The Song of Achilles by Madeline Miller

Source of book: Borrowed from the library.

This was this month’s selection for our “Literary Lush” book club. One of the things I enjoy about this club is that I end up reading interesting books that I never would have discovered on my own.

Earlier in the year, the club read Miller’s second novel, Circe, and apparently everyone loved it. I was camping, and was unable to participate - I hope to catch up on that one later. 

I read The Iliad in my teens - we had to read the chapter on the death of Hector for school (along with, inexplicably, the departure of Telemachus for The Odyssey - easily the most boring section if read out of context - I think because it was a Fundie video course, the thought of sexual escapades was a bridge too far.) I decided to read both of Homer’s epics at that time. I have re-read The Odyssey several times since then. I haven’t returned to The Iliad, in part because there were whole chapters of battle scenes that I found tedious. The central story, though, is quite fascinating, and worthy of a new look.

Madeline Miller studied the classics (in the Greek and Roman sense) and went on to teach Greek and Latin to high school students. During that time, she started working on what became her first book. She credits Plato for the ideas in The Song of Achilles, which is a retelling of the myth of Achilles from the point of view of his friend (and lover) Patroclus.

I’ll give a bit of a spoiler here, assuming that is possible given that these myths are 2500 years old.

Achilles was a famous warrior, born to a human father and a minor goddess. She made him nearly (but not completely) invincible. When he came of age, the Trojan War erupted. Helen, the ultimate MacGuffin, has been kidnapped by (or ran off with) pretty-boy Paris, prince of Troy. Her husband, Menelaus, is determined to get her back. His brother, Agamemnon, smells an opportunity to get rich off the spoils. Because of an oath to defend Helen’s honor, all the kings of the Greeks sail to Troy to fight. Achilles comes of his own free will, seeking glory. He has been offered the choice of long life and obscurity or short life and glory. My choice would have been different, which is why I will never be the subject of an epic poem. After 10 years of mostly fruitless fighting, the war still hasn’t ended, and tempers are short. As The Iliad opens, Achilles has quarreled with Agamemnon. Both are proud. Achilles wants to be his own boss, and Agamemnon disagrees. When Agamemnon makes a bullheaded mistake which offends the gods and brings a plague on the Greeks, Achilles points it out and gets the wrath of Agamemnon, who seeks to take a woman won as a war prize from Achilles. As a result, Achilles refuses to fight for the Greeks and sits in his tent as the Trojans wreak havoc on the Greek ships. Seeking to save the Greeks, Patroclus puts on Achilles’ armor and fights, killing more than his skill level would indicate, before he is killed by Hector. Achilles is furious, and pursues and kills Hector. This is where The Iliad ends, but other legends carry forward the story. Because of a prophecy (and Apollo), Achilles loses his invulnerability after killing Hector, and he is killed by an arrow shot by Paris. With the playing field again even, a stratagem is needed. Odysseus invents the Trojan Horse, and the rest is history...I mean mythology.

Miller chooses to focus on a more human aspect of the story, and chooses the point of view of Patroclus. When I first read The Iliad, I could tell that Patroclus was more than a mere friend of Achilles - but it wasn’t spelled out. Later writers - Plato included - stated the obvious, that they were lovers. Miller starts the story early in Patroclus’ life, when he is a young boy and accidentally kills another boy who was bullying him. As a result, he is exiled and sent to live with Achilles’ parents. This much is part of the myth. Miller does take one liberty in making Achilles and Patroclus the same age, where the original myth put Patroclus as the older.

The Song of Achilles spends most of the first half telling of the boyhood, adolescence, and growing closeness of the two. After that, fate and circumstances intervene, and the rest tells of the events in Homer’s epic and its aftermath.

Knowing Patroclus’ fate, I was curious to see how that was handled. Did the book just end with his death? (That would have been annoying and missed the key events of the original story.) Would someone else tell the rest? Who?

Miller decided to have Patroclus continue to tell the story after death - he is a disembodied spirit seeking rest, who longs to be reunited with his lover. The book thus ends when he is able to, after Achilles mother intervenes.

Having not read Circe, I don’t have anything to compare this book to. I did find it enjoyable. Miller knows her myths, and does a good job of giving them a modern spin. By modern, I mean that the story is told with modern sensibilities. For example, rather than focus on all the famous ancestors of potential listeners that Achilles killed or fought alongside, Miller focuses on a personal relationship. Rather than telling of the gods and the fates and destiny as the main drivers of history, she looks at the human interactions and psychology. Homer assumed that everyone would understand why Achilles would get pissed. Miller delves into his more personal motivations. Homer took for granted that women were chattel to be won like war trophies. Miller, through Patroclus, questions that assumption and humanizes the women. The myths seem all too okay with human sacrifice, while Miller exposes the horror. And notes that women seemed to be the usual sacrifices, not men. And, perhaps most strikingly, Miller views the Achilles Patroclus relationship through the modern lens of sexual orientation even while accurately portraying the social aspects of same sex relationships in the ancient world. Thus, the relationship is a love match as we would understand it in the 21st Century, not a form of hierarchical male bonding. I don’t think Miller is unfaithful to the original myths, but the lens is different. An ancient Greek reading her book would not understand her point at all.

Since Patroclus is a barely-more-than-minor character in The Iliad, he is an ideal character to choose to reimagine. There is less baggage, so to speak. He is also ideal in that he was, by the terms of the myth itself, an outsider to masculine martial culture. He is exiled and disowned, a lousy fighter, drawn to healing rather than killing, and the opposite to Achilles. This is one reason they work as a couple. They are complementary.

I also thought that Miller did a nice job of drawing out the sexual politics of wealth, aristocracy, and sexism in the ancient world. All too often, the past is glorified and sugar coated. Miller points out the blindingly obvious: in that world, slaves were sexual chattel. And that goes for males and females. A wealthy heir would typically marry early - but have had lots of experience raping the slaves first. And it wouldn’t have been understood as rape - women in general didn’t have the right of sexual self-determination. This is one reason why I shudder whenever partriarchal sorts wax nostalgic at the old days, and try to return us there. And, of course, blame “Feminism™” for our modern problems. I guess if women would just know their place… (And don’t get me started on all the nastiness of the Abortion Wars - and the growing war on birth control and female autonomy in general. I grew up in that nasty subculture and don’t want it to win this fight.)

The character of Odysseus was rather interesting in this book. He comes across as somewhere between a prick and a snake. Which is probably somewhat accurate. Although I guess he kind of had to be to survive as a small fish among the Greek kings. I am curious to see how he is portrayed in Circe. One line near the end is pretty funny. Achilles’ son Neoptolemus, aka Pyrrhus has joined the battle - and he seems to have all of Achilles’ weaknesses with none of the charm. He, like his grandmother, hates Patroclus and doesn’t want Patroclus to be buried with Achilles and share his fame. Odysseus tries to persuade him otherwise, but he refuses to listen, being devoid of both sense and empathy. Odysseus’ response is intriguing.

“But fame is a strange thing. Some men gain glory after they die, while others fade. What is admired in one generation is abhorred in another.” He spreads his broad hands.” We cannot say who will survive the holocaust of memory. Who knows?” He smiles. “Perhaps one day even I will be famous. Perhaps more famous than you.”

You think?

But it is the first part of that which is most thought provoking. Tastes change. And our understanding of ethical behavior evolves and grows. And thus it was that the wily Odysseus is better remembered than the brutal and entitled Pyrrhus, who is mainly remembered in legend for stealing Orestes’ wife Hermione and getting whacked for his trouble. And allegedly being the ancestor of Alexander the Great, so there is that.

I think there is a bit of a lesson in this. It is bad enough to be a person of one’s time, and subject to the weaknesses of that era. But far worse is to be worse than one’s time. That sort of thing rarely ages well. I wish that a lot of the older right wing sorts in my life understood that. History will not be kind.

All good stories are worth reexamination, in my opinion. The power of myths isn’t that they are unchanging in meaning, but that they speak to us in our own times and our own frameworks. The point of reading The Iliad isn’t to resurrect martial honor culture, or make women back into chattel, of course. It is to reimagine and reinvigorate the timeless truths of human nature and experience. We can recognize ourselves in Achilles, in Patroclus, in Briseis, in Andromache. We can wrestle anew with the great questions of meaning and truth and justice and honor. I felt that Miller did a good job of remixing the myths and seeing the ancient from a new viewpoint.

The writing is mostly good - I am told that Miller finds her voice better in Circe - I guess practice helps. But The Song of Achilles is a worthy effort, and I found myself enjoying reading it.  

Love in the Time of Cholera by Gabriel Garcia Marquez

Source of book: Borrowed from the library.

This book probably fits better into the “Books I Should Have Read in College” category, rather than the “Books I Should Have Read in High School” one. And yes, this is the first Marquez I have read, I am pretty sure. I’ll have to read One Hundred Years of Solitude in the future. 

Love in the Time of Cholera was the last of Marquez’s three best known novels, published in 1985, nearly 20 years after One Hundred Years of Solitude. Born in Colombia, Marquez was one of the greatest Latin American authors of the 20th Century. Although Marquez is best known for his use of Magical Realism, this book is just realistic, with no magical elements. Unless you count coincidence, which is the stock in trade of the romantic story from time immemorial.

The story is that of a love triangle which lasts for over 50 years. Florentino Ariza starts off as a young and awkward man who falls in love with the beautiful Fermina Daza, the daughter of a former mule-driver who has become rich - through illicit trade, as it turns out later. She seems to return his love, but her father wants a wealthy man for her. After she is taken away for a while to forget him, she doesn’t. But when they reunite, she realizes that it is just infatuation, not love. Then, she is courted by Dr. Juvenal Urbino, a doctor who will go on to do great things toward the eradication of cholera, and become famous. Even at the outset, he is rich and somewhat famous, and it appears to be the perfect match. They marry and have children, and have what appears to be a happy and solid relationship until his death. Florentino, meanwhile, has never married, and courts her after she is widowed.

This book is both well written and impossibly melodramatic. I mean, I am kinda sorta romantic and all, and I love emotional poetry. I play violin, for heaven’s sake! But this was a bit much at times.

The meaning of the book has been debated. Many see in it a tribute to the endurance of true love. Others seem unhealthy obsession. Perhaps both are true. Florentino is a bit of an icky character who gets worse as the book goes on. Initially, you have to root for him, the underdog, to get the girl. And, in some ways, his single minded focus on getting Fermina someday, inevitably, is admirable. But he isn’t exactly faithful in the way most of us might understand it. He never marries, but he does sleep with too many women to count, and even keeps a little black book like Don Juan. Some of these affairs are actually understandable. He is seduced by a widow, who has no intention of marrying again, so the two have an understanding that they are not committed but just passing time with each other as friends and lovers. Many of his lovers are like that: consensual affairs between unattached adults with no misunderstandings about intentions. Others, though, are more problematic. The married women, for example. Although, in the society the story is set in, the men are pretty much all sleeping around on their wives anyway, and the marriages were arranged, so a wink and a nod about what happened as long as nobody got caught. But, a bit more icky.

The worst, though, came near the end, when the 70ish Florentino seduces a 14 year old girl - his ward. At this point, it is pretty clear just how selfish Florentino is, and how little he really cares for the feelings and needs of others. Even his obsession with Fermina is all about him, not her, and her lack of reciprocal feelings are an obstacle for him to overcome, not an indication that he should give her her space. This whole episode is sordid, and makes you want to take a shower afterward.

Notwithstanding the above, I was struck by just how well Marquez writes about sex. In general, I believe less is more, and that the harder the author tries to be graphic (“realistic”), the less sexy the scene is. If anything, the best use of graphic sex is to write the most unsexy, awkward scenes. But Marquez actually manages to be (sort of) graphic and sexy at the same time. I mean, this isn’t porn, of course, but body parts are named. Marquez knows when to disclose detail, and when to elide, when to turn away and let the imagination take over, and when to give a delicious detail that gives a bit of a thrill.

The best character in the book, in my opinion, is Dr. Juvenal Urbino. He is the foil to Florentino. Where Florentino is all emotion and smoldering fire, Urbino is ice and steel. He is rationality to Florentino’s emotion. While Florentino represents the past - even his work eventually running a riverboat company is anachronistic by the end of the book - Urbino is modernity. Modern medicine. Modern, globalistic, rational, and focused. He lives a regimented life, hewing to routine, and getting things done. The city and the nation rightfully owe him a debt. But as a result, even his wooing of Fermina is mechanical. He is just a tiny bit short of humanity.

But because Marquez is a good writer, even this script is oversimple. Just as Florentino’s affairs have a mechanistic feel to them after time, Urbino has a human side. One of the best scenes in the book is on his and Fermina’s honeymoon, when he half-clinically, half-romantic-in-a-gentle-way introduces Fermina to the male body and sex. It is a delightful bit of work, and Urbino comes off as a rather nice guy, patient and kind, even as he worries that her inhibitions may prove too much to overcome. Urbino also shows his humanity in his discomfort with his mortality. (This is a common theme in the book, actually.) He also ends up having a single affair, and suffers significant embarrassment when he is discovered. To some degree, I identify with Urbino. I have more of a passionate nature, I would say, but I like order, routine, and focus on goals. If I had his wealth and talent, I would tend his direction.

The portrayal of the marriage between Urbino and Fermina is subtle as well. Their marriage has its ups and downs, its good and bad, its moments of love and moments of conflict. While it is hard to say the marriage is truly great - it isn’t really a grand passion - but it isn’t bad either. They both treat each other well most of the time, even if Urbino is as patriarchal and sexist as any man in Columbia in the early 20th Century. (Marquez is well aware of the gender issues - he writes them as they were, even as he notes the unfairness.) It is a thoroughly realistic marriage. And while such a marriage would not be my first choice, it wouldn’t be my last either. It’s a functional, moderately happy marriage, but without much in the way of passion.

The other part of the book that is truly thoughtful and elevates the story above the fluffy romance it could have been is the fact that the main characters (and a few minor ones) are all fully aware of and haunted by their mortality. Florentino believes in his heart that he will outlive Urbino and be able to get Fermina in the end. But he worries he won’t, that he will die first, and his life (from his perspective) will have been wasted. Fermina finds that she is discontent because of what she has failed to attain and believes she never will. She craves passion, but as she ages, she believes it has passed her by. (And her children are all too eager to opine that romance for older people is vulgar and disgusting - something many still believe, sadly.) Urbino is continually haunted by the thought of his death. As a doctor, he knows all too well the signs of aging and decline, and he has already by his accidental death (in an amusing and unlikely fall) seen the early signs of dementia in his own brain. This is just the surface, as there are references throughout to aging and death and the effects these have on the characters.

Just a few lines stood out as worth quoting. About one married woman Florentino sleeps with:

[She] seemed to belong to the wasp family, not only because of her high buttocks and meager bosom, but because of everything about her: her hair like copper wire, her freckles, her round, animated eyes that were farther apart than normal, and her melodious voice that she used only for saying intelligent and amusing things.

It is shocking that, without warning, this woman is brutally murdered by her husband a few pages later.

On the issue of cholera, which is used both as part of the narrative and as a metaphor (cholera is etymologically related to “choler”: red blood and the humor of passion), the author notes that Urbino’s father falls victim to the epidemic while Urbino is in Europe in medical school - and that one quarter of the population of the city dies. We forget just how much we have benefited from modern sanitation sometimes.

After Urbino returns, he not only works to reform the sanitation systems of the city, he is instrumental in establishing a local opera. While the patrons had to bring their own chairs at first, it eventually became an institution. The success led, as the author notes, to a plethora of kids named after famous characters.

But it never reached the extremes Dr. Urbino had hoped for, which was to see Italianizers and Wagnerians confronting each other with sticks and canes during the intermissions.

I just about died laughing at that one.

Finally, there is a line right near the beginning (which starts with the week of Urbino’s death, before going back and telling the story from the beginning) which talks about Dr. Urbino’s tendency to use medications on himself for the symptoms of old age, while lecturing his patients for wanting to do the same.

He arose at the crack of dawn, when he began to take his secret medicines: potassium bromide to raise his spirits, salicylates for the ache in his bones when it rained, ergosterol drops for vertigo, belladonna for sound sleep. He took something every hour, always in secret, because in his long life as a doctor and teacher he had always opposed prescribing palliatives for old age: it was easier for him to bear other people’s pains than his own.

Isn’t that the truth?

The book I read is the classic translation by Edith Grossman. It reads well, and flows, so I have no complaints.

Despite its melodramatic nature, this book is deeper and more intriguing than the plot itself would indicate. The ending is unsatisfying, but for the same reason that life itself is unsatisfying. What might have been is an unanswered question, and the roads we take by definition foreclose others. Nothing will ever be perfect or as we dream it. But what it is, what it becomes, and what we make it, are interesting too, and the inexorable march of time and change overcome us all in the end.

The Romantic Economist by William Nicolson

Source of book: Borrowed from the library.

This is one of the random selections my wife brings home for me from time to time. (Why Mahler? is another one.) These book are not on my reading list, but look interesting to her. It adds a bit of spice to my list.

Author William Nicolson was an economics student at the University of Edinburgh (and is now a solicitor-in-training) when he decided to attempt to apply the principles of economics to his dating life. This book was the result.

The question that the author attempted to answer was, first of all, why a decent looking guy, with no apparent major drawbacks, was having difficulty getting and keeping a girl. Could economic theory help him understand what was happening, and could he improve his prospects?

If this sounds like a set up for a really awkward series of anecdotes, it is. Nicolson’s dry British sense of self-effacement and inferiority makes it pretty funny, though. I never thought I would read a book that made me feel like a whiz with the ladies, but there you have it.

The topics covered include such gems as supply and demand as an explanation for playing hard to get; the efficient market hypothesis to show why it seems only crazy people are left; the “you’ll do horizon,” which explains how expectations change; sunk costs and why people stay in bad relationships; and a number of others. Yes, this is completely nerdy, but also interesting. While economic theory doesn’t explain individual decisions perfectly, it does work pretty well to explain the aggregate decisions of groups. (See The Logic of Life for more on this.)

Not only does economic theory shed some light on the psychology of romance, but the issues presented by the dating scene also help explain economic theory.

I’ll also give a mention to “hiding the crazy.” In the author’s view, women in particular go along with a lot, until they are sure that the guy is hooked. Then they embark on a “boyfriend improvement project.” Or, as Henry Higgins (from My Fair Lady) puts it: “BUT, Let a woman in your life and your serenity is through, she'll redecorate your home, from the cellar to the dome,

and then go on to the enthralling fun of overhauling you…”

I might also quote the sage observation of my father. “Women get married thinking that the man will change. Men get married thinking that the woman won’t. Both are wrong.”

In addition to feeling more competent at romance than expected, I also was reminded of all the reasons why I never really relished the idea of joining the dating scene. I am not a game player. (Literally and figuratively.) The entire enterprise seems remarkably full of games. Some can be explained using economics, while others seem to be mind games played by those who like to do that sort of thing. I think the author shares my irritation, which is why he tries to understand things from some rational point of view. This is why, when I was in my early teens, some elements of the Courtship movement seemed attractive. I didn’t want to invest time and money just to play games. My goal was always to find a spouse who was also a best friend, and do the whole “happily ever after” thing. I like the idea of dating with a purpose. Of course, I never had girls throwing themselves at me, so I guess I never knew what it was like to be fought over.

(For those who wish to read about it, this post tells about about my own experience. While I liked the purposefulness of “courtship,” I never embraced the “don’t fall in love until after you have committed” idea, or the reality of inappropriate parental control and interference that many others experienced. In effect, Amanda and I dated. But we were each other’s first significant other, for whatever that is worth.)

Up until the end, the book was mostly about the misadventures of the author. His theories may have been true or not, as applied to his situation, but the one thing they did not do was improve his love life.

Where it gets interesting is at the end, when he decides to adopt a Keynesian approach to romance. Earlier, he had worked at maximizing his returns, and minimizing his costs. While this might be a general explanation of the macro view of free enterprise and capitalism, it doesn’t work well for individual relationships. (I might also note that it doesn’t work well for small businesses either, because of the importance of relationships. Another thing I learned from my dad was that the best deal was one in which both parties were happy.)

I have since learned that not only is this a morally dubious way to treat girls, but it is also economically inefficient. Being completely self-interested, concerned only for my own emotional satisfaction and self-preservation...left me wholly unsatisfied. I became overly concerned that I wouldn’t get back from a relationship at least as much as I put in, so I started to put in less.

This led to a romantic “recession.” Less input from both led to less happiness overall. The problem with the whole approach, as he notes, is that if both parties are defensive and withdraw, then the relationship fails needlessly.

The Keynesian approach would be that of investing without fear of deficits, in order to create confidence. “We will invest so that you can feel confident in investing too.” One can debate the merits of this approach in the realm of macroeconomics. (Of all the political debates going on over the last 50 years, this is one of the few that is actually interesting, requiring actual thought. Not that there aren’t plenty of inane talking points on both sides, but there is actually intelligent writing on both sides, if you look it up.)

What is less debatable is that this is exactly what is needed for successful relationships. And, it is the one thing most lacking in unsuccessful ones. (Future blog post: the role of entitlement in failed marriages as seen by a divorce attorney.)

If both parties stop worrying about what they get out of the marriage, and just invest anyway, good things happen. This applies to the mushy stuff, but also to financial issues, housework, and so much else. If I have experienced anything in my 13 years of marriage, it would have to be that if both spouses dedicate themselves to making life easier for the other, that investment leads to an overall higher return than if the parties instead try to limit risk. (We are back to game theory here: the best result is investment by both parties, but that requires confidence that the other will likewise invest.) For the one (since that is who we each are), we must take the risk of heartbreak, in order to have the potential gain of a loving relationship.

In that respect, what is truly offensive about the rhetoric of the Courtship movement is the promise that it avoid heartbreak. The goal is the same as that of the dating scene: minimize risk and maximize the return. Experience has proven this to be laughably false, of course. Heartbreak is unavoidable. But if the promise were true, the lack of risk would lead inevitably to a lack of real love. Love cannot exist in the absence of risk.

Unexpectedly, the book closes with one of my all time favorite quotes, from C. S. Lewis’ The Four Loves.

To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything and your heart will be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact you must give it to no one, not even an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements. Lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket, safe, dark, motionless, airless, it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. To love is to be vulnerable.

Love at First Sight

I do not believe in love at first sight. Never have.

But.

I met Amanda when I was in Law School. A mutual friend gave her dad my number when he mentioned he was looking for a law student to do some freelance work on a few cases, so my brother and I (also in law school) drove down for a meeting with him.

Amanda was filling in for her dad’s usual secretary that day. I took a seat in the lobby to wait for him, when this beautiful young lady in a red gingham dress came in and informed me that he would be with me shortly.

I have no idea why, but when I saw her, I thought, “I’m going to marry her.”

I never do stuff like that. I always assumed that marriage would happen as a result of careful planning. Better to make a logical and informed decision. Rash decisions make for poor matches, right?

But I knew.

I found out later that she knew as well.

I didn’t ask her out for over a year, however. She was young, not quite eighteen at that first meeting, and I still had a ways to go in school. So, for the time, we were just friends.

Her dad and I have a lot in common, particularly our mutual love of the outdoors, so I found excuses to visit them in their mountain home. Sure, I wanted to go hiking, but I wanted to see her, to be around her.

We eventually ended up “not dating.” Meaning, we were, I guess, sort of dating without exactly admitting it to ourselves. (See below.) Playing tennis, hanging out with my sister as the third wheel. (She was a good sport about it.) Obviously, we were interested in each other, but we weren’t really dating.

Near the end of my last year of school, I had to take the plunge. There was a Shakespeare production at a local theater, and my sister had other obligations, so a group outing wouldn’t work. And, honestly, I wanted to be with Amanda.

So I asked her out. I think it took her a little while to realize what I had done, because she first reminded me that my sister wouldn’t be there. I informed her that I was aware of that fact. Now, this complicated things. She told me she would go, but I had to ask her dad first. I expected that, and have never had any fear of “the parents.” Girls might be inclined to reject me, but never parents. Permission was easy to obtain, and I did.

One way or another, I found out (before the date) that Amanda had trouble sleeping that night, and worried that she had overcommitted. (Again, see below.) How could I ease her mind? Well, there is the Way of the Lawyer™.

I drew up a “contract” wherein we clarified our dating relationship. (Yes, this was very tongue-in-cheek.) I made it clear that going on a date with me did not bind her to marriage, going steady, or even a second date. She could come with me, get to know me, and decide if she wanted to see more of me. No obligations. No hard feelings.

She wanted a second date. And many after that. We knew.

One day, she had been at the mall with my sister. She said to me, out of the blue, “I found my ring. When are you going to propose?” So I guess you could say she is the one who proposed to me. But we both knew we were getting married by that time anyway.

I didn’t formally propose for a few more months. Hey, I was studying for the bar exam, and supporting myself on part time work.

It takes three months after the exam to get the results back. During that time, we remember all the mistakes we made, and none of the good stuff. Not fun at all.

On Memorial Day weekend of 2000, I found I had passed. That night, I presented Amanda with a ring. It would be another year until we married, but from then on, we were official.

Looking back on the first date fourteen years ago today, I feel like I’ve always known Amanda. We can’t imagine a better match. Sure, we used our brains and looked for red flags and all that, but we knew. The first time we saw each other. 

 During our dating years. Wow, we look young...

Note about “Not Dating”:

I was going to just write up the story itself, but realized as I went on that it would be impossible to understand without a little background knowledge. Over the last few years, I have been surprised to discover that a number of my friends with similar backgrounds also did the “not dating” thing. Those who grew up in a normal modern American household would probably have no idea why one would do this. 

Regular readers will remember that I spent my teen years under the influence of Christian Patriarchist Bill Gothard, and that Amanda spent hers in Jonathan Lindvall’s home church.

Gothard is a big proponent of “courtship.” (The best known book on this is I Kissed Dating Goodbye by Josh Harris.) Lindvall takes it further to what he calls “betrothal.”

For those unfamiliar, “courtship” is a rejection of dating. The man decides to pursue a girl, asks her father’s permission to “court,” and the couple is, for practical purposes, engaged. They are actively pursuing marriage, and it is very bad if they break up, because they have given pieces of their hearts to each other. (This is why they reject dating - they consider breaking up to be practice for divorce.)

On paper, there are some things to like about the idea. I liked not having the pressure to be in a relationship during high school. I wanted to eventually find a wife, so the general idea of only dating courting someone that I considered a potential spouse made sense.

The other ideas that came with it, however, are problematic. There is strong pressure to never break off a courtship. The agreement to court is considered the same as an engagement, except more so. This is particularly true once the change is made from basic “courtship” to the betrothal model. (In my opinion, many of those who use the term “courtship” tend to really mean “arranged marriage” if you dig deep enough. Douglas Phillips comes to mind.)

In my case, I was allowed - encouraged in fact - to have friendships with the opposite sex. Group activities were common, and I feel I got to know a number of interesting young women. I remain friends with several to this day.

In Lindvall’s system - and in that of most of the Christian Patriarchy systems - boys and girls are expected to be segregated. No friendships. No emotional entanglement. (I hope to do a future post on this one.)

The vision is this: the young person is guided by his parents (who have absolute authority over even adult children) to the right person. Once the decision is made that they will become betrothed, then they are allowed to develop a relationship.

Money quotes here:

How are we going to know it's the right person? God will speak, and God has revealed in His word that He speaks through authorities in all of our lives....the decision of whom to marry is based entirely on God's will confirmed by our authorities, with a confidence that God would bring romance to us as a blessing of our obedience...God wants young people to honor their parents...by voluntarily submitting their choice of a marriage partner to them.

And this:

In the Biblical model of ‘betrothal’, the decision to marry is made based on God’s will, confirmed by parents and other authorities, rather than emotional and hormonal impulses. The betrothal period is provided for the emotions to catch up to the irrevocable decision made prayerfully and rationally. Our emotions are not to lead us, but to follow us.

Note that this is an “irrevocable” decision. Once betrothed, the couple has agreed to marry. Irrevocable consent before love. Also note that God isn’t expected to tell the couple. Just the “authorities.” (Parents and pastor, in this case.)

In light of that, it was natural that Amanda would worry that by agreeing to go out with me, she was agreeing to marry me. Now, she knew her parents wouldn’t view it that way. But she knew I came from a similar background, and we hadn’t specifically discussed this. For all she knew, I (and my parents) would consider us betrothed. She wasn’t quite sure she was ready for that kind of commitment, and I don’t blame her.

(For the record, my parents and her parents didn’t push courtship particularly hard, rejected the betrothal model, and let Amanda and me date without interference.)

It was this reason that led me to make it clear to Amanda that we were not “courting,” but dating. No strings. No commitment. No promises. Just a chance to fall in love.

It’s funny in retrospect, but that “contract” was originally between me and her father. Yeah, we weren’t completely sure how to handle things with all that baggage. I knew that my father-in-law would find it amusing (he did) and hoped that Amanda’s mind would be put at ease. (It was.)

If you want to read Lindvall’s account of the “ideal” betrothal and marriage, you can find the story of Matthew and Maranatha here.  They may be perfectly nice people, but I still find the story creepy. That whole Victorian thing of the experienced older man marrying the innocent young lady.

I would be remiss if I left out this excellent article by Eric Pazdziora, one of my favorite bloggers - and a musician and composer as well.  It also has some great links.

A good summary of Gothard’s views on, well, everything, was written by a former acolyte here. I disagree with many of her other opinions, but she does do a good job of laying out Gothardism and its problems.

And, since I feel a certain sense of obligation to my fellow man, here are the clauses from the contract for your own use:

DATING AGREEMENT

The undersigned,                and                    hereby agree to the following:

[Either]

1.             agrees to release his daughter,                 , to                 for one (1) date, on        [date].

[or]

1.             agrees to come with             on one (1) date, on        [date].

2.             agrees to make a good faith effort to provide                 with an enjoyable evening, and to refrain from any conscious acts that might hinder such enjoyment.

3.            agrees to avoid acts involving moral turpitude.

4.             and             agree that this date shall not be construed by either party to be a promise of marriage, an entry into betrothal, a declaration of intent to marry, or an entry into courtship for the purpose of preparing to marry on the part of either                 or             .

5.             and             agree that this date shall have the purpose of allowing             and             to enjoy each other’s company and get to know each other better.

6.             and             agrees to hold each other harmless for any and all liability arising out of the date for actions not involving moral turpitude, including, but not limited to the following: bonehead remarks, bad puns, unintentional insensitivity, awkward pauses, fumbling conversation, general clumsiness, and weird family quirks.

7.             and             agree not to overreact or assign unjustified significance to any and all statements and actions of each other during the date.

Date:                                       

[name]                        [name]