Joy

Passages

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

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• From The Laws of Human Nature (2018)

  At such moments, your mind will be naturally filled with all kinds of information and practice, ripe for a peak experience. Second, you must plan on giving yourself uninterrupted time with the work—as many hours in the day as possible, and as many days in the week. For this purpose, you have to rigorously eliminate the usual level of distractions, even plan on disappearing for a period of time. Think of it as a type of religious retreat. Steve Jobs would close the door to his office, spend the entire day holed up in the room, and wait until he fell into a state of deep focus. Once you become adept at this, you can do it almost anywhere. Einstein would notoriously go into such a deep state of absorption that he would lose himself in the city streets or while sailing on a lake. Third, the emphasis must be on the work, never on yourself or the desire for recognition. You are fusing your mind with the work itself, and any intrusive thoughts from your ego or doubts about yourself or personal obsessions will interrupt the flow. Not only will you find this flow immensely therapeutic, but it will also yield uncannily creative results. For the time period that the actress Ingrid Bergman was engaged in a particular film project, she poured every ounce of her energy into it, forgetting everything else about her life. Unlike other actors, who gave greater importance to the money they earned or the attention they received, Bergman saw only the opportunity to completely embody the role she was to play and bring it to life. For this purpose, she would engage with the writers and the director involved, actively altering the role itself and some of the dialogue, making it more real; they would trust her in this, because her ideas were almost always excellent and were based on deep thinking about the character. Once she had gone far enough in the writing and thinking process, she would go through days or weeks feeling herself fuse with the role, and not interacting with others. In doing so, she could forget about all the pain in her life—the loss of her parents when she was young, her abusive husband. These were the moments of genuine joy in her life, and she translated such peak experiences to the screen. Audiences could sense something profoundly realistic in her performances, and they identified unusually intensely with the characters she played. Knowing she would periodically have such experiences, and the results that went with them, kept her moving past the pain and sacrifices that she demanded of herself. Look at this as a form of religious devotion to your life’s work. Such devotion will eventually yield moments of union with the work itself, and a type of ecstasy that is impossible to verbalize until you have experienced it.

• From On Earth We're Briefly Gorgeous (2019)

  We had eggs sautéed in diced tomatoes and fish sauce over rice for dinner. I was wearing a grey-red plaid button-up from L.L.Bean. You were in the kitchen, washing up, humming. The TV was on, playing a rerun of Rugrats, Lan clapping to the animated show. One of the bulbs in the bathroom buzzed, the wattage too strong for the socket. You wanted to go buy new ones at the drugstore but decided to wait for your wages from the salon so we could also get a box of Ensure for Lan. You were okay that day. You even smiled twice through the cigarette smoke. I remember it. I remember it all because how can you forget anything about the day you first found yourself beautiful? I turned the shower off and, instead of toweling and dressing before the steam on the door mirror cleared, like I normally would, I waited. It was an accident, my beauty revealed to me. I was daydreaming, thinking about the day before, of Trevor and me behind the Chevy, and had stood in the tub with the water off for too long. By the time I stepped out, the boy before the mirror stunned me. Who was he? I touched the face, its sallow cheeks. I felt my neck, the braid of muscles sloped to collarbones that jutted into stark ridges. The scraped-out ribs sunken as the skin tried to fill its irregular gaps, the sad little heart rippling underneath like a trapped fish. The eyes that wouldn’t match, one too open, the other dazed, slightly lidded, cautious of whatever light was given it. It was everything I hid from, everything that made me want to be a sun, the only thing I knew that had no shadow. And yet, I stayed. I let the mirror hold those flaws—because for once, drying, they were not wrong to me but something that was wanted, that was sought and found among a landscape as enormous as the one I had been lost in all this time. Because the thing about beauty is that it’s only beautiful outside of itself. Seen through a mirror, I viewed my body as another, a boy a few feet away, his expression unmoved, daring the skin to remain as it was, as if the sun, setting, was not already elsewhere, was not in Ohio. I got what I wanted—a boy swimming toward me. Except I was no shore, Ma. I was driftwood trying to remember what I had broken from to get here. —

• From The Laws of Human Nature (2018)

  Feeling a part of that tenuous experiment of life is a kind of reverse grandiosity—you are not disturbed by your relative smallness but rather ecstatic at the sense of being a drop in this ocean. Then, overwhelmed by the afflictions I suffered in connection with my sons, I sent again and inquired of the god what I should do to pass the rest of my life most happily; and he answered me: “Knowing thyself, O Croesus—thus shall you live and be happy.” . . . [But] spoiled by the wealth I had and by those who were begging me to become their leader, by the gifts they gave me and by the people who flattered me, saying that if I would consent to take command they would all obey me and I should be the greatest of men—puffed up by such words, when all the princes round about chose me to be their leader in the war, I accepted the command, deeming myself fit to be the greatest; but, as it seems, I did not know myself. For I thought I was capable of carrying on war against you; but I was no match for you. . . . Therefore, as I was thus without knowledge, I have my just deserts. —Xenophon, The Education of Cyrus A 12 Reconnect to the Masculine or Feminine Within You The Law of Gender Rigidity ll of us have masculine and feminine qualities—some of this is genetic, and some of it comes from the profound influence of the parent of the opposite sex. But in the need to present a consistent identity in society, we tend to repress these qualities, overidentifying with the masculine or feminine role expected of us. And we pay a price for this. We lose valuable dimensions to our character. Our thinking and ways of acting become rigid. Our relationships with members of the opposite sex suffer as we project onto them our own fantasies and hostilities. You must become aware of these lost masculine or feminine traits and slowly reconnect to them, unleashing creative powers in the process. You will become more fluid in your thinking. In bringing out the masculine or feminine undertone to your character, you will fascinate people by being authentically yourself. Do not play the expected gender role, but rather create the one that suits you. The Authentic Gender As a young girl, Caterina Sforza dreamed of great deeds that she would be a part of as a member of the illustrious Sforza family of Milan. Born in 1463, Caterina was the daughter out of wedlock of a beautiful Milanese noblewoman and Galeazzo Maria Sforza, who became Duke of Milan upon the death of his father in 1466. As duke, Galeazzo ordered that his daughter be brought into the castle, Porta Giovia, where he lived with his new wife, and that she be raised like any legitimate member of the Sforza family.

• From Stone Butch Blues (1993)

  She nodded to silence me. “Yes, I do know, but it came out just fine.” We both noticed Duffy standing nearby, waiting to congratulate me. “You were right, Jess,” he told me, as he pumped my hand. “The union did win the game. My first instincts were wrong, I’m sorry.” I got myself an ice-cold beer and a piece of fried chicken and sat down alone under a tree. The air was hot, the breeze was cool. I felt on top of the world. 96 Leslie Feinberg JIM BONEY DIDN’T SHOW UP for work on Monday. I was glad. I wouldn’t have admitted this to anyone, but I was still scared of him. So when he called in sick Monday morning I walked around the plant feeling a little smug. Jack pulled me off the line and led me to a die cutter, which punched school flashcards into the shape of decks. Normally one of the guys used a powerful air hose to blow away the trim before it jammed the machine. “The air hose is being fixed,” Jack shouted over the roar of the machinery. “You assist Jan when she needs help loading her skids. Every once in a while, you brush the shit off the press, like this.” He ran his hand across the face of the die cutter in the split second between punches. “Don’t let it jam,” he warned me, before he walked away. Jan looked at the machine and back at me. “Be cateful,” she cautioned. I watched the die cutter punch the decks, trying to learn its rhythm like a song. My hand darted out and quickly brushed some of the trim away. I got most of it. My hands were trembling. When you work around machines you grow to respect their mesmerizing power. I tried to stay in sync with the punch press. Just once my hand was slow. Just once was all it took. It happened so fast. One moment my fingers were all connected to me. The next moment I could feel my ring finger lying against my palm. My blood spurted in an arc across the machine, the decks of catds stacked on skids, and the wall in front of me. I tried not to look at my left hand, but I did. My stomach heaved before my mind could even understand what my eyes saw. I couldn’t have been heard over the thunder of the machines, but it didn’t matter. I couldn’t make a sound. Everything took place in slow motion. Jan waved her arms and shouted. People came near but froze in horror. It occurred to me I should go to the hospital. I knew I couldn’t drive my motorcycle. As I walked to the door I wondered if I had enough bus fare. Walter and Duffy ran after me. The next thing I remember was being in a car. Walter had his arm around me. Duffy was driving and

• From Born a Crime: Stories from a South African Childhood (2016)

  Can’t you see?” My mom shook her head. “Poor little colored boy lost his mother. What a shame.” I panicked. Was I crazy? Is she not my mother? I started bawling. “You’re my mother. You’re my mother. She’s my mother. She’s my mother.” She shrugged again. “So sad. I hope he finds his mother.” The cashier nodded. She paid him, took our groceries, and walked out of the shop. I dropped the toffee apple, ran out behind her in tears, and caught up to her at the car. She turned around, laughing hysterically, like she’d really got me good. “Why are you crying?” she asked. “Because you said you weren’t my mother. Why did you say you weren’t my mother?” “Because you wouldn’t shut up about the toffee apple. Now get in the car. Let’s go.” By the time I was seven or eight, I was too smart to be tricked, so she changed tactics. Our life turned into a courtroom drama with two lawyers constantly debating over loopholes and technicalities. My mom was smart and had a sharp tongue, but I was quicker in an argument. She’d get flustered because she couldn’t keep up. So she started writing me letters. That way she could make her points and there could be no verbal sparring back and forth. If I had chores to do, I’d come home to find an envelope slipped under the door, like from the landlord. Dear Trevor, “Children, obey your parents in everything, for this pleases the Lord.” —Colossians 3:20 There are certain things I expect from you as my child and as a young man. You need to clean your room. You need to keep the house clean. You need to look after your school uniform. Please, my child, I ask you. Respect my rules so that I may also respect you. I ask you now, please go and do the dishes and do the weeds in the garden. Yours sincerely, Mom I would do my chores, and if I had anything to say I would write back. Because my mom was a secretary and I spent hours at her office every day after school, I’d learned a great deal about business correspondence. I was extremely proud of my letter-writing abilities. To Whom It May Concern: Dear Mom, I have received your correspondence earlier. I am delighted to say that I am ahead of schedule on the dishes and I will continue to wash them in an hour or so. Please note that the garden is wet and so I cannot do the weeds at this time, but please be assured this task will be completed by the end of the weekend. Also, I completely agree with what you are saying with regard to my respect levels and I will maintain my room to a satisfactory standard.

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

  I answer that, The pleasure of contemplation can be understood in two ways. In one way, so that contemplation is the cause, but not the object of pleasure: and then pleasure is taken not in contemplating but in the thing contemplated. Now it is possible to contemplate something harmful and sorrowful, just as to contemplate something suitable and pleasant. Consequently if the pleasure of contemplation be taken in this way, nothing hinders some sorrow being contrary to the pleasure of contemplation. In another way, the pleasure of contemplation is understood, so that contemplation is its object and cause; as when one takes pleasure in the very act of contemplating. And thus, according to Gregory of Nyssa [*Nemesius, De Nat. Hom. xviii.], “no sorrow is contrary to that pleasure which is about contemplation”: and the Philosopher says the same (Topic. i, 13; Ethic. x, 3). This, however, is to be understood as being the case properly speaking. The reason is because sorrow is of itself contrary to pleasure in a contrary object: thus pleasure in heat is contrary to sorrow caused by cold. But there is no contrary to the object of contemplation: because contraries, as apprehended by the mind, are not contrary, but one is the means of knowing the other. Wherefore, properly speaking, there cannot be a sorrow contrary to the pleasure of contemplation. Nor has it any sorrow annexed to it, as bodily pleasures have, which are like remedies against certain annoyances; thus a man takes pleasure in drinking through being troubled with thirst, but when the thirst is quite driven out, the pleasure of drinking ceases also. Because the pleasure of contemplation is not caused by one’s being quit of an annoyance, but by the fact that contemplation is pleasant in itself: for pleasure is not a “becoming” but a perfect operation, as stated above ([1303]Q[31], A[1]).

• From Stone Butch Blues (1993)

  “T didn’t mean anything by it,’ Hazel said. “TI just think—” Anne cut in. “Hazel, eat your pie.” > y' I rolled my eyes with pleasure. “Did you make this pie?” Hazel smiled. “Anne makes the best elderberry pie in the Valley. You could ask anybody. You ever taste a pie that good?” Ruth dropped her eyes. “Well,” I said, “P’ve eaten Ruth’s elderberry pie.” I looked around nervously to see if I'd upset anyone by using the name I knew my friend by. Ruth shrugged. “I must say, ma’am, I can taste the family inspiration in your child’s pie.” “Well, that was some fancy footwork.” Anne smiled as I devoured the pie. Hazel rocked with laughter. “Anne, do you remember the time you shot your first deer?” Hazel began the story. “She was a city girl when she married my brother Cody. First winter she was here, she was hardly good for nothing. I’m going back fifty years now. So over breakfast one morning, my brother tells her he’s gonna go hunting. He told her that deer meat would help see them through the winter and sooner or later she’d have to learn to prepare it. I had told her I'd show her how. But she was willful. She told Cody: Tl shoot the damn deer. That’s the easy part. You clean the damn thing!’ Well, my brother just laughed and went upstairs to shave.” Anne picked up the story. “So, I was washing dishes, right over there,” she pointed. “I was wondering what the hell Pd gotten myself into marrying this man in the first place. Anyhoo, I look out the kitchen window and I see this buck standing in the clearing outside. I didn’t even stop to think. I got one of Cody’s guns and I shot that deer. I ran outside and started dragging it by the antlers. It was heavy, but I was so damn mad at Cody I had the strength of a bull. Cody comes downstairs a few minutes later and there’s a buck on the kitchen floor. I told him, ‘Now you clean the damn thing,” I knew laugher had rolled around the kitchen this way all weekend long. “Oh, I wish Pd a camera to show you Cody’s face. I can see it now.” Anne hooted. Her smile trembled. “I wish you could have met him,” she told me. “I think you would have liked him a lot. He was a real good man.” She sighed. “You want some more pie?” I nodded emphatically. Ruth shook her head. “You're gonna be puking purple all over the car.” Anne put her hands on her hips. “This boy’s not leaving this valley without tasting my grape pie.” I held up my hands in surrender. “Yes, ma’am.” “That’s better,” she said, putting an even larger slab of pie in front of me. Stone Butch Blues 319

• From Stone Butch Blues (1993)

  All the drag queens were there: Justine and Peaches and Georgetta. Butch Al was there, and Ed. There were a few other people nearby, but shadows covered their faces. I discovered Rocco sitting next to me. She reached forward and stroked my cheek. I touched my own face. I felt the rough stubble of beard. I ran my hand across the flat plain of my chest. I felt happy in my body, comfortable among friends. ‘Wheres the others?” I asked. Justine nodded. “E:veryone’s going in different directions.” AA sense of loss washed over me. ‘Well never find each other again.” Peaches laughed gently. ‘Well find each other, child. Dont you worry.” I leaned forward and squeezed Peaches’ hand in mine. “Phase dont forget me. Please dont any of you forget me. I dont want to disappear.” Peaches put her arm around my shoulder and pulled me closer. “You're one of us, child. You abvays will be.” I felt panicky. “Do I really belong here with youe” Affectionate laughter rose to answer my question. One by one each person in the hut hugged me. I felt safe and loved in their arms. I looked up. The hut had no roof. The stars winked on and off like fireflies. The air was cool and scented with eucalyptus. I crossed my legs in front of the fire and warmed myself in Pleasure. ‘Wheres Theresa?” I asked. I woke up without hearing the answer. “Honey, wake up. Please.” I shook Theresa gently. She lifted her head off the pillow. “What is it, Jess? What’s wrong?” “T just had this really amazing dream.” Theresa rubbed her eyes. “I was in a place that felt very old, out in the woods. I was with Peaches and Justine and Georgetta. And Rocco was sitting next to me.” I didn’t know how to describe the feeling of the dream to Theresa. “I felt like I belonged with them, you know?” I could feel Theresa’s hand sweep once gently across the back of my T-shirt, then she began to drift back to sleep. “Theresa,” I shook her, insistently. She moaned. “I forgot to tell you this part. In the dream I had a beard and my chest was flat. It made me so happy. It was like a part of me that I can’t explain, you know?” Theresa shook her head. “What’s it mean, honey?” I crushed my cigarette. “It was about something old in me. It was about growing up different. All my life I didn’t want to feel different. But in the dream I liked it and I was with other people who were different like me.” Theresa nodded. “But you told me that’s how you felt when you found the bars.”

• From Stone Butch Blues (1993)

  me, but she restrained herself. So did I. I kissed the cheek she offered me. I saw Grant near the jukebox. A moment later I heard “Stand By Your Man” playing. Thanks, Grant. I asked Theresa to dance. She took her time smoothing my collar and adjusting my tie before she led me to the dance floor. We moved beautifully together. Meg told me later we looked as good as Ginger Rogers and Fred Astaire. All the while we were dancing, Theresa traced the back of my neck above my collar with her fingernails. She was driving me mad. I guess that was the point. I know I was driving her crazy, too, but I was being very, very careful doing it. Sometimes when you just move a little, carefully, it’s a whole lot more powerful than grinding, When the song finished I let go of her, but Theresa pulled me back. “I wasn’t trying to be mean to you at the plant. Did you think I was?” “No, it felt good.” She smiled. “TI don’t think I was very nice to you. I was just teasing you, to get your attention. I liked you.” I blushed. “Nobody ever flirted with me outside a bar before—I mean in the real world, you know? It made me feel normal.” She nodded like she really understood. We talked for a while about out lives. She was a rural girl from Appleton. She came right out and told me she got friends to drive her to this bar just to look for me. Then someone tapped Theresa on the shoulder. The women she rode to Buffalo with were leaving. She took my face in both her hands and kissed my mouth. I blushed from head to toe. She stood back and grinned at my color, proud of her work. “Tl make you dinner at my house next Saturday night if you want,” she offered. “You're on,” I said, still blushing. She scribbled her phone number down on a cocktail napkin. “Call me,” she shouted over her shoulder. “You can bet on it,” I answered. I was still blushing. You would have thought I’d won the Kentucky Derby the way everybody came over to congratulate me. I felt like a million bucks. I just wondered if P’d ever stop blushing. It took me all day Saturday to get ready—pick out the right clothes, bathe, shower, shower again. Then there were questions like which tie, cologne or no cologne? Something so sweet took a lot of care. I brought Theresa daffodils. When I handed them to her, her eyes filled with tears. I had a feeling nobody had treated her like someone special before. I silently vowed to always make her feel that way.

• From In the Dream House (2019)

  In Virginia, you ride horses through the woods and watch the sunrise over the Shenandoah mountains. The wedding is beautiful. At the reception, you all crowd into a photobooth. You don gloves. You hold a monocle over your eye. You cock a pipe against your lips. You drink, you dance. You love the way she bops on the dance floor, the dance of someone who has joy in her body. After the wedding you have to rip her little black dress off her body because the zipper is broken and you are both drunk and stoned and laughing. The next day, after you say good-bye to your friends, you sit in the car in the parking lot as she talks at you—your friends hate me, they’re jealous. An hour later you are still there, your head bent tearily against the window. The new bride walks by and notices you in your car. You see her slow down, her face crimped with puzzlement and concern. You shake your head ever so slightly, and she looks uncertain but mercifully she keeps walking so you can endure your punishment in peace. By the time you’ve wound out of the mountains and gotten back to a freeway, the bite of the fight has sweetened; whiskey unraveled by ice. Dream House as House in FloridaYou visit her parents’ house in the southernmost part of Florida. You fought the whole way down—at the Dulles airport she made you cry at a Sam Adams–branded restaurant and several strangers looked over with judgment as you pressed a napkin against your face like a consumptive—and you are relieved to be there. She has an ancient cat who immediately tries to bite you. Her mother is birdlike, too thin, and you are worried—for her, for yourself. Her father shows up later, pours himself a generously sized cocktail. Her family is funny and mean. They are different from your family, who you feel have never appreciated your mind. And there is only her and her two parents and you are jealous; there is no other word for it. They feed you. Chicken and Israeli couscous and cookies and kalamata olives and a bean salad with so much dill. Seafood and risotto and fresh fruit. You laugh. “Maybe we should move here,” you say, and her mother smiles brightly, and for a moment you feel like a scene in a movie, a boyfriend being plied by the culinary arts of the mother of your lover. You never see her mother eat, not once. “If you go out for a walk later,” her father says, drinking his third martini, “make sure you watch out for alligators.” “Alligators?” you repeat in alarm. “They probably wouldn’t attack you,” he says. The glass is, suddenly, empty. “Probably.”

• From Blue Like Jazz (2003)

  After I repented, things were different, but the difference wasn’t with my friend, the difference was with me. I was happy. Before, I had all this negative tension flipping around in my gut, all this judgmentalism and pride and loathing of other people. I hated it, and now I was set free. I was free to love. I didn’t have to discipline anybody, I didn’t have to judge anybody, I could treat everybody as though they were my best friend, as though they were rock stars or famous poets, as though they were amazing, and to me they became amazing, especially my new friend. I loved him. After I decided to let go of judging him, I discovered he was very funny. I mean, really hilarious. I kept telling him how funny he was. And he was smart. Quite brilliant, really. I couldn’t believe that I had never seen it before. I felt as though I had lost an enemy and gained a brother. And then he began to change. It didn’t matter to me whether he did or not, but he did. He began to get a little more serious about God. He gave up television for a period of time as a sort of fast. He started praying and got regular about going to church. He was a great human being getting even better. I could feel God’s love for him. I loved the fact that it wasn’t my responsibility to change somebody, that it was God’s, that my part was just to communicate love and approval. When I am talking to somebody there are always two conversations going on. The first is on the surface; it is about politics or music or whatever it is our mouths are saying. The other is beneath the surface, on the level of the heart, and my heart is either communicating that I like the person I am talking to or I don’t. God wants both conversations to be true. That is, we are supposed to speak truth in love. If both conversations are not true, God is not involved in the exchange, we are on our own, and on our own, we will lead people astray. The Bible says that if you talk to somebody with your mouth, and your heart does not love them, that you are like a person standing there smashing two cymbals together. You are only annoying everybody around you. I think that is very beautiful and true. Now, since Greg Spencer told me about truth, when I go to meet somebody, I pray that God will help me feel His love for them. I ask God to make it so both conversations, the one from the mouth and the one from the heart, are true. 19 Love How to Really Love Yourself

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

  On the contrary, Happiness is the reward of virtue; wherefore it is written (Jn. 13:17): “You shall be blessed, if you do them.” But the reward promised to the saints is not only that they shall see and enjoy God, but also that their bodies shall be well-disposed; for it is written (Is. 66:14): “You shall see and your heart shall rejoice, and your bones shall flourish like a herb.” Therefore good disposition of the body is necessary for Happiness. I answer that, If we speak of that happiness which man can acquire in this life, it is evident that a well-disposed body is of necessity required for it. For this happiness consists, according to the Philosopher (Ethic. i, 13) in “an operation according to perfect virtue”; and it is clear that man can be hindered, by indisposition of the body, from every operation of virtue. But speaking of perfect Happiness, some have maintained that no disposition of body is necessary for Happiness; indeed, that it is necessary for the soul to be entirely separated from the body. Hence Augustine (De Civ. Dei xxii, 26) quotes the words of Porphyry who said that “for the soul to be happy, it must be severed from everything corporeal.” But this is unreasonable. For since it is natural to the soul to be united to the body; it is not possible for the perfection of the soul to exclude its natural perfection. Consequently, we must say that perfect disposition of the body is necessary, both antecedently and consequently, for that Happiness which is in all ways perfect. Antecedently, because, as Augustine says (Gen. ad lit. xii, 35), “if body be such, that the governance thereof is difficult and burdensome, like unto flesh which is corruptible and weighs upon the soul, the mind is turned away from that vision of the highest heaven.” Whence he concludes that, “when this body will no longer be ‘natural,’ but ‘spiritual,’ then will it be equalled to the angels, and that will be its glory, which erstwhile was its burden.” Consequently, because from the Happiness of the soul there will be an overflow on to the body, so that this too will obtain its perfection. Hence Augustine says (Ep. ad Dioscor.) that “God gave the soul such a powerful nature that from its exceeding fulness of happiness the vigor of incorruption overflows into the lower nature.” Reply to Objection 1: Happiness does not consist in bodily good as its object: but bodily good can add a certain charm and perfection to Happiness. Reply to Objection 2: Although the body has not part in that operation of the intellect whereby the Essence of God is seen, yet it might prove a hindrance thereto. Consequently, perfection of the body is necessary, lest it hinder the mind from being lifted up.

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

  And I am glad for your sakes that I was not there, that ye might believe; i. e. seeing My marvellous power of knowing a thing I have neither seen nor heard. The disciples already believed in Him in consequence of His miracles; so that their faith had not now to begin, but only to increase. That ye might believe, means, believe more deeply, more firmly. THEOPHYLACT. Some have understood this place thus. I rejoice, He says, for your sakes; for if I had been there, I should have only cured a sick man; which is but an inferior sign of power. But since in My absence he has died, ye will now see that I can raise even the dead putrefying body; and your faith will be strengthened. CHRYSOSTOM. (Hom. lxii. 2) The disciples all dreaded the Jews; and especially Thomas; Then said Thomas, which is called Didymus, unto his fellow-disciples, Let us also go, that we may die with him. But he who was now the most weak and unbelieving of all the disciples, afterwards became stronger than any. And he who dared not go to Bethany, afterwards went over the whole earth, in the midst of those who wished his death, with a spirit indomitable. BEDE. The disciples, checked by our Lord’s answer to them, dared no longer oppose; and Thomas, more forward than the rest, says, Let us also go that we may die with him. What an appearance of firmness! He speaks as if he could really do what he said; unmindful, like Peter, of his frailty. 11:17–2717. Then when Jesus came, he found that he had lain in the grave four days already. 18. Now Bethany was nigh unto Jerusalem, about fifteen furlongs off: 19. And many of the Jews came to Martha and Mary, to comfort them concerning their brother. 20. Then Martha, as soon as she heard that Jesus was coming, went and met him: but Mary sat still in the house. 21. Then said Martha unto Jesus, Lord, if thou hadst been here, my brother had not died. 22. But I know, that even now, whatsoever thou wilt ask of God, God will give it thee. 23. Jesus saith unto her, Thy brother shall rise again. 24. Martha saith unto him, I know that he shall rise again in the resurrection at the last day. 25. Jesus said unto her, I am the resurrection, and the life: he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live: 26. And whosoever liveth and believeth in me shall never die. Believest thou this? 27. She saith unto him, Yea, Lord: I believe that thou art the Christ, the Son of God, which should come into the world. ALCUIN. Our Lord delayed His coming for four days, that the resurrection of Lazarus might be the more glorious: Then when Jesus came, He found that He had lain in the grave four days already.

• From The Laws of Human Nature (2018)

  She could indulge herself in all of her natural interests—in her case, fashion and the arts. In her physical training, she could give free rein to her own bold and adventurous spirit. In this early education, she could bring out the many different sides of her character. And so when she entered public life at the age of ten, she naturally drifted beyond that restricted circle imposed on women. She could play many roles. As a dutiful Sforza, she could be the loyal wife. Naturally empathetic and caring, she could be the devoted mother. She felt great pleasure in being the most fashionable and beautiful young woman at the papal court. But when the actions of her husband appeared to doom her and her family, she felt herself called to play another role. Trained to think for herself and inspired by her father, she could turn into the daring soldier, bringing an entire city under her control. She could become the keen strategist, plotting several moves ahead in a crisis. She could lead her troops, sword in hand. As a young girl she had fantasized about playing these various roles, and it felt natural and deeply satisfying to do so in real life. We could say of Caterina that she had a feminine spirit with a pronounced masculine undertone, the reverse of her father. And these feminine and masculine traits were blended together, giving her a unique style of thinking and acting. When it came to ruling, she displayed a high degree of empathy, something quite unusual for the time. When plague struck Forlì, she comforted the sick, at great risk to her own life. She was willing to suffer the worst conditions in prison to safeguard the inheritance for her children, a rare act of self- sacrifice for a person of power. But at the same time she was a shrewd and tough negotiator, and she had no tolerance for the incompetent or the weak. She was ambitious and proud of it. In conflicts, she always strategized to outwit her aggressive male opponents and avoid bloodshed. With Cesare Borgia, she tried to lure him onto the drawbridge using her feminine wiles; later, she tried to lure him deeper and deeper into the castle, trapping him in a protracted battle, giving her allies plenty of time to rescue her. She nearly succeeded in both efforts. This ability to play many different roles, to blend the masculine with the feminine, was the source of her power. The only time she relinquished this was in her marriage to Giacomo Feo. When she fell in love with Feo, she was in a highly vulnerable position. The pressures on her had been immense—dealing with a hopeless and abusive husband, surviving the numerous pregnancies that had worn her down, holding together the tenuous political alliances she had built up. And so suddenly experiencing Feo’s adoring attention, it was natural for her to seek a respite from her burdens, to relinquish power and control for love.

• From On Earth We're Briefly Gorgeous (2019)

  I squint. It’s not a monarch—just a weak white blur ready to die in the first frost. But I know the monarchs are close by, their orange-and-black wings folded, dusted, and baked by heat, ready to flee south. Strand by strand twilight stitches our edges deep red. — One night back in Saigon, two days after we buried Lan, I heard the sound of tinny music and the pitched voice of children through the hotel balcony. It was nearly two in the morning. You were still asleep on the mattress beside me. I got up, slipped on my sandals, and walked out. The hotel was in an alley. My eyes adjusting to the fluorescent tube lights hung along the wall, I made my way toward the music. The night blazed up before me. People were suddenly everywhere, a kaleidoscope of colors, garments, limbs, the glint of jewelry and sequins. Vendors were selling fresh coconuts, cut mangoes, rice cakes pressed into gooey masses wrapped in banana leaves and steamed in large metal vats, sugarcane juice sold in sandwich bags cut at the corners, one of them now held by a boy who sucked from the plastic, beaming. A man, his arms nearly black from sun, squatted in the street. He worked over a cutting board no larger than his palm, halved a roasted chicken with a single deft cleaver blow, then distributed the slippery pieces to a flock of waiting kids. Between string lights hung low from balconies on each side of the street, I glimpsed a makeshift stage. On it, a group of elaborately dressed women gyrated, their arms colorful banners in the breeze, singing karaoke. Their voices broke off and floated down the street. Nearby, a small TV, propped on a plastic white dining table, displayed the lyrics to a Vietnamese pop song from the eighties. You’re already Vietnamese. I hovered closer, still dazed from sleep. It seemed the city had forgotten the time—or rather, forgotten time itself. From what I knew there was no holiday, no occasion for jubilation. In fact, just beyond the street, where the main road began, the roads were empty, quiet as they should’ve been at that hour. All the commotion was contained on a single block. Where people now laughed and sang. Children, some young as five, ran through swaying adults. Grandmothers in paisley and floral pajamas sat on plastic footstools by doorways chewing on toothpicks, whose heads stopped bobbing to the music only to shout at the kids around them. In the ground, Lan is already Vietnamese. It was only when I came close enough to see their features, the jutted and heavy jawlines, the low forward brows, did I realize the singers were in drag. Their sequined outfits of varying cuts and primary colors sparkled so intensely it seemed they were donning the very reduction of stars.

• From Paul and Matthew Among Jews and Gentiles: Essays in Honor of Terence L. Donaldson (2021)

  Paul and Matthew among Jews and Gentiles28 28 first part by saying that he writes in the hope of strengthening them so that they will be “blameless before our God and father at the arrival of our lord Jesus with all his holy ones” (3:13). He then responds to three concerns that have come up after his departure, presumably conveyed via Timothy. For the first and third of these, Paul can only restate what he already told them when he was present. What should you do while waiting for Christ’s return? Do what I told you, only more (4:1–2): pursue holiness and abstain from sexual sin, especially, each preserving your “vessel” and avoiding lust, while loving each other and minding your business (4:3–12). You ask me, “When will it happen?” As I told you, we don’t know (5:1–2). Just watch, wait, and be prepared, because we aim to be rescued and not face wrath (5:9; cf. 1:10). The only substantial insight Paul explicitly adds deals with their concern about believers who die before the consummate event. Here he provides information that he claims to have received from the risen Christ (4:15): anyone who dies beforehand will follow Christ’s own path, of death followed by resurrection. In fact, the “dead in Christ” will precede us, who remain alive, and we shall follow to meet them in the clouds. This news should console them (4:16–18). Paul closes the letter by reaffirming the main point (5:23–24): their spirit, mind, and body must be preserved “blamelessly intact at the arrival of our lord Jesus Christ. The one who calls you is trustworthy. He will do this!” The entire letter, brief as it is, thus aims to consolidate Paul’s bond with those in Thessalonica who have trusted The Announcement. Having worried that their trust might have faltered, in the face of abuse from their townsfolk (2:17–3:5), he expresses joy at Timothy’s good report (3:1–12) and reassures them. What does this first letter say about Paul’s ethnos, its laws and customs? Nothing noticeable: no Torah, circumcision, covenant, scripture citations, Judaean tradition, calendar, or diet. It is not clear that anything in that vein would have been relevant to The Announcement. Scholars today know that Christos originates from Hebrew Mashiach or Messiah, but no such knowledge was necessary to understand this letter’s use of Christos. 49 Indeed, nothing that Paul says about Christ in this letter requires biblical knowledge. He does not speak in Septuagintal tones about “idols” as a self-evident evil, or mention the second commandment in 1:9–10. He frames his followers’ move from mere “representations” (εἴδωλα) to the “living and true” God, in language perfectly intelligible to Greeks. Philosophers had long since contemplated the true God as against mere representations. Greeks also knew about children of gods being restored after their death or removal to the underworld (Dionysus-Osiris, Attis, Persephone). Paul had only to convince such audiences that God had raised the crucified Jesus Christ from death and made him their lord who would soon return for them—a belief that Lucian would ridicule as compelling only to the gullible in his Passing of Peregrinus. This Paul succeeded in doing, with at least a few followers, and the claim formed the heart of The Announcement. Although 1 Thess makes no call on biblical knowledge, its incidental reference to Judaeans is revealing. Expatiating on the abuse that Christ-followers in Hellas must endure before Christ calls them to heaven (1:6; 2:1; 3:3–4), Paul consoles them with

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

  Reply to Objection 2: Of sorrow and joy we may speak in two ways: first, as being passions of the sensitive appetite; and thus they can no. wise be together, since they are altogether contrary to one another, either on the part of the object (as when they have the same object), or at least on the part of the movement, for joy is with expansion [*Cf. [4729]FS, Q[33], A[1]] of the heart, whereas sorrow is with contraction; and it is in this sense that the Philosopher speaks in Ethic. ix. Secondly, we may speak of joy and sorrow as being simple acts of the will, to which something is pleasing or displeasing. Accordingly, they cannot be contrary to one another, except on the part of the object, as when they concern the same object in the same respect, in which way joy and sorrow cannot be simultaneous, because the same thing in the same respect cannot be pleasing and displeasing. If, on the other hand, joy and sorrow, understood thus, be not of the same object in the same respect, but either of different objects, or of the same object in different respects, in that case joy and sorrow are not contrary to one another, so that nothing hinders a man from being joyful and sorrowful at the same time—for instance, if we see a good man suffer, we both rejoice at his goodness and at the same time grieve for his suffering. In this way a man may be displeased at having sinned, and be pleased at his displeasure together with his hope for pardon, so that his very sorrow is a matter of joy. Hence Augustine says [*De vera et falsa Poenitentia, the authorship of which is unknown]: “The penitent should ever grieve and rejoice at his grief.” If, however, sorrow were altogether incompatible with joy, this would prevent the continuance, not of habitual penance, but only of actual penance. Reply to Objection 3: According to the Philosopher (Ethic. ii, 3,6,7,9) it belongs to virtue to establish the mean in the passions. Now the sorrow which, in the sensitive appetite of the penitent, arises from the displeasure of his will, is a passion; wherefore it should be moderated according to virtue, and if it be excessive it is sinful, because it leads to despair, as the Apostle teaches (2 Cor. 2:7), saying: “Lest such an one be swallowed up with overmuch sorrow.” Accordingly comfort, of which the Apostle speaks, moderates sorrow but does not destroy it altogether.

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

  CHRYSOSTOM. (Hom. 38. in Matt.) Now He does not rejoice and give thanks because the mysteries of God were hid from the Scribes and Pharisees, (for this were not a subject of rejoicing, but of lament,) but for this cause gives He thanks, that what the wise knew not, babes knew. But moreover He gives thanks to the Father, together with whom He Himself does this, to shew the great love wherewith He loves us. He explains in the next place, that the cause of this thing was first His own will and the Father’s, who of His own will did this. As it follows, Even so, Father; for so it seemed good in thy sight. GREGORY. (25. Moral. c. 14.) We receive these words as an example of humility, that we should not rashly presume to scan the heavenly counsel, concerning the calling of some, and the rejection of others; for that cannot be unjust which seemed good to the Just One. In all things therefore, externally disposed, the cause of the visible system is the justice of the hidden will. CHRYSOSTOM. (Hom. 38. in Matt.) But after He had said, I thank thee that thou hast revealed them to babes, lest you should suppose that Christ was destitute of the power to do this, He adds, All things are delivered to me of my Father. ATHANASIUS. (Tract. in Matt. 11:22.) The followers of Arius, not rightly understanding this, rave against our Lord, saying, If all things were given to him, that is, the dominion of the creatures, there was a time when He had them not, and so was not of the substance of the Father. For if He had been, there would be no need for Him to receive. But hereby is their madness the rather detected. For if before He had received them, the creature was independent of the Word, how will that verse stand, In him all things consist? (Col. 4:17.) But if as soon as the creatures were made, they were all given to Him, where was the need to give, for by him were all things made? (John 13.) The dominion of the creation is not then, as they think, here meant, but the words signify the dispensation made in the flesh. For after that man sinned, all things were confounded; the Word then was made flesh, that He might restore all things. All things therefore were given Him, not because He was wanting in power, but that as Saviour He should repair all things; that as by the Word all things at the beginning were brought into being, so when the Word was made flesh, He should restore all things in Himself. BEDE. Or by the words, All things are delivered to me, He means not the elements of the world, but those babes to whom by the Spirit the Father made known the Sacraments of His Son; and in whose salvation when He here spoke He was rejoicing.

• From In the Dream House (2019)

  Savannah is warm and fragrant. The trees drip with Spanish moss, and the water in the fountains is dyed green for St. Patrick’s Day. The Juliette Gordon Low house is a beautiful, rambling mansion crowded with antiques. Underneath the “Juliette Gordon Low Birthplace” sign that hangs over the entrance, she eggs you on into increasingly ridiculous poses; you are both giggling when you go inside. The ancient women staffing it, who are all wearing drag-queen lipstick and eye shadow, respond to your excited pronouncements about your love of Girl Scouting with silence. The tour is fascinating. Juliette, you think, sounds like a big dyke. The guide describes how she was constantly dissatisfied with her home—the furniture, the gate outside—so she just took on their design and modifications herself. She learned to smith metal. Why is it that badass women who don’t follow the rules always sound like lesbians to you? A psychiatrist would have a field day with that realization. (Though, in your defense, there is a portrait of her in a button-down top and with a hat like a park ranger’s and looking butch as hell hanging on the wall.) Afterward, the two of you walk through an old cemetery. She kisses you behind a mausoleum. She tries to get you to fuck her there, and you don’t want to out of respect for the dead, but she is so beautiful. Then an employee shows up and you rearrange yourselves quickly and leave, laughing. You drive to Tybee Island and order a platter of seafood—twisting open crayfish and swallowing scallops, eating nothing but the fruit of the sea. It is just mouthfuls of butter and water and salt and muscle. After the meal, you go to the beach and wade into the water. You see dolphins. Every so often, her phone rings, and she smiles and walks some distance away to tell Val about the trip. Even as she shrinks with distance, she waves at you. On your last day in town, a drunk man accosts you on the street. You are holding her hand when he comes up and grabs you. She shouts, “Let her go!” and does a martial arts move on his arm. He backs off in surprise, telling you to both go fuck yourselves, and staggers away. You tremble for the better part of the next hour. As you walk back to the car, she keeps apologizing for not intervening sooner. “Sooner than immediately?” you ask. “I saw him coming from a mile off. I saw what he was going to do,” she says. “I know this is new to you, but I’ve dated a lot of women. This is just par for the course. This is the risk you’re taking.” The drive home is wild, almost tweaked. You cover half the country—North Carolina to Chicago—in one day like fucking maniacs. You could, you think, drive forever and ever with her at your side.

• From In the Dream House (2019)

  She gets behind the wheel of your car, and you leave Iowa before the sun rises. You fall asleep almost immediately and when you wake it is snowing and she is speeding. You sit up, pick crust from the edges of your eyes. Road signs indicate that the lane is ending and she has to merge; she makes her move too late and hits a pothole at a diagonal. The tire blows. You are somewhere outside St. Louis. She pulls over; you call AAA. They come and put on the spare, and the guy recommends a place down the road to get a new tire. You do as he suggests, and when it’s done she takes the wheel again, but within a few miles back on the highway the new tire is flat too. You pull into a repair shop exclusively for eighteen-wheelers; there is something hysterical about your tiny Hyundai with all its liberal bumper stickers sitting among those behemoths. It is the early months of 2011; marriage equality is smoldering, catching fire in some states, doused with water in others. The Justice Department says it will no longer enforce the Defense of Marriage Act. Things are happening. As the two of you sit there, you start crying. You are embarrassed that your car has failed you so early in your journey. She apologizes, says it was her fault, and you tell her it wasn’t. “It’s not a great car,” you say, by way of explanation. She laughs. “I guess this is part of the adventure. And we haven’t even gotten there yet!” The mechanic seems to notice the two of you—that is to say, he notices your unbearable levels of queerness, the proximity of your bodies, the constellation formed by those details and the bumper stickers and, maybe, he just has a sixth sense—but he doesn’t say anything, for which you are grateful. He explains that the tire that was sold to you is full of huge, unpatchable holes. He’d put on a new one, but your car takes strange, specific tires in an uncommon size, and you’ll have to go to a bigger city to find them. He puts the spare back on. This time, you drive. Somewhere in Illinois, you get a tire that fits. When you pull into the parking space outside the hotel, she leans over and kisses you. She kisses your top lip, then the lower one, like each one deserves its own tender attention. She leans away and looks at you with the kind of slow, reverent consideration you’d give to a painting. She strokes the soft inside of your wrist. You feel your heart beating somewhere far away, as if it’s behind glass. “I can’t believe that you’ve chosen me,” she says. In the room, she takes off your new underwear and buries her face between your thighs.