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)

  THAT IN SPIRITS THERE MAY BE SIN, AND HOWAS there is an order in active causes, so also in final causes, requiring that the secondary end should be subordinate to the primary, as the secondary agent depends on the primary. Now every will naturally wishes that which is the proper good of the person willing, namely, his own perfect well-being; and the will cannot possibly will aught to the contrary of this. If we can find a voluntary agent, whose good is a final end, such as not to be contained under the order leading to any other end, but rather all other ends being contained in the order leading up to it,—in such a voluntary agent there can be no fault of the will. Such a voluntary agent is God, whose being is sovereign goodness, which is the final end. In God then there can be no fault of the will. But in any other voluntary agent, whose proper good must necessarily be contained in the order leading to some other good, a sin of the will may occur,—considering the agent as he is in his own nature. In every voluntary agent there is a natural inclination to will and love his own perfect well-being, and that to such an extent that he cannot will the contrary. But a created agent has no natural endowment of so subordinating his own well-being to another end than himself as to be incapable of swerving from that end: for the higher end does not belong to the creature’s own nature, but to a superior nature. It is left therefore to the decision of his own will to subordinate his proper well-being to a higher end. Sin therefore might have found place in the will of a pure spirit in this way,—that he did not refer his own good and well-being to the final end, but made that good his end and adhered to it accordingly. And because rules of conduct necessarily are taken from the end in view, it followed as a matter of course that the said spirit arranged his other elections according to that same object (ex re ipsa) in which he had placed his last end. Hence his will was not regulated by any higher will, a position of independence proper to God alone. In this sense we must understand the saying that he aimed at equality with God [cf. Isai. xiv, 13], not that he ever expected his goodness to equal the divine goodness: such a thought could never have occurred to his mind. But to wish to rule others, and not to have one’s own will ruled by any superior, is to wish to be in power and cease to be a subject; and that is the sin of pride. Hence it is aptly said that the first sin that a spirit committed was pride. But because once error has been committed in regard to a first principle, a varied and manifold course of error is bound to ensue, so from the spirit’s first inordination of will there followed manifold other sin in his will, such as hatred of God for withstanding his pride and justly chastising his offence, envy against man, and the like.

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

  Objection 2: Further, it is written (Mat. 18:20): “Where there are two or three gathered together in My name, there am I in the midst of them.” But nothing can be better than the fellowship of Christ. Therefore it would seem better to live in community than in solitude. Objection 3: Further, the vow of obedience is more excellent than the other religious vows; and humility is most acceptable to God. Now obedience and humility are better observed in company than in solitude; for Jerome says (Ep. cxxv ad Rustic. Monach.): “In solitude pride quickly takes man unawares, he sleeps as much as he will, he does what he likes”; whereas when instructing one who lives in community, he says: “You may not do what you will, you must eat what you are bidden to eat, you may possess so much as you receive, you must obey one you prefer not to obey, you must be a servant to your brethren, you must fear the superior of the monastery as God, love him as a father.” Therefore it would seem that the religious life of those who live in community is more perfect than that of those who lead a solitary life. Objection 4: Further, our Lord said (Lk. 11:33): “No man lighteth a candle and putteth it in a hidden place, nor under a bushel.” Now those who lead a solitary life are seemingly in a hidden place, and to be doing no good to any man. Therefore it would seem that their religious life is not more perfect. Objection 5: Further, that which is in accord with man’s nature is apparently more pertinent to the perfection of virtue. But man is naturally a social animal, as the Philosopher says (Polit. i, 1). Therefore it would seem that to lead a solitary life is not more perfect than to lead a community life. On the contrary, Augustine says (De oper. Monach. xxiii) that “those are holier who keep themselves aloof from the approach of all, and give their whole mind to a life of prayer.”

• From Great Authors of the Western Literary Tradition (2004)

  343 uncle’s house in Mexico City, where she taught herself literature, science, mathematics, philosophy, theology, and languages. At 13, she was presented at the Viceregal Court, the cultural center of the New World, where she became the lady-in-waiting of the vicereine. She refused to marry and entered the convent of San Jeronimo. Her cell soon became an academy and her library numbered 4,000 volumes. Sister Juana was ordered to refute an unorthodox sermon preached by a Portuguese Jesuit, a refutation applauded by many. The bishop of Puebla, however, qualifi ed his praise with the suggestion that she wasted her talents on secular matters. Rather than become only a theologian, she sold her library and musical and scienti fi c instruments and renounced the use of pen and ink. She contracted the plague and died in 1695. In 1690, at the request of an unnamed theologian, Sister Juana wrote a commentary on a sermon delivered 40 years before by a Jesuit priest that had disputed the claims of St. Augustine and St. Thomas about the nature of Christ’s love. Sister Juana’s commentary was published without her permission by the bishop of Puebla, who titled it “Athenagoric letter,” that is, “letter worthy of the wisdom of Athena.” The bishop, using the pseudonym Sor Filotea de la Cruz, appended a letter to Sister Juana, advising her to focus less on secular and more on theological matters. It is in Sister Juana’s reply to this letter, published in 1691, that she articulates her right to a life of the mind. Aphra Behn, 17th–century playwright and a notable exception, along with Sister Juana, to the limitation of literary achievement and recognition to men in the 17 th and 18th centuries. Frank and Frances Carpenter Collection, Library of Congress, Prints and Photographs Division, LC-USZ62-127791.

• From The Swimming-Pool Library (1988)

  I breathed into his mouth again—a strange sensation, intimate and yet symbolic, tasting his lips in an impersonal and disinterested way. Then I massaged his chest, with deep, almost offensive pressure, one hand on top of the other; and already he had come back to life. It had all been so rapid and inevitable that it was only when he was breathing regularly and we had laid him down on a coat and done up his fly that I felt shaken by a surge of delayed elation. I raced up the steps into mild sunshine and hung around waiting for the ambulance, unable to stop grinning, my hands trembling. Even so, it was too soon to understand. I told myself that I had scooped someone back from the threshold of death, but that seemed incommensurate with the simple routine I had followed, the vital little drill retained from childhood along with all the more complex knowledge that would never prove so useful—convection, sonata form, the names of birds in Latin and French. The Corinthian Club in Great Russell Street is the masterpiece of the architect Frank Orme, whom I once met at my grandfather’s. I remember he carried on in a pompous and incongruous way, having recently, and as if by mistake, been awarded a knighthood. Even as a child I saw him as a fraud and a hotchpotch, and I was delighted, when I joined the Club and learned that he had designed it, to discover just the same qualities in his architecture. Like Orme himself, the edifice is both mean and self-important; a paradox emphasised by the modest resources of the Club in the 1930s and its conflicting aspiration to civic grandeur. As you walk along the pavement you look down through the railings into an area where steam issues from the ventilators and half-open toplights of changing-rooms and kitchens; you hear the slam of large institutional cooking trays, the hiss of showers, the inane confidence of radio disc-jockeys. The ground floor has a severe manner, the Portland stone punctuated by green-painted metal-framed windows; but at the centre it gathers to a curvaceous, broken-pedimented doorway surmounted by two finely developed figures—one pensively Negroid, the other inspiredly Caucasian—who hold between them a banner with the device ‘Men Of All Nations’. Before answering this call, step across the street and look up at the floors above. You see more clearly that it is a steel-framed building, tarted up with niches and pilasters like some bald fact inexpertly disguised. At the far corner there is a tremendous upheaving of cartouches and volutes crowned by a cupola like that of some immense Midland Bank. Finances and inspiration seem to have been exhausted by this, however, and alongside, above the main cornice of the building, rises a two-storey mansard attic, containing the cheap accommodation the Club provides in the cheapest possible form of building.

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

  From this indeed the gravity of pride is made manifest. For just as a wise physician, in order to cure a worse disease, allows the patient to contract one that is less dangerous, so the sin of pride is shown to be more grievous by the very fact that, as a remedy, God allows men to fall into other sins. Whether pride is the first sin of all?Objection 1: It would seem that pride is not the first sin of all. For the first is maintained in all that follows. Now pride does not accompany all sins, nor is it the origin of all: for Augustine says (De Nat. et Grat. xx) that many things are done “amiss which are not done with pride.” Therefore pride is not the first sin of all. Objection 2: Further, it is written (Ecclus. 10:14) that the “beginning of . . . pride is to fall off from God.” Therefore falling away from God precedes pride. Objection 3: Further, the order of sins would seem to be according to the order of virtues. Now, not humility but faith is the first of all virtues. Therefore pride is not the first sin of all. Objection 4: Further, it is written (2 Tim. 3:13): “Evil men and seducers shall grow worse and worse”; so that apparently man’s beginning of wickedness is not the greatest of sins. But pride is the greatest of sins as stated in the foregoing Article. Therefore pride is not the first sin. Objection 5: Further, resemblance and pretense come after the reality. Now the Philosopher says (Ethic. iii, 7) that “pride apes fortitude and daring.” Therefore the vice of daring precedes the vice of pride. On the contrary, It is written (Ecclus. 10:15): “Pride is the beginning of all sin.” I answer that, The first thing in every genus is that which is essential. Now it has been stated above [3616](A[6]) that aversion from God, which is the formal complement of sin, belongs to pride essentially, and to other sins, consequently. Hence it is that pride fulfils the conditions of a first thing, and is “the beginning of all sins,” as stated above ([3617]FS, Q[84], A[2]), when we were treating of the causes of sin on the part of the aversion which is the chief part of sin. Reply to Objection 1: Pride is said to be “the beginning of all sin,” not as though every sin originated from pride, but because any kind of sin is naturally liable to arise from pride. Reply to Objection 2: To fall off from God is said to be the beginning of pride, not as though it were a distinct sin from pride, but as being the first part of pride. For it has been said above [3618](A[5]) that pride regards chiefly subjection to God which it scorns, and in consequence it scorns to be subject to a creature for God’s sake.

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

  Reply to Objection 2: That which we receive from God is not vain but true glory: it is this glory that is promised as a reward for good works, and of which it is written (2 Cor. 10:17,18): “He that glorieth let him glory in the Lord, for not he who commendeth himself is approved, but he whom God commendeth.” It is true that some are heartened to do works of virtue, through desire for human glory, as also through the desire for other earthly goods. Yet he is not truly virtuous who does virtuous deeds for the sake of human glory, as Augustine proves (De Civ. Dei v). Reply to Objection 3: It is requisite for man’s perfection that he should know himself; but not that he should be known by others, wherefore it is not to be desired in itself. It may, however, be desired as being useful for something, either in order that God may be glorified by men, or that men may become better by reason of the good they know to be in another man, or in order that man, knowing by the testimony of others’ praise the good which is in him, may himself strive to persevere therein and to become better. In this sense it is praiseworthy that a man should “take care of his good name,” and that he should “provide good things in the sight of God and men”: but not that he should take an empty pleasure in human praise. Whether vainglory is opposed to magnanimity?Objection 1: It seems that vainglory is not opposed to magnanimity. For, as stated above [3365](A[1]), vainglory consists in glorying in things that are not, which pertains to falsehood; or in earthly and perishable things, which pertains to covetousness; or in the testimony of men, whose judgment is uncertain, which pertains to imprudence. Now these vices are not contrary to magnanimity. Therefore vainglory is not opposed to magnanimity. Objection 2: Further, vainglory is not, like pusillanimity, opposed to magnanimity by way of deficiency, for this seems inconsistent with vainglory. Nor is it opposed to it by way of excess, for in this way presumption and ambition are opposed to magnanimity, as stated above ([3366]Q[130], A[2];[3367] Q[131], A[2]): and these differ from vainglory. Therefore vainglory is not opposed to magnanimity. Objection 3: Further, a gloss on Phil. 2:3, “Let nothing be done through contention, neither by vainglory,” says: “Some among them were given to dissension and restlessness, contending with one another for the sake of vainglory.” But contention [*Cf. Q[38]] is not opposed to magnanimity. Neither therefore is vainglory. On the contrary, Tully says (De Offic. i) under the heading, “Magnanimity consists in two things: We should beware of the desire for glory, since it enslaves the mind, which a magnanimous man should ever strive to keep untrammeled.” Therefore it is opposed to magnanimity.

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

  I answer that, As Isidore says (Etym. x) “a person is said to be pertinacious who holds on impudently, as being utterly tenacious.” “Pervicacious” has the same meaning, for it signifies that a man “perseveres in his purpose until he is victorious: for the ancients called ‘vicia’ what we call victory.” These the Philosopher (Ethic. vii, 9) calls {ischyrognomones}, that is “head-strong,” or {idiognomones}, that is “self-opinionated,” because they abide by their opinions more than they should; whereas the effeminate man does so less than he ought, and the persevering man, as he ought. Hence it is clear that perseverance is commended for observing the mean, while pertinacity is reproved for exceeding the mean, and effeminacy for falling short of it. Reply to Objection 1: The reason why a man is too persistent in his own opinion, is that he wishes by this means to make a show of his own excellence: wherefore this is the result of vainglory as its cause. Now it has been stated above ([3414]Q[127], A[2], ad 1;[3415] Q[133], A[2]), that opposition of vices to virtues depends, not on their cause, but on their species. Reply to Objection 2: The pertinacious man exceeds by persisting inordinately in something against many difficulties: yet he takes a certain pleasure in the end, just as the brave and the persevering man. Since, however, this pleasure is sinful, seeing that he desires it too much, and shuns the contrary pain, he is like the incontinent or effeminate man. Reply to Objection 3: Although the other virtues persist against the onslaught of the passions, they are not commended for persisting in the same way as perseverance is. As to continence, its claim to praise seems to lie rather in overcoming pleasures. Hence pertinacity is directly opposed to perseverance. OF THE GIFT OF FORTITUDE (TWO ARTICLES)We must next consider the gift corresponding to fortitude, and this is the gift of fortitude. Under this head there are two points of inquiry: (1) Whether fortitude is a gift? (2) Which among the beatitudes and fruits correspond to it? Whether fortitude is a gift?Objection 1: It seems that fortitude is not a gift. For the virtues differ from the gifts: and fortitude is a virtue. Therefore it should not be reckoned a gift. Objection 2: Further, the acts of the gift remain in heaven, as stated above ([3416]FS, Q[68], A[6]). But the act of fortitude does not remain in heaven: for Gregory says (Moral. i) that “fortitude encourages the fainthearted against hardships, which will be altogether absent from heaven.” Therefore fortitude is not a gift. Objection 3: Further, Augustine says (De Doctr. Christ. ii) that “it is a sign of fortitude to cut oneself adrift from all the deadly pleasures of the passing show.” Now noisome pleasures and delights are the concern of temperance rather than of fortitude. Therefore it seems that fortitude is not the gift corresponding to the virtue of fortitude.

• From The Unexpected Legacy of Divorce: A 25-Year Landmark Study (2000)

  I assured him, “If they do, then I will have failed badly. I promise that I’ll protect your privacy. Your identity will be carefully disguised.” Larry nodded and turned brusquely to the business at hand. “What exactly do you want to know?” “I want to know how you got from where you were at twenty-two, which is the last time I saw you, to where you are today. What were the steps along the way?” Larry frowned. “Well, it was no piece of cake. I’ll start with the easy part. I got married four years ago. My wife’s name is Grace. We have a son, Alex, who is three and another baby is due in September. Grace is a school psychologist but she’ll probably take a year off after the new baby arrives. We figure we can afford it now. As for this,” he said, waving his hand at his paper-strewn office, “this is a new firm started by two young guys. I had just graduated from engineering at San Jose State and landed my first job here. That was three years ago and it’s been great. I may stay here forever.” Larry smiled briefly and then his mood turned somber. He had decided to tell the full truth. “I got this job through a lucky break and not because I was some kind of whiz kid. When I graduated, I didn’t have any self-confidence. I had to put myself through school and started out with a D grade point. So much for M.I.T. But after a while I did better at community college and finally transferred to San Jose. It’s a good school but not in the big leagues. So every time I went for a job interview the guy from Berkeley or Caltech or wherever was first choice. They had the connections. I felt so low, I almost sank through the floor. And then I decided to contact one of my professors who had liked my work, to see if he had any ideas. That was real tough for me because I never expect anyone to come through for me. He asked me lots of questions about how I had been able to go to school during the day and work all night and why it had taken me six years instead of the usual four. Bottom line, he said he liked my work, said I had talent and grit, and recommended me to another former student who was starting a new company. The rest is history.” “That’s a very nice story. And it’s a tribute to you.” Larry looked at me soberly and said, “That’s the only time in my life that I’ve gotten help from a man.” “I take it your dad didn’t help with your education?”

• From The Unexpected Legacy of Divorce: A 25-Year Landmark Study (2000)

  As these relationships develop, parents and children often become more like peers than separate generations, which in turn can make the children more independent and responsible. They are justifiably proud of their achievement. Many of our efforts to understand the impact of divorce on children have assumed incorrectly that the child is a passive vessel who is shaped by the changes ushered in by a divorce. But the child is an active agent. (This is a theme I will develop in depth in a later chapter.) No one asked Karen to step forward. She did it on her own. Her role in the postdivorce family was entirely different from her role in the predivorce family. In some homes, everyone benefits from the child’s new role. Adults gain needed help. Children gain maturity and self-confidence. They also show a moral sensibility and compassion for others far beyond their years, which they can draw upon later in their adult relationships and often in their career choices. Karen’s decision to study public health and to develop programs for crippled children was by her own account rooted in the early responsibility she took as a child. For the fortunate parent who is able to rely on the child to get through the extended divorce crisis, the child’s availability may tip the balance between chronic dysfunction and recovery. Of course, caregiving by a child can occur in intact families when a parent is ill or troubled. I recall one little girl, Martha, the oldest of three siblings, who took over running the household for a year when her mother was recovering from a serious car accident. Martha and her father shared in parenting the younger children and in taking care of Martha’s mother. The difference was that although the mother was in a wheelchair for many months, she maintained close touch with what was going on in the home. Both parents maintained adult responsibility for all their children at home. Martha matured as a result of her experience and was rewarded by both parents with appreciation and praise. In many immigrant families one of the older children often is responsible for helping the adults to understand the new language and strange culture. Here, too, the child performs vital functions that enable the family to keep going, but the adults maintain their responsibility at the head of the family.

• From The Unexpected Legacy of Divorce: A 25-Year Landmark Study (2000)

  Congratulations!” “You mean since the first time we met? I was what, about seven?” He laughed. “That’s exactly how old you were.” “Those were not good years. I was a brat.” “You were a very unhappy brat.” “You’re right. I was a pretty miserable brat for a long time.” Larry looked around his office. “Lots of times I can’t believe that I’m sitting here.” He relaxed a little and smiled. “Do all the kids in your study agree to see you twenty-five years later?” “Since you’re an engineer, I’ll give you the numbers. So far, one hundred percent.” “What will you do with your conclusions? ” “Publish them for people to read. If you want, you’ll be among the first to see them. I promise to send you a copy.” “Will anyone be able to recognize me?” I assured him, “If they do, then I will have failed badly. I promise that I’ll protect your privacy. Your identity will be carefully disguised.” Larry nodded and turned brusquely to the business at hand. “What exactly do you want to know?” “I want to know how you got from where you were at twenty-two, which is the last time I saw you, to where you are today. What were the steps along the way?” Larry frowned. “Well, it was no piece of cake. I’ll start with the easy part. I got married four years ago. My wife’s name is Grace. We have a son, Alex, who is three and another baby is due in September. Grace is a school psychologist but she’ll probably take a year off after the new baby arrives. We figure we can afford it now. As for this,” he said, waving his hand at his paper-strewn office, “this is a new firm started by two young guys. I had just graduated from engineering at San Jose State and landed my first job here. That was three years ago and it’s been great. I may stay here forever.” Larry smiled briefly and then his mood turned somber. He had decided to tell the full truth. “I got this job through a lucky break and not because I was some kind of whiz kid. When I graduated, I didn’t have any self-confidence. I had to put myself through school and started out with a D grade point. So much for M.I.T. But after a while I did better at community college and finally transferred to San Jose. It’s a good school but not in the big leagues. So every time I went for a job interview the guy from Berkeley or Caltech or wherever was first choice. They had the connections. I felt so low, I almost sank through the floor.

• From The Best American Erotica 2001 (2001)

  Everyone has something that they can wax, so why not me? I only wax myself once in a while. It’s not so easy for me. To wax down there, since I can’t bend down to see properly, I have to sit on a mirror. Who would think I would ever look at my own thing? Even all those big-big ladies never look at their thing . .. and me, I’ve seen so many dozens by now. “Don’t wax it yet, you’re not married!” the ladies keep saying. “You’re still thin and pure and innocent, and you’re not prepared like a married woman for what happens down there. You’ll start feeling wrong feeling between your legs, and then no man will take a chance with you. That’s why we don’t let our unmarried daughters wax down there.” I tell you, these ladies think they know everything. I am going to have a love marriage, and I have enough money saved so that I can give a good dowry. What husband will say no to that? The real reason these ladies don’t allow their young daugh ters to wax down there is because then the daughters will want to have love marriages! And then all the life’s work for these rich-rich ladies will go to waste, because if Indian girls are al lowed to marry whichever man they want, then who will marry the ladies’ good-for-nothing sons? They’re very clever, these rich ladies. But very stupid also. They force their daugh ters to be beautiful so they can arrange a match with a rich boy, but in the end they are marrying off their girls to boys who are exactly the same as their fathers, who make this and that ex cuse and don’t touch one finger to their wives who are waxed clean and ready from head to toe. So every day, there is plenty of business for the beauty salon, giving these ladies manicures, pedicures, facials, waxing, hair cut, massage. . . . And then some simple village girl like me will come along who doesn’t know anything, and they will cunningly find some way to get her to wax their thing. And when they feel something down there which makes them feel like human beings, then they’re happy. But who wants to listen to what I have to say? So I keep my mouth shut and do my work. When the time comes to get married, I will have saved enough money so my husband can treat me well. Until then, I am living without worries, so what do I care? JOE MAYNARD Fleshlight I'm nor sure whether or nor it’s a dubious honor that Ms.

• From The Unexpected Legacy of Divorce: A 25-Year Landmark Study (2000)

  It was comforting for him to feel that he was a good man after so many years of being ashamed. Other young men and women in the group drew a similar conclusion and turned their lives around just as Larry did. They, too, had been headed on a steep downward path. And they broke away dramatically from their identification with a delinquent or emotionally disturbed parent, finding other images to guide their lives. Jim, whose parents fought savagely and ignored their children for several years, at age sixteen burned down a million-dollar church building. The district attorney wanted him to be sentenced as an adult. An enlightened judge sent Jim to a correction center for youth instead of prison, and now, at age thirty-eight, he is a respected headmaster of a prestigious school and a happily married man with three children. He overcame drug use and a criminal record that included robbing houses, car theft, and arson. Like Larry, he accomplished this feat by revising his view of his parents and of his place in society. As he reported it, the central image that triggered his turnaround was the sight of his father sobbing at the arson trial. Before that, Jim had been unmoved by anything his father or mother said or did. Standing before the judge, waiting for sentencing, he silently concluded that his parents had joined together to help him. Despite their conflicts with each other, they had not—as he fervently believed—forgotten him. Most of all, he concluded that despite what he had felt for years, his father really loved him. At that critical moment, he resolved to turn his life around. There are many other stories. Children who had been drinking or taking drugs since age eleven quit by their early or mid-twenties, sometimes before. A whole group who had witnessed violence and been either victims or perpetrators of more violence during their adolescence fell into this category of turnabouts. They were able to transform their lives when they reached a particular crossroads, without direct intervention from therapy or family. All were in their twenties or early thirties when the transformation unfolded, which may not be a coincidence. Many people this age seem able to mobilize large reserves of physical and psychic energy to implement the change. Although it takes them longer to grow into adulthood, they often do so with spurts of self-determination. Think how hard Larry worked for at least six years to establish his new life and how much effort Karen expended in her twenties in entirely revising her career, her relationships with her family, and the relationship in her marriage. As children and teenagers, Larry and the others did not stand out as being resilient or special in any regard.

• From The Unexpected Legacy of Divorce: A 25-Year Landmark Study (2000)

  She’s glad that she did what she did as a child and adolescent. And she’s also very pleased and aware that she was able to break free of her self-sacrifice and guilt, which had become a bottomless pit. Her experiences as a daughter laid the groundwork for her ability to participate fully in a loving relationship with a man and to be a sensitive and devoted mother. There are, of course, children who never break free from caring for their parent, husband, or other needy person. There are many dangerous traps along the way for the caregiver child who places others’ interests far ahead of her own. Karen could have remained in her unfortunate cohabitation with a man who needed her ministrations and stood in for her needy parents. Several caregiver children went on to marry men who were dependent on their caregiving, and, in fact, that was their appeal. Karen, too, might have remained at home sitting in the cinders like the well-known fairy-tale child waiting to be rescued by a fairy godmother and a prince. So the role of caregiver imposes a corollary task of freeing oneself and moving out and up because there is no one to rescue or even help her. Inarguably the role of caregiver is tricky. If it lasts during adolescence, it provides the young person with a sense of pride and satisfaction, of having been a virtuous person who helped her family. If it extends too far and there are no limits, then the child begins to feel responsible for keeping the parent alive. It becomes an impossible burden. And if it extends into adulthood and becomes the dominant pattern of relating to people, it’s a serious detriment to enjoying one’s own life. The other great hazard is that the child forever feels deprived of her own childhood and as an adult tries to make up for the playtime she has lost or for the nurturance she never received when she was young. Whether a caregiver child can shed her role as she reaches adulthood or remains tied emotionally and sometimes physically to her parents or to her own unsatisfied needs is the single most important key. As our meeting ended I realized that Karen had provided me with an intimate portrait of what it’s like to grow up in a divorced family where parenting collapses and the child takes over adult responsibilities. She had shown me how she finally broke free of the demanding caregiver role and went on to create her own family. And she had been remarkably candid about divorce-related residues that she struggled with almost daily. As I drove away from her house, I marveled that she was upbeat not only about herself but also about the future of her generation.

• From The Best American Erotica 2001 (2001)

  edited by SUSIE BRIGHT the best Blvri car erotica 2001 Illllllllll Other Titles by Susie Bright Full Exposure: Opening Up to Your Sexual Creativity and Erotic Expression The Sexual State of the Union The Best American Erotica 1995, 1994, 1995, 1996, 1997, 1999, 2000, 2001 (editor) Nothing But the Girl: The Blatant Lesbian Image (with Jill Posener) Herotica, Herotica 2, Herotica 5 (editor) Sexwise Susie Bright's Sexual Reality: A Virtual Sex World Reader Susie Sexpert's Lesbian Sex World the best AMERICAN EROTICA 2001 edited by Susie Bright A Touchstone Book Published by Simon & Schuster New York London Toronto Sydney Singapore IIII III IIII TOUCHSTONE Rockefeller Center 1230 Avenue of the Americas New York, NY 10020 This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the authors' imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. Introduction and compilation copyright © 2001 by Susie Bright All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. Touchstone and colophon are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc. Designed by Joy O'Meara Manufactured in the United States of America 3579 10 864 ISBN 0-684-86914-4 Acknowledgments Thank you to my father, Bill Bright, for all his editing expertise; to my managers and agents, Joanie Shoemaker and Jo-Lynne Worley; and to my editor at Simon & Schuster, Doris Cooper-for all their work and attention to this collection. I'd also like to thank Jennifer Taillac, Ina Nadborny, Jill Wolfson, and Jon Bailiff for their support. The Best American Erotica 2001 is dedicated to my friend Louise Rafkin Contents Introduction 15 TODD BELTON Expanding on an Idea 23 MARGE PIERCY From Three Women: The New Kid 29 CARA BRUCE You Know What? 37 MATT BERNSTEIN SYCAMORE Sink 43 TSAURAH L1TZKY Greek Sex 49 NATHAN ENGLANDER From "Peep Show" 53 GINU KAMANI Waxing the Thing 59 JOE MAYNARD Fleshlight 67 WENDY BECKER Backstage Boys 75 JERRY STAHL From Perv-A Love Story 79 DANI SHAPIRO Bed of Leaves 85 DODIE BELLAMY Spew Forth 93 DAN TAULAPAPA McMULLIN Sunday 107 CLAIRE TRISTRAM When the Student Is Ready 115 JAMES WILLIAMS Jason's Cock 121 M J ROSE From Lip Service 129 DAMIAN GRACE The Man Who Ate Women 135 WADE KRUEGER That's Awful, That's Nothing 151 ROSALIND CHRISTINE LLOYD Deflower 155 CHARLES FLOWERS In This Corner 161 HANNE BLANK And Early to Rise 175 JACK MURNIGHAN Rooster 185 Contributors 189 Reader's Directory 195 Credits 199 Reader Survey 203 Introduction I ’ve never been questioned so closely until now. I’ve never been treated with such scrutiny and criticism. When I started The Best American Erotica series in 1993, the question people asked was, “Where do you find erotic literature?”—as in, “Any source whatsoever.” They assumed I had nothing to look at except a bunch of spanky romps signed by “Anony mous” or steamy letters to the editor so prolifically found in pint-size stroke ’zines at the newsstand.

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

  Objection 4: Further, a gloss [*St. Augustine, Gen. ad lit. xi] on 1 Tim. 2:14, “The woman being seduced was in the transgression,” says: “The Apostle rightly calls this seduction, for they were persuaded to accept a falsehood as being true; namely that God had forbidden them to touch that tree, because He knew that if they touched it, they would be like gods, as though He who made them men, begrudged them the godhead . . .” Now it pertains to unbelief to believe such a thing. Therefore man’s first sin was unbelief and not pride. On the contrary, It is written (Ecclus. 10:15): “Pride is the beginning of all sin.” Now man’s first sin is the beginning of all sin, according to Rom. 5:12, “By one man sin entered into this world.” Therefore man’s first sin was pride. I answer that, Many movements may concur towards one sin, and the character of sin attaches to that one in which inordinateness is first found. And it is evident that inordinateness is in the inward movement of the soul before being in the outward act of the body; since, as Augustine says (De Civ. Dei i, 18), the sanctity of the body is not forfeited so long as the sanctity of the soul remains. Also, among the inward movements, the appetite is moved towards the end before being moved towards that which is desired for the sake of the end; and consequently man’s first sin was where it was possible for his appetite to be directed to an inordinate end. Now man was so appointed in the state of innocence, that there was no rebellion of the flesh against the spirit. Wherefore it was not possible for the first inordinateness in the human appetite to result from his coveting a sensible good, to which the concupiscence of the flesh tends against the order of reason. It remains therefore that the first inordinateness of the human appetite resulted from his coveting inordinately some spiritual good. Now he would not have coveted it inordinately, by desiring it according to his measure as established by the Divine rule. Hence it follows that man’s first sin consisted in his coveting some spiritual good above his measure: and this pertains to pride. Therefore it is evident that man’s first sin was pride. Reply to Objection 1: Man’s disobedience to the Divine command was not willed by man for his own sake, for this could not happen unless one presuppose inordinateness in his will. It remains therefore that he willed it for the sake of something else. Now the first thing he coveted inordinately was his own excellence; and consequently his disobedience was the result of his pride. This agrees with the statement of Augustine, who says (Ad Oros [*Dial. QQ. lxv, qu. 4]) that “man puffed up with pride obeyed the serpent’s prompting, and scorned God’s commands.”

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

  Reply to Objection 2: Gluttony also had a place in the sin of our first parents. For it is written (Gn. 3:6): “The woman saw that the tree was good to eat, and fair to the eyes, and delightful to behold, and she took of the fruit thereof, and did eat.” Yet the very goodness and beauty of the fruit was not their first motive for sinning, but the persuasive words of the serpent, who said (Gn. 3:5): “Your eyes shall be opened and you shall be as Gods”: and it was by coveting this that the woman fell into pride. Hence the sin of gluttony resulted from the sin of pride. Reply to Objection 3: The desire for knowledge resulted in our first parents from their inordinate desire for excellence. Hence the serpent began by saying: “You shall be as Gods,” and added: “Knowing good and evil.” Reply to Objection 4: According to Augustine (Gen. ad lit. xi, 30), “the woman had not believed the serpent’s statement that they were debarred by God from a good and useful thing, were her mind not already filled with the love of her own power, and a certain proud self-presumption.” This does not mean that pride preceded the promptings of the serpent, but that as soon as the serpent had spoken his words of persuasion, her mind was puffed up, the result being that she believed the demon to have spoken truly. Whether the first man’s pride consisted in his coveting God’s likeness?Objection 1: It would seem that the first man’s pride did not consist in his coveting the Divine likeness. For no one sins by coveting that which is competent to him according to his nature. Now God’s likeness is competent to man according to his nature: for it is written (Gn. 1:26): “Let us make man to our image and likeness.” Therefore he did not sin by coveting God’s likeness. Objection 2: Further, it would seem that man coveted God’s likeness in order that he might obtain knowledge of good and evil: for this was the serpent’s suggestion: “You shall be as Gods knowing good and evil.” Now the desire of knowledge is natural to man, according to the saying of the Philosopher at the beginning of his Metaphysics i, 1: “All men naturally desire knowledge.” Therefore he did not sin by coveting God’s likeness. Objection 3: Further, no wise man chooses the impossible. Now the first man was endowed with wisdom, according to Ecclus. 17:5, “He filled them with the knowledge of understanding.” Since then every sin consists in a deliberate act of the appetite, namely choice, it would seem that the first man did not sin by coveting something impossible. But it is impossible for man to be like God, according to the saying of Ex. 15:11, “Who is like to Thee among the strong, O Lord?” Therefore the first man did not sin by coveting God’s likeness.

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

  Objection 2: Further, Gregory says (Moral. xxiv, 8) that “the proud observe other people’s conduct not so as to set themselves beneath them with humility, but so as to set themselves above them with pride”: wherefore it would seem that pride originates in undue observation. Now observation pertains not to the irascible but to the rational faculty. Objection 3: Further. pride seeks pre-eminence not only in sensible things, but also in spiritual and intelligible things: while it consists essentially in the contempt of God, according to Ecclus. 10:14, “The beginning of the pride of man is to fall off from God.” Now the irascible, since it is a part of the sensitive appetite, cannot extend to God and things intelligible. Therefore pride cannot be in the irascible. Objection 4: Further, as stated in Prosper’s Liber Sententiarum, sent. 294, “Pride is love of one’s own excellence.” But love is not in the irascible, but in the concupiscible. Therefore pride is not in the irascible. On the contrary, Gregory (Moral. ii, 49) opposes pride to the gift of fear. Now fear belongs to the irascible. Therefore pride is in the irascible. I answer that, The subject of any virtue or vice is to be ascertained from its proper object: for the object of a habit or act cannot be other than the object of the power, which is the subject of both. Now the proper object of pride is something difficult, for pride is the desire of one’s own excellence, as stated above ([3606]AA[1],2). Wherefore pride must needs pertain in some way to the irascible faculty. Now the irascible may be taken in two ways. First in a strict sense, and thus it is a part of the sensitive appetite, even as anger, strictly speaking, is a passion of the sensitive appetite. Secondly, the irascible may be taken in a broader sense, so as to belong also to the intellective appetite, to which also anger is sometimes ascribed. It is thus that we attribute anger to God and the angels, not as a passion, but as denoting the sentence of justice pronouncing judgment. Nevertheless the irascible understood in this broad sense is not distinct from the concupiscible power, as stated above in the [3607]FP, Q[59], A[4]; FS, Q[82], A[5], ad 1 and 2. Consequently if the difficult thing which is the object of pride, were merely some sensible object, whereto the sensitive appetite might tend, pride would have to be in the irascible which is part of the sensitive appetite. But since the difficult thing which pride has in view is common both to sensible and to spiritual things, we must needs say that the subject of pride is the irascible not only strictly so called, as a part of the sensitive appetite, but also in its wider acceptation, as applicable to the intellective appetite. Wherefore pride is ascribed also to the demons.

• From The Folding Star (1994)

  When I didn't go to the Cassette I went to the Golden Calf, an old men's bar in the middle of town but so tucked away up an alley full of bicycles and beer crates that it could have been anywhere. The regulars either sat in unexpecting silence or spoke loudly and infrequently about what they'd seen on television. You could have been in a lounge bar in a market town in the west of England, or even in the George IV at home, except that here there was no music, which made it better for reading or writing letters. Today I sat with Careful, Mary! to distract me between the malty mouthfuls of a lunchtime "Silence"—a flooring brew from Antwerp alleged to be made by Trappist monks. I felt obtusely proud of the filthy little book, and wanted to tell the old boy next to me how Christina McFie was my comical-tragical great-aunt. Careful, Mary! was, or else wasn't, one of her best—it depended on whether you took her seriously or enjoyed her as a bizarre joke. Aunt Tina had spent a long childless adulthood in Africa, married to a Scottish coffee-planter, and her novels had come to her almost unbidden, like letters full of homesickness and childish make-believe. The more she wrote of England the more romantic her picture of it became—after three or four books it was barely recognisable; but her gaffes began to attract her a new audience, who loved the inadvertent comedy of her naively lofty style. For a while there had even been a Christina McFie fan-club, though it was never quite clear if she was fooled or if she took it in the camp spirit in which it was intended. I remembered the disappointment I'd felt as a child when she returned from Kenya and I discovered that she wasn't black, merely tanned and wizened; she had a sharp smell that struck a hugged six-year-old keenly, and wore trousers and smoked yellow cigarettes. I had read Careful, Mary! when I was still too young to know what was wrong with it; it was the one in which she got muddled up and wrote about Bermondsey when she clearly meant Belgravia; the raffish "Bermondsey set" were like figures from Thackeray oddly translated to the era of Victrolas and racing Bentleys. Still, why not? I thought. And then she had ended up in Chislehurst, in eccentric isolation amid some private fantasy of England.

• From The Folding Star (1994)

  And we wrote. Graves had abandoned his plans for the stage and was at work on an experimental novel, a completely new tack, the characters not only having no titles, but also no names: the men were identified by numbers, and the women by the various voiceless additional characters on the typewriter, such as # and [. He typed it at immense speed, with music on in the background, the carriage-return bell sometimes fitting in felicitously. I remained loyal to poetry, and alternated masked vers libre fantasies about the prefects with Wordsworthian sonnet-sequences on the seasons, the months, the w e e k s . . . I even started a sequence on the days of the year, each poem to be written on the day in question, but had dried up by early February. "The Months" was printed in the school magazine, and received Graves's most particular criticism. Aunt Tina read it there and worked up a mood of acclamation at home, suggesting, for some reason that seemed cogent at the time, that I should go and see Perry Dawlish, who was a friend of hers, and find out what he had to say. Dawlish would have been about seventy then, and was considered locally to be a famous author. If ever he showed up at a fete or sale of work he would be photographed for the Knowledge; and his rare appearances on TV programmes about writers of the twenties and thirties were also flagged in the local press: " 'I knew Merrifield well', Sir Perry says, and goes on to recall his three marriages and his lively sense of humour, which he claims some people could find disconcerting!" Dawlish was a baronet, but this didn't discourage a general supposition that he had been knighted for his services to literature. He had had poems published in the London Mercury when he was only fifteen (my own age at this first meeting) and Squire had included his work as a brilliant new star in his Selections from Modern Poets a few years later. He had written novels, too, which had a reputation for candour; and slender appreciations of Tennyson and Patmore. All that local people would have seen of his work was the Memoirs, remaindered inexhaustibly in Digby's window, and the thin bookmaking ideas he had taken up more recently—the text to some pictures of Royal London, an anthology of "The Kentish Muse". I knew little of this at the time, of course: to me he was the spruce aquiline old gent I saw hurrying through the town, looking up with embarrassed good humour through bushy eyebrows and smiling at strangers as if they had recognised him. Once or twice he had come into a shop at the same time as me, and I was aware of an unconscious heightening of tone, a kind of feudal relish on the part of the traders that I found silly but moving. Sometimes I passed him on the common.

• From The Unexpected Legacy of Divorce: A 25-Year Landmark Study (2000)

  He gave a shy smile. “I’ve had girlfriends but no great love of my life. Actually my time is limited what with school and working to support myself. I did so poorly in high school that I almost didn’t graduate, so I’ve had a lot of catching up to do.” As Larry left that day, he surprised me by asking about the other young people in the study. (I wasn’t used to his showing interest in other people.) I explained that several others had turned their lives around after a bad start. Larry said, “You know, I really didn’t want to participate in this study, but now I’m glad I did. Maybe I can help some little kid who has the same problem with his father that I did with mine.” Larry had come a very long way entirely on his own. Stories of Transformation LARRY HAD GONE FAR in explaining his baffling overnight transformation from an angry, violent delinquent into a law-abiding, decent young man. His striking phrase—“I had to become my own father”—encapsulated his passionate rejection of his father as role model and his understanding that he had to grow up fast if he was going to pursue another kind of life for himself. Ironically and tragically, Larry’s early identification with his violent father was greatly strengthened by the divorce. It took him ten troubled years to break that tie and set his own course. The first step in the transformation was Larry’s despair and rage. After several years of disappointments, he began to realize that his father’s promises were built on shifting sand. This man was not the idealized hero erected in his fantasies. Somewhere along the line Larry realized that he was not central to his father’s life. His discovery that his father had married without telling him and then had no time to see him broke his heart and forever ended his fantasy of restoring the closeness of the relationship that he had enjoyed as a young child. Larry provided me with another missing piece. He confessed that his sister’s and his mother’s suffering had been apparent to him for many years, but his alliance with his father had blocked his ability to see straight. He had been unable to acknowledge his mother’s tears, or his father as the violent agent of her pain, or his own role in tormenting his mother. Freed of his subservience to his father, he could finally acknowledge his complicity and make amends. As he corrected his misunderstanding of his parents’ violent marriage, he was at last able to accept the divorce and agree that it was necessary. The last piece was his own courage, his persistence and conviction that he was finally doing what was right. For the first time in many years he felt good about himself.