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 Summer Sisters (1998)

  “I’ve always wanted to see Venice.” “How do you feel about Cincinnati?” Vix asked. “Because that’s where the business is based. That’s where the patriarch has his palazzo.” Will had his own place in the East Sixties with a view of the Russian Consulate. “I think of you every night, Victoria,” he said, breathing heavily, when he finally took her there. His hand was under her skirt. “Have you been thinking of me? Have you?” Well, yes … Will had a king-size bed, a gray comforter, down pillows. When he kneeled over her sporting a hot pink condom she thought, a penis dressed as Malibu Barbie, and she tried not to giggle. Maybe her mother was right. Maybe the rich were different. She was flattered by his attention and curious about his world but she couldn’t say she was in love with him. She found him arrogant and, at times, even boring. They spent a long rainy weekend at an expensive inn in the Berkshires. While he read Forbes, Barrons , the Financial Times , Vix found herself fantasizing about Bru. At Sunday brunch Will said, “Tell me about your family, Victoria. Aside from the fact that you’re from Santa Fe I don’t know anything about you.” “What you see is what you get, Will.” “But what does your family do there?” “My father manages a restaurant and my mother is the amanuensis to the Countess de Lowenhoff.” She was glad to finally have the chance to use Abby’s description of her mother’s job. “Restaurant …” he said, raising his eyebrows. “Amanuensis. How charming. What about your grandparents?” “There are no grandparents.” She smiled at him. “Are you checking out my ancestry, Will?” “I’m interested in everything about you, Victoria.” “Well … my sister’s on welfare and my brother enlisted on his eighteenth birthday. I went all through school on scholarships. I owe my benefactors everything. They invested in my future so I could hold my own with snobs like you.” Will laughed, then applauded. “Brilliant!” He leaned over and kissed her. “You should write novels, Victoria. With your imagination and flair …” What was she doing with him? On the drive back to the city she decided to end it. “I’ve enjoyed our time together, Will … but I don’t think we should continue to see each other.” She waited for his reaction, then realized he hadn’t heard a word she’d said. She leaned forward and snapped off the CD player. “What?” he asked. “It’s over, Will.” “No, it’s not. He does ‘Say You Say Me’ next.” “I’m not talking about Lionel Ritchie, I’m talking about us.” “What about us?” “It’s over … we’re over. Fini, finis, finito.” “But we’re just getting started,” Will argued. “That should make it easier.” “Give me one good reason to end it now.” “We have nothing in common.” He took her hand and pressed it to the front of his pants. “We have this.” She shook her head.

• From Birthday Girl (2018)

  Muevo mi barbilla, saludándolo, pero no respondo. Nunca me gustó el tipo y nunca me importó ser amable. Lo que debe haber notado a estas alturas. No me importa, sin embargo. Solo mirarlo me irrita. Y no es nada específico lo que odio. Solo pequeñas cosas que se suman a lo largo de los años. Cómo trató a su esposa. Cómo era infiel y nunca estaba en casa. Cómo se quedó con la casa después del divorcio y la envió a ella y a sus hijos a vivir a un apartamento. Cómo contrata constantemente niñeras cuando se supone que sus hijos pasan tiempo con él durante el fin de semana. Eh, ¿quién sabe? Tal vez intentó obtener la custodia y tal vez ella lo engañó primero. Nunca se sabe realmente lo que sucede en la casa de alguien. Mírame a mí y cómo se crió mi hijo, después de todo. ¿Quién soy para juzgar? Todavía no me gusta el tipo. Piensa que su carrera de ejecutivo y los triatlones lo convierten en un héroe. Y ahora sueno malditamente celoso. Estupendo. Pulsando el código en el panel al costado de la puerta del garaje, retrocedo y lo abro. No guardo ningún automóvil aquí, así que hay espacio para que sirva como taller de mecánica y área de trabajo. Hay herramientas, un compresor de aire, un refrigerador extra, un par de bancos de trabajo y una mesa completa llena de piezas de automóviles que acaban de ser arrojadas aquí a lo largo de los años. El auto de Jordan está en el camino de entrada, pero sé que tendré que entrar aquí por unas cuantas cosas después de abrir el capó. Cole no es malo con los autos, pero sé que va a necesitarse dinero para conseguir que funcione nuevamente, y dinero que no tienen. Al menos echaré un vistazo, para ver qué tan malo es. —Hola, hombre. Miro por encima de mi hombro y veo a Dutch subiendo por el camino de entrada. Tiene ropa seca y una cerveza en la mano. Nada raro. Mantiene un refrigerador en la parte trasera de su camioneta. —Hola. —Me quito la camiseta aún húmeda por la cabeza y la tiro en un banco de trabajo. Sacando un gato de debajo de una mesa, salgo del garaje hacia el VW verde desvaído. Dutch saca una silla de jardín y la lleva a la hierba junto al auto de Jordan. —¿A las cinco mañana? —pregunta. —Sí. Como perdimos tiempo hoy, sabe que mañana querré comenzar temprano.

• From The Canterbury Tales (2009)

  Drunkenness is just as foul a sin. Alcohol provokes violence and creates misery. It sours the breath. It disfigures the features. Who would want to embrace a drunk? He snores loudly, and mutters broken words. Oh you drunkard, you fall down as heavily as a stuck pig. You have lost your tongue, as well as your self-respect. Drunkenness is the graveyard of intelligence and decency. Never trust a man who is lost in drink. Never confide in him. So, good people, keep away from the red and the white wines that are sold in Fish Street and Cheapside. Spanish wine is the cheapest and the worst. It seems to get mixed up with other wines, until it becomes quite overpowering. Its vapours go straight to the head. I do not blame the vintners for this, of course. God forbid. My father was a vintner. It must happen naturally somehow. Two or three glasses are enough. The drunkard may then think he is at home in London, but in fact he has been transported to a vineyard in Spain. He is lying among the grapes, burbling nonsense. So, lords and ladies, listen to me. All of the great deeds and victories commemorated in the Old Testament were performed by men who practised abstinence. They never touched liquor. They prayed to Almighty God instead. Read all about it in the Holy Book. In contrast, think of Attila. This great king and conqueror, to his manifest shame and dishonour, died in his sleep from too much drink; he was bleeding at the nose, in fact. A military man should live soberly. Remember what was commanded of Lamuel. Was it Samuel? No. Lamuel. It is in the Book of Proverbs. ‘Give not to kings, Oh Lamuel, give not wine to kings. For there is no secret where drunkenness reigns.’ There is no need to say more on that subject.

• From The Canterbury Tales (2009)

  ‘I knew it! I saw his death in a vision! I was lying in the dormitory, when I saw him before me. It was probably less than a hour after he expired. I saw him being transported to heaven, so help me God! Our sacristan and our infirmarian saw him, too, and they have been holy friars for fifty years or more. They have reached the age when they may walk about in the world alone, God bless them. As soon as I saw your child in bliss, I got up from my bed. The tears were running down my cheeks. Lord. My eyes were waterspouts. The whole of our convent came out with me, with no bells and no noise at all, and we went into the chapel where we sang the Te Deum. Then I prayed to Christ, thanking Him for His revelation to me. Trust me, good wife and husband, when I tell you that the prayers of friars really do work. We know more about the teachings of Christ than any layperson, kings included. We live in poverty and abstinence. You lay folk indulge in luxury and spendthrift ways. You love meat and drink and all the foul temptations of the flesh. We friars, on the other hand, hold the world in contempt.’ The wife now left the room, in order to prepare the pig’s head for her guest. ‘Do you know the difference, Thomas,’ he went on in the same even tone, ‘between the poor man Lazar and the rich man Dives? One of them came to a bad end. Which one do you think it was? Those who wish to pray must fast and remain pure; they must curb the body and attend to the soul. We follow the teaching of the apostles. We are content with scraps of food and the merest rags. So our penance and our abstinence give wings to our prayers. They fly straight up to Christ in heaven. ‘You recall, Thomas, that Moses fasted for forty days and forty nights before he was permitted to converse with Almighty God on the summit of Mount Sinai? Only after he had denied himself food for all that time was he permitted to receive the Ten Commandments, written with Jehovah’s own finger of fire. And do you remember Elijah on Mount Horeb? The prophet fasted, too, and spent his days in contemplation before God deemed it right to speak to him. Aaron and all the other priests of the temple would never dare to approach the incense altar without mortifying their flesh. They prayed only after they had abstained from drink. How could they be drunk in the holy place? It was unthinkable. God would have struck them dead. Take warning from what I say, Thomas. The priest who prays for your welfare and recovery must be sober - or else . . . well, I will say no more. You catch my drift.

• From The Canterbury Tales (2009)

  ‘Our own Saviour, as the New Testament tells us, gave us many examples of fasting and of prayer. That is why simple friars like myself are wedded to poverty and to celibacy. We lead lives of charity, of pity and of purity. I myself am always weeping. Yes I am. Of course sometimes we are persecuted for our holiness. That is the world for you. Nevertheless I tell you this. Our prayers are more acceptable to God. They rise higher than those of you and your kind, who can think only of your sensual appetites. Adam and Eve were expelled from the Garden of Eden for the sin of gluttony. Is that not so? It was not for lechery. I know that much. ‘Thomas, listen to me, I beseech you. I don’t have the exact text about me at the moment, but I can remember the gist of it. These are the words of sweet Lord Jesus, when He was talking about us friars. “Blessed,” He said, “are the poor in spirit.” That’s me! All the gospels sing our praises. Cleanliness is next to godliness. The eye of the needle. That kind of thing. Do you think they are referring to us or to those of you who wallow in your possessions? I pity those who are in thrall to gluttony. I spit on those who are addicted to lechery. I abjure them, Thomas. I renounce them. They are no better than that heretic Jovinian. He was as fat as a whale, and he waddled like a swan. He was as full of booze as a bottle in an alehouse. How can people like that pray? When they pray, they burp instead. Do you know that psalm of David when he says that his heart is issuing a great matter? All they issue is gas. ‘No. We are the ones that humbly follow the path and example of Jesus. We are meek. We are poor. We are chaste. We are lowly, Thomas, ever so lowly. We do not just listen to God’s word. We practise it. Just as the hawk in upward flight mounts to the firmament, so do our prayers and solicitations reach the gates of heaven. We aspire, Thomas. As I live and breathe, Thomas, you will not flourish unless you are part of our brotherhood. I swear that on all the saints. We friars are praying for you night and day, beseeching Christ to take pity on your sick flesh and restore your poor body to health.’ ‘God help me,’ the invalid replied. ‘I haven’t felt the benefit. Over the last few years I have spent pounds and pounds on the various orders of friars. What good has it done me? None at all. I have got through most of my money, and now I might as well say goodbye to the rest.’

• From The Glass Castle: A Memoir (2005)

  He started kicking at the dirt like he didn’t want to talk about it anymore. “She was kinda nice,” he said. After that, Brian waved to the women on the porch of the Green Lantern, and they smiled real big and waved back, but I was still a little afraid of them. OUR HOUSE IN BATTLE MOUNTAIN was filled with animals. They came and went, stray dogs and cats, their puppies and kittens, nonpoisonous snakes, and lizards and tortoises we caught in the desert. A coyote that seemed pretty tame lived with us for a while, and once Dad brought home a wounded buzzard that we named Buster. He was the ugliest pet we ever owned. Whenever we fed Buster scraps of meat, he turned his head sideways and stared at us out of one angry-looking yellow eye. Then he’d scream and frantically flap his good wing. I was secretly glad when his hurt wing healed and he flew away. Every time we saw buzzards circling overhead, Dad would say that he recognized Buster among them and that he was coming back to thank us. But I knew Buster would never even consider returning. That buzzard didn’t have an ounce of gratitude in him. We couldn’t afford pet food, so the animals had to eat our leftovers, and there usually wasn’t much. “If they don’t like it, they can leave,” said Mom. “Just because they live here doesn’t mean I’m going to wait on them hand and foot.” Mom told us that we were actually doing the animals a favor by not allowing them to become dependent on us. That way, if we ever had to leave, they’d be able to get by on their own. Mom liked to encourage self-sufficiency in all living creatures. Mom also believed in letting nature take its course. She refused to kill the flies that always filled the house; she said they were nature’s food for the birds and lizards. And the birds and lizards were food for the cats. “Kill the flies and you starve the cats,” she said. Letting the flies live, in her view, was the same as buying cat food, only cheaper. One day I was visiting my friend Carla when I noticed that her house didn’t have any flies. I asked her mother why. She pointed toward a shiny gold contraption dangling from the ceiling, which she proudly identified as a Shell No-Pest Strip. She said it could be bought at the filling station and that her family had one in every room. The No-Pest Strips, she explained, released a poison that killed all the flies. “What do your lizards eat?” I asked. “We don’t have any lizards, either,” she said. I went home and told Mom we needed to get a No-Pest Strip like Carla’s family, but she refused.

• From The Canterbury Tales (2009)

  When they arrived at the mill John unloaded the sack while Alan chatted to the miller. ‘Canny to see you, Simkin,’ he said. ‘How are your wife and your bonny daughter?’ ‘Alan, how are you? And you, too, John. What are you both doing here?’ ‘Well, Simkin, need knows no law. A lad who has no servant must serve himself. Otherwise he has a pranny for a master. You know that our manciple is on the way out?’ ‘I have heard.’ ‘Even his teeth hurt. It’s that bad. So me and Alan have come here to grind our corn and take it back to college. Will ye give us a hand?’ ‘Of course I will. Better than that. I’ll do it for you. But what do you want to do while it is grinding?’ ‘Well, I think I’ll stand awa’ there by the hopper when the corn flows in. I have never watched that happen. I wouldn’t mind seein’ it.’ ‘And I’ll stand awa’ there,’ Alan said, ‘and watch the meal gannin’ doon into the trough. That’ll keep me happy. You and I are just the same, John. We kna’ nowt about mills or millers.’ The miller was smiling at their stupidity. ‘They are trying to trick me,’ he said to himself. ‘They think that nobody can fool them. Well, well. I’ll pull the wool over their eyes just the same. Their logic or philosophy - whatever it is they study - is not worth a bean. The more tricks they pull, the more I will return. Instead of flour, I’ll give them bran. As the wolf said to the mare, the greatest scholars are not the wisest men. That was a shrewd wolf. And so will I be.’ So, when he saw his opportunity, he left the mill very quietly and went down into the yard. He looked about him, and finally found the clerks’ horse tied to a tree behind the mill. The miller goes up to it, unties it, and takes off its bridle. When the horse was loose it started sniffing the air and then with a ‘Weehee’ galloped off towards the fen where the wild mares roam. Well pleased, the miller returned to John and Alan. He said nothing about the horse, of course, but laughed and joked with them as he got on with the job. At last the corn was finely ground, and the meal put in a sack, all above board. Then John went out into the yard. He looked around for the horse. And then - ‘Oh fuck! The horse is gone! Alan, for fuck’s sake get oot here! We’ve lost the master’s horse!’ Alan forgot all about the meal and corn, forgot all about watching the miller, and rushed out of the mill. ‘Which way did it gan?’ he cried out to John. ‘How am I supposed to kna’?’ Then out ran the miller’s wife in a state of great excitement.

• From The Canterbury Tales (2009)

  It could be wheat or it could be oats. It makes no difference. Just make a small offering of silver to me. The crop will flourish. Mark my words. ‘“There is one thing of which I must warn you, good ladies and gentlemen. If there is any man among you who has committed a mortal sin, too horrible to confess - if there is any woman among you, young or old, who has been unfaithful to her husband - such folks cannot come up and make an offering to my relics here. They do not have the grace. They do not have the power. But if the rest of you wish to make an offering, then come forward now. I will absolve you of your sins. I have the bishop’s authority to shrive you.” ‘So by these deceits I have earned at least a hundred pounds as a pardoner. I stand like a priest in the pulpit. I preach to the dolts. I beseech them. I use every trick in the book. I can tell them a hundred lies, and never be found out. I lean forward and stretch out my neck, just like a dove perched on the rafter of a barn. My hands and tongue are working so hard that it is a joy to see me in action. I tell them to forsake the sin of avarice. I tell them to be charitable. Especially to me. I am only interested in their money, you see, not in the state of their souls. I don’t care what happens to them once they are dead. They can pick blackberries, as far as I am concerned. ‘I will tell you something else. Many sermons, and devotional homilies, spring from bad intentions. Some preachers just want to flatter or to entertain. Some are motivated by hypocrisy, or vainglory, or hate. If I cannot get at my enemy directly, I will sting him in a sermon. I will wound him in covert ways, so that he cannot fight back. “No,” I say, “I will not name the enemies of us pardoners. That would be too low.” But of course the congregation know exactly whom I am talking about. They can tell from my looks and gestures. That is how I retaliate against those who defame me. I spit out my venom under the cover of holiness. I seem virtuous, but seeming is not being. ‘I will tell you the truth in one sentence. I preach only for money. I want their silver pence. That is why my theme has always been, and always will be, the same. “Greed is the root of all evil.” It is suitable, don’t you think? I preach against the very vices I practise! It saves time. And even though I may be guilty of that sin, I persuade other folk to repent with much wailing and lamenting. But that is really not my intention. I will say it one more time. I preach only for the cash.

• From The Canterbury Tales (2009)

  Of all the four orders, however, his was the most inclined to gossip and to flattery. He had arranged many marriages and sometimes, for reasons that I will not mention, he had to pay for them himself. Still, he was a pillar of the faith. He was well known to all the rich landowners of his neighbourhood and he was familiar, too, with the worthy women of his town. He had full power of confession, which, as he said himself, was superior to that of an ordinary curate; he could absolve the most awful sins. He heard the confessions very patiently, and pronounced the absolution very sweetly; he exacted the mildest of penances, especially if the penitent had something to give to his poor order. Bless me, father, for I have sinned and I have a large purse. That was the kind of thing he liked to hear. For, as he said, what is better proof of penitence than dispensing alms to the friars of God? There are many men who suffer from guilt and repentance, but are so hard of heart that they cannot weep for their sins. Therefore, instead of tears and prayers, these men must give silver to the friars. The tip of his hood, hanging down his back, was stuffed full of knives and pins which he gave away to pretty wives; whether he got anything in return, I could not say. I am only the narrator. I cannot be everywhere at once. I can say that the Friar had a very pleasant voice; he could sing well, and play on the gitern or lute. There was no one to beat him with a ballad. I heard him sing ‘Grimalkin, our cat’. He was excellent. And when he played the harp, and sang an accompaniment, his eyes shone like the stars on a clear crisp night of frost. He had skin as white as a lily, but he was not lily-livered; he was as strong as a champion at the Shrovetide games. He knew the taverns in every town, as well as every landlord and barmaid; certainly he spent more time with them than with lepers or beggar-women. Who could blame him? ‘My position as a confessor,’ he told me, ‘does not allow me to consort with the poorer sort. It would not be honourable. It would not be respectable. It would not be beneficial. I am more at my ease with the rich, and with the wealthier merchants. They are my congregation, sir.’ So, wherever there was profit to be gained, he was modest and courteous and virtuous to a fault. No one was better at soliciting funds. Even a widow with no shoes to her name would have given him something. When he greeted a poor householder with ‘In principio’, he would end up with a farthing at least. In the beginning was the coin. His total income was higher than his projected income. I will say no more.

• From The Case for God (2009)

  In 1871, John William Draper (1811–82), head of the department of medicine at New York University, published The History of the Conflict Between Religion and Science, which went through fifty printings and was translated into ten languages. While Religion clung timidly to the unchangeable truths of revelation, Science forged expansively ahead, giving us telescopes, barometers, canals, hospitals, sanitation, schools, the telegraph, calculus, sewing machines, rifles, and warships. Only Science could liberate us from the tyranny of Religion (Draper habitually capitalized these terms so that they seemed like characters in a morality play). “The ecclesiastic must learn to keep himself within the domain he has chosen, and cease to tyrannize over the philosopher, who, conscious of his own strength and the purity of his motives, will bear such interference no longer.”68 Ultimately, however, Draper’s polemic was marred by his blatantly anti-Catholic prejudice. Less immediately popular but more influential long-term was A History of the Warfare of Science and Theology in Christendom (1896) by the ardent secularist Andrew Dixon White (1832–1918), first president of Cornell University. In all modern history, interference with science in the supposed interest of religion, no matter how conscientious such interference may have been, has resulted in the direst evils both to religion and science—and invariably. And, on the other hand, all untrammelled scientific investigations no matter how dangerous to religion some of its stages may have seemed, for the time, has invariably resulted in the highest good of religion and of science.69 The two were implacably opposed. One of these protagonists was beneficial to humanity; the other, evil and dangerous. Ever since Augustine had insisted on the “absolute authority of scripture,” all theologians “without exception, have forced mankind away from the truth, and have caused Christendom to stumble for centuries into abysses of error and sorrow.”70

• From The Case for God (2009)

  Title : The Case for God Author: Armstrong, Karen ALSO BY KAREN ARMSTRONG Through the Narrow Gate: A Memoir of Life In and Out of the Convent Beginning the World The First Christian: St. Paul’s Impact on Christianity Tongues of Fire: An Anthology of Religious and Poetic Experience The Gospel According to Woman: Christianity’s Creation of the Sex War in the West Holy War: The Crusades and Their Impact on Today’s World The English Mystics of the Fourteenth Century Muhammad: A Biography of the Prophet A History of God: The 4,000-Year Quest of Judaism, Christianity, and Islam Jerusalem: One City, Three Faiths In the Beginning: A New Interpretation of Genesis The Battle for God Islam: A Short History Buddha: A Penguin Life The Spiral Staircase: My Climb Out of Darkness A Short History of Myth The Great Transformation: The Beginning of Our Religious Traditions The Bible: A Biography [image file=image_rsrc4UK.jpg] For Joan Brown Campbell ContentsIntroduction PART I The Unknown God (30,000 BCE TO 1500 CE) ONE Homo religiosus TWO God THREE Reason FOUR Faith FIVE Silence SIX Faith and Reason PART II The Modern God (1500 CE TO THE PRESENT) SEVEN Science and Religion EIGHT Scientific Religion NINE Enlightenment TEN Atheism ELEVEN Unknowing TWELVE Death of God? Epilogue Acknowledgments Notes Glossary Selected Bibliography IntroductionWe are talking far too much about God these days, and what we say is often facile. In our democratic society, we think that the concept of God should be easy and that religion ought to be readily accessible to anybody. “That book was really hard!” readers have told me reproachfully, shaking their heads in faint reproof. “Of course it was!” I want to reply. “It was about God.” But many find this puzzling. Surely everybody knows what God is: the Supreme Being, a divine Personality, who created the world and everything in it. They look perplexed if you point out that it is inaccurate to call God the Supreme Being because God is not a being at all, and that we really don’t understand what we mean when we say that he is “good,” “wise,” or “intelligent.” People of faith admit in theory that God is utterly transcendent, but they seem sometimes to assume that they know exactly who “he” is and what he thinks, loves, and expects. We tend to tame and domesticate God’s “otherness.” We regularly ask God to bless our nation, save our queen, cure our sickness, or give us a fine day for the picnic. We remind God that he has created the world and that we are miserable sinners, as though this may have slipped his mind. Politicians quote God to justify their policies, teachers use him to keep order in the classroom, and terrorists commit atrocities in his name. We beg God to support “our” side in an election or a war, even though our opponents are, presumably, also God’s children and the object of his love and care.

• From The Canterbury Tales (2009)

  Do you know the village of Harbledown, called by everyone Bob-up-and-down? It is on the outskirts of Blean forest, about two miles from Canterbury itself. This was the spot where our Host began to play the fool. ‘Dobbin is in the mire,’ he said. ‘Help me pull him out. Have you ever played that game? Is there any one of you who can rouse that fellow at the back? I will pay good money to see his eyes open. A thief could rob him and tie him up, without him noticing. He is fast asleep. Look at him. He is close to falling off his horse. He is the Cook from London, isn’t he? Roger. That is his name. Roger of Ware. Can somebody please go and wake him up? I insist that he tells us all a story. It may not be worth much, but it is a good penance for him.’ Our Host rode up to him. ‘Wake up, Roger! God help you! What is the matter with you? Why are you dozing in the daylight? Were you bitten by fleas all night? Were you dead drunk? Were you lying with some whore? Whatever you did, you did too much of it.’ The Cook then tried to rouse himself. He was pale-faced and puffy-eyed. ‘I swear to God,’ he replied, ‘that I was suddenly filled with utter tiredness. I would rather sleep than drink a barrel of the best wine from Vintry.’ The Manciple then rode forward. ‘If it helps,’ he told the Cook, ‘I am quite ready to tell a story in your place. If our fellow pilgrims don’t mind, and if our good Host permits it, I can begin at once. I don’t think you are in a fit state. Your face is pale. You look dazed. And, if I may say so, your breath smells horrible. You really are not well.’ The Manciple turned towards the rest of us. ‘You can be certain, sirs, that I will not flatter him. Just look at the way he is yawning. Look at that gaping mouth of his, as if he were about to swallow us all! Close your mouth, man. Your foul breath will infect the whole company. Have you got the devil’s hoof in there? You stink. What a fine fellow you are! Do you fancy a quick joust or wrestling match? I don’t think so. You are too drunk to fart.’

• From The Canterbury Tales (2009)

  ‘That’s right.’ He would not admit, out of shame, that he was actually a summoner. He might as well pour shit on his head. ‘Good God,’ said the yeoman. ‘What a coincidence. I am a bailiff, too. Isn’t that something?’ Then he grew more confidential. ‘The trouble is that I don’t know this area at all. So I would be very happy to make your acquaintance, brother with brother, and learn a thing or two. I have gold and silver in my box here. And if you should ever venture into my shire, in turn, I will be very happy to look after you.’ ‘That’s very kind of you,’ the summoner replied. He held out his hand. ‘Put it here.’ Then they shook hands, swore an oath that they would be true to each other until death, and rode on together in great good spirits. The summoner was as full of gossip as a carrion crow is full of worms. So he kept on questioning the yeoman about this and that. ‘Now tell me this,’ he asked him. ‘Where exactly do you live? Where would I be able to find you?’ The yeoman answered him softly. ‘I live far off in the north country. I hope very much to see you there. I will give you such directions, before we part, that you will never mistake my dwelling.’ ‘Now, dear brother,’ the summoner went on. ‘Tell me this as well. Just between the two of us, riding together. Since you are a bailiff like me, let me know some of your tricks. How I can make the most of my position? You know what I mean. Don’t hold back for fear of offending me. You won’t do that. We are all sinners. Just tell me. How do you do it?’ ‘I will tell you the truth, brother bailiff. I will be straight with you. My wages are low, and my lord is very demanding. I have a hard time of it, I can tell you, and so I am forced to live by bribery and extortion. I admit it. I take as much as I can. Sometimes I use low cunning, and sometimes I use force. That’s the way I earn my living. There’s nothing more to say.’ ‘Snap,’ said the summoner. ‘It’s the same with me, too. I’ll steal anything, God knows, as long as it is not too heavy or too hot. What I earn privately is my own business. I don’t lose any sleep over it. If I didn’t steal, I wouldn’t live. It’s as simple as that. And I’m not about to confess my sins to the priest. I have no pity. I have no conscience. These holy confessors can go fuck themselves. So there, sir, we are well mated and well met. Just one more thing. What do they call you?’

• From The Canterbury Tales (2009)

  ‘“Here, good sirs and dames,” I might say, “is the shoulder bone of one of the sheep led by Jacob in the hills of Beersheba. Listen to my words. Wash this bone in any well, and the water from that well will cure your cattle of any murrain or blight. It will heal snakebites and kill intestinal worms. Bring your sheep to the well. When they drink from it, their scabs and sores will fall away from them. They will be uplifted. Listen to me carefully. If any one of you should drink a draught of the well water, once a week, just before dawn, your stock will thrive and multiply. There will be more lambs than you can count. That is what Genesis in the Holy Book tells us. You can read the passage for yourself. Chapter 39. Verses 37 to 39. ‘“And I’ll tell you something else. The water will heal suspicion and distrust. If a man should fall into a jealous rage, just let him mix it with his soup. He will feel the difference. He will never accuse his wife again - not even if he sees her in the company of a priest or two. Do you see this glove of knitted wool? If any man puts his hand in this glove, his harvest will be bountiful. It could be wheat or it could be oats. It makes no difference. Just make a small offering of silver to me. The crop will flourish. Mark my words. ‘“There is one thing of which I must warn you, good ladies and gentlemen. If there is any man among you who has committed a mortal sin, too horrible to confess - if there is any woman among you, young or old, who has been unfaithful to her husband - such folks cannot come up and make an offering to my relics here. They do not have the grace. They do not have the power. But if the rest of you wish to make an offering, then come forward now. I will absolve you of your sins. I have the bishop’s authority to shrive you.” ‘So by these deceits I have earned at least a hundred pounds as a pardoner. I stand like a priest in the pulpit. I preach to the dolts. I beseech them. I use every trick in the book. I can tell them a hundred lies, and never be found out. I lean forward and stretch out my neck, just like a dove perched on the rafter of a barn. My hands and tongue are working so hard that it is a joy to see me in action. I tell them to forsake the sin of avarice. I tell them to be charitable. Especially to me. I am only interested in their money, you see, not in the state of their souls. I don’t care what happens to them once they are dead. They can pick blackberries, as far as I am concerned.

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

  With this view, the theologians coincided. Peter the Venerable, a half-century before Innocent, presented the case in the same aspect as did the great pope, and launched a fearful denunciation against the Jews. In a letter to Louis VII. of France, he exclaimed, "What would it profit to fight against enemies of the cross in remote lands, while the wicked Jews, who blaspheme Christ, and who are much worse than the Saracens, go free and unpunished. Much more are the Jews to be execrated and hated than the Saracens; for the latter accept the birth from the Virgin, but the Jews deny it, and blaspheme that doctrine and all Christian mysteries. God does not want them to be wholly exterminated, but to be kept, like the fratricide Cain, for still more severe torment and disgrace. In this way God’s most just severity has dealt with the Jews from the time of Christ’s passion, and will continue to deal with them to the end of the world, for they are accursed, and deserve to be."918 He counselled that they be spoiled of their ill-gotten gains and the money derived from their spoliation be applied to wrest the holy places from the Saracens. Of a different mind was Bernard. When the preparations were being made for the Second Crusade, and the monk Radulf went up and down the Rhine, inflaming the people against the Jews, the abbot of Clairvaux set himself against the "demagogue," as Neander called Radulf.919 He wrote a burning epistle to the archbishop of Mainz, reminding him that the Lord is gracious towards him who returns good for evil. "Does not the Church," he exclaimed, "triumph more fully over the Jews by convincing and converting them from day to day than if she once and for all should slay them by the edge of the sword!" How bitter the prejudice was is seen in the fact that when Bernard met Radulf face to face, it required all his reputation for sanctity to allay the turbulence at Mainz.920 Turning to England we find William of Newburgh, Roger de Hoveden, and other chroniclers. approving the Jewish persecutions. Richard of Devizes921 speaks of "sacrificing the Jews to their father, the devil," and of sending "the bloodsuckers with blood to hell." Matthew Paris, in some of his references, seems not to have been in full sympathy with the popular animosity.

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

  § 32. Direct Assaults. Celsus. The direct assault upon Christianity, by works devoted to the purpose, began about the middle of the second century, and was very ably conducted by a Grecian philosopher, Celsus, otherwise unknown; according to Origen, an Epicurean with many Platonic ideas, and a friend of Lucian. He wrote during the persecuting reign of Marcus Aurelius.76 Celsus, with all his affected or real contempt for the new religion, considered it important enough to be opposed by an extended work entitled "A True Discourse," of which Origen, in his Refutation, has faithfully preserved considerable fragments.77 These represent their author as an eclectic philosopher of varied culture, skilled in dialectics, and familiar with the Gospels, Epistles, and even the writings of the Old Testament. He speaks now in the frivolous style of an Epicurean, now in the earnest and dignified tone of a Platonist. At one time he advocates the popular heathen religion, as, for instance, its doctrine of demons; at another time he rises above the polytheistic notions to a pantheistic or sceptical view. He employs all the aids which the culture of his age afforded, all the weapons of learning, common sense, wit, sarcasm, and dramatic animation of style, to disprove Christianity; and he anticipates most of the arguments and sophisms of the deists and infidels of later times. Still his book is, on the whole, a very superficial, loose, and light-minded work, and gives striking proof of the inability of the natural reason to understand the Christian truth. It has no savor of humility, no sense of the corruption of human nature, and man’s need of redemption; it is full of heathen passion and prejudice, utterly blind to any spiritual realities, and could therefore not in the slightest degree appreciate the glory of the Redeemer and of his work. It needs no refutation, it refutes itself. Celsus first introduces a Jew, who accuses the mother of Jesus of adultery with a soldier named Panthera;78 adduces the denial of Peter, the treachery of Judas, and the death of Jesus as contradictions of his pretended divinity; and makes the resurrection an imposture. Then Celsus himself begins the attack, and begins it by combating the whole idea of the supernatural, which forms the common foundation of Judaism and Christianity. The controversy between Jews and Christians appears to him as foolish as the strife about the shadow of an ass. The Jews believed, as well as the Christians, in the prophecies of a Redeemer of the world, and thus differed from them only in that they still expected the Messiah’s coming. But then, to what purpose should God come down to earth at all, or send another down? He knows beforehand what is going on among men. And such a descent involves a change, a transition from the good to the evil, from the lovely to the hateful, from the happy to the miserable; which is undesirable, and indeed impossible, for the divine nature.

• From The Case for God (2009)

  Kellogg and The Science of Power (1918) by Benjamin Kidd—had made a great impression on him. The authors reported interviews with German soldiers, who had testified to the influence that Darwinian ideas had played in Germany’s determination to declare war. This “research” convinced Bryan that evolutionary theory heralded the collapse of morality and decent civilization. His ideas were naive, simplistic, and incorrect, but people were beginning to be suspicious of science and he found a willing audience. When Bryan toured the United States, his lecture “The Menace of Darwinism” drew large crowds and got extensive media coverage. But an unexpected development in the South threw the campaign into even greater prominence. At this date, the fundamentalist movement was chiefly confined to the northern states, but southerners had become concerned about evolution. In 1925, the state legislatures of Florida, Mississippi, Tennessee, and Louisiana passed laws to prohibit the teaching of evolution in the public schools. In response, John Scopes, a young teacher in Dayton, Tennessee, decided to strike a blow for free speech, confessed that he had broken the law, and in July 1925 was brought to trial. The new American Civil Liberties Union (ACLU) sent a team of lawyers to defend him, headed by the rationalist campaigner Clarence Darrow (1857–1938). When Bryan agreed to speak in defense of the anti- evolution law, the trial ceased to be about civil liberties and became a contest between religion and science. Like many fundamentalist disputes, the Scopes trial was a clash between two incompatible points of view. 33 Both Darrow and Bryan represented core American values: Darrow, of course, stood for intellectual liberty and Bryan for the rights of the ordinary folk, who were traditionally leery of learned experts, had no real understanding of science, and felt that sophisticated elites were imposing their own values on small-town America. In the event, Bryan was a disaster on the stand and Darrow was able to argue brilliantly for the freedom that was essential to the scientific enterprise. At the end of the trial, Darrow emerged as the hero of lucid rational thought, while Bryan was seen as a bumbling, incompetent anachronism who was hopelessly out of touch with the modern world: he compounded the symbolism by dying a few days later. Scopes was convicted, the ACLU paid his fine, but Darrow and science were the real victors at Dayton. The press had a field day. Most notably, the journalist H. L. Mencken (1880–1956) denounced the fundamentalists as the scourge of the nation.

• From The Case for God (2009)

  71 Closely allied to the “warfare” myth in atheistic polemic was the view that belief in itself was immoral, which has also become an essential ingredient of atheist ideology. It dates from the publication of Ethics of Belief (1871) by William Kingdon Clifford (1845–79), professor of mathematics at University College, London, who argued that it was not only intellectually but morally perverse to accept any opinion—religious, scientific, or ethical—without sufficient evidence. He illustrated his thesis with the story of a shipowner who knew that his ship needed extensive repairs but decided to spare himself the expense, reflecting that it had survived many voyages and that God would not allow it to sink with so many passengers on board. When the ship went down in midocean, he was able to collect the insurance. Clifford’s book struck an instant chord. By the late 1860s, widespread veneration for science as the only path to truth had made the idea of “belief” without verification offensive not only intellectually but morally. For the American sociologist Lester Ward (1841–1913), superstition (a term that he applied indiscriminately to any religious idea) led to neurological softening of the brain and weakened moral fiber. Once you had accepted the idea that some matters lay beyond human comprehension, you would swallow anything. 72 For the English philosopher John Stuart Mill (1806–73), the delusions of faith “would sanction half the mischievous illusions recorded in history.” 73 Credulity was an act of abject cowardice: “Give me the storm and tempest of thought and action, rather than the dead calm of ignorance and faith!” Ingersoll protested with his usual bravura, “Banish me from Eden if you will; but first let me eat of the fruit of the tree of knowledge!” 74 Today we are so used to the idea that science and religion are at loggerheads that these ideas no longer surprise us. But in the late nineteenth century, most churchmen still looked up to science; they had not yet fully appreciated how thoroughly Darwinism had undermined the natural theology on which their “belief” was based. At this time, it was not the religious who were fueling the antagonism between the two disciplines but the advocates of science. Most scientists had no interest in bashing religion; they were content to get on quietly with their research and objected only when theologians tried to obstruct their inquiries. 75 It was the popularizers of Darwin who went on the offensive in an antireligious crusade.

• From The Canterbury Tales (2009)

  Once upon a time there was living in my district an archdeacon, a man of great position who sat in judgment on all sorts of matters - fornication, witchcraft, bawdy, slander, adultery. That kind of thing. He laid down the law on robbery, violations of contract, making of wills, failure to take the sacraments, usury and simony. He was tough, but he was really hard on those caught in the act of lechery. He made them pay for it. Did they sing! Then there were those who did not pay the proper taxes to the Church. If any parish priest complained about them, they were severely punished by the archdeacon. They never escaped a very heavy fine. If anyone gave a small offering in church, or a small tithe, he was in trouble. He was in the archdeacon’s black book before he could be hooked by the bishop’s staff. The archdeacon had all the authority he needed; he represented Church justice, after all. Now among his officers there was a summoner. There was no more crafty man in England. He had his own secret network of spies, who told him exactly what was going on. So he could go easy on one or two adulterers, as long as they led him to a score of others. I can see that our Summoner here is becoming angry. His nose is twitching like the snout on a March hare. But I will not spare him on that account. I will reveal all. He has no authority among us, does he? He cannot punish us now or ever - ‘That is what all the harlots say,’ exclaimed the Summoner. ‘You can’t touch us. We are in the liberties. No wonder a harlot like you follows suit.’ ‘Stop this!’ Our Host was very firm. ‘God’s punishment on you if you carry on like this! Continue with your story, sir Friar, and pay no attention to the Summoner. Don’t spare his blushes.’ ‘Thank you, Mr Bailey. As I was saying -’

• From The Canterbury Tales (2009)

  He went to an apothecary in the town, and told him that he wanted to buy poison to exterminate some rats; he said that he also wanted to get rid of a weasel that killed the chickens in his yard, as well as all the other household vermin that creep out by night. ‘Well, sir,’ the apothecary replied, ‘I have the very thing. I swear to God that this arsenic will kill anything and everything. A creature has only to take a tiny piece, the size of a grain of wheat, and it will die. It begins to work after a few minutes. It is strong and violent. And, as I said, it is always fatal.’ ‘Excellent. I will take it.’ So the apothecary made up a box of the poison for him. The young man went out into the street, and walked into a tavern. Here he ordered three bottles of wine. Into two of them he put the poison, while he left the third for his own use. He intended to spend the entire night in carrying the gold back to his own house. After he had finished preparing the poisoned draughts, he returned to his friends beneath the oak tree. Do I need to state the obvious? The two of them, just as they had planned, stabbed the young man to death. When they had murdered him, they laughed. ‘Let us sit down and drink,’ one of them said. ‘We deserve a rest. After we have got through this wine, we can think about burying him.’ He opened one of the bottles and put it to his lips. ‘Chin chin. Open another one.’ So they refreshed themselves, or so they thought. They were drinking poison, of course, and soon died. I don’t think any medical expert could describe in detail all of their suffering. It was unutterably horrible. Death had caught them, after all, two murderers and a poisoner. Oh cursed sinners, filled with malice and wickedness! You have been fattened with gluttony and lapped in luxury. You have thrown the dice for the last time. Blasphemers, your curses against Christ have come back upon you! Your swearing, your pride and folly, have destroyed you. Why is mankind so false to its creator, who purchased its redemption with His own blood? Now, all you good men and women, learn from me and beware the sin of avarice. Forgive us our trespasses. That is the prayer. So I have come here to pardon you. Just give me your coins, your jewellery and your silver spoons. Here is the papal bull of dispensation. Wives, what will you give me for it?