Pride

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 Saint Thomas Aquinas Collection (22 Books) (2016)

  Reply to Objection 4: It is true to say that there is a middle time between every two instants, so far as time is continuous, as it is proved Phys. vi, text. 2. But in the angels, who are not subject to the heavenly movement, which is primarily measured by continuous time, time is taken to mean the succession of their mental acts, or of their affections. So the first instant in the angels is understood to respond to the operation of the angelic mind, whereby it introspects itself by its evening knowledge because on the first day evening is mentioned, but not morning. This operation was good in them all. From such operation some of them were converted to the praise of the Word by their morning knowledge while others, absorbed in themselves, became night, “swelling up with pride,” as Augustine says (Gen. ad lit. iv, 24). Hence the first act was common to them all; but in their second they were separated. Consequently they were all of them good in the first instant; but in the second the good were set apart from the wicked. Whether the highest angel among those who sinned was the highest of all?Objection 1: It would seem that the highest among the angels who sinned was not the highest of all. For it is stated (Ezech. 28:14): “Thou wast a cherub stretched out, and protecting, and I set thee in the holy mountain of God.” Now the order of the Cherubim is under the order of the Seraphim, as Dionysius says (Coel. Hier. vi, vii). Therefore, the highest angel among those who sinned was not the highest of all. Objection 2: Further, God made intellectual nature in order that it might attain to beatitude. If therefore the highest of the angels sinned, it follows that the Divine ordinance was frustrated in the noblest creature which is unfitting. Objection 3: Further, the more a subject is inclined towards anything, so much the less can it fall away from it. But the higher an angel is, so much the more is he inclined towards God. Therefore so much the less can he turn away from God by sinning. And so it seems that the angel who sinned was not the highest of all, but one of the lower angels. On the contrary, Gregory (Hom. xxxiv in Ev.) says that the chief angel who sinned, “being set over all the hosts of angels, surpassed them in brightness, and was by comparison the most illustrious among them.”

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

  I answer that, Two things have to be considered in sin, namely, the proneness to sin, and the motive for sinning. If, then, in the angels we consider the proneness to sin, it seems that the higher angels were less likely to sin than the lower. On this account Damascene says (De Fide Orth. ii), that the highest of those who sinned was set over the terrestrial order. This opinion seems to agree with the view of the Platonists, which Augustine quotes (De Civ. Dei vii, 6,7; x, 9,10,11). For they said that all the gods were good; whereas some of the demons were good, and some bad; naming as ‘gods’ the intellectual substances which are above the lunar sphere, and calling by the name of “demons” the intellectual substances which are beneath it, yet higher than men in the order of nature. Nor is this opinion to be rejected as contrary to faith; because the whole corporeal creation is governed by God through the angels, as Augustine says (De Trin. iii, 4,5). Consequently there is nothing to prevent us from saying that the lower angels were divinely set aside for presiding over the lower bodies, the higher over the higher bodies; and the highest to stand before God. And in this sense Damascene says (De Fide Orth. ii) that they who fell were of the lower grade of angels; yet in that order some of them remained good. But if the motive for sinning be considered, we find that it existed in the higher angels more than in the lower. For, as has been said [559](A[2]), the demons’ sin was pride; and the motive of pride is excellence, which was greater in the higher spirits. Hence Gregory says that he who sinned was the very highest of all. This seems to be the more probable view: because the angels’ sin did not come of any proneness, but of free choice alone. Consequently that argument seems to have the more weight which is drawn from the motive in sinning. Yet this must not be prejudicial to the other view; because there might be some motive for sinning in him also who was the chief of the lower angels. Reply to Objection 1: Cherubim is interpreted “fulness of knowledge,” while “Seraphim” means “those who are on fire,” or “who set on fire.” Consequently Cherubim is derived from knowledge; which is compatible with mortal sin; but Seraphim is derived from the heat of charity, which is incompatible with mortal sin. Therefore the first angel who sinned is called, not a Seraph, but a Cherub.

• From The Story of My Experiments with Truth (An Autobiography) (1927)

  I had given the interviewer all this literature and showed him that in India I had said nothing which I had not already said in South Africa in stronger language. I had also shown him that I had had no hand in bringing the passengers of the Courland and Naderi to South Africa. Many of them were old residents, and most of them, far from wanting to stay in Natal, meant to go to the Transvaal. In those days the Transvaal offered better prospects than Natal to those coming in search of wealth, and most Indians, therefore, preferred to go there. This interview and my refusal to prosecute the assailants produced such a profound impression that the Europeans of Durban were ashamed of their conduct. The press declared me to be innocent and condemned the mob. Thus the lynching ultimately proved to be a blessing for me, that is, for the cause. It enhanced the prestige of the Indian community in South Africa and made my work easier. In three or four days I went to my house, and it was not long before I settled down again. The incident added also to my professional practice. But if it enhanced the prestige of the community, it also fanned the flame of prejudice against it. As soon as it was proved that the Indian could put up a manly fight, he came to be regarded as a danger. Two bills were introduced in the Natal Legislative Assembly, one of them calculated to affect the Indian trader adversely, and the other to impose a stringent restriction on Indian immigration. Fortunately the fight for the franchise had resulted in a decision to the effect that no enactment might be passed against the Indians as such, that is say, that the law should make no distinctions of colour or race. The language of the bills above mentioned made them applicable to all, but their object undoubtedly was to impose further restrictions on the Indian residents of Natal. The bills considerably increased my public work and made the community more alive then ever to their sense of duty. They were translated into Indian languages and fully explained, so as to bring home to the community their subtle implications. We appealed to the Colonial Secretary, but he refused to interfere and the bills became law. Public work now began to absorb most of my time. Sjt. Mansukhlal Naazar, who, as I have said, was already in Durban, came to stay with me, and as he gave his time to public work, he lightened my burden to some extent. Sheth Adamji Miyakhan had, in my absence, discharged his duty with great credit. He had increased the membership and added about £1,000 to the coffers of the Natal Indian Congress. The awakening caused by the bills and the demonstration against the passengers I turned to good account by making an appeal for membership and funds, which now amounted to £5,000.

• From The Story of My Experiments with Truth (An Autobiography) (1927)

  Mohanlal Pandya, to remove the crop of onion, from a field which had been, in my opinion wrongly attached. I did not regard this as civil disobedience, but even if it was, I suggested that this attachment of standing crops, though it might be in accordance with law, was morally wrong, and was nothing be in accordance with law, was morally wrong, and was nothing short of looting, and that therefore it was the people’s duty to remove the onion in spite of the order of attachment. This was a good opportunity for the people to learn a lesson in courting fines or imprisonment, which was the necessary consequence of such disobedience. For Sjt. Mohanlal Pandya it was a thing after his heart. He did not like the campaign to end without someone undergoing suffering in the shape of imprisonment for something done consistently with the principles fof Satyagraha. So he volunteered to remove the onion crop from the field, and in this seven or eight friends joined him. It was impossible for the Government to leave them free. The arrest of Sjt. Mohanlal and his companions added to the people’s enthusiasm. When the fear of jail disappears, repression puts heart into the people. Crowds of them besieged the court-house on the day of the hearing. Pandya and his companions were convicted and sentenced to a brief term of imprisonment. I was of opinion that the conviction was wrong, because the act of removing the onion crop could not come under the definition of ‘theft’ in the Penal Code. But no appeal was filed as the policy was to avoid the law courts. A procession escorted the ‘convicts’ to jail, and on that day Sjt. Mohanlal Pandya earned from the people the honoured title of dungli Chor (onion thief) which he enjoys to this day. The conclusion of the Kheda Satyagraha I will leave to the next chapter. 151END OF KHEDA SATYAGRAHAThe campaign came to an unexpected end. It was clear that the people were exhausted, and I hesitated to let the unbending be driven to utter ruin. I was casting about for some graceful way of terminating the struggle which would be acceptable to a Satyagrahi. Such a one appeared quite unexpectedly. The Mamlatdar of the Nadiad Taluka sent me word that, if well-to-do Patidars paid up, the poorer ones would be granted suspension. I asked for a written undertaking to that effect, which was given. But as a Mamlatdar could be responsible only for his Taluka, I inquired of the Collector, who alone could give an undertaking in respect of the whole district, whether the Mamlatdar’s undertaking was true for the whole district. He replied that orders declaring suspension in terms of the Mamlatdar’s letter had been already issued. I was not aware of it, but if it was a fact, the people’s pledge had been fulfilled.

• From Post Office (1971)

  6 The next day we picked up some of her stuff at this motel. There was a little dark guy in there with a wart on the side of his nose. He looked dangerous. “You going with him?” he asked Mary Lou. “Yes.” “All right. Luck.” He lit a cigarette. “Thanks, Hector.” Hector? What the hell kind of name was that? “Care for a beer?” he asked me. “Sure,” I said. Hector was sitting on the edge of the bed. He went into the kitchen and got three beers. It was good beer, imported from Germany. He opened Mary Lou’s bottle, poured some of the bottle into a glass for her. Then he asked me: “Glass?” “No, thanks.” I got up and switched bottles with him. We sat drinking the beer in silence. Then he said, “You’re man enough to take her away from me?” “Hell, I don’t know. It’s her choice. If she wants to stay with you, she’ll stay. Why don’t you ask her?” “Mary Lou, will you stay with me?” “No,” she said, “I’m going with him.” She pointed at me. I felt important. I had lost so many women to so many other guys that it felt good for the thing to be working the other way around. I lit a cigar. Then I looked around for an ashtray. I saw one on the dresser. I happened to look into the mirror to see how hungover I was and I saw him coming at me like a dart toward a dart-board. I still had the beerbottle in my hand. I swung and he walked right into it. I got him in the mouth. His whole mouth was broken teeth and blood. Hector dropped to his knees, crying, holding his mouth with both hands. I saw the stiletto. I kicked the stiletto away from him with my foot, picked it up, looked at it. Nine inches. I hit the button and the blade dropped back in. I put the thing in my pocket. Then as Hector was crying I walked up and booted him in the ass. He sprawled flat on the floor, still crying. I walked over, took a pull at his beer.

• From The Story of My Experiments with Truth (An Autobiography) (1927)

  I went to court with the collar on, thus inviting the ridicule of brother barristers, but even in those days I could be impervious to ridicule. ‘Well,’ said I, ‘this is my first experiment at washing my own collars and hence the loose starch. But it does not trouble me, and then there is the advantage of providing you with so much fun.’ ‘But surely there is no lack of laundries here?’ asked a friend. ‘The laundry bill is very heavy,’ said I. ‘The charge for washing a collar is almost as much as its price, and even then there is the eternal dependence on the washerman. I prefer by far to wash my things myself.’ But I could not make my friends appreciate the beauty of self-help. In course of time I became an expert washerman so far as my own work went, and my washing was by no means inferior to laundry washing. My collars were no less stiff or shiny than others. When Gokhale came to South Africa, he had with him a scarf which was a gift from Mahadeo Govind Ranade. He treasured the memento with the utmost care and used it only on special occasions. One such occasion was the banquet given in his honour by the Johannesburg Indians. The scarf was creased and needed ironing. It was not possible to send it to the laundry and get it back in time. I offered to try my art. ‘I can trust to your capacity as a lawyer, but not as a washerman,’ said Gokhale; ‘What if you should soil it? Do you know what it means to me ? ‘ With this he narrated, with much joy, the story of the gift. I still insisted, guaranteed good work, got his permission to iron it, and won his certificate. After that I did not mind if the rest of the world refused me its certificate. In the same way, as I freed myself from slavery to the washerman, I threw off dependence on the barber. All people who go to England learn there at least the art of shaving, but none, to my knowledge, learn to cut their own hair. I had to learn that too. I once went to an English hair-cutter in Pretoria. He contemptuously refused to cut my hair. I certainly felt hurt, but immediately purchased a pair of clippers and cut my hair before the mirror. I succeeded more or less in cutting the front hair, but I spoiled the back. The friends in the court shook with laughter. ‘What’s wrong with your hair, Gandhi? Rats have been at it ? ‘ ‘No. The white barber would not condescend to touch my black hair,’ said I, ‘so I preferred to cut it myself, no matter how badly.’ The reply did not surprise the friends. The barber was not at fault in having refused to cut my hair. There was every chance of his losing his custom, if he should serve black men.

• From Under the Banner of Heaven (2003)

  occurred to him that he may in fact have a great deal in common with another fundamentalist of fanatical conviction, Osama bin Laden? “I’ve asked myself that,” Dan concedes. “Could I be there? Is that what I’m like? And the answer is no. Because Osama bin Laden is an asshole, a child of the devil. I believe his real motivation isn’t a quest for honesty and justice, which maybe were his motivations in his earlier life. Now he’s motivated by greed and profit and power.” What about Osama’s underlings, the holy warriors who sacrificed their lives for Allah by flying jumbo jets into the World Trade Center? Surely their faith and conviction were every bit as powerful as Dan’s. Does he think the sincerity of their belief justified the act? And if not, how can Dan know that what he did isn’t every bit as misguided as what bin Laden’s followers did on September 11, despite the obvious sincerity of his own faith? As he pauses to consider this possibility, there comes a moment when a shadow of doubt seems to flicker across his mien. But only for an instant, and then it’s gone. “I have to admit, the terrorists were following their prophet,” Dan says. “They were willing to do essentially what I did. I see the parallel. But the difference between those guys and me is, they were following a false prophet, and I’m not. “I believe I’m a good person,” Dan insists. “I’ve never done anything intentionally wrong. I never have. At times when I’ve started to wonder if maybe what I did was a terrible mistake, I’ve looked back and asked myself, ‘What would I have done differently? Did I feel God’s hand guiding me on the twenty- fourth of July 1984?’ And then I remember very clearly, ‘Yes, I was guided by the hand of God.’ So I know I did the right thing. Christ says, ‘If you want to know if something is true, believe. And I’ll help you know the truth.’ And that’s what he did with me. “I’m sure God knows I love Him. It’s my belief that everything will work out, and there will be a happy ending to this whole strange experience. I’ve just had too many little glimpses through the thin fabric of this reality to believe otherwise. Even when I have tried not to believe, I can’t.” Serene in the knowledge that he has led a righteous life, Dan Lafferty is confident that he won’t be festering here in maximum security much longer. He is sure that “any day now” he will hear the blare of the trumpet heralding the Last Days, whereupon he will be released from this hell of strip searches and prison food and razor wire to assume his rightful place in the Kingdom of God.

• From Lady Chatterley's Lover (1928)

  She spoke with amazing nonchalance. Mrs. Bolton, who was listening in the next room, heard in sheer admiration. To think a woman could carry it off so naturally! "And suppose he'd come while you were running about in the rain with nothing on, like a maniac?" "I suppose he'd have had the fright of his life, and cleared out as fast as he could." Clifford still stared at her transfixed. What he thought in his under-consciousness he would never know. And he was too much taken aback to form one clear thought in his upper-consciousness. He just simply accepted what she said, in a sort of blank. And he admired her. He could not help admiring her. She looked so flushed and handsome and smooth: love smooth. "At least," he said, subsiding, "you'll be lucky if you've got off without a severe cold." "Oh, I haven't got a cold," she replied. She was thinking to herself of the other man's words: Tha's got the nicest woman's arse of anybody! She wished, she dearly wished she could tell Clifford that this had been said her, during the famous thunderstorm. However! She bore herself rather like an offended queen, and went upstairs to change. That evening, Clifford wanted to be nice to her. He was reading one of the latest scientific-religious books: he had a streak of a spurious sort of religion in him, and was egocentrically concerned with the future of his own ego. It was like his habit to make conversation to Connie about some book, since the conversation between them had to be made, almost chemically. They had almost chemically to concoct it in their heads. "What do you think of this, by the way?" he said, reaching for his book. "You'd have no need to cool your ardent body by running out in the rain, if only we had a few more aeons of evolution behind us. Ah here it is!--'The universe shows us two aspects: on one side it is physically wasting, on the other it is spiritually ascending.'" Connie listened, expecting more. But Clifford was waiting. She looked at him in surprise. "And if it spiritually ascends," she said, "what does it leave down below, in the place where its tail used to be?" "Ah!" he said. "Take the man for what he means. _Ascending_ is the opposite of his _wasting_, I presume." "Spiritually blown out, so to speak!" "No, but seriously, without joking: do you think there is anything in it?" She looked at him again. "Physically wasting?" she said. "I see you getting fatter, and I'm not wasting myself. Do you think the sun is smaller than he used to be? He's not to me. And I suppose the apple Adam offered Eve wasn't really much bigger, if any, than one of our orange pippins. Do you think it was?"

• From The Story of My Experiments with Truth (An Autobiography) (1927)

  This unexpected interview with the editor of The Pioneer laid the foundation of the series of incidents which ultimately led to my being lynched in Natal. I went straight to Rajkot without halting at Bombay and began to make preparations for writing a pamphlet on the situation in South Africa. The writing and publication of the pamphlet took about a month. It had a green cover and came to be known afterwards as the Green Pamphlet. In it I drew a purposely subdued picture of the condition of Indians in South Africa. The language I used was more moderate than that of the two pamphlets which I have referred to before, as I knew that things heard of from a distance appear bigger than they are. Ten thousand copies were printed and sent to all the papers and leaders of every party in India. The Pioneer was the first to notice it editorially. A summary of the article was cabled by Reuter to England, and a summary of that summary was cabled to Natal by Reuter’s London office. This cable was not longer than three lines in print. It was a miniature, but exaggerated, edition of the picture I had drawn of the treatment accorded to the Indians in Natal, and it was not in my words. We shall see later on the effect this had in Natal. In the meanwhile every paper of note commented at length on the question. To get these pamphlets ready for posting was no small matter. It would have been expensive too, if I had employed paid help for preparing wrappers etc. But I hit upon a much simpler plan. I gathered together all the children in my locality and asked them to volunteer two or three hours’ labour of a morning, when they had no school. This they willingly agreed to do. I promised to bless them and give them, as a reward, used postage stamps which I had collected. They got through the work in no time. That was my first experiment of having little children as volunteers. Two of those little friends are my co-workers today. Plague broke out in Bombay about this time, and there was panic all around. There was fear of an outbreak in Rajkot. As I felt that I could be of some help in the sanitation department, I offered my services to the State. They were accepted, and I was put on the committee which was appointed to look into the question. I laid especial emphasis on the cleanliness of latrines, and the committee decided to inspect these in every street. The poor people had no objection to their latrines being inspected, and what is more, they carried out the improvements suggested to them. But when we went to inspect the houses of the upper ten, some of them even refused us admission, not to talk of listening to our suggestions. It was our common experience that the latrines of the rich were more unclean.

• From The Story of My Experiments with Truth (An Autobiography) (1927)

  A genuine sense of loyalty prevented me from even wishing ill to the Empire. The rightness or otherwise of the ‘rebellion’ was therefore not likely to affect my decision. Natal had a Volunteer Defence Force, and it was open to it to recruit more men. I read that this force had already been mobilized to quell the ‘rebellion’. I considered myself a citizen of Natal, being intimately connected with it. So I wrote to the Governor, expressing my readiness, if necessary, to form an Indian Ambulance Corps. He replied immediately accepting the offer. I had not expected such prompt acceptance. Fortunately I had made all the necessary arrangements even before writing the letter. If my offer was accepted, I had decided to break up the Johannesburg home. Polak was to have a smaller house, and my wife was to go and settle at Phoenix. I had her full consent to this decision. I do not remember her having ever stood in my way in matters like this. As soon, therefore, as I got the reply from the Governor, I gave the landlord the usual month’s notice of vacating the house, sent some of the things to Phoenix and left some with Polak. I went to Durban and appealed for men. A big contingent was not necessary. We were a party of twenty-four, of whom, besides me, four were Gujaratis. The rest were ex-indentured men from South India, excepting one who was a free Pathan. In order to give me a status and to facilitate work, as also in accordance with the existing convention, the Chief Medical Officer appointed me to the temporary rank of Sergeant Major and three men selected by me to the rank of sergeants and one to that of corporal. We also received our uniforms from the Government. Our Corps was on active service for nearly six weeks. On reaching the scene of the ‘rebellion’, I saw that there was nothing there to justify the name of ‘rebellion’. There was no resistance that one could see. The reason why the disturbance had been magnified into a rebellion was that a Zulu chief had advised non- payment of a new tax imposed on his people, and had assagaied a sergeant who had gone to collect the tax. At any rate my heart was with the Zulus, and I was delighted, on reaching headquarters, to hear that our main work was to be the nursing of the wounded Zulus. The Medical Officer in charge welcomed us. He said the white people were not willing nurses for the wounded Zulus, that their wounds were festering, and that he was at his wits’ end. He hailed our arrival as a godsend for those innocent people, and he equipped us with bandages, disinfectants, etc., and took us to the improvised hospital. The Zulus were delighted to see us. The white soldiers used to peep through the railing that separated us from them and tried to dissuade us from attending to the wounds.

• From The Story of My Experiments with Truth (An Autobiography) (1927)

  I had spoken in Urdu at the Muslim League at Calcutta, but it was only for a few minutes, and the speech was intended only to be a feeling appeal to the audience. Here, on the contrary, I was faced with a critical, if not hostile, audience, to whom I had to explain and bring home my view-point. But I had cast aside all shyness. I was not there to deliver an address in the faultless, polished Urdu of the Delhi Muslims, but to place before the gathering my views in such broken Hindi as I could command. And in this I was successful. This meeting afforded me a direct proof of the fact that Hindi-Urdu alone could become the #lingua franca# of India. Had I spoken in English, I could not have produced the impression that I did on the audience, and the Maulana might not have felt called upon to deliver his challenge. Nor, if he had delivered it, could I have taken it up effectively. I could not hit upon a suitable Hindi or Urdu word for the new idea, and that put me out somewhat. At last I described it by the word ‘non- op-operation,’ an expression that I used for the first time at this meeting. As the Maulana was delivering his speech, it seemed to me that it was vain for him to talk about effective resistance to a Government with which he was co- operating in more than one thing, if resort to arms was impossible or undesirable. The only true resistance to the Government, it therefore seemed to me, was to cease to co- operate with it. Thus I arrived at the word non-co-operation. I had not then a clear idea of all its manifold implications. I therefore did not enter into details. I simply said: ‘ The Musalmans have adopted a very important resolution. If the peace terms are unfavourable to them – which may God forbid – they will stop all co-operation with Government. It is an inalienable right of the people thus to withhold co-operation. We are not bound to retain Government titles and honours, or to continue in Government service. If Government should betray us in a great cause like the Khilafat, we could not do otherwise than non-co-operate. We are therefore entitled to non-co-operate with Government in case of a betrayal.’ But months elapsed before the word non-co-operation became current coin. For the time being it was lost in the proceedings of the conference. Indeed when I supported the co-operation resolution at the Congress which met at Amritsar a month later, I did so in the hope that the betrayal would never come. 163THE AMRITSAR CONGRESSThe Punjab Government could not keep in confinement the hundreds of Punjabis who, under the martial law regime, had been clapped into jail on the strength of the most meagre evidence by tribunals that were courts only in name.

• From The Story of My Experiments with Truth (An Autobiography) (1927)

  You cancel your passage by this boat, stay here a month longer, and we will fight as you direct us.’ All the others chimed in : ‘Indeed, indeed. Abdulla Sheth, you must detain Gandhibhai.’ The Sheth was a shrewd man. He said: ‘I may not detain him now. Or rather, you have as much right as I to do so. But you are quite right. Let us all persuade him to stay on. But you should remember that he is a barrister. What about his fees?’ The mention of fees pained me, and I broke in : ‘Abdulla Sheth, fees are out of the question. There can be no fees for public work. I can stay, if at all, as a servant. And as you know, I am not acquainted with all these friends. But if you believe that they will co-operate, I am prepared to stay a month longer. There is one thing, however. Though you need not pay me anything, work of the nature we contemplate cannot be done without some funds to start with. Thus we may have to send telegrams, we may have to print some literature, some touring may have to be done, the local attorneys may have to be consulted, and as I am ignorant of your laws, I may need some law-books for reference. All this cannot be done without money. And it is clear that one man is not enough for this work. Many must come forward to help him.’ And a chorus of voices was heard: ‘Allah is great and merciful. Money will come in. Men there are, as many as you may need. You please consent to stay, and all will be well.’ The farewell party was thus turned into a working committee. I suggested finishing dinner etc. quickly and getting back home. I worked out in my own mind an outline of the campaign. I ascertained the names of those who were on the list of voters, and made up my mind to stay on for a month. Thus God laid the foundations of my life in South Africa and sowed the seed of the fight for national self-respect. 44SETTLED IN NATALSheth Haji Muhammad Haji Dada was regarded as the foremost leader of the Indian community in Natal in 1893. Financially Sheth Abdulla Haji Adam was the chief among them, but he and others always gave the first place to Sheth Haji Muhammad in public affairs. A meeting was therefore, held under his presidentship at the house of Abdulla Sheth, at which it was resolved to offer opposition to the Franchise Bill.Volunteers were enrolled. Natal-born Indians, that is, mostly Christian Indian youths, had been invited to attend this meeting Mr. Paul, the Durban Court Interpreter, and Mr. Subhan Godfrey, Headmaster of a mission school, were present, and it was they who were responsible for bringing together at the meeting a good number of Christian youths. All these enrolled themselves as volunteers.

• From The Story of My Experiments with Truth (An Autobiography) (1927)

  He approved my suggestion of leaving the firm and getting articled under me, and he considerably lightened my burden.About this time Sjt. Madanjit approached me with a proposal to start Indian Opinion and sought my advice. He had already been conducting a press, and I approved of his proposal. The journal was launched in 1904, and Sjt. Mansukhlal Naazar became the first editor. But I had to bear the brunt of the work, having for most of the time to be practically in charge of the journal. Not that Sjt. Mansukhlal could not carry it on. He had been doing a fair amount of journalism whilst in India, but he would never venture to write on intricate South African problems so long as I was there. He had the greatest confidence in my discernment, and therefore threw on me the responsibility of attending to the editorial columns. The journal has been until this day a weekly, In the beginning it used to be issued in Gujarati, Hindi, Tamil and English. I saw, however, that the Tamil and Hindi sections were a make-believe. They did not serve the purpose for which they were intended, so I discontinued them as I even felt that there would be a certain amount of deception involved in their continuance. I had no notion that I should have to invest any money in this journal, but I soon discovered that it could not go on without my financial help. The Indians and the Europeans both knew that, though I was not avowedly the editor of Indian Opinion, I was virtually responsible for its conduct. It would not have mattered if the journal had never been started, but to stop it after it had once been launched would have been both a loss and a disgrace. So I kept on pouring out my money, until ultimately I was practically sinking all my savings in it. I remember a time when I had to remit £ 75 each month. But after all these years I feel that the journal has served the community well. It was never intended to be a commercial concern. So long as it was under my control, the changes in the journal were indicative of changes in my life. Indian Opinion in those days, like Young India and Navajivan today, was a mirror of part of my life. Week after week I poured out my soul in its columns, and expounded the principles and practice of Satyagraha as I understood it. During ten years, that is, until 1914, excepting the intervals of my enforced rest in prison, there was hardly an issue of Indian Opinion without an article from me. I cannot recall a word in those articles set down without thought or deliberation, or a word of conscious exaggeration, or anything merely to please. Indeed the journal became for me a training in self-restraint, and for friends a medium through which to keep in touch with my thoughts.

• From Macho Sluts (1988)

  It is one thing to write an important book in the privacy of your home, hunched over a computer keyboard, just you and the words in front of you. It is entirely another to come out into the light of a judgmental society, eager to condemn all that is confrontational and new. Pat Califia not only talked the talk, Pat walked the walk with the bold and brave defense of the book during our long and important court case. Pioneers who dare to challenge existing codes of conduct often face societal condemnation, and those who truly attempt to change the world in any significant way can expect overwhelming opposition. Pat Califia faced this hostile judgment in a Canadian courtroom and came out the proud victor. Pat Califia will forever remain one of my heroes in our epic fight for the right to choose what we read and view. Now a whole new generation of readers will be able to appreciate the bravery of this important book and author. Please savor and enjoy. [image file=images/image_image-3.jpg] PATRICK CALIFIA’S writing and activism have revolutionized the concept of queer sex. He has written over a dozen books, including Coming to Power, Melting Point, No Mercy, and Speaking Sex to Power. His work has been translated into six other languages. Almost ten years ago, Califia transitioned from female to male; he now lives as a bisexual transman in San Francisco. WENDY CHAPKIS is a Professor of Sociology and Women & Gender Studies at the University of Southern Maine in Portland. She is also the co-author of Dying to Get High: Marijuana as Medicine (New York University Press, 2008).

• From Macho Sluts (1988)

  Of course, most lesbians don’t meet FTMs whose early lives were spent outside of their own world. Nor do they usually recognize former femmes who transition. I repeatedly hear the statement, “All the butches are going to turn into men.” And the truth is that butch identity will be changed by the growing visibility of the FTM community. That process is already in place and cannot be reversed by penalizing those who move from a female to a male identity, or getting paranoid about anybody who displays an interest in crossgender role-playing. Butch identity is, like all labels, much less simple than the term itself would lead you to believe. But my experience is that not all butches are transmen in denial. There are masculine (for lack of a better word) women who are happy to be women—or would be, if other people on the bus would quit calling them names and potential bosses would stop refusing to hire them because they aren’t trying to look like prom queens. Perhaps the changing times will lead to a new sense of pride or clarity among butch women about what makes them unique. Is the lesbian community any better off if a handful of transmen chicken out and abstain from testosterone shots or full-time male pronouns because they are afraid of losing their friends and hangout spots? I don’t think so. I’ve met some people in this predicament, and their lives are pretty harsh. Their partners feel confused and rebuffed, they feel miserable in their own skins, their lives get stalled in a variety of ways, and they are rarely enthusiastic about contributing to lesbian culture or politics. Butch women enjoy being butch. They’ve got their own lingo, fashion, style, and moves. I won’t claim that their relationship to being women is a simple one. It can be damn hard to claim your womanhood if a whole culture is telling you to stop “acting like a man.” But there’s a difference between the place of self-acceptance and sexiness that a butch woman gets to when she’s waded through the homophobic twaddle, and the perpetual, deep-seated sense of wrongness that a transman has in his body. We always want to take it too far. Strapping it on isn’t a simple matter of enjoying a sex toy for us. A dildo can be a prosthesis that temporarily makes us feel better, but it’s also a reminder of the gap between our physical and mental realities. As a consequence, many transmen can’t go near dildos or harnesses. It’s just too painful, not a fun sexual fantasy.

• From Macho Sluts (1988)

  Every Friday and Saturday night, a line of lesbians in their weekend finery wound around the block three deep. Sidewalk vendors catered to the crowd, and most of the women danced while they waited because the Calyx had loudspeakers pointing out to the street. Security guards in tuxedos patrolled the block in pairs. Any car that slowed down to hurl an insult or bottle was photographed, and the owner was notified that the police had been informed that his vehicle had been used in the commission of a crime. The guards had enough karate and mace to deal with anybody stupid enough to come looking for a fight without vehicular armor. But the Calyx was so well established that this rarely happened any more. So their real job was to flaunt their muscles, flirt with the crowd and keep it in a party mood. They did this as cheerfully as they busted bigots’ kneecaps. Mixed in with the peacock colors of the other dykes was the more somber attire of a few leatherwomen, who nevertheless were as raucous as any of the other patrons. Everybody claimed to have been there the weekend some B&D girls visiting from Seattle had organized a dirty conga-line. The Calyx had stayed empty for half an hour after opening while hundreds of women wound through the neighborhood, hooting and grunting and doing synchronized kicks. Why shouldn’t the women in Muir caps and motorcycle jackets and chaps dance and taunt and flatter one another? They were as horny as the other women, and the Calyx of Isis catered to all persuasions— though not on the same floor. “A place for everyone, and everyone in her place,” Tyre, the owner, was fond of saying. This was a weekday, so when Tyre’s periwinkle-blue limousine pulled up to the door of the Calyx, there was no lesbian Mardi Gras to greet her. The Calyx wouldn’t open until much later that night, and the crowd would be light. But it was a very fine day. The morning fog had burned off and the evening fog had not yet rolled in. When her chauffeur (who was wearing the dress-gray uniform of a West Point cadet) opened her door and handed her out, Tyre spared an admiring glance for her enemy, the sun. Then she covered her sensitive pink eyes with big Italian sunglasses and hurried to the door. Under her conservatively cut Blackglama, she was wearing a hot-pink spandex jumpsuit with more zippers in it than in a full set of luggage. Slung around her hips was a wide, studded belt that came down to a V above her crotch. Her silver pumps had six-inch heels. When you are just over six feet tall and have perfectly white hair that falls to your knees, there is no point in pretending to be inconspicuous.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  [Footnote 403: Syn. cauterized (_calterita_), a nonsensical word employed by Bruno for the purpose of mystifying the credulous physician.] Quoth the doctor, 'Say on in all assurance; I see thou art not yet well acquainted with me and knowest not how I can keep a secret. There be few things indeed that Messer Guasparruolo da Saliceto did, whenas he was judge of the Provostry at Forlimpopoli, but he sent to tell me, for that he found me so good a secret-keeper.[404] And wilt thou judge an I say sooth? I was the first man whom he told that he was to marry Bergamina: seest thou now?' 'Marry, then,' rejoined Bruno, 'all is well; if such a man trusted in you, I may well do so. The course you must take is on this wise. You must know that we still have to this our company a captain and two counsellors, who are changed from six months to six months, and without fail, at the first of the month, Buffalmacco will be captain and I shall be counsellor; for so it is settled. Now whoso is captain can do much by way of procuring whomsoever he will to be admitted into the company; wherefore meseemeth you should seek, inasmuch as you may, to gain Buffalmacco's friendship and do him honour. He is a man, seeing you so wise, to fall in love with you incontinent, and whenas with your wit and with these fine things you have you shall have somedele ingratiated yourself with him, you can make your request to him; he will not know how to say you nay. I have already bespoken him of you and he wisheth you all the weal in the world; and whenas you shall have done this, leave me do with him.' Quoth the physician, 'That which thou counsellest liketh me well. Indeed, an he be a man who delighteth in men of learning and talketh but with me a little, I will engage to make him go still seeking my company, for that, as for wit, I have so much thereof that I could stock a city withal and yet abide exceeding wise.' [Footnote 404: Syn. secretary, confidant (_segretaro_).]

• From The Story of My Experiments with Truth (An Autobiography) (1927)

  Children take in much more and with less labour through their ears than through their eyes. I do not remember having read any book from cover to cover with my boys. But I gave them, in my own language, all that I had digested from my reading of various books, and I dare say they are still carrying a recollection of it in their minds. It was laborious for them to remember what they learnt from books, but what I imparted to them by word of mouth, they could repeat with the greatest ease. Reading was a task for them, but listening to me was a pleasure, when I did not bore them by failure to make my subject interesting. And from the questions that my talks prompted them to put, I had a measure of their power of understanding. 113TRAINING OF THE SPIRITThe spiritual training of the boys was a much more difficult matter than their physical and mental training. I relied little on religious books for the training of the spirit. Of course, I believed that every student should be acquainted with the elements of his own religion and have a general knowledge of his own scriptures, and therefore I provided for such knowl- edge as best I could. But that, to my mind, was part of the intellectual training. Long before I undertook the education of the youngsters of the Tolstoy Farm I had realized that the training of the spirit was a thing by itself. To develop the spirit is to build character and to enable one to work towards a knowledge of God and self-realization. And I held that this was an essential part of the training of the young, and that all training without culture of the spirit was of no use, and might be even harmful. I am familiar with the superstition that self-realization is possible only in the fourth stage of life, i.e., sannyasa (renunciation). But it is a matter of common knowledge that those who defer preparation for this invaluable experience until the last stage of life attain not self- realization but old age amounting to a second and pitiable childhood, living as a burden on this earth. I have a full recollection that I held these views even whilst I was teaching i. e., in 1911-12, though I might not then have expressed them in identical language. How then was this spiritual training to be given? I made the children memorize and recite hymns, and read to them from books on moral training. But that was far from satisfying me. As I came into closer contact with them I saw that it was not through books that one could impart training of the spirit. Just as physical training was to be imparted through physical exercise even so the training of the spirit was possible only through the exercise of the spirit. And the exercise of the spirit entirely depended on the life and character of the teacher.

• From The Story of My Experiments with Truth (An Autobiography) (1927)

  I took considerable pains over drawing up this petition. I read all the literature available on the subject. My argument centred round a principle and an expedience. I argued that we had a right to the franchise in Natal, as we had a kind of franchise in India. I urged that it was expedient to retain it, as the Indian population capable of using the franchise was very small. Ten thousand signatures were obtained in the course of a fortnight. To secure this number of signatures from the whole of the province was no light task, especially when we consider that the men were perfect strangers to the work. Specially competent volunteers had to be selected for the work, as it had been decided not to take a single signature without the signatory fully understanding the petition. The villages were scattered at long distances. The work could be done promptly only if a number of workers put their whole heart into it. And this they did. All carried out their allotted task figures of Sheth Dawud Muhammad, Rustomji, Adamji Miyakhan, and Amad Jiva rise clearly before my mind. They brought in the largest number of signatures. Dawud Sheth kept going about in his carriage the whole day. And it was all a labour of love, not one of them asking for even his out-of-pocket expenses. Dada Abdulla’s house became at once a caravanserai and a public office. A number of educated fiends who helped me and many others had their food there. Thus every helper was put to considerable expense. The petition was at last submitted. A thousand copies had been printed for circulation and distribution. It acquainted the Indian public for the first time with conditions in Natal. I sent copies to all the newspapers and publicists I knew. The Times of Inida, in a leading article on the petition, strongly supported the Indian demands. Copies were sent to journals and publicists in England representing different parties. The London Times supported our claims, and we began to entertain hopes of the Bill being vetoed. It was now impossible for me to leave Natal. The Indian friends surrounded me on all sides and importuned me to remain there permanently. I expressed my difficulties. I had made up my mind not to stay at public expense. I felt it necessary to set up an independent household. I thought that the house should be good and situated in a good locality of the community, unless I lived in a style usual for barristers. And it seemed to me to be impossible to run such a household with anything less than 300 a year. I therefore decided that I could stay only if the members of the community guaranteed legal work to the extent of that minimum, and I communicated my decision to them. ‘But,’ said they, ‘we should like you to draw that amount for public work, and we can easily collect it.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  Your complainings, dictated more by rage than by reason, upbraid, revile and condemn Gisippus with continual murmurs or rather clamours, for that, of his counsel, he hath given me to wife her whom you of yours[467] had given him; whereas I hold that he is supremely to be commended therefor, and that for two reasons, the one, for that he hath done that which a friend should do, and the other, for that he hath in this wrought more discreetly than did you. That which the sacred laws of friendship will that one friend should do for the other, it is not my intention at this present to expound, being content to have recalled to you this much only thereof, to wit, that the bonds of friendship are far more stringent than those of blood or of kindred, seeing that the friends we have are such as we choose for ourselves and our kinsfolk such as fortune giveth us; wherefore, if Gisippus loved my life more than your goodwill, I being his friend, as I hold myself, none should marvel thereat. But to come to the second reason, whereanent it more instantly behoveth to show you that he hath been wiser than yourselves, since meseemeth you reck nothing of the foreordinance of the Gods and know yet less of the effects of friendship:--I say, then, that you of your judgment, of your counsel and of your deliberation, gave Sophronia to Gisippus, a young man and a philosopher; Gisippus of his gave her to a young man and a philosopher; your counsel gave her to an Athenian and that of Gisippus to a Roman; your counsel gave her to a youth of noble birth and his to one yet nobler; yours to a rich youth, his to a very rich; yours to a youth who not only loved her not, but scarce knew her, his to one who loved her over his every happiness and more than his very life. And to show you that this I say is true and that Gisippus his action is more commendable than yours, let us consider it, part by part. That I, like Gisippus, am a young man and a philosopher, my favour and my studies may declare, without more discourse thereof. One same age is his and mine and still with equal step have we proceeded studying. True, he is an Athenian and I am a Roman. If it be disputed of the glory of our native cities, I say that I am a citizen of a free city and he of a tributary one; I am of a city mistress of the whole world and he of a city obedient unto mine; I am of a city most illustrious in arms, in empery and in letters, whereas he can only commend his own for letters. Moreover, albeit you see me here on lowly wise enough a student, I am not born of the dregs of the Roman populace; my houses and the public places of Rome are full of antique images of my ancestors and the Roman annals will be found full of many a triumph led by the Quintii up to the Roman Capitol; nor is the glory of our name fallen for age into decay, nay, it presently flourisheth more splendidly than ever. I speak not, for shamefastness, of my riches, bearing in mind that honourable poverty hath ever been the ancient and most ample patrimony of the noble citizens of Rome; but, if this be condemned of the opinion of the vulgar and treasures commended, I am abundantly provided with these latter, not as one covetous, but as beloved of fortune.[468] I know very well that it was and should have been and should be dear unto you to have Gisippus here in Athens to kinsman; but I ought not for any reason to be less dear to you at Rome, considering that in me you would have there an excellent host and an useful and diligent and powerful patron, no less in public occasions than in matters of private need.