Chagrin

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 The John Dominic Crossan Essential Set (Jesus; The Birth of Christianity; The Power of Parable; The Greatest Prayer) (2004)

  The woman said to Peter, “You are not also one of this man’s disciples, are you?” He said, “I am not.” (John 18:15–17) It is significant that nothing is said about that other disciple who is presumably the same as the Beloved Disciple, denying Jesus! The transference of that peculiarly or even uniquely Markan literary-theological structure from Mark 14:53–72 into John 18:13–27 persuades me to accept, at least as a working hypothesis, the dependence of John’s passion account on Mark’s. Hence my third major presupposition about the intracanonical gospels is that Jolin is dependent on the synoptic gospels at least and especially for the passion narratives (here I agree with Maurits Sabbe [1991: 355–388, 467–513; 1994; 1995]) and for the resurrection narratives (with Frans Neirynck [1982: 181–488; 1991: 571–616]). Once again, if that is wrong, everything I build on it is invalid. And again, the same goes for the opposite position. PRESUPPOSITIONS ABOUT THE EXTRACANONICAL GOSPELS Exactly the same principles used in determining relations between the intracanonical gospels are used for those between intracanonical and extracanonical gospels. For direct literary dependence: in this situation, genetic relationship is established by finding specific stylistic traits of one gospel within another gospel and using redactional confirmation to explain why that latter version used the former as it did. In the absence of such traits giving evidence of direct literary dependence in either direction, independence may be hypothetically proposed. For indirect literary dependence: in this situation, where no specific stylistic traits of one gospel are present in another, redactional confirmation is the only method available to argue in either direction. Those principles will be exemplified in what follows, but an even more basic problem must first be faced. Fixing the Evidence? Why is it necessary to make a distinction here between intracanonical and extracanonical gospels if exactly the same principles establish dependence or independence among them all? Go back and read the epigraph to this section, a passage from Luke Johnson’s book The Real Jesus , with its accusations that my method is “fixed”; that I have given an early date and independent status to “virtually all apocryphal materials” and a correspondingly late date and dependent status to “virtually all intracanonical materials”; and that my only arguments are citations from “like-minded colleagues.” Something clearly happens to collegial courtesy, scholarly integrity, and academic accuracy when extracanonical gospels enter the debate. But, since principles and not just polemics are concerned in that indictment, let me use it to review my methodology. First, it is very, very serious to charge that another scholar has “fixed” his research methodology. Our only integrity as scholars is not to be right and correct but to be honest and public. “Fixing” data entails a deliberate intention to deceive. When one scholar accuses another of fixing the evidence, somebody has lost his integrity. Others will have to decide whether it is Johnson or myself.

• From Lit: A Memoir (2009)

  12 Bent Bender “Well, if God doesn’t exist, who’s laughing at us?” —Fyodor Dostoyevsky, The Brothers Karamazov One day Lecia rings me up. Tawdry, she says. An adjective meaning crude or trashy or otherwise unseemly, I say. Talk to me. Mother’s sleeping with Harold, she says, meaning Daddy’s pill-popping nurse, crashing of late in the spare room. Never happen, I say. That man has got to be gay. Happened, she says. They showed up drunk last night, talking about the hustle contest at Get Down Brown’s. Lecia lives two hours from our hometown, but her former secretary saw Mother and Harold necking. I wonder were they doing this with Daddy in the house! Who knows? Lecia says. Daddy’s so out of it, he may not have twigged to it anyway. If anything, he likes Harold better than Mother. Harold’s nicer, I say. Way nicer. And he used to work at the jail, Lecia says. I wonder if they practice safe sex. We both went quiet till I add, She needs to get an AIDS test. Tawdry, Lecia says. Tawdry, I say, and hang up. So vivid is Mother’s story of her final drunk with Harold—so painterly in its grotesque detail—that I take the liberty of recounting as if I were there, for a good story told often enough puts you in rooms never occupied. The way other families keep wedding videos or log dates in a Bible, mine stores in the genetic warehouse alcohol-fueled catastrophe. I’m the voyeur as Harold tries to zip Mother into her red sequined top, a close fit on her sixty-two-year-old frame. You need to spray some PAM on me, Mother says. Before the mirror, she sucks in her cheeks and rouges a terra-cotta stripe in the cheekbone’s shadow. He tugs down on the blouse hem and she feels her zipper pop midback. Whoa, she says. I can feel a breeze in here. She takes a sip of Harold’s banana daiquiri as he checks her out from behind. I’ll safety-pin it, he says. After draining the glass, she holds up the empty, saying, And do me. He opens the refrigerator, on which Mother has painted a bulbous hippolike old woman, nude in a floppy hat. Hippos are their theme animal, Mother and Harold’s. In the months since I’ve moved Daddy into the home, the old house has sprouted hippos all over. Money I’ve sent to help out has partly been used for the bloated, nappy furniture they laze on—also for redoing the bath, where Mother painted another cartoonlike mural of twin hippos, which I fear echoes the two of them nude together. Mother dials the phone while telling Harold to put some britches on. The silky polyester shirt he slides into has zigzag lightning bolts. Once the buttons are fastened, the front puckers. In our apartment in Cambridge, the phone squeals, and I holler to my husband, who’s typing in the next room, That’s her. Don’t answer it, he says. I know he’s right.

• From The Art of Seduction (2001)

  People literally fell in love with him and the image. Politicians can gain seductive power by digging into a country's past, bringing images and ideals that have been abandoned or repressed back to the surface. They only need the symbol; they do not really have to worry about re-creating the reality behind it. The good feelings they stir up are enough to ensure a positive response. Symbol: The Portrait Painter. Under his eye, all of your physical imperfections disappear. He brings out noble qualities in you, frames you in a myth, makes you godlike, immortalizes you. For his ability to create such fantasies, he is rewarded with great power. 40 • The Art of Seduction Dangers T he main dangers in the role of the Ideal Lover are the consequences that arise if you let reality creep in. You are creating a fantasy that in- volves an idealization of your own character. And this is a precarious task, for you are human, and imperfect. If your faults are ugly enough, or intru- sive enough, they will burst the bubble you have blown, and your target will revile you. Whenever Tullia d'Aragona was caught acting like a com- mon prostitute (when, for instance, she was caught having an affair just for money), she would have to leave town and establish herself elsewhere. The fantasy of her as a spiritual figure was broken. Casanova too faced this dan- ger, but was usually able to surmount it by finding a clever way to break off the relationship before the woman realized that he was not what she had imagined: he would find some excuse to leave town, or, better still, he would choose a victim who was herself leaving town soon, and whose awareness that the affair would be short-lived would make her idealizing of him all the more intense. Reality and long intimate exposure have a way of dulling a person's perfection. The nineteenth-century poet Alfred de Mus- set was seduced by the writer George Sand, whose larger-than-life charac- ter appealed to his romantic nature. But when the couple visited Venice together, and Sand came down with dysentery, she was suddenly no longer an idealized figure but a woman with an unappealing physical problem. De Musset himself showed a whiny, babyish side on this trip, and the lovers separated. Once apart, however, they were able to idealize each other again, and reunited a few months later. When reality intrudes, distance is often a solution. In politics the dangers are similar. Years after Kennedy's death, a string of revelations (his incessant sexual affairs, his excessively dangerous brinkmanship style of diplomacy, etc.) belied the myth he had created. His image has survived this tarnishing; poll after poll shows that he is still revered.

• From On Beauty (2005)

  ‘Yeah,’ said Levi thoughtfully, as his mother pulled his head softly into her shoulder. ‘But sometimes it’s like you just meet someone and you just know that you’re totally connected, and that this person is, like, your brother – or your sister,’ adjusted Levi, for he had been thinking of somebody else entirely. ‘Even if they don’t, like, recognize it, you feel it. And in a lot of ways it don’t matter if they do or they don’t see that for what it is – all you can do is put the feeling out there. That’s your duty. Then you just wait and see what comes back to you. That’s the deal.’ There was a little silence here that Zora felt the need to puncture. ‘ Amen! ’ she said, laughing. ‘Preach it, brother, preach it!’ Levi punched Zora in her upper arm, and then Zora punched him back, and then they ran, weaving through the graves, Zora racing from Levi. Jerome called after them both to have some respect. Kiki knew she should stop them, but she could not help feeling it was a relief to hear curses and laughter and whoops fill the darkening day. It took one’s mind off all the people underfoot. Now Kiki and Jerome paused on the white stone steps of the chapel and waited for Zora and Levi to join them. Kiki heard her children’s clattering footsteps reverberate through the archways behind her. They rushed towards her like the shadows of people escaped from their graves, and came to a halt by her feet, panting and laughing. She could no longer see their features in this dusk, only the outlines and movements of beloved faces she knew by heart. ‘OK, that’s enough now. Let’s get out of here, please. Which way?’ Jerome took his glasses off and wiped them on the corner of his shirt. Hadn’t the burial been just to the left of this very chapel? In which case they had walked in a teasing circle.  on beauty and being wrong

• From Satyricon (1)

  Worn out with work and vexation, I forced my way into the thickest part of the grove and remained there for four mortal hours, but at last, bored to extinction by the horrible solitude, I sought a way out. As I went ahead, I caught sight of a peasant; then I had need of all my nerve, and it did not fail me. Marching boldly up to him, I asked my way to the city, complaining that I had been lost in the wood for several hours. Seeing my condition, he took pity upon me, for I was covered with mud and paler than death, and asked me whether I had seen anyone in the place. “Not a soul,” I replied, whereupon he kindly conducted me to the high road, where he met two of his companions, who informed him that they had beaten along every path in the forest without having found anything except a tunic, which they showed him. As may be readily supposed, I did not have the audacity to claim it, though well aware of its value, and my chagrin became almost insupportable as I vented many a groaning curse over my lost treasure. The peasants paid no attention to me, and I was gradually left behind, as my weakness increased my pace decreased. For this reason, it was late when I reached the city, and, entering the inn, beheld Ascyltos, stretched out, half dead, upon a cot. Too far gone to utter a single syllable, I threw myself upon another. Ascyltos became greatly excited at not seeing the tunic which he had entrusted to me, demanding it insistently, but I was so weak that my voice refused its office and I permitted the apathy of my eyes to answer his demand, then, by and by, regaining my strength little by little, I related the whole affair to Ascyltos, in every detail. He thought that I was joking, and although my testimony was fortified by a copious flood of tears, it could easily be seen that he remained unconvinced, believing that I wanted to cheat him out of the gold. Giton, who was standing by during all this, was as downcast as myself, and the suffering of the lad only served to increase my own vexation, but the thing which bothered me most of all, was the painstaking search which was being made for us; I told Ascyltos of this, but he only laughed it off, as he had so happily extricated himself from the scrape. He was convinced that, as we were unknown and as no one had seen us, we were perfectly safe. We decided, nevertheless, to feign sickness, and to keep to our room as long as possible; but, before we knew it, our money ran out, and spurred by necessity we were forced to go abroad and sell some of our plunder.)

• From Satyricon (1)

  Worn out with work and vexation, I forced my way into the thickest part of the grove and remained there for four mortal hours, but at last, bored to extinction by the horrible solitude, I sought a way out. As I went ahead, I caught sight of a peasant; then I had need of all my nerve, and it did not fail me. Marching boldly up to him, I asked my way to the city, complaining that I had been lost in the wood for several hours. Seeing my condition, he took pity upon me, for I was covered with mud and paler than death, and asked me whether I had seen anyone in the place. “Not a soul,” I replied, whereupon he kindly conducted me to the high road, where he met two of his companions, who informed him that they had beaten along every path in the forest without having found anything except a tunic, which they showed him. As may be readily supposed, I did not have the audacity to claim it, though well aware of its value, and my chagrin became almost insupportable as I vented many a groaning curse over my lost treasure. The peasants paid no attention to me, and I was gradually left behind, as my weakness increased my pace decreased. For this reason, it was late when I reached the city, and, entering the inn, beheld Ascyltos, stretched out, half dead, upon a cot. Too far gone to utter a single syllable, I threw myself upon another. Ascyltos became greatly excited at not seeing the tunic which he had entrusted to me, demanding it insistently, but I was so weak that my voice refused its office and I permitted the apathy of my eyes to answer his demand, then, by and by, regaining my strength little by little, I related the whole affair to Ascyltos, in every detail. He thought that I was joking, and although my testimony was fortified by a copious flood of tears, it could easily be seen that he remained unconvinced, believing that I wanted to cheat him out of the gold. Giton, who was standing by during all this, was as downcast as myself, and the suffering of the lad only served to increase my own vexation, but the thing which bothered me most of all, was the painstaking search which was being made for us; I told Ascyltos of this, but he only laughed it off, as he had so happily extricated himself from the scrape. He was convinced that, as we were unknown and as no one had seen us, we were perfectly safe. We decided, nevertheless, to feign sickness, and to keep to our room as long as possible; but, before we knew it, our money ran out, and spurred by necessity we were forced to go abroad and sell some of our plunder.)

• From Martin Luther (2016)

  The figure whose remarkable success best encapsulated this mood was Diepold Peringer, the so-called ‘peasant of Wohrd’. Peringer claimed that he could neither read nor write, but he preached inspirationally and published evangelical tracts. These were printed and circulated widely throughout Germany, often illustrated with a striking woodcut of a staunch peasant in stout boots, holding a flail and gesturing with his right hand like a preacher. These images were the more remarkable because they seemed to hark back to the revo- lutionary peasants of the Bundschuh organisation in the late fifteenth century, which had united the peasants in rebellion under the sign of the peasant boot. Peasants, so the images seemed to suggest, were pious evangel- icals — simple Christians who could preach better than the educated clergy. It seemed that in Peringer’s sermons God’s spirit was being poured out on ordinary folk. Even Spalatin, who heard him preach at Nuremberg, was impressed. But in 1524 Peringer was unmasked as an ex-cleric, who certainly knew how to read and write (and preach) — much to Luther’s amusement, who teased Spalatin for being taken in. Yet if Peringer had not existed, he would have had to be invented. His imposture gave voice to a prevalent mood in Germany of admiration of simple folk, especially peasants, and suspi- cion of intellectuals. Karlstadt, who shared in this mood, now began to toy with leaving the university for good and becoming a vintner — he had grown up in a wine-growing area — or living as an ordinary priest. He eventu- ally opted for the latter and chose to move to Orlamiinde, for which he was technically responsible as archdeacon. Karlstadt was careful to square this with the authorities, and in May 1523 the parish formally asked the Elector to appoint him as pastor. It was quite a comedown. It meant taking on a lowly paid job that he had previously employed someone else to do, in the days when he had aspired to the richest benefice in Wittenberg. Instead of the fine clothes he had worn after his return from Italy, the former university professor now took to wearing grey peasant attire, and donned the peasant felt hat in place of his doctor’s cap.” As he later put it, ‘I now have a grey coat (thank 2.46 MARTIN LUTHER 43. and 44. Two illustrations from Diepold Peringer’s tracts. In the first, the peasant holds a rosary and gestures like a preacher with the other hand; in the second the pious peasant, wearing peasant boots, holds a flail. God) in place of the finery which at one time greatly delighted me and caused me to sin.’

• From Martin Luther (2016)

  Most time-consuming for the Church courts were the secret marriages. As a sacrament that consisted solely in the couple’s promise of marriage to each other and their physical union, marriage did not require a priest to perform it: The cleric was just a witness to the couple’s vows. This meant that it was possible for binding marriage promises to be made in bedchambers, or even barns and fields, immediately before a couple had sex. Once consummated, these were fully legal marriages, even though they were outside the knowledge of any institution. As a result, if a couple had had a sexual relationship, they might be genuinely unsure whether they were free to marry elsewhere. By the same token, if a woman had been made pregnant, and sued her partner through the Church courts for compensation for loss of virginity and child support, she was likely to claim, to save her honor, that he had promised her marriage. But her chances of winning were slim. If her partner denied it, two witnesses were required to testify in her support. Given the circumstances in which such marriage promises were often made, and the likely disruption of social hierarchies if imprudent marriages were contracted, the two witnesses could not normally be found. Therefore it became routine for Church courts to hear both sides and, “in the absence of proof,” simply declare the two parties free to marry elsewhere. This solution compensated the woman financially, but confirmed that her honor was “lost” and left her unable to force her seducer into wedlock.

• From Martin Luther (2016)

  Luther did not make much of a knight, however. He had not found the ride from Altenstein to the Wartburg easy—he was used to traveling in wagons, not to riding and the muscular control it required. Noble life was not much to his taste, either. He tried hunting, but his instincts were all wrong: He wanted to protect the quarry. On one outing, he scooped up the hare and wrapped the injured animal in his sleeve to protect it from the dogs, but they bit right through his cloak, broke the hare’s leg, and choked it to death. Luther, ever the preacher, turned the incident into a theological metaphor. The hare was the Christian soul, attacked by the Pope and Satan. In heaven, the tables would be turned, and the noble hunters who so loved eating game would become Christ’s prey. Stuck in the castle, where he would remain for ten months, Luther evidently did not relish being a victim, incapable of fighting back. For all his distaste for hunting, he would rather be a hunter than a hare.4 Hans von Berlepsch, the castellan, treated him well, but it was difficult to keep the secret about the mysterious guest. The wife of one of the Elector’s notaries had let Luther’s location slip, and since this rumor originated at court, it was credible. Moreover, Berlepsch was convinced that Luther’s whereabouts were already general knowledge. Not for the first time, therefore, Luther determined on a ruse to fool his enemies—and like many of his other cunning plans, this one was a little too clever. He wrote to Spalatin in mid-July 1521 enclosing another letter in his own hand, that purported to have been sent from “my quarters” in Bohemia. He asked Spalatin to “lose” it “with studied carelessness”: “I hear a rumor is being spread, my Spalatin, that Luther is living in the Wartburg near Eisenach….Strange that nobody now thinks of Bohemia,” he wrote. He “would love the ‘hog of Dresden’ ” (that is, Duke Georg) to find the letter, Luther wrote in his accompanying note. It was obvious that the letter has no point apart from where it was supposedly sent. It would have fooled nobody. Worse, for many, it would have confirmed that he was indeed in the Wartburg, the letter too eager to deny the rumor in the first line.5

• From Shunned (2018)

  The book of James was quoted: “My brothers, if anyone among you is misled from the truth and another turns him back, know that he who turns a sinner back from the error of his way will save his soul from death and will cover a multitude of sins.” In other words, you get spiritual bonus points if you bring someone back into the fold. That’s what these elders would try to do now. “Look at that view,” Jeremy said, pushing past Ray and walking straight through the living room. In the distance was the true-blue lake, dotted with sailboats. Jeremy had stopped short at the closed screen. “Feel free to go onto the balcony,” I said. Jeremy pushed open the screen and stepped outside. Ray set down his briefcase and stood in the living room, hands at his waist, smiling. “What a great place,” he said, scanning the living room, the kitchen. “Thanks. The apartment isn’t anything special, but the view is priceless. I can sit on the balcony for hours and not get bored.” Jeremy had removed his jacket and folded it over his arm without looking away from the view. But as Ray took a seat at the farthest corner of the couch, Jeremy followed his lead, came in, and sat in the side chair. I took a seat on the opposite end of the couch from Ray, one cushion between us. After a brief silence, Ray started speaking to Jeremy, detailing what he already knew about me. “Linda was raised in The Truth and moved here from Portland,” he said. Turning to me, he asked, “And you pioneered for several years, didn’t you, Linda?” “Yes,” I said. “Five in total.” I was already growing impatient with memory lane and thought it odd Ray hadn’t told Jeremy any of this before arriving. To my surprise, Jeremy looked thoroughly engaged. “How can we help you?” Ray asked. I turned to lean against the arm of the couch so I could face them both. “For a while now, I’ve had something on my mind that I’d like to share.” I spoke directly to Jeremy, to bring him up to speed. “About a year and a half ago, I started experiencing doubts about this religion. I was raised a Witness, married a Witness, really knew no other way of living or thinking. I found myself curious about the world and, much to my husband and family’s chagrin, became inactive. I thought if I got some distance from the religion, I could also get some perspective. I divorced my husband of nine years, on the grounds of irreconcilable differences. We were married young. It wasn’t a bad marriage, but it wasn’t great, either, and I wanted to free us both to live our separate lives. About that time, Harris Bank recruited me and moved me here to Chicago, and not a moment too soon. I was quite happy to get away.” Both men were looking at me, following along in earnest.

• From The Battle for God (2000)

  Over the years, the Movement helped the Kookists to formulate their ideology in a way that would appeal to the public, and gave them financial and moral support. Gradually, the Kookists were being drawn into the mainstream. In April 1968, Moshe Levinger led a small group of Kookists and their families to celebrate Passover in Hebron, the city where Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob are thought to be buried. Since Muslims also venerate these Jewish patriarchs as great prophets, Hebron was a holy city for them too. For centuries, Palestinians had called Hebron al-Khalil, because of its sacred associations with Abraham, the “friend” of God. But Hebron also evoked darker memories. On August 24, 1929, during a period of great tension between Arabs and Zionists in Palestine, fifty-nine Jewish men, women, and children had been massacred in Hebron. Levinger and his party checked into the Park Hotel, pretending to be Swiss tourists, but when Passover was over they refused to leave and stayed on as squatters. This was embarrassing for the Israeli government, since the Geneva conventions forbade any settlement in territory occupied during hostilities, and the United Nations was demanding that Israel withdraw from the land they had conquered. But the chutzpa of the Kookists reminded Laborites of their own pioneers in their Golden Age, and the government was, therefore, reluctant to evict them. 92 Levinger’s group immediately went on the offensive in the Cave of the Patriarchs. After the Six Day War, the Israeli military government had opened the shrine, which had been closed during the hostilities, for worship once again, making special arrangements for Jews to pray there without disturbing the Arabs. This was not good enough for the Jewish settlers, who began to press for more space and time in the Cave. They would refuse to leave on Fridays in time to let the Muslims in for their weekly communal prayer; sometimes they would leave the halls, but block the main entrance, so that the Muslim worshippers could not get in; they would hold a kiddush in the Cave, drinking wine, which they knew the Muslims would find offensive, and, on Independence Day 1968, they flew the Israeli flag at the shrine, in defiance of government regulations. Tension escalated and—inevitably, perhaps—a hand grenade was thrown at some Jewish visitors by a Palestinian outside the mosque. 93 Reluctantly, the Israeli government established an enclave for the settlers outside Hebron; the new settlement was protected by the IDF. Levinger called it Kiryat Arba (the biblical name for Hebron) and it has remained a bastion for the most extreme, violent, and provocative Zionist fundamentalists. By 1972, Kiryat Arba had grown to a small town with a population of about five thousand settlers. For the Kookists, it represented a victory in a holy war that pushed against the frontiers of the “Other Side” and liberated an important area of the Holy Land for God. Otherwise, however, Kookists made little progress.

• From Christianity: The First Three Thousand Years (2009)

  compromise. Although it talked of the Union of Two Natures, and took care to give explicit mention of Theotokos, it largely followed Nestorius’s viewpoint about ‘two natures’, ‘the distinction of natures being in no way abolished because of the union’.90 Meanwhile, to satisfy his enemies, the unhappy former Bishop of Constantinople was condemned once more: an ecclesiastical stitch-up, dictated by imperial power. Nestorius was already completely isolated from public affairs, in a remote Egyptian location (which the Egyptian government still uses for a high-security prison); he endured his humiliation at the hands of his enemies with stoicism. He is reputed to have died the day before a message arrived inviting him to participate in the Council of Chalcedon; regardless of this impulse to reconciliation, the Emperor then ordered Nestorius’s writings burned, and children bearing his name were rebaptized and renamed. His last and most extensive work, written in prison, a dignified defence of all that he had done, was only rediscovered in a manuscript in 1889, in the library of the East Syrian Patriarch, whose Church’s separate status originated in its unhappiness with the results of Chalcedon.91 The Chalcedonian Definition certainly proved to have staying power, unlike the Homoean compromise solution to the Arian dispute at Ariminum in 359, but it still won much less acceptance than the credal formula of Constantinople from 381. In the manner of many politically inspired middle-of-the-road settlements, it left bitter discontents on either side in the Eastern Churches. On the one hand were those who adhered to a more robust affirmation of two natures in Christ and who felt that Nestorius had been treated with outrageous injustice. These protestors were labelled Nestorians by their opponents, and the Churches which they eventually formed have habitually been so styled by outsiders ever since. It would be truer to their origins, and more considerate to their self-esteem, to call them Theodoreans, since Theodore of Mopsuestia was the prime source of their theological stance and Nestorius hardly figured in their minds as a founding father. In view of their insistence on two (dyo) natures in Christ, they could with justice be called ‘Dyophysites’, and we will trace their subsequent history primarily as ‘the Church of the East’ using this label. By contrast, on the other side the history of the winners has likewise given those who treasure the memory of Cyril and his campaign against Nestorius a label which they still resent: ‘Monophysites’ (monos and physis=single nature). This latter group of Churches has always been insistent on claiming that title prized among Eastern Churches: ‘Orthodox’. In an age where both Churches of the Greek, Romanian and Slavic Orthodox traditions and the various Catholic and Protestant heirs of the Western Latin Church have increasingly sought to end ancient bitterness, these sensitivities have been respected, and the label

• From Christianity: The First Three Thousand Years (2009)

  scorned by the Baptists, retired to Vermont to contain his chagrin with a handful of followers. A welter of arguments over a decade produced one of the nineteenth century’s many visionary teenage girls, the prophetess Ellen G. Harmon (soon to be the bride of Adventist James White). Cut-price printing presses aided Mrs White’s urgent campaign to share roughly two thousand of her visions with the public, not to mention her decided opinions about sensible diet. What now became known as Seventh-Day Adventism flourished once more; like the Seventh-Day Baptists before it, it observed as its holy day of rest not Sunday but Saturday, the Jewish Sabbath. Modern vegetarianism, a cause earlier championed by radical English Evangelicals, now found its master salesman in Mrs White’s Adventist benefactor and collaborator, Dr John H. Kellogg, whose breakfast cereals and benevolence brought lasting and worldwide prosperity to the Adventist Church.100 Miller’s prophecies have continued to fertilize the imaginations of drifting but compelling personalities like himself. One Millerite schism produced the Jehovah’s Witnesses: millenarian, pacifist and with strong views against blood transfusions. Another recent prophet, Vernon Howell, was driven to rename himself David Koresh (that is the Persian King Cyrus, liberator of the Jews from Babylon), and he brought his own terrible Last Days on those who believed in him at Waco in Texas in 1993. Beyond that hideously mismanaged clash between Koresh’s followers and the Federal government came Timothy McVeigh’s equally ghastly act of revenge for Koresh two years later in the Oklahoma City bombing: a grim legacy for Miller alongside the corn flakes.101 There was plenty more creative reconstruction of Christianity in this most industrious and ingenious of Western societies. Spiritualism and the Church of Christ Scientist (products of yet more visionary women) both spread themselves from the USA through the Western world and beyond. Yet of all new departures amid the Second Awakenings, the most radical was the work of Joseph Smith, who may be seen as one of a chain of gifted young people in the nineteenth century applying their gifts to escaping the deprivation and social uncertainty in which they found themselves, both exploiting and inspired by the polychrome religious turbulence of their age.102 Hong Xiuquan, nine years younger than Smith, was another (see pp. 896–7). Smith’s creation of a Heavenly Kingdom proved more long-lasting and less destructive than the Taiping, though likewise it brought him premature and violent death. Born in rural poverty in Vermont (not far from where Miller was beginning his married life) and pursued by poverty in his New York State childhood which deprived him of a decent education, Smith developed a keen interest in treasure-hunting amid a landscape haunted by Native American earthworks, devouring what conversation and what

• From Christianity: The First Three Thousand Years (2009)

  54 (2003), 787–9 of L. Hölscher et al. (eds.), Datenatlas zur religiösen Geographie im protestantischen Deutschland. Von der Mitte des 19. Jahrhunderts bis zum Zweiten Weltkrieg (4 vols., Berlin and New York, 2001). 51 From 1873 through a personal choice of Queen Victoria, British monarchs and their family have acted as if they are members of the Church of Scotland when in Scotland, to the chagrin of many Anglican High Churchmen: on the origins of this, see O. Chadwick, ‘The Sacrament at Crathie, 1873’, in S. J. Brown and G. Newlands (eds.), Scottish Christianity in the Modern World (Edinburgh, 2000), 177–96. 52 A good treatment of the early connections is G. Johnson, ‘British Social Democracy and Religion, 1881–1911’, JEH, 51 (2000), 94–115. 53 R. Strong, Anglicanism and the British Empire c. 1700–1850 (Oxford, 2007), 118–19, 194–7, 211. On the post-1818 ‘Commissioners’ Churches’, M. H. Port, Six Hundred New Churches: The Church Building Commission 1818–1856 (rev. edn, Reading, 2006). 54 Extracts in Bettenson (ed.), 316–18. 55 A good introduction to Newman is I. Ker and T. Merrigan (eds.), The Cambridge Companion to John Henry Newman (Cambridge, 2009). 56 On the Non-Jurors, see pp. 734–5. A fine study of Non-Juror thought is C. D. A. Leighton, ‘The Non-Jurors and Their History’, JRH, 23 (2005), 241– 57. The definitive study of the older High Church movement is P. Nockles, The Oxford Movement in Context: Anglican High Churchmanship, 1760– 1857 (Cambridge, 1994). 57 G. Faber, Oxford Apostles: A Character Study of the Oxford Movement (London, 1933) remains a sardonic masterpiece in its account of the Tractarians. 58 On the Thirty-Nine Articles, see p. 649: Newman’s intellectual gymnastics in Tract XC can be savoured in A. O. J. Cockshut, Religious Controversies of the Nineteenth Century: Selected Documents (London, 1966), 74–90. See Newman’s protestations to his friend E. B. Pusey and to Bishop Bagot of Oxford, C. S. Dessain et al. (eds.), Letters and Diaries of John Henry Newman (31 vols., Oxford, 1968–2006), VIII, 97, 100. 59 J. H. Newman, ed. M. J. Svaglic, Apologia Pro Vita Sua (Oxford, 1967; first published 1864), 136. On Newman’s sneers, tantamount to anti-Semitism, both in Apologia and in his correspondence at the time of the Jerusalem furore, see ibid., 133, and Dessain et al. (eds.), Letters and Diaries of John Henry Newman, VIII, 295, and cf. ibid., 299, 307, 314, 340. 60 Newman, ed. Svaglic, Apologia Pro Vita Sua, 133–5, 108. In 1841, two

• From Rocket Men: The Daring Odyssey of Apollo 8 and the Astronauts Who Made Man’s First Journey to the Moon (2018)

  It was around this time that Mueller asked the Apollo 8 astronauts to sign a statement confirming that they’d been properly trained by NASA. To Anders, that came as a bitter disappointment. Mueller was the boss—he should have been the one to tell the crew they’d been properly trained. Instead, he seemed to want a waiver in case anything went wrong. By early December, the eyes of the world were trained on Kazakhstan. Cosmonauts were already at the launchpad there, awaiting the mission’s final go-ahead. On December 8, many at NASA held their breath. If the Soviets were going to send a manned spacecraft to the Moon, this was the forty-eight-hour window during which they would do it. More than a decade in the making, the Space Race was coming down to a matter of hours. The first day passed. The Soviets now had twenty-four hours to make their move to the Moon. The second day passed. The Soviets now had just a few hours remaining. If they were going to beat the United States they had to do it now. By midnight, it was clear that nothing had happened at Baikonur. Technically, it was still possible for the Soviets to go, even as late as December 10. But by many assessments, if they were going to go in December, they would have gone already. For the first time since the Space Race began, nothing stood between America and the Moon. —Nearly two hundred members of the media were accredited for an early December press conference in Houston with Borman, Lovell, and Anders. They were shown film of the astronauts training and were then allowed to ask questions of the three astronauts. A reporter asked about recent comments by Sir Bernard Lovell in which the famed British astronomer had criticized NASA for taking undue risk by flying Apollo 8. “I have the highest regard for him and I hope he has his telescope—his radio dishes—beamed on us,” Borman said. “He’s done a great job of tracking in the past.” When asked about the risks of the flight, Borman answered straight, as always. “I think there are sensible risks….If we really believe what we’re doing is worthwhile, then we accept the risk. When we get to the point where we don’t believe it’s worthwhile, I’ll quit.” In fact, Borman had already quit. Several days earlier, he’d told NASA that he wouldn’t fly in space after Apollo 8. Since becoming an astronaut in 1962, his mission had been simple: to beat the Soviets to the Moon. If all went well, Apollo 8 would do that. To risk another lunar journey just to pick up rocks or add a fraction to mankind’s knowledge about the Moon didn’t seem worth it after the battle had been won. As he answered questions and made the media laugh, few could have predicted this sudden turn in Borman’s career. He was the consummate astronaut, a man for whom the mission always came first.

• From The Art of Seduction (2001)

  the harbor I seek is far Maintain lightness. Seduction is a game, not a matter of life and death. away \ Through my verses, it's true, you may have There will be a tendency in the "post" phase to take things more seriously acquired a mistress, \ But and personally, and to whine about behavior that does not please you. Fight that's not enough. If my this as much as possible, for it will create exactly the effect you do not want. art \ Caught her, my art must keep her. To guard a You cannot control the other person by nagging and complaining; it will conquest's \As tricky as make them defensive, exacerbating the problem. You will have more con-making it. There was luck trol if you maintain the proper spirit. Your playfulness, the little ruses you in the chase, \ But this task will call for skill. If ever I employ to please and delight them, your indulgence of their faults, will needed support from \ make your victims compliant and easy to handle. Never try to change your Venus and Son, and victims; instead, induce them to follow your lead. Erato— the Muse \ Erotic by name— it's now, for my too-ambitious project \ To relate some techniques that Avoid the slow burnout. Often, one person becomes disenchanted but might restrain \ That fickle lacks the courage to make the break. Instead, he or she withdraws inside. As young globetrotter, Love. . . . \ To be loved an absence, this psychological step back may inadvertently reignite the you must show yourself other person's desire, and a frustrating cycle begins of pursuit and retreat. lovable— \ Something Everything unravels, slowly. Once you feel disenchanted and know it is good looks alone \ Can never achieve. You may be over, end it quickly, without apology. That would only insult the other per-handsome as Homer's son. A quick separation is often easier to get over—it is as if you had a Nireus, \ Or young Hylas, problem being faithful, as opposed to your feeling that the seduced was no snatched by those bad \ longer being desirable. Once you are truly disenchanted, there is no going Naiads; but all the same, to avoid a surprise back, so don't hang on out of false pity. It is more compassionate to make a desertion \And keep your clean break. If that seems inappropriate or too ugly, then deliberately disen-girl, it's best you have gifts chant the victim with anti-seductive behavior. of mind \ In addition to physical charms. Beauty's fragile, the passing \ Years diminish its substance, eat Examples of Sacrifice and Integration it away. \ Violets and bell-mouthed lilies do not bloom for ever, \ Hard 1. In the 1770s, the handsome Chevalier de Belleroche began an affair thorns are all that's left of with an older woman, the Marquise de Merteuil. He saw a lot of her, but the blown rose. \ So with

• From Middlesex (2002)

  "Oh, darling, notthatgood surely." Sourmelina brought hercigaretteholder to herlipsandinhaled, scanning the crowd. "PoorDesdemona!Herbrotherfallsinlove and leaves herbehind inNewYork.Howisshe?" "She's fine." "Why didn'tshe comewithyou?She'snotjealous ofyournew wife,is she?" "No, nothing likethat." She clutchedhisarm."Wereadaboutthefire.Terrible! Iwasso worried untilIgotyourletter.TheTurksstartedit.I knowit.Of course,my husbanddoesn'tagree." "Hedoesn't?" "Onesuggestion,sinceyou'llbelivingwithus?Don'ttalk politics withmyhusband." "Allright." "Andthevillage?" Sourmelinainquired. "Everybodyleft thehoreo,Lina.There's nothingnow." "IfIdidn'thatethatplace,maybeI'dshed twotears." "Lina,there'ssomethingIhavetoexplain toyou.. ." But Sourmelinawaslookingaway, tappingherfoot."Maybeshe fellin." "... Something about Desdemonaandme .. ." "Yes?" "... Mywife ...Desdemona.. ." "WasIright? They don't get along?" "No...Desdemona . ..mywife .. ." "Yes?" "Same person."He gave the signal. Desdemonasteppedfrom be- hind thepillar. "Hello, Lina,"mygrandmothersaid."We'remarried.Don'ttell." And that washowitcame out,forthe next-to-last time. Blurted out bymy yiayia,beneaththeechoing roof ofGrandTrunk,toward Sourmelina's cloche-covered ears.Theconfessionhoveredinthe aira moment, beforefloatingaway with thesmokerisingfromherciga- rette. Desdemona took herhusband'sarm. My grandparentshad everyreasontobelievethat Sourmelina would keeptheirsecret.She'dcometo Americawith asecretofher own, asecretthatwouldbeguardedbyour family untilSourmelina 85 died in 1979, whereupon,likeeveryone'ssecrets, itwasposthu- mously declassified,so thatpeoplebeganto speakof"Sourmelina's girlfriends." A secretkept, inotherwords,only bytheloosest defini- tion, so that now—as I get readytoleakthe informationmyself— I feel onlya slight twingeoffilialguilt. Sourmelina's secret(asAunt Zo put it) :"Lina wasone of those women they namedtheislandafter." Asa girlinthe horeo^Sourmelinahad beencaughtincompromis- ing circumstanceswithafew femalefriends. "Notmany,"shetoldme herself, yearslater, "two orthree.Peoplethinkifyoulikegirls, you like everysingleone.Iwas alwayspicky.Andtherewasn't muchto pick from."Forawhileshe'd struggledagainst herpredisposition. "I wenttochurch. Itdidn'thelp.Inthose days thatwas thebest place to meeta girlfriend.Inchurch!All of us praying tobedifferent."When Sourmelina was caughtnotwithanothergirlbutwithafull-grown woman, a motheroftwo children, a scandalarose.Sourmelina'spar- entstriedto arrangehermarriagebutfoundnotakers.Husbands werehardenoughtocomeby inBithynioswithouttheaddedliabil- ityof anuninterested,defectivebride. Herfatherhadthen donewhatGreekfathersofunmarriageable girlsdidinthosedays:hewroteto America.TheUnitedStates abounded withdollarbills,baseballsluggers, raccooncoats,diamond jewelry—andlonely,immigrant bachelors.Witha photographofthe prospectivebrideand a considerabledowry, herfatherhadcomeup withone. Jimmy Zizmo(shortened fromZisimopoulos)had cometo Americain1907 at theageofthirty. Thefamilydidn't know much abouthimexceptthathewasa hardbargainer. In a seriesoflettersto Sourmelina's father, Zizmo had negotiatedthe amountofthedowry intheformallanguageofabarrister, evengoingso farastodemand abankcheckbeforetheweddingday. The photographSourmelina receivedshowed a tall,handsomeman with a virilemustache,hold- ingapistolinonehandand a bottleofliquor inthe other.Whenshe steppedoffthetrain at GrandTrunktwo months later,however,the shortman who greetedher was clean-shaven, witha sourexpression anda laborer'sdark complexion.Sucha discrepancy might havedis- appointed a normalbride, but Sourmelinadidn't care onewayoran- other. 86 Sourmelina had writtenoften,describinghernewlifeinAmerica, but she concentrated onthenewfashions,orherAeriola Jr., thera- dioshe spent hourseachdaylisteningto,wearing earphonesand manipulating the dial,stoppingevery so often to cleanoffthecar- bondust that builtuponthecrystal.Shenevermentionedanything connected towhat Desdemonareferred toas"thebed,"andsoher cousins wereforced toreadbetweenthelinesof thoseaerograms, tryingtosee, in a descriptionof a Sundaydrivethrough BelleIsle, whetherthefaceof thehusband atthewheelwashappyorunsatis- fied; orinferring, froma passageaboutSourmelina'slatesthair- style—something called"cootie garages"—whether Zizmo wasever allowedtomuss it up. Thissame Sourmelina,fullofherownsecrets,now tookinher new co-conspirators."Married?Youmeansleeping-together mar- ried?" Leftymanaged,"Yes." Sourmelina noticedher ashforthefirsttime,andflickedit. "Just myluck.Soon as Ileavethevillage,things get interesting." ButDesdemonacouldn'tabidesuchirony. She grabbed Sourme- lina'shandsandpleaded,"Youhavetopromisenever totell.We'll live, we'lldie,andthatwillbetheendofit." "Iwon't tell." "Peoplecan't evenknow I'myourcousin." "I won'ttellanyone." "What aboutyourhusband?" "Hethinks I'mpickingupmy cousin andhisnewwife." "Youwon't sayanythingto him?" "That'll beeasy." Linalaughed."Hedoesn'tlisten to me." Sourmelina insisted on gettingaporter to carrytheirsuitcasestothe car,ablack- and-tanPackard.Shetippedhimandclimbedbehindthe wheel, attracting looks.A womandrivingwasstill a scandaloussight in 1922.After restinghercigaretteholderonthe dashboard, she pulled outthe choke,waited therequisitefiveseconds,andpressed the ignition button.Thecar's tin bonnet shudderedtolife.The leather seats beganto vibrateandDesdemonatook holdofher hus- band's arm. Upfront, Sourmelina took offhersatin-straphighheels todrive barefoot. She putthe carinto gearand,withoutchecking 87

• From Detransition, Baby (2021)

  Katrina frowns and admits that no, she doesn’t know very many trans women. The biggest impact a trans woman ever had in her life was a year or so ago, when a good friend’s husband had an affair with a trans woman. “One husband that you know of!” Reese says brightly. “I bet a lot more husbands that you don’t know about have also.” Ames shakes his head. “Reese! Can you not?” Katrina cuts him off, both hands steadying her drink. “No, wait, I like her approach to this conversation way better than yours!” “Why? What was his approach?” Reese asks. Katrina scrunches up her nose like a rabbit, then says, “I would describe it as getting me pregnant, then dumping a huge transsexual revelation on me with almost no time to process.” “Oh yeah,” Reese says. “That’s a classic. That’s like the second most popular way to announce one’s current, future, or past transsexuality.” Inwardly, Reese senses the moment coming under her reins. She doesn’t want to do a whole getting-to-know-you thing. She wants to talk about the pregnancy. She wants to talk about why the three of them have seated themselves on a couch in the back of a Midtown hotel surrounded by bland carpeting and various attempts at gay branding. Moreover, Reese knows how to team up with another woman to tease a man. Which is what she supposes Ames is to Katrina. Teasing men is very much in her wheelhouse. She finds the strategy to be an effective method to endear herself with other women, provided that she’s careful not to outright flirt. Ames does not defend himself. He shrugs and adjusts his jacket. “Ts it a classic?” Katrina glances briefly at Ames, but lets her doubtful expression come to rest on Reese. “Nothing about this has felt classic so far. I don’t even know what to tell my friends. I haven’t told them, actually. I don’t know where to begin.” “What do you tell them instead?” Reese asks. “What can I tell them? That I seduced my employee because he wore cowboy boots to work and looked good in a button-down?” “T like her,” Reese says to Ames. “That’s the second time you’ve said something like that,” Katrina shoots back, before Ames can respond. “What did you expect of me?”

• From Detransition, Baby (2021)

  She ought not to have let a man compare her looks to her girlfriend’s. Such an assessment devalued a lesbian relationship, demoted it to some kind of spectacle for his judgment. But also, no one thought she was prettier than Amy these days. Girls Reese grew up with used to call their sisters the smart one or the pretty one or the artistic one. Like a gawky little sister suddenly coming into puberty to hit a golden note, Amy had become the pretty one. Reese wanted to hold to herself for a moment or two the possibility of her own superior beauty. The pressure of the tight fabric on her hips released with the slow descent of her fly. She found a spot on the ceiling, a faint crack in the paint, and remained still. A tickle shot up from her crotch. A half- nervous, half-aroused jolt that Stanley, more than almost anyone else she’d ever been with, managed to set off within her. His dry rough hands brushed below her navel as he slipped his fingers beneath the elastic top of her panties, and pulled them under her cock. She wasn't hard, the air was cool. For a moment, guilt tugged at her. But then, another, even worse, thought occurred to her. She couldn’t remember the last time she had shaved. A mortification came over her, as strong as her guilt. “Wait,” she said. “Can we pause?” He put his hand on her stomach reassuringly. “I’m not going to do anything that could be called sex,” he said. Of course this is sex. But she didn’t say that. Instead she asked for a sip of her drink. He reached behind him to the coffee table, and handed her the glass. “Just relax,” he whispered. She propped herself up, took a sip, and glanced below. On her leg lay a satin ribbon that had tied shut a pajama set he’d bought that afternoon. “All right,” she said. She set her glass on the floor, wilted her shoulders, and let her eyes drift back upward. “You know,” he said, “I jerked off thinking about doing something like this to you a while back.” “T thought you said it wasn’t sexual.” “T said it wasn’t sex.” Satisfied that she would lie still, he took her in his hand, and slowly began to tie the ribbon around the base of her cock, wrapping it twice, then around her balls and shaft once each. She watched him, on the verge of telling him no. He had the fixated concentration of a surgeon. His eyebrows floated high on his furrowed brow, as if the actions made by his own hands had surprised him. Finally, he took the remaining two feet or so of ribbon, and laid it on her stomach, then pulled up her panties, and buttoned the waist of her jeans, with the zipper still down.

• From Collected Essays (1998)

  He used to make li ttle jokes about our poverty, which never, of course, seemed very funny to us; they could not have seemed very funny to him, either, or else our all too feeble response to them would never have caused such rages. He spent great cncrb'Y and achieved, to our chagrin, no small amount of success in keeping us away from the people who NOTES OF A NATIVE SON 67 surrounded us, people who had all-night rent parties to which we listened when we should ha,·e been sleeping, people who cursed and drank and flashed razor blades on Lenox A\·enue. He could not understand why, if they had so much energy to spare, they could not use it to make their lives better. He treated almost e\·erybody on our block with a most unchari table asperity and neither they, nor, of course, their child ren were slow to reciprocate. The only white people who came to our house were welf are workers and bill collectors. It was almost always my mother who dealt with them, for my father's temper, which was at the mercy of his pride, was never to be trusted. It was clear that he felt their ,·ery presence in his home to be a ,·iolation: this was com·eyed by his carriage, almost ludicrously stitf, and b�· his mice, harsh and vindictively polite. When I was around nine or ten I wrote a play \\·hich was directed by a young, white schoolteacher, a woman, who then took an interest in me, and ga,·e me books to read and, in order to corroborate my theatrical bent, decided to take me to see what she some what tactlessly referred to as "real" plays. Theater-going was forbidden in our house, but, with the really cruel intuiti,·eness of a child, I suspected that the color of this woman's skin would carry the day for me. Whe n, at school, she suggested taking me to the theater, I did not, as I might ha,·e done if she had been a :;-.Jegro, find a way of discouraging her, but agreed that she should pick me up at my house one evening. I then, ,·ery cle,·erly, left all the rest to my mother, who sug gested to my father, as I knew she would, that it \Votrld not be ,·ery nice to let such a kind woman make the trip for noth ing. Also, since it was a schoolteacher, I imagine that my mother countered the idea of sin with the idea of "educa tion," which word, even with my father, carried a kind of bitter weight.