You May Address Me As...

Just a quickie. I wanted to make it official. Marjorie has (for some inexplicable reason, perhaps due to the fact that most of her brothers have moved out and now occupy their own houses) decided to start calling her sisters by guy names.

Charity has become "Harvey" and yours truly is now "Topher" (short for Christopher, which is what they were going to name me back when they thought I was going to be a boy).

There you go, Marjie. :-)

On the Wedding

I just don't have time to do the wedding justice, and it was much too beautiful to rattle through. :-/ So, by way of a consolation prize (and if you're actually interested in the wedding), please see the following slideshow...

http://weddingpixel.com/slideshows/michaeljessica/

The Office: Conversations

(By the way, the wedding was perfect. Details later.)

David doesn’t want the new Writing Aids to be red. He feels that the color is aggressive. Mom is of the opposite opinion.
“It makes me feel like picking up the book and…. is this going to be in paperback?” – Davy
“Yes.” – Mom
“See, that’s bad, because mothers will be picking it up and beating their kids with it, because it’s an aggressive color!” – Davy
“It’s an empowering color! It’ll make moms believe that they can teach their children to write!” – Mom

“You’re going to hate this, but it’s a good thought!” – Mom
“Coming from you? How could I hate it?” – Davy
“Well then, how about a red cross? Like band-aids… writing aids…battle-scarred moms in need of help….” – Mom
“Maybe I could just scan in the Red Badge of Courage cover and change it to a mom…” – Davy

“I am going to bless you with great abundance.” – Abbi to Christy, dropping a double handful of rubber bands on Christy’s desk.
“Um, thanks. Why?” – Christy
“I’m coming back to take them away; don’t worry.” – Abbi
“Oh. Okay.” – Christy

“I’m just thinking, if Nathan sees that, he’s going to have a fit…” – Grace
“He already bit my leg. What more could he do?” – Davy
“I missed that one.” – Grace

::Casey and Laura are handing out fake flowers to everybody::
“Happy Midsummer’s Day! Would you like some flowers for your hair?” – Casey to Nate
“Do I look like Lysander to you?” – Nate
“You can be Lysander!” – Casey
“I am not Lysander.” – Nate
“Well, you can at least wear one in your buttonhole…” – Casey

“Why do raging attack jellies come around, every time you are near?” – Nathan to Casey

“Does anything strike you as odd about these pants?” – Nate
“Um… they’re wrinkled?” – Christy
“They’re mine.” – Davy
“They aren’t yours.” – Nate
::Nate’s phone starts ringing from the pocket::
“They’ve got a phone in them.” – Christy
“Nate walks in and his pants start ringing.” – Davy

“I lost my wallet, and now the world is spinning out of control.” – Casey

Four Years Later

On my business trips this spring, people kept asking me how old I am. The general guess was "eighteen," which made me laugh. But then I got to thinking... what was it like to be eighteen? Four years is a long time. So I started looking back through pictures, remembering the folks I hung out with in my freshie year and what it was all like to be almost a kid. Some of you may remember these.

First off, this was me right around the time I turned eighteen.

Yup, that was in November or so, and my birthday is December 1st. Of course, the following August I was off to PHC, where I met these people:

This one was my roommate and one of my best friends... I always missed her so much over the summers!

She's off to law school now. Sometimes I remember the way she would greet the sun every morning. We had some wonderful talks about God. Here we are with our wing...

Throughout college God has blessed me with girl friendships that I truly do not deserve. Of course, I didn't deserve these characters either...

But naturally that statement could be taken several ways. <:0) Let's just say that, through good times and bad, through birthday parties and math problems, my friends were almost always available to pray, counsel, encourage, correct, and--perhaps most amazingly--hurt with me. I've written about loneliness recently, but loneliness is only half the picture, and I wouldn't be portraying God accurately if I didn't point to some of the people in my life (there are many others, most obviously and importantly my family) who have inspired laughter, provided a shoulder to lean against, and given of their precious time in order to fill my life with colors and warmth. Thank you all for that, especially considering the person I was. Thank you for still caring about me, despite the person I am. Thank you for being willing to go on caring, until I am a person who has been made utterly new.

Girlyrumple

It has been such a girly day!

First off, I had to wash my jeans. So I got Mom's permission to wear ratty old gym shorts to the office. Somehow, that set the carefree tone of the day. Yesterday Mom told us that she was taking all the girls and Nana for a manicure and pedicure, since the wedding is on Saturday.

"A what?" I said. "First a tan for the wedding, and now.... I feel like a pomeranian!"
Casey choked on her laughter. "That's a good way of expressing it!"

But I got to spend the morning at the office, and it was one of those days when Nate decided to order corporate pizza for lunch, and we all sat around gabbing and watching Pirates II previews on our lunch hour. At 12:50 I grabbed my purse and Davy drove me home.

My laundry was done, so I dressed and formed up in the slaughter line. Mom drove us to the salon, telling us we would like it. We tried to believe her.

I now have french-tipped fingernails and toenails. The experience rates somewhere between a trip to the dentist (no cavities) and a haircut. It was fun to do it together, but.... golly. I couldn't ride a horse in these. I couldn't even do garden work! Still, they look very pretty and I'm sure Jess will appreciate having her bridesmaids presentable. Especially since we will all be barefoot. She, by the way, looks gorgeous in the wedding dress. Her mother and I are the only people who have seen her in it so far. ::Smug::

By 2 PM the pomeranians were home and changing again, this time into sunbathing costumes. We girls faced our task with determination, ice water, books (office work for me), soothing music, lemon juice, and lots of suntan lotion. After dragging the trampoline into a strategically sunny spot, we lotioned up, spritzed hair with lemon juice to bring out the highlights, set the music playing from our deck, and got comfy. It was two hours of slow baking and sweat, but I can report that pale toast has been achieved, with no burns. Tomorrow we'll add another coat.

Charity and I then went back and changed again, for a night on the town. We hit the bank, the auto place, Panera Bread for dinner, the fabric store (she to buy batting for a quilt, I to buy muslin for a salwar), CompUSA (no luck on DVD player or ipod--I'll have to try it with Davy), and Bed Bath & Beyond for Jess's wedding present. Oh, and Starbucks. Of course. :-) Meanwhile, Mom and Dad took Marj to a movie.

Mike whiffled through while Charity and I were watching an old 50's movie about a girl who was simultaneously engaged to three people. Davy appeared, busy texting Casey on his cell phone. I had just begun to mosey upstairs when Mary got back from an evening out with her guy, meeting his parents (posh preppy DC area, no less. And the guy was in Hollywood for awhile, with looks to match. Now he's going to be a missionary. It's just possible he deserves Mary).

Needless to say, the romantic atmosphere is thicker than pea soup. I think these french nails are having a bad effect on me.... I feel absolutely flirtatious. But don't worry; I know what to do. A hard and fast 45 minutes on the elliptical clears the head wonderfully.

Oh my, what a comet mood!

One day to the wedding and counting....

How?

Loneliness. Lots of people are alone. There is a wistful quality to postmodernism because of it. How many have I passed with slack shoulders? How many fingers are listless on the counter now? There is an ache beyond body and space, the only ache I know which can truly be called a soul's lack. Failure to connect. No signal. Dead.

I sometimes wonder whether materialism is just a stop-gap measure. Stuff fills one's life, one's mind. I can occupy my thoughts with a new bookshelf, ipod, desk, car, DVD player, curtain color, hardwood floor, cordless can opener, whatever. I know I can; I've done it.

Such emptiness.

But everything means something, you know? Loneliness means something. So I did a search. The word "loneliness" isn't in the Bible. It just isn't. But the word "alone" is. Guess who is most often described as being "alone"?

1. God
2. Jesus
3. The Israelites, a people alone and set apart for God
4. The single Israelite who is forced to live alone outside the camp because he has become unclean.

Now, by implication we can add others. King David cried out to God many times from the void that we call loneliness. Also, to say in Scripture that God is "alone" is usually to say that he is unique. God has always been a Holy Trinity in infinite communication. But there is one human who is consistently described as being alone, and I am pierced with a strange sharp feeling whenever I think of Jesus in that state. Think of it. He went away, alone, to speak with God. He wept alone in the garden, and his cry on the cross--who that has heard of it can ever forget?

The postmoderns have got one thing right. Life is about relationships. The relationship between God and man was of such ultimate importance to God that... no, I won't say it. It's overwhelming. How could anything mean so much to someone? How could God care so much?

I went to see a movie with Mom and Charity tonight. It was all about two lonely people who had to wait a long time, years, before they found each other. People wait such a long time to find each other. Or, if they are like me, they give up. I'm a little different. I don't know how to trust people.

"You can't have a relationship if you don't trust people," I said to Mom.
"That's probably true," she replied.

So, I guess I'm missing out on the most important thing that there is or can be between people. I didn't mean to, and no one ever gave me cause. I searched my memory for a time when I did trust. I have memories from my fourth year to the present, but in all that time there have been only two people whom I trusted. One is Jesus Christ, who has come to constitute my sole reason for being.... and hoping. There is someone in this universe whom I can trust. That realization has kept me from despair on more occasions than I care to name or remember. It is the sun of my life. The other person.... is another story. I won't tell it now.

I've had endless talks with my parents, but they all end up in the same place. Something has to change. My walls have got to come down, somehow. But how? Have you ever seen a big ancient wall? I saw one in Rome that had been standing for three thousand years. Mine is like that, old as myself and made of interlaced trees with deep, deep roots. The tips of the branches are barbed and poisonous. As in the story of Sleeping Beauty, Christ cut through that forest and woke me up from my nightmares. Did the path he carved close up behind him? Christ broke the ceiling of spiked limbs and ripped open a sky above my head, and showed me heaven. Is he the only one who can fly through that hole?

I'm tired, you know? I'm so tired. I wish I could talk to someone who understands.... but isn't that the essence of loneliness? There is no one who understands. At least, no one I can speak to.

Except Jesus. You see? That is the saving grace of my life. That is what makes me hold to him with all the strength I have, little enough as it is. That is why there is gladness in my life--forsake and wander as I will, prone as my heart is to err, he won't let go.

And whenever I think of that, it seems to me that my watchman's morning has come. Or, to put it as Switchfoot does...

She's alone tonight,
With a bitter cup and,
She's undone tonight,
She's all used up,

She's been staring down the demons,
Who've been screaming she's just another so and so,
Another so and so

You are golden,
You are golden, Child

You are golden,
Don't let go,
Don't let go tonight

If you just keep hanging on, or even if you let go, the sun will catch you before you have fallen all the way, and it will turn you golden again. In that moment, you can stand in the sun laughing. In that moment, there is no such thing as loneliness, and the soul has no lack. I have had many many thousand such moments. Therefore I can say, with gratitude beyond words, that I am not alone.

I am golden tonight.

The Office: First Day of Summer

I walked into the warehouse with Mom this morning....

Casey and Laura came running to meet us, dressed in skirts and blouses, with fake flowers in their hair.

"Happy first day of summer!" They cried. "Want some flowers?"

I looked at the flowers. I looked at their hair. I thought about it for 0.5 seconds.

"Yes!"

"Great! Here, you'll need some paperclips to hold them in."

And there was much merriment. I love, love, LOVE the people I get to work with. :-D

Noses Will Be Worn Large This Season

I just got the email today. The EdenTroupe board has voted to do Cyrano this fall.

Oh. My.

It's overwhelming in a very good way. The work.... eh. That is just work. The organizing and late nights and exhaustion and stress---this is new? But what overwhelms me is the idea that I shall have the privilege of seeing those words, those characters, brought to life. Ever since I saw Cyrano performed, ever since I had the chance to do a bench reading of that play, I've loved it. Exquisite words, deeps and heights of heroism, self-sacrifice, devotion, love, and pride.... and the destruction that comes with pride.

I love this story passionately and with a certain grief, because the end is tragic. Cyrano had a vast soul, but it was undisciplined. He had an enormous capacity for love, but lived in fear of declaring himself. He had great talents, but little enough humility. And, in the end, he was a warning comet. Cyrano makes me want to live other than he did, but with the same zeal. I love his soul.

The Office: Season 3, Episode 2

“My heart has never been in a coffin with anybody.” – Christy, commenting on a line from Julius Caesar

“What a blessing you are!” – Grace to an ant

“Hey! Laura Ingalls Wilder! The printer’s free!” – Grace to Laura

“I can’t tell you that. I’m not, but I can’t tell you that.” – David

“Okay, who put graffiti on the can opener?” – Christy
“What does it say?” – Abbi
“It says: ‘For office use only.’ It’s vandalized.” – Christy

“Nate!” – Grace
“Yes, Grace.” – Nate
“He doesn’t even take his headphones off any more.” – Grace

“Feed me!” – Mom
“What do you want?” – Casey
“Um… what do I want?” – Mom
::pause::
“Good stuff.” – Mom, with decision.

“Nate, we need another printer. We can’t go on like this.” – Grace

“Dude, do a modesty check!” – Grace to Dan, who made the mistake of wearing a sleeveless t-shirt in her presence.

“We are less than halfway done!” – Mom, in the tone usually reserved for pronouncements of triumph. She then began to sing the Star Wars theme music.

“I love it when I know how stuff works.” – Casey


“Sometimes you gotta either laugh or cry. I prefer to laugh.” – Mom
“Aha. So when the going gets tough, the tough talk baby-talk.” – Christy
“Hast hit it, friend Giggle.” – Mom

“Note the distinct absence of death-wishes!” – Mom

“Well, I pretty much think of myself as a horizontal amphora.” – David

I had completely forgotten...

.... how beautiful Colorado is. We just got in to Denver by plane. Flying is still magical to me, and Denver (being the first Western city I ever saw) still has an otherworldly charm, though it has been ten years since I last visited it.

More later. Must consult with Dad on Hindu philosophy and Confucius. :-P

Season Three: The Office

It's taken awhile to get things rolling at Lampstand this season. But the quotes are starting to come back. First, allow me to introduce the Dramatis Personae:

Mom: Primary writer of Tapestry, President of Lampstand Press, and Our Lady of the Office.

Casey: Her personal executive assistant, who also manages her conferences and Tapestry conferences in general. New in this season's episodes, Casey is also being courted by David.

David: Graphics guru, Somerville, DJ, and provider of office goofiness. New in this season's episodes, David has brought a giant stuffed Alex the Lion (from Madagascar) into our lives, which is rendered doubly funny because David is a puppeteer. This summer, he is redesigning the Tapestry website and courting Casey. They are cute.

Nate: Returning for his third season as Captain of the warehouse, this Somerville provides a much-needed sense of stability. He is the source of cash, paychecks, medieval weapons, large theological tomes, and dry humor. New for this season, he is also known as Ralph (Grace's nickname).

Laura: Also returning for her third season as Proofer Extraordinaire, Laura may be the highest-paid member of the office. Her encyclopedic mind and sense of humor make a welcome addition to the Office.

Marjorie: the youngest Somerville is making her debut onscreen this summer, playing the petite and gorgeous blond secretary/receptionist at age fifteen. We expect her to make the big times.

Jay: This season of The Office also stars Jay Kim, the soft-spoken Asian artist of mad InDesign skills. Jay grows plants that soak of harmful electromagnetic waves from the computers, and is a full-fledged fun person. She also keeps pillows on her office chair.

Christy: You know me. I write Literature and Government, keep the Quote Book, and fetch lunches. :-)

Grace: In her second season with The Office, but debuting for the first time as a summer star, Grace is the beautiful and sassy brunette whose dry wit is exceeded only by her competence as the Bookstore Director. Any unfortunate connection between her name and the title of our curriculum (Tapestry of Grace) is accidental but lends itself to many chuckles. Grace specializes in firing people (especially Ralph, her boss) and music.

Abbi: For the first time, Abbi joins us as a note of quiet sweetness and expert backrubbing in this madhouse that we call our professional lives. Abbi's skills also include Shipping and beautiful handmade card collages.

Elijah: One step above the Minions, redheaded teen cadet Elijah joins the summer show by the skin of his teeth and by virtue of his talent for Office humor. Though he runs the copier in Minionland and periodically inquires whether he still has a job here, Elijah provides a much-needed target for affectionate abuse, and is growing in his ability to give back as good as he gets.

We'd like to kick off this season with our first Episode:

“Oh, sorry. There should be music playing.” – Nate to customer

“I think my gum is dying.” – Casey

“Just because you’re not twenty-one doesn’t mean that you can’t have drinks without alcohol in them!” – Casey

“I’m steeping. Never interrupt a girl when she’s steeping.” – Christy, grinning at Casey
“You sound like a tea bag.” – Casey, grinning back

“Right, Dave, you’re pure as the driven snow.” – Marjorie, with mild sarcasm
“Purer! Driven snow has dirt in it.” – David, indignantly

“You can call me Gandalf Stormcrow, bearer of ill news.” – Casey

“I want to be the favorite child! Pick me, pick me!” – Mommy, on three hours of sleep

“My tomato is missing.” – Laura

“Each courtship is unique and special. Ours just happens to be destructive.” – Casey, on her relationship with David.

“Why are you stroking my eyebrows?” – Christy to David

“He was stroking my eyebrows. I think it was sort of the equivalent of patting me on the head.” – Christy, explaining David’s actions to Casey

“Okay, I’m just going to duct-tape my mouth shut!” – Casey

“Marjorie stole Laura’s tomato!” – Mom

“’Being as that I flow in sorrow, the smallest twine may lead me.’” – Mom
“I am the smallest twine!” – Davy

“I am a lone reed.” – Mom

“I work with six women. I can handle thirteen or fourteen small children.” – Nate
::Laughter::
“Are you comparing us to small children? That’s, like, 2.5 children equals one of us!” – Christy

“Guys, get back to work.” – Mom, as all the office kids bend over the quote book.
“We are working. This is a history curriculum, and we’re chronicling our history.” – Davy
“And eating ice cream.” – Christy
“I’m doing graphic design on my ice cream cup.” – Davy
“You are all fired.” – Mom
Note to the uninitiated: we all fire one another on a regular basis. Grace has personally fired Nate [her boss] once or twice.

“Anybody want more nuts [for the ice cream]?” – Casey
“I have enough nuts! I’d like a few sane people.” – Mom

“Ah, he’s trying to soothe the savage Mom…” – Mom on Davy turning up the music
“No he’s not! He’s…. um…. Well, yes.” – Casey

Bonus track for the opening episode: How Does A Homeschooler Change A Light Bulb?

First, mom checks three books on electricity out of the library, then the kids make models of light bulbs, read a biography of Thomas Edison and do a skit based on his life.

Next, everyone studies the history of lighting methods, wrapping up with dipping their own candles.

Next, everyone takes a trip to the store where they compare types of light bulbs as well as prices and figure out how much change they'll get if they buy two bulbs for $1.99 and pay with a five dollar bill.

On the way home, a discussion develops over the history of money and also Abraham Lincoln, as his picture is on the five dollar bill.

Finally, after building a homemade ladder out of branches dragged from the woods, the light bulb is installed.

And there is light.

Concerning My School

The recent controversy at PHC is a subject upon which I have been silent, both here and in public. In private I have discussed it with my parents and roommate, and with a few close friends. I have also had the benefit of my pastor's counsel. I have not chosen to comment because it is the sort of issue that profits very little from much talk, and none from speculation. I have instead listened and thought, and spoken with those whom I believed would point me first to God in the situation. I was not wrong in that belief, and I remain profoundly grateful for their help.

I wish to say, first, that I was not surprised by these events. God is not surprised by sin, and I believe that no one who has an accurate view of man should be surprised by it either. I am, however, intensely grateful for what has happened. I am grateful for these events because they pierce, because they prick, and because they tempt. I am grateful for them because they squeeze our hearts until the blood comes dripping out--and we can see at last what sort of blood it is.

I knew from my freshman year that the school I had chosen contained and displayed a certain amount of arrogance. Had it been pure, it would have ceased from that pristine state the moment I joined it. PHC's arrogance in my freshman year was to me a reflection of my own heart, and I accepted the eventuality of humbling, both for it and for me. I did not then look forward with any sort of eagerness to the humiliation and pain which would come. I have learned a little better, I think, since then.

My personal humbling came first, and though God broke me, it was only the means of setting straight a crooked spine and deformed feet. The weights attached to my bones during the healing process were heavy, but necessary so that the back and limbs might grow straight. I suffered. But which would a man rather have: a straight spine and the ability to walk, for always, or a hunchback and a wheelchair? I did not choose the pain of transformation. I was too much a coward to do so. However, it is such breaking that leaves the Christian afterwards able to say "God never did me a single wrong. He only blessed me beyond my deserts."

This semester I said farewell to professors whom I love and respect. I did so, in some cases, with tears. My heart has ached. My mind has been bewildered and confused. I have bowed my head before these blasts, ashamed for what I see, feeling indeed as though the heart of me is gripped in a great vice. Oh, we have suffered! Our hearts went into the coffin with our beliefs of what PHC was. We must pause until they return to us. Having been tested, having been squeezed, we have been found mightily wanting. Yes, all of us. There are things I could have done, and I did not do them.

But if I have an opinion on the subject, it is this: that I thank God over and over for the troubles we are experiencing. For it reminds me of my father's old instruction, when we were children cleaning up the house on a Saturday morning. He would instruct us to take everything out of the corners, all the unnoticed and quietly piling garbage of our lives, and put it in the middle of the living room floor. The cleanup was never complete until every item that sat so uncomfortably and obviously out of place in the middle of the room had been put away.

In a like manner, our corners have been scraped out by these events. Yes, scraped until a layer of flesh is gone, like the rope burn that I received yesterday. We have lost all sense of comfortableness with ourselves; our sin has been painfully obtruded upon our notice, and we are driven first to confusion, then to discouragement, and finally either to despair or God. How it reminds me of the chronicles of Israel, this scraping! After all, the way of the cross is inescapably truthful. The business of sanctification is many things, but it is never what one would call pleasant. Essential transformation is accomplished in an instant, but it takes years, a lifetime, for that change to work all through the heart and soul and mind of a human being.

I do not believe that PHC is sick unto death. I believe that it is sick unto life. I do not believe that this is a calamity, but rather a kindness. These circumstances are the first proof I have seen that perhaps God really intends to guide our school. For, consider how gently the thing has been done; think with what exquisite timing God has provided Dr. Walker and his uniquely humble vision. Consider that Dr. Farris voluntarily hands over the school, which he loves so much, to this man who can help us heal. Surely that argues much for Dr. Farris! And, while Dr. Walker is not God, he seems to be God's perfect provision for this time and these wounds.

Dr. Walker is not the man to soothe us with drugs until we have forgotten what it was that hurt us. He is a man who will get to the bottom of the cut and clean out its infection. I believe this because I have spoken with him, and with his wife and daughters at some length, and have listened to him speak with as much impartiality as is ever in my power to use. I do not agree with him completely as to doctrine, but I can see beating in his chest the heart of a man who both loves and feares God. That is all I ask.

Is the son not blessed if his father chastizes him? Is the father not loving if he does this for the son? Have not the greatest excellences and pleasures of my life come to me through pain, and have I not counted it light and momentary in retrospect? What was the pain of learning to love, compared with the joy of loving? What was the pain of learning to hold my tongue, compared with the sweetness of hearing a friend say "you have been God's gift to me, because you listened instead of airing your own opinions"? I could go on and on, and that is why I say, "What is the pain of lost professors, an academic civil war, a deep rupture of trust, and the lost dream (lost now, false and chimerical always) of a pristine PHC, compared with the greatness of being able to see those sins that have been feeding on us in secret all these years? What is comfortable darkness compared with painful light? Comparison! The real question is why we are asked to pay so light a price for such rewards!

And the answer to that question is, besides being the greatest mystery of this or any other universe, quite simple. We pay so light and transitory a price because someone else is making up the balance. And the color of his blood is a rich red, able to stain and transform the watery or yellowish or black-bilious stuff that runs in our veins.

Do not ask why all this has befallen PHC, I beg. Ask rather why any people should be so fortunate as to receive the dear and interested correction of God himself. We have not deserved what has happened. We have not deserved it at all.

On Love: Eros and Phileo

It's popular just now to write a post on love. I don't know why this should be, but it so happens that I just finished a long paper on the subject for Medieval lit, and have found the observations that I picked up in researching it to be very applicable to life. Ergo, I wish to reproduce them here. The points are as follows, and I quote:

“Every one has heard of courtly love,” writes C.S. Lewis, “and every one knows that it appears quite suddenly at the end of the eleventh century in Languedoc” (Allegory 2). What every one does not know, and what Lewis goes on to explain, is that the erotic focus established in Languedoc precipitated a revolution so influential that, compared with it, “the Renaissance is a mere ripple on the surface of literature” (Allegory 4). Lewis insists that the troubadours of France “effected a change which has left no corner of our ethics, our imagination, or our daily life untouched, and they erected impassable barriers between us and the classical past” (Allegory 4).

That portion of the Western canon which was produced by antiquity lacks interest in romantic love. It is not eros but rather phileo which occupies the place of honor in ancient sentiment and praise. Brotherly love (or friendship-love) between men is the exalted sentiment, and erotic love is at best a footnote to the main action, which consists of heroes seeking glory, enduring labors, performing great deeds, and enjoying friendship. Nor is this an invention of the Greco-Romans. The epic of Gilgamesh, which is thought to be the world’s oldest, exists—with regard to love—as a display of phileo.

The hero Gilgamesh, his companion Enkidu, and their friendship, are the focus of the story. Shamhat (a temple prostitute) comes into it, but her encounter with Enkidu is only an episode, and her name drops out after the first tablet. Phileo is at the core of the narrative, uniting two men in adventure, conquest, and the search for glory over the course of seven tablets. Since there are only eleven tablets in all, we are surely justified in the assertion that this friendship dominates the story. The tragedy of the epic comes in at the eighth tablet, with the death of Enkidu and Gilgamesh’s mourning for his lost friend.

It may be argued that the theme of the Odyssey is romantic love, and indeed, who could forget the image of Odysseus weeping for Penelope beside the winedark sea? In this case, however, the theme of the story is homecoming. Odysseus would not be just as happy as a beggar in Athens, with Penelope as his only companion. His love for her is bound up in his love for the life that he left behind. Penelope would not be enough by herself; Odysseus must also be king of Ithaca, father of Telemachus, and hero of the Trojan wars. Thus, though phileo is not the central love-theme of the story, neither is eros. Lewis might say that we see in the Odyssey affectionate love—the love of the familiar.

In the Iliad there is more potential for a clash between loves, but it never occurs. Briseis provides an incentive for some of Achilles’ actions, but his greatest and most climactic deeds are clearly performed for the sake of dead Patroclus. The friendship between these heroes is the central love of the story. There is never any question whether Briseis or Patroclus matters most to Achilles, no more than there is a question of whether Enkidu values Gilgamesh above Shamhat. The axis of each story is one hero’s death and the other’s response. Readers are invited to mourn these deaths as deeply as Gilgamesh and Achilles do. Shamhat and Briseis are, by comparison, no more than a distraction or a device.

In fact, love is not the primary theme at all. The primary theme of the Iliad is the same which we saw in Gilgamesh: pursuit of glory. Early heroic epics all have this quest for glory and reputation in common. It is as true of Odysseus and Aeneas as it is of Achilles, though mixed, as in the character of Achilles, with other motivations (going home and founding a nation, respectively). And, of the possible loves, phileo is that which best accommodates the theme. Lewis observes that friends stand beside one another, looking outward towards a common goal (The Four Loves). For ancient authors renown was that goal, and friendship between those who sought it was the most appropriate kind of love.

Lewis describes courtly love as “love of a highly specialized sort, whose characteristics may be enumerated as Humility, Courtesy, Adultery, and the Religion of Love” (Allegory 2). Saving only that “lack of consummation” might be substituted for “Adultery” as a more accurate description, I will let the definition stand. Lewis also points out that this version of erotic love is strongly marked by feudalism. The lover is his lady’s man, and she is his feudal “lord” (Allegory 2). Whereas before he accomplished warlike deeds for his own name, now he aims to bear himself in such a manner as to be worthy of his lady. Whereas before his focus was war and warlike skills, he must now also assume the airs and graces of a courtier to please her dainty taste. The hero of old was concerned with an intangible—glory—and its application to himself. The medieval knight is concerned with another intangible: a romantic relationship. But the application is not any longer to him alone; now there is a woman toward whom his face must be continually turned.
The great shift engendered by courtly love, which led Lewis to comment that its advent “erected impassable barriers between us and the classical past” (Allegory 4), was a shift of focus. If friends stand side by side in order to look at the object of devotion, lovers signify their center of attention by facing each other (Four Loves 66). Happiness in life, hitherto defined as the burnishing of one’s name and reputation, acquired a new denotation. It came to mean, as the popular culture now believes, success in a romantic relationship. Achilles and Patroclus gave way. Troilus and Criseyde arose to take their place. Deeds of war remained, but the cause of war was altered. Achilles fought for glory, but Lancelot fought for Guinevere. And this became so common a theme that, eventually, Don Quixote fought for a nonexistant Dulcinea.

The character in whom phileo struggled with eros for preeminence among the loves of Western literature was not the product of a single author. On the contrary, he developed over several centuries and drew on the traditions of two countries. I refer of course to Lancelot, hero of the Arthurian saga. In his person eros makes trial by arms against phileo—and won. The victory marks a watershed in Western literature. For the first time, love for a woman becomes more important than love for a brother in arms. It is as though Briseis has replaced Patroclus in the heart of Achilles.

Arthur and Lancelot have the sort of phileo love for one another which can easily be traced back to antique models, though it is complicated by the Feudal notion of lordship. Arthur and Lancelot are heroes, the flowers of knighthood. Their relationship is the Round Table’s seal and symbol. But Lancelot also loves Guinevere, and this love is thoroughly erotic. Arthur is Lancelot’s lord, and yet Guinevere is his lady. Both demand his undivided loyalty. The whole story turns on conflict between these loves. Lancelot performs deeds of valor, but one never knows whether they are achieved for his own glory, for the renown of Arthur and his court, or in order to make Lancelot worthy of the Queen’s love. Is it the knight’s reputation which is being enhanced, or is it the fame of his lady? Some versions say one thing, and some another. The saga as it develops is filled with contradictions and contrasting motives, evidence of internal strife. Lancelot is easily the most complex character, and readers can see embodied in him the agony of change. Eventually, eros conquers. The Round Table is thrown down, and although the lovers spend their remaining days separated and in mourning for it, their sorrow cannot alter the fact that happiness has been redefined, and the focus of heroes has unalterably swung round. Henceforward, the ideal hero will face towards his lady.

It is emphatically the new definition of happiness which survived to make such a distinction between that ancient era and the post-Languedoc ages. Some trappings of courtly love have been lost. Fictional heroes no longer grovel at the feet of their ladies, and the woman’s slightest whim is not now law. Other elements of the Arthurian remain: politeness is still considered to include special attention to the comfort and preferences of ladies. But no matter which conventions are retained or discarded, eros has turned the head of every hero. He is no longer considered heroic who has not attained a satisfying romantic relationship.

It is worth noting here that eros did not merely assume the role of phileo in literature. It vaulted higher, and ascended to the place of absolute primacy. Phileo had been an accompaniment on the way to the temple of Nike; eros transformed Nike into Venus. This is why Lewis writes that, in order to imagine love from the perspective of the ancient world, we must “wipe out of our minds, for a moment, nearly all that makes the food both of modern sentimentality and modern cynicism. We must conceive a world emptied of that ideal of ‘happiness’—a happiness grounded in successful romantic love—which still supplies the motive of our popular fiction” (Allegory 4). Love in ancient literature, he says, “seldom rises above the levels of merry sensuality or domestic comfort, except to be treated as a tragic madness” (Allegory 4). Of course, it is far different today.

In serious modern narrative we find that eros is the most common theme (Allegory 3), and this theme can be traced back to courtly love, through Chaucer and Petrarch and Shakespeare, through the Chevalier poets and Scott and Tennyson and dozens of other writers. A glance at great works of the eighteenth and nineteenth century are enough to prove the impact of happy romantic love as an ideal. We find it in Tess of the D’Urbevilles and Great Expectations, in Idylls of the King and The Lady of the Lake, in the works of Austen and the poems of Donne, in Anna Karenina and The Sun Also Rises. As Lewis remarks, Romeo and Juliet have innumerable counterparts in modern fiction (Four Loves 57). Consider West Side Story as a single example.

It is not that ancient literature was devoid of eros. The loves of Dido and Penelope were as real as any other element in the Aeneid and the Odyssey, but eros was never central or primary. In fact, I have attempted to show that none of the loves were primary in great ancient works (with the Bible as a very important exception). What occurred at the birth of courtly love, therefore, was a shift so fundamental that it altered the trend of human ideals, and bent the Western mind in a new direction. Whether it is a better direction is arguable: after all, Nike and Venus are both idols. But what seems clear is that the goddesses were exchanged, beginning at the end of the eleventh century, and that the priests who did it were citizens of Languedoc.

That's enough to take in for now. For my next trick, I will comment on the effect which this redefinition of happiness seems to have had on our culture in general, and on my generation in particular.

Space to Be Young Again

Home. Oh, blissful thought!

It's been a grueling pace to keep. I got home from New York at midnight last night. I leave for Richmond on Thursday. I'm going to Colorado next Thursday. I was in North Carolina last week.

Late this afternoon, I took the car for a spin down to Chipotles (Sunday dinner is a rather sketchy affair at our house, on account of our big Sunday brunch) to pick up one of my favorite meals: a steak and chicken burrito, and a cranberry juice. Somehow the cranberry juice is a perfect and necessary complement to all those spicy Mexican tastes. Somebody had left The Parent Trap soundtrack in the car. I spun the dial to track 8, and upped the volume.

I've been waiting since I can't remember
I've been waiting just to find somebody true
Somebody like you
Do you know, I'll never let you go!

This song has never been a love ditty to me. It's always been a hymn. I waited so long to find God, and though what really happened was that he found me, and though it is really the case that he won't let me go, still, whenever I remember who he is, my response is a fierce and exultant "I'll never let you go!" There are so many somebodies who turn out to be false; and he is somebody true.

It was a perfect day, sunny and mild. I found myself relaxed just because I was driving along familiar streets. I could have eaten my dinner outside Chipotles and then strolled down the sidewalk to Borders, but the mood wasn't quite right. I wanted to be home. I wanted to soak up home as one drinks a glass of water after a long, hard workout. So I brought my dinner back and ate in the kitchen, talking to Charity and Grandpa.

Danya and I had a splendid time being together. We saw again the beautiful mountains of western Pennsylvania and upstate NY--on the drive back they were particularly stunning because of the contrast between early evening sunshine and a rainstorm that chased us home. But it was also a weary-making trip, full of decisions and adulthood. It was a necessary and voluntary exile.

Tonight, home for a brief space, I feel like a child again. I found myself thinking of the Longaevi a little while ago, thanks to Stars. She came for graduation and we went down to talk in the gazebo.

"Do you remember the fairies you made up out of those Rhetoric vocab lists that we were memorizing?"
"Oh!" I said, receiving the slight but fragrant shock of sweet old memories. "Oh, yes! What were their names? What a child I was, still making up fairies as a junior!"
"My favorite was the littlest," Stars laughed.
"That's right... her name was Posy."

And suddenly, they were all before me. I remembered everything: Paradoxus Maximus of the green wings, Simile the beautiful, Chiasmus the dandy, Deton and Polly, my blond twins, Litotes, the black velvet marshwiggle, and of course Posy. Her full name was Onomotapoeia, and she lived in my jewelry box for a summer. Their descriptions and adventures are all on this blog, in the archives of last April, May, and June. I remembered that Latin is their language, and that they live in the gazebo, and that I shall be able to visit them there again this autumn.

I don't know why I remembered the Longaevi tonight, except that I was combing out my hair. Brushing my hair out always makes me think otherworldly or childish thoughts, especially when it is rather curly from being up all day. When I was a little girl it was waist-length, very blond, and Daddy would brush and braid it for me every night before bed. He did that for all three of his girls, but we had to wait our turns. Charity's braid always looked like a pirate pigtail.

It is good to feel young again--I felt so awfully old and grown-up in New York.