Femina contra mundum

So I indulged in a bit of narcissism and was reading through my posts, and I realized that I've kind of become that person I said I hated back in July. All I talk about is school. Granted, it takes up the majority of my time and almost all of my mental capacities at the moment, but it's still not the only relevant thing going on in my life.

For what will probably be the only time I will ever do this, on my blog, in public, and which I might delete at any given post-publication moment, I think I'm going to talk about one of my most hated subjects: my relationship status. It's only come up twice in the nearly-eight years I've been writing here, and I've worked hard to keep it that way. This blog is not a kumbaya care-and-share extravaganza. In nicer words, it just feels unprofessional and unproductive. Yeah, I already hate myself for posting this.

I'm making this exception, though, because of a sobering conversation I had with one of my most trusted friends. We were talking about our generation of Reformed Baptists, and how we've both encountered a disturbing amount of peers who say they are committed to our confession, but don't really live it out. My friend remarked that if you're a genuinely confessional female, and you're interested in marriage, the chances are you will end up being the spiritual leader in the relationship. That really bothers me.

I guess I'm writing this post as a kind of defiance. For several years, I struggled with contentment and finding my place in the sociology of the church. I learned that in most of the times I dealt with anxiety, the root of my unhappiness didn't lie in the circumstances of my life at the moment, but in the fear of losing the happiness I currently enjoyed. The Bible talks about how singles have it really good. I can finally attest to this in my own life: I'm in grad school with promising research opportunities, I'm surrounded by a close circle of family and friends, I'm involved in a solid church, and I have the ability to do reckless stuff like last minute trips or impromptu social events during the week. Why on earth would I give up this freedom for a relationship in which I'd never be able to shake the feeling that I've betrayed the essence of who I am? If that is the reality of marriage for a Reformed Baptist young woman, it is not worth it to me. I could never truly love someone I don't respect; it doesn't work.

I know the readership of this blog is minuscule, to say the least. But if for some reason, some young girl is out there and finds this: Please, don't throw away your spiritual and intellectual integrity for love. It sounds lovely and romantic and fearless, but it's only capitulation. Hold out for someone you love and respect.

The Reformed Baptist movement is still fragile in many ways. On a human level, our future depends upon the faithfulness of the young men and women emerging in its churches today. We rightly pray for future pastors, but we need to pray for committed laity as well. We need boys who man up and live disciplined lives, and girls who recognize the vital role women play in the church. To my fellow young adults: The Christian life is about glorifying God and serving his kingdom. Some of you will be fortunate enough to find spouses who share your commitment. But, for others, this is going to mean choosing between marriage and our beliefs. Are we willing to make that decision?

Further thoughts on feminism

Teenage Jane Grey reading Plato...in the original Greek

"'...as I was saying we shall never agree, I suppose, upon this point. No man and woman, would, probably. But let me observe that all histories are against you--all stories, prose and verse. If I had such a memory as Benwick, I could bring you fifty quotations in a moment on my side the argument, and I do not think I ever opened a book in my life which had not something to say upon woman's inconstancy. Songs and proverbs, all talk of woman's fickleness. But perhaps you will say, these were all written by men.'

'Perhaps I shall. Yes, yes, if you please, no reference to examples in books. Men have had every advantage of us in telling their own story. Education has been theirs in so much higher a degree; the pen has been in their hands. I will not allow books to prove anything.'" 

(Persuasion, ch. 23)

A while ago, reeling from my first exposure to literary theory, I wrote this post.

For the most part, I stand by the spirit of my arguments. Without rejecting the merit of diversity itself, it does have a potential dark side: division. I believe my fears of toxic disunity have been justified in the elections that recently took place both in the U.S. and the U.K.; they reveal that none of the special interest groups (and I do include the white establishment) have done a particularly admirable job of working together, listening to one another, or finding common ground. This is what happens to society when everyone fixates on his or her own personal interests, with little plan for how to implement proposed changes in a sustainable way.

At the same time, I was recently reminded of a conversation I had with a friend I met in Cambridge. He was a fellow international Reformed Baptist, but unlike me, he hailed from the Czech Republic. We were discussing the current landscape of Christian publishing, and he made an observation that struck me: Much of what gets published is written by Americans and is directed toward an American audience. It's as if the U.S. is the "center" of the Christian world. However, the cultural climate in places like Eastern Europe is a lot different than that of the U.S., and so for someone in my friend's position, there's a good portion of these books that simply is irrelevant, while key issues facing non-Western society are left untouched; it leaves these individuals on the outer circles. This doesn't mean the books being published are useless to non-Americans, because there's a lot of insight that can be relevant to anyone; this insight is simply lacking the potential to be enriched by other perspectives than that of America.

I realized that this easily translates into the world of literary theory, and as a result, I believe my views have become more nuanced. Yes, the goal is harmony. But it's also true that there historically has been a "center" (male-dominated publishing) that often did leave women feeling disenfranchised. There's nothing wrong about having books written with men or Americans in mind, per se. What becomes problematic is when passages that contain male/American-specifc perspectives are assumed to be the default or universal experience; when outside voices are actively excluded (take the Jane Austen quote above).

I still wouldn't consider myself a radical feminist or anything approaching that. I continue reading and loving books written by men, sometimes containing male bias, because I believe they do have important things to say, regardless of gender or passages that are askew. Oftentimes, male authors are able to quite successfully portray experiences I have gone through as a woman. I would consider myself more pragmatic than those who argue that the only person allowed to write on an issue is one who has experienced it firsthand. However, I have a deeper appreciation now for the limits of literature. Authors are not divinely inspired, and our attempts at describing universal human experiences are inevitably flawed. For those who are driven to add more female voices to the literary canon, or even to point out where male authors could do better, I say bravo. But I ask that such work be done graciously. I'm learning that accepting that these literary efforts will be imperfect is a kind of humility, one that frees us from unrealistic expectations of human ability.

Psalm 27

The Lord is my light and my salvation;
Whom shall I fear?
The Lord is the defense of my life;
Whom shall I dread?
When evildoers came upon me to devour my flesh,
My adversaries and my enemies, they stumbled and fell.
Though a host encamp against me,
My heart will not fear;
Though war arise against me,
In spite of this I shall be confident.
 

One thing I have asked from the Lord, that I shall seek:
That I may dwell in the house of the Lord all the days of my life,
To behold the beauty of the Lord
And to meditate in His temple.
For in the day of trouble He will conceal me in His tabernacle;
In the secret place of His tent He will hide me;
He will lift me up on a rock.
And now my head will be lifted up above my enemies around me,
And I will offer in His tent sacrifices with shouts of joy;
I will sing, yes, I will sing praises to the Lord.

Hear, O Lord, when I cry with my voice,
And be gracious to me and answer me.
When You said, “Seek My face,” my heart said to You,
“Your face, O Lord, I shall seek.”
Do not hide Your face from me,
Do not turn Your servant away in anger;
You have been my help;
Do not abandon me nor forsake me,
O God of my salvation!
For my father and my mother have forsaken me,
But the Lord will take me up.

Teach me Your way, O Lord,
And lead me in a level path
Because of my foes.
Do not deliver me over to the desire of my adversaries,
For false witnesses have risen against me,
And such as breathe out violence.
I would have despaired unless I had believed that I would see the goodness of the Lord
In the land of the living.
Wait for the Lord;
Be strong and let your heart take courage;
Yes, wait for the Lord.

Several notes to self

A few items loosely tied together by a similar theme that passed through my mind today:

We had a guest speaker at church, and one of the Scripture readings from the evening service struck me as jarringly beautiful.

For you have not come to a mountain that can be touched and to a blazing fire, and to darkness and gloom and whirlwind, and to the blast of a trumpet and the sound of words which sound was such that those who heard begged that no further word be spoken to them. For they could not bear the command, “If even a beast touches the mountain, it will be stoned.” And so terrible was the sight, that Moses said, “I am full of fear and trembling.” But you have come to Mount Zion and to the city of the living God, the heavenly Jerusalem, and to myriads of angels, to the general assembly and church of the firstborn who are enrolled in heaven, and to God, the Judge of all, and to the spirits of the righteous made perfect, and to Jesus, the mediator of a new covenant, and to the sprinkled blood, which speaks better than the blood of Abel.

Hebrews 12.18-24

Hebrews is my favorite book of the Bible, partly because of how artistically-rich it is (the typology, metaphors and illustrations, and heavy use of Old Testament texts make it very familiar to the stuff I study every day in English), but most importantly because it does such a sophisticated job of showing us how all of history acts as a pointer to the glory of God. It's so layered: The theology we confess and the good works we practice are all signposts to the work God has done in the past and promises to do in the future. I love the above passage because it provides a glimpse of God's awe-inspiring, yet also terrifying, holiness in harmony with His unprecedented mercy, made possible in Christ. The Old Testament narratives both pale in comparison to the story of redemption, yet gain incredible significance from it.

---

I'm reading a Puritan booklet appropriately titled Stop Loving the World. Purposefully picked it up because I have been very aware of temptation surrounding me lately. It's easy to want to blend into the people around you, or put undo hope in the flattering feedback you receive on work. I've never been so aware of how easily subtle shifts in thought can undermine an entire worldview. (I've also been surprised by how effective consistent prayer is for restoring the Christian state of mind: despite being one of the most mentally-challenging semesters I've experienced, it's probably been my most peaceful one yet....there's definitely a direct relationship.) Anyway, William Greenhill lists four reasons it is foolish to invest yourself in worldly concerns, and I think I need this reminder right now:

1. "It will direct you to things that are merely probable, and make you leave things that are certain." (16)
2. "Supposing we do get the world with our endeavors, we cannot keep it without fear of losing it." (17)
3. "Supposing we do get the things of the world and are able to keep them, they will not satisfy our souls." (17)
4. "Loving the world directs us toward the worst things. All the things of the world are perishing, but the things of God are durable." (19)

It's a bit of a throwback to Boethius and his similar caution against setting your hope in things that will inevitably let you down (i.e. everything not God). Just like Hebrews, we are confronted with what is here now, and what is better, later.

Grad school Stockholm syndrome

too good to keep on fb

I seem to be unable to shake the habit of writing here when I have imminent term paper deadlines. Going to keep justifying the practice as a "warm-up writing exercise." That sounds good. Anyways, in the past few months, I've had all kinds of profound thoughts on such topics as feminist literary theory, privilege, and the horror movie election that just took place. Most likely, they are offensive to both sides of their respective debates, which I find highly entertaining but nevertheless will only discuss in such backwater locations as this blog. That moderate lifestyle though. Going to save those for later and just do a quick school update for now.

---

The particular paper I'm avoiding at the moment (as much as I love it) is on Chaucer's Knight's Tale and what appears to be its semi-allegorical narrative of love and salvation. Basically, I was desperate for a topic, so I fell back on my old standby, of rereading the story and hoping for some thread of an idea to jump out at me. Bingo, I wasn't disappointed. There's this interesting moment where Chaucer hints that the conflict between the two knights ultimately comes down to love: they both love the same woman, but for different reasons. It reminded me of a popular idea in Medieval theology, originating in St. Augustine, where all of morality comes down to love: it's a good thing in itself, but it becomes bad when you either love the wrong object, or fail to recognize how a good object ultimately points you back to God. This is huge in Dante's Divine Comedy, especially in Purgatorio, which is about loving earthly things more than God. So my paper will talk about how these ideas show up in Chaucer, and how he seems to advocate a view of salvation as a phenomenon that reorients your love back to God Himself.

---

In other research-related news, I had an exciting epiphany late the other night regarding potential PhDs. I've long been contemplating taking the plunge (and I'm still very undecided), but I think I've moved a step forward in finding a potential subject. Both of my college senior thesis projects explored facets of early Baptist literature. In spring, I discovered Benjamin Keach, aka the "it guy" of early Baptist culture. I hadn't been able to do much research on him since, but in procrastinating my current project this past week, I delved a little deeper into some of his collected works. I was shocked to find out he was a bit of a prolific poet.

Being a non-conformist Puritan, Keach would have taken a strongly conservative stance on theological and cultural issues. However, he produced a treasure trove of poetry, especially of the epic genre. This is slightly huge, because the epic was considered the highest form of art in pre-modern culture; in other words, it was the most cosmopolitan, sophisticated, elite type of poetry. With its conventions of florid language, prominent Greek mythology, and humanist themes, it would seem to be the ultimate form of the "worldliness" the Puritans vehemently rejected. But here Keach, one of the leading Baptist theologians, is using it to talk about his faith. Fascinating. He also produced a lot of lyric poetry (much of which was hymn material) that connects him to another of my 17th Century heroes, George Herbert.

A lot of the church scholarship on the early Baptists focuses on their doctrinal treatises, which is understandable, given the fact that today's form of our denomination is still new (50 years or so); we're still in the process of rediscovering the theology of our forefathers. At the same time, I think that it would be a mistake to overlook Keach's penchant for literary experiments; being a representative figure of his contemporary Baptists, his interest in literary theology has a lot to say about early Baptist culture in general.

---

That got really long, but writing always helps me sort out my thoughts. Sometimes I think I'm in too deep now - as if, having discovered this gap in scholarship, I have a moral responsibility to address it. I've had professors describe it as a type of calling: you can run from it as much as you want, but it always manages to find you. Maybe I'm not that far yet. But maybe I am.

And now this post has come full circle.

One more for the road

Randomly came across this passage tonight. I've been reminded during the past few weeks of how often Apollyon likes to show up as soon as we exit the Palace Beautiful; it's when I've been most vulnerable lately. Glad for the reminder that I need to keep in the Scriptures especially after I leave church on Sunday.

Then Apollyon espying his opportunity, began to gather up close to Christian, and wrestling with him, gave him a dreadful fall; and with that Christian's Sword flew out of his hand. Then said Apollyon, I am sure of thee now; and with that he had almost prest him to death; so that Christian began to despair of life. But as God would have it, while Apollyon was fetching of his last blow, thereby to make a full end of this good Man, Christian nimbly reached out his hand for his Sword, and caught it, saying, Rejoice not against me, O mine enemy! when I fall, I shall arise; and with that, gave him a deadly thrust, which made him give back, as one that had received his mortal wound: Christian perceiving that, made at him again, saying, Nay, in all these things we are more than conquerors, through him that loved us. And with that, Apollyon spread forth his Dragons wings, and sped him away, that Christian saw him no more.

In this Combat no man can imagine, unless he had seen and heard as I did, what yelling, and hideous roaring Apollyon made all the time of the night, he spake like a Dragon: and on the other side, what sighs and groans burst from Christians heart. I never saw him all the while give so much as one pleasant look, till he perceived he had wounded Apollyon with his two-edg'd Sword, then indeed did he smile, and look upward: but 'twas the dreadfullest sight that ever I saw.

(Pilgrim's Progress, 94-96)

A reminder to self of why I do what I do

One of the perks of being at a big (to me) research university is that we have access to a lot of English-related databases. There's stuff I've never heard of before, and it seems like each week I find out about some new place that sounds fun to aimlessly browse helpful for grown-up research. One of my friends mentioned that  EEBO (Early English Books Online) has some pretty crazy theological stuff, so naturally I had to check it out. Anyway, somehow I ended up looking up first-ish editions of the King James and Geneva Bibles. HOLY MOLY THESE ARE COOL! Even though the days of Catholic manuscripts are gone, these Bibles are still way prettier than anything we have today. Woodblock prints and design-y stuff all over the place, right next to the text. They're also straight up study Bibles. Maps, explanatory notes, summaries, cross-references, read-the-Bible-in-a-year-calendars.

 

There's also this. Might have to click on it to see it more clearly, but I loved the pastoral care behind the decision to include advice on how to get the most out of your reading:

CHARTS FOR THE WIN!

That is all.

(Maybe a life update later.....the past few weeks have been nutty)

Loss & hope

When literary criticism suddenly hits home:

It is not conflicted for Virgil to see betterment in history and yet be haunted by the sorrows of the world; rather, it is the mark of a mature and many-sided mind. Certainly, the view that a voice of doubt and sadness is the 'real' voice and that the paeans to Roman achievement should be discounted misses one of the poem's dimensions. In the underworld Aeneas wants to spend more time with a dead comrade, but the Sybil tells him that night is hastening on and 'we squander the hours in weeping'. That is the Aeneid in a nutshell: the impulse to linger compassionately and lament, but also the stern pressing on towards a greater purpose.

(Richard Jenkyns, Classical Literature, p. 169)

Disinterested virtue

During the past few weeks, a combination of personal reading, life experiences, and academic discussions has left me mulling over the idea of integrity.

It's easy to do the right thing when its consequences are in your favor. It's a lot harder when you know there's nothing in it for you. Or even worse, when there's a direct certainty that taking the moral high ground is going to detract from your private happiness/security/satisfaction. How many of us have the nerve to go ahead anyway?

As our culture hurtles toward narcissism acute individualism, it's bringing along a shift in our code of ethics. I'm not overly-fond of the trendy bashing on Millennials that goes on,* but I am disturbed by this pervasive attitude amongst those of my generation, that the ultimate rule of morality is personal fulfillment. We seriously consider moral dilemmas like: "I want X, but it belongs to Y. Is it less moral for me to take X from Y or for me to be forced to go the rest of my life without having X?" This scenario alone is thinly-veiled theft. Our ethical code is teetering on the edge of chaos; how can you have a functional society where we all are out, first and foremost, for our own interests?

The very core of virtue is its selflessness. It places the needs of others above those of the self. It does not feel entitled to anything. It recognizes that good transcends immediate happiness. It is humility and hope.

One of my deepest regrets, as an English person, is that the word "charity" has fallen out of use. There aren't any other terms that encapsulate the kind of love motivating true virtue. It's the caritas of Latin and the agape of Greek. It's old Christian theology. Which, for me, will always be a point in its favor.

---

*Beyond the hastily-broad generalizations, I believe that most of the time, the legitimate problems cited are universal issues associated with coming-of-age, not just with those born between 1985 and 2000.

Week 2 and still alive

Titus Andronicus living the dream

So I think I discovered my dream job.

Only half of my work as an MA student is the actual coursework - the usual stuff like attending class, reading/annotating homework, writing. For those of us who were fortunate enough to get into the program with full funding, however, the other half takes the shape of a (bottom-of-the-totem-pole) department job. Most people work as TAs, teaching freshmen English; I'll let you imagine what it's like to teach a curriculum you had no hand in developing to people who don't want to be there. I have the utmost respect for my fellow grad students, because they are down in the trenches.

There are a handful of us, however, who do other things. I have no idea how I lucked out on this, but I wound up being an RA ("research assistant," not dorm supervisor). RAs have a less clearly-defined set of duties. When I got the official job description, there was everything from proofreading faculty manuscripts to actual research on authors or bibliographies. I have a hard time thinking of this as a job, because it is so much fun to do. Currently, I work for three different professors. For one, I hunt around for a very specific type of poetry for use in an upcoming paper; another has me transcribing correspondence of a 20th century political activist for a book project; and for the third, I'm gathering sources for the bibliography of yet another upcoming book.

Along the way, I find myself learning a lot about topics that wouldn't normally have captured my attention; I'm surprised by how intellectually invested I'm getting in other people's projects! The icing on the cake came today, when I handed one of the professors the files of my work from last week - I have never seen such joy come over a person. I am not exaggerating when I say that "giddy" is a relevant keyword. How can that kind of enthusiasm not rub off? So in a first-world kind of way, I feel like I'm helping people, which is a very satisfying thought. As far as I know, no such thing exists, but if there was any way to do this kind of job full-time, this would be my first choice in careers.

On the academic front:

Medieval Literature: We read books 1 & 2 of Boethius' Consolation of Philosophy this week, which pleased me, because this marks the third time I've studied this book: highschool, college, and now grad school. I think that of all the choices to follow me through each stage of my education, this is one of the most appropriate. We touched on allegory today, which I hear will be developed further in subsequent weeks. I'm excited about that, since it dovetails nicely with my own research interests (Pilgrim's Progress and The Divine Comedy come to mind).

Shakespeare: This week focused on Revenge Tragedy. Titus Andronicus was the focal point. Good heavens. This has to be - by far - the darkest of any of Shakespeare's plays, at least that I've read. There is so much gore happening onstage that I had to wonder exactly how they depicted somebody's hand getting chopped off back in the 16th Century. A lot of the class discussion had to do with the impact of revenge on the character executing it. Does it strengthen or weaken them? It could be read as a glorious assertion of self or as a descent into caricature. I tend toward the latter. Watching Titus or Hieronimo (Spanish Tragedy) go on their quests for vengeance, I saw them gradually lose touch with the world around them; they were no longer able to constructively interact with society, which I believe is a crucial virtue in Shakespeare. I also read Harold Bloom's analysis of Titus, and he commented that the over-the-top melodrama of the play is too bad to be taken seriously; he's of the opinion that it was a parody. That was illuminating, and helped explain why I felt like I was reading something straight out of gothic Romanticism.