Gratitude

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 Twelve Steps to a Compassionate Life (2010)

  I tell this story to show that one small act of kindness can turn a life around. I am quite sure that she must have forgotten the incident after an hour or two, but it has stayed with me all my life. In the troubled years that followed, I often recalled her words at particularly bleak moments. Indeed, I think of them still when I feel anything but good. The British poet William Wordsworth (1770–1850) wrote of iconic moments like this, which become a resource for us over the years: There are in our existence spots of time, That with distinct pre-eminence retain A renovating virtue, whence, depressed By false opinion and contentious thought, Or aught of heavier or more deadly weight, In trivial occupations, and the round Of ordinary intercourse, our minds Are nourished and invisibly repaired . 1 My point is that we can all create “spots of time” for others, and that many of these will be the “little, nameless, unremembered, acts of kindness and of love” that, Wordsworth claimed in another poem, form “that best portion of a good man’s life.” 2 As you embark on this step, try to think of “spots of time” in your own life, moments when somebody went out of his or her way to help you. You should also consider the effects of the unkind remarks that have been a corrosive presence in your mind over the years. They were all probably “nameless, unremembered,” and insignificant to the people who uttered them, but they have the power to fester and assume an importance that the speaker probably never intended. We need to become aware that our impulsive words and actions have consequences that we could never have foreseen. So if you want to be a force for good in the world, you should apply the insights you gain in the practice of mindfulness to your daily dealings with others, shielding them from your destructive tendencies and trying to lighten their lives with acts of friendship. We are not doomed to an existence of selfishness, because we have the ability, with disciplined, repetitive action, to construct new habits of thought, feeling, and behavior. If every time we are tempted to say something vile about an annoying sibling, a colleague, an ex-husband, or a country with whom we are at war, we reflexively ask ourselves “How would I like this said about me and mine?” and refrain, we will achieve ekstasis , a momentary “stepping outside” the egotistically confined self. If, as Confucius advised, we did this “all day and every day,” we would be in a state of continuous ekstasis , which is not an exotic trance but the permanent selflessness of a Buddha or a sage. Skeptics argue that the Golden Rule just doesn’t work, but they do not seem to have tried to implement it in a wholehearted and consistent way. It is not a notional doctrine that you either agree with or make yourself believe.

• From Twelve Steps to a Compassionate Life (2010)

  What is after will be better than what came before To you your lord will be giving You will be content Did he not find you orphaned And give you shelter Find you lost and guide you Find you in hunger and provide for you As for the orphan— do not oppress him And one who asks for help— do not turn him away And the grace of your lord—proclaim!12 In this step, we begin to make this dynamic part of our own lives. The experience of pain and humiliation has inspired people to heroic compassion. When Gandhi, a young Indian lawyer who had hitherto led a privileged life, was violently thrown off a train in South Africa, he became aware of the plight of Indians in the country: he had been sitting in a first-class carriage, which was forbidden to “colored” men, and refused to move. Within a week, he summoned all the Indians of Pretoria to a meeting, which marked the beginning of a lifelong, nonviolent campaign against oppression. Patty Anglin, who chairs the Children’s Health Alliance of Wisconsin, has devoted her life to caring for children abandoned by their parents, many of them with special needs. She has always claimed that the misery she experienced in a harsh boarding school, where she had learning difficulties, prepared her for her life’s work: “I would need to understand the feelings of abandonment, loneliness, fear, and the sense of not belonging—the same feelings that children from abusive, dysfunctional, and broken homes feel.”13 Our pain, therefore, can become an education in compassion. Some people deliberately steel their hearts against involvement with other people’s suffering: the bank manager must turn a deaf ear to the pleas of the insolvent borrower and cannot allow his distress to keep him awake at night, the businessperson has no option but to sack an inefficient employee, and the doctor cannot afford to become emotionally distraught each time a patient dies. It is natural to try to avoid unnecessary grief. During this step, we should take note of our initial reluctance to engage. We don’t want to listen to the sad story that a colleague is telling us. We feel that we have enough to deal with and push her troubles from our mind. We can be irritated by somebody’s bad mood instead of asking ourselves why she is depressed. We hurry past the homeless man outside the supermarket, refusing to allow his plight to disturb our equanimity. But when this happens, it is time to draw upon everything you learned in the last step and recall your own past distress. Remember the things that help you when you are having a bad day—a kind word, a smile, a joke—and try to give that gift to a testy colleague. Remember what it is like to feel alone with sadness and take the trouble to listen to your friend’s tale of woe: “And one who asks for help—do not turn him away.”

• From Twelve Steps to a Compassionate Life (2010)

  But I must also thank all those who have worked with me on the Charter for Compassion. First, my sincere gratitude to everybody at TED, who from the very beginning saw potential in what some would have regarded as a quixotic project, especially Chris Anderson, Amy Novogratz (to whom this book is dedicated), Casson Rosenblatt, and Daniel Mitchell. Your generosity, commitment, and creativity never cease to astonish me. It has also been a great joy to work with everybody at the Fetzer Institute, with special thanks to Susan Trabucchi (former senior program officer) for her invaluable commitment and practical insight during my first months with Fetzer, Gillian Gonda (program officer), and Amy Ferguson (communications specialist). Thanks too to Simon Cohen and Lance McPherson at Global Tolerance for their superb input; and to Emily Hawkins at Sunshine, Sachs & Associates. Finally, thanks to James Berrill for achieving the near-impossible feat of collating the myriad contributions made to the draft charter by the general public in preparation for the meeting of the Council of Conscience in Vevey, Switzerland. It is unfortunately impossible to thank all the people in over 150 partner organizations and the individual ambassadors who are working so tirelessly to incorporate the message of the charter into their own programs. We are immensely grateful for the support and endorsement of H. H. the Dalai Lama and the Dalai Lama Foundation. I must give special thanks to Badr Jafar, CEO of Crescent Petroleum, for his extraordinary commitment and pragmatic genius in promoting the charter in the Middle East; Amin Hashwani for his relentless and innovative work for peace in Pakistan; Ambassador Mussie Hailu of Ethiopia, who declared April 5 Golden Rule Day in the United Nations and has energetically promoted the charter in Africa; Danielle Lauren of Sydney, Australia; Janet Allinson in Canada; all my new friends at the Compassionate Action Network in Seattle for their outstanding leadership; the United Religious Initiative; Mozes & Aäronkerk in Amsterdam; and my friends at the Chautauqua Institution for their impressive work and ongoing counsel. It is a joy and privilege to work with each and every one of you.

• From Jesus and John Wayne: How White Evangelicals Corrupted a Faith and Fractured a Nation (2020)

  My early stages of writing coincided with my mom’s diagnosis with ALS, and although she did not live to see this book’s completion, she remains a part of who I am and what I do. As this book cut into family vacations and time with my kids, their aunts, uncles, cousins, and grandparents stepped in to pick up the slack, taking them camping, fishing, on trips, and out for donuts. This made all the difference. My children, in turn, also contributed to this project, each in their own way. Zak made sure that my long stretches of writing were filled with just the right sort of distractions in the form of assorted fish, a cockatiel, chickens, and unexpectedly also two roosters. Eva, who has been an enthusiastic supporter of all my scholarly endeavors, contributed to an early paper on this topic by sharing with me her expertise on the house of Slytherin. For far too long she also took care of things on the home front so that I could write. I couldn’t have finished this book without your help, Eva. And, of course, Lulu, who provided welcome interruptions at very regular intervals to ask for hugs, smiles, and snacks. Finally, to Jack, my most long-suffering conversation partner who never flagged in his support for this project, who believed this book needed to be written even when I had my own doubts, who stepped in to offer technical assistance and help securing images for publication, and who took the kids away for weeks at a time in the project’s final stages. Thank you. Although it probably goes without saying, I’ll say it anyway. The analysis and conclusions found in these pages do not necessarily represent the views of many who contributed to this project and provided essential support along the way, including friends, family, and my place of employment. I am grateful for the grace that so many have shown, and for the mutual investment we share in engaging in civil conversation about things that matter. NOTESINTRODUCTION1 .“Trump Hosted a Campaign Event at Dordt College,” filmed January 23, 2016, YouTube, posted November 5, 2016, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JGjpIUFNXyQ. 2 .Lauren Markoe, “Trump gets official and unofficial endorsements from two leading evangelicals,” Washington Post , January 26, 2016; New York Times/CBS News Poll, New York Times, January 7–10, 2016. 3 .“2016 Iowa Presidential Election Results,” Politico , updated December 13, 2016; Jessica Martínez and Gregory A. Smith, “How the faithful voted: A preliminary 2016 analysis,” Pew Research Center, November 9, 2016.

• From Lower than the Angels: A History of Sex and Christianity (2024)

  There proved to be ways of neutralizing the clash. The bishops were more or less reconciled to fourth-century monasticism by the evident loyalty that the major figures displayed to episcopal Christianity. Antony was an outspoken supporter of a grateful Bishop Athanasios of Alexandria in mid-fourth- century battles to uphold the Nicene theological agreement on the Christian Trinity against ‘Arian’ Christians. Indeed, Athanasios is credited with writing the definitive biography of Antony. It became one of Christianity’s bestsellers over the centuries: a highly edited and enriched version of the reality, and perhaps indeed modelling itself on the Lives of pre-Christian philosophers, but all the more important for its literary fashioning in setting patterns for the future in the ascetic life. In the delicious phrase of Peter Brown, its eager readers from Beirut to Bangor saw ‘an Egypt dressed in its Sunday best’. [22] The work was the beginning of an Egyptian ascetic literature, portraying both ‘Desert Fathers’ and ‘Desert Mothers’. In the Latin West, Martin actually became bishop himself in the Gaulish city of Civitas Turonum (Tours), still leading a monastic community alongside his energetic shepherding of his diocese. Such was his reputation that, as the cult of saints blossomed throughout the Mediterranean in the next generation, he rapidly became one of the most popular saints of the West, a powerful symbol in death for communion with the Pope in Rome. It is likely that over two centuries and more, the cult of Martin was decisive in rallying Catholics in western Europe against an alternative Christian theological future offered by the followers of Arius. [23] Besides these happy historical contingencies, a useful policing measure for the monastic life developed. Against independent- minded ascetics, the authorities deployed a concept of ‘messalianism’, vague but negative; like ‘encratism’ before it, messalianism signified ascetic devotional practices and attitudes going beyond what was considered seemly or reasonable. Of course, in both cases it was the bishops who defined what was acceptable or unacceptable. [24] The monasticism of Egyptian desert or Syrian wilderness expanded and flourished in forms that would have been familiar to Christians before the time of Constantine: a ‘silent rebellion’ against Graeco-Roman society that reflected the general character of early Christianity as marginal in relation to the powerful and wealthy. [25] A monastic family was a direct challenge to the biological family that was the foundation of mainstream society: the leader of such a community was, after all, known as an abbot, Abba, that very title for father that Jesus had applied to God himself. Part of an abbot’s duty was to cut off his monks from the distraction of their previous worldly relationships. Christ himself had spoken approvingly of his followers leaving family behind, so one could not say that this was going against the Saviour’s demands. Here ancient Christianity can often seem at its most remote from modern Christian assumptions, though there are still forms of Christianity that might not see it as a problem.

• From Twelve Steps to a Compassionate Life (2010)

  Finally, I am most grateful to the members of the Council of Conscience, who composed the charter. First, my dear friend the Reverend Dr. Joan Brown Campbell, Director of the Department of Religion at the Chautauqua Institution, who committed herself heart and soul to the charter from day one and chaired the Vevey meeting with such brilliance and acumen. The very first person I approached about the charter was Archbishop Emeritus Desmond Tutu, whose immediate and generous response gave the charter a credibility at an early stage that it might not otherwise have had. And my most sincere thanks to all the Councillors whose wisdom and insight were an inspiration: Salman Ahmed, musician and social activist; Ali Asani, Professor of the Practice of Indo-Muslim Languages and Culture at Harvard University; Sadhvi Chaitanya, Spiritual Director of Arsha Vijan Mandiram; the Right Reverend John Bryson Chane, Episcopal Bishop of Washington, D.C.; Sister Joan Chittister, Founder and Director of Benetvision; His Excellency Sheikh Ali Gomaa, Grand Mufti of the Arab Republic of Egypt; Mohsen Kadivar, Professor of Religious Studies at Duke University; Chandra Muzaffar, President of the International Movement for a Just World; Baroness Julia Neuberger, Prime Minister’s Champion for Volunteering, U.K.; Tariq Ramadan, Professor of Contemporary Islamic Studies at Oxford University; Rabbi David Saperstein, Director of the Religious Action Center of Reform Judaism in Washington, D.C.; Rabbi Awraham Soetendorp, Rabbi of the Reform Jewish Community of The Hague; Reverend Peter Storey, former President of the Methodist Church of South Africa and the South African Council of Churches; Tho Ha Vinh, Head of Training, Learning, and Development in the International Committee of the Red Cross; Tu Wei Ming, Professor of Chinese History and Philosophy and of Confucian Studies at Harvard University; and Jean Zaru, presiding Clerk of the Ramallah Friends Meeting. I shall never forget our conversation at Vevey, which was a model of Socratic and compassionate discourse. I look forward to working with you all in the future. And last—but for me far from least—thanks to everybody at My Ideal Dog: Eve, Gary, Stacey, and Amy Mott and Michelle Stevenson, who make it possible for me to promote the charter by giving Poppy such a wonderful second home and have taught me so much about compassion for animals.

• From The New Testament (Great Courses) (1997)

  102 Lecture 19: The Deutero-Pauline Epistles Why did people forge writings in the name of famous authors? Sometimes there was a pro¿ t motive. If a new library was paying gold on the head for original works of important authors, you’d be amazed how many original works began to turn up. In the philosophical schools, there was a completely different reason. Some students felt that all they thought and understood was directly the result of their studying under their revered teachers. When writing their own treatises, then, they would sign their teachers’ names as an act of gratitude and modesty. Probably the most common reason for forgery, though, was to get an audience for your writing. If you wanted your philosophical views heard and wrote a treatise using your own name (Marcus Aristides, or whatever), no one might read it, but if you signed it Plato, you might have a chance. This ¿ nal motive is not necessarily wicked. It may well be that forgers thought that what they wrote would have been completely approved by the author they ascribed it to. If he only had a chance to address the issue, this is what he himself would have said. This seems to be the case in the forged 3 Corinthians. Forgers used a variety of techniques to hide the traces of their deceit. Simply to claim to be someone carried a lot of weight, especially for religious texts, in which you naturally wouldn’t expect an author to ¿ b. The main trick was to make sure that nothing in the writing would tip one’s hand. Forgers would typically try to imitate the style of the author they were claiming to be, use his vocabulary, and imitate some of his better known turns of phrase. The forgers also added elements of verisimilitude, such as off-the-cuff remarks that make it sound as if something has just occurred to the alleged author or even an emphatic insistence that he really is the author. One of the most interesting instances of the latter occurs in a Christian book of the 4 th century, called the Apostolic Constitutions. The book claims to be written by Jesus’ apostles immediately after the resurrection (even though it reÀ ects knowledge of much later Christianity); in it, the author warns readers not to read books that falsely claim to be written by the apostles! Forgers used a variety of techniques to hide the traces of their deceit.

• From Twelve Steps to a Compassionate Life (2010)

  As you embark on this step, try to think of “spots of time” in your own life, moments when somebody went out of his or her way to help you. You should also consider the effects of the unkind remarks that have been a corrosive presence in your mind over the years. They were all probably “nameless, unremembered,” and insignificant to the people who uttered them, but they have the power to fester and assume an importance that the speaker probably never intended. We need to become aware that our impulsive words and actions have consequences that we could never have foreseen. So if you want to be a force for good in the world, you should apply the insights you gain in the practice of mindfulness to your daily dealings with others, shielding them from your destructive tendencies and trying to lighten their lives with acts of friendship. We are not doomed to an existence of selfishness, because we have the ability, with disciplined, repetitive action, to construct new habits of thought, feeling, and behavior. If every time we are tempted to say something vile about an annoying sibling, a colleague, an ex-husband, or a country with whom we are at war, we reflexively ask ourselves “How would I like this said about me and mine?” and refrain, we will achieve ekstasis, a momentary “stepping outside” the egotistically confined self. If, as Confucius advised, we did this “all day and every day,” we would be in a state of continuous ekstasis, which is not an exotic trance but the permanent selflessness of a Buddha or a sage. Skeptics argue that the Golden Rule just doesn’t work, but they do not seem to have tried to implement it in a wholehearted and consistent way. It is not a notional doctrine that you either agree with or make yourself believe. It is a method—and the only adequate test of any method is to put it into practice. Throughout the centuries, people have found that when they behaved in accordance with the Golden Rule, they experienced a deeper, fuller level of existence, and they have maintained that anybody can achieve this state if she puts her mind to it.

• From Twelve Steps to a Compassionate Life (2010)

  During this step, incorporate a new Buddhist exercise into your mindfulness practice. It will help you to appreciate how dependent you are on people you have never met and who may live far away. As you walk around your home, bring to mind all the people who built it, treated its timbers, baked its bricks, installed the plumbing, and wove your linens. When you get up in the morning, remember those who planted, picked, and spun the cotton of your sheets and who collected, treated, and exported the beans you grind for your morning coffee. You enjoy their products, so you have a responsibility for them, especially if they were working in poor conditions. Who baked the bread you toast for breakfast? Become aware of the labor that went into the production of each slice. As you set off to work, reflect on the thousands of workers and engineers who build and maintain the roads, cars, railroads, planes, trains, and underground transport on which you rely. Continue this exercise throughout the day. We should also make ourselves aware that our cultural, ethical, religious, and intellectual traditions have all been profoundly affected by other peoples’. We think of them as ours, but they may in the past have been deeply influenced by the ancestors of those we now regard as enemies. We are what we are because of the hard work, insights, and achievements of countless others. When we are braced defensively to withstand a threat, we cannot think intelligently or creatively. If we allow ourselves to feel anger or disdain, this will affect our spiritual and intellectual health, because ingratitude and hatred shrink our horizons. Zhuangzi would say that it is unrealistic to try to freeze our cultural, national, or religious traditions in their current mode. Think of how radically they have changed and adapted to new conditions over the centuries and even within your lifetime. The meditation on the Immeasurables is designed precisely to bring down the barriers we erect against the other so that our horizons can expand.

• From Twelve Steps to a Compassionate Life (2010)

  It is unfortunately impossible to thank all the people in over 150 partner organizations and the individual ambassadors who are working so tirelessly to incorporate the message of the charter into their own programs. We are immensely grateful for the support and endorsement of H. H. the Dalai Lama and the Dalai Lama Foundation. I must give special thanks to Badr Jafar, CEO of Crescent Petroleum, for his extraordinary commitment and pragmatic genius in promoting the charter in the Middle East; Amin Hashwani for his relentless and innovative work for peace in Pakistan; Ambassador Mussie Hailu of Ethiopia, who declared April 5 Golden Rule Day in the United Nations and has energetically promoted the charter in Africa; Danielle Lauren of Sydney, Australia; Janet Allinson in Canada; all my new friends at the Compassionate Action Network in Seattle for their outstanding leadership; the United Religious Initiative; Mozes & Aäronkerk in Amsterdam; and my friends at the Chautauqua Institution for their impressive work and ongoing counsel. It is a joy and privilege to work with each and every one of you. Finally, I am most grateful to the members of the Council of Conscience, who composed the charter. First, my dear friend the Reverend Dr. Joan Brown Campbell, Director of the Department of Religion at the Chautauqua Institution, who committed herself heart and soul to the charter from day one and chaired the Vevey meeting with such brilliance and acumen.

• From Austerlitz (2001)

  said Austerlitz, that I far outstripped the rest of my year in our final examinations in history, Latin, German, and French, and could go on my own way into freedom, as I confidently thought at the time, provided with a generous scholarship. When we said goodbye André Hilary gave me a present from his collection of Napoleonic memorabilia, a gold-framed piece of dark card on which, behind shining glass, were fixed three rather fragile willow leaves from a tree on the island of St. Helena, along with a scrap of lichen resembling a pale sprig of coral taken by one of Hilary’s forebears, as the tiny caption said, from the heavy granite tombstone of Marshal Ney on 31 July 1830. This memento, worth nothing in itself, is still in my possession, said Austerlitz. It means more to me than almost any other picture, first because despite their fragility the relics preserved in it, the lichen and the dried lanceolate willow leaves, have remained intact for more than a century, but also because it reminds me daily of Hilary, without whom I would surely never have been able to emerge from the shadows of the manse in Bala. Moreover, it was Hilary who, after my foster father’s death in the Denbigh asylum early in 1954, undertook the task of winding up his meager estate and then set on foot the process of my naturalization, which in view of the fact that Elias had obliterated every indication of my origin involved a good deal of difficulty. When I was studying at Oriel, like Hilary himself before me, he visited me regularly, and we took every opportunity of making excursions to the deserted and dilapidated country houses to be found all around Oxford, as elsewhere, in the postwar years. While I was still at school, said Austerlitz, as well as Hilary’s support my friendship with Gerald Fitzpatrick in particular helped me to overcome the self- doubts that sometimes oppressed me. In line with the usual practice at public schools, Gerald was assigned to me as a fag when I entered the sixth form. It was his job to keep my room tidy, clean my boots, and bring the tray with the tea things. From the first day, when he asked me for one of the new photographs of the rugger team where I featured to the extreme right of the front row, I realized that Gerald felt as isolated as I did, said Austerlitz, who scarcely a week after our reunion at the Great Eastern Hotel sent me a postcard copy of the picture he had mentioned, without further comment. On that December evening, however, in the hotel bar, which was quiet now, Austerlitz went on to tell me more about Gerald, and how he had suffered from awful homesickness ever since his arrival at Stower Grange, entirely against the grain of his naturally cheerful disposition.

• From Twelve Steps to a Compassionate Life (2010)

  Those who have been brutalized by hatred, persecution, or oppression cannot readily cultivate the trust that makes it possible to reach out to others. We should ask whether our own nation has contributed to the problems of a particular region and realize that, in our global world, if we ignore the pain of a people, it is likely that at some point this negligence will rebound on us. Remember Confucius’s advice about the way to apply the ethic of the Golden Rule to politics: “You yourself desire rank and standing; then help others to get rank and standing. You want to turn your merits to account; then help others to turn theirs to account.” 6 We can no longer thrive at the expense of others. A practically expressed respect for the other is probably indispensable for a peaceful global society. During this step, incorporate a new Buddhist exercise into your mindfulness practice. It will help you to appreciate how dependent you are on people you have never met and who may live far away. As you walk around your home, bring to mind all the people who built it, treated its timbers, baked its bricks, installed the plumbing, and wove your linens. When you get up in the morning, remember those who planted, picked, and spun the cotton of your sheets and who collected, treated, and exported the beans you grind for your morning coffee. You enjoy their products, so you have a responsibility for them, especially if they were working in poor conditions. Who baked the bread you toast for breakfast? Become aware of the labor that went into the production of each slice. As you set off to work, reflect on the thousands of workers and engineers who build and maintain the roads, cars, railroads, planes, trains, and underground transport on which you rely. Continue this exercise throughout the day. We should also make ourselves aware that our cultural, ethical, religious, and intellectual traditions have all been profoundly affected by other peoples’. We think of them as ours, but they may in the past have been deeply influenced by the ancestors of those we now regard as enemies. We are what we are because of the hard work, insights, and achievements of countless others. When we are braced defensively to withstand a threat, we cannot think intelligently or creatively. If we allow ourselves to feel anger or disdain, this will affect our spiritual and intellectual health, because ingratitude and hatred shrink our horizons.

• From The Fixed Stars: A Memoir (2020)

  I wonder about this elusiveness in relation to my non-binary partner, who was assigned female at birth, raised as a girl, and identifies more with women than with men, but is both and neither. Ash’s power comes from someplace else. Androgyny is not gender’s absence; it’s the negotiation made visible. The word trans is convenient shorthand for anyone living as a gender other than the one they were assigned at birth, but a person may not be “transitioning”—may not be, as the artist Harry Dodge puts it, on their way anywhere.68 This is where Ash lives—as sturdy a shelter as any, though frequently pummeled by the elements. Ash spends more time grooming than I do, and early on it puzzled me. Ash tweezes, blow-dries, gels. It makes sense, because they’re more meticulous than I am. They like to look neater than I do. But I think there’s also this: as a cisgender woman, I have more wiggle room than Ash does in how we “put on” our genders. Even with the standards that Western culture imposes on cis women, there is more forgiveness for me. Ash has got to stick the landing. A trans friend says that the period of his transition—between living as a woman and “passing” as a man—was almost too difficult to withstand. When you don’t look the way we expect a man to look or the way we expect a woman to look, your gender becomes glaring. It was like I was on display, he said; people always asked me to explain. When he started to pass, to blend in among other men, he got his privacy back. The soft marrow of his gender was once again hidden away, like we keep the parts between our legs. Every few months, I check in with Ash about their pronouns. Does it still feel right when I say they/them? It was awkward at first, to raise this conversation; I was afraid of pushing on a sensitive spot. But Ash says they like it when I ask, that it feels like care. It makes us feel close. Now years out from top surgery, Ash’s body looks so right on Ash, so beautiful and so handsome; it’s hard to think of them having ever looked any other way. All of us, Ash included, have messed up Ash’s pronouns. June is usually the one to correct us. I’m grateful to Ash for their grace, for allowing us to falter and figure it out. When I fuck up Ash’s pronouns, or anyone else’s, I’ve learned not to make a big deal of it, to just fix it and move on. We each hold up the mirror for the other.

• From The Fixed Stars: A Memoir (2020)

  To the Thursday Night Dinner Crew, a steadfast chosen family. To Brian Ferry, for always getting it. To friends who’ve taken walks with me, sent articles and stories, talked shop with me, and buoyed my spirits. To my students, whose guts and smarts teach me so much. To my therapist, Joe. To the teachers, babysitters, and family friends whose devotion to and love for June enabled me to write this book. Especially to the entire Burmeister-Steinman family; Heidi Rogers, Shawn Muller, and Julian Muller-Rogers; Deb Olson; Annie Noonan; and Allison Winzenried. For insight, tough and vital questions, and encouragement on the first full draft: Laurie Amster-Burton, Sam Schick, and Angela Garbes. This book would not exist—not in anything resembling this form, and probably not at all—without Matthew Amster-Burton. First reader, colleague and companion, midwife of words and chapters, my best friend. For trusting me and being a wonderful father, Brandon. For being a remarkable parent, grandmother, and human being, my mother, Toni. I’m lucky beyond language to be your daughter. To Alice, for turning me into the kind of person who thanks her dog in the acknowledgments. To Ash, for learning with me; for loving me and loving June; for creating space for this story; for showing me every day what partnership can be. And to June, for making me a mother, for making me brave.

• From Twelve Steps to a Compassionate Life (2010)

  So when we make a conscious effort to abandon the me-first mentality and try to keep it within due bounds, we are not destroying or annihilating ourselves. Instead we will find that our horizons expand, our egotistically driven fears evaporate, and that we are experiencing a larger “immeasurable” self. Free of self-destructive emotion, we too can become a junzi, a fulfilled and mature human being. The rabbis discovered that when a Jew studied the Torah for its own sake rather than for personal gain, he was filled with a love that lifted him to a higher level of being. “He is called the Beloved Companion,” said the great Talmudic sage Rabbi Meir. “He loves the Divine Presence and loves all creatures.… And he becomes like an overflowing fountain or a ceaseless torrent.… And it makes him great and lifts him above the entire creation.”15 The early Christians spoke of a new freedom when, like Jesus, they became sons of God; by emptying themselves of egotism, as Jesus did, they had intimations of his exalted state.16 After emerging from their symbolic death in the baptismal pool, they were told that they too had become christoi.17 The Greek Orthodox still maintain that we can be deified like the man Jesus even in this life.18 The Confucians claimed that a life of ren expanded our humanity: “Broad and vast—who knows the limits of such a man?” asked Xunzi. “Brilliant and comprehensive—who knows his virtue? Shadowy and ever-changing—who knows his form? His brightness matches the sun and moon; his greatness fills the eight directions. Such is the Great Man.”19 This was how his contemporaries saw the Buddha. One day a Brahmin priest found him sitting meditating under a tree and was astonished by his strength, serenity, and composure. “Are you a god, sir?” he asked. “Are you an angel … or a spirit?” No, the Buddha replied. The self that had held him in thrall had been “extinguished” by the cultivation of compassion, revealing a new potential in human nature by activating parts of his being that normally lay dormant. “Remember me,” he told the priest, “as one who is awake.”20 A skeptic will dismiss these claims as delusory. But the only way to prove or disprove them is to put the method to the test. During the twelve steps, we are trying to awaken our potential for compassion, sagehood, and Buddhahood. Do not leave this step until you have laid the foundations for a healthy, realistic assessment of yourself and made the meditation on love a regular part of your day. Once you have started to feel a genuine compassion for yourself, you will be able to extend it to others.

• From The Surprising Lives of Christian Saints (2023)

  2. Philip Neri: Playful Pragmatist His family struggled financially. Francesco was known to have been a supporter of Girolamo Savonarola, the Dominican preacher who had captivated the city with prophecies and radical social reforms nearly 20 years earlier. In 1498, Savonarola was tortured, tried, and executed. By the time Philip was born, the Medici had returned to Florence and Savonarola’s supporters were in disgrace, including his father. In his late teens, Philip left to live with a relative who was making good money as a merchant in San Germano, a small town near the abbey of Montecassino. But the world of business didn’t hold his interest for long. Two years later, we find him in Rome, where he took a job tutoring. In his spare time, he studied philosophy at the University of Rome, La Sapienza, and theology with the Augustinians. He admitted later that he made a poor student, more occupied with prayer than study. He abandoned his course within the year but was slow to choose a new direction. Philip’s Charity Work The Rome in which Philip arrived in 1533 was a confusion of old and new, of Renaissance luxuries, humanist ideals, and brutal political realities. Philip wandered the countryside as a sort of urban hermit. He was especially drawn to the churches of the martyrs and the catacomb of Saint Sebastian. He also grew closer to some of the independent religious organizations working with the city’s poor, particularly the Confraternity of Charity, which he joined. They were mostly laymen, based at the church of San Girolamo della Carità and working in the nearby hospital of San Giacomo. This was the last refuge for many of the poorest, sickest, and most desperate people in Rome, who were quite numerous at this time. Hospitals at this point provided some basic necessities, such as shelter, perhaps a bed, and, if you were lucky, basic medical care from doctors or medical students. But they lacked things such as cleaning staff, food for patients, and nursing staff. Charitable volunteers stepped into the breach. Philip began doing this work as a young man in the 1540s and continued it throughout his life. 10

• From Twelve Steps to a Compassionate Life (2010)

  I was twenty years old, bruised by the abrasive training of the novitiate and eager for this new phase to begin, but things were starting to fall apart for me. Even though she was so sick, I was fortunate in my superior during this difficult time. She had had a hard life. She had been a promising school principal but, at the age of thirty, had suddenly become deaf, had to give up teaching, and was sent to work in the laundry room, where she remained for decades, folding towels and darning sheets. That would have made many people bitter—myself included—but she had not allowed this to sour her; she was one of the kindest people I had ever met. There was nothing sentimental about her, however; indeed, she was often quite fierce with us. She was also rather eccentric, so it was impossible to put her on a saintly pedestal. One afternoon, I remember, she got it into her head that the garden was in a deplorable state and sent us all out, in our long black habits, veils, and clattering rosary beads, into the driving rain to weed the flower beds, banging on the window to spur us on. And even though she herself was in constant pain, she was horrified to hear about my increasingly frequent bouts of nausea and nosebleeds. “Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked in genuine distress. Despite her increasing debility, she took time to give me special lessons in logic, and was genuinely delighted when I got good reports from the tutors who were preparing me for the entrance examinations to Oxford University. But finally she was taken to the Mother House to die. We young nuns all went into her room and stood around her bed to say good-bye. As she bade us farewell, she spoke of her imminent death with her usual pragmatism. “They’ve appointed a new superior for you, but she won’t arrive until August!” she exclaimed, managing to laugh despite her obvious weakness and pain. “I’ll be dead by then!” As we trooped out, she called me back and I went to kneel beside her bed. “Sister,” she said, “when you came, I was told that you might be a problem. But I want you to know that you have never been a trouble to me. You are a good girl, Sister . Remember I told you so.” I have never forgotten it. She was not saying anything cheesy, such as “I see future greatness in you”: what she must have seen was a confused, immature, and rather tiresome young woman. It would have been so easy for her to close her eyes with relief as we left the room, take her pain medication, and sink back onto her pillow, but she made a valiant effort to reassure me because she could see that I was struggling.

• From Lower than the Angels: A History of Sex and Christianity (2024)

  I co-edited the Journal of Ecclesiastical History for two decades from 1995. That journal, leader in its field worldwide, publishes around three hundred book reviews a year, commissioned by the editors from experts across the entire range of Church history: a superb resource of up-to-date discussion which I have found a sure guide in formulating the structure of my historical narratives. The present editorial team continues to be a source of friendship, fun and wisdom. Likewise, my fellow judges of the Wolfson Prize and our admirable support team have prompted both enjoyable discussions and a constant reminder to spread my sights across the whole field of historical publication beyond my own arbitrary interests. At Penguin Press, Stuart Proffitt’s warm encouragement, expert editing and constant interest in the enterprise have remained essential to its completion, together with many Penguin colleagues, notably Richard Duguid. Cecilia Mackay has brought her usual energy and skill to enrich my choice of illustrations. At an early stage in my preparation of this book came the death of my long-standing literary agent, Felicity Bryan: so much more than an agent, as friend, motivator and inspiration. Her zest for life in general, and for the writing and publishing of books in particular, will remain in the affectionate memory of all who knew her; this book itself owes much to her encouragement and spirited championship of my proposal, and it is a privilege to dedicate this book to her memory and for those who love her. Her colleague and successor, Catherine Clarke, has been a continuing source of support and friendship, and I am delighted by the continuing benevolent part that the fine folk at Felicity Bryan Associates play in my enterprises. Finally, those who have taught me what little I understand about human relationships will know who they are, and why they deserve my gratitude. Diarmaid MacCulloch St Cross College and Campion Hall Oxford, February 2024

• From Lower than the Angels: A History of Sex and Christianity (2024)

  Acknowledgements Hardly had my reading for this book begun in 2020 when the world was plunged into lockdown. It was a particular pleasure in those peculiar conditions to enjoy the virtual or carefully regulated face-to-face company of my colleagues and friends at Campion Hall Oxford, who in my retirement from the Oxford Theology and Religion Faculty had generously elected me to a Fellowship at the Hall, complete with study space. Their hospitality afforded pleasant hours contemplating angels proudly bearing rifles, in the delightful collection of Cuzco art donated to the Hall by Prof. Peter Davidson. I extend my thanks to all at Campion for their welcome and conversation, alongside my continuing happy association with St Cross College over three decades, now as Emeritus Fellow. Although I take full responsibility for both the reading and research I have done and for the conclusions I have drawn, I was very lucky to have expert and enthusiastic assistance from Dr Anna Chrysostomides and Dr Rachel Dryden, specialists in Orthodox and Oriental Orthodox Christianity, who drew up bibliographies for me on some of the topics investigated in this book. What an unalloyed pleasure it was to work with them and enjoy their learning and friendship: it was a privilege to discuss this material with them, and they hugely enriched what I have been able to write. I am deeply grateful to the British Academy Small Grants Fund, supported by the Leverhulme Trust, for providing funding for that research assistance. I am also grateful to friends and colleagues for fruitful conversations and advice, of whom these are especially to be thanked, while exempt from blame for remaining faults: Lindsay Allason-Jones, Sarah Apetrei, Nick Austin, Matthew Bemand-Qureshi, John Blair, Averil Cameron, Sarah Caro, Martin Carver, Mark Chapman, Sophie Grace Chappell, Sarah Coakley, Katy Cubitt, Brian Cummings, Peter Davidson, Bea Groves, Peter Groves, Helena Hamerow, Michael Harazin, Martin Henig, Judith Herrin, David Hilliard, Ronald Hutton, Isidoros Katsos, Jim Keenan, Tim Lavy, Philip Lindholm, Jack Mahoney, Noel Malcolm, Rachel Rafael Neis, Nicholas Orme, Aristotle Papanikolaou, David Parker, Ken Parker, John Paton, Glyn Redworth, Malise Ruthven, Alison Salvesen, Josephine Seccombe, Gemma Simmonds, Michael Snape, Guy Stroumsa, Susan Walker, Robin Ward, William Whyte, Christopher Woods and Simon Yarrow. In addition, Sam Baddeley, John Barton, John Blair, Katy Cubitt, Sue Gillingham, Paula Gooder, Helen King and Judith Maltby kindly read all or part of my text and made invaluable suggestions. I learned much from the late John Boswell and the late Alan Bray, brave and pioneering scholars whom I would dearly love to have known longer. As ever, I am hugely grateful to the support provided even for retired University staff by the Oxford library system and its heroic staff members, from Bodley’s librarian onwards. What a luxury it is to enjoy this association. All through my three decades in Oxford, I have also luxuriated in the range of our graduate seminars and the welcome I received into their specialist deliberations.

• From Lower than the Angels: A History of Sex and Christianity (2024)

  When Arianism was ousted from imperial Christianity by ‘Catholics’ such as Bishop Ambrose of Milan, the Germanic peoples moving into the Empire continued proudly to wear their version of Christian faith as a badge of cultural identity over against Romans. Right up to the end of the sixth century, the Germanic successor-kingdoms to the Western Empire, from Spain to the Alps and the Adriatic, were primarily Arian in leadership. Gaul, the modern region of France, proved the crucial exception. Clovis, King of the Franks from 481, certainly dallied with Arian Christianity, and members of his family opted for Arianism. [3] Nevertheless, Clovis married a Catholic wife, and, besides that incentive, his beliefs were focused by his military victories, like the Emperor Constantine before him. Clovis attributed his success in battle to the charismatic saint of the West who had been first a soldier like himself and then a wonder-working (and Catholic) bishop, Martin of Tours. A fascination with both the Roman imperial heritage around him and its local saintly champion tilted Clovis’s Christian beliefs towards the faith of his wife and of the Bishop of Rome. Later popes have been duly grateful ever since; Francia under the ‘Merovingian’ dynasty of Clovis set patterns in reshaping Western Christian monarchy into a Catholic mould, from the Mediterranean to Europe’s furthest north. Until then, Germanic and surviving Roman cultures had uneasily coexisted side by side in much of the former Western Empire, Catholic Christians acknowledging the dominance of their Germanic masters rather as Eastern Christians acquiesced in the Caliphate. [4] When Western Roman imperial institutions had collapsed, what was left of its administrative and social functions was in the hands of the Catholic Church. That included the conservation of the Classical literary and philosophical heritage, which from the mid-sixth century survived in a perilously fragile condition: survival was a matter of copying and recopying perishable manuscripts, and alarmingly few manuscripts can be dated as the work of copyists over the next two hundred years. The surviving literature was largely in the care of monks and nuns. Thanks to Jerome’s rhetorical sleight of hand in adding scholarship to the rigours of monastic life (above, Chapter 8), enough monastic libraries and readers remained to carry forward what portions of Classical knowledge they cared to preserve, when the libraries of villas, towns and schools crumbled into dust. Fortunately for Western civilization, the next half-millennium revealed the vigour of its monastic life. Much came eventually to be structured by the Rule devised in the sixth century for Italian monasteries, the work of Benedict of Nursia and monastic predecessors going back to the much-travelled Easterner John Cassian a century earlier. Benedict’s Rule itself might be contained on a single skin of parchment, and its brevity was the key to its eventual success, because it could be creatively developed, particularly when its commands to ‘labour and pray’ extended to embrace a monastic vocation to study and preserve past wisdom.