when it becomes matter. The Romans said “Demon est Deus inversus.” Others had a different name for it; they called it the Serpent. Concerning this scriptural myth, we know that man was not created in this fashion. Why then do we accept and respect it? The answer is, because we are ignorant of the entire subject of beginnings, of world as well as man. Our Premise showed how knowledge eliminates religion’s God concerning weather, climate and even worlds. So is it here. The Creator of biologic forms is the Creative Principle whose dwelling place is the parental genes. Of worlds it is planetary genes. This is the Creator of both cosmic and biologic forms and there is no other beyond it. If now we see this part of the Bible is false, what of the rest of it? It is either priestly ignorance or priestly hoax intended to deceive us. If the latter, nowhere has it succeeded more than in the next chapter. Let us get behind the hoax that we too may partake of “the tree of knowledge.” 3The SerpentIn religion what damned error but some sober brow will bless it, and approve it with a text. SHAKESPEARE. A s a molder of religious thought, the third chapter of Genesis has been, perhaps, the greatest influence of any in the Old Testament. From it we get the idea of “original sin,” “the fall of man,” the belief that we are “lost” and therefore in need of “salvation.” Because of this, we need to know something about the alleged cause of it all. In this chapter a new character is introduced—Satan, the priestly alibi of all religions. Here, however, this mighty fellow is only a talking snake. Later, we will meet a talking ass— Balaam’s. In this case the author, knowing our weakness, tells us in five different places that this is a fable. Then why not the snake story also? Most people today accept it as such, yet even these do not see in it the all-important point, namely, that it has nothing whatever to do with us. This is a Creation myth, and whatever happens in it happens to the Creator, not man. Throughout the ancient world the serpent was the symbol of the Creative Principle, and an excellent symbol it is, for the male germ of both man and animal is a microscopic serpent, “armed forward with a piercer and propelled by the violent lashing of a formidable length of tail.” Julian Huxley. This is the Creative Principle in biologic forms. In this myth it has not reached that stage yet; it is still within the earth. Here it is “that old serpent, which is the Devil, and Satan” of Revelation.

• From The Spiral Staircase: My Climb Out of Darkness (2004)

  And so it began. I embarked on years of psychiatric sessions during which we raked over the memories of my unexceptional childhood. No doubt this conformed to the orthodoxy of the day, and in many cases I am sure that this is an effective way to treat the problems of adult life. But in my case, it simply did not work. The anxiety attacks, the terror, and the occasional loss of consciousness continued, and each hallucinatory episode pushed me further away from the rest of the world, making it even more impossible for me to get onto that merry-go-round. When I wrote Beginning the World, I used the conversations with Dr. Piet as a narrative device to explain what I thought was happening to me psychologically. But the truth is that I remember very little about them. I desperately wanted the treatment to work and cooperated as fully as I could, but Freud, I believe, once said that if you are suffering from toothache, you cannot engage in any productive analysis. You cannot even fall in love. Against the background of these strange periodic attacks, which Dr. Piet dismissed as mere symptoms of a deeper malaise, these psychiatric sessions felt as though we were conducting an esoteric discussion of medieval history while the house was on fire. I wish that Dr. Piet had allowed me to discuss my experiences in the convent. If I could have talked to him about the novitiate, the loneliness, the strain of the last few years of religious life, or my ambivalent feelings about it all, then maybe I could have begun to process the experience. But Dr. Piet usually deflected any such discussion. He saw it as a distraction, a smoke screen that enabled me to hide from my real problems. “You see, in the convent, you were safe,” he would tell me earnestly. “You were not challenged in any way. It was a secure, quiet existence—far from the madding crowd, if you like. You didn’t have to face up to emotional or sexual issues. You were in abeyance. You had, as it were, crawled back to the womb.”

• From Another Country (1962)

  He looked at her; for that moment he hated her. “Why do you say that?” “Because you know damn well what happened. It’s only that you don’t want to know—” “Ida, it was none of my damn business, I never talked about it with Rufus or with Eric. Why should I have?” “Vivaldo, you haven’t got to talk about what’s happening to know what’s happening. Rufus never talked to me about what was happening to him—but I knew just the same.” He was silent for a moment. Then, “You’re never going to forgive me, are you? for your brother’s death.” Then she, too, was silent. He said, “I loved your brother, too, Ida. You don’t believe that, I know, but I did. But he was just a man, baby. He wasn’t a saint.” “I never said he was a saint. But I’m black, too, and I know how white people treat black boys and girls. They think you’re something for them to wipe their pricks on.” He saw the lights of the movie theater three blocks down the Avenue. The summer streets were full. His throat closed and his eyes began to burn. “After all this time we’ve been together,” he said, at last, “you still think that?” “Our being together doesn’t change the world, Vivaldo.” “It does,” he said, “for me.” “That,” she said, “is because you’re white.” He felt, suddenly, that he was going to scream, right there in the crowded streets, or close his heavy fingers around her neck. The lights of the movie theater wavered before him, and the sidewalk seemed to tilt. “You stop that,” he said, in a voice which he did not recognize. “You stop that. You stop trying to kill me. It’s not my fault I’m white. It’s not my fault you’re black. It’s not my fault he’s dead.” He threw back his head, sharply, to scatter away his tears, to bring the lights into focus, to make the sidewalk even. And in another voice, he said, “He’s dead, sweetheart, but we’re alive. We’re alive, and I love you, I love you. Please don’t try to kill me.” And then, “Don’t you love me? Do you love me, Ida? Do you?” And he turned his head and looked at her. She did not look at him; and she said nothing; said nothing for a block or more. The theater came closer and closer. Cass and Eric were standing under the marquee, and they waved. “What I don’t understand,” she said, slowly, “is how you can talk about love when you don’t want to know what’s happening. And that’s not my fault. How can you say you loved Rufus when there was so much about him you didn’t want to know? How can I believe you love me?”

• From Deceptions and Myths of the Bible (1975)

  The cause of all man’s troubles can be reduced to just one word—ignorance. It is this that’s running our world, not wisdom. And what better example of this could we have than our present understanding of the next chapter “The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse”? No doubt you have heard sermons based on these dread horsemen, all in terms of man, his sin, and a loving God’s wrath and vengeance. Myth and scripture, however, deal not with such things. 1. And I saw when the Lamb opened one of the seals, and I heard, as it were the noise of thunder, one of the four beasts saying, Come and see. 2. And I saw, and behold a white horse: and he that sat on him had a bow; and a crown was given unto him: and he went forth conquering, and to conquer. 3. And when he had opened the second seal, I heard the second beast say, Come and see. 4. And there went out another horse that was red: and power was given to him that sat thereon to take peace from the earth, and that they should kill one another: and there was given unto him a great sword. 5. And when he had opened the third seal, I heard the third beast say, Come and see. And I beheld, and lo a black horse; and he that sat on him had a pair of balances in his hand. 6. And I heard a voice in the midst of the four beasts say, A measure of wheat for a penny, and three measures of barley for a penny; and see thou hurt not the oil and the wine. 7. And when he had opened the fourth seal, I heard the voice of the fourth beast say, Come and see. 8. And I looked, and behold a pale horse: and his name that sat on him was Death, and Hell followed with him. And power was given unto them over the fourth part of the earth, to kill with sword, and with hunger, and with death, and with the beasts of the earth (Chap. 6). The four talking beasts are again the four presiding powers of the zodiac, but the horsemen are something new. They represent the four lower planes in Evolution. As in Sagittarius, the horse symbolizes the dynamic but uncontrolled genetic force. This realized, what should we expect of it but war and conflict? This we asserted throughout and we said the Gospels affirmed it. There is no peace for us on these four planes; to attain it, we must acquire the wisdom of the White Horse of the Kalki Avatar, namely, fifth-plane consciousness. As all this was priestly knowledge two thousand years ago, it was carefully kept from the masses. To this end the horsemen and their symbols were intentionally transposed and confused. This we assert without apology, for we have found it again and again in other parts of the Bible.

• From Deceptions and Myths of the Bible (1975)

  Speaking of Christ and his salvation, it says: “It means simply that God comes down and does everything that needs to be done. He has to, because we are helpless— because the very effort to save ourselves by our own ‘good works’ is blasphemy, idolatry, arrogance, presumption, the very essence of sin.” If Christ taught such things, He was a saboteur of His Father’s actual plan—Evolution. And there is no “if” about it; He did teach it. We, the creators of reason, morality and someday divinity, can do nothing, nor do we need to since God knows our needs before we ask Him. Thus He led the race from nature’s order to human chaos, diverted the mind from Reality, and wasted two thousand years on a false salvation. If such a teacher actually lived and led the race so far astray, then Mani was right—”he was a demon”; he was in fact the Antichrist. To spare him this, we say instead, he was the instrument of ecclesiasticism. It was this and this alone that needed the false theology and philosophy. This we find epitomized in that perversive parable of “the prodigal son.” In this, Christ likens man to a rebel, a sinner and a fool who separates himself from his righteous father, only to repent, return and be forgiven—proof positive of his ignorant priestly origin, for no real Christ would draw such a parallel, for none exists. You cannot compare things unlike in nature. The human father and son are comparable, both being moral, self-conscious beings; the cosmic Father and Son are comparable, both being nonmoral, unconscious principles, but the human and cosmic pairs are wholly dissimilar. A Christ would know this also; he would know too that the cosmic Father and Son ran away together and that both fell into materiality. He would know that this was the “original sin” and that all others are but the results thereof. Had Christ known and taught these things, Christianity would never have got started, for the most ignorant would have seen that the sins of man are but the sins of God in man, and that man, instead of a thing apart and despised of God, is the best part of God, the only part that knows what love or mercy is. As it is through man this fallen God regains his kingdom, then instead of God being man’s redeemer, man is actually God’s redeemer. This is the “atonement,” and man is the atoner; in other words, Evolution alone can atone for the “sin” of Involution—the creation of matter, the source of evil. Where then is the worth of this perverted parable? The occult key to it lies in the word sun , not son. When Apollo, the sun, was banished, he fed the flocks of King Admetus. This is the real prodigal, wasting its substance and reducing itself to the swine of scripture—the planets. This eventually returns to its father, the Absolute.

• From Talk Dirty to Me: An Intimate Philosophy of Sex (1994)

  The film Pretty Woman is probably the most widely seen modern vision of prostitutes’ lives. Prostitutes dismiss it with a snort, offended by its many pernicious and wrongheaded ideas. One line of dialogue stands out in particular. Richard Gere, defending himself in an argument, says to Julia Roberts, “I never treated you like a prostitute.” She demurs; it’s true. And instead I want her to scream, “How do you ‘treat’ prostitutes?” What does that mean? What demand would he make on her if he were to treat her like a prostitute? What is it in the nature of being a prostitute that allows another standard to be made? The real point of Pretty Woman isn’t, as it sometimes seems, that Julia Roberts’s character is spunky or naive or romantic, or even that she has really long legs, but that she isn’t really a prostitute. She hasn’t got the hard-core whore’s soul. When I rail on, as I sometimes do, about how awful Pretty Woman is, people will say, “It’s just a Cinderella story.” And I wonder why they haven’t figured out yet what a misogynystic story “Cinderella” is. “ ‘Doing sex work is damaging,’ people say. ‘Giving all those blowjobs is damaging, it’s degrading.’ I think society’s attitude toward blowjobs is what’s degrading. Not the actual act,” says Samantha Miller. “My belief, and this is really a hard one for people to take, is that given economic equality for women—all things equal—there would still be women who would choose to do sex work, to call themselves prostitutes, to sell sex for money, however you want to say it.” Prostitution is hard, perhaps impossible, to define. It is as shifting and malleable as sex itself. The ancient Latin name for a prostitute was meretrix—literally, “she who earns.” Over the course of human history definitions have relied not only on the exchange of cash or goods for sex, but the number of men with whom a woman has sex, the percentage of time a woman spends having sex, even the degree of pleasure and lack thereof taken by the woman, this last to distinguish the professional from the merely shameless. World history has given us a great many variations on what we might consider prostitution, including travel companions for nomadic hunters, “temporary” marriages, “hostesses” for tribal guests, promiscuity during religious festivals, “hired” sex not for money but for increased spiritual harmony. In some cultures, a whore is officially any promiscuous, unmarried woman—but there isn’t necessarily anything evil attached to the name. What we may call prostitution might not be seen that way elsewhere or at another time; what another culture or time called prostitution might not seem so to us. According to the Bible, adultery is a form of prostitution. The one thing that is consistent in western history is that any “loose” woman, any “adventuress,” is dangerous and must be controlled.

• From Another Country (1962)

  He laughed, but felt so guilty about Ida and about his mother that he was unable to let well enough alone. “I’d like to take you over with me one of these days. It might do them some good. They’re such cornballs.” “What might do them some good?” Her attention was still on her magazine. “Why—meeting you. They’re not bad people. They’re just very limited.” “I’ve told you, I’m not at all interested in the education of your family, Vivaldo.” Obscurely, deeply, he was stung. “Don’t you think there’s any hope for them?” “I don’t give a damn if there’s any hope for them or not. But I know that I am not about to be bugged by any more white jokers who still can’t figure out whether I’m human or not. If they don’t know, baby, sad on them, and I hope they drop dead slowly, in great pain.” “That’s not very Christian,” he said, lightly. But he was ready to drop it. “It’s the best I can do. I learned all my Christianity from white folks. ” “Oh, shit,” he said, “here we go again.” The magazine came flying at him and hit him across the bridge of the nose. “What do you mean, you white motherfucker!” She mimicked him. “ Here we go again! I’ve been living in this house for over a month and you still think it would be a big joke to take me home to see your mother! Goddammit, you think she’s a better woman than I am, you big, white, liberal asshole?” She caught her breath and started toward him, crouching, her hands on her hips. “Or do you think it would serve your whore of a mother right to bring your nigger whore home for her to see? Answer me, goddamnit!” “Will you shut up? You’re going to have the police down here in a minute.” “Yes, and when they come, I’m going to tell them you dragged me in off the streets and refused to pay me, yes, I am. You think I’m a whore, well, you treat me like a whore, goddamn your white prick, pay! ” “Ida, it was a dumb thing to say, and I’m sorry, all right . I didn’t mean what you thought I meant. I wasn’t trying to put you down.” “Yes, you did. You meant exactly what I thought you meant. And you know why? Because you can’t help it, that’s why. Can’t none of you white boys help it. Every damn one of your sad-ass white chicks think they got a cunt for peeing through, and they don’t piss nothing but the best ginger ale, and if it wasn’t for the spooks wouldn’t a damn one of you white cock suckers ever get laid. That’s right . You are a fucked-up group of people.

• From Another Country (1962)

  Not yours. Maybe she knows more about those kids than you do; maybe she’s trying to live the way she thinks she ought to live so that they won’t be afraid to do it when their time comes.” He felt himself beginning to be angry. “And you don’t know enough about Eric to talk about him that way.” “Those kids are going to hate her before it’s over, believe me. And don’t tell me I don’t know about Eric; I knew all about him the minute I laid eyes on him.” “You knew what you’d heard . And you’d never heard that he was going to have an affair with Cass. So you’re bugged.” “Eric may have you fooled, and he may have Cass fooled—of course, I think she’s just fooling herself—but I’m not fooled. You’ll see.” “You’re not a singer at all, you’re a fortune-teller. We should get you some big brass earrings and a vivid turban and set you up in business.” “Laugh, clown,” she said. “Well, what do you care? If he wants to make it with her and she wants to make it with him, what do we care?” “Don’t you care? Richard’s your friend. ” “Cass is more my friend than Richard,” he said. “She can’t realize what she’s doing. She’s got a good man and he’s really starting to get someplace, and she can’t find anything better to do than start screwing some poor-white faggot from Alabama. I swear, I don’t understand white folks worth a damn.” “Eric’s not poor-white; his family’s very well off,” he said, beginning to sweat with more than the heat, wishing her voice would cease. “Well, I hope they haven’t disowned him. Do you think Eric’s ever going to make it as an actor?” “I don’t see what that has to do with anything. But, yes, I do, he’s a very good actor.” “He’s getting kind of old to be so unknown. What was he doing in Paris all that time?” “I don’t know, baby, but I hope he was having a ball. You know? Like whatever he digs most, that’s what I hope he was doing.” “Well,” she said, “that isn’t what he’s doing now.” He sighed, telling himself to drop the subject or change it. But he said, “I just don’t see why it should matter to you, that’s all. So he likes a roll in the hay with a man. So what?” “He wanted a roll in the hay with my brother, too,” she said. “He wanted to make him as sick as he is.” “If anything happened between Eric and your brother, it didn’t happen because Eric threw him down and raped him. Let me cool you, honey, you don’t know as much about men as you think you know.” She turned on him a small, grim smile. “ If anything happened. You’re a damn liar, and a coward, too.”

• From Another Country (1962)

  Rufus had been beating her. He sat silently on the bed. “Why?” cried Vivaldo. “I don’t know,” Leona sobbed, “it can’t be for nothing I did. He’s always beating me, for nothing, for nothing!” She gasped for breath, opening her mouth like an infant, and in that instant Vivaldo really hated Rufus and Rufus knew it. “He says I’m sleeping with other colored boys behind his back and it’s not true, God knows it’s not true!” “Rufus knows it isn’t true,” Vivaldo said. He looked over at Rufus, who said nothing. He turned back to Leona. “Get up, Leona. Stand up. Wash your face.” He went into the bathroom and helped her to her feet and turned the water on. “Come on, Leona. Pull yourself together, like a good girl.” She tried to stop sobbing, and splashed water on her face. Vivaldo patted her on the shoulder, astonished all over again to realize how frail she was. He walked into the bedroom. Rufus looked up at him. “This is my house,” he said, “and that’s my girl. You ain’t got nothing to do with this. Get your ass out of here.” “You could be killed for this,” said Vivaldo. “All she has to do is yell. All I have to do is walk down to the corner and get a cop.” “You trying to scare me? Go get a cop.” “You must be out of your mind. They’d take one look at this situation and put you under the jailhouse.” He walked to the bathroom door. “Come on, Leona. Get your coat. I’m taking you out of here.” “I’m not out of my mind,” Rufus said, “but you are. Where you think you taking Leona? ” “I got no place to go,” Leona muttered. “Well, you can stay at my place until you find some place to go. I’m not leaving you here.” Rufus threw back his head and laughed. Vivaldo and Leona both turned to watch him. Rufus cried to the ceiling, “He’s going to come to my house and walk out with my girl and he thinks this poor nigger’s just going to sit and let him do it. Ain’t this a bitch?” He fell over on his side, still laughing. Vivaldo shouted, “For Christ’s sake, Rufus! Rufus! ” Rufus stopped laughing and sat straight up. “What? Who the hell do you think you’re kidding? I know you only got one bed in your place!” “Oh, Rufus,” Leona wailed, “Vivaldo’s only trying to help.” “You shut up,” he said instantly, and looked at her. “Everybody ain’t a animal,” she muttered. “You mean, like me?” She said nothing. Vivaldo watched them both. “You mean, like me, bitch? Or you mean, like you?” “If I’m a animal,” she flared—perhaps she was emboldened by the presence of Vivaldo—“I’d like you to tell me who made me one.