This letter was edited to protect the writer.
Dear Auntie Seraphic,
I'm writing in search of some dating advice! So there's this guy that I've had a crush on since forever, [grade school] to be exact. I'm now 2-. Being a very shy and insecure teenager, I never caught onto the fact that this guy apparently had a crush on me despite the fact that he asked me to multiple dances. I think he was shy and insecure too, so it was a hopeless combination. We barely even said hi to one another in passing at school.
Anyhow, fast forward [x] years [...] I really grew in my faith during my university years [...] . He, on the other hand, really got into partying, girls, and the whole college boy scene. While home for breaks, since we both hung in the same social circle in high school, I was able to witness some sadly typical behaviour from him. (Most appalling was his drunkeness and some of that awfully disgusting bumping and grinding with his girlfriend - right in front of his younger siblings, parents, and friends).
I've never had a boyfriend, and he's always been one of the only guys who I feel an instant attraction and connection to. This is where my question comes into play.
Recently, he broke up with his most recent "crazy" girlfriend, and he seems to have shown interest in me. I feel like I'm a good judge of character, and he has often showed me a great deal of potential. He goes to mass every weekend and is open to faith, but I don't think he agrees with all the teaching of the Church. Nor does he have a prayer life or show initiative to grow in virtue...
So, do you think it's worth pursuing at least a friendship with him, or am I just setting myself up for failure? I also don't want to pursue a friendship for selfish, emotional, girly reasons while all along knowing that I could never seriously date or marry someone like him. People keep telling me that they think we would be great together, and humanly speaking, I think we would be. I think that's why I've been stuck on him for forever and ever.
I know you can't start dating a guy with the expectation that you're going to change him, but maybe this is a different kind of situation. I've always been very strong in my convictions and boundaries, and peer pressure, etc. etc. I'm not worried that he will corrupt me or anything like that. I'm just wondering if you think it's even worth my time? More than anything, I want to marry a man who loves God and the Church more than me. Yet, I know that sometimes God can work in mysterious ways.
Childhood Crush Girl
Dear Childhood Crush Girl,
From what you tell me, this man is seriously bad news. He is not the same boy you had a crush on when you were [a kid]. He's not the same boy who asked you to those high school dances. He's the boy who ground on his girlfriend without caring or knowing what his parents would think of it or what a bad example it was for his siblings.
As you have never had a boyfriend before, you have not had the arguments and the heartbreaks and whatever it is that teaches a woman how to stand up to bad boy behaviour. (And this is not a bad thing. It is immeasurably better--and very fortunate--to not have any boyfriend until you meet Mr Right, and Mr Right does not indulge in bad boy behaviour and hasn't for some years or ever.) You may think you are incorruptible, but almost nobody is incorruptible. One way to stay on the straight and narrow path is to keep well away from romantic relationships with wild guys known for their drunkenness and lewd behaviour.
So he goes to Mass. Big deal. Going to Mass is the bare minimum of what a Catholic boy should do, and for all you know his family would kill him if he didn't.
Meanwhile, I don't think Single women should pursue Single men in any way. One of the ways to make sure a man does not just use you for an ego-boost or for a good time is to not court him yourself. If you [court him], it will be very hard to tell if he really likes you for YOU or for the thrill you give his ego. And once the kind of man who uses girls knows you like him that much, despite his obvious bad behaviour, your chances of influencing him for good are over.
By the way, does he already know you've had a crush on him for years? If so, not good. Back away. Are people telling you you'd be great together because you keep asking them? Because if so, they might just be telling you what you want to hear.
A [X] year crush sounds extremely unrooted in reality to me. But it also sounds like a part of you that you've really cherished, like books from your childhood. How we hate to throw out things that we have loved for so long! But as we get older we have to put toys and children's books aside to move adult things onto the shelves. And that's what I think you should do now.
Reading this over, this email sounds rather harsh. But I have the distinct impression of a lamb frolicking around the edge of the woods, wondering if Mr Wolf will come out and play. For heaven's sake, don't think you can take on and ennoble some womanizer ("crazy" girlfriend, my foot--maybe one thing that makes her crazy is dating guys like him), especially when you have had no dating experience at all. Stay away from him, don't pursue him, and if he pursues you, behave extremely cautiously. Make him work for your good opinion, and if he's not willing to do that, forget him. Seriously.
Incidentally, if it was he who told you that his past girlfriend or girlfriends are "crazy", do not have anything to do with him. You will be in danger of being the next ex-girlfriend he tells people is crazy.
I hope this is helpful. If you want an authentic good Catholic man, you deserve an authentic good Catholic man. Don't be blinded by a fantasy that has been growing since you were [a child].
Grace and peace,
Seraphic
***
One of the tragedies of modern Catholic dating life is getting involved with a guy who is not over a drinking-and-partying-and-generally-sowing-his-wild-oats stage in life. You may very well feel, "Humph! That's no way for a Catholic Boy to behave. Humph! We should shun him forever after!" But some (most?) of those guys improve and grow up, and that's just the way it is. The best idea is to steer clear of party boys until they wake up with the hangover of adulthood, which involves much muttering of "Why was I so stupid? I can't believe I was so stupid. Oh, oh oh."
Watch out particularly for party boys you have had crushes on since practically forever. Crushes are a great destroyer of grasp on reality.
By the way, there is a debate over on a conservative Polish website about whether it is okay just to remain a chaste and celibate Single or if conservative Poles absolutely have to get married and have children. (Anielskie Single was cited, which is why I noticed.)
I am somewhat disturbed by the low opinion in which some conservative Polish men hold other conservative Polish men who just don't want to get married, but it does suggest that my 1980s plan--that if when I was grown up I weren't married by a certain age, I would just go to Warsaw and casually drop my passport on the pavement in front of a group of cute guys--might not have been all that stupid and might not be that out of date.
Meanwhile, I repeat that I dislike the expression "start a family" because most of us are born to families and continue to have those families whether or not we get married and whether or not we have children. The more solidly we can anchor the Individual, or Childless Married Couple, or Dad-Mum-Child, into the bigger, extended family, the better.
Wednesday, 8 August 2012
Tuesday, 7 August 2012
Is Outrage!
So yesterday I was walking through the New Town to get to Mass for the Feast of the Transfiguration... What's that you say? Old calendar, my dears. Old calendar.
Anyway, I was walking through the New Town with two charming Young Fogeys, co-religionists, of course, and we were rather snappily dressed although I say so myself. But nothing special, you understand.
The Englishman was wearing a perfectly normal tweed jacket, a Fair Isle jumper, tie, dark blue corduroy trousers, argyle socks and brown shoes.
The Continental was perhaps slightly more daring with his bright cherry red corduroy trousers, waistcoat, dark jacket, tie, brown shoes, dark hat, and, of course, his beautiful nineteenth century moustache.
And I was wearing some old thing: a dark green frock with a rather 1930s air although with a modified Empire waist--sort of between Empire and real waist--because I simply cannot wear a sack, my dears. So aptly named a garment, the sack dress, and so rrrruinous to curvy ladies like myself. I will have none of it. Anyway, let me see, I was wearing this dark green frock, large dark green button earrings, a green crystal necklace, lime green tights, green paisley shawl and little brown boots. Standard day wear, darlings.
The Englishman was holding a missal. I, of course, had mine wrapped in my mantilla in my green velvet handbag.
Well! We had turned the corner on Belford Road when who should approach us but two tall denim-clad people with guitars. And we would not have taken any notice of them had one not suddenly said, in Australian, with a hit of irony:
"Nice costumes, guys."
Well. You can imagine what we said.
"Thank you," said the Englishman with kneejerk polite hypocrisy.
"Thank you," said Canadian me with kneejerk polite hypocrisy.
The Continental uttered no word and made no gesture to acknowledge that such creatures as the speaker might exist although I suspect his upper lip curled ever so slightly under his beautiful moustache.
The musicians passed us, continuing in the direction opposite to our own, and I puzzled over the greeting. The Edinburgh Festival is in full swing, so the Australian may have made an honest error. But on the other hand, there was that hint of irony. Had the cherry corduroy trousers awakened dormant class hatreds?
"Unfair," I said suddenly. "I'm not even wearing a hat. Oh, wait. Yes I am."
But the chap was Australian, and surely not party to the seething hostilities and envies lurking underneath what we locals laughingly call democracy.
So what was with the Aussie's personal tone? Why had hats + tweed + frock + ties + jumper + pipes (for of course my companions were smoking pipes) elicited such disapproval?
Would he have made such a remark to punkers? No. To goths? Unlikely. So why us? Why us?
"OOOOOOOO!" I gasped, as a hypothesis dawned. "They could be a folk music group on their way to the Cathedral!"
We pondered this.
"Let's get 'em!" I cried.
Update: Dear folk Mass loving readers, I was kidding! :-D
Anyway, I was walking through the New Town with two charming Young Fogeys, co-religionists, of course, and we were rather snappily dressed although I say so myself. But nothing special, you understand.
The Englishman was wearing a perfectly normal tweed jacket, a Fair Isle jumper, tie, dark blue corduroy trousers, argyle socks and brown shoes.
The Continental was perhaps slightly more daring with his bright cherry red corduroy trousers, waistcoat, dark jacket, tie, brown shoes, dark hat, and, of course, his beautiful nineteenth century moustache.
And I was wearing some old thing: a dark green frock with a rather 1930s air although with a modified Empire waist--sort of between Empire and real waist--because I simply cannot wear a sack, my dears. So aptly named a garment, the sack dress, and so rrrruinous to curvy ladies like myself. I will have none of it. Anyway, let me see, I was wearing this dark green frock, large dark green button earrings, a green crystal necklace, lime green tights, green paisley shawl and little brown boots. Standard day wear, darlings.
The Englishman was holding a missal. I, of course, had mine wrapped in my mantilla in my green velvet handbag.
Well! We had turned the corner on Belford Road when who should approach us but two tall denim-clad people with guitars. And we would not have taken any notice of them had one not suddenly said, in Australian, with a hit of irony:
"Nice costumes, guys."
Well. You can imagine what we said.
"Thank you," said the Englishman with kneejerk polite hypocrisy.
"Thank you," said Canadian me with kneejerk polite hypocrisy.
The Continental uttered no word and made no gesture to acknowledge that such creatures as the speaker might exist although I suspect his upper lip curled ever so slightly under his beautiful moustache.
The musicians passed us, continuing in the direction opposite to our own, and I puzzled over the greeting. The Edinburgh Festival is in full swing, so the Australian may have made an honest error. But on the other hand, there was that hint of irony. Had the cherry corduroy trousers awakened dormant class hatreds?
"Unfair," I said suddenly. "I'm not even wearing a hat. Oh, wait. Yes I am."
But the chap was Australian, and surely not party to the seething hostilities and envies lurking underneath what we locals laughingly call democracy.
So what was with the Aussie's personal tone? Why had hats + tweed + frock + ties + jumper + pipes (for of course my companions were smoking pipes) elicited such disapproval?
Would he have made such a remark to punkers? No. To goths? Unlikely. So why us? Why us?
"OOOOOOOO!" I gasped, as a hypothesis dawned. "They could be a folk music group on their way to the Cathedral!"
We pondered this.
"Let's get 'em!" I cried.
Update: Dear folk Mass loving readers, I was kidding! :-D
Monday, 6 August 2012
A Change in Attitude
By the time I was 27, I was an angry little camper, people. I remember telling Shrink darling how much I hated men. Shrinkie thought this meant I had a problem with my father and my brothers. I told her that no, I hated all men EXCEPT my father and my brothers. This did not fly with what Shrinkie learned at shrink school, but it was true. Well, almost true. I didn't hate my boxing coach. I adored my boxing coach, who was a hoot, and I think fondly of him to this day.
So why did poor little Seraphic (age 27) hate (most) men so much, eh? Could it have anything to do with the row of Andrea Dworkin books on the shelf in her bachelor apartment? Maybe. But it probably had more to do with 17 years of disappointment with male behaviour.
Dwelling on disappointment with male behaviour goes against my philosophy of Seraphic Singleness, so I will be brief.
First, I had the really bad luck of being in a toxic elementary school environment. Two or three of the boys in my class were sexually precocious (why?) and from about the fifth grade on (which means from when they were ten) they were the model for many of the other boys in my class. I read a lot, so I knew that our faith disapproved of ten year old boys making out with girls behind the school, and was shocked that they and their chosen girls did.
But that was innocent compared to what followed as we all got older, which was sexualized name-calling and, not to put too fine a point on it, sexual attacks. A number of girls were deemed worthy of groping, including mass gropings; oddly, these were the "popular" girls. Fortunately for me, I was not popular. (The paradox of good fortune in not being popular still blows my mind.)
Classically, I didn't say anything to anyone about all this until my sister reached fifth grade, and then I went to see the (male) principal.
Second, the (male) principal said, "Boys will be boys" and "It's all part of growing up."
(In contrast to the principal was the school custodian who actually caught one of the boys with his hands up one of the girls' tops, and he was outraged. He grabbed the malefactor--definitely not the worst offender--and, shouting, roughly led him off to the feckless principal. How sad that our custodian caught him in Grade 8, not Grade 5.)
Third, my (male) Grade 7 teacher made sexist little jokes about girls all the time and blamed us girls for the boys' bad behaviour towards us.
It was about then that I learned about feminism and started to read feminist stuff, which confused me because although feminists were so sensible about some things, they really hated the Pope and Catholicism in general. Whenever a feminist journo mentioned JP 2 she sounded like a lunatic.
(In contrast to my sexist Grade 7 teacher was Stan the Bus Driver. I cannot remember Stan ever saying anything pro-woman in general, but just the memory of Stan brings back safe and happy feelings. Possibly Stan was really good at suppressing bullies on the bus. Hmm. I see that the two most stellar men of my elementary school were the janitor and the bus driver, not the teachers or principal.)
Graduating from elementary school and going to to all-girls high school brought a welcome relief from witnessing the sexual violence of children. However, adolescence brought all the disappointments of unrequited love, which I suffered probably every day. And I do mean every day. In fact, I think I had a crush on someone from the ages of seven to twenty-five without a day's rest. But it was the worst in high school.
I did rather better, socially speaking, in university where, I now realize, I was a heartbreaking menace, the rose-stem chomping bane of Nice Catholic Boys (well, a few of them anyway). But, unfortunately for him and me, I married Mr Protestant Totally Wrong, and that was a total nightmare and led to being divorced at 27, reading Andrea Dworkin and weeping on Shrinkie's couch.
I forget what train of thought led to this exercise, which I wrote about in My Book, but one day when I was sitting about being angry at men, and simultaneously attracted to men, which is definitely hard on the brain, I wrote out a list of everything bad I believed about men. And then beside all the bad things, I wrote the exact opposite, e.g. "Most men would rape if they could get away with it."/"Most men are horrified by rape, and in fact men have enacted laws against it."
And looking at my list, I realized that the opposite list was probably more true than the first list. And when I made that leap of faith, I stopped hating men.
If you are a Lesbian separatist, your life will still be made poorer by hating men, but at least it will be consistent. But if you are an ordinary woman like most women, a woman who wants to get married to a man and is open to having male children, hating men is going to seriously mess you up.
I understand why it is easy to hate men. All you have to do is read the crime pages or see yet another photo of a missing child on a milk container or read an account of the civil wars in Yugoslavia or hear about what happened to your great-aunt when the Russians invaded in 1945. All you have to do is hold a friend's hand as she cries because that man she had a crush on for so long used her and tossed her aside like a tissue. All you have to do is think about what bad stuff has happened to you. Soooooo easy to hate men. So tempting. But a seriously bad idea.
It is a seriously bad idea because if you get into the mental habit of hating men--and I know you might have very compelling reasons for doing so--you are not going to be able to see good men or the good in men who sometimes annoy you. The bad stuff will get blown way out of proportion. And so will the stuff that other women find only moderately annoying.
Benedict Ambrose and I almost blew it the first day we met. I tumbled off the bus from London, exhausted and jet-lagged. I demanded a meat pie and a pint of ale. So B.A. led me out of the bus station to a nearby pub. On the way there, I saw a man emerge from an alley with a bloody nose. I stopped to rummage in my handbag for a package of tissues. B.A., however, put his hand on my back and propelled me into the pub.
Now, I happen to hate pushy male behaviour. I like having the door opened for me, but I don't like being pushed through it. I like country dancing, but thanks to Mr Totally Wrong, I loathe being pushed and pulled around a dance floor.* So I was inclined to think that B.A. was One of THOSE Guys. But then, probably thanks to the Holy Spirit, I decided to trust that B.A. had a good reason for his masterful hand-on-the-back routine. And actually he did because B.A. knew, as exhausted I did not, that Mr Bloody Nose was in the middle of a street fight.**
It would have been so easy, though, were I still in the habit of finding wrong in whatever odd thing men did, just to sit in the pub resenting B.A. for his masterly behaviour. And indeed if I wanted to I could now mentally list all the annoying male stuff B.A. does, and that our males friends do, and sift through any evidence that they might not really like women, and then ponder the crap some Catholic men write about women on the internet, and the fact that I was once a rising star of my theology school and now couldn't take up the collection at Mass without causing mass hysteria. In short, I could make myself miserable and mentally and spiritually cut myself off from men.
And I don't want to do that because, all together now, men are the caffeine in the cappuccino of life. Sure, you can live without them, to a certain extent--Christian women don't want to live without Our Lord who was, scandal to the post-Christian feminist theologians, a man as well as God--but do you really want to?
And if you don't want to live without men, you must seriously ask yourself if you are giving off vibes that say that you do.
Note: Changing your fundamental philosophical/emotional orientation towards men-in-general does not mean ignoring the evils that follow upon fallen masculinity and fallen femininity. It means refusing to let them to dominate your life in any way, including mentally. It means refusing to hate people,no matter what as much as you are able. (I edited this because in fact I hate rapists. And I mean rapists, not seducers. Seducers are not my favourite people in the universe, but at them I merely sneer. Rapists I hate. I am nowhere near a level of spirituality where I can love the rapist and hate his rape. Uh uh.) It means neither pessimism nor optimism but caritas.
*Obviously I still have mental work to do so that I can stop thinking partner dancing is somehow connected with male tyranny. Thousands upon thousands of men and women just enjoy partner dancing without thinking of it as men pushing women around. Possibly I should pay Alisha $60 an hour for pro-dancing psychotherapy.
**When in doubt about male behaviour that troubles or confuses you, ASK. You can always begin with a neutral, friendly, "Out of curiosity, why did you...?" Listen carefully to the answer. Deduct points for "It was your fault" if it clearly wasn't. Actually, I think I am going to ask men friends pay me a fine of 10 p every time they tell me something is my fault. It will be like a swear jar.
So why did poor little Seraphic (age 27) hate (most) men so much, eh? Could it have anything to do with the row of Andrea Dworkin books on the shelf in her bachelor apartment? Maybe. But it probably had more to do with 17 years of disappointment with male behaviour.
Dwelling on disappointment with male behaviour goes against my philosophy of Seraphic Singleness, so I will be brief.
First, I had the really bad luck of being in a toxic elementary school environment. Two or three of the boys in my class were sexually precocious (why?) and from about the fifth grade on (which means from when they were ten) they were the model for many of the other boys in my class. I read a lot, so I knew that our faith disapproved of ten year old boys making out with girls behind the school, and was shocked that they and their chosen girls did.
But that was innocent compared to what followed as we all got older, which was sexualized name-calling and, not to put too fine a point on it, sexual attacks. A number of girls were deemed worthy of groping, including mass gropings; oddly, these were the "popular" girls. Fortunately for me, I was not popular. (The paradox of good fortune in not being popular still blows my mind.)
Classically, I didn't say anything to anyone about all this until my sister reached fifth grade, and then I went to see the (male) principal.
Second, the (male) principal said, "Boys will be boys" and "It's all part of growing up."
(In contrast to the principal was the school custodian who actually caught one of the boys with his hands up one of the girls' tops, and he was outraged. He grabbed the malefactor--definitely not the worst offender--and, shouting, roughly led him off to the feckless principal. How sad that our custodian caught him in Grade 8, not Grade 5.)
Third, my (male) Grade 7 teacher made sexist little jokes about girls all the time and blamed us girls for the boys' bad behaviour towards us.
It was about then that I learned about feminism and started to read feminist stuff, which confused me because although feminists were so sensible about some things, they really hated the Pope and Catholicism in general. Whenever a feminist journo mentioned JP 2 she sounded like a lunatic.
(In contrast to my sexist Grade 7 teacher was Stan the Bus Driver. I cannot remember Stan ever saying anything pro-woman in general, but just the memory of Stan brings back safe and happy feelings. Possibly Stan was really good at suppressing bullies on the bus. Hmm. I see that the two most stellar men of my elementary school were the janitor and the bus driver, not the teachers or principal.)
Graduating from elementary school and going to to all-girls high school brought a welcome relief from witnessing the sexual violence of children. However, adolescence brought all the disappointments of unrequited love, which I suffered probably every day. And I do mean every day. In fact, I think I had a crush on someone from the ages of seven to twenty-five without a day's rest. But it was the worst in high school.
I did rather better, socially speaking, in university where, I now realize, I was a heartbreaking menace, the rose-stem chomping bane of Nice Catholic Boys (well, a few of them anyway). But, unfortunately for him and me, I married Mr Protestant Totally Wrong, and that was a total nightmare and led to being divorced at 27, reading Andrea Dworkin and weeping on Shrinkie's couch.
I forget what train of thought led to this exercise, which I wrote about in My Book, but one day when I was sitting about being angry at men, and simultaneously attracted to men, which is definitely hard on the brain, I wrote out a list of everything bad I believed about men. And then beside all the bad things, I wrote the exact opposite, e.g. "Most men would rape if they could get away with it."/"Most men are horrified by rape, and in fact men have enacted laws against it."
And looking at my list, I realized that the opposite list was probably more true than the first list. And when I made that leap of faith, I stopped hating men.
If you are a Lesbian separatist, your life will still be made poorer by hating men, but at least it will be consistent. But if you are an ordinary woman like most women, a woman who wants to get married to a man and is open to having male children, hating men is going to seriously mess you up.
I understand why it is easy to hate men. All you have to do is read the crime pages or see yet another photo of a missing child on a milk container or read an account of the civil wars in Yugoslavia or hear about what happened to your great-aunt when the Russians invaded in 1945. All you have to do is hold a friend's hand as she cries because that man she had a crush on for so long used her and tossed her aside like a tissue. All you have to do is think about what bad stuff has happened to you. Soooooo easy to hate men. So tempting. But a seriously bad idea.
It is a seriously bad idea because if you get into the mental habit of hating men--and I know you might have very compelling reasons for doing so--you are not going to be able to see good men or the good in men who sometimes annoy you. The bad stuff will get blown way out of proportion. And so will the stuff that other women find only moderately annoying.
Benedict Ambrose and I almost blew it the first day we met. I tumbled off the bus from London, exhausted and jet-lagged. I demanded a meat pie and a pint of ale. So B.A. led me out of the bus station to a nearby pub. On the way there, I saw a man emerge from an alley with a bloody nose. I stopped to rummage in my handbag for a package of tissues. B.A., however, put his hand on my back and propelled me into the pub.
Now, I happen to hate pushy male behaviour. I like having the door opened for me, but I don't like being pushed through it. I like country dancing, but thanks to Mr Totally Wrong, I loathe being pushed and pulled around a dance floor.* So I was inclined to think that B.A. was One of THOSE Guys. But then, probably thanks to the Holy Spirit, I decided to trust that B.A. had a good reason for his masterful hand-on-the-back routine. And actually he did because B.A. knew, as exhausted I did not, that Mr Bloody Nose was in the middle of a street fight.**
It would have been so easy, though, were I still in the habit of finding wrong in whatever odd thing men did, just to sit in the pub resenting B.A. for his masterly behaviour. And indeed if I wanted to I could now mentally list all the annoying male stuff B.A. does, and that our males friends do, and sift through any evidence that they might not really like women, and then ponder the crap some Catholic men write about women on the internet, and the fact that I was once a rising star of my theology school and now couldn't take up the collection at Mass without causing mass hysteria. In short, I could make myself miserable and mentally and spiritually cut myself off from men.
And I don't want to do that because, all together now, men are the caffeine in the cappuccino of life. Sure, you can live without them, to a certain extent--Christian women don't want to live without Our Lord who was, scandal to the post-Christian feminist theologians, a man as well as God--but do you really want to?
And if you don't want to live without men, you must seriously ask yourself if you are giving off vibes that say that you do.
Note: Changing your fundamental philosophical/emotional orientation towards men-in-general does not mean ignoring the evils that follow upon fallen masculinity and fallen femininity. It means refusing to let them to dominate your life in any way, including mentally. It means refusing to hate people,
*Obviously I still have mental work to do so that I can stop thinking partner dancing is somehow connected with male tyranny. Thousands upon thousands of men and women just enjoy partner dancing without thinking of it as men pushing women around. Possibly I should pay Alisha $60 an hour for pro-dancing psychotherapy.
**When in doubt about male behaviour that troubles or confuses you, ASK. You can always begin with a neutral, friendly, "Out of curiosity, why did you...?" Listen carefully to the answer. Deduct points for "It was your fault" if it clearly wasn't. Actually, I think I am going to ask men friends pay me a fine of 10 p every time they tell me something is my fault. It will be like a swear jar.
Saturday, 4 August 2012
Love Them
I fell ill on Thursday night. To make a long story short, I fell asleep at the table in the middle of a dinner party, and Benedict Ambrose woke me up an hour later, rather worried. I seem to remember being led to the sitting-room and some business with my shoes, and I definitely remember the cab because the driver had been mugged some months previously and talked about it non-stop, in a Turkish-Scottish accent, addressing B.A. throughout as "pal."
That night B.A. had a dream that I had been buried under an avalanche. In the dream, there had been a landslide and tons of earth and stones had crashed through the roof of the Historical House, engulfing the couch in the living room. Finding me gone, B.A. had rushed through the sitting-room to dig through the dirt. He dug and dug, but couldn't find me. However, he was greatly relieved because this meant I had not been buried by the avalanche.
I was greatly touched to hear that B.A. had had an anxiety dream about me and also that in his dream he worked so hard to rescue me.
The comments on Ryan's post over at Ignitum resemble an avalanche themselves, and they make for depressing reading. I read blogs by men, of course, but I don't read "men's blogs", so I found the conversation simply bewildering. It made me unhappy, and I don't quite understand why some of my readers were in there swinging, lifting metaphorical chairs over your heads to crash them down on the arguments of young men who kept droning on about female submission and clothing.
Why waste time on such men when you could be reading hep-cat Andrew Cusack's blog, I ask you. Alternately, you can have a giggle at the goodhearted Young Fogeys at The Chap. For political hijinks and naughtiness, there's the lovable old millionaire-rogue Taki. I enjoyed the witty witterings of Benedict Ambrose so much that I married the man.
One antidote to being enraged by the sermons of soi-disant pious boys is to find witty boys too smart to gas on about women to women. And it is your duty to find such antidotes because this whole battle between the sexes thing is a result of the Fall and we should keep out of it as much as possible.
Saint Edith Stein--and by the way, if you have already read my book, or even if you haven't, and you can afford only one book, you must buy her Essays on Woman--loved men. Such male friends who managed to survive both the First and the Second World War--not exactly a given for German men, to say nothing of German Jewish men--testified to this. And her love for men, as well as women, is quite evident in Saint Edith's own writings and in her devotion to her great professor Edmund Husserl.
This did not mean that Saint Edith put up with any nonsense, however. When it eventually became clear that Husserl was not interested in her own work and that being at his beck and call was interfering with her work, Saint Edith stopped working for him. She loved her great professor, but she wasn't going to sacrifice her own considerable gifts to serve the Cause of Edmund Husserl. That wasn't what she was called by God to do.
I think it also significant to point out that Saint Edith, who loved the company of her fellow students--mostly men--so much and was so bereft when her great friend Adolf Reinach was killed in the First World War, came to desire above all else the life of a Carmelite nun. This was in part due to the personality of Saint Teresa of Avila, but mostly because of Saint Edith's deep spousal love for Christ Jesus.
A woman who chooses to live as a religious is not turning her back on men but is embracing a man, the Son of Man, who is both God and man, with all her heart and soul. Saint Edith meditated on the great dignity bestowed on men in the Incarnation, when the Son chose to take manhood upon Himself. Of course He took on humanity, but there is no getting around the fact that He chose to live this humanity as a man. (And Saint Edith meditated on the great dignity on bestowed upon women at the same time, when Mary said "Yes" to God's invitation to become His mother.)
And when Saint Edith considered the situation of men and women in the modern world, the modern fallen world, she acknowledged both the strengths and weaknesses in masculinity and femininity. She also acknowledged that individual men and individual women have both masculine and feminine characteristics in a greater or lesser degree (although men-in-general tend towards the masculine and women-in-general tend towards the feminine). She praised the strengths, and she warned against the weaknesses, and among the weaknesses were a general masculine desire to tyrannize and a general feminine passivity in putting up with it. (And of course some women do tyrannize in a masculine way, and some men just put up with it in a feminine way.)
To be on "men's side"--and Saint Edith would be horrified by the idea that women would not be on "men's side" or that men would not be on "women's side" or that women would club together against men and vice versa--does not mean to be on side with masculine sins. And to be on "women's side" does not mean to be on side with feminine sins, which include sloth and self-indulgence. Any man who tells a woman not to worry her pretty little head about something is encouraging sloth and self-indulgence, especially in women like me because if I don't have to worry my pretty little head about something, I am frankly relieved.
Long-time readers will have read all this before and have figured out that I think Saint Edith Stein is a wonderful model for women today. One aspect of Saint Edith that I really admire is that she could argue for women's full flourishing--and men's full flourishing--without an ounce, jot or tittle of bitterness.
Of course, she never made much of an attempt at humour. The saint was a writer, but she was not a blogger. She was serious, careful thinker.
Okay, so I have presented you with links to witty men very much worth your reading time. Why don't you girls list and share links to witty male bloggers you admire? Who's clever? Who's fun? Who convinces you through his writing that men really are the caffeine in the cappuccino of life?
Update: Ryan apologized. Should I buzz along over there and accept on your behalf?
Update 2: A very sensible post at Babes in Babylon. One of the problems with our over-sexualized, over-chatty world is that many people think they can ask each other outrageously personal questions. And, sadly, many people think they must answer them.
That night B.A. had a dream that I had been buried under an avalanche. In the dream, there had been a landslide and tons of earth and stones had crashed through the roof of the Historical House, engulfing the couch in the living room. Finding me gone, B.A. had rushed through the sitting-room to dig through the dirt. He dug and dug, but couldn't find me. However, he was greatly relieved because this meant I had not been buried by the avalanche.
I was greatly touched to hear that B.A. had had an anxiety dream about me and also that in his dream he worked so hard to rescue me.
The comments on Ryan's post over at Ignitum resemble an avalanche themselves, and they make for depressing reading. I read blogs by men, of course, but I don't read "men's blogs", so I found the conversation simply bewildering. It made me unhappy, and I don't quite understand why some of my readers were in there swinging, lifting metaphorical chairs over your heads to crash them down on the arguments of young men who kept droning on about female submission and clothing.
Why waste time on such men when you could be reading hep-cat Andrew Cusack's blog, I ask you. Alternately, you can have a giggle at the goodhearted Young Fogeys at The Chap. For political hijinks and naughtiness, there's the lovable old millionaire-rogue Taki. I enjoyed the witty witterings of Benedict Ambrose so much that I married the man.
One antidote to being enraged by the sermons of soi-disant pious boys is to find witty boys too smart to gas on about women to women. And it is your duty to find such antidotes because this whole battle between the sexes thing is a result of the Fall and we should keep out of it as much as possible.
Saint Edith Stein--and by the way, if you have already read my book, or even if you haven't, and you can afford only one book, you must buy her Essays on Woman--loved men. Such male friends who managed to survive both the First and the Second World War--not exactly a given for German men, to say nothing of German Jewish men--testified to this. And her love for men, as well as women, is quite evident in Saint Edith's own writings and in her devotion to her great professor Edmund Husserl.
This did not mean that Saint Edith put up with any nonsense, however. When it eventually became clear that Husserl was not interested in her own work and that being at his beck and call was interfering with her work, Saint Edith stopped working for him. She loved her great professor, but she wasn't going to sacrifice her own considerable gifts to serve the Cause of Edmund Husserl. That wasn't what she was called by God to do.
I think it also significant to point out that Saint Edith, who loved the company of her fellow students--mostly men--so much and was so bereft when her great friend Adolf Reinach was killed in the First World War, came to desire above all else the life of a Carmelite nun. This was in part due to the personality of Saint Teresa of Avila, but mostly because of Saint Edith's deep spousal love for Christ Jesus.
A woman who chooses to live as a religious is not turning her back on men but is embracing a man, the Son of Man, who is both God and man, with all her heart and soul. Saint Edith meditated on the great dignity bestowed on men in the Incarnation, when the Son chose to take manhood upon Himself. Of course He took on humanity, but there is no getting around the fact that He chose to live this humanity as a man. (And Saint Edith meditated on the great dignity on bestowed upon women at the same time, when Mary said "Yes" to God's invitation to become His mother.)
And when Saint Edith considered the situation of men and women in the modern world, the modern fallen world, she acknowledged both the strengths and weaknesses in masculinity and femininity. She also acknowledged that individual men and individual women have both masculine and feminine characteristics in a greater or lesser degree (although men-in-general tend towards the masculine and women-in-general tend towards the feminine). She praised the strengths, and she warned against the weaknesses, and among the weaknesses were a general masculine desire to tyrannize and a general feminine passivity in putting up with it. (And of course some women do tyrannize in a masculine way, and some men just put up with it in a feminine way.)
To be on "men's side"--and Saint Edith would be horrified by the idea that women would not be on "men's side" or that men would not be on "women's side" or that women would club together against men and vice versa--does not mean to be on side with masculine sins. And to be on "women's side" does not mean to be on side with feminine sins, which include sloth and self-indulgence. Any man who tells a woman not to worry her pretty little head about something is encouraging sloth and self-indulgence, especially in women like me because if I don't have to worry my pretty little head about something, I am frankly relieved.
Long-time readers will have read all this before and have figured out that I think Saint Edith Stein is a wonderful model for women today. One aspect of Saint Edith that I really admire is that she could argue for women's full flourishing--and men's full flourishing--without an ounce, jot or tittle of bitterness.
Of course, she never made much of an attempt at humour. The saint was a writer, but she was not a blogger. She was serious, careful thinker.
Okay, so I have presented you with links to witty men very much worth your reading time. Why don't you girls list and share links to witty male bloggers you admire? Who's clever? Who's fun? Who convinces you through his writing that men really are the caffeine in the cappuccino of life?
Update: Ryan apologized. Should I buzz along over there and accept on your behalf?
Update 2: A very sensible post at Babes in Babylon. One of the problems with our over-sexualized, over-chatty world is that many people think they can ask each other outrageously personal questions. And, sadly, many people think they must answer them.
Friday, 3 August 2012
The Good of Children
There is a poster in an Edinburgh library I frequent with children's book style illustrations showing diverse families. As a matter of fact, these families are not very diverse, for either all or almost all of them feature couples and none of them show a crowd. I certainly didn't see a family with a mum and a dad and five kids, i.e. the kind I grew up in.
One of the points of the poster, of course, is to hammer home the idea that all couples are somehow equal: mum's latest boyfriend = auntie's husband of ten years = dad's civil partner Jack. Another of the points might be to reassure children that their own family is not weird, although I seem to recall one of the hallmarks of childhood is the strong belief that your family is weird.
One of the thoughts that troubles Single people is that they don't have families of their own. And I think this is due to the overemphasis placed on pair-bonding in the West because most human beings have families by virtue of having been born in one.
In the Catholic tradition, at very least, you're not somehow banished from the family when you grow up and move out. Catholic parents don't do a little victory dance, rent out your room and go on holiday to Florida leaving no forwarding address. And Catholic adult children don't intentionally move into The Zone, The Zone being defined by an ex-flame of mine as "Too far for your parents to drive; too close for your parents to spend the night."
I have been grown up, at least on paper, for a very long time. And I never had any children. I once felt the lack of a husband very keenly, and I still feel bereft about not having children, but I have never felt the lack of a family. I am an Adult Daughter, and an Older Sister, and an Aunt. And B.A., the Adult Son of a divorcee, was magically turned into the Adult Son of a married couple, the Brother of Five (including our sister-in-law) and the Uncle of a growing number of children. We are firmly glued into a tribe of Canadians, or maybe two tribes of Canadians, for my sister-in-law came with a sizable tribe of her own.
At the moment I feel rather nostalgic about these tribes, as they are across the ocean. My role as Daughter/Sister/Aunt can be further defined as Exotic European Daughter/Sister/Aunt With Interesting Guest Rooms.* But my nephews and niece remember who I am and are always happy to see me when I turn up in Canada, and would be ecstatic if Uncle B.A. turned up, too. Meanwhile one of my nephews and my niece live in the center of a network of grandparents, great-grandparent, parents, aunts, uncles, cousins and nanny.
(My eldest nephew has a complicated relationship with his absentee father and so, unfortunately, does not live so snugly in the middle of intersecting tribes. Sadly, he's a little closer to the periphery, although this means, in fact, that he is a little closer to B.A. and me, who are also on the periphery.)
Traditionally children are born to married couples and where there are married couples there are children. This is still believed to be the ideal situation by very large numbers of people, including sociologists willing to risk their jobs by publishing their findings. It is very sad to miss out on the happy mother married to happy father family situation, and it is sad to be a childless married couple, unless you belong to the kind of married couple that has no interest in the parenthood dimension of marriage.
There is a parenthood dimension of marriage, even if you don't have children. Of course all adults are by definition called to be mothers and fathers of some kind--we talk a lot here about spiritual motherhood, although rather less about spiritual fatherhood--but I think there is something about marriage that makes spiritual parenthood more pronounced. You know, nobody called me Auntie Seraphic until there was an Uncle Benedict Ambrose.
This may be a bit of a stretch because I am talking about university students here, which makes them rather more like peers than children, but one facet of our ordinary married life is that B.A. and I feed and occasionally house other people's children. I very much enjoy this, and we're not the only childless couple we know who do this.
Given our relative young ages, however, I do not think the parents of the students would have been so sanguine about their beautiful young sons staying alone with worldly Single me, or their beautiful young daughters staying alone with tender-hearted Single B.A. But as it is, B.A. and I are married to each other and therefore more likely to be safe havens for the young, particularly as one enduring, almost cliched, value of permanent male-female sexual unions, i.e. marriage, (notoriously not necessarily shared by other arrangements) is fidelity.
Sexual fidelity between parents, be they legal parents or be they spiritual parents, and an understanding that this fidelity is permanent, is very much for the good of children. And so, of course, is the motherliness of motherly women and the fatherliness of fatherly men.
*Sadly, this means I cannot be as useful an aunt as I was when I was Single. I think I should stress that a Single Aunt can devote more of herself to her nephews and nieces than a Married Aunt because a Married Aunt by definition has to take care of her husband first. A Single Aunt has more freedom to devote herself to helping out with nephews and nieces, should she be called upon to do so. Single Aunts are potentially so valuable! And I'm so glad I could be a helpful Single Aunt when I had the chance.
One of the points of the poster, of course, is to hammer home the idea that all couples are somehow equal: mum's latest boyfriend = auntie's husband of ten years = dad's civil partner Jack. Another of the points might be to reassure children that their own family is not weird, although I seem to recall one of the hallmarks of childhood is the strong belief that your family is weird.
One of the thoughts that troubles Single people is that they don't have families of their own. And I think this is due to the overemphasis placed on pair-bonding in the West because most human beings have families by virtue of having been born in one.
In the Catholic tradition, at very least, you're not somehow banished from the family when you grow up and move out. Catholic parents don't do a little victory dance, rent out your room and go on holiday to Florida leaving no forwarding address. And Catholic adult children don't intentionally move into The Zone, The Zone being defined by an ex-flame of mine as "Too far for your parents to drive; too close for your parents to spend the night."
I have been grown up, at least on paper, for a very long time. And I never had any children. I once felt the lack of a husband very keenly, and I still feel bereft about not having children, but I have never felt the lack of a family. I am an Adult Daughter, and an Older Sister, and an Aunt. And B.A., the Adult Son of a divorcee, was magically turned into the Adult Son of a married couple, the Brother of Five (including our sister-in-law) and the Uncle of a growing number of children. We are firmly glued into a tribe of Canadians, or maybe two tribes of Canadians, for my sister-in-law came with a sizable tribe of her own.
At the moment I feel rather nostalgic about these tribes, as they are across the ocean. My role as Daughter/Sister/Aunt can be further defined as Exotic European Daughter/Sister/Aunt With Interesting Guest Rooms.* But my nephews and niece remember who I am and are always happy to see me when I turn up in Canada, and would be ecstatic if Uncle B.A. turned up, too. Meanwhile one of my nephews and my niece live in the center of a network of grandparents, great-grandparent, parents, aunts, uncles, cousins and nanny.
(My eldest nephew has a complicated relationship with his absentee father and so, unfortunately, does not live so snugly in the middle of intersecting tribes. Sadly, he's a little closer to the periphery, although this means, in fact, that he is a little closer to B.A. and me, who are also on the periphery.)
Traditionally children are born to married couples and where there are married couples there are children. This is still believed to be the ideal situation by very large numbers of people, including sociologists willing to risk their jobs by publishing their findings. It is very sad to miss out on the happy mother married to happy father family situation, and it is sad to be a childless married couple, unless you belong to the kind of married couple that has no interest in the parenthood dimension of marriage.
There is a parenthood dimension of marriage, even if you don't have children. Of course all adults are by definition called to be mothers and fathers of some kind--we talk a lot here about spiritual motherhood, although rather less about spiritual fatherhood--but I think there is something about marriage that makes spiritual parenthood more pronounced. You know, nobody called me Auntie Seraphic until there was an Uncle Benedict Ambrose.
This may be a bit of a stretch because I am talking about university students here, which makes them rather more like peers than children, but one facet of our ordinary married life is that B.A. and I feed and occasionally house other people's children. I very much enjoy this, and we're not the only childless couple we know who do this.
Given our relative young ages, however, I do not think the parents of the students would have been so sanguine about their beautiful young sons staying alone with worldly Single me, or their beautiful young daughters staying alone with tender-hearted Single B.A. But as it is, B.A. and I are married to each other and therefore more likely to be safe havens for the young, particularly as one enduring, almost cliched, value of permanent male-female sexual unions, i.e. marriage, (notoriously not necessarily shared by other arrangements) is fidelity.
Sexual fidelity between parents, be they legal parents or be they spiritual parents, and an understanding that this fidelity is permanent, is very much for the good of children. And so, of course, is the motherliness of motherly women and the fatherliness of fatherly men.
*Sadly, this means I cannot be as useful an aunt as I was when I was Single. I think I should stress that a Single Aunt can devote more of herself to her nephews and nieces than a Married Aunt because a Married Aunt by definition has to take care of her husband first. A Single Aunt has more freedom to devote herself to helping out with nephews and nieces, should she be called upon to do so. Single Aunts are potentially so valuable! And I'm so glad I could be a helpful Single Aunt when I had the chance.
Thursday, 2 August 2012
Memories of Martyrs
And now for something different.
Scotland is a country of martyrs. There have been, of course, Roman Catholic martyrs. But there have been Presbyterian martyrs also. And there have been Scots Episcopalian martyrs.
For now I'm not talking about people hurt during the very nasty sectarianism of the 19th and 20th centuries. I'm talking about people who were punished and executed for believing differently from those in power in Scotland. Whether you were Protestant, Episcopalian or Roman Catholic, it has been very bad news to hold different religious beliefs from those in power in Scotland. I wrote about one Catholic Scottish martyr here.
So perhaps you can imagine my worry about Scottish plans to redefine the institution of marriage. As it so happens, the Scottish government held a consultation on the institution of marriage. It purported to want to know what the residents of Scotland thought about changing the definition of marriage to include the union of one man to another and the union of one woman to another. Two-thirds of those residents of Scotland who responded, 67%, thought that the definition of marriage should NOT be changed.
Nevertheless, the Scottish government has announced that it will be changing the definition of marriage.
That's what democracy looks like in Scotland.
The day this was announced, British media published a video filmed four months earlier of a Scottish Catholic bishop speculating, in the context of the health risks of homosexual activity, on the early death (age 44) of a Scottish politician, an ex-priest who was an active homosexual. The partner, family and friends of the ex-priest/politician duly voiced their anger and dismay.
Not very subtle, British media. But very disciplined of you not to break the story the day the bishop was named the new Archbishop of Glasgow instead. Clearly you sat on that story until the exact right moment.
Sexual activity between adult men in private was decriminalized in England in 1967 and in Scotland in 1980. The fact that there was a delay in Scotland may be because Scotland was more socially conservative than England. And civil partnerships, which means state recognition of male-female, male-male or female-female sexual partnerships (they are closed to platonic friends or family members) as economic and social units have existed in the whole UK since 2004.
In Scotland, there were 1,047 civil partnerships established in 2006, 688 in 2007, 525 in 2008, 498 in 2009 and 465 in 2010, and 554 in 2011.
Scotland has a population of five million.
Those Britons nervous about civil partnerships were told again and again that this was a solution to the gay marriage debate. They were not told that this was a way to soften them up for a change in the definition of marriage. After all, civil partners have all the same legal rights as married couples. This includes immigration, as I noticed when I did all the paperwork for my Spousal Visa and my Indefinite Leave to Remain.
But the gay marriage issue did not go away, and indeed it is back with a vengeance--more on vengeance later--and the Scottish government has decided to go with it, despite the fact that 67% of those residents of Scotland who cared enough to make their voices heard said "No."
And this scared the hell out of me because now I am in the uncomfortable position of having religious beliefs different from those in power in Scotland. And so, incidentally, does my Free Presbyterian friend Cath, who could certainly list as many Scots Presbyterian martyrs as I could list Scots Catholic ones. Probably more.
Belief that marriage is not a union of one man and one woman but the union of one adult to another adult as long as they love each other in a sexual way is a religious belief. And the god being worshipped is Eros, which activists keep calling "love."
"Marriage," emoted Seraphic, blitzed on red wine, at a dinner party to a member of the Scottish National Party, "is not about love. It is about a man and a woman in an economic, sexual and social bond for their good, the good of children, and the good of society in general."
Actually, I don't think I put it as well as that, but that is certainly close to what I said to the Scottish government during their consultation, the one they are now going to ignore, except to worry about how to get the 67% to vote for them anyway.
And I was not very interested in the definition of marriage at that point anyway. I was interested in whether Roman Catholics and Free Presbyterians in Scotland are going to be able to dissent from the government's official religious beliefs about marriage without being punished.
And by being punished I mean sued, harassed, fired or threatened with imprisonment. Because, lo and behold, that is the kind of thing that has happened to Christians in Canada. And this is a particularly serious worry in Scotland where employment discrimination against Roman Catholics was practiced right up to the 1980s. And in fields where saying the wrong thing at an Edinburgh cocktail party can ruin you.
Now, to move from the civil rights worries of the Catholics and Free Presbyterians, I will say something brief about society.
Those who wish to redefine marriage keep talking about "love." "Love" sounds great, for surely only nasty, bitter people are not moved by love.
But there is less talk about what marriage does for society, and the role of married men and women, whether or not they have their own kids, as parents in, and of, that society. To deny that married men and women have a unique and important role in society--something we recognize with the word "marriage"--is to tell a serious lie about society and men and women.
Here are links to everything you would ever want to read about the marriagedebate imposition in Scotland.
Scotland is a country of martyrs. There have been, of course, Roman Catholic martyrs. But there have been Presbyterian martyrs also. And there have been Scots Episcopalian martyrs.
For now I'm not talking about people hurt during the very nasty sectarianism of the 19th and 20th centuries. I'm talking about people who were punished and executed for believing differently from those in power in Scotland. Whether you were Protestant, Episcopalian or Roman Catholic, it has been very bad news to hold different religious beliefs from those in power in Scotland. I wrote about one Catholic Scottish martyr here.
So perhaps you can imagine my worry about Scottish plans to redefine the institution of marriage. As it so happens, the Scottish government held a consultation on the institution of marriage. It purported to want to know what the residents of Scotland thought about changing the definition of marriage to include the union of one man to another and the union of one woman to another. Two-thirds of those residents of Scotland who responded, 67%, thought that the definition of marriage should NOT be changed.
Nevertheless, the Scottish government has announced that it will be changing the definition of marriage.
That's what democracy looks like in Scotland.
The day this was announced, British media published a video filmed four months earlier of a Scottish Catholic bishop speculating, in the context of the health risks of homosexual activity, on the early death (age 44) of a Scottish politician, an ex-priest who was an active homosexual. The partner, family and friends of the ex-priest/politician duly voiced their anger and dismay.
Not very subtle, British media. But very disciplined of you not to break the story the day the bishop was named the new Archbishop of Glasgow instead. Clearly you sat on that story until the exact right moment.
Sexual activity between adult men in private was decriminalized in England in 1967 and in Scotland in 1980. The fact that there was a delay in Scotland may be because Scotland was more socially conservative than England. And civil partnerships, which means state recognition of male-female, male-male or female-female sexual partnerships (they are closed to platonic friends or family members) as economic and social units have existed in the whole UK since 2004.
In Scotland, there were 1,047 civil partnerships established in 2006, 688 in 2007, 525 in 2008, 498 in 2009 and 465 in 2010, and 554 in 2011.
Scotland has a population of five million.
Those Britons nervous about civil partnerships were told again and again that this was a solution to the gay marriage debate. They were not told that this was a way to soften them up for a change in the definition of marriage. After all, civil partners have all the same legal rights as married couples. This includes immigration, as I noticed when I did all the paperwork for my Spousal Visa and my Indefinite Leave to Remain.
But the gay marriage issue did not go away, and indeed it is back with a vengeance--more on vengeance later--and the Scottish government has decided to go with it, despite the fact that 67% of those residents of Scotland who cared enough to make their voices heard said "No."
And this scared the hell out of me because now I am in the uncomfortable position of having religious beliefs different from those in power in Scotland. And so, incidentally, does my Free Presbyterian friend Cath, who could certainly list as many Scots Presbyterian martyrs as I could list Scots Catholic ones. Probably more.
Belief that marriage is not a union of one man and one woman but the union of one adult to another adult as long as they love each other in a sexual way is a religious belief. And the god being worshipped is Eros, which activists keep calling "love."
"Marriage," emoted Seraphic, blitzed on red wine, at a dinner party to a member of the Scottish National Party, "is not about love. It is about a man and a woman in an economic, sexual and social bond for their good, the good of children, and the good of society in general."
Actually, I don't think I put it as well as that, but that is certainly close to what I said to the Scottish government during their consultation, the one they are now going to ignore, except to worry about how to get the 67% to vote for them anyway.
And I was not very interested in the definition of marriage at that point anyway. I was interested in whether Roman Catholics and Free Presbyterians in Scotland are going to be able to dissent from the government's official religious beliefs about marriage without being punished.
And by being punished I mean sued, harassed, fired or threatened with imprisonment. Because, lo and behold, that is the kind of thing that has happened to Christians in Canada. And this is a particularly serious worry in Scotland where employment discrimination against Roman Catholics was practiced right up to the 1980s. And in fields where saying the wrong thing at an Edinburgh cocktail party can ruin you.
Now, to move from the civil rights worries of the Catholics and Free Presbyterians, I will say something brief about society.
Those who wish to redefine marriage keep talking about "love." "Love" sounds great, for surely only nasty, bitter people are not moved by love.
But there is less talk about what marriage does for society, and the role of married men and women, whether or not they have their own kids, as parents in, and of, that society. To deny that married men and women have a unique and important role in society--something we recognize with the word "marriage"--is to tell a serious lie about society and men and women.
Here are links to everything you would ever want to read about the marriage
Wednesday, 1 August 2012
Ensouled Bodies
Thank you for your comments, emails and good wishes. If I haven't answered your email yet, hang in there.
Yesterday I was linked to by Ignitum, Patheos and PhatMass, so hits are through the roof. All those strangers had to come and see me the one day I was a big emo-blogger puddle of goo. Sigh.
Actually, I spent a lot of the day out with B.A. and then at an impromptu party and came home at midnight tipsy on red wine and roughed up some poor seminarian at the Crescat's place for having dating some girl while discerning.
As for Ryan's post, the combox has disintegrated into the usual screamfest over feminine modesty. There should be a convention that whoever first uses the word "bikini" in a combox has lost the argument.
I have never myself appeared to my public in a bikini. Back in my super-sporty days, when I was 117 pounds (53 Kg) of lean sinew and fluffy hair, I dropped into a shop called Bikini Village to try on the dreaded garment of doom. I stood there before the mirror, in the best shape I had ever been (and, alas, may ever be), and said, "Nah."
I was 27, I think. Not too old for a bikini, by worldly standards. Not too young for a bikini, by worldly standards. Not too fat by any standard. Not too thin by contemporary standards. (Rubens would have cried.) But the truth was I just didn't want to appear in public in so little clothing. I didn't want the gaze of strangers to rest on my mostly naked body. And never mind strangers, I didn't want the wicked, carniverous sun resting on it either.
So I didn't buy the bikini. Let the sensitive Catholic men of the world rejoice. I wasn't thinking of their opinion, though, believe me. I think I had a crush on an atheist at the time. No, I was thinking of my own comfort and how I didn't want to be seen as a sexy body in a bikini but as me.
Anyway, the number one way a Catholic layman can annoy Catholic women online is to give pious lectures on feminine modesty and express his disappointment that we disobey Love and Responsibility by wearing bikinis, etc.
I would be amazed if Błogosławiony Jan Paweł Drugi, as my peeps in Poland call him, actually mentioned bikinis in Love and Responsibility, although I have no real way of knowing as I have never read it. ( Reading about spirituality of married people's sexuality... So sleepy... Zzzz...)
I have, however, read Mulieris Dignitatem with very great attention, and there Bł. JP II certainly has a lot to say about the tyrannous behaviour of men. Saint Edith Stein, while pointing out the faults fallen femininity is prone to, pointed out that one of the faults of fallen masculinity was a longing to boss women around.
Now, women can take a little bossing. If we're in love with someone, we don't mind too terribly much if he says, "Bring me a drink, woman, and put on that sexy dress I bought you." Male aggression is so often sexually charged, which is why it can be fun from men we adore but usually extremely creepy from men we don't even know.
Darlings, is that too much truth so early in the morning?
Anyway, what I actually want to write about this morning is women as bodies. Christians talk of human beings as embodied souls, and that's fine, but we're also ensouled bodies. We believe in the resurrection of the body, and when Our Lord rose--body and soul--from the dead, He went out of His way to illustrate His corporeal existence. He had His wounds, and He invited Thomas to put his hands in them. He shared meals. He went for long walks.
Thomas Aquinas thinks that we reach the peak of our human bodily perfection at 33, and therefore our bodies will return to what they were at 33 in the General Resurrection, only the bodies of the saved will be fixed of any infirmity, too. As I was still in awesome shape at 33, I have always enjoyed this thought--and I may be exaggerating. Maybe he didn't say 33 exactly.
When I say awesome shape, I don't mean I looked like a supermodel because I didn't, and I never did. Very few women in Canada can be that thin and still have big breasts although I have noticed that this seems to be a more frequent phenomenon among young women from Central-Eastern Europe. (Yarg!)
No, I mean that I was strong and had great stamina and could run a mile without breaking into a sweat and would do it at the drop of a hat, too. I very much enjoyed working out in the university gym, although the sight of the resident anorexic creeping around made me feel awful.
I do not know how old this woman was but she looked really old: very lined and wrinkled with huge sunken eyes. Unlike me, she didn't use the standing weights or the barbells at all. She stuck to the Stairmaster. And she was such a terrible sight, this poor woman amid all the healthy, glowing, athletic bodies of young men and young women. We enjoyed being bodies at work; she so obviously didn't.
Since I was too frightened of her to speak to her, I have no idea how she got like that. I don't know much about anorexia, but I believe it has something to do with control. European women kidnapped by native peoples in early colonial America often stopped eating, as the only form of control over their lives they had. And when I was younger, anorexia was seen as a problem of high-achieving white girls, determined to be perfect, or determined to call the shots over something in their lives, free from the expectations of parents and teachers.
But anorexia is also associated with female fear of fat, which is tragic as secondary female sexual characteristics--breasts, thighs, round bottom--are by nature formed with fat. It is also associated with girls thinking about themselves as Looked At.
This brings us back to some Catholic men on some Catholic blogs having Catholic conniptions about some Catholic girls in bikinis. For in those discussions the battle is over Women As Looked At.
But the purpose of our bodies is not to be looked at. The purpose of our bodies is--well, to be us. We are our bodies, and I think women understand this a bit better then men.
I am not a fan of skimpy clothes, unless the skimpy clothes are necessary for athletic or aesthetic achievement. I think we women should fight against our own tendency to see ourselves constantly through men's eyes, through strangers' eyes, as Looked At. We should dress as ourselves, not as our sex appeal.
For the sake of the public, it is good to keep in mind that we are not invisible and that like any other visual thing, we can invoke aesthetic pleasure or distaste in other human beings. For this reason, we comb our hair and put on clean, neat clothing before we leave the house.
But at the same time, we must think of our bodies not as objects but as subjects, as ourselves (wedded to souls), moving through the world towards eternity. And it would be helpful if more men thought of us that way too.
Incidentally, there is something mentally unhealthy about a young man who takes a shine to a girl he meets at Mass and then feels crushed if he sees a photo of her in a bikini top on Facebook. He is disappointed because now she doesn't match Miss Perfect Catholic Girl in his head. His non-Catholic roommate, however, might well be thinking, as would the young man's Catholic grandfather fifty years ago, "Whoo-hoo! That's for me!"
Let the comments begin and kindly remember that the combox is open only to women, priests and my uber-protective brother Nulli Secundus, who is free to come and bark at eavesdroppers who get past the Swashbuckling Protector of the Day.
UPDATE: Since ancient times, we have always emphasized the soul, so the exact Catholic teaching on the body often comes as a surprise. So here is what the Catechism of the Catholic Church teaches:
II. "BODY AND SOUL BUT TRULY ONE"
362 The human person, created in the image of God, is a being at once corporeal and spiritual. The biblical account expresses this reality in symbolic language when it affirms that "then the LORD God formed man of dust from the ground, and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life; and man became a living being."229 Man, whole and entire, is therefore willed by God.
363 In Sacred Scripture the term "soul" often refers to human life or the entire human person.230 But "soul" also refers to the innermost aspect of man, that which is of greatest value in him,231 that by which he is most especially in God's image: "soul" signifies the spiritual principle in man.
364 The human body shares in the dignity of "the image of God": it is a human body precisely because it is animated by a spiritual soul, and it is the whole human person that is intended to become, in the body of Christ, a temple of the Spirit:
Man, though made of body and soul, is a unity. Through his very bodily condition he sums up in himself the elements of the material world. Through him they are thus brought to their highest perfection and can raise their voice in praise freely given to the Creator. For this reason man may not despise his bodily life. Rather he is obliged to regard his body as good and to hold it in honor since God has created it and will raise it up on the last day.
365 The unity of soul and body is so profound that one has to consider the soul to be the "form" of the body:234 i.e., it is because of its spiritual soul that the body made of matter becomes a living, human body; spirit and matter, in man, are not two natures united, but rather their union forms a single nature.
Yesterday I was linked to by Ignitum, Patheos and PhatMass, so hits are through the roof. All those strangers had to come and see me the one day I was a big emo-blogger puddle of goo. Sigh.
Actually, I spent a lot of the day out with B.A. and then at an impromptu party and came home at midnight tipsy on red wine and roughed up some poor seminarian at the Crescat's place for having dating some girl while discerning.
As for Ryan's post, the combox has disintegrated into the usual screamfest over feminine modesty. There should be a convention that whoever first uses the word "bikini" in a combox has lost the argument.
I have never myself appeared to my public in a bikini. Back in my super-sporty days, when I was 117 pounds (53 Kg) of lean sinew and fluffy hair, I dropped into a shop called Bikini Village to try on the dreaded garment of doom. I stood there before the mirror, in the best shape I had ever been (and, alas, may ever be), and said, "Nah."
I was 27, I think. Not too old for a bikini, by worldly standards. Not too young for a bikini, by worldly standards. Not too fat by any standard. Not too thin by contemporary standards. (Rubens would have cried.) But the truth was I just didn't want to appear in public in so little clothing. I didn't want the gaze of strangers to rest on my mostly naked body. And never mind strangers, I didn't want the wicked, carniverous sun resting on it either.
So I didn't buy the bikini. Let the sensitive Catholic men of the world rejoice. I wasn't thinking of their opinion, though, believe me. I think I had a crush on an atheist at the time. No, I was thinking of my own comfort and how I didn't want to be seen as a sexy body in a bikini but as me.
Anyway, the number one way a Catholic layman can annoy Catholic women online is to give pious lectures on feminine modesty and express his disappointment that we disobey Love and Responsibility by wearing bikinis, etc.
I would be amazed if Błogosławiony Jan Paweł Drugi, as my peeps in Poland call him, actually mentioned bikinis in Love and Responsibility, although I have no real way of knowing as I have never read it. ( Reading about spirituality of married people's sexuality... So sleepy... Zzzz...)
I have, however, read Mulieris Dignitatem with very great attention, and there Bł. JP II certainly has a lot to say about the tyrannous behaviour of men. Saint Edith Stein, while pointing out the faults fallen femininity is prone to, pointed out that one of the faults of fallen masculinity was a longing to boss women around.
Now, women can take a little bossing. If we're in love with someone, we don't mind too terribly much if he says, "Bring me a drink, woman, and put on that sexy dress I bought you." Male aggression is so often sexually charged, which is why it can be fun from men we adore but usually extremely creepy from men we don't even know.
Darlings, is that too much truth so early in the morning?
Anyway, what I actually want to write about this morning is women as bodies. Christians talk of human beings as embodied souls, and that's fine, but we're also ensouled bodies. We believe in the resurrection of the body, and when Our Lord rose--body and soul--from the dead, He went out of His way to illustrate His corporeal existence. He had His wounds, and He invited Thomas to put his hands in them. He shared meals. He went for long walks.
Thomas Aquinas thinks that we reach the peak of our human bodily perfection at 33, and therefore our bodies will return to what they were at 33 in the General Resurrection, only the bodies of the saved will be fixed of any infirmity, too. As I was still in awesome shape at 33, I have always enjoyed this thought--and I may be exaggerating. Maybe he didn't say 33 exactly.
When I say awesome shape, I don't mean I looked like a supermodel because I didn't, and I never did. Very few women in Canada can be that thin and still have big breasts although I have noticed that this seems to be a more frequent phenomenon among young women from Central-Eastern Europe. (Yarg!)
No, I mean that I was strong and had great stamina and could run a mile without breaking into a sweat and would do it at the drop of a hat, too. I very much enjoyed working out in the university gym, although the sight of the resident anorexic creeping around made me feel awful.
I do not know how old this woman was but she looked really old: very lined and wrinkled with huge sunken eyes. Unlike me, she didn't use the standing weights or the barbells at all. She stuck to the Stairmaster. And she was such a terrible sight, this poor woman amid all the healthy, glowing, athletic bodies of young men and young women. We enjoyed being bodies at work; she so obviously didn't.
Since I was too frightened of her to speak to her, I have no idea how she got like that. I don't know much about anorexia, but I believe it has something to do with control. European women kidnapped by native peoples in early colonial America often stopped eating, as the only form of control over their lives they had. And when I was younger, anorexia was seen as a problem of high-achieving white girls, determined to be perfect, or determined to call the shots over something in their lives, free from the expectations of parents and teachers.
But anorexia is also associated with female fear of fat, which is tragic as secondary female sexual characteristics--breasts, thighs, round bottom--are by nature formed with fat. It is also associated with girls thinking about themselves as Looked At.
This brings us back to some Catholic men on some Catholic blogs having Catholic conniptions about some Catholic girls in bikinis. For in those discussions the battle is over Women As Looked At.
But the purpose of our bodies is not to be looked at. The purpose of our bodies is--well, to be us. We are our bodies, and I think women understand this a bit better then men.
I am not a fan of skimpy clothes, unless the skimpy clothes are necessary for athletic or aesthetic achievement. I think we women should fight against our own tendency to see ourselves constantly through men's eyes, through strangers' eyes, as Looked At. We should dress as ourselves, not as our sex appeal.
For the sake of the public, it is good to keep in mind that we are not invisible and that like any other visual thing, we can invoke aesthetic pleasure or distaste in other human beings. For this reason, we comb our hair and put on clean, neat clothing before we leave the house.
But at the same time, we must think of our bodies not as objects but as subjects, as ourselves (wedded to souls), moving through the world towards eternity. And it would be helpful if more men thought of us that way too.
Incidentally, there is something mentally unhealthy about a young man who takes a shine to a girl he meets at Mass and then feels crushed if he sees a photo of her in a bikini top on Facebook. He is disappointed because now she doesn't match Miss Perfect Catholic Girl in his head. His non-Catholic roommate, however, might well be thinking, as would the young man's Catholic grandfather fifty years ago, "Whoo-hoo! That's for me!"
Let the comments begin and kindly remember that the combox is open only to women, priests and my uber-protective brother Nulli Secundus, who is free to come and bark at eavesdroppers who get past the Swashbuckling Protector of the Day.
UPDATE: Since ancient times, we have always emphasized the soul, so the exact Catholic teaching on the body often comes as a surprise. So here is what the Catechism of the Catholic Church teaches:
II. "BODY AND SOUL BUT TRULY ONE"
362 The human person, created in the image of God, is a being at once corporeal and spiritual. The biblical account expresses this reality in symbolic language when it affirms that "then the LORD God formed man of dust from the ground, and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life; and man became a living being."229 Man, whole and entire, is therefore willed by God.
363 In Sacred Scripture the term "soul" often refers to human life or the entire human person.230 But "soul" also refers to the innermost aspect of man, that which is of greatest value in him,231 that by which he is most especially in God's image: "soul" signifies the spiritual principle in man.
364 The human body shares in the dignity of "the image of God": it is a human body precisely because it is animated by a spiritual soul, and it is the whole human person that is intended to become, in the body of Christ, a temple of the Spirit:
Man, though made of body and soul, is a unity. Through his very bodily condition he sums up in himself the elements of the material world. Through him they are thus brought to their highest perfection and can raise their voice in praise freely given to the Creator. For this reason man may not despise his bodily life. Rather he is obliged to regard his body as good and to hold it in honor since God has created it and will raise it up on the last day.
365 The unity of soul and body is so profound that one has to consider the soul to be the "form" of the body:234 i.e., it is because of its spiritual soul that the body made of matter becomes a living, human body; spirit and matter, in man, are not two natures united, but rather their union forms a single nature.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)