This morning Victoria and I walked by a sign bearing a locally famous name. “I dated his daughter a couple of times,” I told her. At the time, I thought I could have married rich. We’ve been married twenty-seven years, and it was the first time I had told Victoria about her.
“Destitution was her muse,” Waldo Emerson said of his aunt, Mary Moody Emerson.1 The hard persistence of destitution and racism cause characters in Ralph Ellison’s and James Baldwin’s fiction to eventually wake up. Maybe Maslov’s triangle should be inverted: we aren’t in danger of falling from our eminence of self-actualization into the trough of mere physiological needs. I am in danger, even with my relatively low income in this nascent Gilded Age, of preventing such a fall that would lead, eventually, to a self-actualization that I can’t envision, much less design.
A lot of Christians — I included — have used their born-again experience as a kind of contraceptive.
Jacob Needleman emailed me: was I the author of slow reads’s kind review of his Lost Christianity? It was a personal review in response to a personal book: I connected a decade ago to the seeking spirit with which he examined Christianity. And his email led me to pick up a more recent book of his — I Am Not I, which I began reading this morning before our walk. In I Am Not I, Needleman converses with his younger self to flesh out how the two of them imagine each other across time, across possibility and outcome. I’m grateful, thinking of how Needleman reached out to me as I was ten years ago. And thinking about how things work out.
“Money is a defense,” the Good Book says, but a defense from what? It doesn’t say, but the implication from the verse’s comparison of money and wisdom is that the former doesn’t give “life to them that have it.”
“I was then and am now your possibility,” the eighty-year-old Needleman says to his younger self. “But for my sake, and for your sake, I need to grow now. . . . You will not be born unless Purusha is born in me and I am born in Purusha.”2
Eckhart is right: I carry around the Christ like Mary before Bethlehem. Death, birth, and taxes.