“Because there was no room for them at the inn.”

Those words, some of the most poignant in all of Western literature, words which have inspired countless treasures of music and iconography and devotion, may be a mistranslation.

That is the suggestion of Ian Paul, an Anglican theologian who argues that the Greek word kataluma which St. Jerome rendered diversorium and most English Bibles translate “inn” may well mean simply, as it does elsewhere in the Gospels, “upper room.”

… the actual design of Palestinian homes (even to the present day) makes sense of the whole story. … most families would live in a single-room house, with a lower compartment for animals to be brought in at night, and either a room at the back for visitors, or space on the roof. The family living area would usually have hollows in the ground, filled with straw, in the living area, where the animals would feed.

—mangers, that is, which would provide a natural place to rest a baby.

Paul provides a few other reasons, aside from the philological one, as to why the traditional picture of the Holy Family alone in a stable or cave may be lacking in historical accuracy: most notably, the hospitality customs of the Middle East would have made it nearly impossible for St. Joseph not to have been received by some of his relatives.

Read the rest at the Register.

Homo Erectus

My long-running obsession with justice and judgment (fed by the current dissertation chapter) has made the words pop out everywhere; Scripture, of course, is full of the ideas.  And in mulling over the Hosea reading mentioned in my last post, it occurred to me that the obsession may appear a little grisly to anyone not writing an academic chapter focused on the topic.  “Justice” brings to mind such disturbing phrases as “the justice system” or “Justice Kavanaugh”; our ear catches at a word and surrounds it with the auras of other words with which we are used to hearing it matched.  Nor is it of any help if our mind interposes the more apropos phrase “a just God,” for it is generally uttered these days in doubt or mockery or, at best, when trying to lay doubt and mockery to rest.  Justice sounds like a sham; and if it dares enter our heads to think of real justice, most of us (we tell ourselves rightly) tremble.

I think it need not and ought not to be that way.  The Hosea reading suggests that there is a sort of incipient “justice” we human beings should cultivate in our lives on earth; if we do that, we need not fear when Divine Justice rains down.  But I think one can go farther than the cryptic metaphors of the Old testament prophet.  His image of our justice springing up to meet Another’s coming down, with its insistence on the perpendicularity of the arrangement, calls to mind another common translation of whatever biblical word is being rendered in English as “just”: upright.

Just, upright, erect.  The former two are synonyms, as are the latter two, although the first and the third do not share a common meaning.  But with good reason Hosea calls up the image of grain growing erect towards the sky: there is a coordination between standing erect and being just, an inherent symbolism that is not a merely human invention.  The etymology tells the story: the thing that we call just is also called being upright; to be just is our birthright as human beings, and what distinguishes us from other animals; it is no terrifying external imposition; it is as natural to us (in one sense) spiritually as walking erect is physically.  We stand erect because that is an image of how we ought to stand internally: upright.  To be upright, that is, pointing up at the sun, is natural for flowers that draw from its rays their strength.  In an upright human being who does the same, we say briefly and without comprehension that he is “just.”  What we really mean is that, like the sunflower, he stretches naturally towards the Sun of Justice from which all the rectitude of his nature comes.

The Beauty in the Beast

Part 2 of a series.  Part 1 is here and the latter four parts are here, here, here, and here.

My claim in the previous post might be summarized as follows.  There is an impression running about and shouting (like a chicken with its head cut off) that fairy tales are supposed to be dark.  This is only partially true: fairy tales certainly contain frightening things.  But the fairy tale genre is stylistically ill-equipped to raise and answer psychological, cultural, or moral questions; consequently, a lot of the “darkness” that we see in adaptations of fairy tales is in fact a moral dinginess imposed by our expansion of their narratives.  And in expanding, we have a choice: we can emphasize what is creepy, or what is wholesome (not to sound too Richard Weaver about it).  A “dark” fairy tale movie reflects who we are as a culture as much as (or perhaps more than) it reflects the original fairy tale.

One of my favorite fairy tales, “Beauty and the Beast,” is a case in point.  Had I seen the Disney version at a young age, I am less sure it would have been my favorite; having no source beyond a cassette recording by “Children’s Radio Theater,” I fell in love.  But college came: innocence was lost: I saw Beauty and the Beast, and enjoyed it, without having it displace the original in my heart.

But Jean Cocteau’s version, which I saw about the same time, was different.  I thought then and still think now (subject always to the revision of another viewing) that Cocteau came rather closer to capturing the spirit of the story as it then was known.  As much as Linda Wolverton and co. at Disney borrowed from Cocteau (and observers have noticed all sorts of things, from a Gaston-like rival to an enchanted candlestick), they left out something important: the characters of Belle and the Beast.  These are not very fully fleshed out in the source (again, see my previosu post); but Cocteau’s film seems to develop what is already there, while the Disney team took another direction entirely.  As a result, Cocteau’s film for grownup audiences turns out, counterintuitively, to be less “creepy” than Disney’s, though no less frightening.

For frightening and creepy are not the same thing at all,

 as Meg Murry almost said.

My previous post noted that some viewers were reacting to the buzz around Disney’s new B&B by asserting that the story “glorified Stockholm Syndrome.”   More specifically, some denizens of the Book of Face expressed (perhaps merely rhetorical) concern that B&B implanted on the minds of impressionable young girls the notion that men who held them and/or their aged relatives captive and shouted and threw stuff about were no worse than a bit rough around the edges.  It was unclear, in the critical comments that I encountered, whether this criticism was leveled at the Disney movies specifically, or at all things bearing the title “Beauty and the Beast.”  Given our general state of cultural ignorance, I rather fear the latter.  But the accusation, if it was general, was not merited: there are large differences between the “original” fairy tale, the Cocteau film (1946), and Disney’s 1991 adaptation.  I would argue that these differences make all the difference between a story which “glorifies Stockholm Syndrome” and one which is more subtle and less potentially misleading.

If you have the time for it, I would request that you do a little homework.  Here is a summary of the original fairytale; here is a summary of the film by Cocteau; and here is a summary of the Disney film.

Note that I am cherry-picking based on what I have seen …

there are many versions of the story, from many cultures—

Norse, American Indian, etc.—and the “beastly” character

is sometimes female, as in the “loathly lady” tradition.

If you completed your reading and returned, congratulations!  If you skipped or skimmed your assignment, like ninety-eight percent of my former students, I’ll pull a teacher and powerpoint the relevant differences between Disney et al.

Details	Villeneuve/Beaumont (1740/56)	Cocteau (1946)	Disney (1991)
Entrapment of father by Beast	At first treated royally, the father plucks a rose and is accused of ingratitude/theft, and threatened with death.	At first treated royally, the father plucks a rose and is accused of ingratitude/theft, and threatened with death.	The father is imprisoned by the Beast for being lost.
Deal between father and Beast	The Beast relents when the merchant promises to either come back himself or send one of his children.	The Beast suggests that one of the merchant’s daughters can take his place.	Deal?  You think this Beast makes deals?
How the Beast initially receives Beauty	“graciously”	See left; the Beast explains that she has as much power to command as he.	Um … does the word “hostility” convey anything?
What life in the castle is like	Pleasant from the get-go; the Beast proposes nightly, and Beauty’s reaction is always: “Nice guy, but nope.”	Beauty is uncomfortable with the Beast’s proposals of marriage, but grows to enjoy his company.	Initial hostility and incivility on the part of the Beast is gradually overcome, and mutual regard established.
Why the Beast’s spell, anyway?	“… an evil fairy … tried to seduce [the prince] … when he refused, she transformed him into a beast.”	“… because his parents did not believe in spirits, in revenge the spirits turned him into the Beast.”	“An enchantress … offers an enchanted rose to a young prince in exchange for shelter … but he refuses. For his arrogance, the enchantress transforms him into a beast …”

In brief: The French Bête is a gentleman, and the American “Beast” is not.

Now, admittedly, the French Beast uses threats and chicanery to entice Beauty to his castle (offering to kill dear old dad is a questionable move by anyone’s standards).  Nevertheless, his kindness to Beauty once she appears suggests that, even with her father, his bark was worse than his bite ever would have been.  He is, from the first, a far cry from the grouchy—let’s be honest, a downright terrifying recluse of the Disney movie.

I’m not entirely sure why Disney made the changes—perhaps to up the ante in terms of obstacles to love? or to make Belle’s initial rejections of the Beast seem less shallow?  Whatever the rationale, these changes simultaneously call her character and intelligence into question when we witness her acceptance of the (now ex?) monster.  We are supposed to move, in the course of a three minute song, from believing that the Beast is “mean … coarse … and unrefined” (not to mention mentally unstable and abusive), to judging him a pretty decent bloke who just needs some better hair-styling advice.  This is farcical if you don’t take it seriously, and bad role-modeling if you do.  But such is the power of music that we accept it unblinkingly, at least until the credits role and the lights come up again.

Perhaps the goal for Disney was less to strengthen Belle’s character than to provide a stronger story arc for the Beast.  And certainly, going from handsome but arrogant numbskull to violent captor to genteel and ultimately altruistic fur-ball is a trajectory.  But there are so many other possible trajectories that could have been forged from the motherload.  For example:

B&B, Continent-Man-Gains-Virtue Edition: The Beast is initially focused simply on finding a girl to break the spell; as his respect for Beauty as a person develops, he realizes this is unfair to her, and lets her go home, knowing it will doom him to permanent enchantment.

B&B, Old Style Therapy Edition: The Beast has initially given up hope that his spell can ever be broken; eventually Beauty helps him regain his self-respect and hope.

B&B, Modern Therapy Edition: The Beast is initially focused simply on finding a girl to break the spell; as his friendship with Beauty develops, he comes to accept his ugliness.  (Yeah, that’s a little too Shrek for me, but still …)

B&B, Ann-of-Green-Gables Edition: The Beast is initially looking just for companionship, because he’s totally cool with being ugly; his interactions with Beauty lead him to realize that love would be even more awesome, and that he would really like to earn her love as well as her friendship.

That’s four possibilities, just off the top of my head …

I know what you’re thinking.  Naw.

There’s no way I’ve ever worked on

my own adaptation of this story.

… possibilities which Disney ignored—in favor of … what, exactly?  A stronger Belle?  OK, let’s try developing her character too then.  In the original story, her main obstacle to accepting the Beast’s marriage proposals is seemingly the Beast’s appearance.  That’s a little shallow, maybe.  So what about …

B&B, Righteous Woman Edition: Beauty initially goes to the Beast’s castle terrified of the Beast and his evil deal with her father.  She eventually gets up enough courage to call out the Beast on his selfishness; he lets her go home, she eventually returns of her own free will, and they start from scratch.  (This obviously pairs well with B&B, Continent-Man-Gains-Virtue Edition.)

B&B, Old Style Therapy Edition: Beauty initially goes to the Beast’s castle thinking that, unlike her sisters, she was going to stay single for dear old dad’s sake; taking dad’s place with the Beast is merely an extension of the sacrifice.  Over time in the castle, she comes to realize that her apparent self-abnegation is actually a form of selfishness: she has been avoiding romantic love out of fear that [her heart will break OR it will look selfish of her OR need to be needed by dad OR …].

B&B, Modern Therapy Edition: Beauty initially goes to the Beast’s castle thinking that she’s looking for the perfect man to love; her time with the Beast leads her to realize that romantic love is overplayed anyway, and they can just be platonic friends while she pursues her REAL dream as a sustainable forestry entrepreneur.

B&B, We’re Only Human Edition: Beauty initially goes to the Beast’s castle resenting her father and the Beast for making the deal.  She comes to understand the pressures under which the Beast cut the deal, when she makes a similar deal herself (I’ll go home for three days—oops, yeah, sorry, that was three weeks, jk, right?), and realizes her hypocrisy.  (May or may not pair with various Beast stories.)

BONUS:  B&B, Canon Lawyer Edition (Catholic audiences only): Beauty initially turns down the Beast’s proposal of marriage because, while she’d love to help him out, she’s concerned that maybe marriage with him might violate a norm or two.  Fr. Jacques-Phillippe assures her that (1) the Beast is a rational animal, and thus technically human; and (2) the Beast’s backstory indicates that they have a pretty good chance of procreating ten kids, none of whom look even vaguely lionesque.  A lovely wedding ensues, with the Beast scattering gold coins everywhere like Alan Rickman, and the villagers remarking that, since he’s rich and she’s handsome, it’s nbd, but what an atrocious lack of lace! Selena would stare when she heard of it …

Are these all great movies in the making?  Perhaps not.  But they are different stories—different takes on the fairy tale; different enough to suggest, I think, that there was no need for Disney to skirt so close to the edge as it did with its unoriginal moral conundrum of a beautiful girl who falls in love with a bad, bad man.

The series will resume some time during Easter Week.

Fish for Breakfast

The backyard fauna includes a variety of birds, including a white heron and what appears to be an immature blue; and on a number of occasions both have been observed stalking.  The stalk of a heron is surprisingly cat-like: there is something feline about the elegance with which the legs and neck move slowly, gracefully, gratuitously (was that bob needed? but surely nothing in nature is wasted) towards the perceived prey.  But never until this morning did we see a heron actually feeding.  There he was, however, the immature blue, standing on the edge of the nearest island, fully visible from the bedroom window, and trying, for some minutes without success, to persuade the increasingly floppy silver-colored fish to turn from perpendicular to parallel in the beak.  Herons, after all, like all birds, have no teeth; so swallowing Nemo whole was apparently the only option.  (Nemo was, in fact, the size of a good-aged catfish, and we felt not the least compunction for him.)

Meanwhile, out of stage right appears Captain Hook’s ancient nemesis, whose log-like flotations have disturbed these waters on three or four occasions before.  Like the heron, he has yet to catch anything during observation hours.  Generally he floats, lazily, apparently waiting for some ripple to stir his sensitive nostrils and alert him to the presence of prey.  This morning he moved with a rapidity that was simultaneously astonishing, alarming, and instructive (not that we were going to paddle in the marsh, anyway): his elbows (do alligators have elbows?) actually popped the surface as he sped towards the island.  Then, a few feet away, a pause.  Once again we see the log.

Meanwhile the immature blue heron is still wrestling with its fish.  It is more difficult when your beak is your only pair of hands, as well as your mouth.  (New idea for a rebuke to small future offspring: “What do you think you are, a heron?!”)  The beady reptilian eye of the heron shines with victory; the beady reptilian eye of the alligator with anticipation.  The alligator slides a tad closer, situating himself in some reeds.  Excellent camouflage, my friend; but you won’t be able to pass through those without the heron noticing.  Meanwhile, the immature blue has finally downed the fish and is taking sips of swamp water as a chaser.  Then, elegant as ever, he deliberately—at least it looks deliberate—turns his back on the alligator and stalks gracefully a step or two away.  Not running, not taking off.  Just a few steps.

The alligator decides that this particular immature blue is perhaps a little too mature already, or else too far away.  He turns and slides slowly a few yards back towards the center of the pond, and resumes his solitary station, awaiting further ripples.  The heron takes off.

All’s quiet on the northern front.

A Few News Stories I Would Like to See

Since I expressed a lack of interest in the predominant news of the current cycle in my last, I thought it might be a public service to mention a few news stories which I would actually enjoy reading.  (And no, if the Onion or the Toast or any such interesting website named after an item normally ingested before being digested is the source, it doesn’t actually count.  One must draw a line somewhere.)

Libertarian Party Nominates Socially Conservative Candidate

Paul Ryan explains that, following GOP collapse, boyhood fascination with Ayn Rand made party a “logical choice” for him, and him a “logical choice” for party.

Beloved Dentist Eaten by Black Bear; Appalachia Mourns

“Who will brush Bessie’s teeth now?” asked Mae Lou Ellis Stevens.

France Offers Asylum to Fifteen Christian Homeschooling Families after Expulsion from Germany

England has agreed to take in comparable groups from Sweden, Denmark, citing excellent record with WWII refugees.

Listeria Epidemic Linked to Organic Food Market in San Jose

Monsanto donates 1.6 million kg of tomatoes to replace damaged goods.

More Tractors Are Being Made, Bought, Used in U.S.

Fathers everywhere happy.  Also teenage boys, wives, and mothers.

Japan Erects Statue Honoring Francis Xavier

Reparations expected to descendants of the Christian missionaries and converts executed by Japanese government.

Vladimir Putin Eaten by Black Bear; Russian Orthodox Sings Hymns

Since we don’t know Russian, and all Russian music is sad, we don’t know how they really feel.

Summer Expected to be Cool, Moderately Dry in D.C.

Lawyers call climate changes “bad for business.”

California’s Crops Lovin’ the Rain

Mudslides demolish two-thirds of Hollywood Hills; iconic sign destroyed.

Ayatollah Khomeini Eaten by Black Bear; Iranians Wave Flags

Since we don’t know Farsi, we don’t actually know what’s written on the flags either.

ISIS Eaten by Army of Black Bears

Special “Black Ops Down Under” Mission was best-guarded secret of U.S.-Australian alliance.

Sheryl Sandberg to Retire and Care for Children; Will Be Replaced by Black Bear Named Bo

Bo swears he’s not carnivorous; has stayed away from children ever since that unfortunate incident with vegetarian Goldie Lochs (“Was she Scotch or Jewish?  I don’t even know …”); regular attendant of AA meetings since 1994.

That’s All, Folks!