Book Review February 4, 2002
Celibacy Through History by James Baehr
A History of Celibacy by Elizabeth Abbott is an excellent book: expansive, entertaining, playful and highly recommended. Abbott's book is so historically thorough, that it oftentimes feels like much more than a history of celibacy. The focus on the role that religions have played in the pursuit of celibacy makes her book a short primer on the major and minor faiths. In describing the cultural context in which the individuals and groups she covers turn to chastity, she establishes a striking sense of time and place. Celibacy as a concept and a practice has extended throughout human history, and thus, her work becomes as expansive as that topic. She tackles it brilliantly, beginning with ancient Greece and Rome, traveling through early and later Christianity, turning to the East with chapters on celibacy's place in Hindu and Buddhist practice, before extending into our own age, celibacy's role in such modern issues as abstinence education and homosexual celibacy to deter the spread of AIDS. The stories Abbott relays are fascinating, and her deft language makes the book immanently readable. In her chapters on early Christianity, Abbott's descriptions of the ascetic pursuits of the Church Fathers are dramatic. One early Christian, Origen, castrated himself in order to avoid the sins of the flesh. Saint Simeon built a pillar 60 feet tall and lived atop it with nothing to protect himself from the elements except the passion of the worship of God. Abbott writes, "With Simeon at its apex, the pillar became an altar and its lonely inhabitant the incense wafting upward to heaven." In later chapters, Abbott discusses celibacy's meaning for Hindu brahmacharya (the process of becoming a Hindu male ascetic) Ã not as a soul/body duality, but instead as a way to conserve and channel creativity through the conservation of their bodily fluids. The most famous practitioner of brahmacharya, Gandhi, she notes, would test his chaste will by sleeping "with lovely, and usually naked, young women." In America's own short past, one Father Divine led a movement of racial and sexual equality for whom celibacy was tantamount. These stories are hardly the exception: tales both eerie and fascinating fill Abbott's book, and she tells them masterfully. Chastity is not merely a program for ascetics, however: Abbott makes much of women, in both Eastern and Western traditions, who use celibacy to gain freedom and respect in male-dominated societies. "In a suitable, serious cloister, the sky was both literally and figuratively the limit for a determinedly devout virgin," Abbott dramatically states, "The convent gave European women more freedom to develop and express themselves than any other institution, including the family." Later in the book, Abbott speaks of famous women leaders Elizabeth I and Florence Nightingale--two whose refusal of sex meant a life of achievement. However, though Abbott is a firm feminist, her focus on these elements are neither preachy nor trite, but instead fit well with her overarching themes. Her ideology does not impede her telling of good history. Celibacy today is almost universally viewed in the west as a stodgy and stiff conception, whereas sex is viewed as an endlessly interesting pastime. Abbott exploits this parallel to the fullest--constantly toying with the sexual in her stories involving the lack of sex. At rare points, this frankness becomes overbearingly graphic, as in her depiction of Lysistra's ultimatum, a comedy by Aristophanes that describes how Athenian women and Spartan women force an end to war by denying sex to their husbands for six days. In all, however, Abbott's use of sexual language is inescapable considering the subject matter, and handled tastefully. Perhaps Abbott's book is so entertaining because in our sexually drenched culture, the rejection of sex is, in itself, something fascinating. The prerogatives and pursuits of so many thousands throughout history to lead a life empowered or ennobled through celibacy is something to ponder upon. Abbot's greatest achievement is her ability to delve into the depth of an oft-ignored subject and bring to bear a new understanding of what is often labeled antiquated, mostly Christian asceticism. Abbot's interpretation, that the richness of celibacy lies in its ability to empower men and women of all faiths and cultures, deserves reflection in an age of unremitting decadence. Mr. Baehr is a freshman at the College and a contributor to The Dartmouth Review.
Celibacy Through History by James Baehr
A History of Celibacy by Elizabeth Abbott is an excellent book: expansive, entertaining, playful and highly recommended. Abbott's book is so historically thorough, that it oftentimes feels like much more than a history of celibacy. The focus on the role that religions have played in the pursuit of celibacy makes her book a short primer on the major and minor faiths. In describing the cultural context in which the individuals and groups she covers turn to chastity, she establishes a striking sense of time and place. Celibacy as a concept and a practice has extended throughout human history, and thus, her work becomes as expansive as that topic. She tackles it brilliantly, beginning with ancient Greece and Rome, traveling through early and later Christianity, turning to the East with chapters on celibacy's place in Hindu and Buddhist practice, before extending into our own age, celibacy's role in such modern issues as abstinence education and homosexual celibacy to deter the spread of AIDS. The stories Abbott relays are fascinating, and her deft language makes the book immanently readable. In her chapters on early Christianity, Abbott's descriptions of the ascetic pursuits of the Church Fathers are dramatic. One early Christian, Origen, castrated himself in order to avoid the sins of the flesh. Saint Simeon built a pillar 60 feet tall and lived atop it with nothing to protect himself from the elements except the passion of the worship of God. Abbott writes, "With Simeon at its apex, the pillar became an altar and its lonely inhabitant the incense wafting upward to heaven." In later chapters, Abbott discusses celibacy's meaning for Hindu brahmacharya (the process of becoming a Hindu male ascetic) Ã not as a soul/body duality, but instead as a way to conserve and channel creativity through the conservation of their bodily fluids. The most famous practitioner of brahmacharya, Gandhi, she notes, would test his chaste will by sleeping "with lovely, and usually naked, young women." In America's own short past, one Father Divine led a movement of racial and sexual equality for whom celibacy was tantamount. These stories are hardly the exception: tales both eerie and fascinating fill Abbott's book, and she tells them masterfully. Chastity is not merely a program for ascetics, however: Abbott makes much of women, in both Eastern and Western traditions, who use celibacy to gain freedom and respect in male-dominated societies. "In a suitable, serious cloister, the sky was both literally and figuratively the limit for a determinedly devout virgin," Abbott dramatically states, "The convent gave European women more freedom to develop and express themselves than any other institution, including the family." Later in the book, Abbott speaks of famous women leaders Elizabeth I and Florence Nightingale--two whose refusal of sex meant a life of achievement. However, though Abbott is a firm feminist, her focus on these elements are neither preachy nor trite, but instead fit well with her overarching themes. Her ideology does not impede her telling of good history. Celibacy today is almost universally viewed in the west as a stodgy and stiff conception, whereas sex is viewed as an endlessly interesting pastime. Abbott exploits this parallel to the fullest--constantly toying with the sexual in her stories involving the lack of sex. At rare points, this frankness becomes overbearingly graphic, as in her depiction of Lysistra's ultimatum, a comedy by Aristophanes that describes how Athenian women and Spartan women force an end to war by denying sex to their husbands for six days. In all, however, Abbott's use of sexual language is inescapable considering the subject matter, and handled tastefully. Perhaps Abbott's book is so entertaining because in our sexually drenched culture, the rejection of sex is, in itself, something fascinating. The prerogatives and pursuits of so many thousands throughout history to lead a life empowered or ennobled through celibacy is something to ponder upon. Abbot's greatest achievement is her ability to delve into the depth of an oft-ignored subject and bring to bear a new understanding of what is often labeled antiquated, mostly Christian asceticism. Abbot's interpretation, that the richness of celibacy lies in its ability to empower men and women of all faiths and cultures, deserves reflection in an age of unremitting decadence. Mr. Baehr is a freshman at the College and a contributor to The Dartmouth Review.
