Then Again…

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C. S. Lewis wrote somewhere (I can’t recall, but it was probably in Surprised by Joy) that when reading autobiographies, he found the youngest years the most informative.  I found that true for So, Anyway… , John Cleese’s memoir of his life up until the founding of Monty Python.  My wife and I read this book together—I tend not to gravitate towards autobiographies of living persons unless it’s someone I’m utterly fascinated by, but since we both enjoy Monty Python, why not?  It gave me quite a bit to think about.  Some parts are very funny, others more mundane, but mainly it was the path to a writer’s life that interested me.  I typecast Cleese in my mind as an actor, specifically a comedic one.  Of course, comics often write their own material.  Or at least some of it.  What became clear is that Cleese thinks of himself primarily as a writer.  That helps me understand.

It struck me that becoming a writer might’ve been easier had I started trying to get published when I was younger.  Of course, I didn’t have the advantage of attending Cambridge, or any other university where connections might’ve paid off.  Or having my writing encouraged after high school.  Already by college I’d been writing both fiction and non for many years.  In any case, Cleese found a teaching job because he’d attended the school himself, and then studied for a career in law.  Performing, however, and the attendant writing, soon came to be his self-identified career.  Anyone interested in Monty Python would find this an interesting account.  It only goes up to that point in the author’s life, which was, of course, only until he was still a fairly young man.  These days it’s difficult to be taken seriously as a writer without a degree in English or journalism.  The rest of us founder.

Monty Python was a group effort.  My wife and I read Eric Idle’s memoirs a couple years back (for some reason I didn’t post about it).  So, Anyway… was, however, a find at a used book sale, and we’re not actively looking for Michael Palin, Terry Jones, or Terry Gilliam’s reflections.  (Graham Chapman died young, of course.)  Mental typecasting is probably a crime against a fellow creative but the space someone moves into in our consciousness tends to be the same room they will always rent there.  It’s difficult to make a living as a writer and many who declare that as their identity work other jobs to make it possible.  Sometimes, such as the case of the famous, that other job may be the one where all the recognition lies.  Such is the creative life.

Not Camelot

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In the English imagination the Arthurian legend is deeply connected with the Christian myth of Britain’s founding. This may not be on the surface, of course, but the places associated with King Arthur (as well as the tales themselves, such as the Holy Grail) overlap with sacred locations. I was reminded of this by a recent Guardian article about Tintagel Castle. Back in the day when my wife and I visited Tintagel with friends, I was still shooting film. Slides, no less. Some wonderful images came out, the way that only Ektachrome delivers, but I haven’t been able to convert them to digital. I guess you’ll have to take my word for it. Tintagel is in the news because English Heritage, the owner of the property, is developing it to make it a larger tourist draw. According to Geoffrey of Monmouth King Arthur was conceived at Tintagel. Not in the castle—now in ruins—that was built centuries later, but on the island that is accessed by footbridge over a dramatic cove on the Atlantic Ocean. It’s enough to make you drop your pastie.

Our own little Merlin

Our own little Merlin

Locals, according to The Guardian, protest the dressing up of the historic site. A bas relief of Merlin has been carved into the living rock, and this is hoped to draw the Glastonbury crowd to the southeast. Glastonbury, upon our visit, was already the home of New Age vendors. It too has connections with Arthur. The staff of Joseph of Arimathea can be seen, still growing after all these centuries. The Holy Grail—likely from Celtic mythology of the cauldron—is also associated with Glastonbury. Oh yes, and also King Arthur’s grave. Even apart from Monty Python, the legendary king has captured the imagination of thousands across the centuries. There’s something about Arthur.

The historicity of the king, however, is vigorously debated. The same is true of many religious founders. Those around whom legends grow become more and more inaccessible with the passing of the years. England was Christianized in the seventh century as part of a political expansion. If Arthur ever lived, it was after that period, perhaps in the days before Beowulf. We just don’t know. It is clear, however, that his legend is intertwined with that of those early Christian days. There never was a Holy Grail—of that we can be fairly certain. In the service of myth-making, it is nevertheless indispensable. Staring out over the Ektachrome sea at the ruins of the island castle of Tintagel, it is only too easy to believe. If only I had the pictures to prove it.

Condom Not?

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Newspapers and the Internet have been abuzz with Pope Benedict XVI’s leaked proclamation that condoms may be useful for male prostitutes in preventing the spread of AIDS. Many are astonished, and not a few heads have been scratched at the declaration from the stalwart bastion of “sex is only for procreation” Christianity. The announcement, while humanitarian, is deeply troubling. From ancient times it was recognized that human sexual behavior had more than procreational importance. The matter has been investigated by psychologists since the nineteenth century and the same conclusion was drawn: people engage in sexual practices for a variety of reasons. Meanwhile, the church has been holding out with a Hebrew Bible viewpoint enhanced by the personal outlook of Paul.

In the ancient world, the microscopic world of reproduction was unknown. What was actually happening in conception was misunderstood. Judeo-Christian sexual mores were based on faulty information, from a biological point of view. In such a view, the all-potent male gamete (inappropriately called “seed,” as if a womb were just a place for pre-formed humans to grow) was capable of producing life on its own. Reading a handful of Greek myths will demonstrate this principle nicely (since the Bible has a more demure and blushing way of discussing the idea). The concomitant concept that seed should not be wasted led to the faulty idea that, in the unforgettable words of Monty Python, “every sperm is sacred.” That mental construct has been used by the church to make women subservient to their biology in a way that never applied to males. The Pope’s declaration underscores this double standard.

If male prostitutes may use condoms with the church’s blessing to prevent the spread of AIDS, the only motivation left for heterosexual birth control is female control. The “lost cause” of male reproductive potential in male prostitutes does not apply in heterosexual unions? God holds married couples to a different standard than male prostitutes – why? Is the sperm in these two cases unequal? The Pope is undoubtedly on the right track by endorsing the use of condoms, but the church still has a profound distance to go before it can look women in the eye and say, “we believe you are truly equal with men.” Oh yes, and not blink while saying it.

Remember, these guys lost to the Greeks...