“And therefore while so many think it the only valour to command and master others, study thou the Dominion of thy self, and quiet thine own Commotions. … They who are merely carried on by the Wheel of such Inclinations, without the Hand and Guidance of Sovereign Reason, are but the Automatous part of mankind, rather lived than living, or at least underliving themselves.”
–Thomas Browne, Christian Morals (1716)
I wish I would have published this a few days ago, on the Feast of St. Teresa of Avila, because one of the most potent images of the spirit and flesh combined is focused around a vision she experienced. When a graduate class I was in was once presented with an image of Gian Lorenzo Bernini’s imposing sculpture The Ecstasy of St. Teresa, a fellow student of mine snickeringly remarked that Teresa “looks like she’s having an orgasm,” with the requisite leering about the room (the student, not the room… was leering… never mind).
After all, it’s common knowledge that cenobites are incapable of orgasm and the flesh and spirit never mingle, correct?
Before you censure me for building a straw man argument, 1 I’ll remind you that it is a common assumption that being a sexual creature and a Christian are essentially incompatible.2 Want proof? Just search “Christian erotic,” or, God forbid, “Christian pornography” in Google and see what you come up with (don’t do it now while you’re reading the article). Before you hit Christian screeds, you’ll find snarky bloggers and such reminding the Internets public once again that Christianity and sex just don’t mix.3
First, I think it’s important to understand that healthy sexuality isn’t sinful if it’s truly good. I mention this specifically because there seems to be an odd complex in most Western cultures that identifies “the naughty” (which once meant “wicked”) with the pleasing and healthful (i.e., sex). If I flip open to the murky back pages of my local alternative weekly, I find clubs whose names are designed to be mockeries of ecclesiastical terms for impurity and failure, like “Iniquity,” “Vice” and the like. If what we’re enjoying there is so good, why not call it good instead of bywords for evil?
Conversely, true sinfulness is really neither sexy nor desirable if we see our moral failings for what they are. If Christians at any point call that which is good a sin, then we have a definite semantics problem that must be corrected–sin in and of itself is at its core baleful ignorance, twisted goodness, and imprisonment in one’s self. If indeed sin is darkness, then, like its namesake shadow, it has no real substance of its own. Unfortunately, this can oftentimes apply to how people deal with each other sexually or with their own pleasure privately, thus necessitating the need for our term “lust.”
However, any Christian, no matter how pious, should be at a loss to explain away the naturally sensual qualities of those good things God gives us. Asceticism is only a means to the end of enjoying God more fully, not the Christian’s ultimate mission in life.
Though some more charismatic types may disagree with me, I also believe that simple moderation and balance are form one of the key planks of the Christian life. The Greeks knew this, the Romans knew this, the Buddha knew this, surely Lao Tzu knew this… like the Golden Rule, this seems like a principle basic to our common morality.
I also agree with the fine folks over here that Christ’s famous injunction against lust was not directed against admirers of the female form, but those who were scouting out an opportunity to homewreck, or worse. If admiration increases our faith in our Creator without trampling on any other virtues, I find it difficult to see the sin in rejoicing in our God-given sexual attributes (including the imagination). I know this seems quite vague, but that is the nature of trying to moralize on such a deep and wide aspect of our existence that is so frequently frowned upon or minimized.
So there’s my QED. For the Christian, life matters, and is thus to be lived circumspectly. And, despite what our culture may bellow around us, sex matters as one of the most powerful aspects of human experience. The crux of the problem for most secular erotic literature is its treatment of human sexuality as something random and inconsequential, yet incredibly powerful. It can change the protagonists’ lives entirely, and yet we’re asked to believe that our fleeting hope for two of them to stay together is a mere vestige of an antiquated belief system. In any case, if we believe our pains and pleasures have both been hallowed by Christ, then much of the rest of it falls into place.
If you’ll notice, Bernini’s work is part of an altarpiece. Some may cry Catholic syncretism or pagan resurgence or some nonsense, but I see a little bit of God-made humanity showing its redemptive colors. We are sexual beings who must relate to both humanity and a loving God, not misbegotten creatures of either primordial filth or mawkish sexlessness.
Matir Theou.It’s difficult to find something that hasn’t already been said, pondered, or pontificated upon regarding the Blessed Virgin Mary, so I doubt it behooves me much to try. Just about everyone knows that the BVM is the earthly mother of the Christians’ savior, Jesus. Of course, to what extent her early influence continues on Christendom at large is hotly disputed. As I heard a very Anglo-Catholic priest say once, though: “She was His mom, you know.” It does stand to reason that she would, as the medievals say, have Jesus’ ear…
I suppose what I and allegedly many other folks would object to is the exaltation of this all-too-human woman to the status of deity. I’ll even admit that, whatever the saints’ relation to our lives, she is indeed the first of the Christian era, and possibly the greatest. But does she work miracles, like Christ? Does she act as an advocate in our distress, like Christ? Did she ascend into the heavens or was sinlessly conceived, like Christ?
See? That’s pretty scary, isn’t it?
It’s this rather limited type of Mary that I envision taking the time out of her busy schedule to pester children about their rosaries or inform us of future tourist traps.
Unfortunately, my quick fix to this perennial “goddess problem” was to isolate the incomprehensible God into the “paternal” Father, “maternal” Spirit and “filial” Son, following in the footsteps of a few others that shall remain nameless (or should they?). Blech… perhaps the best lesson to take from all this is to simply let God be God instead of confine Him/Her to simple gender binaries.
So can Mary give us any amont of help or solace whatsoever? Let’s just say the jury is out for the nonce. One thing I know for sure, though–Mary herself, in whatever capacity she still operates, must have been far less passive, milquetoast, and Caucasoid in her own time than how various churchmen have dutifully portrayed her at sundry times and places. And as long as she directs us continually to God, I don’t see why her lovingly looming presence should be considered that much of a problem for the mature Christian.
And the angel came in unto her, and said, “Hail, thou that art highly favoured, the Lord is with thee: blessed art thou among women.” And when she saw him, she was troubled at his saying, and cast in her mind what manner of salutation this should be. And the angel said unto her, “Fear not, Mary: for thou hast found favour with God. . . . For with God nothing shall be impossible.” And Mary said, “Behold the handmaid of the Lord; be it unto me according to thy word.” And the angel departed from her. Luke 1:28-30 and 37-38
Employees of Croach & Croach Jr. MUST NOT:
touch, breathe on, or stand too near Mr. Croach Jr. unless they wish to be fired immediately.
No children are allowed in any room Mr. Croach Jr. occupies.
Any member of the staff who has recently handled a child must undergo immediate quarantine.
–Notice at Croach & Croach Jr., the Proto-Hollow Fields
Manga >> Madeleine Rosca’s Hollow Fields (Vols. 1-2)
If you are one of those insufferable wights who believe that any story involving something magical or mysterious is automatically child’s play, you probably won’t like the Hollow Fields series very much. I would assume you’re not one of these, however, since you’re taking valuable time out of your day to read this weblog.
That said, the Australian Ms. Rosca’s Hollow Fields is an adorably Gothic tale in the tradition of another Poe-writ-small, Lemony Snicket. In fact, she even lists Snicket among her influences. Anyway, the basic premise of Fields is that Lucy Snow, the precious, bunny-eared heroine of the series, has been sent by her somewhat neglectful parents to a prestigious boarding school in the vicinity of Nullsville. Unfortunately, she ends up getting sidetracked and, with obligatory stuffed animal sidekick Dino in tow, she stumbles upon the secretive steampunk nightmare that is Ms. Weaver’s Academy for the Scientifically Gifted and Ethically Unfettered. In short, a school for mad scientists.
The “Engineers” that run the school are essentially undead corpses that have been kept alive through the magic of steam and clockwork-driven technologies. The children are essentially ensnared through a misleading contract. Every week, a child must be sent to the Windmill for a permanent “detention.” And yet, somehow, a light, silly air befitting an “All Ages”-rated comedy permeates the work, making it a manga I wouldn’t mind my children reading.
Well, except Summer’s evil Deathtrap maybe.
My only major quibble is… well, major. It’s the irritating habits of some characters to repeat quirks (i. e. Lucy’s constant treatment of Dino as if he’s alive, Groundskeeper Croach’s groundless hatred of children, etc.) and Lucy’s incessant st-st-st-stuttering. Venerable manga st-st-st-stereotypes all, but still annoying nonetheless.
Final Grade: A-.
