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 Fragments (7)

  But in my breast my heart Violently flutters at thy sight : No sound from me will start. My tongue is lamed, a fiery glow My limbs completely sears ; My eyes see nothing, rumblings low Play havoc in my ears. i8 Sappho Hot per^iration downward dropS) And trembling seizes me. I am ghastly pale, my life-blood stops, Near death I seem to be. A VISION OF HERA (3) Thy beauteous form before me, it did seem. Appeared, O mistress Hera, in a dream. As first, by fervent prayers called, To Atreus' royal sons of old. For when they Ares' work completed had. From where the streams of the Scamander sped They started hither for their home, But first to Argos could not come. Until they prayed to thee and Zeus thy lord. And also Thyone*s lovely child implored — With incense-offerings even now Their townsmen keep their ancient vow. " DEATH IS ALL I WISH FOR ME (4) Some god hath charmed us, Gongyle. The children saw him visibly : Hermes himself did to me come. 19 » Lyric Songs of the Greeks I saw him not, yet said : " Ah, lord 1 No pleasure can my wealth afford. By the blessed mistress of my home. " For death is all I wish for me. And the dewy lotus-fields to see, The meadows of Elysium." WELCOME (5) You have come, you have come, to my great delight ; For I have longed for your welcome sight. In my heart you have kindled again love's flame, Which was burning even before you came. So I wish you welcome and welcome once more. And I wish you welcome o*er and o'er. As long as the time you were absent before. V A REBUKE (6) To show me gratitude thou e*er refusest; From beauteous words with seven-stringed lyres allied. From noble words to keep thy friends thou chooscst, And me reproachfully to aggrieve and chide. Well, be it so ! With insolence be sated. Thou mayest allow with rage to swell thy heart. 20 \ Sappho But my contempt can never be abated To fear the wrath of such as thou now art. if CHARAXUS AND DORICHA (7) Cyprisl he found thee all too bitter, And many a noisy taunt he earned : Him Doricha once more doth fetter, And hath his love, for which she yearned." PRAYER FOR THE RETURN OF CHARAXUS (8) Ye Nereids, nymphs revered, my brother, I pray you, safely let return. Grant also any wishes other, All that for which his heart may yearn. May all his old shortcomings leave him. A joy unto his friends be he, A terror unto those who grieve him. No more a saddening care to me. To honor his sister be he willing, That she with grief be not imbued. E'en now my shameful sorrows stilling. With which my heart he had subdued. 21 Lyric Songs of the Greeks

• From Cults Inside Out: How People Get In and Can Get Out (2014)

  Before beginning a dialogue about cult involvement, you must first develop and then decide on a comprehensive strategy to address the problem. During this period of assessment, avoiding confrontation is vitally important. Instead, stay as positive as possible and refrain from criticism. This strategy is necessary to maintain goodwill and ongoing communication. Only the most extreme cult groups completely isolate their members. In most situations cult members continue to live within the larger community, though the narrowness of their associations and constraints created by group demands may make them seem increasingly isolated. Response In some situations an intervention isn’t possible due to a lack of access. Perhaps the cult member isn’t communicating with family or old friends and is living in relative isolation, often in group housing. In such situations the only alternative may be to wait until there is communication and then gradually improve that communication until there is meaningful access—that is, family visits or visits with friends. In some situations those who are concerned may find that they have a limited window of opportunity as communication diminishes and access becomes increasingly infrequent. Under these circumstances moving forward relatively quickly may be necessary if an intervention is to take place. An intervention is typically done only once. This means that the intervention should be carefully planned and coordinated to make sure the opportunity for success has been maximized as best as possible. The key to dealing with destructive cults is to be as prepared as possible and very specifically focused on learning the facts, being educated about cults, and settling on a carefully considered strategy. In most situations there is adequate time to do this. An option is always to wait or not to respond. It is also important to recognize the personal limitations of those who might be potentially involved in an intervention, such as immediate health concerns and the emotional distress of undertaking such an effort. And there is always the possibility that the intervention won’t work and may produce negative consequences, such as the cult-involved individual cutting off communication for an extended period of time. The operating axiom that fits the process of deliberation is “When in doubt, don’t.” That is, when you are unsure of how to respond in a particular situation, it is often safer to refrain from an immediate response. Keep in mind that there may be only one opportunity to stage an intervention. Careful planning will be crucial for any success to be realized. In some situations when an intervention fails, the returning cult member may experience an elevated status due to his or her demonstrated loyalty. This “halo effect” may enmesh the member deeper and may hinder the possibility of another intervention anytime soon. That is why a considered assessment process, including all the elements mentioned in this chapter, is of vital interest. Choosing Someone to Conduct the Intervention The choice of someone to conduct the intervention as the coordinator and facilitator is also a pivotal factor.

• From The Unexpected Legacy of Divorce: A 25-Year Landmark Study (2000)

  But children of divorce have one more strike against them. Unlike children who lose a parent due to illness, accident, or war, children of divorce lose the template they need because of their parents’ failure. Parents who divorce may think of their decision to end the marriage as wise, courageous, and the best remedy for their unhappiness—indeed, it may be so—but for the child the divorce carries one meaning: the parents have failed at one of the central tasks of adulthood. Together and separately, they failed to maintain the marriage. Even if the young person decides as an adult that the divorce was necessary, that in fact the parents had little in common to begin with, the divorce still represents failure—failture to keep the man or the woman, failure to maintain the relationship, failure to be faithful, or failure to stick around. This failure in turn shapes the child’s inner template of self and family. If they failed, I can fail, too. And if, as happens so frequently, the child observes more failed relationships in the years after divorce, the conclusion is simple. I have never seen a man and a woman together on the same beam. Failure is inevitable. Courtship is always fraught with excitement, yearning, and anxiety. Every adult is aware that this is the most important decision of one’s life. Fear of making the wrong choice and of being rejected and betrayed is certainly not confined to children of divorce. But the differences between the children of divorce and those from intact marriages were striking beyond my expectations. The young men and women from intact families, along with their fears, brought a confidence that they had seen it work, that they had some very clear ideas about how to do it. They said so in very convincing terms. No single adult in the divorced group spoke this way. Their memories and internal images were by contrast impoverished or frightening because they lacked guidelines to use in muting their fears. Indeed, they were helpless in the face of their fears. Gina, a forty-year-old successful executive in an international company, told me, “I grew up feeling that men are unreliable, just flaky, that like my dad they only really want to play with toys. I know that I’ve gone out with men who seemed reliable and wonderful, but still, putting all my eggs in one basket with one man is totally frightening. I’m better off relying on me.” Growing Up Takes Longer W HEN K AREN CAME to see me in 1994 on the eve of her marriage, she was bursting to tell me everything that had happened since our last visit. I remembered her crying her eyes out, complaining about Nick, and here she was, glowing with happiness and optimism.

• From Augustine: A New Biography (2005)

  At this juncture Pinian sent a messenger through the crowd to Augustine to say that he wanted to proclaim publicly that if he were ordained against his will, he would leave Africa altogether. Augustine approached Pinian and heard him say the same thing, adding that if he were not ordained, he would remain in the area. Augustine said nothing but, seeing a glimmer of hope, went back to his colleague and friend Alypius. Alypius disavowed all responsibility for what was going on and left his friend exposed. Augustine quieted the crowd—they must have been ready to explode by now—and told them what Pinian had said. The crowd responded by demanding one further promise: that Pinian agree that if he were ever to accept ordination, he would do so in the church of Hippo. Pinian agreed. When it came to making the actual oath, the promise proved a hard one to swear to. Pinian wanted a loophole, allowing him to leave the vicinity if military invasion threatened. Melanie unhelpfully chimed in that an outbreak of malaria might equally be cause for flight, but Pinian dismissed her suggestion. Augustine told Pinian that he quite understood the position, but feared that any proviso added to the promise would be rejected as subterfuge. When one of Augustine’s deacons read out proposed language, including the proviso, to the crowd, that is just how they reacted, and so Pinian agreed to remove it. Finally, Pinian read out what he would swear to, and the crowd was delighted and insisted it all be put in writing. When he had signed, a few of the leaders of the congregation came up to suggest that the bishops sign the same document, but as they began to comply, Melanie objected. Augustine was puzzled, but held his signature back, half-written on the page, and no one else intervened to encourage him to finish signing. And so the service could continue and the day came to a quiet close. But the storytelling was not quite so simple. Albina, to whom Augustine was writing, had heard some other things. She had heard, for example, that Augustine had told Pinian to swear to what he swore; Augustine denies this. She also had the notion that the crowd wanted Pinian for his money; but Augustine vehemently denies this as well. Here he tells Albina that he had left his own father’s property to the church at Tagaste when he came to Hippo, alleging that the Hippo congregation had taken this in stride. (Quite apart from the fact that the event had occurred twenty years earlier in a very different ecclesial setting, Augustine admits he had not been anywhere near so rich a catch as Pinian.) He even has to admit that the suspicion of greed might affect not so much the congregation as the clergy and even the bishop—himself! He is forced in his letter to swear his innocence.

• From House of Holes: A Book of Raunch (2011)

  Now I’m a bit skittish. Everything has its price.” “The price is sometimes steep,” said Mindy. “You got that right, hot goddess. Lila’s got us all doing the fucky-fuck and the sucky-suck and the humpy and the squirty and the juicy-Lucy and the ooh, ah, ooh. Everything we do they keep track of, and they know what we want most, and they want to milk us till our money’s all gone and our balls ache, if we have balls, which I don’t at the present time. Because it’s the House of Holes, and is there anything worth paying court to more than a woman with a pretty face and two good titties and one hot switchy ass she wants to shove in your face? Hmm?” Mindy took that as a rhetorical question. “I’m more into men,” she said. “I like men. Sometimes I like smoky men in dirty suede.” “Course you do, Mindy,” he said. “You’re a lovely lusty woman and you want to be a part of this whole slumber party. You want an ‘experience.’ And you will have that at the House of Holes, believe me. If you haven’t already.” “I already got shrunk down and squirted out of a man’s urethra.” “Well, then, there you go.” Dune was tiring. “Listen, would you mind if I moved to the couch for a sec?” “No, go ahead,” said Mindy. “Let me just unclip your mike.” “I just need fifteen minutes of downtime. Thanks for dinner, thanks for the smoke.” He closed his eyes and was asleep almost immediately. Mindy watched him sleep. When he sat up an hour later, she had a second Winchester cigar ready for him. She said, “What was she like? The woman you switched with. You mind if I turn the camera back on?” Dune stretched. “Sure, turn the camera on. Are we rolling? Marcela was her name. She was nice, very friendly. She’d put in a request to do Dick for a Day.” “I’ve heard of Dick for a Day,” said Mindy, with interest. “Yes, now, Dick for a Day is not that involved because they can morph your clitty out for six, eight hours without too much bother, and it’ll go back good as new. But it turned out Marcela wanted something more like Dick for a Couple of Weeks, and that takes a full interplasmic transfer. That’s what it’s called, a ‘cross- crotchal interplasmic transfer.’ I’ll bet you want to know how they do that.” Mindy nodded that she did. “Well, you need a tweenella.

• From Augustine: A New Biography (2005)

  But at the same time, souls can go wrong, perilously wrong. They did indeed go wrong, back at the dawn of time, when Adam and Eve sinned. When he could get away with it, Augustine would gloss over the question of the mechanism of transmission of sin to emphasize its effects. Before their sin, Adam and Eve had the ability not to sin if they so chose, but also the ability to sin. And having sinned once (the woman, the weaker vessel, seducing the man into transgression), they had crossed a bridge of no return. They were punished with expulsion from paradise and with the news that they would die with their bodies. Before this, they had been immortal. Worse, they took with them from paradise the certainty that they and all their offspring for all time would sin again. Different forces drove Augustine to that doctrine of original sin, his most original and nearly single-handed creation. The high spiritualism of Platonism resonated deeply with him and left him suspicious of body and flesh and the messiness of ordinary human life. That high-mindedness could have kept him out of trouble, except that he was waylaid by the ordinary beliefs of the Christians he fell in among. Recall the puzzlement he expressed, when he was first back in Africa, at the local habit of baptizing infants.589 How could this be truly valuable, he wondered, doing this to babies who had no understanding of what was going on? Here he was confronted by anxiety and (worse) logical consistency.

• From Augustine: A New Biography (2005)

  As long as Christianity had been a minority cult, it recruited among adults and offered baptism as an initiation ritual. This baptism was a powerful ritual bath that would take away all sins. The canny adult was one who waited as long as possible before taking baptism, because it was a once-for-all opportunity at wiping the books clean. In the fourth century, it was common for the canniest (including the emperor Constantine) to wait for their deathbed to seize the opportunity and common for non-Christian critics to point to that practice to accuse the Christians of rank immorality. “Sin all you like, as long as you like, then take the saving bath and go to heaven”—that’s how the doctrine and practice could appear. But as more and more people became, or were forced to become, Christians and more and more families and communities were imbued with Christian practice across generations, anxiety and logic compelled parents to think that if baptism were truly valuable, indeed were the only way to redemption and heaven, then their infants, who died so easily and so often, were at sad risk. In a world of widespread infant mortality, what was one of make of the tiny babies who came and went so rapidly? Were they all doomed to perdition unbathed? The practice of infant baptism, spreading among Christian communities in the fourth century, arose out of nothing more coherent or doctrinal than this obsessive and logically impeccable anxiety. Augustine the new bishop would find himself compelled to accept (and then compelled to explain, at least to himself) this practice.

• From Augustine: A New Biography (2005)

  Augustine’s doctrine, however, had the effect of reversing and disconnecting important elements of the older Christian teachings. Christianity had taken hold among people for whom the bad news of sin and its consequences came closely followed by the good news of promised redemption. For Augustine the bad news always loomed large. Bodies ache and die, half-controlled sexuality defiles the spirit, and even language comes apart in one’s hands as meaning disintegrates. The divine reclamation project has begun here and now, but it has astonishingly little to show for itself. The glass is always half empty, or worse. Christian life here and now loses, in the Augustinian view, much of its charm and certainly loses any flavor of an exclusive club for the smugly redeemed. And then there was the question of the soul again. Anxiety and logic reinforced each other one more time and left Augustine struggling. If he moved toward the position he took on original sin because of the intersection of old stories, high philosophy, and anxious religious practice, he could not foresee all the logical dilemmas that would face him. The irresolvable one lay in the question of the origin of souls. The question was important because skeptics looking at the doctrine of original sin would ask hard questions about mechanisms of transmission. Just how did the sin of Adam and Eve come to abide in children born thousands of years later? Well, said Augustine, that’s a tough one. He could see four possibilities:

• From An Anomalous Jew: Paul Among Jews, Greeks, and Romans (2016)

  249 AN ANOMALOUS JEW denouement of world history, which, in Paul’s view, culminated in the ar- rival of God’s new creation upon Christ’s return as Lord of all.””°” Fourth, I hasten to add that Rom 13:1-7 is part of the complex process of negotiating the realities of living in an urban Greco-Roman context by a new “cult” that is migrating into a new territory, where it would not necessarily be warmly received. In Rome, Christians were, as Mike Duncan colorfully puts it, “capital O ‘other’ in every sense of the word.’*°* Most Christians were non- citizen resident aliens, Eastern in origin, speaking Greek rather than Latin, and usually from the lower echelons of society; they looked different, spoke differ- ent, belonged to a cult or association that caused tumult within Jewish com- munities, and venerated as a divine king a man who was crucified by Rome and was supposed one day to return to conquer the world. The Christians were socially marginal, with several grounds for suspicion against them, and were therefore highly vulnerable. Courting controversy and pursuing active resistance would not be prudent advice for a group in this position. Praying for Rome's defeat or disempowerment while simultaneously trying to live at peace with one’s Roman neighbors makes life a little complicated. The sociopolitical reality is such that it is never a total dualism of Christ versus Caesar, for resis- tance, acculturation, and survival are all simultaneously engaged.”°° Even with a disposition toward opposition, there are still “contingencies” that often need to be deployed in order to just get by,”*® much like how Tertullian said that Christians did not worship the gods or “offer sacrifices for the emperor”; but he could still declare that all men owed the emperor “their piety and religious devotion and loyalty:*"’ Paul, like most Jews most of the time in the Roman world, hovered between assimilation and resistance.”’* The pragmatic reality is that Paul would not be comfortable singing Jaudes imperii, but neither was he likely to lead a mob charging up the Palatine Hill chanting sic semper tyrannis. For a better word, Paul does not want Christians trying to effect a temporary revolution that effectively replaces one divinized dictator with another one, or believing that they transcend obligations to the state regarding either taxes or re- spect, or throwing their lot in with the increasingly violent anti-Roman sentiment 207. Harrison, Paul and the Imperial Authorities, 1. 208. Mike Duncan, The History of Rome, podcast, Episode 66, “666, 15:00-57 mins. 209. Hanges, “To Complicate Encounters,’ 29-31. 210. Galinsky, “The Cult of the Roman Emperor,’ 15. 211. Tertullian, Apol. 10.1; 36.2. 212. L. Michael White, “Capitalizing on the Imperial Cult: Some Jewish Perspectives,” in Rome and Religion: A Cross-Disciplinary Dialogue on the Imperial Cult, ed. J. Brodd and J. L. Reed (Atlanta: SBL, 2011), 174.

• From Augustine: A New Biography (2005)

  Ambrose of Milan had not married during his worldly career as a young provincial governor, and as bishop he was the first Latin to write praising sexual ascesis in abundant detail. Virginity was his preoccupation, and he was delighted to see it in his sisters as in himself. His praises were mild and abstract, but they came from a man of a family recently rooted in government service, and that origin pinpoints the controversy that would arise in the generation that followed. Ambrose embodies the two models of fourth-century arriviste culture, both the newly made governing class passing itself off as a continuation of traditional aristocracy (and thus adopting traditional models of male authority and transmission of authority through children) and the new class of celibate clerics frankly rehearsing different models.533 Ambrose abandons the old model in favor of the new. Priscillian, the charismatic teacher in Gaul, was not so restrained. His enthusiasm for chastity brought him in close contact with religious women, and he fell afoul of suspicions that his religious practices were irregular and his beliefs worse. “Crypto-Manichee” was the charge. Ambrose took an interest in the case and sought to intercede on his behalf, but to no avail. Priscillian was put to death, the victim of a crusade against a heresy that didn’t exist.534 After his death, heresy-hunters in Spain would be on the prowl, looking for signs of Priscillianism and seeking to suborn witnesses to prove their case, while the official church wearily tried to get past the last generation’s obsession.535

• From Sense and Sensibility (1811)

  “It is all very strange. So suddenly to be gone! It seems but the work of a moment. And last night he was with us so happy, so cheerful, so affectionate? And now, after only ten minutes notice—Gone too without intending to return!—Something more than what he owned to us must have happened. He did not speak, he did not behave like himself. _You_ must have seen the difference as well as I. What can it be? Can they have quarrelled? Why else should he have shown such unwillingness to accept your invitation here?” “It was not inclination that he wanted, Elinor; I could plainly see _that_. He had not the power of accepting it. I have thought it all over I assure you, and I can perfectly account for every thing that at first seemed strange to me as well as to you.” “Can you, indeed!” “Yes. I have explained it to myself in the most satisfactory way;—but you, Elinor, who love to doubt where you can—it will not satisfy _you_, I know; but you shall not talk _me_ out of my trust in it. I am persuaded that Mrs. Smith suspects his regard for Marianne, disapproves of it, (perhaps because she has other views for him,) and on that account is eager to get him away;—and that the business which she sends him off to transact is invented as an excuse to dismiss him. This is what I believe to have happened. He is, moreover, aware that she _does_ disapprove the connection, he dares not therefore at present confess to her his engagement with Marianne, and he feels himself obliged, from his dependent situation, to give into her schemes, and absent himself from Devonshire for a while. You will tell me, I know, that this may or may _not_ have happened; but I will listen to no cavil, unless you can point out any other method of understanding the affair as satisfactory at this. And now, Elinor, what have you to say?” “Nothing, for you have anticipated my answer.” “Then you would have told me, that it might or might not have happened. Oh, Elinor, how incomprehensible are your feelings! You had rather take evil upon credit than good. You had rather look out for misery for Marianne, and guilt for poor Willoughby, than an apology for the latter. You are resolved to think him blameable, because he took leave of us with less affection than his usual behaviour has shown. And is no allowance to be made for inadvertence, or for spirits depressed by recent disappointment? Are no probabilities to be accepted, merely because they are not certainties? Is nothing due to the man whom we have all such reason to love, and no reason in the world to think ill of? To the possibility of motives unanswerable in themselves, though unavoidably secret for a while? And, after all, what is it you suspect him of?”

• From Sense and Sensibility (1811)

  Mrs. Dashwood looked at Elinor with surprise. Elinor felt equal amazement. For a few moments every one was silent. Mrs. Dashwood first spoke. “I have only to add, my dear Willoughby, that at Barton cottage you will always be welcome; for I will not press you to return here immediately, because you only can judge how far _that_ might be pleasing to Mrs. Smith; and on this head I shall be no more disposed to question your judgment than to doubt your inclination.” “My engagements at present,” replied Willoughby, confusedly, “are of such a nature—that—I dare not flatter myself—” He stopped. Mrs. Dashwood was too much astonished to speak, and another pause succeeded. This was broken by Willoughby, who said with a faint smile, “It is folly to linger in this manner. I will not torment myself any longer by remaining among friends whose society it is impossible for me now to enjoy.” He then hastily took leave of them all and left the room. They saw him step into his carriage, and in a minute it was out of sight. Mrs. Dashwood felt too much for speech, and instantly quitted the parlour to give way in solitude to the concern and alarm which this sudden departure occasioned. Elinor’s uneasiness was at least equal to her mother’s. She thought of what had just passed with anxiety and distrust. Willoughby’s behaviour in taking leave of them, his embarrassment, and affectation of cheerfulness, and, above all, his unwillingness to accept her mother’s invitation, a backwardness so unlike a lover, so unlike himself, greatly disturbed her. One moment she feared that no serious design had ever been formed on his side; and the next that some unfortunate quarrel had taken place between him and her sister;—the distress in which Marianne had quitted the room was such as a serious quarrel could most reasonably account for, though when she considered what Marianne’s love for him was, a quarrel seemed almost impossible. But whatever might be the particulars of their separation, her sister’s affliction was indubitable; and she thought with the tenderest compassion of that violent sorrow which Marianne was in all probability not merely giving way to as a relief, but feeding and encouraging as a duty. In about half an hour her mother returned, and though her eyes were red, her countenance was not uncheerful. “Our dear Willoughby is now some miles from Barton, Elinor,” said she, as she sat down to work, “and with how heavy a heart does he travel?”

• From Sense and Sensibility (1811)

  Mrs. Jennings repeated her assurance that Mrs. Dashwood could spare them perfectly well; and Elinor, who now understood her sister, and saw to what indifference to almost every thing else she was carried by her eagerness to be with Willoughby again, made no farther direct opposition to the plan, and merely referred it to her mother’s decision, from whom however she scarcely expected to receive any support in her endeavour to prevent a visit, which she could not approve of for Marianne, and which on her own account she had particular reasons to avoid. Whatever Marianne was desirous of, her mother would be eager to promote—she could not expect to influence the latter to cautiousness of conduct in an affair respecting which she had never been able to inspire her with distrust; and she dared not explain the motive of her own disinclination for going to London. That Marianne, fastidious as she was, thoroughly acquainted with Mrs. Jennings’ manners, and invariably disgusted by them, should overlook every inconvenience of that kind, should disregard whatever must be most wounding to her irritable feelings, in her pursuit of one object, was such a proof, so strong, so full, of the importance of that object to her, as Elinor, in spite of all that had passed, was not prepared to witness. On being informed of the invitation, Mrs. Dashwood, persuaded that such an excursion would be productive of much amusement to both her daughters, and perceiving through all her affectionate attention to herself, how much the heart of Marianne was in it, would not hear of their declining the offer upon _her_ account; insisted on their both accepting it directly; and then began to foresee, with her usual cheerfulness, a variety of advantages that would accrue to them all, from this separation. “I am delighted with the plan,” she cried, “it is exactly what I could wish. Margaret and I shall be as much benefited by it as yourselves. When you and the Middletons are gone, we shall go on so quietly and happily together with our books and our music! You will find Margaret so improved when you come back again! I have a little plan of alteration for your bedrooms too, which may now be performed without any inconvenience to any one. It is very right that you _should_ go to town; I would have every young woman of your condition in life acquainted with the manners and amusements of London. You will be under the care of a motherly good sort of woman, of whose kindness to you I can have no doubt. And in all probability you will see your brother, and whatever may be his faults, or the faults of his wife, when I consider whose son he is, I cannot bear to have you so wholly estranged from each other.”

• From An Anomalous Jew: Paul Among Jews, Greeks, and Romans (2016)

  These challenges were experienced in varied ways depending on one’s geo- graphic location (Palestine, Asia Minor, Greece, Africa, or Rome), social status (Roman citizen, parentage, patronage), and socioeconomic position (elite, merchant, artisan, freedman, laborer, slave). These challenges could be negotiated in a host of ways ranging from collaboration to indifference to resistance.” One has only to compare Tiberius Alexander, Herod the Great, Philo, Josephus, and the Qumran sectarians to observe the range of possibilities for practicing Jewish religious devotion in the Roman Empire. For a case in point, in the Jerusalem temple the Judeans made sacrifices not to the emperor but on the emperor’s behalf, a familiar enough stance in the 1. An earlier and much shorter version of this essay was published as Michael F. Bird, “‘One Who Will Arise to Rule over the Nations’: Paul’s Letter to the Romans and the Roman Empire,” in Jesus Is Lord, Caesar Is Not: Evaluating Empire in New Testament Studies, ed. S. McKnight and J. B. Modica (Downers Grove, IL: IVP Academic, 2013), 146-65. Used by permission of InterVarsity Press, P. O. Box 1400, Downers Grove, IL 60515, USA, www.ivpress.com. 2. See H.-G. Gradl, “Kaisertum und Kaiserkult: Ein Vergleich zwischen Philos Legatio ad Gaium und Offenbarugen des Johannes,’ NTS 56 (2010): 116-38. 205 AN ANOMALOUS JEW ancient world,* which allowed for Jewish sensibilities, yet still expressed subjugation to Rome.* Where was Paul in this cultural matrix of divided loyalties? Was Paul a zealot, a political conformist, or something altogether different? The is- sue of Paul’s stance vis-a-vis the Roman Empire has been a well-studied topic in the last ten or so years of biblical scholarship.” Some see Paul as a political radical, and others suppose that Paul was rather uninterested in the affairs of the Roman political apparatus. My thesis in this chapter is that, although Paul’s thought and praxis do not suggest a militant anti- Roman activism, he nonetheless engages in a not-so-subtle critique of the Roman socioreligious edifice because it stands opposed to the ultimate manifestation of the kingdom of God and the lordship of Jesus Christ. An examination of Paul’s letter to the Romans will be utilized to demonstrate such a point. It will be shown that Paul’s anomaly here is that he is a Roman citizen who looks forward to the supersession of the Roman empire by the new empire of Israel’s God. 3. Simon R. FE. Price, Rituals and Power: The Roman Imperial Cult in Asia Minor (New York: CUP, 1984), 209-14, 232-33. Ittai Gradel (Emperor Worship and Roman Religion [Oxford: OUP, 2002], 20-22) reports that a college of priests, the Arval brothers, routinely offered sacrifices to mark imperial anniversaries and victories: “The Arvals offer striking and detailed evidence of the extent to which the emperor and his house quickly came to dominate the state cult in Rome, without, however, receiving direct worship in this sphere, and without supplanting the more traditional cults and celebrations” (22).

• From Sense and Sensibility (1811)

  In this manner they had continued about a quarter of an hour, when Marianne, whose nerves could not then bear any sudden noise, was startled by a rap at the door. “Who can this be?” cried Elinor. “So early too! I thought we _had_ been safe.” Marianne moved to the window. “It is Colonel Brandon!” said she, with vexation. “We are never safe from _him_.” “He will not come in, as Mrs. Jennings is from home.” “I will not trust to _that_,” retreating to her own room. “A man who has nothing to do with his own time has no conscience in his intrusion on that of others.” The event proved her conjecture right, though it was founded on injustice and error; for Colonel Brandon _did_ come in; and Elinor, who was convinced that solicitude for Marianne brought him thither, and who saw _that_ solicitude in his disturbed and melancholy look, and in his anxious though brief inquiry after her, could not forgive her sister for esteeming him so lightly. “I met Mrs. Jennings in Bond Street,” said he, after the first salutation, “and she encouraged me to come on; and I was the more easily encouraged, because I thought it probable that I might find you alone, which I was very desirous of doing. My object—my wish—my sole wish in desiring it—I hope, I believe it is—is to be a means of giving comfort;—no, I must not say comfort—not present comfort—but conviction, lasting conviction to your sister’s mind. My regard for her, for yourself, for your mother—will you allow me to prove it, by relating some circumstances which nothing but a _very_ sincere regard—nothing but an earnest desire of being useful—I think I am justified—though where so many hours have been spent in convincing myself that I am right, is there not some reason to fear I may be wrong?” He stopped. “I understand you,” said Elinor. “You have something to tell me of Mr. Willoughby, that will open his character farther. Your telling it will be the greatest act of friendship that can be shown Marianne. _My_ gratitude will be insured immediately by any information tending to that end, and _hers_ must be gained by it in time. Pray, pray let me hear it.” “You shall; and, to be brief, when I quitted Barton last October,—but this will give you no idea—I must go farther back. You will find me a very awkward narrator, Miss Dashwood; I hardly know where to begin. A short account of myself, I believe, will be necessary, and it _shall_ be a short one. On such a subject,” sighing heavily, “can I have little temptation to be diffuse.” He stopt a moment for recollection, and then, with another sigh, went on.

• From Augustine: Philosopher and Saint (2005)

  45 The Inner Self Lecture 10 In this lecture we look at what is most original in Augustine’s view of human nature, his concept of the self as a private inner space. A ugustine’s version of the inner self must be distinguished both from its ancient predecessors and from its modern descendants. Unlike others who developed modern versions of the inner self, Augustine believes that in turning inward we can ¿ nd God. However, in contrast to pagan Platonists, Augustine does not believe the Soul is divine; hence for him God is not only within but also above the soul—to ¿ nd God we must not only enter within ourselves but look above ourselves at something superior to us. The Modern Inner Self: Locke (c. 1675) • The anxiety: solipsism (are we alone in our own inner world?). • The underlying concept: Locke’s picture of the self as a dark inner room that we can never see out of (Essay Concerning Human Understanding 2:11.17). Objectives Upon completion of this lecture, you should be able to: • Describe the modern picture of the inner self as found in John Locke. • Describe the ancient picture of the inner world found in Plotinus. • Explain how Plotinus’s picture of the inner world is derived from Plato’s concept of the intelligible world. • Explain how Augustine’s picture of the inner self differed from Locke’s and Plotinus’s. • Describe the Platonist view of the Fall of the Soul into bodies. • Explain what Augustine meant by saying to God: “You were within, I was without.”

• From Sense and Sensibility (1811)

  “Though with your usual anxiety for our happiness,” said Elinor, “you have been obviating every impediment to the present scheme which occurred to you, there is still one objection which, in my opinion, cannot be so easily removed.” Marianne’s countenance sunk. “And what,” said Mrs. Dashwood, “is my dear prudent Elinor going to suggest? What formidable obstacle is she now to bring forward? Do not let me hear a word about the expense of it.” “My objection is this; though I think very well of Mrs. Jennings’s heart, she is not a woman whose society can afford us pleasure, or whose protection will give us consequence.” “That is very true,” replied her mother, “but of her society, separately from that of other people, you will scarcely have any thing at all, and you will almost always appear in public with Lady Middleton.” “If Elinor is frightened away by her dislike of Mrs. Jennings,” said Marianne, “at least it need not prevent MY accepting her invitation. I have no such scruples, and I am sure I could put up with every unpleasantness of that kind with very little effort.” Elinor could not help smiling at this display of indifference towards the manners of a person, to whom she had often had difficulty in persuading Marianne to behave with tolerable politeness; and resolved within herself, that if her sister persisted in going, she would go likewise, as she did not think it proper that Marianne should be left to the sole guidance of her own judgment, or that Mrs. Jennings should be abandoned to the mercy of Marianne for all the comfort of her domestic hours. To this determination she was the more easily reconciled, by recollecting that Edward Ferrars, by Lucy’s account, was not to be in town before February; and that their visit, without any unreasonable abridgement, might be previously finished. “I will have you _both_ go,” said Mrs. Dashwood; “these objections are nonsensical. You will have much pleasure in being in London, and especially in being together; and if Elinor would ever condescend to anticipate enjoyment, she would foresee it there from a variety of sources; she would, perhaps, expect some from improving her acquaintance with her sister-in-law’s family.” Elinor had often wished for an opportunity of attempting to weaken her mother’s dependence on the attachment of Edward and herself, that the shock might be less when the whole truth were revealed, and now on this attack, though almost hopeless of success, she forced herself to begin her design by saying, as calmly as she could, “I like Edward Ferrars very much, and shall always be glad to see him; but as to the rest of the family, it is a matter of perfect indifference to me, whether I am ever known to them or not.” Mrs. Dashwood smiled, and said nothing. Marianne lifted up her eyes in astonishment, and Elinor conjectured that she might as well have held her tongue.

• From Sense and Sensibility (1811)

  “I can hardly tell myself. But suspicion of something unpleasant is the inevitable consequence of such an alteration as we just witnessed in him. There is great truth, however, in what you have now urged of the allowances which ought to be made for him, and it is my wish to be candid in my judgment of every body. Willoughby may undoubtedly have very sufficient reasons for his conduct, and I will hope that he has. But it would have been more like Willoughby to acknowledge them at once. Secrecy may be advisable; but still I cannot help wondering at its being practiced by him.” “Do not blame him, however, for departing from his character, where the deviation is necessary. But you really do admit the justice of what I have said in his defence?—I am happy—and he is acquitted.” “Not entirely. It may be proper to conceal their engagement (if they _are_ engaged) from Mrs. Smith—and if that is the case, it must be highly expedient for Willoughby to be but little in Devonshire at present. But this is no excuse for their concealing it from us.” “Concealing it from us! my dear child, do you accuse Willoughby and Marianne of concealment? This is strange indeed, when your eyes have been reproaching them every day for incautiousness.” “I want no proof of their affection,” said Elinor; “but of their engagement I do.” “I am perfectly satisfied of both.” “Yet not a syllable has been said to you on the subject, by either of them.” “I have not wanted syllables where actions have spoken so plainly. Has not his behaviour to Marianne and to all of us, for at least the last fortnight, declared that he loved and considered her as his future wife, and that he felt for us the attachment of the nearest relation? Have we not perfectly understood each other? Has not my consent been daily asked by his looks, his manner, his attentive and affectionate respect? My Elinor, is it possible to doubt their engagement? How could such a thought occur to you? How is it to be supposed that Willoughby, persuaded as he must be of your sister’s love, should leave her, and leave her perhaps for months, without telling her of his affection;—that they should part without a mutual exchange of confidence?” “I confess,” replied Elinor, “that every circumstance except _one_ is in favour of their engagement; but that _one_ is the total silence of both on the subject, and with me it almost outweighs every other.” “How strange this is! You must think wretchedly indeed of Willoughby, if, after all that has openly passed between them, you can doubt the nature of the terms on which they are together. Has he been acting a part in his behaviour to your sister all this time? Do you suppose him really indifferent to her?” “No, I cannot think that. He must and does love her I am sure.”

• From Sense and Sensibility (1811)

  In this calm kind of way, with very little interest on either side, they continued to talk, both of them out of spirits, and the thoughts of both engaged elsewhere. Elinor wished very much to ask whether Willoughby were then in town, but she was afraid of giving him pain by any enquiry after his rival; and at length, by way of saying something, she asked if he had been in London ever since she had seen him last. “Yes,” he replied, with some embarrassment, “almost ever since; I have been once or twice at Delaford for a few days, but it has never been in my power to return to Barton.” This, and the manner in which it was said, immediately brought back to her remembrance all the circumstances of his quitting that place, with the uneasiness and suspicions they had caused to Mrs. Jennings, and she was fearful that her question had implied much more curiosity on the subject than she had ever felt. Mrs. Jennings soon came in. “Oh! Colonel,” said she, with her usual noisy cheerfulness, “I am monstrous glad to see you—sorry I could not come before—beg your pardon, but I have been forced to look about me a little, and settle my matters; for it is a long while since I have been at home, and you know one has always a world of little odd things to do after one has been away for any time; and then I have had Cartwright to settle with. Lord, I have been as busy as a bee ever since dinner! But pray, Colonel, how came you to conjure out that I should be in town today?” “I had the pleasure of hearing it at Mr. Palmer’s, where I have been dining.” “Oh, you did; well, and how do they all do at their house? How does Charlotte do? I warrant you she is a fine size by this time.” “Mrs. Palmer appeared quite well, and I am commissioned to tell you, that you will certainly see her to-morrow.” “Ay, to be sure, I thought as much. Well, Colonel, I have brought two young ladies with me, you see—that is, you see but one of them now, but there is another somewhere. Your friend, Miss Marianne, too—which you will not be sorry to hear. I do not know what you and Mr. Willoughby will do between you about her. Ay, it is a fine thing to be young and handsome. Well! I was young once, but I never was very handsome—worse luck for me. However, I got a very good husband, and I don’t know what the greatest beauty can do more. Ah! poor man! he has been dead these eight years and better. But Colonel, where have you been to since we parted? And how does your business go on? Come, come, let’s have no secrets among friends.”

• From Sense and Sensibility (1811)

  “I have just been thinking of Betty’s sister, my dear. I should be very glad to get her so good a mistress. But whether she would do for a lady’s maid, I am sure I can’t tell. She is an excellent housemaid, and works very well at her needle. However, you will think of all that at your leisure.” “Certainly, ma’am,” replied Elinor, not hearing much of what she said, and more anxious to be alone, than to be mistress of the subject. How she should begin—how she should express herself in her note to Edward, was now all her concern. The particular circumstances between them made a difficulty of that which to any other person would have been the easiest thing in the world; but she equally feared to say too much or too little, and sat deliberating over her paper, with the pen in her hand, till broken in on by the entrance of Edward himself. He had met Mrs. Jennings at the door in her way to the carriage, as he came to leave his farewell card; and she, after apologising for not returning herself, had obliged him to enter, by saying that Miss Dashwood was above, and wanted to speak with him on very particular business. Elinor had just been congratulating herself, in the midst of her perplexity, that however difficult it might be to express herself properly by letter, it was at least preferable to giving the information by word of mouth, when her visitor entered, to force her upon this greatest exertion of all. Her astonishment and confusion were very great on his so sudden appearance. She had not seen him before since his engagement became public, and therefore not since his knowing her to be acquainted with it; which, with the consciousness of what she had been thinking of, and what she had to tell him, made her feel particularly uncomfortable for some minutes. He too was much distressed; and they sat down together in a most promising state of embarrassment.—Whether he had asked her pardon for his intrusion on first coming into the room, he could not recollect; but determining to be on the safe side, he made his apology in form as soon as he could say any thing, after taking a chair. “Mrs. Jennings told me,” said he, “that you wished to speak with me, at least I understood her so—or I certainly should not have intruded on you in such a manner; though at the same time, I should have been extremely sorry to leave London without seeing you and your sister; especially as it will most likely be some time—it is not probable that I should soon have the pleasure of meeting you again. I go to Oxford tomorrow.”