Contemplations


I have been engaging pretty skeptically with commonly accepted ground in my conservative religious circles, everyday living, etc. At heart, a philosophical question of universals, the one and the many, propels me to seek a better approach to the totalizing tendencies of our individual human perspectives.  Maybe I am overly biased from my sporadic engagement in little Christian circles, but it fascinates me how many individual people I meet who are so convinced by something, that since they are convinced of this person or piece of information as truth, they seem to want some sort of regard for this thing as truth to be shared. Faced with the necessity of relation in our everyday interactions, how do we present our truths in the midst of these relations? This is not universally the case that all people feel some sort of urgency to convince others of their own convictions, but where does this desire/tendency arise in the nature[1] of relating? I loved the way I heard friendship/r explained at mass about a month ago: seeing through another’s eyes, to be contrasted with another level of relating that was said to be added between lovers as a movement outward and inward to embrace the other in fascination. How do we humans experience on another in and about our issues of difference.

 

I love the diversity of life; for all my questioning, I hope life never provides me with answers to all the things I wonder. Experience cannot be summed or described as an answer, and neither is a question always seeking that, merely opening itself to take in the new information or ways that would benefit relating. The question changes the questioner just as much as the one questioned, I think, allowing for a mutual exchange of experience between persons or person and object… moving one from the restless mode of questioning with an insatiable thirst for everything to a state a bit more complacent, patiently willing to experience rather than define the relationships and things life hands to us. Perhaps in our truths and the desire some of us have to see these same truths in others demonstrates a longing in us to share our most valued experiences with one another on that hardly-tapped level of relation wherein the experience genuinely takes on meaning for both individuals. Such is certainly the case when I try and share my Jesus. Is there a certain kind of boundary our inner truths cannot cross over, perhaps a boundary I could identify as solitude, a condition of self-relatedness, of sitting alone with oneself and being content in the way of not-always-being-present with another.

 

Over the past few years, I have experienced a combination of solitude and loneliness, in and out of relationship. We are always creatures apart and individual though constantly engaged in relationship, which is part of how/what we are as human beings. Our solitude manifests itself in a healthy manner when we hold our own truths and opinions as part of what suits how we are, how we have discovered what we enjoy and leads us forward as we pursue vocations. So our own truths, if we will play with the idea of universal truth momentarily, could be part of or point to a larger conception of truth, something that encompasses without contradiction the resonances with sound similarly, but with personal distinctions, within each human person. It seems so often though, maybe just in my circles of conversation, that our particular truths, in whatever part they may coincide with a larger truth, that personal inner truths are invasively forced on others. Perhaps the appearance of force comes with miscommunication, but I do wonder about the contrary manner of communicating inner truths as well.

 

I am tired of fruitless arguments stemming from belief (by ‘fruitless’ I mean that one or both sides refuse or cannot understand the other, and the comment about belief is that in my experience, many people assume things on the basis of uncontemplated belief rather than carefully); if we are sharing through discussion as a mode to communicate our experiences and to introduce the selves we always hide, I think it is more productive to permit one another to introduce our experiences of what convinced us of our truths rather than shuffling restlessly side-by-side, not working  towards any kind of harmony. I think this often happens in religious disagreement, a very internal and volatile subject made so public in very intimate worship. A few weeks ago, one of my classmates defined religion as something that should retie human relationships. I agree, especially when approaching my own personal struggles with Christianity… yes, Jesus brought many separations into the world, but was working towards a greater unity. Within Christian circles, should we not be “one in the Spirit, we are one in the Lord… and we pray that all unity may one day be restored. And they’ll know we are Christians by our love…” (from “We are One,” a song often sung in churches I grew up in). How often does inter-Christian love convince someone of Jesus?

 

Part of my motivation in writing and wondering about our truth disagreements and inconsiderate behavior for each other’s solitude by our very relational compulsions of sharing experience, to the exclusion of hearing each other. What I mean by solitude is a kind of space, the sort which we each need to know ourselves well enough to give ourselves in relationship. Solitude sometimes happens in aloneness, or just a kind of space in relationship that does not pressure us to conform, ignore, or assimilate what we find as our own inner truths to another’s experience.  Solitude is necessary for relationship because it allows the kind of stepping-back in respect for one another that allows each person engaged in the relationship to hear the other’s truth and try to see it through the other’s eyes, and/or hold it in fascination.

 

I’m not as much of a relativist as I sound, but merely one human being struggling with the idea of individually formed definitions being so absolute that they can be projected onto disunified experiences with conformity as goal. I approach universality through the experiences of individuals, wondering how much can be abstracted into a totality, and leaning towards the idea that any totality should be a sparely defined totality. What kind of engagement can personal truths have with one another, and does human relating necessitate a loss of solitude, because of inability to full see another’s truth?

 


[1] “nature” may be a misleading word for some, I am not proposing that human relations each have an immaterial nature of their own, but simply mean this word as a way of going about relating.

So the more I read and reflect on theological analyses of social politics… the more people and thoughts I am exposed to, the more I find the condition of my life to separate into the binaries of belief and experience… I believe inessences, in natures, in spirit beyond sense, etc… but in the experience of life, knowledge only comes by senses, by the tangible, by feeling “real” things in a three dimensional substanital existence. So where is the spiritual in an existential world. If I’m just looking around and being present in each situation (ie, not distracted, not mind-wandering through agenda, abstractions, etc…), I find spirit experienced in relationship. In my 3 hour class today, framed off of Emmanuel Levinas’ phenomonological wondering about “otherness” difference, sameness and the interactions between individual people, I was reflecting on this very thing with a classmate towards the end of class. Reflecting on the presentation of Barth’s theology, and the experience and situation out of which his theology describing God as wholly other to man and not being comprehensible or even comparable to (by any analogy) human experience. Some part of me reaches out to embrace that, running. And then here’s Jesus, part of the wholly other, but here too. God with us. That historical presence, and then by revelation, a continued spiritual reality. To me, in an existential world in a church that comprehends God through the tangible stuff by natural theology (our use of reason) and analogy. So where does the amphibious God-Son (love that spiritual/physical word of Lewis) come into the massive problem we have in Christian theology, and thus, my life-thinking…Church?

So supposedly, and hopefully, by any Christian’s reckoning, I don’t care what denomination you are, as long as you’re Christian claiming and living by whatever that little rule of faith we have is..HOPEFULLY you believe the idea of Christian church includes all who claim Jesus. Its supposed to be universal, I think, in a very few things: (1) Jesus, that historical guy who came to earth, is God in body; (2) this Jesus perfected/completed the means to relate with God, which before Him, we weren’t able to do… by living a perfect life, dying an unjust death, and doing something called resurrection and not remaining dead in that body. (3) that somehow all people are meant to be wrapped up in relation with one another, and with God in something unique called unity.. something where all differences unapologetically are, and are beautiful, refracting and reflecting all the glory God made. I know some of my friends think its cheaper to look for the God bits in things… I dont know. I want to love people for them, not for finding God inside them. If God is love, and God enables me to open up all the way to love with whatever is in me,  then maybe relationship with God can only be thought of as a sort of invisible spouse who works to erode the barriers of selfishness and self-protectingness I erect to remain unmoved and untouched by all that human passion that washes over me all the time. Yet, we run into an issue I mentioned earlier this week, or at the end of last week in a blog… that of abstraction from circumstances to relate with God.

See, I guess we call that consecration, when one is set apart to be devoted to God. Fits into this idea of relating with a Wholly Other person… we have to remove from what we are in nature to conform in our part of the relation. It seems that abstraction, though, in theology, can be both sides… we can abstract ourself to community (as we talked about in class today with Barth’s frustration… how his mentors and fellow theologians became so focused on being the German church, that they surrendered their ideas to those of nationalism and nazism), to a position where we are no longer critical (:) shouldn’t we always be when looking at ourselves next to Jesus)… or the problem of being so removed from community that we lose touch. Can we relate if we’ve abstracted ourselves to God. So I used to think that was the way to enter the world… (and this will require more reflection and a re-reading of Henry Nouwen’s “Reaching Out: The Three Movements of the Spiritual Life”… from moving out to God, others, and then finding oneself)… and now I wonder. To abstract myself from the context I find myself thrown in is a kind of giving up of life. Jesus talked about how we must lose our lives to save them. Hm. But is that the kind of giving up that’s removal? ‘Cause it seems like the connected fabric, currents, whatever connected, fluid metaphor makes most sense to you… to abstract one life from the many that make up whatever fact of human universal there is for the moment, seems a robbery to the others it was connected to.

So how do we bring a wholly Other into the everyday. Funny to ask, cause we do it with each other in that spirituality of relationship all the time.We open ourselves up and let the masks fall of, let the guards down and share, or we probe with our curious wondering. Ever get that itch just to know someone, and accepting whatever they give to you, in whatever moments at part of that generous conitinuum they are? I kinda love that feeling. To sit near someone, and know that regardless of how afraid you are to voice your thoughts, and no matter how choppily they will come out, that other person likes to hear them, likes you best when you’ll be scared for a few moments to give out those thoughts, and is secure enough in knowing your thoughts will always be changing to just listen, engage, move on too? If we experience God, if we experience anything naturally of God, of divine bliss, love, happiness, just contentedness… just being who we are without convincing ourselves we need more excuses for that. Its beautiful, practically the most beautiful thing, ever. And it has everything to do with our situations and all the particularities person-to-person. So where do all our wonderings come from, if not sitting in that place of relationship with God, with each other, if not our fears?

Do we begin with reflection on concrete relationship to create a theology? Should we? seems appropriate to me.

Just some reflections on the new Papal Encycical Caritas in Veritate…..paragraph by paragraph….

1. Love as a force of movement… in explicating the passage that “love rejoices in the truth,” our Pope discusses how the ways of defending truth are different ways of loving. These two lines beautifully express the heart of what I feel Catholicism needs to continue crusading… “All people feel the interior impulse to love authentically: love and truth never abandon them completely, because these are the vocation planted by God in the heart and mind of every human person. The search for love and truth is purified and liberated by Jesus Christ from the impoverishment that our humanity brings to it, and he reveals to us in all its fullness the initiative of love and the plan for true life that God has prepared for us.” Loving in truth… becomes connected with the face of Jesus, and how imaging that face becomes our vocation when we love one another “in truth” for Christ Himself is Truth. When I read this, I immediately thought of how Jesus would become more real in us, more present on earth… if we are the body of Christ, then H becomes more present on earth as Love in giving ourselves truly to one another.

2. Love being the source and synthesis of the entire Law, since God Himself is love, it is the only substantial factor in all principles and relationships. “Truth needs to be sought, found and expressed within the “economy” of charity, but charity in its turn needs to be understood, confirmed and practised in the light of truth.” How unpin-able is love, devoid of an absolute, defining expression… and even more confusing is love, the Pope recognizes how current society and Western culture relativizes truth. Love as an expression of truth?

3. “charity can be recognized as an authentic expression of humanity and as an element of fundamental importance in human relations, including those of a public nature.” but since love is in need of a direction, a path dictated by the light of truth (which is the directing glow of faith and reason)… without truth, the pope says love is directionless, arbitrary– a shell which will be misdirected without the guidance of truth. Since we live in a culture already recognized as devoid of truth,  the expression of love in our society has been denigrated to emotionalism…. feelings. Chemicals firing in the brain, a searching for satisfaction and comfort.

4. “A Christianity of charity without truth would be more or less interchangeable with a pool of good sentiments, helpful for social cohesion, but of little relevance.” so perhaps the sense of meaning and purpose I keep searching after is that filling-ness of truth; somehow, if the truth sets us free… then we find charity, this ‘true’ sort of love… really freed from a “narrow field devoid of relations.” What is love if we cannot relate it… I remember a song very popular among my friends and I called “Love is a Verb” which spoke of love as active. I believe faith is also active… but both have their senses where they are presences of action.

5. “Charity is love received and given.” I think its presence in us is demonstrated by the two-way path cut by truth through our hearts… to be an “instrument of charity” we are given both an inclination towards receptivity and gifting… I think as long as we remain in truth, those channels the Holy Spirit cuts through us when It baptizes us in the grace of faith. A dynamic grace we are given. The moment we misdirect our eyes from truth, our vision of ability to give or receive love is clouded… I agreed with the sentiment that love in truth might be a sort of “satisfactory solution to the grave socio-economic problems besetting humanity” but I think the realization that heaven is apart from here in its full sense, while we are indeed building it now, needs to be remembered. We will always have the poor… how does that needfully affect our enactment of love? should it just encourage us to never give up heart?

6. What does justice and the common good look like through loving in truth? If every society manufactures its own system, but love going beyond justice tries to erect the kingdom of heaven via just principles, but also moving beyond justice. The Pope defines loving as giving… but I would add that I think its also keeping open the channel of receiving. If we love someone, we will accept from them out of care for their giving. So maybe that just adds to the Pope’s consideration of how the earthly city is not just built by right governance but by care, a transcendent value which brings heaven down to earth.

7. Since “to love someone is to desire that person’s good and to take effective steps to secure it,”  the Pope weaves together the idea of freeing love by the inspiration of truth: “the more we strive to secure a common good corresponding to the real needs of our neighbours, the more effectively we love them;” yet Jesus spoke of coming to divine father from Son, husband and wife, friends… is that seeking of the truth the dividing point? Will we agree to common good? Connecting the seeking of universal human good through earthly activity, the Holy Father introduces the “history of the human family” which offers dimensions which shape the entire community into “a prefiguration of the undivided city of God.”

8. :) a beautiful picture of the two-way street of God’s gift of graceful love… He gifts the grace of love, and entrusts ” us with the task of travelling the path of development with all our heart and all our intelligence[7], that is to say with the ardour of charity and the wisdom of truth.” I think our greatest enemies in this love-quest are definitely ourselves and the despair we can conjure up… our own realization of unworthiness which is the most present and obvious weight and presence in all Christianity I’ve experienced… even to the point of where we shed our own blood to try and pay rather than accept Christ’s. Guilty.

9. This remark was fascinating: “The risk for our time is that the de facto interdependence of people and nations is not matched by ethical interaction of consciences and minds that would give rise to truly human development.” Recognizing the inability of Church authority to speak into political issues, the Pope maintained that the mission of truth remained for the Pope. “Her social doctrine is a particular dimension of this proclamation: it is a service to the truth which sets us free. Open to the truth, from whichever branch of knowledge it comes, the Church’s social doctrine receives it, assembles into a unity the fragments in which it is often found, and mediates it within the constantly changing life-patterns of the society of peoples and nations.”

Chapter 1: The Message of Populorum Progressio

10. According to the Holy Father’s consideration of the Tradition of apostolic faith, Populorum Progressio maintains roots beyond sociological data.

11. Describing the contents of Populorum Progressio the Holy Father describes two truths:
(1) the public work and presence of the Church is to advance humanity, and
(2) “authentic human development concerns the whole of the person in every single dimension.”
the dimension of this paragraph I especially appreciated was the Pope’s recognition that institutions are not enough “to guarantee the fulfilment of humanity’s right to development” because it is an individual vocation. If we individual persons don’t freely assume responsibility to engage, enforced by institution, the very “right to human development” becomes dehumanizing.

12. “It is one thing to draw attention to the particular characteristics of one Encyclical or another, of the teaching of one Pope or another, but quite another to lose sight of the coherence of the overall doctrinal corpus.” Well said, Holy Father Benedict XIV. I appreciate the overview of adherence to tradition, this idea of patrimony that is continued from Jesus Christ via the Apostles and Fathers following after them. The issue of “meaningless repetition” that I was warned about in my pre-Catholic years of following Jesus is well-addressed in this paragraph: “Coherence does not mean a closed system: on the contrary, it means dynamic faithfulness to a light received. The Church’s social doctrine illuminates with an unchanging light the new problems that are constantly emerging.” God is the Unchanged-Ever-Changing as far as we can see Him: always the same, but how newly we always experience Him, how new His promises are every morning. Our Lord never changes, and yet there is something so dynamic about His relationship with us, the leading and communication of His will, through the same Word.

13. It is very difficult for some of us who are used to living in a culture where two separate lines of thought are expected between Faith and Government to separate our Christian lives from our social interactions. Wrestling through separation of self from the world, and the whole idea of being in, but not of the world these past months of my life, Holy Father Benedict’s emphasis of Pope Paul VI’s social teaching impressed me: “the indispensable importance of the Gospel for building a society according to freedom and justice, in the ideal and historical perspective of a civilization animated by love.” How can all my life be animated by love. How can I carry the Love of Jesus as the burning torch of my heart as I marathon, the same Hannah behind the walls of churches, school, work, and walking these streets of Berkeley. How will I make Your Love visible in me, all the time?

14. Further addressing the idea of “human development” counter to some claims made about tradition today, the Holy Father corrects supposed notions attributed to tradition “as radically anti-human and merely a source of degradation” by stating that “the idea of a world without development indicates a lack of trust in man and in God.” I especially appreciated his recognition of something I feel often in my own nature… “the fact that man is constitutionally oriented towards ‘being more’.” We push our limits if we believe we might have some.. we try, as sojourners to discover ourselves and our boundaries and those of others so we know how the lives may best intertwine. Somehow in this aspiring to be more in the persons we are… notice it is be more not do more. I am still learning the extent of our personhood is not only confined to what we do… nor is our worth as persons.

15. Discussing the other social documents of Paul VI, Humanae Vitae and Evangelii Nuntiandi, Holy Father Benedict brings together the discussions of individual and group ethics with the connection between “life ethics” and social ethics. Quoting John Paul II’s Evangelium Vitae, ‘The Church forcefully maintains this link between life ethics and social ethics, fully aware that “a society lacks solid foundations when, on the one hand, it asserts values such as the dignity of the person, justice and peace, but then, on the other hand, radically acts to the contrary by allowing or tolerating a variety of ways in which human life is devalued and violated, especially where it is weak or marginalized.”’ I was just discussing the strange contradiction of relationships that we have with ourselves in modern American society, and thus with our ability to love itself, with a friend earlier: we are taught to think so much of ourselves, create our own truth, etc… and yet at the root, we find nothing in ourselves that we are proud of, in fact we hate ourselves. Yet we insist on listening to ourselves as the supreme authority, though in our weak times we are self-negligent at best and self-destructive at worst. We seem to be caught up doing everything we can to lose our lives, while with the same manner of intensity, pursuing the activity of life: the opposing passions would appear, to me, to cancel each other out and leave us neutral, relational vegetables in comatose states of loving… apathetic towards true love, and superficially attempting to placate a deeper ache by sentiment and feeling. Diving into the second of Paul VI’s social documents, Holy Father Benedict notes another frequently forgotten element of the Christian life: we are not gnostically all about the ethereal… we are all about the embodied soul! Beautifully put… “Testimony to Christ’s charity, through works of justice, peace and development, is part and parcel of evangelization, because Jesus Christ, who loves us, is concerned with the whole person.”

16. In light of all else he had connected to this point, the Holy Father brings together the ideas of human development as  right of society and a personal calling by highlighting how “In Populorum Progressio, Paul VI taught that progress, in its origin and essence, is first and foremost a vocation.” The Gospel in light of society is the work of continual duty of each successive Christian generation. So yes, we have changed since the time of Jesus, and the expression of “true humanism” as the Holy Father puts it, must continue to espouse the love of Jesus’ heart, which is always open to God, “conscious of a vocation which gives human life its true meaning.”

17. The tension between institutional structures and individual freedom. One might think that any institutional denial of freedom under obligations depletes us of freedom… yet the Pope notes that “the humility of those who accept a vocation is transformed into true autonomy.” Accepting our vocations, our lives as we have been given them and stepping into who we have been made to be sounds extremely freeing on the one hand, but binding as well. Autonomy? Is this an independence of all obligation in favor of an entirely self-directed life? What sort of freedom would that be? I think of life in the sort I am growing into… and note that for me, freedom and greatest capacity is not withholding myself from submission to rules or authorities… those are for my stability in regards to surface structures so that I am not trapped in the surface, aching for depth, but able to plunge deeper.

18. ‘The vocation to progress drives us to “do more, know more and have more in order to be more”. But herein lies the problem: what does it mean “to be more”? ‘ Excellent question. And while the Holy Father explains in a more complicated manner, for the Christian, for every person, Jesus is our more. Being made into the likeness of Christ in our individual vocations… which unite with the world in the development of humanity. Except the Pope notes that Christianity takes this global vision of man becoming more to a greater possibility than that limited to earth…. Jesus as the God-Man requires us to accept truth, boundary and direction… authority… in order to transcend from the natural plane. I think its hard to remember that original nature was inclusive of the supernatural… our natures are just unable to think or imagine the grace which rescues the gaze from only inward to outward…. to upward… the transcendent humanism… to be like the Jesus-more we are going after.

19. Understanding that human development is a vocation, working towards that more in the person of Jesus… it makes perfect sense that charity is central to this development. Yet, I am thinking in relational terms again: If I want to become like someone, reach the transcendent human possibility that is laid out for me in a supernatural plane by the person of Jesus, how can I pursue it, but that I open my self to receiving that gift of love-grace He offers. I must submit to something more than me, accepting shows that I lack what perfect Love holds… and thus I become obedient to learning love. As I read the Holy Father’s words, I see his mind working in a different mode to my own, mine in the central path of relationality readily confesses that “Reason, by itself, is capable of grasping the equality between men and of giving stability to their civic coexistence, but it cannot establish fraternity.” It is not in thinking we learn how to love, but we observe the movements of love… we observe ourselves… others, we calculate. It is in being immersed within, and overwhelmed out of ourselves, flooded until we have love pouring out of the holes in our hearts, hands, feet, and sides that we step into a process of meeting one another as brothers. parallel living is done be neighbors, but we are intersecting as brothers, meeting at points of giving away and accepting in one another.

20. I appreciated the connection between desperation and love that the Pope finds…”urgency is also a consequence of charity in truth.” Urgency not only stemming from the tides of life, but from knowing that we are and should be, brothers and sisters… that is the truth of humanity…. is there not one God and creator of all? Has not the One Son come to redeem all, would it not be best to renew the natures of all in grace so that we are all capable of journeying towards the oneness with God and others, spiritually and economically? If our hearts ache with urgency, they will open of their own accord, to that call of brotherhood, as truth separates us from the selfish and the most desirable. How do we ‘mobilize ourselves at the level of the “heart”’? Thats foreign language in my world. Is it the moving out, reaching out, always? Vulnerability, words we dont like to hear?

How big is your God? I love that question… its one whose answer changes continually… yet always remains the same, encompasses the very activities we do and call religion, our “conversation” (i.e., prayer) with God, and our engagements of faith with one another. God’s place of relationship in our lives is as big as we allow it to be. A lot of people throw around the phrase “God is a gentleman,” referring to God not forcing relationship upon any of us, but once we feel a true need in ourselves, tap into the slakeless thirst for Him, we are totally enslaved. And we desire to be so. Yet, we live in a fact of life that is full of extremes, of many varying positions, many good choices, many options that affect our ordering and composition of life. God may be the captor of our hearts, but the amount He does in us, with us through us does entirely depend on how much we submit to His life, that life of heaven on earth… and because we are mortal (as I am slowly learning… and coming to terms with my own nature), we are limited in what we can do.

I am not Jesus. But the Spirit of Jesus lives in me…why should it be any other than Him who sets the standards? Yet look at Jesus, he took rest, He didn’t heal everyone, He opened His heart to everyone.The Jesus I know is this person who listens to every story of any heart that unfolds itself to Him… there is a sort of invitation in His presence to come close and rest your head against His knees if you happen to be too weak to rise, or to run energetically with Him into the dawn of a new situation. This invitation Jesus is constantly extending unnerves me to the very core of my soul, inspite of a relentless desire to fly up from my place, wherever I am, catch His hand, and follow Him into the adventures of a different sort of day. Yet the vulnerability it takes to let go of where I am to grasp hold of the hands He extends to me shakes me… terrifies me: What wonderous love is this, my soul, that caused the Lord of bliss to bear the dreadful curse for my soul? I know how undeserving I see myself to be… and He sees whatever the truth of my being is, and its constant change, draws me by the slender connection we have formed over my heart.

This wild and restless heart, this seat of my soul, wrapped up in will and full of stubborn desires… what will tame it into the stillness required to run away with my Jesus? Submission being chosen obedience, what would cause that which resists, dodging and weaving through the labyrinths of live, dancing walls… the people and commitments I have made to each individual, avoiding  the facing of Jesus, in spite of how much I desire it. He catches my chin and siezes me gaze, and my heart can avoid him no more. What will bring me to You, Jesus, when all my life is running, but running away, because there is an end of the running in You?

I have been stilled by You in the mystery of litrugy… the song of heaven woven and spun by the chorus of earth. I remember the first time I was going to mass… it was at a Civil Air Patrol event, I had recently turned 13… cadet conference, I believe. I had heard words like litrugy then, but in the unruly, untamed passion of my little heart, I resisted any sort of structure. Who would want to be part of something that was rote, redundant, repetitive… boring. My first mass, I still remember the content of the homily: spiritual leprosy, from one of the gospel passages, Matthew, I think, of the leper who returned to thank Jesus for healing Him. We are all infected with spiritual leprosy, the priest told us… how many are willing to return for the thanks. Litrugy, to me then, took on the character of that return to thanksgiving. So our music wasn’t stellar, a couple off key boys and me, cracking out a hymn…but the prayers which I first encountered and learned were prayed all over the world struck me. I witnesses a mystery in that continuation… the same prayers, same pattern, but that pattern seemed to expand, like a song with chords that continue throughout the entire piece, but are complicated by additional notes.

Attending mass again (the only real litrugy I have been too on any consistent basis, having once been to a Byzantine liturgy and a Lutheran liturgy)… I was struck by the same familiar mystery, but since my first exposure, my curiousity was a little thirstier. I watched a bread and cup ceremony, invocation, that had the same matter (with the addition of alcohol) to a service that happened anywhere from once a month regularity to scattered occurance at other churches I’d attended. Why everyday? Why so central? Why did the doctrine of substance changing at some point matter so much? Why pit this at the middle of everything, and rest upon it as a mark of something requiring an innitiation? My soul brimmed with questions then, and now too. I began to continue my re-visiting to the mass. There was something same about it each time… that same thing, whatever it was, I didn’t know at first… but it was something… someone I knew my soul was absolutely craving… and always present in a sense I couldn’t find elsewhere, in a way every other place I went to seemed empty. I think I met Jesus in a different way. I think in that litrugy, He let me kiss Him; He let me be still, and consoled and encouraged my soul to a further holiness. Not every time, but the potential was always there… but my heart did not always offer a great expectation of His advent.

I learned that litrugy was more than the mass. And I hungered further with a greater wonder as I learned more. I was asked, why, if I can see Jesus anywhere, feel Him anywhere, would I limit myself to that re-presentation, that set order of encountering my God? Limit? The prayers I have learned to say as I was increasing in the volume of my liturgical life came from one of the most dynamic sources of prayer: the Psalms. Learning that they fulfilled the needs of my life, the cries of my heart to God, that they traced the human events and decisions and provided words where I was speachless, I found myself falling in love with the Divine Office: there again, a set aside sacred time and place, where I begged Jesus to open my lips and receive my praise; where I long for a burning coal from the altar to be placed on my tongue and where I found created for me in the presence of my God and community a place to be still, and wait for my God to come. I love going to morning prayer and kneeling in the silent chapel before we begin… savoring the time with Him. He quiets my heart and restores my soul… giving me the space I need to wrestle out with Him His place in preeminance over the rest of the business in my life. In this liturgy, this ordering where I remove from what is familiar to be quiet, directed and focus, my Jesus walks with me into the stillest dance I could hope for, and begins to teach me rest, something I am absolutely incapable of on my own. Finding my resst restores my joy, and I am free to run and live with/in Him.

Discerning to love like Jesus…to find identity in Jesus, does one need to know what one is? I must confess, in the myriad of Foucault and Nietzsche that I am immersed in, I am relieved by the voice of Martin Heidegger who, though omitting the quest of gender from his consideration of human being-ness, does admit to a state of being that is before one understands it. I whole-heartedly agree… God created man, then male and female He distinguished the human race. I am in a quest to know my Jesus, understand relationship to Him… He I know, and myself I am trying to figure out. I mean, of course, He is far beyond my knowing too… but I am acting in the inherent sense that one can know another far deeper than self. Maybe that was why God created two, to allow the full knowing of Himself, one another, and to each his own self in the loving… a fuller understanding of all the beauty made. It is an interesting question to ask, what it is about one that I would say I love, that I do in fact find to love. Thomas Lacquer suggests that in loving, “bodies do not seem to matter.” (Making Sex 24) I find this to be truth, and yet once love is established beyond body, body matters deeply.

I have “fallen in love” as it were with many people in the essence of who they are… not found them physically attractive or appealing, but drawn to them because of an expressed trait or essence, and from that knowing, have been drawn into an appreciation of their whole selves, in which I appreciate their physicality, yet if it were to change, as I watched the evolution, they would still be beloved as also their features. I have asked friends before “Why do you love me;” I have asked the very thing of God. From Heaven the resounding silence reverberates with the truth that “I AM all Love…” while the human tongue can merely chide me for me questioning… telling me whether or not it can be expressed or whether I can see, I am loved for me. I have been asked the same in return, why I love this person or that person… words escape my heart and I hold out my hands to all they are. I think each must be perfect in his own way.

As much as body becomes beloved, it is something which separates… I am always uncertain with it.

So I just finally finished reading Thomas Lacquer’s Making Sex: Gender and Sex from the Greeks to Freud, saying finally because I spent 2.5 hours reading yesterday and 1.5 today… got a bit distracted with some paper notes in between… but all in all, it felt long. Maybe because human biology, when encountering the sociological/anthropological approach Lacquer takes to sex, can get very awkward. Out of all the books I am reading for my Ethics, the Bible, and Sexuality class… this may have been the best and most versatile. Lacquer’s entire enterprise is to define sex as biology interpreted through culture… into the hierarchical system of politics gender becomes.

By chapter 6, the final chapter, Lacquer is repeatedly articulating through example of historical evidence he construes, that the “distinction between sign and substance is untenable in dealing with the history of the body” (232) noting that the body is the foundation of social practices, as well as the sign of those practices. In other words, I am going to crudely think that sexuality is Lacquer’s emphasis for understanding cultural identity. When I initially encountered all my readings for this course, I was obstinately opposed to sex being defined by culture. Sex, in my world, is equivalent with biological structure. I think what could be more obvious than biology… but apparently not biology itself, for Lacquer recounts the sensitive discovery of the female anatomy… that is, in the male world at least. I am curious at how it is men the fields that have had to come to realizations before they are “known.”

To this, Lacquer addresses, what he feels should be obvious by the end of his book, “that imperatives of culture or the unconscious dictated language of sex, of how the female body was defined and differentiated from the male’s.” (222) The male was the standard, and I am still trying to comprehend how man got himself there in the first place. Another paper I am working on will try and explore that subject of overwhelming maleness in the theology of the early church. Lacquer himself, while addressing comments and assumptions about sexuality as coming from a male unconscious assumption of normalcy, continues to use male assumptive thought when saying “it was known” or making universal statements consistent with scientific discoveries made by major individuals of their days… all of whom were male. I find it hard not to think some woman somewhere was a little more familiar with her own biology than were the men around her. Yet Lacquer’s purpose in writing to show the effect of culture on assumptions about sex, leading to social gender roles, demonstrates how the men tell a woman how she is to be; and somehow it all comes back to sex.

“Whatever one thought about woman and their rightful place in the world could, it seemed, be understood in terms of bodies endlessly open to the interpretive demands of culture,” Lacquer says (217). I wonder who made men the god of sex… no disrespect to men, I enjoy male companionship… I am not a feminist to the degree of despising men and saying women should find understanding of our being wholly apart from men; no I believe God created two genders and they understand what they are in and out of interaction with one another. But beyond the point, women are the subjective to man objective in social history it seems… and our political value and roles determined by that sex. I find it tragically amusing that something so sacred and private should be so exposed… why must sex be so divisive a factor? I wonder why similar characteristics of gender threaten so much, why men seemed to historically have such a need to deem women inferior in ways that could be dominated… it seems like unnecessary pride to me. Lacquer says that how facts about sex “or what were taken to be facts, became the building blocks of social vision” (207); why? Of course, the societal context of the West has predominantly been male-defined… even.

The two saints, Catherine of Siena and Therese of Avila, two young women who lived in 1380 and 1515 respectively, lived during the height of Medieval oppression of womanhood as natural. Both were young girls with particularly devoted to the church… and stubbornly remained virgin, believing in this way they could be most devoted to God. I am currently reading a book that suggests they maintained this ‘un-womanly’ form of existence along with devotions as drastic as eating disorders (which could have ceased female biological functions) as a result of cultural depiction of woman: either passionless and passive, or wholly lustful and therefore to be restrained and married so young she may not yet have reached puberty, that by the time she biologically functioned as a woman, she would be ‘safe’ and able to bear children. Yet the woman was not a true person… I think part of the motivating factor for these two women in their virgin devotion was a refusal to submit to social definition of women.

It just makes me cringe to think of a whole person’s being defined by biological functions: a woman can have babies, a man cannot; their individual biologies in the process of that happening differ. So is one better than the other? Does biology determine authority, as societies have constantly been claiming? Lacquer notes, “when power did not matter or when a utopian sharing of political responsibility between men and women is being imagined, their respective sexual and reproductive behavior is stripped of meaning as well.” (53-4) What if my biology doesn’t function as made? Does that change my gender (political position, not sex)? Why does that need to be a factor? I think I believe in natural order, but I don’t think man is to dominate woman… lead, but not dominate. Convoluded thoughts, far too many from this book. Graphic, informative read. I believe Lacquer’s thesis is that however a society comprehends sex, that determines sex’s interpretation into gender… which often includes the stifling of women. I find that what is man and male seems to be more consistent than woman… can you imagine times when so little was know about female anatomy that ovaries were cut out of the body as unnecessary?

We humans are so fragile… the anatomy factors into the chemical/psychological make-up… we alter at our own risk. So what are women to define ourselves against now? To do so against men seems to get us demeaned… otherwise it might go too far… lesbianism? Where would God put us in relation to Himself in creation?

Over my two years of study and personal development, I have been trying to make a better acquaintance with a man I find irresistibly attractive… You may know Him, though differently than I, for His name is Jesus. I do not claim to know Him as fully as I long; it is for this reason that I think I am in an unending, restless pursuit of knowing… investing in the exercise of love which created room for the action of faith in order to obtain more from the ceaseless of fountain of His life. How can I describe Him to you, you who know Him so differently than I? He is wrapped up in mystery, only through a mystical union in the spirit of His body, held together by love, can I fully know Him or perceive your ability to know Him. Let me try and introduce You to my unfathomable treasure, my Jesus:

I cannot see Him, my eyes have never seen a full picture of His face—only now and again do imagine that the eyes of my Lover are perceptible to my gaze. Yet I know Him… as foolish as it sounds, so it truly is. I know Him because He loves me and the warmth of the inner light He kindles in my soul consumes me like a devouring flame in my bones… it drives me beyond in external pursuit while the furnace of my inner being is overwhelmingly satisfied by His Spirit. I pursue Him, yet I have Him, all at once. It is this veil of life I as a dutiful bride wear over my eyes, hiding myself from my own perception as His inner chisel conforms my being to His own liking… as I surrender the riches of my heart to His melding put where all is scorched and consumed and melded together. With Him I am nothing, for He floods my soul until I have willingly drowned beneath His flood; though at the same time I find that the floods are not killing me but reviving me to a life beneath and inside of His waters which I could never have drempt of. Thus are His mysterious inner workings in me, absorbing all that I am and routing my desires by the winsome glances of His eyes. He is a voracious Lover, though I am difficultly compelled to His will, for its truth is truly the desire of my heart.

He, my invisible beloved, has sought a body on this earth; He has honored my vitalized corpse of dust to be the indwelling of His Holy Temple. Every day I arise from the soul’s sleep to find He resurrects in me, through me by the nourishment of His word and His love. His love is alive in me, incomprehensible though He is, and I engage Him in that love through pursuing a deeper demonstration of Him: my soul alone wastes away under the exhaustion of seeking when I am alone too long. I am ravished by His Word and tender presence when He presents His hands before me… they are not my own hands, though His wounds burn within me when I feel His love. I seek the stigmata of His people, in whose hands my Thomas eyes may see the beauty of His likeness and in His people my Mary heart may lavish the riches of blessing He has bestowed in the box of my alabaster memory. I am His and He is mine… the flesh in which I walk carried responsibility beyond self to be enjoined to Him through His people… that scattered body of His, dismembered in individual, but unified in wholeness of love. It is love I must learn, but my loneness robs the feeling from my soul, my perception of Him dims when I cannot see the likeness of Him entwining me into the wine of His fruitful wine reflected in the life of another.

I have said He cannot be tangibly perceived; yet my hands ache for existential reality. At times I have stretched them out to heaven, feeling as if my soul would give anything to bear that agony of my Jesus in order to be so perfected, that my love might do no more harm. My soul exists in an arbor of His love, though my wandering sometimes drifts into the chill of loneness and I find I have abandoned Him, though He is still within me and His heart beats within me… I cannot escape His love. It wraps me like a tender covering, leading my childish soul through gradual steps of maturity as I learn that He is not scattered, but still whole amongst a broken people. I receive the Eucharist tradition of His broken body and emptied blood… and yet I know He is whole and perhaps it is for my solace that He breaks Himself in celebration, for no more of His blood is to be spilt, and no more of His flesh to be torn. His wounds are a constant reminder of His undesired love, which is too intense for my soul to bear. Intensity and tenderness combine into one to present me a picture of active loving, a concept I still fail to understand, for I feel Him only as much as I engage with Him.

He is with me in the midst of life, though my perception distances me from Him. Sometimes I think He is God and am awed by the splendor and beauty of my husband the King, yet He disrobes Himself of the glory so as not to overwhelm me; the brilliance of God is in His face no matter how much man I may see Him as. No matter how little I may feel Him, I have been made a part of Him, a picture of Him, to go out as His trusted confidante to represent His desires. I am as dearly coveted as His own child and jealously guarded as His treasured wife. He knows of my wandering; my youth and disbelief present many a time to learn of His gentle mercy in drawing me back from where my hand has already been stretched out to act. When I wound the sight of His eyes by violence to myself, He disarms me of my wounds, causing me to weep at the memory of their presence on Him; my wounds do not hard Him now, my Lover is too strong for that. My scars vanish into His glowing skin, and I am made whole before Him.

He covers the shame of my foolishness, wrapping me in His own robes so I am not uncovered and guarding with His arms; I am covered like the fortress of a strong tower from which I can gaze upon all of life… yet from the tower, He tells me it is armor I must learn to bear to go out amongst all the land… He is too loving to hide me away forever. In His arms I am gathered and I want for nothing… hunger and thirst flee from my being as I drink in the fragrance of new life from His robes and recover strength of spirit by His guiding hand. When I am weary, He is my strength, working His Godness to produce constant guard as long as I will remain with Him. Softly He teaches me submission, for my will is more foolish than I know it. A kiss from the words of His mouth teaches me the fullness of my life with Him, in Him, for I have become an unworthy embodiment of my Beloved, learning the love beyond the quiet confines of my books in the lives of others so that:

In the abundance of his glory may he, through his Spirit, enable you to grow firm in power with regard to your inner self,
so that Christ may live in your hearts through faith, and then, planted in love and built on love,
with all God’s holy people you will have the strength to grasp the breadth and the length, the height and the depth;
so that, knowing the love of Christ, which is beyond knowledge, you may be filled with the utter fullness of God.
(Ephesians 3.16-19)

This is just a part of my Jesus, won’t you seek in yourself a shard of the mirror of His image, with the lamp of the spirit of Yhwh to uncover the veil from our eyes and see as things truly are, for they will become as they were truly meant to be?

I am carrying a weary body through dark space and existence, which I can barely even fathom.
I am just walking up a hill over campus back to the warm, cluttered existence of my apartment.
I am struck by a realization that God does not exist… where are You, my Jesus, I stretch out my hands. Groping, blindly, in the recesses of my faith, I am trying to sense You, but my amphibious nature impedes its own good: My flesh cannot feel, therefore my heart does not know? I remember Your stories, that believing is seeing, and somehow I wonder tonight what it means to believe. There is a part of my being that seems foreign to me, a part that knows inexplicably and sense what does not exist.

I have been in conversation about heaven, and I think I said it doesn’t exist. Was I reading about Dante’s paradise, contemplating my own lack of land or trying to understand once again just what it is that makes me feel so much like a foreigner here in this world with a never-accomplished task? To say I am destined for a land would be to put words in my Jesus’ mouth that I am fairly sure He didn’t utter or promise me. To say I am going to be in a place might be more realistic… my Bridegroom is off preparing that place. Existence, place? He left this world… but His Spirit resides within and amongst us, giving us place until the Spirit moves us through a thin shadow into other place. I think maybe the shadow is death, but I am not fearing evil in it. I wonder why we need heaven so much: what sort of hope we obtain or what we desire to gain in such a wonderful creation of a place. I want my Jesus in the existential stuff I find myself tied to. Sometimes I tell You that just a wound in the hand would be enough to keep me here forever.

But I look at this existence in the form we have and see nothing but barriers… the image of Jesus is dismembered. My heart must be torn and broken, for maybe in such a time as this, we need to be scattered and broken. But I do not understand, because I want what I have called heaven here and now. Does heaven even exist? I think I have imagined it: where nothing matters as far as place… but where I am assured of obedience to always please my Jesus, perpetual, undivided love between myself and my neighbors. So simple, couldn’t it be had now? I hear for hopes of heaven and in mind picture some tangible reality that could never be here. But if I have made heaven, of course if could be here. But “here” is constrained by my existential boundaries: time, space… heaven must be more. Have I formed a paradise out of the substance of something else or do I just imagine what it musts be, close to Jesus? O Jesus, what are you?

Am I lamenting tonight? These are not the ponderings of a lonely soul or one scorning who You are, but there seem to be two parts of me: there is that inner self that knows You and convinces my hands that they could bleed with Your wounds… wounds obtained by loving. In my mind, I catch glimpses of You face. But the inner knowing is accompanied in step with the outer existence that doesn’t always spiritually sense. Metaphysics is called such because it embodies beyond the stretch of these hands. So I held them out there in the dark, wanting You to touch them, but it isn’t always that You confirm Yourself in existential reality. I guess that is what I need Your people, that broken body for.

I am sacrilegious to picture the Eucharist in this moment, the bread broken, proclaimed Your body, and distributed among the us for us to consume and become. You feed us with transforming love and mercy. But we remain broken where You left us Your cup, not to drink again till Your return. We saw You ghost-like rise and walk through walls.. You were more than our reality and the weight of Your glory sunk through what we knew. So I blessed You and looked for Your feet to kiss and cry over and wipe with my hair. But Your feet are scattered. Or maybe they aren’t, because the Jesus I adore did not remain crucified: there You stand, I think, whole and perfect with Your scars. And I am in love. But I can’t see You yet… I can only imagine how divine You must look.

I am looking, under every piece of existence, for You, at least a reflection. I see before me a pool like a mirror, but You are not in it, I only see myself, and I cry out that there must be more. I lift the mirror, You are hiding from me, I shatter the glass… shards scatter in all directions. The idols of old were always broken, as are those of us in whom You invest your likeness, because we don’t look just like You as much as we want to. And then I wonder why my mind is wandering here again… why do I wonder, in what do I hope… sometimes I don’t care. I just want You Jesus. And sometimes I don’t think You are the way I want You; but from the Spirit You put living in me I know You are better. And I love You even though sometimes I wonder if You exist. Thank you for being patient with my feeble faith.

Notes on: Woman as Image in Medieval Literature, from the Twelfth Century to Dante
by Joan M. Ferrante

I suppose marriage is a natural state of being for women, unless they remain virgins (and then how do they benefit the spirituality of man? Does Bonaventure merely tweak the Aristotelian view of women but retain their value as amount of benefit to man?), and thus marriage itself if not associated with sin. Mysticism allows Bonaventure to view marriage beyond the physical function and assumed sinfulness by other thirteenth century authors like Aquinas, speaking “of marriage as a sacrament that existed before the fall; originally a symbol of the union of God and the soul.” (106) I admire the boldness of Bonaventure in furthering Bernard’s desire to obtain union with God through identification with the women, who were close to Christ, since of course women picture love, being closest to the male Christ. Bonaventure “wishes to become the Virgin Mary and Mary Magdalene, in order to experience the compassion they felt at Christ’s crucifixion.” (107) This must have been almost a romantic compassion, I think, because the women, rather than the men, and exalted as examples… furthered by the fact that it was women who first saw Jesus (It interests me that Bonaventure continues to call our Lord “Christ” in the masculine terminology rather than “Jesus” as we women prefer more personally)… which Bonaventure identifies as “a favour they earned by the greatness of their love.” (107) In calling men to salvation, Bonaventure proclaims that “In order to bear Christ in the soul, man must first become Mary for Mary is not only the glorification of humanity and the mirror of all virtues, she is the gate of heaven essential to man’s salvation.” (108)

While Mary is both positively and negatively upheld in religion, Ferrante states that “the philosopher-moralist tends to be antifeminist in attitude and imagery, the mystic does not.” (108) The prevailing attitude towards women is one of suspicion in which procreation is the only reason for involvement with these sinfully dangerous creatures. Poetry continues the tradition of “the entire impulse to love (coming) from inside the lover—the lady is only a passive rose…” (109) though she seems to act as the vehicle of love’s impulse, manipulating the lover out of his own desire for her. The thirteenth century male poet “has both male and female qualities. It is the effeminate side of his nature that makes him vulnerable to love” (110-11). Women are still lustfully portrayed in literature by a discord, which is resolved in the act of intercourse (satisfying the indwelling lust, I imagine), which “can bring the woman into temporary concord by routing the opposing forces.” (112) Did men really see us as so animal-like in our nature? This seems to be just further projection of man’s self onto woman.

Poetry reveals constant conflict in both the woman and the man: “the lady’s struggle is essentially between fear for her reputation and her desire to indulge the man and herself” (112) and the man struggles to justify his own lust for the woman. These desires defy the ideal of “highest love is charity or friendship…” in essence any sort of selfless love, since “sinful love is for gain” (113). The poet compares the lover’s desire to Narcissus, as in allegory, for the lover’s desire is both to reach another point of satisfaction and better understanding of self through the lady. If the lady were to play the part of Echo, a roll that the lover’s narcissism has denied her, leading to the lover’s spiritual suicide—literal damnation if he gives into the sexual desire for the mere sake of pleasure according to allegory. Comparing the ideal of love and the rejection of sexual desire, “we are left to conclude that sexual love must be rejected.” (116) The rejection of such love involves anti-feminist sentiments from women authors of the period too, espousing marriage as a necessary evil “set up to prevent wars and murders over women” (116) who do attempt to tyrannize men with their lusty appeal, though marriage robs women of their desired freedoms. This points to women as rebellious against marriage, that “one sacrament that antedated the fall” (166), and thus the fall was the woman’s attempts to be free of marital restrictions.

I suppose women are then the embodiments of the seduction of love, according to thirteenth century poetry, though authors agree that man’s susceptibility is that of his own choice: “the woman does little or nothing to set off his emotion, but once he gives himself over to it he is in her power and no good can come of their relationship.” (117) This is the rationale for male dissatisfaction once a relationship is attained, I believe. It puzzles me that men would call women more emotional if it is men who are too weak to withstand the women. In the Arthurian legend, women are revealed as opposite the chivalric tradition that “presents women as object of and inspirations for noble activity,” (118) leading to the disappointment and ruin of those who purse their love. Yet even in the quest for the Holy Grail, women must be condemned as a distraction to the physical and spiritual demands for purity. Again, the theme “the only good women…are virgins” (119) is repeated, for the virgin woman is able to figure the ideal of Mary, guiding men to faith as a Christ figure through self-sacrifice. Yet even the virgins are not independent beings, but rely on the protection of men, as is the responsibility of those within the Round Table, for maintained protection against physical jeopardy, which would ruin their spiritual condition as intermediary for men. Men have an obligation to be “concerned with the protection of the helpless…” to maintain the chivalric ethic “but when their attention shifts to the salvation of their souls, the chivalric code falls apart.” (120) Thus even under the guise of chivalry, women tempt men to betray their hope of union with God, and thus men appear selfish and denying of chivalry to maintain their eternal destinies.

Women’s wiles are often portrayed through magic in thirteenth century literature, for their love is the destruction of men’s purity if he is willing to engage her. Writers portray “man’s willingness (as) the source of the woman’s power… the man must come to her, must let himself be caught, before she can control him.” (121) The sin nature of women from the perspective of attempting to be free of God-ordained male domination in marriage portrays women as craftily utilizing the men’s weakness of desire to exercise their rebellion against God and man. This is evident in the story of Arthur and Guinevere: “Arthur, embodying the weakness as well as the strengths of his worlds” (121) is a typical lusty man, whose succumbing to desire provides a means for his own wife to commit adultery in his absence. For men of the thirteenth century, women were preying sorceresses, seizing every available opportunity to take advantage of man’s weakness to exert their inherently sinful desires of rebellion and domination through magical seduction, thereby obtaining heirs to continue their sin.

A more extreme form of controlling men’s lust is proposed in the Vulgate Cycle, “discouraging all human bonds—not only sexual attraction, but family love and chivalric fellowship—and exalting virginity and total devotion to God” (122) as a fulfilment of the ideal of love. If one cannot control oneself, why not cut off the temptation altogether? Provencal poets continues to recognize conflicting desires “in themselves, the need for refinement through the adoration of a perfect creature, and at the same time the strong physical desire to go to bed with a receptive woman” (123). Since men selected the Virgin Mary as the embodiment of this ideal creature, I wonder whether men chose a woman rather than a man because of Mary’s dual “union” with God in bearing Jesus within herself and being immaculately impregnated, whether the nature of woman seemed more innocent than men, or because if a woman could achieve purity, she was already considered so base that a man was guaranteed the ability to be pure. Through the consideration of a woman as divine or alien, she is granted autonomy from the man, but is also removed from the sphere of the living (and thus loses her humanity at the expense of angelic consideration).

The ideal woman becomes aloof and beautiful, gazing on as “the man’s faculties cannot sustain the sight of a woman’s beauty and so they are destroyed.” (123) I cannot pretend to understand the male mind or how a man visually engages a woman to stir him up to a place of fainting, but I have witnessed some men become witless at the sight of a stunning woman. It puzzles me greatly; but the thirteenth century men express their feelings through the lady’s actions of capturing the man’s mind, “threatening his heart, the soul tries to flee, but Love holds her back.” (125) Death almost seems inevitable to the man… he will physically perish if he does not look at the lady, and if he succumbs to the temptation to satisfy his eyes, his soul will die under love’s gentle hand. At close proximity then, thirteenth century men found themselves threatened by women, though at a distance, women remained very purely motivating. Of course its harder to access sin when temptation is kept far from you, but was it for the sake of temptation that men preferred space between them and feminine presence. “The removal of the woman’s presence leads the mind back to the essence of her beauty and ultimately to the source of that beauty, God.” (126) If the woman in her absent figure “is compared, directly or indirectly, to God,” (127) then is the woman truly viewed as a tool through which God moves or an obstacle to man’s desire which causes him to stumble in the pursuit of God? What is it that is so threatening about the woman, the possibility of desiring her impurely?

If reflection upon the woman, in the safe distance of remembrance, leads to contemplation of God (for these writers at least), I wonder about the men with whom we interact now. All that has been discussed is in some form archaic compared with current culture; yet as I read, I feel there must be some common thread of humanity displayed throughout the centuries. Thus far from seeing women as the cause of sin to women being the very embodiment of God in male imagery between the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, a few like aspects have stuck out to me specifically (at least concerning men, from which I feel is the perspective really portrayed, despite the subject being women): almost instinctive, universal male emotional and physical desire for women; tendency to project onto women as connected to self; position of women inter-tangled with man’s spiritual welfare and relate-ability to God. I am still fascinated by how Christ was described as the Bride, creating a type for women even though submission is required too. Concluding the thought patterns of the thirteenth century, women emerge as “separate entities (from man), instruments of greater forces which work on man’s inherent nobility or weakness to save or destroy him.” (127) Somewhere in all the mess of roles and meaning which women were assigned throughout the entire spectrum of medieval literature, man realized that woman has purpose, beyond her sexual function into a spiritual aspiration by the end of the thirteenth century.

In her final chapter, Ferrante delves into the writing of Dante, who sought a revolutionary explanation for love… not merely seeking the internal reasoning but looking for external explanation beyond a mere acknowledgement of “the beneficial effect of the woman” (129) to his own soul. Dante seeks to understand the true selflessness of love by probing “to find a deeper significance in her existence and in his love for her.” (129) Instead of allowing his love for the woman hinder his love for God, but attributes the attraction he feels for the woman because of her beauty to the source of that beauty, God. God is still understood through the use of a woman: “man reaches God through woman” (131) for as the salvation of all mankind is figured in Mary, Dante found his hope of redemption in Beatrice. Ferrante clarifies that women’s participation in the salvation of man is not just limited to the symbolic, but all women “can be intermediaries between God and man through love, moving men with their beauty and God with their prayers.” (131) I find it interesting that male writers figure their own need for God intertwined with their need for women and the influence of women in their lives, even if by mere presence. This places an unrequested responsibility on women, for Dante figures the desire of men to be close to and receive guidance through women.

Dante states that his self-disclosure to women is enacted based on trust formed through their guidance of him “away from the selfish love of the early lyrics to the kind of love that will end in God.” (131) But Dante also “reserves the traditional roles so that man can act as intermediary with God for a women,” (132) making allowance for either gender to be vessel of God’s grace to the other. In seeking a woman to picture the beauty of God to him, Dante seeks after other women once Beatrice has died, though he retains his claim of loving her, attempting to divide his heart and mind “between two ladies with perfect love,” (133) rationalizing their coexistence by loving the beauty of one for delight and the virtue of the other for her action. It is interesting to travel the Divine Comedy with Dante, because while he is conflicted in love after the loss of Beatrice, part of himself is always returning to her memory and devotion to her. Dante views other women, even after Beatrice’s death, as mere replacement figures for the woman who could never be replaced. Because it is through Beatrice that Dante is equipped with “the power to ascend through the heavens,” (135) he can love no other woman because he tends toward the “identification of Beatrice with Christ in the fullest sense, as the Logos, as Theology and Faith.” (135) In this sense it would be idolatry to love another woman.

Dante’s connection with Beatrice as a crucial aspect of his salvation ascends even closer to Christ, realizing her significance as a guide for his soul to God only after her death, when she descends “even to Hell, to save the sinner who refused to heed the divine message is another echo of Christ.” (136) Dante sees love as he grows to associate Beatrice with God, revealing that there is more to love, more to God than meets the eye. Love of Beatrice allowed him to encounter Love in its veiled disclosure of God while she was alive, but through her death, Beatrice becomes even more one with the Divine in Dante’s mind. Throughout Divine Comedy, Beatrice acts as Mary’s messenger, beginning and ending the poem “with the Virgin, the mediatrix between man and God, the woman in whom all compassionate women are contained.” (139) What am I as a woman saying by objecting to the place of the Virgin Mary in a man’s perceived need of redemption? Am I denying man a typical, fundamental need for a woman in his life and subsequently in the maintenance of his purity, his existential salvation, by removing the Virgin from her assigned significance in theology? Dante sees Christ in lady Beatrice, who figures Mary as Christ figures Mary through her physical features that he took on (139). Dante invests the power of unifying the person of Christ with souls in Mary, whom he sees as the first to be fully one with God—the archetype of Christianity.

“Mary is, in other words, the counterpart of God the father, but the female side of God, the mercy that can break harsh justice.” (140) While Bonaventure and Bernard infiltrate Mary into their salvation through finding her the most relatable figure to their needs, Dante composes a “concept of a trinity of female figures who affect his salvation, all historical women—the mother of Christ, the third-century martyr (Dante’s patron saint Lucy), and the thirteenth-century Florentine woman (Beatrice).” (141) While glancing through the notes I have compiled on the these medieval writings thus far, I was struck by a notable difference in the male tone used for figures of religious intermediaries: Mary is spoken of more often by her personal name, “Mary” rather than her title, “The Virgin” or “The Virgin Mary.” Contrastingly, however, the male writers of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries speak of Jesus as “The Christ” rather than His personal name, “Jesus…” indicating a greater feeling of distance with Jesus than Mary. I wonder if men found it easier to love Mary than Jesus, based on their almost exclusive understanding of love through the marriage analogy. While one theologian dares to make Jesus the Bride figure, the marital understanding of love requires a feminine figure, and not many were willing to make Jesus feminine; they would rather sacrifice their own masculinity through identification with Mary.

Since Dante sees love and mercy as feminine traits of God, he sees these same traits in man as good, though in weakness, these same traits are sometimes portrayed in the Comedy as moral instability, attempting to depict “that there is no essential distinction of sex in eternity” (141-2). Only in Hell and Purgatory does Dante evidence gender distinctions, intending to convey shame and the guilt associated with gender sin tendencies, but “in Paradise the confusion of sex contributes to the sense of mankind as one. When I was speaking with a friend conveying my confusion of human nature and conception of Heaven, I expressed an interest in never obtaining the sorts of desires that are specific to gender, but rather while still being woman, being ambiguous in my discernment between man and woman. Unlike Dante, I mentally allow for gender distinctions in my picture of Heaven… for the beauty of thought difference and complement, but in Heaven, I think we will understand a sort of love that transcends human gender. I think Jesus embodied this love, which I say confidently, although His love did not abolish His gender. Man and woman were created before the Fall with gender, in perfect harmony, but without sin. Somehow there must be a divine form of perfect love that will not imply sin to the interaction of the genders, but free men and women to be wholly as they were made through equalizing distinctions.

For men, women’s love binds him “not only through sexual ties but through family ties” (147) as a part of her action in his salvation: from Dante’s perspective, the family continues in Purgatory, but are not active in Hell. In Purgatory, “family ties also connect souls with earth” (147) referring to the Catholic tradition of praying for the repose of the dead, which benefits the soul in purgatory. Women in their childbearing abilities are men’s ties to this redemptive act of prayer, Dante espouses, though men are called to pray for the repose of women’s souls too. Since gender is nonexistent in Dante’s Paradise, family is universal, not bound by the distinctions of specific earthly relations. I find it interesting, if gender is not distinguishable in Heaven, that figures such as Jesus and Mary retain the male/female identity; perhaps then, gender is just distinguished as an active feature rather than a fact. Though Dante’s Paradise eliminates marriage, it is interesting to see the coupling he assigns to the figure of Mary: “she is usually paired with men, seldom with other women” (148) as examples of virtue. I wonder if Dante is playing on his theme of male need of females in salvation, part of the larger theme of mutual dependency for salvation. If one is seeking a practical abstraction of this concept, I think men and woman are not only needed in the universal body of Christ, but also to offer contrasting spiritual benefit. In the end of Earthly Paradise, however, “where man is restored to a state of innocence, they (virtues) appear as women,” (148) images of a restored Eve (whom Dante does blame for sin).

Through Comedy, Dante portrays salvation, the end goal of men and women (though emphasized as of men in medieval literature in general and Dante’s writing specifically) is perfection achieves “by the reunion, in a restored state of innocence, of man and woman.” (150) Is this too not the goal of Christianity, which Paul encourages us can be achieved in our loving of one another here in earth: “There can be neither Jew nor Greek, there can be neither slave nor freeman, there can be neither male nor freeman, there can be neither male nor female—for you are all one in Christ Jesus.” (Galatians 3.28, NJB) Because love is central to Dante’s idea of Paradise, he includes “earthly human love (as) a major part of love, which he does not deny even in heaven.” (151) Dante confuses me with his marriage allegory between men and women who are unconcerned with love in the sense of sexual distinction. Thus Dante adds to the picture of unity with God depicted at the end of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, continuing to utilize woman as images through which man achieves salvation, all focused on Mary “through whom Christ brought salvation to all men…Dante says that it is through Mary and through human love for a real woman that he can achieve union with God.” (152) Dante allows men the expression of their emotion in ideals, but forces some sense of realism in acknowledgment of the need to love the woman in whom the man can invest himself. I think out of all perspectives on women espoused through male use of female imagery, I am most appreciative of Dante’s assignment of sacramental meaning to womanhood. By requiring a self-sacrificing love on the part of the man, not just the woman, Dante ends the thirteenth century with redemption of the female image in spite of his continued blame for initial sin. We women remain paradoxical in male thought… he tries to project himself upon us, but the need overwhelms the desire for a scapegoat.

Notes on: Woman as Image in Medieval Literature, from the Twelfth Century to Dante
by Joan M. Ferrante

In 12th Century literature, females were utilized as “symbols, aspects of philosophical and physiological problem that trouble the male world” (1) rather than independent, real people. In the male minds of literary inventors, “women personify cosmological forces that govern men’s life… they represent his ideals, his aspirations, the values of his society life.” (1) Women, though considered the least important of people, are invested with the most significance and importance because of men’s considerations of them. This was reflected in literature through women’s domination of the twelfth century hero for good or evil. Even “biblical women, if they are good or potentially redeemable, are said to represent the church; if bad they stand for the lower or weaker parts of “man, for carnal desires, or for inconsistency of mind.” (2) Something about this male desire for women almost seems an inherent (or sinful?) need for women; I would be interested in a man’s perspective on this, as I am only speaking from appearances as a woman. Male justification for this opinion states, “woman, as the most obvious object of male concupiscence, is made to represent lust and is thus held responsible for it; the object of temptation becomes the cause.” (2)

Since women are men’s ways of expressing themselves—their eternal delight or unending sorrow, I think maybe male emotions are tied up with female figures. Women are limited as much as men really limit themselves—maybe to dominate a woman before of a need for her seems equivalent to domination of self. Negative symbolism of women is more prevalent in twelfth century religious writing and positive symbolism of women is more prevalent in philosophical writing. Neo-platonic “marriage of male/female elements requires the cooperation (rather than compulsion) of female elements to preserve and maintain order. This is more positive than the religious consideration of marriage, because the love of women was considered comparable to idolatry or heresy. “In the battle between vices and virtues, which is central to the Christian morality, both groups are female; inner conflict is seen in terms of women pulling in opposite directions towards good or evil.” (2) So man’s highest and lowest impulses gravitate towards women?

Courtly literature uses female imagery to probe men’s emotions; as a lady represents the force of love to a man, “love awakens man to a new sense of himself, to higher aspirations, but sometimes he is drawn away from his love by worldly desires, which in romance, are often other women.” (2) Thus man seeks to embed his highest and lowest impulses in the figure of a woman. I wonder, could man think of himself apart from a woman? He seems to find so much of himself in her… do we women feel we can embody those values as men desire us to? How do we picture and understand our own feelings and virtues? In thirteenth century literature, “the romance quest becomes a religious quest, a personal one, which can be achieved only when the individual alienates himself from his society.” (3) This change, “the rejection of the courtly ethic” causes women as symbols to become “a temptation rather than an inspiration.” (3) Thirteenth century literature evidences the strong influence of two anti-feminist views; the Aristotelian, of women as defective men, creatures lacking in reason and useful only to bear children, and that of the moralist—of woman as a threat to man’s salvation. I wonder how we women were supposed to get salvation, or are we incapable of redemption?

I am sure I never knew more how a man deemed me as un-human than in the two who I most invested myself in and who perhaps thought too much of me, beyond my comprehension: I will call them A and B. A started off telling me all his views on women which my rebellious mind was not OK with: no discussion of spiritual or intellectual matters, no mutual sharing though I was expected to remain open; woman in the home, almost commune-like in its “protectiveness.” I remember the phone call in which that relationship shattered when I heard all these new guidelines for friendship… I remember crying and whispering, “what can I talk to you about then?” My soul would have been starved. B, on the other hand, wanted to keep me all to himself and for me to go nowhere by myself. I was expected not to engage in discussions with other males, witnessing a jealousy that scared me. For a while, I thought of the jealous as a desire to protect, and thus I submitted myself more. But the relationship grew more and more controlling as I submitted more: my sin, my sin, my terrible sin. Was that capable of redemption as I continued to encourage the unhealthy dominance through my behavior?

Women retained positive place in poetic and mystical writings, but now “man’s goal is not union with her, but union with God through her” (3) because she became separate from man, no longer symbolizing something within him. Dante’s writing yearned “for harmony, and the harmony he presents as the ideal for himself and all mankind is possible only through women.” (3) Dante’s writing on union with women in order to reach God is spoken through the perspective of his love for Beatrice, who figures Mary, and thus Christ, in Dante’s Comedy. I speculate on the figure of the Virgin Mary: did men manufacture the ideal associated with her historical personhood in order to identify with Jesus? Back to Dante, he was one of the few (though significant) writers of the thirteenth century who wrote encouraging the female side of human nature. I wonder, Jesus; how can I marry a man when I am married to You? I do not understand, when You are all I need, why would I a woman consider allowing that unity to change to be joined with a man? I suppose this was not so much a question in the medieval ages, where the alternative to marriage was a convent, for women posed the possibility of threat to the male ideals: am I still considered a threat to anyone (I am unmarried)?

The female side of human nature seems to find its legitimacy in its ability to embody and personify, that which is within men. 12th Century art and literature fuses male and female characteristics that may be mere gender stereotypicized tendencies, resulting in “a confusion of male and female characteristics in literature and art” (4): heroes and heroines as well as angels are often interchangeable in their gender roles. Jesus, too is not spared from this transgendering tendency, for “Christ is both Logos of the New Testament (masculine) and the Wisdom of the Old Testament (feminine.” (5) “Anima Mundi is another figure of sexual ambiguity; an orthodox concept at best, the Neo-Platonic world soul, always female, was sometimes identified with the Holy Spirit, normally male.” (5) I think figuring the soul as ambiguous gender allows for personal interpretation… maybe our souls mirror or balance our own particular gender: mirroring our own gender or refracting the opposite gender (if any gender at all). “The fact that a human quality or a divine attribute was represented as a woman meant that it must have female characteristics like giving birth or milk, that there was something essentially female.” (6)

Twelfth century men theorized on women in terms of sexual desire (which is a factor far too focused on within all of humanity, I believe)—deeming her more “cold and wet” (signifying a lessened and dampened presence of desire than man) according to Abelard of Bath and Guillame de Conches (6-7). “Since a woman is cold and wet, the fire is hard to start, but burns longer,” (7) Guillame declared, adding to the perceived danger of women to men, trapping him in persistent “sin.” “Guillame insists that the woman produces a seed toward the conception of the child just as a man does,” which seems to me an attempt to redirect the biblical concept of sin traits passed on from the father’s seed. The woman’s “seed is converted blood” (7), whose presence cannot be denied in women, emitted in the onset of desire, but whose presence is supposedly proved through boys’ display of their mother’s traits. This suggests that weakness in women produces sexual desire, even in rape situations, resulting in conception (Guillame makes desire an imperative aspect for conception). Because women were viewed as always giving way to desire, men feared and distrusted them, because desire inevitably resulted in conception.

“Women were often mistrusted by church establishment for their religious fervor as well as seductions, and they were rarely permitted to play important roles after the middle ages.” (8) Thus sects and heresies did appeal to and draw many women by allowing them to have voice, fueling the misconception of women as inherently sinful. Women did, however, have opportunity to play important roles in social life of the middle ages. By the thirteenth century, “a pervasive intellectual constraint” (11) led to decline of positive symbolism of women. “When men cling to orthodoxy and defend the status quo against all attack from outside or from within, they begin to look on all identifiable groups as suspect and dangerous,” (11-12) which I guess targets women and Jesus. Women as a threat were targeted in the late medieval witch-hunt, which “was the product of ‘a world made schizophrenic by masculine anxieties and masculine fears.’” (12) Men already feared the desire of women—because they identified us with lust and sin, but wouldn’t they be some, rather than no, desire? What are men afraid of in us?

The religious shift between 12th and 13th centuries included adopting Gothic rather than Romanesque cathedrals, and changing from symbolism to realistic human figure-representations (12). The figure of Mary and male obsession with her comes to mind. Ferrante says that “it is when men think of desirable qualities as female, even as female impulses within themselves, that they exalt female figures in literature.” (13) Women again picture polar opposites… nuns figuring virtues and townswomen, common women, picturing worldly distractions of men. How can women only be “child-bearers or temptresses” (13)? “In literature before Dante, it is only women writers, as far as I know, who seem to believe that a man can inspire a woman through love in the same way a woman can inspire a man.” (14) Even those who assert “that man and woman can attain divinity through each other’s love” make the female a symbol of and embodiment “for her love the fountain of Wisdom.” (14) From male literary descriptions of females, I am inclined to see more man in men’s presentation of woman than of the woman herself.

Women’s danger “to men’s moral state is introduced into Judeo-Christian tradition with Eve’s temptation of Adam.” (17) Religious writers thought physical beauty allowed women to seduce men from the perfection of thought to the sin of physical matter. Therefore, they viewed women extolled by the Bible as “divested of their human nature by commentators and are made to represent impersonal abstractions like the church.” (17) Male authors found it impossible to deny “the connection of women with the flesh, with matter… partly based on her biological function, her ability to give birth.” (19) I find it interesting that Ferrance compares flesh to the act of circumcision as “a physical feature which denotes a moral state,” (19) the cutting off of which signifies a denial of lust. Salvation was linked to the salvation of men, but women were considered still capable of salvation in spite of being unable to be circumcised. (19) However, eunuchs and virgins were still most highly extolled in religious though because marriage includes “the act of intercourse, which involves the sinful impulse of lust, (and) is morally dangerous to man.” (20) Mary’s perpetual virginity was championed as a glory, enabling her to “be the mother of a living son without intercourse.” (20) Religious literature tended to prefer the idea of immaculate conception because no “sin” was involved propelling to “fleshly” acts.

The common belief of the time, “the mind is the door-keeper of the soul; if it is female, that is given to carnal thoughts, it allows evil to enter,” evidenced male projection of sin tendencies onto women. I wonder when weakness came to mean prone to vice? If women were categorized as such, I would argue that in the weakness, we are more prone to permit solicited vice because it is harder for us to reject sin than sinful tendencies involving men. As base and the fountain of all evil desires, women were viewed as “whores… connected with heresy as well as carnal lust.” (21) As the objects of temptations because of man’s own sinful tendencies, women were made unclean in man’s thoughts because he projected his own weakness upon them. This continues to mystify me, because no matter how purely I have tried to act, how much I have covered myself, the unwanted attention seems inevitable. Being the focus of male attention to my physicality makes me feel unclean. There is no way I can hide from being implicated in fornication within a man’s own thoughts, no matter how much I hide myself; does this mean there is something wrong with me? At list this genre of writing would say so.

Religious writing attempted to trace seduction “to the nature of women, to her tendency to lewd movement and the resulting flowing of her robes.” (21) I almost laughed at this: so does every move a girl makes with an element of grace or in a skirt/dress have to be considered lewd and unclean? Alanus obviously thought so in deeming women “the objects of hedonism.” (22) Even stories of biblical women were twisted to point guilt to women, evidencing them as the root of sin—flesh without intellect. Of the twelfth century religious authors, Abelard had an unusually positive view of women, “emphasizing the greatness of their virtue when it asserts itself despite the weakness.” (24) This perspective continued to advocate the origin of sin as female, but indicated more to her personhood than simply failure. Religious opinion was reflected in rationalizations, such as the teaching that “Christ showed that the female sex is essential to salvation when He chose to assume human body through a woman.” (25) Hence the belief that women truly do achieve eternal salvation through childbearing? I continue to wonder why a male couldn’t be involved in Christ’s conception to result in the sinless savior. The biblical women who are chosen as examples of virtue, are either redeemed from lasciviousness or ever-virgin, like the figure of Mary, representing the Church.

In the same line of thinking, the love of women is always viewed as a secondary sort of love, for “woman is imperfect, hence not the safest object for love.” (27) The biblical bride metaphor of a man completely enraptured with the love of a woman, then, represents the Church’s relationship to Christ. Maybe men created the ideal of the Virgin Mary to express emotion and their own selves in a female figure who is strong and constant against perhaps men’s greatest weakness… opposite of other women, whom men saw as “completely languid, soft, feminine.” (28) “Bernard’s devotion to the Virgin is such that he can identify himself, through her, with a woman’s role and speak of himself as a mother to his monks.” (29) Men have never been able to understand the sense of belonging, which exists between a mother and child—doesn’t God express the same womb-love, sense of belonging for us, as a mother to child? In Song of Songs, “the man’s soul is identified with a woman in its love for God.” (30) This creates a contradiction in imagery, as “Eve was the first woman to fall, but she is also the first to be led out of Hell by Christ: she was guilty of original sin, but she is also a symbol of the church.” (30)

Sin is pictured in conception as the destruction of a woman’s virginity both physically and metaphysically. According to Augustine, in pre-fall conception, “male semen would have entered the woman’s womb without destroying her virginity, as the menses come out.” (31) Marriage does have merits beyond procreation, church fathers advocated, because of the human “need for love, and mutual self esteem.” (31) Yet Augustine and others believed this complementary relationship of the genders improved as sexuality decreased. I wonder if men continue to busy their feelings and desires in women; male friends have told me and other young women that if we intend to never marry, we will break hearts. Do male still see aspiring women as potential embodiments of virtue that they themselves with they could embody? Marriage is far too commonly spiritualized as “the sacrament and image of God to the soul,” (34) first seen in Adam and Eve. So “Eve represents a part of Adam that he must learn to control and use properly, not to reject; he is to achieve the reintegration of the human being and he must accomplish that before he can achieve union with God, the reunion with his creator which is his ultimate goal.” (34-5) Thus to blame women alone for sin is to abdicate man’s role of reflecting God to her. Thus religious through viewed woman as both of part of man, an outward embodiment of himself, as well as a tool to benefit his ascent to God.

The difference between exegetic and allegorical tradition is that exegetic contains stories from which meaning must be derived and in allegory the meaning/form is given and must be constructed into the story (38). The meaning of allegorical stories is found in the degree to which a man allows himself to be controlled by a vice and virtue: “the vices and virtues have a real existence for medieval man and the figures that personify these concepts in literature have more than a metaphoric relation to them.” (39) Have we lost a “belief in the extramental reality of universal concepts persists through the middle ages” (39)? Christians use Neo-Platonism to demonstrate that “matter is the mother who receives the species; providence, the sphere of divine ideas, is the father who supplies the image.” (40) Matter as the prime locus is feminine and passive, receiving the formed-given image by the male. “Creation itself is the wedding of opposites, of matter and idea, body and soul.” (41) Figures in allegory/personifications have female gender “because of an inherent femaleness in the concepts they embody,” (42) thus “in allegory, then, women can be forces for good as well as for evil, they can protect and nourish, not just seduce and destroy.” (42)

In allegory, “marriage… (is) a metaphor for the reconciliation of opposites, as well as the means by which God’s plan is carried out within the moral order.” (43) Man’s goal is “the presence of wisdom, of Christ, in the individual mind, which man can achieve by overcoming the evil in his heart.” (44) Prudentius reverses roles expected of the female virtues and vices “to make a moral point about the relative strength and weakness of vices and virtues.” (45) Human vices, it seems, are more vulnerable than expected. Men continue to puzzle me with Mary. What do men envy about women so as to want to imagine to be as her? “After Mary, all flesh is divine which conceives God, which builds the temple to wisdom in the soul. That is, by overcoming vice, man can bear Christ with his soul; he can become Mary and achieve the highest feat—union with God.” (46)

In allegory, Philosophy teaches “that the soul is imprisoned within the body and can only free itself through learning, that is made in the image of God and can only fulfill itself when it is concerned not with things but with causes.” (49-50) Following in this tradition of masculinizing the women, as seen in Athena as “a masculine goddess, born of a father without a mother.” (52) Interesting that wisdom must bear a sword, but be a woman, a fundamental contradiction. “Through Philosophy, we are told, Jupiter permits anyone to ascend into the heavens.” (53) Bernard equates the quests for knowledge and goodness as the same thing, “but his concern is less with this quest and the union that is its goal, than with the union that produces life.” (54) Through the sexual act, man becomes part of the process of creation, reflecting the image he bears of God in the conception of life (54). Man must maintain his involvement with creation, because “all the agencies of creation in this work (of life) except God the Father, are female.” (55) So is how women achieve salvation through the procreation of life, childbearing? If women are to achieve salvation in a male way, are we to become men to get their same salvation? If we can’t bear children, what is our worth, how do we achieve the working part of salvation?

I remember the days when I was blissfully ignorant of myself, of the effect I had on others, of my own desires, of my own nature and why I tend towards some things more than others. But unfortunately, and fortunately at the same time (which is more true at the moment, I cannot distinguish) I can never fully rid myself of self… self in the “bad” sense… those cursed sin tendencies that will plague me with temptation till the day I die because Adam and Eve plucked and ate that fruit off the tree. Living without realization of the effect this initial disobedience allowed me a blissful aloofness from self, an ability to attach and detach at will, whereas now, confronted with inwardly bent tendencies that I learned so well for so long, I can no longer theoretically divorce from self. I long to please my Jesus, to be like my Jesus, for He has chosen to make His covenant with me—He loved me when I was unable to understand love, a love that did not impose immediate expectation, but gradually wooed me into a compulsory, demanding love that requires all of me in sacrifice to obtain as much of Him as I can handle…really all of Him, because Jesus overwhelms me constantly with His love.

Before I began to allow myself to experience the tender love of Jesus, I was under the impressions that love was miserable: something with unrealistically high expectations that would always leave me, the beloved, owing my lover something… something so much that even if I committed the gravest sin out of that love, gave up everything I am and have, I would be unable to repay the love I thought existed. My perception of Jesus was that He defined love as a place I would reach with Him once He had scourged out of my imperfections… that I would be unable to enjoy Him until I was perfect. It has only been in this past year that I have begun to discover what the Bible really says about uprightness: David was considered a man after God’s own heart and loved/deemed upright in spite of himself because his heart remained sensitive to God even if he continued to fall to temptations. I have always had a chip on my shoulder on the Protestant teaching of salvation by faith alone… grace covering everything, because I have seen human nature take advantage of those teachings and excuse sin theologically (almost making it Jesus’ own fault by complaining “O Jesus, You just shouldn’t give me so much grace because then I couldn’t sin.”). Of course, I say that to Jesus and mean it entirely differently… I find myself always coming back to the cross and at times wishing it was me instead of Him.

Jesus and I have wrestled over my desire for Him, because I love Him so much, He truly is irresistible, and like the prophet Jeremiah who experience relationship with God in very intense and difficult situations, I think I would rather have God in whatever form He chooses to manifest Himself than no God at all. Yet I never find myself acting worthily enough to enter His presence. It’s like a death-wish, wanting to see the face of my God, my Jesus… “bright-shining as the sun” sounds like I would evaporate before wholly in His presence. It’s beyond the physical though, because since I have committed to loving my Jesus, I have also committed to living a holy life, that impossible standard set by Jesus to which I attain. Perfection doesn’t seem to spell out my name, though. Like David, every time I have been made upright, I make the same decision again, and have the humiliating task of confession that I once again failed my Jesus in the way I rashly had vowed I never would again. More responsibility for my sin, but grace as well. Grace in that there is always an opportunity to make a decision that is beyond me.

I used to think that the Christian life was something that made me victorious… like somehow when Jesus entered into me, He put all those fabulous perfections in me and made me better than I had been. I used to think Jesus was going to make me strong—now I think Jesus has become my strength, the light and joy of my salvation. How can I understand Jesus as coming to make the self in me strong, if that just tears away from His purpose? I am a human being, there is nothing in me that can approach the Father on my own, because I have these Achilles heals… fatal flaws, which draw me because they are alike me. I have been learning what it means for my strength to be my weaknesses and my weaknesses to be my strengths this semester. I find those parts of me that Jesus works in, that maybe He’s gifted me in, that I naturally excel in are most frequently the points of my downfall. For example, in learning what it means to love people, I am finding out about myself that I can love people very easily. In that, I want to see all people love each other… forget the differences that don’t matter, and as a united body extend the hands of Jesus to the world. In that, I trust too easily, too much and often overlook differences that may really matter for the sake of unity.

To use perhaps a rather disturbing metaphor, I find myself married to Jesus, but continuing an affair with an old lover from my sinful days, one whom I never married because then marriage wasn’t in my vocabulary, but we certainly lived together long enough for this ex-lover to know everything about me, what draws and attracts me, what I hate, how to keep me around and coming back… how to reach the very core of my heart. Jesus said that no man can love two masters…. But I find myself caught with both: I love how Jesus transforms me, life is so different when I am with Him… but oh what an unpleasant road He calls me too! Then self, my dead lover, is so natural, we fit so well together and it always offers the most appealing answers… just what I want to hear. But oh the guilt as I look at my watch and realize this lover has just consumed and warped what should have been given to my Jesus…I weep, but it is too late, my momentary indulgence has already conceived sin, and now I am plagued by guilt and shame… I feel I cannot go back to Jesus now. But self is only abusive, tries to cover the guilt, work the sin out of me, and as each moment passes, the sin is more and more full-grown in my selfishness. Once sin is born, I feel obligated to self, though sin is a hateful child… and my own desires have produced distance between Jesus and me. Yet Jesus comes to me and tells me that self does not have to be alive, the selfish desires which I find in myself do not have to bring forth a life of sin—He will take them and work in me, in spite of me, if I will only submit my will to Him.

Jesus promises to be strong in me, if I will let Him. But how often do I deny that, deny that what I am experiencing in my emotions, an almost overpowering desire that rivals the will to obey, is sin, and I try to justify it in Jesus? When I fail, I find I am unable to do right on my own, still, because I am still weak and powerless without Jesus. And then at times, then guilt makes me doubt whether or not I can ever make the right decision. I was reading Philippians from a different translation than I am used to, the New Living Translation, and was struck by 2.12b and 13: “Work hard to show the results of your salvation, obeying God with deep reverence and fear. For God is working in you, giving you the desire and the power to do what pleases Him.” Jesus offers me a freedom from all the sin, if I will confess, repent, and relinquish the overburdening guilt. Will I as a woman be willing to abandon my attractive lover in order to just love Jesus? Why do I cling to those sin tendencies when I don’t have to and permit the guilt? Maybe allowing the guilt is sin tendency in and of itself, because I am voluntarily subjugating myself to something that gives me a task—and for me that makes the world so much easier—to be commissioned with something that makes me feel like I can be worthy of grace.

I have been reading a lot lately in a variety of fields about the female nature, so maybe this reluctance I have to accept grace only is that existential guilt factor we women wrestle with that men do not. The only reason I can identify that factor is because I have experienced it in my own life and witnessed it in the lives of other women… it seems a nearly universal stigma to female personhood. I was encouraged yesterday evening, having a hearty three-hour conversation with my friend and boss over this past year, that existential guilt of women is not a figment of my imagination.

So I look at this guilt which seems to accompany every sin I do in my relationship with Jesus, just because He really is so wonderful: I think of it as conscious guilt, something I know is wrong or guilt that weighs so heavily in my conscience that it begins to affect the rest of my life in tangible (or existential/perceivable) ways. I start behaving certain ways and performing certain actions to try and rid my conscience of the guilt. Here emerges my resistance to grace, because once I feel the guilt, and begin doing something to try and eliminate it, I resist the notion that guilt can be removed by something so simple as forgiveness. My faith wants a penance, maybe not to prove to God, but to prove to myself that I am really free. I have noticed from readings by different women as well as discussion that this guilt is very prevalent among women and because of it, we try and take on others’ guilt. All of this happens very naturally; perhaps we assume responsibility for the wrongs done to us, blaming ourselves as the cause of others’ actions, which can lead to over submission, equitable with enablement. I read an interesting book called Women Who Love too Much, discussing the desperate measures women would go to in voluntary subjugation in order to feel loved and relieve their own perceptions of guilt. If one adds Jesus to the mix, you start thinking that your sinful desires in selfishly wanting to change that person in order to interact with them on your terms is making you a crucifixion victim—suffering for Christ, leading to death by abuse (emotional if not physical). Existential guilt affects us even beyond our interactions with Jesus in terms of our sin tendencies or with other individuals… it affects the very core of at least the female nature. I find myself compelled and driven by emotions to natural acts which go directly contrary to godly conduct for me life.

I am caught then, between two fatal attractions: to the self, my soul will perish because it will never cease to be abused, will continually produce sin, and never be satisfied with guilt status. With Jesus, I am completely in love, yet so easily pulled away by very natural inclinations because the life I am called to with Jesus is not so natural: self-denial and crucifixion? Love in the face of hate? Love and give without return? But I would still desire to be near to Jesus, so I must learn this self-denial and just consider the ex-lover dead. May I not be a stumbling block to others’ faith either, one of those seductresses in proverbs who causes men to fall into sin, but may the Jesus in me truly be a blessing.

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