a question on Romeo and Juliet

Alright, I think there's an important question I've been missing so far even though I've read this scene a lot of times.

ROMEO

If I profane with my unworthiest hand

This holy shrine, the gentle fine is this:

My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand

To smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss.

JULIET

Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much,
Which mannerly devotion shows in this;
For saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch,
And palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss.

ROMEO

Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too?

JULIET

Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer.

ROMEO

O, then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do;
They pray, grant thou, lest faith turn to despair.

JULIET

Saints do not move, though grant for prayers' sake.

ROMEO

Then move not, while my prayer's effect I take.

(Romeo and Juliet, I.v; emphasis mine)

This is a lovely little witty exchange, and it's a sonnet where both the male lover and the female beloved get to speak, which is pretty unusual and nifty.  And they're both adept at taking the initial pilgrimage metaphor and turning it in different directions.

But what I want to know now is -- Do saints have hands which pilgrims' hands do touch?  Doesn't a saint have to be dead before she is declared a saint and has pilgrims visiting her shrine?

Now, it could be that Shakespeare is being Protestant here and considering any Christian a saint, rather than only those who have been officially declared saints posthumously -- and in that case, a saint could be alive.  However, if that's what he's doing, then it's an odd mix with the language of pilgrimages and palmers and saints granting prayers.  Do people go on pilgrimages to see living saints?  I guess one could go and ask advice from Julian of Norwich in her anchorite cell, but that seems a bit different from a palmer's pilgrimage to a shrine.  Even if the saint can be alive, the line is a lot weirder than I thought, and I need to figure out what's going on.

But if the saint has to be dead, things definitely get creepy in the middle of the pretty love scene.  For one thing, touching a dead saint's hands at all might be difficult, if the saint's remains are buried or locked away.  And if the holy palmer's kiss (where saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch) means touching a statue's hand or fingering mummified saints' digits in a reliquary -- well then!  That makes for quite a different image from what I thought it was.  And also, it could foreshadow the end, where Romeo does kiss Juliet believing her to be dead, and the survivors set up memorial statues.  Also, her apparent corpse is in great condition when Romeo finds her.  We know that that's because it's not really a corpse and she's only under the influence of the sleeping potion -- but does Romeo think it's because she's a saint and her body is therefore not decaying?

I shall have to see if anyone more knowledgeable has already tackled this thoroughly.  If not, then term paper time for me!  First up, I need to look into concepts of sainthood in England circa 1595.  After which, another look at the text and see just how close to canonization Juliet might be.  Hmmmm, says I.  

a grouchy grammarian on religion vs. relationship

So, I think the "It's not a religion, it's a relationship" line is a bit silly. [Edit: If you need it, here's a quick example of what I'm talking about.  But be warned, it will try to play music automatically.  Christians of varying tones (and varying degrees of web-savviness) use similar arguments, but this was just the first thing that came up on a Google search for religion and relationship.]

Part of the insistence on relationship terminology is well-intentioned.  I think it's meant to help reach out to people who have been burned by religion as such, and that's a noble goal.  And I'm also all for emphasizing our relationships with God and other people -- I think that's what it's all about.

However, I don't know that shunning the term religion in favor of the term relationship is always helpful.  Semantically, I think making a big deal of the switch is equivalent to proclaiming about one's life with a spouse, "It's not a marriage, it's a relationship!"  -- Ok, yes, true, it's a relationship.  But that could mean a lot of different things, and our language has all these handy extra words to specify what kind of relationship.

And on the level of interpersonal relationships, we need that specificity because there are different behavioral expectations for different types of relationships -- I have a professional relationship with my boss, which entails reports on how my work is going, and I have a sibling relationship with my brother which entails hugs with a running start (which would knock over any normal person).  Not a good idea to confuse these, even though they're both relationships and that's lovely and all.

Anyway, the point is that religion is a perfectly serviceable English word to denote a particular kind of relationship among many others.  It's a kind of relationship where people worship God and try to figure out what that does to all the other relationships.  Maybe there are some situations where the substitution of terms (relationship for religion) is helpful, but I think it can often mean a loss of clarity.

I think there's even more of a problem, though, in the way people sometimes use this relationship language rhetorically to distinguish themselves from other religious folks -- the implication being that religion is not a relationship and that therefore those professing relationship instead are authentic and are offering something totally different from religion.

Ok, I agree with part of the point here: I think it's true that there are some people who participate in religious activities but are not truly cultivating transformed relationships with God and other people.  This is a legitimate concern.

However, I think the terminology switch doesn't really fix the superficiality problem and can also involve some polemics that aren't fair to other religious people.  The assumption that religion and relationship are mutually exclusive makes it easy to dismiss people whose religious practices are different from one's own (and therefore more apparent as religious practices -- relationshippy folks still have religious practices).  In many cases, these other people would see themselves as pursuing a relationship with God through the elements of their religious practice.  And no, you don't have to agree with others' practices -- but I think that talking about religion as necessarily separate from relationship can often lead to a superficial way of shutting down other groups (often in the absence of their competent defenders) rather than engaging the issues respectfully.

Lieblingsnotizbuch

The "history of Moleskine" leaflet is some of the rankest commodity fetishist marketing invented, and yet to be honest I'm quite pleased that there's apparently a specific German word for favorite notebook.

"guilt-free" . . . ?

I've recently been rather puzzled by advertisements and articles using the tagline "guilt-free."

For example:
An outlet mall billboard proclaims "Guilt-free shopping!" and displays the logos of available brands, the first one being Nike.

Or, another one:
An article on the Weather Channel website shows how to "Enjoy Your Barbeque, Guilt-Free." It proceeds to relate seven tips, all of which focus on how not to gain weight during summer revels.



The phrase guilt-free seems to be applied pretty often to either the shopping or the eating category. Ok, that's fair enough: consumption as a source of guilt makes some sense.

But what kind of guilt precisely are we avoiding here? On the shopping, I'd guess guilt-free should mean (at the least) that we're buying things made by companies that deal fairly with their employees, but I'm thinkin' probably not if Nike is first on the list of guilt-free shopping options. What is it that makes the outlet mall guilt-free, then? Other advertisements confirm that it's the discount prices. Apparently a lot of people think the problem with buying extra stuff isn't exploiting workers, wasting natural resources, or feeding one's own materialism -- the part responsible for guilt (and hence moral angst, shame, "I really shouldn't," etc.) is . . . spending money? Guilt reactions are structured to protect the consumer's own wallet rather than look out for anyone else.

Same kind of deal for the food guilt. This kind of discourse on guilt leaves out questions like, Does eating all this meat hurt the world food market? and, What can we do for the folks in our community who can't afford mountains of delicious food? (I'm not saying I've got clear answers to those questions, just that I think they're sensible questions to ask if you're going to talk about the ethics of barbeque in the first place.) But instead, we're asking, How can I keep from getting fat? It's a similar misdirection -- forget about the wider implications of the consumption and shift the moral burden to protecting one's own body.

In both cases, there's a move to make morality about covering and beautifying one's own backside. I think that's pernicious on multiple levels, since it distracts people from addressing more meaningful causes for guilt in consumption, and the ethically-charged language also gives an illusory halo of righteousness to decisions that are simple self-preservation. Not that I'm against saving money or staying healthy -- but I think those issues should occupy a very much smaller fraction of the moral discourse on consumption than they now do.