Anxiety

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

  So also there is in this life, and especially in this day, nothing more difficult, more laborious) more hazardous than the office of bishop, or presbyter, or deacon; but nothing in the eye of God more blessed, if the battle be fought in the manner enjoined by our Captain."445 We cannot wonder, on the one hand that, in the better condition of the church and the enlarged field of her labor, a multitude of light-minded and unworthy men crowded into the sacred office, and on the other, that just the most earnest and worthy bishops of the day, an Ambrose, an Augustine, a Gregory Nazianzen, and a Chrysostom, trembled before the responsibility of the office, and had to be forced into it in a measure against their will, by the call of the church. Gregory Nazianzen fled into the wilderness when his father, without his knowledge, suddenly consecrated him priest in the presence of the congregation (361). He afterward vindicated this flight in his beautiful apology, in which he depicts the ideal of a Christian priest and theologian. The priest must, above all, he says, be a model of a Christian, offer himself a holy sacrifice to God, and be a living temple of the living God. Then he must possess a deep knowledge, of souls, and, as a spiritual physician, heal all classes of men of various diseases of sin, restore, preserve, and protect the divine image in them, bring Christ into their hearts by the Holy Ghost, and make them partakers of the divine nature and of eternal salvation. He must, moreover, have at command the sacred philosophy or divine science of the world and of the worlds, of matter and spirit, of good and evil angels, of the all-ruling Providence, of our creation and regeneration, of the divine covenants, of the first and second appearing of Christ, of his incarnation, passion, and resurrection, of the end of all things and the universal judgment, and above all, of the mystery of the blessed Trinity; and he must be able to teach and elucidate these doctrines of faith in popular discourse. Gregory, sets forth Jesus as the perfect type of the priest, and next to him he presents in an eloquent picture the apostle Paul, who lived only for Christ, and under all circumstances and amid all trials by sea and land, among Jews and heathen, in hunger and thirst, in cold and nakedness, in freedom and bonds, attested the divine power of the gospel for the salvation of the world. This ideal, however, Gregory found but seldom realized. He gives on the whole a very unfavorable account of the bishops, and even of the most celebrated councils of his day, charging them with ignorance unworthy means of promotion, ambition, flattery, pride, luxury, and worldly mindedness.

• From Mystical Tradition: Judaism, Christianity, and Islam (2008)

  Lecture Twenty-One English Mystics of the 14th Century Scope: Certain times and places seem to generate significant mystical activity and insight, and 14th-century England saw such an outpouring of great mystical writing. This lecture looks, first, at the anonymous masterpiece The Cloud of Unknowing. It then takes up, in turn, the distinctive styles of Richard Rolle, Walter Hilton, and Julian of Norwich. Finally, we turn to The Imitation of Christ, written by a 14th-century mystic from the Netherlands, Thomas à Kempis. Outline I. In this lecture and the next, we will look at some of the mystics who flourished from the 14th to the 16th centuries in England and Spain. A. Christianity in 14th- and 15th-century England was both thoroughly Catholic and played a role in the social and religious tensions of the Continent. B. The stately cathedrals and ruins of cloisters found in England testify mutely to the complex ecology of monasteries, cathedral chapters, convents, and anchorages and the rich religious life within and around them that was swept away by Henry VIII and Cromwell. C. Although the scenery was splendid, the times were unstable. This was the period of the Hundred Years’ War with France, the Avignon Papacy, the Peasants’ Revolt, the plague, and reforming movements associated with Wycliffe and the Lollards. D. Two compositions of unequal literary merit provide insight into the actual lives of Christians in this period. 1. Geoffrey Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales (written between 1387–1400) is a literary masterpiece in which tales are told by pilgrims who represent the full panoply of secular and religious types in Catholic England. 2. The Book of Margery Kempe is the first autobiography in English, in which an illiterate and deeply religious woman, Margery Kempe (c. 1373–c. 1433) dictates her adventures, including a visit with Julian of Norwich. In her own fashion, 86 ©2008 The Teaching Company.

• From Wild (2012)

  I took off my clothes and got into the real actual bed that was astoundingly mine for the night. I lay awake for an hour, running my hands over my body, imagining what it would feel like to Jonathan if he touched it the next night: the mounds of my breasts and the plain of my abdomen, the muscles of my legs and the coarse hair on my pudenda — all of that seemed passably okay — but when I got to the palm-sized patches on my hips that felt like a cross between tree bark and a plucked dead chicken, I realized that under no circumstances while on my date tomorrow could I take off my pants. It was probably just as well. God knows I'd taken off my pants too many times to count, certainly more than was good for me.

• From Another Country (1962)

  3On the Wednesday afternoon that Ida went off to see Ellis, Cass called Vivaldo at the midtown bookshop where he worked and asked if she could buy him a drink when his day was over. The sound of her voice, swift, subdued, and unhappy, had the effect of jolting him out of his own bewilderment. He asked her to pick him up at the shop at six. She arrived at the exact time, wearing a green summer dress which made her look very young, carrying an absurdly large straw handbag. Her hair was pulled back and fell over her shoulders; and, for a moment, watching her push through the doors, both blurred and defined by the heavy sunlight, she looked like the Cass of his adolescence, of years ago. She had then been the most beautiful, the most golden girl on earth. And Richard had been the greatest, most beautiful man. She seemed terribly wound up—seemed to blaze, nearly, with some private, barely contained passion. She smiled at him, looking both young and weary; and for a moment he was faintly aware of her personal heat, her odor. “How are you, Vivaldo? It’s been rather a while since we’ve seen each other.” “I guess it has. And it’s been my fault. How are things with you?” She shrugged humorously, raising her hands like a child. “Oh. Up and down.” Then, after a moment, “Rather down right now.” She looked around the store. People were peering into bookshelves rather the way children peered in at the glass-enclosed fish in the aquarium. “Are you free? Can we leave now?” “Yes. I was just waiting for you.” He said good night to his employer and they walked into the scalding streets. They were in the Fifties, on the East Side. “Where shall we have this drink?” “I don’t care. Someplace with air conditioning. And without a TV set. I couldn’t care less about baseball.” They started walking uptown, and east, as though each wished to get as far away as possible from the world they knew and their responsibilities in it. The presence of others, walking past them, walking toward them, erupting rudely out of doorways and taxicabs, and springing up from the curbs, intruded painfully on their stillness and seemed to menace their connection. And each man or woman that passed seemed also to be carrying some intolerable burden; their private lives screamed from their hot and discontented faces. “On days like this,” Cass said, suddenly, “I remember what it was like—I think I remember—to be young, very young.” She looked up at him. “When everything, touching and tasting—everything—was so new, and even suffering was wonderful because it was so complete.” “That’s hindsight, Cass. I wouldn’t want to be that young again for anything on earth.”

• From Jesus and His Jewish Influences (2015)

  142 Lecture 22—Rabbinic Judaism’s Traditions about JesusJesus and His Jewish Influences Aftermath of the First Jewish Revolt ●● In the aftermath of the First Jewish Revolt against the Romans and the destruction of the Second Temple, the Romans made major administrative changes in Judea; these were intended to remedy weaknesses in their earlier governing policies. ●● The province of Judea was now made independent of Syria, and it was placed under the administration of an imperial senatorial legate—a legate who commanded a legion. Now, a legion was permanently stationed in Jerusalem. ●● After 70 A.D., Jerusalem lay in ruins for a number of years. What’s more, the sects of the late Second Temple period—Pharisees, Sadducees, and Essenes—disappeared from the historical record. The Diaspora Revolt ●● Jews in the decades after 70 A.D. lived in daily anticipation of the reestablishment of the Temple of Jerusalem. But of course, the Jews would have needed permission from the Romans to rebuild the Temple. As the years went by and Roman permission was not forthcoming, the Jews began to grow increasingly anxious. ●● Eventually, this anxiety and unmet expectations erupted in a series of revolts against the Romans. The first of these revolts is called the Diaspora Revolt (115–117 A.D.), which broke out among Jews living in Diaspora communities. It began in Egypt, then spread to other Diaspora groups. ●● Although we have almost no sources of information about this revolt, all indications are that it was brutally suppressed by Emperor Trajan. What we do know is that this revolt was apparently fueled by messianic expectations and reflected pent- up hostilities between Jews and non-Jews. The Second Jewish Revolt ●● Several decades later, another revolt broke out, known as the Second Jewish Revolt, or the Bar Kokhba Revolt, after its leader.

• From Wild (2012)

  But paging through it for the first time while actually sitting on the trail was less reassuring than I’d hoped. There were things I’d overlooked, I saw now, such as a quote on page 6 by a fellow named Charles Long, with whom the authors of The Pacific Crest Trail, Volume 1: California heartily agreed, that said, “How can a book describe the psychological factors a person must prepare for … the despair, the alienation, the anxiety and especially the pain, both physical and mental, which slices to the very heart of the hiker’s volition, which are the real things that must be planned for? No words can transmit those factors …” I sat pie-eyed, with a lurching knowledge that indeed no words could transmit those factors. They didn’t have to. I now knew exactly what they were. I’d learned about them by having hiked a little more than three miles in the desert mountains beneath a pack that resembled a Volkswagen Beetle. I read on, noting intimations that it would be wise to improve one’s physical fitness before setting out, to train specifically for the hike, perhaps. And, of course, admonishments about backpack weight. Suggestions even to refrain from carrying the entire guidebook itself because it was too heavy to carry all at once and unnecessary anyway—one could photocopy or rip out needed sections and include the necessary bit in the next resupply box. I closed the book. Why hadn’t I thought of that? Of ripping the guidebook into sections? Because I was a big fat idiot and I didn’t know what the hell I was doing, that’s why. And I was alone in the wilderness with a beast of a load to carry while finding that out. I wrapped my arms around my legs and pressed my face into the tops of my bare knees and closed my eyes, huddled into the ball of myself, the wind whipping my shoulder-length hair in a frenzy. When I opened my eyes several minutes later, I saw that I was sitting next to a plant I recognized. This sage was less verdant than the sage my mother had grown in our yard for years, but its shape and scent were the same. I reached over and picked a handful of the leaves and rubbed them between my palms, then put my face in them and inhaled deeply, the way my mother had taught me to do. It gives you a burst of energy, she’d always declared, imploring my siblings and me to follow her lead on those long days when we’d been working to build our house and our bodies and spirits had flagged.

• From The Confessions of Saint Augustine (354)

  And how Thou didst deliver me out of the bonds of desire, wherewith I was bound most straitly to carnal concupiscence, and out of the drudgery of worldly things, I will now declare, and confess unto Thy name, O Lord, my helper and my redeemer. Amid increasing anxiety, I was doing my wonted business, and daily sighing unto Thee. I attended Thy Church, whenever free from the business under the burden of which I groaned. Alypius was with me, now after the third sitting released from his law business, and awaiting to whom to sell his counsel, as I sold the skill of speaking, if indeed teaching can impart it. Nebridius had now, in consideration of our friendship, consented to teach under Verecundus, a citizen and a grammarian of Milan, and a very intimate friend of us all; who urgently desired, and by the right of friendship challenged from our company, such faithful aid as he greatly needed. Nebridius then was not drawn to this by any desire of advantage (for he might have made much more of his learning had he so willed), but as a most kind and gentle friend, he would not be wanting to a good office, and slight our request. But he acted herein very discreetly, shunning to become known to personages great according to this world, avoiding the distraction of mind thence ensuing, and desiring to have it free and at leisure, as many hours as might be, to seek, or read, or hear something concerning wisdom.

• From The Confessions of Saint Augustine (354)

  At other times, shunning over-anxiously this very deception, I err in too great strictness; and sometimes to that degree, as to wish the whole melody of sweet music which is used to David’s Psalter, banished from my ears, and the Church’s too; and that mode seems to me safer, which I remember to have been often told me of Athanasius, Bishop of Alexandria, who made the reader of the psalm utter it with so slight inflection of voice, that it was nearer speaking than singing. Yet again, when I remember the tears I shed at the Psalmody of Thy Church, in the beginning of my recovered faith; and how at this time I am moved, not with the singing, but with the things sung, when they are sung with a clear voice and modulation most suitable, I acknowledge the great use of this institution. Thus I fluctuate between peril of pleasure and approved wholesomeness; inclined the rather (though not as pronouncing an irrevocable opinion) to approve of the usage of singing in the church; that so by the delight of the ears the weaker minds may rise to the feeling of devotion. Yet when it befalls me to be more moved with the voice than the words sung, I confess to have sinned penally, and then had rather not hear music. See now my state; weep with me, and weep for me, ye, whoso regulate your feelings within, as that good action ensues. For you who do not act, these things touch not you. But Thou, O Lord my God, hearken; behold, and see, and have mercy and heal me, Thou, in whose presence I have become a problem to myself; and that is my infirmity. There remains the pleasure of these eyes of my flesh, on which to make my confessions in the hearing of the ears of Thy temple, those brotherly and devout ears; and so to conclude the temptations of the lust of the flesh, which yet assail me, groaning earnestly, and desiring to be clothed upon with my house from heaven. The eyes love fair and varied forms, and bright and soft colours. Let not these occupy my soul; let God rather occupy it, who made these things, very good indeed, yet is He my good, not they. And these affect me, waking, the whole day, nor is any rest given me from them, as there is from musical, sometimes in silence, from all voices. For this queen of colours, the light, bathing all which we behold, wherever I am through the day, gliding by me in varied forms, soothes me when engaged on other things, and not observing it. And so strongly doth it entwine itself, that if it be suddenly withdrawn, it is with longing sought for, and if absent long, saddeneth the mind.

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

  "Would that the fellow-feeling which enables me to condole with you, and to sympathize in your heaviness, might also impart the power in some degree at least to lighten your sorrow. If the matter stands as the Zürichers say it does, then they have just occasion for their writing .... Your Pericles allows himself to be carried beyond all bounds with his love of thunder, especially seeing that his own cause is by no means the better of the two .... We all of us acknowledge that we are much indebted to him. But in the Church we always must be upon our guard, lest we pay too great a deference to men. It is all over with her when a single individual has more authority than all the rest .... Where there is so much division and separation as we now see, it is indeed no easy matter to still the troubled waters, and bring about composure .... You will say he [Luther] has a vehement disposition and ungovernable impetuosity; as if that very vehemence did not break forth with all the greater violence when all show themselves alike indulgent to him, and allow him to have his way unquestioned. If this specimen of overbearing tyranny has sprung forth already as the early blossom in the springtide of a reviving Church, what must we expect in a short time, when affairs have fallen into a far worse condition? Let us, therefore, bewail the calamity of the Church and not devour our grief in silence, but venture boldly to groan for freedom .... You have studiously endeavored, by your kindly method of instruction, to recall the minds of men from strife and contention. I applaud your prudence and moderation. But while you dread, as you would some hidden rock, to meddle with this question from fear of giving offence, you are leaving in perplexity and suspense very many persons who require from you somewhat of a more certain sound, on which they can repose .... Perhaps it is now the will of God to open the way for a full and satisfactory declaration of your own mind, that those who look up to your authority may not be brought to a stand, and kept in a state of perpetual doubt and hesitation .... "In the mean time let us run the race set before us with deliberate courage. I return you very many thanks for your reply, and for the extraordinary kindness which Claude assures me had been shown to him by you.569 I can form a conjecture what you would have been to myself, from your having given so kind and courteous a reception to my friend. I do not cease to offer my chief thanks to God, who has vouchsafed to us that agreement in opinion upon the whole of that question [on the real presence]; for although there is a slight difference in certain particulars, we are very well agreed upon the general question itself."

• From Wild (2012)

  I guessed and guessed again, measuring, reading, pausing, calculating, and counting before ultimately putting my faith in whatever I believed to be true. Fortunately, this stretch of the trail held plenty of clues, riddled with peaks and cliffs, lakes and ponds that were often visible from the trail. I still had the same feeling as I had from the start, when I’d begun walking the Sierra Nevada from its southern beginning—as if I were perched above the whole world, looking down on so much. I pushed from ridge to ridge, feeling relieved when I spotted bare ground in the patches where the sun had melted the snow clean away; quivering with joy when I identified a body of water or a particular rock formation that matched what the map reflected or the guidebook described. In those moments, I felt strong and calm, and then a moment later, when I paused yet again to take stock, I became certain that I’d done a very, very stupid thing in opting to continue on. I passed trees that seemed disconcertingly familiar, as if I’d surely passed them an hour before. I gazed across vast stretches of mountains that struck me as not so different from the vast stretch I’d seen earlier. I scanned the ground for footprints, hoping to be reassured by even the slightest sign of another human being, but saw none. I saw only animal tracks—the soft zigzags of rabbits or the scampering triangles of what I supposed were porcupines or raccoons. The air came alive with the sound of the wind whipping the trees at times and at other times it was profoundly hushed by the endless silencing snow. Everything but me seemed utterly certain of itself. The sky didn’t wonder where it was. “HELLO!” I bellowed periodically, knowing each time that no one would answer, but needing to hear a voice anyway, even if it was only my own. My voice would guard me against it, I believed, it being the possibility that I could be lost in this snowy wilderness forever.

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

  Sex panic is just as real now as it was decades ago. Growing tolerance exists side by side with passionate intolerance, and the rise of fundamentalism (including American fundamentalism) fuels sociopolitical repression on a grand scale. Sexual behavior and gender expression is firmly controlled by authoritarians because both threaten to enlarge us; to freely choose one’s sexual behavior, no matter how common or unusual, is to freely choose one’s individuality. Unless they are willing to remain invisible—and many people have no other safe choice—those with less common sexual and gender inclinations are outlaws. And outlaws start revolutions. I have no idea where this wave of censure and criminalization of people’s simple nature will end. I worry about it; I worry that the tyrants trying to run the world according to their own ideals are, at least in some places, going to win. I’ve been a Buddhist since years before I wrote this book. Buddhists follow basic precepts for behavior; one of them advises against sexual misconduct. What this means and how it is expressed depends on where you are and with whom you are discussing the matter. We are all tempted to call some sexual behaviors “normal.” There are more common and less common behaviors, but normal is an inaccurate word. A central tenet of morality is to not cause harm. What is harm in terms of sex? Not making others uncomfortable. Putting up with your own discomfort—including what makes you uncomfortable in the culture at large and in the small corner of the culture with which you are currently concerned. Good conduct in the realm of sex is partly about respecting one another. That means not using a person like an object (unless that’s your thing, in which case you are a subject and not an object at all). It means not using a person selfishly, without regard to the person’s needs. It means not imposing your will on another person. It means facing the demands of intimacy. Respect also means trying to see another person’s side of things. Words like shame, pride, dignity, and degradation are subjective, contextual; they are not truth. Shame for a straight woman is not like shame for a gay man, and shame for you is not shame for me. I believe that sexual misconduct also includes hatred of the body, your own or another’s, because that is a way of hating the energy of life. In this way, all attempts to legislate adult sexuality are doomed, because the power of desire will always be greater than the power of obedience.

• From Cult: A Love Story: Ten Years Inside a Canadian Cult and the Subsequent Long Road of Recovery (2013)

  This is a natural, instinctive desire; if we are bonded to the adults in our family they will provide for us and protect us. Approval equals survival in the early life of a human animal. When we as adults are enticed and seduced into a cult, it is the guru to whom we look for approval. The twin tactics that Limori used, of building me up (“you are each so vitally important in God’s plan”) and tearing me down (“you have failed again by letting your ego get in the way of your service to God”) kept me unbalanced and entrenched in self-doubt, yet simultaneously and perpetually hopeful that I would receive the total acceptance and affirmation of my worth that I so desperately wanted. The more deeply I became involved in the group and the more firmly the ideas and beliefs that Limori taught became ingrained, the greater became my need for her approval and praise. It seemed a bit like how I imagine a drug addict to be: I was always chasing my next fix of praise or approval, yet with each fix I became more and more dependent on the drug until it became impossible to live without. Just as an addict will eventually cheat or lie or steal to obtain their fix, I would gradually begin to go to further and further lengths to obtain mine, lengths that eventually included doing things that were morally and ethically reprehensible to me. But for now, I was not clearly seeing any of this and simply skated from one spiritual event to another with the group to which I had become bonded. At Wolf’s Den I was trying to enjoy the experience of my first weeklong workshop, although I always felt the strain of the emotional upset when people were worked over by Limori. And I was in a constant battle with my body, which was sending me clear signals that this was not a safe environment and something was wrong. But I ignored the nervous stomach and uneasiness I perpetually felt or, more commonly, tried to find a spiritual reason that would explain why I felt this way. Was I in my ego? Or was I unwilling to fully surrender to God’s will? These were usually the conclusions I came to when my stomach was in knots from dawn to dusk, and I would resolve, once again, to work harder and be a better servant. After workshopping Victor about his need for solitude, Limori channelled to us that this day was to be a day of silence. We were not allowed to speak to anyone until she instructed us to do so. We were allowed to go anywhere on the lodge property, however, and reflect in silence. It was suggested that we spend as much time as possible outdoors. So instructed, we trooped silently out of the lodge, wearing warm jackets and sometimes hats against the autumn chill in the air.

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

  A lot of MTFs do dress with more attention to the feminine than I, as a bulwark against the little shivers of uncertainty. To not pass is to be “read.” The most expert readers, besides other transsexuals, I’m told, are drag queens and many gay men, who are often familiar with the nuances of “faking it.” Children are excellent readers of gender secrets. I am an amateur reader now myself, especially of men becoming women. They are easier to read, because they’re permanently laden with the effects of testosterone, with large hands and feet, height, broad shoulders, square jaws. Sometimes I look twice at a store clerk, a person I pass on the street, caught by a certain undefinable twist, something out of kilter, but I often can’t tell beyond a guess. Most people, I suspect, haven’t the foggiest idea about transsexuals, and encountering one, may feel only that something is off, something is wrong. Gender is a quality we establish and rely upon in the first seconds of contact; it determines our etiquette, our posture, our safety. When we’re with someone of uncertain gender, we literally don’t know how to behave. Cross-dressing to pass is a lot of work. I’m glad I don’t have to do it, glad that without even trying I’m immediately perceived as a woman. I don’t do my nails or other such emblems of femininity routinely partly because of the time involved, partly because such things sometimes signal a social norm I resist, but mostly because these emblems literally get in the way of my other pursuits, of the free and easy movements I enjoy, the passage from garden to kitchen, typewriter to grocery store. Recognizable emblems of femininity are often designed to hamper movement, to be decorative rather than functional, to require a distracting amount of attention. If I had been born a biological male, and still my essentially female self, they would certainly become worth the time, I imagine. Their value as well as their meaning would change and expand. Doing my makeup would be a daily part of becoming myself. One of the major events in a transsexual’s passage is getting hormones. Hormones are so desirable that a real and dangerous black market in them exists among transsexuals. They are medicine, the drug that begins to cure the disease. After about six months on female hormones, a man’s libido can almost disappear. He becomes impotent and develops breasts. A woman on testosterone becomes more energetic, her clitoris swells and lengthens, and her libido can get larger than life. “Suddenly you understand why men tend to be more interested in pornography,” one new man says about going on male hormones. “You understand why there’s prostitution. I have tons of energy; I masturbate three, four, five times a day.” Hair patterns change, muscles develop or atrophy, the deposition of fat layers migrates across the body. Moods change, sometimes dramatically, into tranquilization, rage, euphoria.

• From Boys & Sex (2020)

  When news broke of a Florida: Laurie Roberts, “Boy Allegedly Molested by Goodyear Teacher Brittany Zamora Is . . . Lucky?” AZCentral, March 26, 2018, https://tinyurl.com/y6r7kj3v; Stewart Perrie, “Why Is There a Double Standard When Female Teachers Have Sex with Students?” Lad Bible, March 6, 2018, https://tinyurl.com/y4727wl8; Hollie McKay, “Female Teachers Having Sex with Students: Double Standards, Lack of Awareness,” Fox News, June 30, 2017, https://tinyurl.com/y55uhj67. Shortly before he won: Marlow Stern, “‘The Daily Show’ Digs Up Creepy Clip of Trump Defending a Statutory Rape,” The Daily Beast, September 29, 2016, https://tinyurl.com/y5uesyap. as many as one in six boys: Dube, Anda, Whitfield, et al., “Long-term Consequences of Childhood Sexual Abuse by Gender of Victim.” A freshman at Brown: Emily Kassie, “Male Victims of Campus Sexual Assault Speak Out ‘We’re Up Against a System That’s Not Designed to Help Us,’” Huffington Post, January 27, 2105, https://tinyurl.com/yxkc6c8v. The SHIFT study found that: Khan, Hirsch, Wamboldt, et al., “‘I Didn’t Want to Be “That Girl”’: The Social Risks of Labeling, Telling, and Reporting Sexual Assault.” Chapter 8: A Better Man A national survey of students: Cantor, Fisher, Chibnall, et al., Report on the AAU Campus Climate Survey on Sexual Assault and Sexual Misconduct. See also Carey, Durney, Shepardson, et al., “Incapacitated and Forcible Rape of College Women.” One woman, whose son: Anemona Hartocollis and Christina Capecchi, “Mothers ‘Willing to Do Everything,’ Mothers Defend Sons Accused of Sexual Assault,” New York Times, October 24, 2017, A12. Another, who was among a: Ibid. Although its primary emphasis: For more on best practices in restorative justice, see Karp, The Little Book of Restorative Justice for Colleges and Universities; Bargen, Edwards, Hartman, et al., Serving Crime Victims Through Restorative Justice; Kaplan, “Restorative Justice and Campus Sexual Misconduct.” In his study of 659: Karp and Sacks, “Student Conduct, Restorative Justice, and Student Development.” What’s more, as Judith: Herman, “Justice from the Victim’s Perspective.” There is no perfect system: See, for instance, Yung, “Concealing Campus Sexual Assault.” Chapter 9: Deep Breath: Talking to Boys Yet, realistically, only twenty-four states: Christina Capatides, “A Cup Full of Spit, a Chewed Up Piece of Gum. These Are the Metaphors Used to Teach Kids About Sex,” CBS News, April 29, 2019, https://tinyurl.com/y5cg744y. Well, right this minute: Ibid. See also, US House of Representatives, The Content of Federally Funded Abstinence-Only Education Programs; Santelli, Kantor, Grilo, et al., “Abstinence-Only-Until-Marriage.” despite a federal investment in abstinence-only: Jessica Boyer, “New Name, Same Harm,” Guttmacher Policy Review, February 28, 2018, https://tinyurl.com/y5evxj3h; Andrea Zelinski, “Rewrite of Texas Sex Education Standards Could Include Lessons on Contraception, Gender Identity,” Houston Chronicle, June 13, 2019, https://tinyurl.com/y4nekl8f; Advocates for Youth, “Sexual Education: Research and Results,” Fact Sheet, Washington, DC: Advocates for Youth, 2009, https://tinyurl.com/y5uf7g97. Equally concerning, while pleasure-based: Santelli, Grilo, Choo, et al., “Does Sex Education Before College Protect Students from Sexual Assault in College?”; Tina Rosenberg, “Equipping Women to Stop Campus Rape,” New York Times, May 30, 2018, https://tinyurl.com/y4brgua7.

• From Little Women (1868)

  "I can't bear saints. Just be a simple, honest, respectable boy, and we'll never desert you. I don't know what I should do if you acted like Mr. King's son. He had plenty of money, but didn't know how to spend it, and got tipsy and gambled, and ran away, and forged his father's name, I believe, and was altogether horrid." "You think I'm likely to do the same? Much obliged." "No, I don't—oh, dear, no!—but I hear people talking about money being such a temptation, and I sometimes wish you were poor. I shouldn't worry then." "Do you worry about me, Jo?" "A little, when you look moody and discontented, as you sometimes do, for you've got such a strong will, if you once get started wrong, I'm afraid it would be hard to stop you." Laurie walked in silence a few minutes, and Jo watched him, wishing she had held her tongue, for his eyes looked angry, though his lips smiled as if at her warnings. "Are you going to deliver lectures all the way home?" he asked presently. "Of course not. Why?" "Because if you are, I'll take a bus. If you're not, I'd like to walk with you and tell you something very interesting." "I won't preach any more, and I'd like to hear the news immensely." "Very well, then, come on. It's a secret, and if I tell you, you must tell me yours." "I haven't got any," began Jo, but stopped suddenly, remembering that she had. "You know you have—you can't hide anything, so up and 'fess, or I won't tell," cried Laurie. "Is your secret a nice one?" "Oh, isn't it! All about people you know, and such fun! You ought to hear it, and I've been aching to tell it this long time. Come, you begin." "You'll not say anything about it at home, will you?"

• From Little Women (1868)

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX UNDER THE UMBRELLA While Laurie and Amy were taking conjugal strolls over velvet carpets, as they set their house in order, and planned a blissful future, Mr. Bhaer and Jo were enjoying promenades of a different sort, along muddy roads and sodden fields. "I always do take a walk toward evening, and I don't know why I should give it up, just because I happen to meet the Professor on his way out," said Jo to herself, after two or three encounters, for though there were two paths to Meg's whichever one she took she was sure to meet him, either going or returning. He was always walking rapidly, and never seemed to see her until quite close, when he would look as if his short-sighted eyes had failed to recognize the approaching lady till that moment. Then, if she was going to Meg's he always had something for the babies. If her face was turned homeward, he had merely strolled down to see the river, and was just returning, unless they were tired of his frequent calls. Under the circumstances, what could Jo do but greet him civilly, and invite him in? If she was tired of his visits, she concealed her weariness with perfect skill, and took care that there should be coffee for supper, "as Friedrich—I mean Mr. Bhaer—doesn't like tea." By the second week, everyone knew perfectly well what was going on, yet everyone tried to look as if they were stone-blind to the changes in Jo's face. They never asked why she sang about her work, did up her hair three times a day, and got so blooming with her evening exercise. And no one seemed to have the slightest suspicion that Professor Bhaer, while talking philosophy with the father, was giving the daughter lessons in love. Jo couldn't even lose her heart in a decorous manner, but sternly tried to quench her feelings, and failing to do so, led a somewhat agitated life. She was mortally afraid of being laughed at for surrendering, after her many and vehement declarations of independence. Laurie was her especial dread, but thanks to the new manager, he behaved with praiseworthy propriety, never called Mr. Bhaer 'a capital old fellow' in public, never alluded, in the remotest manner, to Jo's improved appearance, or expressed the least surprise at seeing the Professor's hat on the Marches' table nearly every evening. But he exulted in

• From Another Country (1962)

  I’ll only be a minute.” He jumped out of bed and entered the bathroom. She listened to the water splashing and flushing and looked around his apartment, which already seemed terribly familiar. She would try to get down and clean it up sometime in the next few days. It would be difficult to get away in the daytime, except, perhaps, on Saturdays. Then it occurred to her that she needed a smoke screen for this affair and that she would have to use Vivaldo and Ida. Eric came out of the bathroom and pulled on his shorts and his trousers and his T-shirt. He stuck his feet into his sandals. He looked scrubbed and sleepy and pale. His lips were swollen and very red, like those of heroes and gods of antiquity. “All ready?” he asked. “All ready.” He picked up her bag and gave it to her. They kissed briefly again, and walked down the stairs into the streets. He put his arm around her waist. They walked in silence, and the street they walked was empty. But there were people in the bars, gesticulating and seeming to howl in the yellow light, behind the smoky glass; and people in the side streets, loitering and skulking; dogs on leashes, sniffing with their masters. They passed the movie theater, and were on the Avenue, facing the hospital. And in the shadow of the great, darkened marquee, they smiled into each other’s faces. “I’m glad you called me,” he said. “I’m so glad.” She said, “I’m glad you were home.” They saw a cab coming crosstown and Eric put up his hand. “I’ll call you in a few days,” she said, “around Friday or Saturday.” “All right, Cass.” The cab stopped and he opened the door and put her in, leaned in and kissed her. “Be good, little gal.” “You, too.” He closed the door on her, and waved. The cab began to move, and she watched him move, alone, into the long, dark street. There were no phone booths on deserted Fifth Avenue and Vivaldo walked the high, silent block to Sixth Avenue and entered the first bar he came to, heading straight for the phone booth. He rang the number of the restaurant and waited quite a while before an irritated male voice answered. He asked for Miss Ida Scott.” “She didn’t come in tonight. She called in sick. Maybe you can get her at home.” “Thank you,” he said. But the man had already hung up. He felt nothing at all, certainly not astonishment; yet, he leaned against the phone for an instant, freezing and faint. Then he dialed his own number. There was no answer. He walked out of the phone booth into the bar, which was a workingman’s bar, and there was a wrestling match on the TV screen.

• From Another Country (1962)

  Then, as the man gave him change and he moved toward the turnstile, other people came, rushing and loud, pushing past him as though they were swimmers and he nothing but an upright pole in the water. Then something began to awaken in him, something new; it increased his distance; it increased his pain. They were rushing—to the platform, to the tracks. Something he had not thought of for many years, something he had never ceased to think of, came back to him as he walked behind the crowd. The subway platform was a dangerous place—so he had always thought; it sloped downward toward the waiting tracks; and when he had been a little boy and stood on the platform beside his mother he had not dared let go her hand. He stood on the platform now, alone with all these people, who were each of them alone, and waited in acquired calmness, for the train. But suppose something, somewhere, failed, and the yellow lights went out and no one could see, any longer, the platform’s edge? Suppose these beams fell down? He saw the train in the tunnel, rushing under water, the motor-man gone mad, gone blind, unable to decipher the lights, and the tracks gleaming and snarling senselessly upward forever, the train never stopping and the people screaming at windows and doors and turning on each other with all the accumulated fury of their blasphemed lives, everything gone out of them but murder, breaking limb from limb and splashing in blood, with joy—for the first time, joy, joy, after such a long sentence in chains, leaping out to astound the world, to astound the world again. Or, the train in the tunnel, the water outside, the power failing, the walls coming in, and the water not rising like a flood but breaking like a wave over the heads of these people, filling their crying mouths, filling their eyes, their hair, tearing away their clothes and discovering the secrecy which only the water, by now, could use. It could happen. It could happen; and he would have loved to see it happen, even if he perished, too. The train came in, filling the great scar of the tracks. They all got on, sitting in the lighted car which was far from empty, which would be choked with people before they got very far uptown, and stood or sat in the isolation cell into which they transformed every inch of space they held. The train stopped at Fourteenth Street. He was sitting at the window and he watched a few people get on. There was a colored girl among them who looked a little like his sister, but she looked at him and looked away and sat down as far from him as she could. The train rolled on through the tunnel. The next stop was Thirty-fourth Street, his stop. People got on; he watched the stop roll by.

• From Cult: A Love Story: Ten Years Inside a Canadian Cult and the Subsequent Long Road of Recovery (2013)

  Later, Jessica told me that she had been almost ready to move out of their home. Neither of us made these moves, though, primarily because we were trying to follow God’s orders, despite how horrifically painful and humiliating it was. Finally, in the summer of 1998, Limori declared that Michael and Jessica’s marriage was officially over and they should move apart and begin divorce proceedings. 8The BeginningThe significant problems we face cannot be solved at the same level of thinking we were at when we created them. —Albert Einstein O ur flight to Wolf’s Den was delayed, so Michael and I sat playing cards at a small table in the south terminal of the Vancouver airport. It was December 28, 1999, and we were headed up to the fishing resort to spend the final days of the millennium with those members of our “family” who lived there. Even though Limori would not be there, I was nervous about making this trip. It had been Michael’s choice to spend the last part of our Christmas holiday this way, and I had gone along with the idea simply because I didn’t have the backbone to oppose it. I didn’t like being at Wolf’s Den; I didn’t like the food Limori had Lisa cooked, and I didn’t like that we would essentially be trapped in the lodge from morning until night because of the frigid temperatures and the remoteness of the location. Limori, Susan, Alice and Rosemarie (another member of Limori’s travelling entourage) were all in Arizona for Christmas that year. Limori had been renting a home near Tucson for a while; Arizona had replaced Hawaii as her second base-camp. And though she wouldn’t be at Wolf’s Den physically, I knew from experience that her presence would be felt almost as strongly as if she were. Sure enough, as soon as we arrived at the lodge and settled in the cabin that would be ours, the phone calls from Arizona began. Limori called to see if we’d arrived safely, then she called back to tell Lisa what she should make us for supper that night, and she called after supper to speak to Michael about the importance of this week, when the world was moving into a new “energetic era” as the calendar brought us into a new millennium. She was so present in the lodge that we should have set a place for her at the table. That first evening passed unremarkably; it was the next day that things began to go pear-shaped. There were no guests at the lodge while we were there so Michael and I were free to do as we wished. We read in the library and went for a short walk, although the temperature soon drove us back inside. Mid-afternoon the phone rang for the umpteenth time, and, after speaking to Lisa for a while, Limori asked to speak to Michael.

• From Cult: A Love Story: Ten Years Inside a Canadian Cult and the Subsequent Long Road of Recovery (2013)

  We all knew the routine well and settled down quickly, assuming the position of the good meditation student: hands clasped in our laps, feet flat on the floor, spines straight, breathing deeply and slowly. I had a vague idea of what to expect, but I also knew there would be experiences I had not anticipated. I had never been on a weeklong spiritual retreat, or any other kind of retreat for that matter, but given my experience with the group on Wednesday nights and at the weekend workshops, I assumed this would be much the same, only on a larger scale. Limori began by tuning in and channelling to us about the spiritual work that would be done that week, a theme continued from the night before, only now in a less warm and welcoming tone. We were getting down to business and it was impressed upon us that this week held enormous significance in God’s plan and in order for that plan to come to fruition we would have to be willing to step up and do whatever was required of us. As usual there was a tenor of gravity to what Limori was saying, and I was filled with the now-familiar twin feelings of urgency and self-doubt. There wasn’t enough time to get everything done that God wanted done and, even if there were, I was probably not up to the task. This always left me feeling that I must work as hard as possible and go to whatever lengths were required to meet this bar that had been set so high, which, of course, was how the message was supposed to make me and everyone else feel. We were it. The twenty or twenty-two people here in the room with Limori were God’s only true servants on Earth, and if we couldn’t face the darkness within ourselves in order to bring more light to the world, then all was lost. So, with that twisted bit of logic firmly in place, we were assigned our task for the day. We were each given a pad of paper and a pen and instructed to go off on our own and write down all the secrets we held in our hearts and minds and anything we were ashamed of having done, large or small. “The only way to serve God,” Limori instructed, “is to clear yourself of these things that you are holding onto. Write down what you are ashamed of and what you hide from others. Get these things out of your body and onto the paper and you will be free of them. In this way you will become a clearer vessel for God to work through. Secrets and shame that hide in the darkness are magnets for the Devil. He will use every bit of darkness that hides inside you to thwart God and to ensure that God’s plan can never be fulfilled.