Contentment

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.

Page 186 of 189 · 20 per page

• From The Case for God (2009)

  The early Daoists saw religion as a “knack” acquired by constant practice. Zhuangzi (c. 370–311 BCE), one of the most important figures in the spiritual history of China, explained that it was no good trying to analyze religious teachings logically. He cites the carpenter Bian: “When I work on a wheel, if I hit too softly, pleasant as this is, it doesn’t make for a good wheel. If I hit it furiously, I get tired and the thing doesn’t work! So not too soft, not too vigorous. I grasp it in my hand and hold it in my heart. I cannot express this by word of mouth, I just know it.”6 A hunchback who trapped cicadas in the forest with a sticky pole never missed a single one. He had so perfected his powers of concentration that he lost himself in the task, and his hands seemed to move by themselves. He had no idea how he did it, but knew only that he had acquired the knack after months of practice. This self-forgetfulness, Zhuangzi explained, was an ekstasis that enabled you to “step outside” the prism of ego and experience the sacred.7 People who acquired this knack discovered a transcendent dimension of life that was not simply an external reality “out there” but was identical with the deepest level of their being. This reality, which they have called God, Dao, Brahman, or Nirvana, has been a fact of human life. But it was impossible to explain what it was in terms of logos. This imprecision was not frustrating, as a modern Western person might imagine, but brought with it an ekstasis that lifted practitioners beyond the constricting confines of self. Our scientifically oriented knowledge seeks to master reality, explain it, and bring it under the control of reason, but a delight in unknowing has also been part of the human experience. Even today, poets, philosophers, mathematicians, and scientists find that the contemplation of the insoluble is a source of joy, astonishment, and contentment.

• From Birthday Girl (2018)

  Después de un largo rato, trago saliva. —Buenas noches —digo. Pero antes de llegar a la sala de estar, escucho su voz a mis espaldas. —¿Qué quisiste decir con “en un buen sentido”? Sus ojos están sobre mí de nuevo, y levanto la esquina de mi boca en una pequeña sonrisa. No estoy seguro de qué decir que no suene completamente inapropiado. Finalmente, simplemente me decido por soltar la respuesta más sencilla, dándome la vuelta y dirigiéndome hacia las escaleras. —Me gusta hablar contigo —digo por encima de mi hombro. ¿Me gusta hablar contigo? ¿Qué he dicho que fuera tan fascinante? Resoplo, sacudiendo mi cabeza mientras pelo las patatas para la cena. Tal vez es una falta de opciones. ¿Ha vivido solo durante tanto tiempo que cualquier conversación parece interesante? No tenemos absolutamente nada en común. Pero, la verdad es... me encantó escucharlo. ¿Por qué deseo tanto gustarle? Y también, ¿por qué la fiesta era el último lugar donde quería estar anoche cuando me di cuenta que él no estaría allí? Levanto mi mirada y lo veo en el patio trasero a través de la ventana frente a mí. Trabaja recortando el árbol junto a la valla que separa su patio del de Cramer, sosteniendo un largo aparato de mano que se extiende hacia arriba hasta las ramas altas. Mencioné que no está llegando suficiente sol al jardín, así que se ocupó de resolver el problema. Sin siquiera habérselo pedido. Me encanta el jardín más de lo que se lo admito. Es como mi propio espacio pequeño y todavía estará ahí después que me vaya. Es reconfortante. Las semillas están plantadas y los aspersores riegan la tierra durante unos minutos todas las mañanas y todas las noches puntualmente. Ha comenzado a gustarme escucharlos encenderse a primera hora, cuando todavía está oscuro y soy la única persona despierta y en la cocina con mi café. Todo está comenzando a sentirse familiar y cálido aquí. Como un hogar. Corto la piel de la patata, con dureza y fuerza. Típico. Siempre me apego a las cosas que no son para siempre. La idea de mi madre regresando cuando era pequeña, Nick, Jay, mi apartamento y el deseo de hacer un hogar para mí... Me sorprendo de cuán absolutamente patética sigo siendo. Clavo el cuchillo en la tabla de cortar y saco de la bolsa unas cuantas patatas más. Y para empeorar las cosas, no he podido dejar de pensar sobre anoche en todo el día y la fiesta es lo último de ello. El pastel de cumpleaños, las cintas, bromear con él... La forma en que recordó que tenía que soplar una vela y pedir un deseo. Un revoloteo alcanza mi corazón y sonrío, luego frunzo el ceño, confundida y no queriendo esos sentimientos. Apagué el cerillo anoche, deseando lo mismo que deseé en el cine aquella noche. Me encantó cómo me sentí en ese momento y esperaba poder sentirme de ese modo todos los días. Eso es todo lo que quería.

• From Birthday Girl (2018)

  El repiqueteo de la lluvia golpea los cristales de la ventana y siento a Jordan respirando muy pacíficamente a mi lado. Cierro los ojos. Mía. Mi casa, mi esposa, mi familia… mía. A veces, estoy tan abrumado por cuán afortunado soy, que no puedo entender que todo esto es real. Todavía no puedo dejar de alcanzarla cuando está cerca o dejar de ser ansioso cuando entro en la cama por la noche, sabiendo que al fin estamos solos. De repente recuerdo la ropa secándose en la cuerda del patio trasero y salto de la cama. —Mierda —murmuro, poniéndome unos pantalones. Saliendo de la habitación, camino por el pasillo deteniéndome ante la puerta de Jake, y la abro silenciosamente. Duerme en su cama, mientras que el hijo de Cole, Parker, está desmayado junto a él. Ambos se ven como una telaraña de brazos y piernas y me rio en voz baja. Les hemos explicado que Jake es el hermano de Cole, lo cual lo convierte en el tío de Parker, pero es difícil para ellos darle sentido a algo como eso cuando tienen la misma edad. Sin embargo, mi pecho se aprieta cada vez que los veo así. Mi hijo y mi nieto son más como hermanos, y realmente me importa una mierda si parece extraño para otros, porque somos una familia afortunada. Cole conoció a su esposa, Kotori, cuando estuvo en Okinawa, y ambos están actualmente atendiendo a alguna convención a la que su compañía la envió en Las Vegas. Invitamos a Parker a unírsenos por un par de semanas, así podrían ir por su cuenta. Cerrando la puerta, bajo las escaleras, pasando por todas la fotos familiares en las paredes, en la mayoría de las cuales estoy, y cruzo la cocina hacia el cuarto de lavandería. Agarro una cesta de mimbre de la secadora y salgo al patio trasero. La lluvia es poca, pero golpea mi espalda como pequeños dardos, afilados y rápidos. Corro hacia el tendedero y empiezo a quitar las toallas de playa y cualquier otra ropa de último minuto que Jordan quiso lavar para guardar en las maletas. Probablemente tenemos más que suficiente empacado para el viaje por carretera por el norte, pero mi suerte, llegaremos a la casa del lago y estará molesta durante dos semanas porque no tiene aquella camiseta rosa que va mejor con las zapatillas que compró esa vez en aquel viaje. Quito la ropa, metiendo las pinzas en la bolsa, y llevo la cesta dentro. Abriendo la secadora, meto todo y enciendo la máquina, asegurándome que esté lista para cuando nos despertemos por la mañana. Dirigiéndome de nuevo arriba, cierro la puerta de nuestro dormitorio y subo a la cama, Jordan me encuentra de inmediato en su sueño y se acurruca. La rodeo con mi brazo. —¿Todo bien? —pregunta suavemente. —Sí. —Beso su frente, poniendo las sábanas sobre nosotros—. Vuelve a dormir. Gran día mañana. —Sabes que no puedo dormir durante las tormentas.

• From Birthday Girl (2018)

  Se detiene y gira la cabeza para mirarme. —Por supuesto. Es la mejor pizza del pueblo, así que es obvio. Salgo del dormitorio y cierro la puerta. —¿Pedimos por mitades? De ninguna manera iba a pagar la mitad de la pizza, por Dios santo. La invité, ¿no es así? Y la razón por la que se quedaran aquí era para ahorrar dinero, ¿cierto? Paso a su lado, ignorando el dinero en su mano mientras llevo la pizza a la isla de la cocina. Suspira, dejando salir un pequeño gruñido. Me rio. —Mira, yo pedí la pizza, ¿está bien? Simplemente asegúrate que no tenga nada de tu lechuga blandita en mi mitad. —Ja, ja. —Camina hacia el refrigerador y toma dos sodas. Soy un hombre simple de pepperoni y puedo soportar una pizza de tacos, pero no esa lechuga cálida y destrozada que viene con ella. Puede quedársela por completo. Repartimos los trozos en dos platos, pero antes de irnos a la sala de estar, pone una pila de vegetales en mi plato con unas pinzas. —Uh, gracias. —Si comes primero los vegetales —indica—, tendrás menos sitio para la pizza. Un pequeño truco que saqué de Pinterest. ¿Pinter… qué? —Entonces comerás menos pizza —continúa—, consumirás menos calorías y te sentirás mejor después de la comida. Sí, claro. Si me preocupara por consumir menos calorías, supongo. Bien. A la mierda. Lo que sea. Me dirijo al refrigerador y tomo la salsa ranchera que hay en la puerta. —No —exclama, deteniéndome—. Ya tiene salsa. Una vinagreta de frambuesa. Me enderezo y la miro fijamente. Simplemente sonríe y se aleja. Tomo dos tenedores, le paso uno y llevo mi plato y mi soda a la sala de estar, con ella detrás de mí. Una vez sentado, tomo el tenedor y dejo salir un suspiro antes de hundirlo en la ensalada. Recuerdo lo que mi madre decía sobre los vegetales mientras crecía. Sabían mejor si los comías cuando tenías hambre. Acabaré con eso de una vez y los comeré primero como Jordan sugirió. Meto un bocado en mi boca y el sabor amargo de las hojas disminuye solo un poco por el aderezo dulce. —Bueno, ¿verdad? —comenta. —No. —Niego—. Me estás matando. Se ríe. —Bueno, gracias por probarlo. Puedes dejar de comerlo si quieres. Pero, de todos modos, persevero. No es como si no pudiera con una dosis de vegetales, ¿cierto? Y no es como si odiara los vegetales. Me gustan las mazorcas de maíz y me gustan… las patatas y eso. Técnicamente son vegetales, ¿verdad? —Así que, ¿qué estás viendo? —pregunta. Miro hacia la televisión y me doy cuenta que el volumen está muy bajo. Alcanzo el control remoto y lo subo. — El club de lucha —contesto. —Oh, mira, nací el año en que se creó. Arqueo una ceja, pero mantengo la boca cerrada. Pero hago las cuentas en mi cabeza, recordando que vi esto en mi último año de secundaria. Así que, sí, sería alrededor de esa época.

• From The Canterbury Tales (2009)

  So this is the moral. Do not be careless, or impetuous. Do not trust flatterers. Some of you may think this is a cock-and-hen story, a piece of foolishness. But learn the moral, at least. As Saint Paul says, you ought to be able to sift the wheat from the chaff. That is good advice. I will leave it there, lords and ladies. May we all lead good lives and go to heaven! Heere is ended the Nonnes Preestes Tale The Epilogue to the Nun’s Priest’s Tale ‘Well, sir,’ our Host said to the Nun’s Priest. ‘Blessed be your bum and balls! That story about Chanticleer was one of the funniest I have heard. If you were a secular, I bet you would be a bit of a cock yourself. You would be thrusting with the best of them. Seven would not be enough for you, would it? What about seven times seven? Or seven times seventeen? You could keep going. Look at him, fellow pilgrims. Look at his muscles. Observe that brawny neck, and noble chest. With his bright eyes, he reminds me of a sparrowhawk. There is no need for him to dye his hair with red powders. He has that brilliant colour naturally. Thank you, sir, for an outstanding story. And God be with you!’ Then our Host turned to another pilgrim, the Second Nun, and in gentle voice invited her to tell her tale. The Second Nun’s Prologue The prologe of the Seconde Nonnes Tale I speak of that nurse and mistress of all the vices, known in English as idleness, that gate to sin and hell - we must avoid it at all costs and instead cultivate a busy and useful life. We ought to concentrate on work, rather than on pleasure, or else the devil may take us unawares. Satan has a thousand snares and traps ready to entice us; if he sees an idle man, he creeps up with his net. In an instant the man, not realizing the danger, is caught and damned. So I beg all of you to work hard and to avoid the sin of sloth. And even if we have no fear of death, and the world to come, reason itself teaches us that idleness is the rotten soil from which no harvest can be gathered. Laziness is a laggard, prepared only for sleeping and eating and drinking. It consumes the goods of the world, the fruit of others’ labour. I am about to tell you a story that illustrates the foulness and folly of idleness, the source of so much harm to all of us. I am about to relate to you the glorious life and death of the holy blissful virgin whose wreath is crowned with rose and lily flower - the maid and martyr, Saint Cecilia. Invocacio ad Mariam

• From Birthday Girl (2018)

  La noche no tiene que terminar aún. Moviendo la sábana, veo sus bragas rosadas y no me importa que no duerma desnuda. Significa que puedo desnudarla. Bajando su ropa interior suavemente, subo sobre ella, pongo una rodilla entre sus piernas y deslizo su camisa con una de mis manos. La toco y la beso suavemente, pasando por su mejilla a su oreja y de regreso a su boca. —Buenos días —susurro, mordiéndola. Vuelve a gemir, arqueándose para encontrarse con mis labios que se arrastran por su cuerpo, saboreando su estómago, sus caderas, y de regreso a sus pechos. —¿De verdad? —dice, bromeando. Me río. Alcanzando mi mesita de noche, saco otro condón y me arranco la toalla. —Solo un rapidito, ¿de acuerdo? —bromeo—. Para ayudarme a pasar el día. Gime de nuevo, estirando los brazos por encima de su cabeza. —Está bien. Y me sumerjo en ella. Varios minutos después, ambos estamos jadeando y sudados otra vez, y necesito otra ducha, pero no tengo tiempo. Maldición, eso estuvo bien. ¿Soy yo o se siente mejor por la mañana? Miro el reloj. —Me tengo que ir. No obstante, no quiero irme. ¿Qué tan horrible sería si el jefe llama por estar enfermo, para poder quedarse en casa y follar con su pequeña y caliente chica todo el día? Me levanto a regañadientes y camino hacia mi tocador, sacando unos jeans y una camiseta. —¿Tienes que trabajar esta noche? —pregunto. Se cubre con la sábana y me mira soñolienta. —Tal vez. Sacudo la cabeza. Siempre jugando juegos. —Tal vez estaré en casa —explica—. O tal vez tendrás que encontrarme. Cierro el cajón del tocador y abro otro, agarrando calcetines. Me vuelvo hacia ella, fijando una mirada severa en mi rostro. —Estaré en casa a las cinco. Quédate aquí —le ordeno. Y luego empiezo a caminar hacia la puerta pero giro y suavizo mi voz, agregando—: ¿Por favor? Sonríe y se da vuelta, abrazando mi almohada debajo de ella y mirándome con los ojos más dulces. —Extráñame. Ya lo hago. Me voy, cerrando la puerta tras de mí y cerrando también la puerta de su dormitorio. En caso que Cole llegue a casa, vea su cama vacía y empiece a preguntarse dónde está. Bajando por las escaleras, siento el impulso de sonreír, incluso cuando la culpa se desliza por mi estómago. Casi me siento normal. Pero más afortunado que cualquier chico que conozca. La chica de mis sueños está ahora en mi cama, y puedo llegar a casa por ella. Ella tenía razón. Tengo todo lo que necesito bajo este techo. Excepto mi hijo. Este es su hogar y no está aquí, y Jordan hace que me olvide de él.

• From Birthday Girl (2018)

  La puerta se cierra tras de mí, la música en el interior ahora es un sordo zumbido, y mi pecho se hunde, liberando la respiración que no sabía que había estado conteniendo. La quiero, pero desearía que no se preocupara por mí. Me mira como si fuera mi madre y quisiera arreglarlo todo. Supongo que debería sentirme afortunada al tener una madre como ella. El bien recibido aire fresco me inunda, el frío de la noche me eriza la piel en los brazos y el fragante aroma de las flores de mayo me recorre la nariz. Echo la cabeza hacia atrás, cierro los ojos y aspiro una bocanada de aire mientras mi largo flequillo me hace cosquillas en la mejilla con la ligera brisa. Las noches de verano están llegando. Abro los ojos y miro a la izquierda y luego a la derecha, viendo que las aceras están vacías, pero los autos siguen alineados a ambos lados de la calle. El estacionamiento VFA también está lleno. Su noche de Bingo generalmente se convierte en una escena de bar a esta hora, y parece que los viejos tiempos aún siguen fuerte. Girando a la izquierda, saco la goma de mi cabello, dejando caer los rizos sueltos, y deslizo la banda alrededor de mi muñeca mientras empiezo a caminar. La noche se siente bien, a pesar que todavía está un poco helada. Hay mucho licor en cada grieta, filtrándose en mi nariz toda la noche. Demasiado ruido y demasiados ojos, también. Aumento el paso, emocionada por desaparecer en el oscuro teatro por un tiempo. Normalmente no voy sola, pero cuando muestran una película de los 80, como Evil Dead, tengo que ir. A Cole le gustan los efectos especiales y no confía en las películas hechas antes de 1995. Sonrío, pensando en sus peculiaridades. No sabe lo que se está perdiendo. Los 80 fueron fantásticos. Es toda una década de diversión. No todo tenía que tener un significado o ser profundo. Es un escape bienvenido, especialmente esta noche. Al doblar la esquina y llegar a la taquilla, veo que llego unos minutos antes, lo cual es genial. Odio perder los avances al principio. —Uno, por favor —le digo al cajero. Saco de mi bolsillo un montón de propinas que hice esta noche y pago los siete con cincuenta por el boleto. No es que tenga dinero de sobra, con el alquiler vencido y un pequeño montón de facturas sobre el escritorio de Cole y mío, en nuestro apartamento, que todavía no podemos pagar, pero no es como si siete dólares me hicieran rica o me dejaran en la ruina. Y es mi cumpleaños, entonces… Al entrar, evito el puesto de venta y me dirijo al siguiente juego de puertas dobles. Solo hay un teatro, y sorprendentemente, este lugar ha sobrevivido durante sesenta años, incluso en el auge de los grandes centros de cine con doce salas

• From The Case for God (2009)

  In the Enuma Elish, the cosmogony was linked with the gods’ construction of the Esagila ziggurat. In the ancient Middle East, creation was regularly associated with temple building, and this Genesis myth was closely related to the temple built by King Solomon (c. 970-930 BCE) in Jerusalem:5 one of the four sacred rivers that flow from Eden is the Gihon, the spring at the foot of the Temple Mount. The theme of Yahweh’s creation was important in the temple cult, not because it provided worshippers with information about the origin of the universe but because the building of a temple was a symbolic repetition of the cosmogony.6 It enabled mortals to participate in the creative powers of the gods and ensured that Yahweh would fight Israel’s enemies just as “in the beginning” he had slain the sea monsters. In Israel, the temple was a symbol of the harmonious, pristine cosmos as originally designed by Yahweh. Hence the description of life in Eden before the “fall” is an expression of shalom, the sense of “peace,” “wholeness,” and “completion” that pilgrims experienced when they took part in these rites and felt that their separation from the divine had been momentarily healed. The Eden story is not a historical account; it is rather a description of a ritual experience. It expresses what scholars have called the coincidentia oppositorum in which, during a heightened encounter with the sacred, things that normally seem opposed coincide to reveal an underlying unity. In Eden, the divine and the human are not estranged but are in the same “place”: we see Yahweh “walking about in the garden at the breezy-time of the day”;7 there is no opposition between “natural” and “supernatural,” since Adam is animated by the breath of God himself. Adam and Eve seem unaware of gender distinction or the difference between good and evil. This is the way that life was supposed to be. Because of their lapse, however, Adam and Eve fell into the fragmentation of our current existence and the gates of Eden were barred by cherubim brandishing a “flashing, ever-turning sword.”8 But Israelites could have intimations of this primal wholeness whenever they visited their temple and took part in its rites.

• From The Canterbury Tales (2009)

  There was a SHIPMAN with us, hailing from the west country. I imagine that he came from Devon, judging by his accent, but I cannot be sure. He rode upon a carthorse as best he could, not being used to land transport. And he wore a robe of coarse woollen cloth, not being used to land fashion. He had a dagger hanging from a cord around his neck, as if he were about to encounter pirates. The hot summers at sea had weathered him. But he was a good enough fellow. He had tapped many barrels of fine Bordeaux wine, when the merchant was not looking, and had no scruples about it. A ship’s cargo is not sacrosanct. The sea was the element in which he felt at home. He had acquired all the skills of observation and navigation; he had learned how to calculate the tides and the currents, and knew from long acquaintance the hidden perils of the deep. No one from Hull to Carthage knew more about natural harbours and anchorages; he could fix the position of the moon and the stars without the aid of an astrolabe. He knew all the havens, from Gotland to Cape Finistere, and every creek in Brittany and Spain. He told me of his voyages as far north as Iceland, and of his journeys to the Venetian colonies of Crete and of Corfu. He called his bed his ‘berth’ and his companions were his ‘mates’. His beard had been shaken by many tempests, but he was a sturdy and courageous man. ‘What is the broadest water,’ he once asked me, ‘and the least danger to walk over?’ ‘I have no notion.’ ‘The dew.’ His boat, by the way, was called the Magdalene.

• From The Canterbury Tales (2009)

  John got up so fast. Greased lightning is slow by comparison. It was still dark, and so he groped around the chamber looking for a stick. The wife was looking for one, too, and she knew where to find it. There was a staff lying in the corner. The moonlight was coming through a hole in the wall, and in the light she could see the two men once again struggling on the floor. But she could not tell who was who. She saw something white, gleaming in the moonlight, and guessed that it was a nightcap worn by one of the clerks. So she picked up the staff and, thinking that she was about to strike Alan or John, she landed a hefty blow on the bald head of her husband. He collapsed on the floor, of course, screaming and crying. The two scholars gave him a few more kicks. Then they dressed themselves quickly, picked up their sack of flour, and rode off on the horse. But not before Alan had opened the door of the mill, found the loaf of bread in the corner and taken it away. So that is the story. The miller was beaten up. He lost all the corn he had ground. He had even provided the scholars’ supper. Oh. And his wife had been fucked. So had his daughter. That is what happens to deceitful millers. They never learn their lesson. Do you know the old saying? ‘Evil to him that evil doeth.’ A fraudster is often defrauded. May God, who sits above us in majesty, bless all of us pilgrims great and small. And as for you, sir Miller, I have paid you in kind. Heere is ended the Reves Tale The Cook’s Prologue The prologe of the Cokes Tale The Cook of London was so pleased with the Reeve’s tale that he sat on his horse with a silly smile on his face, just as if his back was being scratched. His name was Roger of Ware. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘as God is my judge, that was a very intriguing little story. The miller certainly got paid back for giving the scholars lodging. He should have known the saying of Solomon: “Don’t bring every man into your house.” That especially applies at night. You have to be careful about your invitations. The bosoms of the family, if I can put it that way, have to be protected. I swear to God, I never heard of a miller so well requited. He had a taste of malice in the dark. But God forbid that we should stop there. I am a poor man but, if you will condescend to listen to me, I will tell you a story. It is an adventure set in London.’

• From The Canterbury Tales (2009)

  Placebo arrived first, of course, but he was soon followed by the others. January greeted them all, and then asked a favour of them. They would please not argue with him. He had made his decision. It would simply be foolish to oppose it. All his happiness depended on the choice he had made. He told them that there was a young girl in the town who was renowned for her good looks. She was of relatively humble stock, but her youth and beauty compensated for that. He said that he had determined to marry her, and to lead the rest of his life in perfect bliss and holiness. He would own all of her, and no one else would ever get a part of her. So he asked his friends to assist him in this enterprise, and help him to succeed in securing his prize. His soul would then be at ease. ‘There will,’ he said, ‘be nothing to mar my happiness. But I do have one thing on my conscience. Let me explain. Many years ago I heard that no man can enjoy the two kinds of bliss - the bliss of earth and the bliss of heaven. He can have one or the other. He cannot have both. I may not commit any of the seven deadly sins. I may not commit any of the little ones. But this is the trouble: I am about to get married to the perfect wife, with whom I will live in the utmost felicity. All will be calm. All will be sweet. So I will have heaven on earth. Do you see the problem? We are always taught that heaven itself is the reward of pain and purgation, of penance and tribulation. How can I, living in comfort and joy, attain my eternal reward? I am not alone, of course. All husbands live in comfort with their wives. Or so I believe. But give me your honest opinion on my problem.’

• From The Case for God (2009)

  God functioned in exactly the same way as any natural phenomenon; in the modern world, there was only one path to truth, so theology must conform to the scientific method. During the 1840s, Charles Grandison Finney (1792–1875), a pivotal figure in American religion, brought the rough, democratic Christianity of the frontiers to the urban middle classes.11 Finney used the wilder techniques of the older prophets but addressed professionals and businessmen, urging them to experience Christ directly without the mediation of the establishment, to think for themselves, and to rebel against academic theologians. Christianity was a strictly rational faith; its God was the Creator and Governor of Nature who worked through the laws of physics. Every natural event revealed God’s providence. Even the emotions engendered by the revivals were not directly inspired by God (as Jonathan Edwards had supposed); instead these pious passions showed that God worked through the skill of the preacher, who knew how to use natural psychological means to elicit these responses. The Evangelicals brought natural theology, hitherto a minority pursuit, into the mainstream. Even though they continued to insist on the transcendence of God, they believed paradoxically that he could be known through science as a matter of common sense. Wary of learned experts, they wanted a plain-speaking religion with no abstruse theological flights of fancy. They read the scriptures with an unprecedented literalism, because this seemed more rational than the older allegorical exegesis. Like scientific discourse, religious language should be univocal, clear, and transparent. The Evangelicals also brought the Enlightenment concept of “belief” as intellectual conviction to the center of Protestant religiosity and perpetuated the Enlightenment separation of the natural from the supernatural. Finally, in an attempt to ground their faith in something tangible, they followed the philosophes in making the practice of morality central to religion. They wanted a rationalized God who shared their own moral standards and behaved like a good Evangelical.12 In the past, moral and compassionate behavior had introduced people to transcendence; now people were declaring that God was “good” in exactly the same way as a human being. Interestingly, he shared their enthusiasm for the virtues that ensured success in the marketplace: thrift, sobriety, self-discipline, diligence, and temperance. This God was clearly in danger of becoming an idol.

• From The Case for God (2009)

  But “when the Whole [Brahman] has become a person’s very self, then who is there for him to see and by what means? Who is there for me to think of and by what means?” 55 But if you learned to “realize” the truth that your most authentic “Self” was identical with Brahman, you understood that it too was “beyond hunger and thirst, sorrow and delusion, old age and death.” 56 You could not achieve this insight by rational logic. You had to acquire the knack of thinking outside the ordinary “lowercase” self, and like any craft or skill, this required long, hard, dedicated practice. One of the principal technologies that enabled people to achieve this self-forgetfulness was yoga. 57 Unlike the yoga practiced in Western gyms today, it was not an aerobic exercise but a systematic breakdown of instinctive behavior and normal thought patterns. It was mentally demanding and, initially, physically painful. The yogin had to do the opposite of what came naturally. He sat so still that he seemed more like a plant or a statue than a human being; he controlled his respiration, one of the most automatic and essential of our physical functions, until he acquired the ability to exist for long periods without breathing at all. He learned to silence the thoughts that coursed through his mind and concentrate “on one point” for hours at a time. If he persevered, he found that he achieved a dissolution of ordinary consciousness that extracted the “I” from his thinking. To this day, yogins find that these disciplines, which have measurable physical and neurological effects, evoke a sense of calm, harmony, and equanimity that is comparable to the effect of music. There is a feeling of expansiveness and bliss, which yogins regard as entirely natural, possible for anybody who has the talent and application. As the “I” disappears, the most humdrum objects reveal wholly unexpected qualities, since they are no longer viewed through the distorting filter of one’s own egotistic needs and desires. When she meditated on the teachings of her guru, a yogin did not simply accept them notionally but experienced them so vividly that her knowledge was, as the texts say, “direct;” bypassing the logical processes like any practically acquired skill, it had become part of her inner world. 58 But yoga also had an ethical dimension. A beginner was not allowed to perform a single yogic exercise until he had completed an intensive moral program. Top of the list of its requirements was ahimsa, “nonviolence.” A yogin must not swat a mosquito, make an irritable gesture, or speak unkindly to others but should maintain constant affability to all, even the most annoying monk in the community.

• From The Canterbury Tales (2009)

  Seneca, that wise man, tells us there is nothing more pleasing than a humble wife. Suffer your wife to speak, as Cato tells us, and fulfil her commands. Of course, if you are lucky, she may even obey you on occasions. That’s only being polite. A wife must be the keeper of your worldly goods. Who is going to look after you when you are sick? Take my advice. Love your wife in the manner that Jesus Christ loves the Holy Church. If you love yourself, you must also love your wife. No man is an enemy of his own flesh, I am sure. He protects it. You must cherish your wife in the same way. Or you will never thrive. Whatever people say and joke - that was no lady, that was my wife - husband and wife are on the highway to happiness. They are bound so closely together that no harm can come to them. The wife, in particular, gets off lightly. I will now return to my worthy knight named January. He had been considering all the matters I have put before you - the encroaching years, the physical bliss of marriage, the quiet and order of a settled home, the honey pot of a fair wife. Revolving these matters in his mind, he called together a group of his good friends in order to announce his decision. And with grave face he addressed them thus: ‘I am growing old, dear comrades. I am getting closer and closer to the brink of the grave. I must think about the life to come. I have stupidly wasted my strength in pursuit of all sorts of folly. As God is my judge, I am going to change. I have decided to marry as quickly as possible. I need your help in finding a pretty young girl. I need a bride now. I don’t think I can wait much longer. For my part I will look up and down the town. But you all must keep your eyes open, too. You must help me find a suitable wife.

• From The Canterbury Tales (2009)

  These are my last words.” They were not, of course, and eventually we made up with much sighing and crying. I had won. He gave me the reins and I took control of my house and property. I also ruled over his tongue - and over his fists. What do you think I did with that book? I made him burn it. When I had taken charge of the household he came up to me and said, “My own true wife, my Alison, do as you please for the rest of your life. Just preserve my honour and my standing.” ‘From that day forward we never had an argument. I swear to God that I became the best wife in the world. I was loyal to him, and he was true to me. I hope his soul is now at peace in a better world. Shall I tell you my story now?’ Biholde the wordes bitwene the Somonour and the Frere The Friar laughed when he heard all this. ‘Now, ma dame,’ he said, ‘by God that was a long preamble to a tale!’ The Summoner was listening. ‘What do you think?’ he asked the other pilgrims. ‘A friar will always be interfering. A friar is like a fly. He will alight on any dish and any meat. What is all this about preamble or perambulation, whatever you call it? Preamble yourself. Or trot, if you like. Or gallop ahead. You are spoiling our fun.’ ‘Is that all you have to say, sir Summoner?’ the Friar replied. ‘By God, before I leave you all, I will tell you a story about a summoner that will keep you in fits of laughter.’ ‘Fuck you, Friar. Before we get to Sittingbourne I will have told two or three tales about your profession that will reduce you to tears. I can see that you have already lost your temper.’ Harry Bailey intervened. ‘Peace! No more squabbling. Let the woman begin her story. You two are behaving like drunks. Go on now, mistress, and tell us your tale.’ ‘I am ready, Mr Bailey. That is, if the worthy Friar here will let me continue.’ ‘Ma dame,’ the Friar replied. ‘Nothing would give me greater pleasure.’

• From The Case for God (2009)

  The Romantic poets revived a spirituality that had been submerged in the scientific age. By approaching nature in a different way, they had recovered a sense of its numinous mystery. Wordsworth was wary of the “meddling intellect” that “murders to dissect,” pulling reality apart in its rigorous analysis. Unlike the scientists and rationalists, the poet did not seek to master nature but to acquire a “wise passiveness” and “a heart that watches and receives.”69 He could then hear the silently imparted lessons that had been impressed upon him by the streams, mountains, and groves of the Lake District during his infancy.70 Since reaching adulthood, both Wordsworth and Shelley had felt estranged from this living presence; the receptive, listening attitude had been educated out of them. But by assiduously cultivating this “wise passiveness,” Wordsworth had recovered an insight that was not dissimilar to that achieved by yogins and mystics. It was a blessed mood, In which the burthen of the mystery, In which the heavy and the weary weight Of all this unintelligible world, Is lightened:—that serene and blessed mood, In which the affections gently lead us on,— Until, the breath of this corporeal frame And even the motion of our human blood Almost suspended, we are laid asleep In body, and become a living soul: While with an eye made quiet by the power Of harmony and the deep power of joy, We see into the life of things.71 Like some of the philosophes, Wordsworth was fascinated by the workings of the human mind; he understood that the mind deeply affected our perception of the external world but was convinced that this was a two-way process. The external world silently informed our mental processes; the human psyche was receptive as well as creative, “working but in alliance with the works which it beholds.”72 Wordsworth’s younger contemporary John Keats (1795–1821) used the term “Negative Capability” to describe the ekstatic attitude that was essential to poetic insight. It occurred “when a man is capable of being in uncertainties, Mysteries, doubts, without any irritable reaching after fact & reason.”73 Instead of seeking to control the world by aggressive reasoning, Keats was ready to plunge into the dark night of unknowing: “I am however young writing at random— straining at particles of light in the midst of a great darkness— without knowing the bearing of any one assertion, of any one opinion.”74 He claimed gleefully that he had no opinions at all, because he had no self. A poet, he believed, was “the most unpoetical of any thing in existence; because he has no Identity.”75 True poetry had no time for “the egotistical sublime,”76 which forced itself on the reader:

• From The Case for God (2009)

  By the beginning of the third century BCE, six main philosophical schools had emerged: Platonism, Aristotelianism, Skepticism, Cynicism, Epicureanism, and Stoicism. They all saw theory as secondary to and dependent upon practice, and all regarded philosophy as a transformative way of life rather than a purely theoretical system. Each school developed its own scholasticism, building huge doctrinal edifices of written reflection on the teaching of the sages, but these writings were secondary to the oral transmission of the tradition.74 When a philosopher expounded an authority, such as Plato or Aristotle, his chief purpose was to shape the spirituality of his pupils. He would, therefore, feel free to give the old texts an entirely new interpretation if this met the needs of a particular group. What mattered was the prestige and antiquity of the old texts, not the author’s original intention. Until the early modern period, most Western thought developed in a way that was reminiscent of the modern design technique of bricolage, where something new is constructed from an assemblage of whatever materials happen to lie at hand. The Hellenistic era that followed the establishment of the empire of Alexander the Great (c. 356–323) and its subsequent disintegration was a period of political and social turbulence.75 Consequently, Hellenistic philosophy was chiefly concerned with the cultivation of interior peace.76 Epicurus (341–270), for example, established a community outside Athens near the Academy, where his disciples could lead a frugal, secluded life and avoid mental disturbance. At the same time, Zeno (342–270), who lectured in the Painted Stoa in the Athenian agora, preached a philosophy of ataraxia, “freedom from pain”: Stoics hoped to achieve total serenity by means of meditation and a disciplined, sober lifestyle.

• From The Case for God (2009)

  Other traditions would also find that these fundamental principles were indispensable: Buddhism, Jainism, Confucianism, and Daoism, as well as the three monotheistic faiths of Judaism, Christianity, and Islam. Each had its own unique genius and distinctive vision, each its peculiar flaws. But on these central principles they would all agree. Religion was not a notional matter. The Buddha, for example, had little time for theological speculation. One of his monks was a philosopher manqué and, instead of getting on with his yoga, constantly pestered the Buddha about metaphysical questions: Was there a god? Had the world been created in time or had it always existed? The Buddha told him that he was like a man who had been shot with a poisoned arrow and refused medical treatment until he had discovered the name of his assailant and what village he came from. He would die before he got this perfectly useless information. What difference would it make to discover that a god had created the world? Pain, hatred, grief, and sorrow would still exist. These issues were fascinating, but the Buddha refused to discuss them because they were irrelevant: “My disciples, they will not help you, they are not useful in the quest for holiness; they do not lead to peace and to the direct knowledge of Nirvana.”64 The Buddha always refused to define Nirvana, because it could not be understood notionally and would be inexplicable to anybody who did not undertake his practical regimen of meditation and compassion. But anybody who did commit him-or herself to the Buddhist way of life could attain Nirvana, which was an entirely natural state.65 Sometimes, however, Buddhists would speak of Nirvana using the same kind of imagery as monotheists use of God: it was the “Truth,” the “Other Shore,” “Peace,” the “Everlasting,” and “the Beyond.” Nirvana was a still center that gave meaning to life, an oasis of calm, and a source of strength that you discovered in the depths of your own being. In purely mundane terms, it was “nothing,” because it corresponded to no reality that we could recognize in our ego-dominated existence. But those who had managed to find this sacred peace discovered that they lived an immeasurably richer life66. There was no question of “believing” in the existence of Nirvana or taking it “on faith.” The Buddha had no time for abstract doctrinal formulations divorced from action. Indeed, to accept a dogma on somebody else’s authority was what he called “unskillful” or “unhelpful” (akusala). It could not lead to enlightenment because it amounted to an abdication of personal responsibility. Faith meant trust that Nirvana existed and a determination to realize it by every practical means in one’s power.

• From The Case for God (2009)

  It seemed that the scientific knowledge that had come upon the early modern world with the force of a new revelation was not, after all, fundamentally different from the understanding we derived from the humanities. In Knowing and Being, Michael Polyani (1891–1976), a chemist and philosopher of science, argued that all knowledge was tacit rather than objectively and self-consciously acquired. He drew attention to the role of practical knowledge, which had been greatly overlooked in the modern emphasis on theoretical understanding. We learn how to swim or dance without being able to explain precisely how it is done. We recognize a friend’s face without being able to specify exactly what it is that we recognize. Our perception of the external world is not a mechanical, straightforward absorption of data. We integrate a vast number of things into a focal awareness, subjecting them to an interpretive framework that is so deeply rooted that we cannot make it explicit. The speed and complexity of this integration easily outstrips the relatively ponderous processes of logic or inference. Indeed, knowledge is of little use to us until it has been made tacit. Once we have learned how to drive a car, “the text of the manual is shifted to the back of the driver’s mind and transported almost entirely to the tacit operations of a skill.”65 When we learn a skill, we literally dwell in the innumerable muscular actions we perform without fully knowing how we achieve them. All understanding, Polyani claimed, is like this. We interiorize a language or a poem “and make ourselves dwell in them. Such extensions of ourselves develop new faculties in us; our whole education operates in this way; as each of us interiorises the cultural heritage, she grows into a person seeing the world and experiencing life in terms of this outlook.”66 This, it has been pointed out, is not dissimilar to the Cappadocians’ insistence that the knowledge of God was acquired not merely cerebrally but by the physical participation in the liturgical tradition of the Church, which initiated people into a form of knowing that was silent and could not be clearly articulated.67 Polyani argued that the scientific method is not simply a matter of progressing from ignorance to objectivity; as in the humanities, it is more likely to consist of a more complex movement from explicit to tacit knowledge. In order for their investigations to work, scientists often have to believe things that they know will be later proved wrong—though they can never be sure which of their current convictions will be so jettisoned. Because there is so much that cannot be proven, there will always be an element of what religious people call “faith” in science—the kind of faith that physicists showed in Einstein’s theory of relativity in the absence of empirical proof.

• From The Case for God (2009)

  Even though the Greeks found his interpretation of the story of Adam and Eve far too literal, Augustine was no die-hard biblical literalist. He took science very seriously, and his “principle of accommodation” would dominate biblical interpretation in the West until well into the early modern period. God had, as it were, adapted revelation to the cultural norms of the people who had first received it.62 One of the psalms, for example, clearly reflects the ancient view, long outmoded by Augustine’s time, that there was a body of water above the earth that caused rainfall.63 It would be absurd to interpret this text literally. God had simply accommodated the truths of revelation to the science of the day so that the people of Israel could understand it; today a text like this must be interpreted differently. Whenever the literal meaning of scripture clashed with reliable scientific information, Augustine insisted, the interpreter must respect the integrity of science or he would bring scripture into disrepute.64 And there must be no unseemly quarreling about the Bible. People who engaged in acrimonious discussion of religious truth were simply in love with their own opinions and had forgotten the cardinal teaching of the Bible, which was the love of God and neighbor.65 The exegete must not leave a text until he could make it “establish the reign of charity,” and if a literal understanding of any biblical passage seemed to teach hatred, the text must be interpreted allegorically and forced to preach love.66 Augustine had absorbed the underlying spirit of Greek apophatic theology, but the West did not develop a fully fledged spirituality of silence until the ninth century, when the writings of an unknown Greek author were translated into Latin and achieved near-canonical status in Europe. He used the pseudonym Denys the Areopagite, Saint Paul’s first Athenian convert,67 but he was almost certainly writing toward the end of the fifth and the beginning of the sixth centuries. During the medieval period, Denys had a profound influence on nearly every major Western theologian. The fact that very few people have even heard of him today is, perhaps, a symptom of our current religious malaise.68