A Doll's House

Last week I read Henrik Ibsen's play, "A Doll's House", for seminar. It took me about 2 hours to finish it. It disturbed me pretty deeply as I was reading it . . . in fact, I still think it's the most depressing thing I've read in seminar all four years. It's even more depressing than Lucretius and his theory that 'happiness is watching other people drown'. I mean, Lucretius was still speaking about speculative philosophy - there is a pretty good chance that he didn't follow his own theories all the time. This play is about a horrible marriage; a frightfully realistic, horrible marriage. That's really, really depressing.
If I am to take the back of the book seriously, it seems that this play is commonly held up as a courageous rebellion against the moral dictates of its time. I can see how it might be seen that way . . . Ibsen wrote it to make certain statements, and he made them.
However, I must say I didn't expect my seminar to be so duped by him.
I'm not sure whether to blame Ibsen nearly as much as the influence of modern culture, but something has really gotten to people, and I cannot help but say that my personal estimation of my classmates just went down by a pretty big percentage. Only two vocal people in the whole seminar were actively defending marriage as a lifelong commitment - - I simply cannot get over how appalling that is. Well, maybe appalling isn't the right word. I was angry, yes, (falsehoods generally tick me off) but more than that I was saddened. It was just too horrible!
To give a bit more background: at the end of the play, the woman leaves her husband. Okay, granted, the marriage was horrible. Granted, he was a total jerkface. Granted, up until that time she had been completely ignorant of a great many things. Separation may have been excusable, in fact - - the relationship was in deep trouble. But, she didn't just leave - - she took off her wedding ring and asked for hers in return. While she did so she expressly stated that she considered herself free from any commitment to him, and he was free from any commitment to her. That, my friends, is where I draw the line.
Universally, unequivocally, that is wrong.
Human beings aren't rodentia -- they mate for life. From the very, very beginning, man was created by God to leave his father and mother and cling to his wife - the two would become one flesh. What was worse is that this was the very reading from Genesis that we heard on the day our seminar was held. Anyone who had gone to daily mass that day would have heard it that recently.
Many people in my seminar were trying to argue that the woman in the play was just taking off her ring to make a show - to impress upon her husband how necessary it was for him to change. I don't buy that for a second . . . you can't expect someone you're married to to bear hearing you tell them you're through with them and not expect a deep, horrible rift as a consequence. The trust in that relationship would have been completely gone after that kind of an action. Even if the ends justified the means (which they don't - renouncing her wedding vows would be wrong no matter what) it's not even possible for her to have accomplished healing or constructive relationship changes through this action. Human relationships just plain don't work that way.
And, what's MORE - - the woman in the play left three children behind her, one of them a baby. How people could possibly be thinking her actions moral is quite beyond me . . . even if she did think her servants to be better caretakers than she, there is nobody who can replace a mother - she would have known that. Every mother knows that . . . heck, any lower animal with the most basic maternal instinct knows that.
Once again I am reminded that morality belongs to practical wisdom, not speculative, and that people here excel in the latter and not necessarily in the former. All I can say is that I hope that the arguments being made late last week were the results of naievete, peer pressure or impulse, and that nobody will have to learn about these things the hard way.

Oh, my sweet Jesus, please preserve them all from such a painful, terrible thing!

I've decided that the Trinity is very confusing. It gives me a headache . . . I mean, don't get me wrong, it's not a good thing that God is so frustrating for me - - I can't help but feel there's something disordered in this reaction of mine. But, you know, human language isn't suited to talking about Him like this, so your words end up not really reflecting things properly at all, and then you have to go making all these qualifications here there an everywhere, and when it's all said and done you still feel like you're coming up sooooo short. It's like trying to build a hovercraft with an erector set - - - *sigh*
Last night, a bunch of my classmates were having some kind of strangely joyous debate over the East vs. West on certain trinitarian distinctions. I'm standing here looking at them like they're aliens from outer space. Why talk about this so much? It's just too painful . . .
My fiance said I have to view this as a contemplation or a prayer, but it's been really, really hard to do that, since it does require so much intellectual rigour not to state or imply a heresy, and I can't help but think that's an impious thing to do. Grrr . . . thank goodness we're almost done with it.

On Cosmetics . . .

I can see a storm coming. The hour is on its way when World War III will begin. I will have on my wedding dress, my hair will be done, the shoes will be on, and someone, whether it's my mother, well, or what's more likely, my sister, or, what's even more likely, some random aunt (either of the adopted or inherited variety. . . very seriously suspecting an attack from the adopted one), will emerge with some paint and try to apply it to my face.

. . . and all heck will break loose . . .

Let's make sure we get one thing straight from the outset; I have not, in my time here at college, formed some wild, prudish, universal condemnation of cosmetics. I don't think such a condemnation would be reasonable in any way whatsoever. Even St. Thomas himself (please note the conspicious omission of St. Augustine . . . he and I have a more dubious relationship on moral matters), however it may be the case that he was writing for a different age with different customs (reading this article, Summa Theologiae, Secunda Secundae, Q 169, does make me think he would be hard pressed to approve of my blue jeans . . . ), argues that scripture condemned as sinful not all adornments but only those which were barbarically ostentatious and unbecoming to human dignity. Moreover, St. Thomas states very clearly that painting of the face, as a particular variety of adornment, may be done by a woman if her end is the pleasure of her husband, or if her way of life is such that it is fittingly directed towards that end in some way (say, if she is using cosmetics for the pleasure of some future husband). He also distinquishes frivolous use from using paint to cover blemishes or hide the effects of illness, which is more akin to covering what ought to be hidden. In short, there are legitimate uses for cosmetics according to St. Thomas, as long as it is always done with moderation, and if it is directed to it's proper end - that is, the pleasure of one's husband.

Now, it hardly seems justifiable for me to wear cosmetics on my wedding day if my betrothed has clearly stated a dislike for such things, as his pleasure would be the only end acceptable for the use of such means. That is enough of an argument for me right there. However, to give him a fair account, he thinks it disgraceful that he or anyone else should require me to in any way alter my features, which he deems beautiful of themselves. He claims that it only hides their elegance to touch them with foreign materials, and that it is me he likes to see. I have come to understand that this inclination of his is not from a prudish condemnation either, but from a deep sensitivity to my soul as the form of my body; he thinks of my beauty as an aspect of of my being, from the inside out. This preference of his, as it is so pure of intention and so very indicative of a rightly-ordered pleasure in my person as it naturally is, makes me extremely anxious to honor his preference.

The arguments which are presented against this are normally something along the line of etiquette - the demands of social custom regarding proper attire on special occasions which require certain practices for the sake of formality blah blah blah . . .

What I want to know is if any of these social demands - these perfunctory rules of 20th/21st century etiquette - should ever be more important to me than the known preferences of my future husband - for whom, on my wedding day, of all days, I ought to please with my appearance? If his preferences required me to wear an African head dress, I might be able to see some reason to at least debate the issue with him, as an African head dress seems . . . unbecoming to my little white dignity, if you will . . . Nevertheless, quite to the contrary, his preferences are aimed at nothing ostentatious, but they're more inclined towards natural beauty - he thinks cosmetic adornments unnecessary and even unsuitable to my face. Why would I place modern social dictum above his (very reasonable) tastes? Hmmmm?

So, ladies, bring on the compacts, and see if you can get them near me . . . I dare you - you just go ahead and try.

Into Great Silence

I was fortunate enough to watch this movie last weekend, and I highly recommend it - the approach was nothing if not fitting, the cinematography absolutely breathtaking, and the message deep and profound. In our modern world, we cannot help but wonder if our culture, with all it's noise, holds any place for man to listen only to God and His Creation. How delightful it is to see that yes, there are places where the voice of God is the only sound, and the hearts of men rejoice in the bounty of His love.
Refraining from all the usual temptations of the media to interview, poke and prod, the director has managed to do something for Catholicism that the media never does - he has listened, though they were silent, and his film shows how very much he has heard.
The offical site is here.
In the Peace of Christ,
Em

I have come down ill, along with most of this little campus.
So, I am chugging herbal tea as I type, and I hope to go to bed early.

My mother says they're thinking about getting another free dog. The last dog that was given to us was a Jack Russell Terrier, and overall he's been a good one,

he's cute, and not the least bit psychotic (as, evidently, Jack Russell Terriers often are). He's actually very laid-back and human . . . so human, in fact, that he's not much fun as a playmate. But hey, at least he's not psycho.

This new dog has been represented to us as being hyperactive, however. He is another terrier - a Boston terrier. I was unsure what these looked like so I ran a photo search on Google. It brought this up:

. . . now, okay, in a way, it's a cute dog, and then again, if you were looking for the exemplar form of cuteness, this mutt would NOT be it. Quite frankly, if it's going to be psycho-pup, as far as I'm concerned this face is not enough to save it from a quick and painless death.

Now, then again, considering the situation, I'm getting married in a few months, so the greatest amount of time I'd have to live with this animal would be . . . six weeks - not even that. Mind you, those will probably be the most stressful six weeks of my life to date, and a little yapping weirdo may only intensify the insanity, but let's not borrow our worries . . . we have enough of those.


On other musings . . .

I have been missing my second obsession to an absurd degree this semester. As we get closer to the wedding my separation anxiety seems to be intensifying. I have almost run into people twice this week, closing my eyes as I walked back to the dorm - taking in sensations and remembering the past. The smell of the air helps me to remember how it was to have him beside me, so I breathe it in, deep and slow. Why is it that it was so much easier to notice the smell of the sagebrush, the sound of the rain, the softness of the breeze, when he was here? If I close my eyes and try to sense all these things like I used to, my memory becomes so beautifully clear, and when I open them again I cannot help but think that, even if it is a sorrow, at least I can rest in the fact that it's a sweet one, and a temporary one, too.

I know, mushy stuff. Sometimes I just gotta let it out, k?

Pax Christi,
Me