Contempt

Passages

Every passage tagged with this emotion in the Vela corpus. Search the body text, narrow by source or register, click through to a book’s profile to see how the passage sits with the rest of the work.

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

  Of French writers, Reuss, Pressensé, and Sabatier give the best expositions of the Pauline system, more or less in imitation of German labors. Reuss, of Strasburg, who writes in German as well, is the most independent and learned; Pressensé is more in sympathy with Paul’s belief, but gives only a meagre summary; Sabatier leans to the Tübingen school. Reuss discusses Paul’s system (in vol. III., 17–220) very fully under these heads: righteousness; sin; the law; the gospel; God; the person of Christ; the work of Christ; typical relation of the old and new covenant; faith; election; calling and the Holy Spirit; regeneration; redemption; justification and reconciliation; church; hope and trial; last times; kingdom of God. Sabatier (L’apôtre Paul, pp. 249–318, second ed., 1881) more briefly but clearly develops the Pauline theology from the Christological point of view (la personne de Christ Principe générateur de la conscience chrétienne) under three heads: lot, the Christian principle in the psychological sphere (anthropology); 2d, in the social and historical sphere (religious philosophy of history); 3d, in the metaphysical sphere (theology), which culminates in the qeo;" ta; pavnta ejn pa'sin "Ainsi naît et grandit cet arbre magnifique de la pensée de Paul, dont les racines plongent dans le sol de la conscience chrétienne et dont la cime est dans les cieux." Renan, who professes so much sentimental admiration for the poetry and wisdom of Jesus, "the charming Galilaean peasant," has no organ for the theology of Paul any more than Voltaire had for the poetry of Shakespeare. He regards him as a bold and vigorous, but uncouth and semi-barbarous genius, full of rabbinical subtleties, useless speculations, and polemical intolerance even against good old Peter at Antioch. Several doctrines of Paul have been specially discussed by German scholars, as Tischendorf: Doctrina Pauli apostoli de Vi Mortis Christi Satisfactoria (Leipz., 1837); Räbiger: De Christologia Paulina (Breslau, 1852); Lipsius: Die paulinische Rechtfertigunglehre (Leipz., 1853); Ernesti: Vom Ursprung der Sünde nach paulinischem Lehrgehalt (Wolfenbüttel, 1855); Die Ethik des Paulus (Braunschweig, 1868; 3d ed., 1881); W. Beyschlag Die paulinische Theodicee (Berlin, 1868); R. Schmidt: Die Christologie des Ap. Paulus (Gött., 1870); A. Delitzsch: Adam und Christus (Bonn, 1871); H. Lüdemann: Die Anthropologie des Ap. Paulus (Kiel, 1872); R. Stähelin: Zur paulinischen Eschatologie (1874); A. Schumann: Der weltgeschichtl. Entwickelungsprocess nach dem Lehrsystem des Ap. Paulus (Crefeld, 1875); Fr. Köstlin: Die Lehre des Paulus von der Auferstehung (1877); H. H. Wendt: Die Begriffe Fleisch und Geist in biblischen Sprachgebrauch (Gotha, 1878). II. The Christology of Paul is closely interwoven with his soteriology. In Romans and Galatians the soteriological aspect prevails, in Philippians and Colossians the christological. His christology is very rich, and with that of the Epistle to the Hebrews prepares the way for the christology of John. It is even more fully developed than John’s, only less prominent in the system.

• From Saint Thomas Aquinas Collection (22 Books) (2016)

  [541 By some men this reward was considered to be nothing other than honour and glory. Whence Tullius says in the book On the Republic [De Republica V, 7, 9]: “The prince of the city should be nourished by glory,” and Aristotle seems to assign the reason for this in his Book on Ethics [V, 10: 1134b 7]: “because the prince for whom honour and glory is not sufficient consequently turns into tyrant.” For it is in the hearts of all men to seek their proper good. Therefore, if the prince is not content with glory and honour, he will seek pleasures an riches and so will resort to plundering and injuring his subjects. [55] However, if we accept this opinion a great many incongruous results follow. In the first place, it would be costly to kings if so many labours and anxieties were to be endured for a reward so perishable, fo nothing, it seems, is more perishable among human things than the glory and honour of men’s favour since it depends upon the report of men and their opinions, than which nothing in human life is more fickle. And this is why the Prophet Isaiah calls such glory “the flower of grass.” [56] Moreover, the desire for human glory takes away greatness of soul. For he who seeks the favour of men must serve their will in all he says and does, and thus, while striving to please all, he becomes a slave to each one. Wherefore the same Tullius says in his book On Duties [De officiis, I, 20, 68] that “the inordinate desire for glory is to be guarded against; it takes away freedom of soul, for the sake of which high-minded men should put forth all their efforts.” Indeed there is nothing more becoming to a prince who has been set up for the doing of good works than greatness of soul. Thus, the reward of human glory is not enough for the services of a king.

• From Saint Thomas Aquinas Collection (22 Books) (2016)

  [57] At the same time it also hurts the multitude if such a reward be set up for princes, for it is the duty of a good man to take no account of glory, just as he should take no account of other temporal goods. It is the mark of a virtuous and brave soul to despise glory as he despises life, for justice’ sake: whence the strange thing results that glory ensues from virtuous acts, and out of virtue glory itself is despised: and therefore, through his very contempt for glory, a man is made glorious—according to the sentence of Fabius: Footnote “He who scorns glory shall have true glory,” and as Sallust [Bellum Catilinae 54, 6] says of Cato: “The less he sought glory the more he achieved it.” Even the disciples of Christ “exhibited themselves as the ministers of God in honour and dishonour, in evil report and good report” (2 Cor 6:8). Glory is, therefore, not a fitting reward for a good man; good men spurn it. And, if it alone be set up as the reward for princes, it will follow that good men will not take upon themselves the chief office of the city, or if they take it, they will go unrewarded. [58] Furthermore, dangerous evils come from the desire for glory. Many have been led unrestrainedly to seek glory in warfare, and have sent their armies and themselves to destruction, while the freedom of their country was turned into servitude under an enemy. Consider Torquatus, the Roman chief. In order to impress upon the people how imperative it is to avoid such danger, “he slew his own son who, being challenged by an enemy, had, through youthful impetuosity, fought and vanquished him. Yet he had done so contrary to orders given him by his father. Torquatus acted thus, lest more harm should accrue from the example of his son’s presumption than advantage from the glory of slaying the enemy.” [Cf. Augustine, De civ. Dei, V, 18.] [59] Moreover, the desire for glory has another vice akin to it, namely, hypocrisy. Since it is difficult to acquire true virtues, to which alone honour and glory are due, and it is therefore the lot of but a few to attain them, many who desire glory become simulators of virtue. On this account, as Sallust says [Bellum Catilinae 10, 5]: “Ambition drives many mortals to become false. They keep one thing shut up in their heart, another ready on the tongue, and they have more countenance than character.” But our Saviour also calls those persons hypocrites, or simulators, who do good works that they may be seen by men. Therefore, just as there is danger for the multitude, if the prince seek pleasures and riches as his reward, that he become a plunderer and abusive, so there is danger, if glory be assigned to him as reward, that he become presumptuous and a hypocrite.

• From Saint Thomas Aquinas Collection (22 Books) (2016)

  [138] Moreover, this first method of supply is more conducive to the preservation of civic life. A city which must engage in much trade in order to supply its needs also has to put up with the continuous presence of foreigners. But intercourse with foreigners, according to Aristotle’s Politics [V, 3: 1303a 27; VII, 6: 1327a 13-15], is particularly harmful to civic customs. For it is inevitable that strangers, brought up under other laws and customs, will in many cases act as the citizens are not wont to act and thus, since the citizens are drawn by their example to act likewise, their own civic life is upset. [139] Again, if the citizens themselves devote their life to matters of trade, the way will be opened to many vices. Since the foremost tendency of tradesmen is to make money, greed is awakened in the hearts of the citizens through the pursuit of trade. The result is that everything in the city will become venal; good faith will be destroyed and the way opened to all kinds of trickery; each one will work only for his own profit, despising the public good; the cultivation of virtue will fail since honour, virtue’s reward, will be bestowed upon the rich. Thus, in such a city, civic life will necessarily be corrupted. [140] The pursuit of trade is also very unfavourable to military activity.’ Tradesmen, not being used to the open air and not doing any hard work but enjoying all pleasures, grow soft in spirit and their bodies are weakened and rendered unsuited to military labours. In accordance with this view, Civil Law” forbids soldiers to engage in business. [141] Finally, that city enjoys a greater measure of peace whose people are more sparsely assembled together and dwell in smaller proportion within the walls of the town, for when men are crowded together it is an occasion for quarrels and all the elements for seditious plots are provided. Hence, according to Aristotle’s doctrine, Footnote it is more profitable to have the people engaged outside the cities than for them to dwell constantly within the walls. But if a city is dependent on trade, it is of prime importance that the citizens stay within the town and there engage in trade. It is better, therefore, that the supplies of food be furnished to the city from its own fields than that it be wholly dependent on trade. [142] Still, trade must not be entirely kept out of a city, since one cannot easily find any place so overflowing with the necessaries of life as not to need some commodities from other parts. Also, when there is an over-abundance of some commodities in one place, these goods would serve no purpose if they could not be carried elsewhere by professional traders. Consequently, the perfect city will make a moderate use of merchants. CHAPTER 4

• From Saint Thomas Aquinas Collection (22 Books) (2016)

  Reply to Objection 2: Avicenna assigns the cause of bewitchment to the fact that corporeal matter has a natural tendency to obey spiritual substance rather than natural contrary agents. Therefore when the soul is of strong imagination, it can change corporeal matter. This he says is the cause of the “evil eye.” But it has been shown above ([968]Q[110], A[2]) that corporeal matter does not obey spiritual substances at will, but the Creator alone. Therefore it is better to say, that by a strong imagination the (corporeal) spirits of the body united to that soul are changed, which change in the spirits takes place especially in the eyes, to which the more subtle spirits can reach. And the eyes infect the air which is in contact with them to a certain distance: in the same way as a new and clear mirror contracts a tarnish from the look of a “menstruata,” as Aristotle says (De Somn. et Vigil.; [*De Insomniis ii]). Hence then when a soul is vehemently moved to wickedness, as occurs mostly in little old women, according to the above explanation, the countenance becomes venomous and hurtful, especially to children, who have a tender and most impressionable body. It is also possible that by God’s permission, or from some hidden deed, the spiteful demons co-operate in this, as the witches may have some compact with them. Reply to Objection 3: The soul is united to the body as its form; and the sensitive appetite, which obeys the reason in a certain way, as stated above ([969]Q[81], A[3]), it is the act of a corporeal organ. Therefore at the apprehension of the human soul, the sensitive appetite must needs be moved with an accompanying corporeal operation. But the apprehension of the human soul does not suffice to work a change in exterior bodies, except by means of a change in the body united to it, as stated above (ad 2). Whether the separate human soul can move bodies at least locally?Objection 1: It seems that the separate human soul can move bodies at least locally. For a body naturally obeys a spiritual substance as to local motion, as stated above (Q[110], A[5]). But the separate soul is a spiritual substance. Therefore it can move exterior bodies by its command. Objection 2: Further, in the Itinerary of Clement it is said in the narrative of Nicetas to Peter, that Simon Magus, by sorcery retained power over the soul of a child that he had slain, and that through this soul he worked magical wonders. But this could not have been without some corporeal change at least as to place. Therefore, the separate soul has the power to move bodies locally. On the contrary, the Philosopher says (De Anima i, 3) that the soul cannot move any other body whatsoever but its own.

• From Saint Thomas Aquinas Collection (22 Books) (2016)

  On the contrary, Man’s good consists in retaining happiness rather than in spreading it. But as Boethius says (De Consol. ii), “wealth shines in giving rather than in hoarding: for the miser is hateful, whereas the generous man is applauded.” Therefore man’s happiness does not consist in wealth. I answer that, It is impossible for man’s happiness to consist in wealth. For wealth is twofold, as the Philosopher says (Polit. i, 3), viz. natural and artificial. Natural wealth is that which serves man as a remedy for his natural wants: such as food, drink, clothing, cars, dwellings, and such like, while artificial wealth is that which is not a direct help to nature, as money, but is invented by the art of man, for the convenience of exchange, and as a measure of things salable. Now it is evident that man’s happiness cannot consist in natural wealth. For wealth of this kind is sought for the sake of something else, viz. as a support of human nature: consequently it cannot be man’s last end, rather is it ordained to man as to its end. Wherefore in the order of nature, all such things are below man, and made for him, according to Ps. 8:8: “Thou hast subjected all things under his feet.” And as to artificial wealth, it is not sought save for the sake of natural wealth; since man would not seek it except because, by its means, he procures for himself the necessaries of life. Consequently much less can it be considered in the light of the last end. Therefore it is impossible for happiness, which is the last end of man, to consist in wealth. Reply to Objection 1: All material things obey money, so far as the multitude of fools is concerned, who know no other than material goods, which can be obtained for money. But we should take our estimation of human goods not from the foolish but from the wise: just as it is for a person whose sense of taste is in good order, to judge whether a thing is palatable. Reply to Objection 2: All things salable can be had for money: not so spiritual things, which cannot be sold. Hence it is written (Prov. 17:16): “What doth it avail a fool to have riches, seeing he cannot buy wisdom.”

• From Saint Thomas Aquinas Collection (22 Books) (2016)

  Objection 3: Further, he says (Macrobius: Super Somn. Scip. 1) that the “perfecting” virtues are those of the man “who flies from human affairs and devotes himself exclusively to the things of God.” But it seems wrong to do this, for Cicero says (De Offic. i): “I reckon that it is not only unworthy of praise, but wicked for a man to say that he despises what most men admire, viz. power and office.” Therefore there are no “perfecting” virtues. Objection 4: Further, he says (Macrobius: Super Somn. Scip. 1) that the “social” virtues are those “whereby good men work for the good of their country and for the safety of the city.” But it is only legal justice that is directed to the common weal, as the Philosopher states (Ethic. v, 1). Therefore other virtues should not be called “social.” On the contrary, Macrobius says (Super Somn. Scip. 1): “Plotinus, together with Plato foremost among teachers of philosophy, says: ‘The four kinds of virtue are fourfold: In the first place there are social* virtues; secondly, there are perfecting virtues [*Virtutes purgatoriae: literally meaning, cleansing virtues]; thirdly, there are perfect [*Virtutes purgati animi: literally, virtues of the clean soul] virtues; and fourthly, there are exemplar virtues.’” [*Cf. Chrysostom’s fifteenth homily on St. Matthew, where he says: “The gentle, the modest, the merciful, the just man does not shut up his good deeds within himself . . . He that is clean of heart and peaceful, and suffers persecution for the sake of the truth, lives for the common weal.”] I answer that, As Augustine says (De Moribus Eccl. vi), “the soul needs to follow something in order to give birth to virtue: this something is God: if we follow Him we shall live aright.” Consequently the exemplar of human virtue must needs pre-exist in God, just as in Him pre-exist the types of all things. Accordingly virtue may be considered as existing originally in God, and thus we speak of “exemplar” virtues: so that in God the Divine Mind itself may be called prudence; while temperance is the turning of God’s gaze on Himself, even as in us it is that which conforms the appetite to reason. God’s fortitude is His unchangeableness; His justice is the observance of the Eternal Law in His works, as Plotinus states (Cf. Macrobius, Super Somn. Scip. 1). Again, since man by his nature is a social [*See above note on Chrysostom] animal, these virtues, in so far as they are in him according to the condition of his nature, are called “social” virtues; since it is by reason of them that man behaves himself well in the conduct of human affairs. It is in this sense that we have been speaking of these virtues until now.

• From Saint Thomas Aquinas Collection (22 Books) (2016)

  THE ERROR OF THE MANICHEANS CONCERNING THE INCARNATIONOTHERS there were who denied the true doctrine of the Incarnation, and invented a fictitious imitation of it. The Manicheans, in fact, said that the Son of God assumed not a real but an imaginary body: so that He could not be a real man, but only seemed to be one. They pretended that whatever He did as man—for instance, that He was born, that He ate, drank, walked, suffered, and was buried—was all unreal, though having some semblance of reality. Consequently they reduced the whole mystery of the Incarnation to a work of fiction. Now in the first place this view entirely sets at nought the authority of Scripture. For since the likeness of flesh is not flesh, and the likeness of walking is not walking, and so on; the Scripture lies when it says, the Word was made flesh, if it were but imaginary flesh: it lies again when it says that Jesus walked, ate, died, and was buried, if these things happened to a mere imaginary apparition. Now, if the authority of Scripture be allowed to suffer in the slightest degree, our faith loses all its stability, for it is based on Holy Writ, according to Jo. 20:31, These things are written that you may believe. Someone, however, might say that Holy Scripture is not lacking in truth, if it records apparitions as though they were real facts: because the likenesses of things are equivocally and metaphorically called by the names of the things themselves; thus the picture of a man is called a man: and Holy Writ is wont to speak in this way, for instance (1 Cor. 10:4): The Rock was Christ. Thus in Scripture many corporeal terms are applied to God for no other reason but likeness: for instance, He is called a lamb, a lion, and so forth. Yet, though it be true that the likenesses of things are sometimes called by the names of the things they represent: it is not becoming for Holy Scripture to relate an entire incident with such a double meaning, unless one were able to elucidate the truth from other passages of Scripture: because this would lead men, not to knowledge, but to deception: and yet the Apostle says (Rom. 15:4) that whatsoever things were written, were written for our learning, and (2 Tim. 3:16): All scripture, inspired of God, is profitable to teach … and to instruct. Moreover the whole Gospel story would be a poem and a fable, if imaginary things were portrayed as being real: whereas it is said (2 Pet. 1:16): We have not followed cunningly devised fables, when we made known to you the power … of our Lord Jesus Christ.

• From Saint Thomas Aquinas Collection (22 Books) (2016)

  Objection 2: Further, the Church needs not only ministers for the dispensation of things spiritual, but also for the supervision of temporalities. But sometimes men without knowledge or holiness of life may be useful for the conduct of temporal affairs, either because of their worldly power, or on account of their natural industry. Therefore seemingly the like can be promoted without sin. Objection 3: Further, everyone is bound to avoid sin, as far as he can. If therefore a bishop sins in promoting the unworthy, he is bound to take the utmost pains to know whether those who present themselves for Orders be worthy, by making a careful inquiry about their morals and knowledge, and yet seemingly this is not done anywhere. On the contrary, It is worse to raise the wicked to the sacred ministry, than not to correct those who are raised already. But Heli sinned mortally by not correcting his sons for their wickedness; wherefore “he fell backwards . . . and died” (1 Kings 4:18). Therefore he who promotes the unworthy does not escape sin. Further, spiritual things must be set before temporal things in the Church. Now a man would commit a mortal sin were he knowingly to endanger the temporalities of the Church. Much more therefore is it a mortal sin to endanger spiritual things. But whoever promotes the unworthy endangers spiritual things, since according to Gregory (Hom. xii in Evang.) “if a man’s life is contemptible, his preaching is liable to be despised”; and for the same reason all the spiritual things that he dispenses. Therefore he who promotes the unworthy sins mortally. I answer that, Our Lord describes the faithful servant whom He has set “over His household to give them their measure of wheat.” Hence he is guilty of unfaithfulness who gives any man Divine things above his measure: and whoso promotes the unworthy does this. Wherefore he commits a mortal crime, as being unfaithful to his sovereign Lord, especially since this is detrimental to the Church and to the Divine honor which is promoted by good ministers. For a man would be unfaithful to his earthly lord were he to place unworthy subjects in his offices. Reply to Objection 1: God never so abandons His Church that apt ministers are not to be found sufficient for the needs of the people, if the worthy be promoted and the unworthy set aside. And though it were impossible to find as many ministers as there are now, it were better to have few good ministers than many bad ones, as the blessed Clement declares in his second epistle to James the brother of the Lord. Reply to Objection 2: Temporal things are not to be sought but for the sake of spiritual things. Wherefore all temporal advantage should count for nothing, and all gain be despised for the advancement of spiritual good.

• From Post Office (1971)

  It began easy. I was sent to West Avon Station and it was just like Christmas except I didn’t get laid. Every day I expected to get laid but I didn’t. But the soup was easy and I strolled around doing a block here and there. I didn’t even have a uniform, just a cap. I wore my regular clothes. The way my shackjob Betty and I drank there was hardly money for clothes. Then I was transferred to Oakford Station. The soup was a bullneck named Jonstone. Help was needed there and I understood why. Jonstone liked to wear dark-red shirts—that meant danger and blood. There were seven subs—Tom Moto, Nick Pelligrini, Herman Stratford, Rosey Anderson, Bobby Hansen, Harold Wiley and me, Henry Chinaski. Reporting time was 5 a.m. and I was the only drunk there. I always drank until past midnight, and there we’d sit, at 5 a.m., waiting to get on the clock, waiting for some regular to call in sick. The regulars usually called in sick when it rained or during a heatwave or the day after a holiday when the mail load was doubled. There were 40 or 50 different routes, maybe more, each case was different, you were never able to learn any of them, you had to get your mail up and ready before 8 a.m. for the truck dispatches, and Jonstone would take no excuses. The subs routed their magazines on corners, went without lunch, and died in the streets. Jonstone would have us start casing the routes 30 minutes late—spinning in his chair in his red shirt—”Chinaski take route 539!” We’d start a half hour short but were still expected to get the mail up and out and be back on time. And once or twice a week, already beaten, fagged and fucked we had to make the night pickups, and the schedule on the board was impossible—the truck wouldn’t go that fast. You had to skip four or five boxes on the first run and the next time around they were stacked with mail and you stank, you ran with sweat jamming it into the sacks. I got laid all right. Jonstone saw to that. 3The subs themselves made Jonstone possible by obeying his impossible orders. I couldn’t see how a man of such obvious cruelty could be allowed to have his position. The regulars didn’t care, the union man was worthless, so I filled out a thirty page report on one of my days off, mailed one copy to Jonstone and took the other down to the Federal Building. The clerk told me to wait. I waited and waited and waited. I waited an hour and thirty minutes, then was taken in to see a little grey-haired man with eyes like cigarette ash. He didn’t even ask me to sit down. He began screaming at me as I entered the door.

• From Post Office (1971)

  Chinaski?” I recognized the voice and began to fondle myself. “Ummmm,” I said. It was Miss Graves, that bitch. “Were you asleep?” “Yes, yes, Miss Graves, but go on. It’s all right, it’s all right.” “Well, you’ve made clearance.” “Ummm, ummm.” “So therefore we have notified the scheme room.” “Ummhmm.” “And you are scheduled to throw your CP1 two weeks from today.” “What? Now wait a minute …” “That’s all, Mr. Chinaski. Good day.” She hung up. 17Well, I took the scheme sheet and I related everything to sex and age. This guy lived in this house with three women. He belt-whipped one (her name was the name of the street and her age the break number); he ate another (ditto), and he simply screwed the third old-fashioned (ditto). There were all these fags and one of them (his name was Manfred Ave.) was 33 years old … etc., etc., etc. I’m sure they wouldn’t have let me into that glass cage if they had known what I was thinking as I looked at all those cards. They all looked like old friends to me. Still, I got some of my orgies crossed. I threw a 94 the first time. Ten days later, when I came back, I knew who was doing what to whom. I threw 100 percent in five minutes. And got a form letter of congratulations from the City Postmaster. 18Soon after that I made regular and that gave me an eight-hour night, which beat 12, and pay for holidays. Of the 150 or 200 that had come in, there were only two of us left. Then I met David Janko on the station. He was a young white in his early twenties. I made the mistake of talking to him, something about classical music. I happened to be up on my classical music because it was the only thing I could listen to while drinking beer in bed in the early morning. If you listen morning after morning you are bound to remember things. And when Joyce had divorced me I had mistakenly packed two volumes of The Lives of the Classical and Modern Composers into one of my suitcases. Most of these men’s lives were so tortured that I enjoyed reading about them, thinking, well, I am in hell too and I can’t even write music. But I had opened my mouth. Janko and some other guy were arguing and I settled it by giving them Beethoven’s birthdate, when he had penned the Third Symphony, and a generalized (if confused) idea of what the critics said about the Third. It was too much for Janko. He immediately mistook me for a learned man. Sitting on the stool next to me he began to complain and rant, night after long night, about the misery buried deep in his twisted and pissed soul. He had a terribly loud voice and he wanted everybody to hear.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  And when they are taken to task of these and many other unseemly things that they do, they think that to answer, "Do as we say and not as we do," is a sufficient discharge of every grave burden, as if it were possible for the sheep to be more constant and stouter to resist temptation[183] than the shepherds. And how many there be of those to whom they make such a reply who apprehend it not after the fashion[184] in which they say it, the most part of them know. The monks of our day would have you do as they say, to wit, fill their purses with money, trust your secrets to them, observe chastity, practise patience and forgiveness of injuries and keep yourselves from evil speaking,--all things good, seemly and righteous; but why would they have this? So they may do that, which if the laity did, themselves could not do. Who knoweth not that without money idleness may not endure? An thou expend thy monies in thy pleasures, the friar will not be able to idle it in the monastery; an thou follow after women, there will be no room for him, and except thou be patient or a forgiver of injuries, he will not dare to come to thy house to corrupt thy family. But why should I hark back after every particular? They condemn themselves in the eyes of the understanding as often as they make this excuse. An they believe not themselves able to abstain and lead a devout life, why do they not rather abide at home? Or, if they will e'en give themselves unto this,[185] why do they not ensue that other holy saying of the Gospel, "Christ began to do and to teach?"[186] Let them first do and after teach others. I have in my time seen a thousand of them wooers, lovers and haunters, not of lay women alone, but of nuns; ay, and of those that make the greatest outcry in the pulpit. Shall we, then, follow after these who are thus fashioned? Whoso doth it doth that which he will, but God knoweth if he do wisely. [Footnote 183: Lit. more of iron (_più di ferro_).] [Footnote 184: Sic (_per lo modo_); but _quære_ not rather "in the sense."] [Footnote 185: _i.e._ if they must enter upon this way of life, to wit, that of the friar.] [Footnote 186: The reference is apparently to the opening verse of the Acts of the Apostles, where Luke says, "The former treatise have I made, O Theophilus, of all that Jesus began to do and to teach." It need hardly be remarked that the passage in question does not bear the interpretation Boccaccio would put upon it.]

• From Under the Banner of Heaven (2003)

  with it; NPD is a disconcertingly common ailment. Indeed, to a noteworthy degree, narcissists fuel the cultural, spiritual, and economic engines of Western society, as Dr. Gardner readily acknowledged from the witness stand. “Many successful people are narcissistic,” he said, stressing that narcissism is especially prevalent among accomplished businessmen, attorneys, physicians, and academics. Such people have a sense of vast self-importance, Gardner explained, and believe “they’re smarter and better than anybody else. They’re willing to work incredible hours to provide confirmation to support their grandiose ideas.” As examples, Gardner cited some of his own colleagues at the University of Utah Medical School: “I can go through the school of medicine and just pick them out at the tops of many of the departments . . . they’ll work three or four times as hard as anybody else. . . . So it can be adaptive in the sense of making them high performers. On the other hand, it really impairs their ability for intimacy and closeness, because they lack empathy, and can’t understand the importance of other people’s life experiences, so they’ll work and ignore their wives and children because they’re pursuing this grandiose vision of themselves, which may make them successful . . . but really impair their social and interpersonal interactions.” Grandiosity and lack of empathy, Dr. Gardner emphasized, were the hallmarks of NPD, and Ron Lafferty was nothing if not grandiose and emotionally cold. Ron had readily volunteered that Brenda’s death had aroused in him no feelings whatsoever. And he’d insisted to one and all that he was an especially important person in the eyes of God—that God had anointed him, Ron Lafferty, the “one mighty and strong.” Although an exaggerated desire to mete out justice is not listed among the defining characteristics of narcissistic personality disorder in DSM-IV, it probably should be. Narcissists erupt with self-righteous indignation whenever they believe others are breaking rules, acting unfairly, or getting more than their fair share of the pie. They have no compunction about breaking the rules themselves, however, because they know they’re special and the rules don’t apply to them. In Ron’s case, he was quick to castigate anyone he thought was behaving selfishly or unrighteously—indeed, in the case of Brenda and Erica Lafferty, he didn’t hesitate to assume the role of judge, jury, and executioner. Yet nobody howled louder about unfair persecution when he was accused of moral, ethical, or legal lapses by others.

• From Confessions of a Mask (1958)

  I felt that every one of them was scorning me. The scorn was like the strong summer sunlight burning into me. Thirty minutes remained before time for us to part. I cannot say whether it was precisely because of the pain of parting, but a gloomy, nervous irritation resembling a sort of passion had given rise to a feeling of wanting to daub that half-hour over with thick colors like oil paints. I halted in front of a dance hall where a loud-speaker was hurling the wild strains of a rhumba into the street. I had suddenly been reminded of a line from a poem I had read long before: . . . But always it was a dance without an end. . . . I had forgotten the rest. It must be from a poem by Andre Salmon. . . . Although such a place was outside her experience, Sonoko nodded assent and accompanied me into the dance hall for thirty minutes of dancing. The hall was crowded with office workers who came every day for an hour or two of dancing, extending their lunch hours to suit their own pleasure. A sultry heat struck us full in the face. Abetted by a defective ventilation system and heavy drapes that shut out the open air, the stifling fever-heat that stagnated within the place was raising a milky fog of dust-motes against the reflecting lights. One did not need to be told what kind of people these were who were dancing there, not noticing the heat, effusing smells of sweat and bad perfume and cheap pomade. I was sorry I had brought Sonoko. But it was too late to turn back now. Without any heart for it, we pushed through the dancing crowd. Even the infrequent electric fans did not deliver the slightest breeze. Young fellows were dancing with the hostesses, cheek pressed against sweaty cheek. The sides of the girls' noses had become murky, and their sweat-caked face powder looked like acne upon their skin. The backs of their dresses looked even more soiled and sodden than the tablecloth had looked a little while before. Whether one danced or not, sweat spread over the body. Sonoko was taking short breaths as though suffocating. Looking for a breath of fresh air, we passed through an archway entwined with artificial, out-of-season flowers, went out into the courtyard, and seated ourselves on two of the crude chairs. Here there was fresh air, true enough, but the concrete floor was reflecting heat intense enough to reach even to the chairs in the shade. Our mouths were sticky with the syrupy sweetness of Coca-Cola. It seemed that Sonoko too had been silenced by the same agony of disdain I was feeling about everything. After a time I could no longer endure this silence and began looking around us.

• From Confessions of a Mask (1958)

  My grandfather, tempted by the schemes that dubious cronies came bringing, often went traveling to distant places, dreaming dreams of gold. My grandmother came of an old family; she hated and scorned my grandfather. Hers was a narrow-minded, indomitable, and rather wildly poetic spirit. A chronic case of cranial neuralgia was indirectly but steadily gnawing away her nerves and at the same time adding an unavailing sharpness to her intellect. Who knows but what those fits of depression she continued having until her death were a memento of vices in which my grandfather had indulged in his prime? Into this house my father had brought my mother, a frail and beautiful bride. On the morning of January 4, 1925, my mother was attacked by labor pains. At nine that evening she gave birth to a small baby weighing five pounds and six ounces. On the evening of the seventh day the infant was clothed in undergarments of flannel and cream-colored silk and a kimono of silk crepe with a splashed pattern. In the presence of the assembled household my grandfather drew my name on a strip of ceremonial paper and placed it on an offertory stand in the tokonoma. My hair was blondish for a long time, but they kept putting olive oil on it until it finally turned black. My parents lived on the second floor of the house. On the pretext that it was hazardous to raise a child on an upper floor, my grandmother snatched me from my mother's arms on my forty-ninth day. My bed was placed in my grandmother's sickroom, perpetually closed and stifling with odors of sickness and old age, and I was raised there beside her sickbed. When about one year old I fell from the third step of the stairway and injured my forehead. My grandmother had gone to the theater, and my father's cousins and my mother were noisily enjoying the respite. My mother had had occasion to take something up to the second floor. Following her, I had become entangled in the trailing skirt of her kimono and had fallen. My grandmother was summoned by telephone from the Kabuki Theater. When she arrived, my grandfather went out to meet her. She stood in the entryway without taking her shoes off, leaning on the cane that she carried in her right hand, and stared fixedly at my grandfather. When she spoke, it was in a strangely calm tone of voice, as though carving out each word: "Is he dead?" "No" Then, taking off her shoes and stepping up from the entryway, she walked down the corridor with steps as confident as those of a priestess. . . . On the New Year's morning just prior to my fourth birthday I vomited something the color of coffee.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  Now it was the usance in that house that neither wine nor bread nor aught else of meat or drink should ever be set on the tables, except the Abbot were first came to sit at his own table. Accordingly, the seneschal, having set the tables, let tell the Abbot that, whenas it pleased him, the meat was ready. The Abbot let open the chamber-door, that he might pass into the saloon, and looking before him as he came, as chance would have it, the first who met his eyes was Primasso, who was very ill accoutred and whom he knew not by sight. When he saw him, incontinent there came into his mind an ill thought and one that had never yet been there, and he said in himself, "See to whom I give my substance to eat!" Then, turning back, he bade shut the chamber-door and enquired of those who were about him if any knew yonder losel who sat at table over against his chamber-door; but all answered no. Meanwhile Primasso, who had a mind to eat, having come a journey and being unused to fast, waited awhile and seeing that the Abbot came not, pulled out of his bosom one of the three cakes of bread he had brought with him and fell to eating. The Abbot, after he had waited awhile, bade one of his serving-men look if Primasso were gone, and the man answered, "No, my lord; nay, he eateth bread, which it seemeth he hath brought with him." Quoth the Abbot, "Well, let him eat of his own, an he have thereof; for of ours he shall not eat to-day." Now he would fain have had Primasso depart of his own motion, himseeming it were not well done to turn him away; but the latter, having eaten one cake of bread and the Abbot coming not, began upon the second; the which was likewise reported to the Abbot, who had caused look if he were gone. At last, the Abbot still tarrying, Primasso, having eaten the second cake, began upon the third, and this again was reported to the Abbot, who fell a-pondering in himself and saying, "Alack, what new maggot is this that is come into my head to-day? What avarice! What despite! And for whom? This many a year have I given my substance to eat to whosoever had a mind thereto, without regarding if he were gentle or simple, poor or rich, merchant or huckster, and have seen it with mine own eyes squandered by a multitude of ribald knaves; nor ever yet came there to my mind the thought that hath entered into me for yonder man. Of a surety avarice cannot have assailed me for a man of little account; needs must this who seemeth to me a losel be some great matter, since my soul hath thus repugned to do him honour."

• From Under the Banner of Heaven (2003)

  which were one and the same. Larsen’s hypothesis that Dunn and the Howland brothers were killed by Mormons, rather than Shivwits, has been disparaged by most historians, as have all previous suggestions that the Indians weren’t responsible. The majority view is based almost entirely on accounts by both Jacob Hamblin and Major John Wesley Powell that describe, with convincing detail, how the Shivwits freely confessed to murdering Powell’s men. But such accounts, it turns out, should be taken with a large grain of salt. Hamblin enjoyed a reputation of unimpeachable integrity among the Saints of southern Utah, who called him “Honest Jake.” The historical record plainly shows, however, that Hamblin had no compunction about “lying for the Lord” when he thought it would advance the goals of the Kingdom of God. Indeed, the record also shows that Hamblin was quite willing to lie through his teeth simply to enrich himself. It’s worth noting that John D. Lee had his own nicknames for Hamblin: “Dirty Fingered Jake” and “the fiend of Hell.” In September 1857, immediately following the Mountain Meadows massacre, Hamblin orchestrated the shakedown and robbery of the William Dukes wagon train, among the first parties of emigrants to travel through southern Utah after the slaughter. Despite paying Mormon guides $1,815 to be escorted safely through the region, the Dukes party was attacked by a band of Paiutes, who let the emigrants escape to California but stole everything they had of any value, including more than three hundred head of cattle. The emigrants noticed, moreover, that many of the marauding “Indians” had blue eyes, curly hair, and splotches of white skin at the corners of their eyes and behind their ears. In actuality, the thieves had been led by Mormons who had painted their faces to resemble Paiutes, according to the instructions of Jacob Hamblin (which was, of course, the same ruse employed by the Saints during the Mountain Meadows massacre, and on numerous other occasions). The Paiutes were given a few of the stolen cattle as payment for their supporting role in the shakedown, but Hamblin kept the bulk of the plunder for himself, professing to be safeguarding the large and very valuable herd of livestock for the Dukes party until the emigrants were able to return to Utah and take possession of them. But when William Dukes called Hamblin’s bluff and recruited a brave soul to reclaim the rustled cattle, Hamblin hid most of the

• From Under the Banner of Heaven (2003)

  * Nauvoo had long been a notorious haven for printers of bogus money, thanks to a highly unusual provision in the city charter granting the town leaders extraordinary powers of habeas corpus. This much-abused clause permitted Brigham, and Joseph before him, to provide legal immunity to individuals charged with crimes beyond the city limits. And like the residents of present-day Colorado City who see nothing wrong with “bleeding the beast” by committing welfare fraud, neither Brigham nor Joseph believed that the counterfeiters in their midst were criminals in the eyes of the Lord; they were, to the contrary, helping advance the Kingdom of God every time they bilked a Gentile with their fraudulent greenbacks, and thus deserved to be protected from arrest. Return to text. * After Sidney Rigdon’s ambition to replace Joseph Smith was quashed by Brigham Young’s ascendancy, Rigdon and a few hundred followers established a church of their own in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, but it quickly dwindled to nothing. Apostle Lyman Wright broke away with numerous unhappy Mormons to form another short-lived church in Texas. And a charismatic charlatan and onetime Baptist named James Jesse Strang drew seven hundred disenchanted Saints away from Brigham’s church—including Joseph’s mother, his lone surviving brother, two of his sisters, and Martin Harris, the man who’d mortgaged his farm to pay for publication of The Book of Mormon. Strang attracted this following by pronouncing that an angel had visited him at the exact moment of the prophet’s murder and anointed him Joseph’s successor. Fifteen months later, Strang claimed to have discovered an ancient text titled the Book of the Law of the Lord, inscribed on a set of brass folios he called the Plates of Laban, which he found near Voree, Wisconsin, buried on a hillside; according to Strang, this document had originally been part of the set of gold plates unearthed by Joseph in 1827 that yielded The Book of Mormon. Impressed by these plates, the “Strangites” joined their prophet in establishing a colony on Beaver Island, off the northwest coast of Michigan’s lower peninsula, where Strang had himself crowned “King James I of the Kingdom of God on Earth,” began taking plural wives, and ruled with absolute power. It was to be a brief reign, however: in 1856 a gang of disgruntled Beaver Island denizens ambushed King James and fatally shot him. Even before Strang’s murder, moreover, several prominent Strangites who objected to the king’s polygamous proclivities broke away to

• From Lady Chatterley's Lover (1928)

  Olive was reading a book about the future, when babies would be bred in bottles, and women would be "immunised." "Jolly good thing too!" she said. "Then a woman can live her own life." Strangeways wanted children, and she didn't. "How'd you like to be immunised?" Winterslow asked her, with an ugly smile. "I hope I am; naturally," she said. "Anyhow the future's going to have more sense, and a woman needn't be dragged down by her _functions_." "Perhaps she'll float off into space altogether," said Dukes. "I do think sufficient civilization ought to eliminate a lot of the physical disabilities," said Clifford. "All the love-business for example, it might just as well go. I suppose it would if we could breed babies in bottles." "No!" cried Olive. "That might leave all the more room for fun." "I suppose," said Lady Bennerley, contemplatively, "if the love-business went, something else would take its place. Morphia perhaps. A little morphine in all the air. It would be wonderfully refreshing for everybody." "The government releasing ether into the air on Saturdays, for a cheerful weekend!" said Jack. "Sounds all right, but where should we be by Wednesday?" "So long as you can forget your body you are happy," said Lady Bennerley. "And the moment you begin to be aware of your body, you are wretched. So, if civilization is any good, it has to help us to forget our bodies, and then time passes happily without our knowing it." "Help us to get rid of our bodies altogether," said Winterslow. "It's quite time man began to improve on his own nature, especially the physical side of it." "Imagine if we floated like tobacco smoke," said Connie. "It won't happen," said Dukes. "Our old show will come flop; our civilization is going to fall. It's going down the bottomless pit, down the chasm. And believe me, the only bridge across the chasm will be the phallus!" "Oh do! _do_ be impossible, General!" cried Olive. "I believe our civilization is going to collapse," said Aunt Eva. "And what will come after it?" asked Clifford. "I haven't the faintest idea, but something, I suppose," said the elderly lady. "Connie says people like wisps of smoke, and Olive says immunised women, and babies in bottles, and Dukes says the phallus is the bridge to what comes next. I wonder what it will really be?" said Clifford. "Oh, don't bother! let's get on with today," said Olive. "Only hurry up with the breeding bottle, and let us poor women off."

• From Enchanted: Erotic Bedtime Stories for Women (Erotic Fiction) (2006)

  As my tale begins, Mouse is keeping a low profile in a little hole in the wall in Cat’s world. She is dressed in a flimsy rag, which is the modern fashion for the mice in Cat’s world, but which barely covers her nakedness and leaves her always feeling exposed and exploited. Still, our Mouse feels relatively safe from Cat because of her rebellious attitude, which his kind interprets as coldhearted spitefulness. This suits Mouse perfectly, for Cat disgusts her. “Ha! Cowards!” laughs Mouse, as yet another cat scurries past her little hole in the wall, hastening to get away from the hostile creature therein. “How fearful those big, strong cats become when they encounter anger from a powerless little mouse! I shall easily escape the fate of my sisters with mere animosity as my defense.” Indeed, it was not difficult for her to bring forth feelings of animosity. She hated being exploited in this cat-dominated world, never being understood or appreciated for her intelligence and sensitivity. And yet, whenever a cat stopped at the opening of her little den to look her over, she was seized with strange sensations that were both disturbing and frightening. But she refused to let the cats see her fear or, more especially, her secretly harbored hope that she might someday meet a real cat, like those she had read about in romantic novels. So she hissed and cursed at them, laughing to herself as they nearly tripped over their own feet in their hurry to escape her. She set her face in an expression of haughty disdain as she heard another cat approach. He was much larger than she was, as were all the others, but she reminded herself that size wasn’t everything. She was certain that her will was superior to his. She struggled to remain composed as the cat stood in the entranceway, his eyes moving leisurely over her body. The usual agitation burned in her. By what right did cats think they could ogle mice in that rude way? How did it get to the point where this was considered normal behavior? If she behaved like other mice, she was now expected to be flattered to have been honored with his attention! She jerked her chin up even higher and met Cat’s eyes with a look of disgust. He was uncommonly handsome, she grudgingly noticed. It was indeed unusual these days for a cat to care about his appearance at all. They were generally so scraggly and unkempt that it offended one to be anywhere near them. But then, the mice were so busy worrying about their own appearances that it rarely occurred to them to notice that the cats were not worth all the trouble.