Husbands and Wives: Men and Nymphs

Long before the “Holy Family” emerged as the ideal in the Judeo-Christian world, the Myceneans (Greeks) created their own version. While the Holy Family continues through the New Testament, church services, and the Nativity Scene, the Greek version was well known until recently because of the Odyssey; but over the last two to three generations it has been read less and less.

These are obviously very different interpretations of family. One is about a wily Greek hero, his dutiful wife, and their aspiring son. The other portrays an older man, an innocent mother, and a son whose arduous future is already known. Yet both are images of a nuclear family and thus have influenced the way westerners perceived and continue to identify ideal families.

As boys in monasteries in Europe, my fellow students and I read the Odyssey in Greek. Here was the story of the model Greek family; at least it seemed so to us. Odysseus was our favorite, probably because he went off to war against the Trojans and overcame the most amazing obstacles on an adventurous journey home. In the meantime, Penelope waited loyally at home, weaving on the same cloth for years; her tale was not nearly as intriguing to us, but we admired her willingness to refuse young suitors. We ignored their son as well, even though we sensed that he would accomplish great deeds in the future, just like his father.

As young students, we did not think of the grand, compara-

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tive implications of these two stories even as we memorized large sections by heart. The unique connections between the ancient Greek family and the Holy Family were juxtaposed neither by our teachers nor ourselves. To us these two families existed in unconnected and different Mediterranean realities. Further, it was unrealistic for us to even consider the Holy Family as a realistic family model. They were holy and we were not. Their historical existence was made more real through images in various monastery chapels but we never looked at them as our ideal family because the father is permanently absent after the first few months, and the story centers on the experiences of the mother and son. In the Odyssey, despite the absence of the father from home, it is his story that we follow most. We knew every detail about Odysseus’ return to his homeland of Ithaca. We were totally intrigued by every move and especially by his amazing victory, upon his return, over the nobles who courted his wife. Before the heroes of TV, films, and video games, this infinitely clever hero captured our imaginations. Conversely, Joseph’s role was boring and dying on a cross was not a teenage boy’s aspiration.

Similarly, we missed the other side of Odysseus. Our patres (monks who are also priests) never said much about the nymph Circe, who held him back on her island for ten years. Today, in this country, we know even less about Odysseus’ struggles to leave this nymph. If we did, we would immediately recognize the situation. Circe is of course the younger woman who is endowed with the charms of a nymph, the same ones that attracted Odysseus to Penelope years earlier. Except maybe in the Greek case, she was a “good match” for a king; she would bear him many children and thus they could pass on the kingdom. We gingerly ignored that the “other” woman is as attractive to him as his wife was when she was of that engaging age when both were younger. More importantly, Circe is reminiscent of every secretary, administrative assistant, or “soul partner,” who ever held a man with her youthful charms. The German word bezirzen originated with this unique past. The word “bewitch” misses the point; Circe was not a witch, a Christian phenomenon implying sinful behavior. She was a nymph, in the much older sense because neither she nor he was sinning when he spent a decade on her island. Also unlike the

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witch, she does not become old or ugly. Odysseus continues his homeward journey not because she loses her charms, although he does seem to get tired of her, but because he feels duty bound.

There is no such family drama in the life of the Holy Family. After the initial excitement about Immaculate Conception (at that point we knew nothing about older siblings), family life seemed to settle into a routine. Jesus first learned Joseph’s carpentry trade and then started to teach. Not only was this story rather simple, it wasn’t even the profession we were interested in. We were to be priests, that is, gymnasium and university-trained men. If there was any similarity among us, it was that Jesus knew parts of the Old Testament as well as the scribes. We were all students trying to outsmart our teachers, and his chasing the merchants out of the temple is as close to a young boy’s adventure as it gets.

Why retell these perceptions of a bunch of kids in a European monastery? In part, it is to show how earlier generations learned their perceptions. Also, it is to see how two seemingly related stories were, and still are, absorbed very differently. Only older, educated Americans may recognize the past I experienced. A child today will not know much about the nuclear Greek family, and he or she may know a bit about the Holy Family, although most of my students never read the Old or New Testaments and the imagery we had around us is for the most part missing from non-Catholic sanctuaries and temples. Their understanding of the world originates with television, games, movies, and social networking.

No doubt, American men for some time have not been thinking of Odysseus and Circe when they stepped away from their partners; if they knew of them, they might think of themselves as the wise Odysseus and see their wives as waiting, maybe even pining, for them. But they are like Odysseus in that they want to be on an island: far away, safe, and forever young. Men are also not thinking of the Holy Family when they “temporarily” release themselves from their marriage partner. Although Joseph stepped into the background, his story did not entail violating marriage.

It may surprise psychohistorians that many men violate their marriages even though they say they love their wives and do love them, just like Odysseus. So why violate the contract and trust that

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binds them and thus risk everything that they hold dear?

One clue originates with the phone conversation that Governor Sanford of South Carolina tried to have with his wife Jenny after he announced his relationship with a woman in Buenos Aires. According to Jenny, he called after the public “confession” and asked her how well he had done. He was surprised at her response and she at his. He still trusted her to tell him the truth despite her loss of trust in him. It reminded me of another, albeit more famous, questioner, the Russian Crown Prince Peter, later Peter III, who asked his wife, later Catherine II, about his appeal to his red-headed mistress.

By any of the usual standards of American life, such questions are significant despite seeming naive. In both cases, it seems that the wife became the mother and the husband became the son asking for approval and consent for his latest relationship. It is almost as if he was saying, “Look at the nice girl I met; please approve?”

So, how do we explain Odysseus or a husband leaving his wife’s side and bed?

First, we like to deny that the “other” woman may be as attractive to him as his wife was when she was of that same age when he courted her. The “other” is also somehow free and unencumbered, also usually free of children. That is the point of Circe in Odysseus’ life.

Second, we are still a mainly Protestant country that remains somewhat publicly puritanical when it comes to sexual attraction; we are willing to deny that men (or women) might have sexual attractions after marriage, and may want to explore them with women (or men) other than the ones to whom they are already linked. It does not generally occur to us that the sexual instinct is more powerful even than the rather late invention of “love.”

Third, we do not talk much about the deeper reasons that might bring a man to this point, namely that he feels young enough, maybe one last time, to explore other opportunities.

Because of a Christian heritage we emphasize the “affair,” and in the process miss the important point of the ancient Greek

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family and the Holy Family. That point was that family is more important than the individuals or the affair. The family was more important for many reasons, probably the most significant being their property and mission. If we were truly interested in the family, either as a propertied entity or as a mission for the son like that of the Holy Family, we would value it sufficiently not to let it be destroyed over an affair.

But the reality is that we value the individual above all and thus consider an affair an affront to another individual. In our world, we do not often welcome back the conquering hero who just happened to have come across a nymph. After all, he betrayed the almighty “me.” Never mind that he may long since have realized that his family is more important to him (and he to his family) than a nymph. Nor do we value the quiet man who steps into the background so that a son or daughter can fulfill his or her mission. If we did, we would cherish the success of our children more than the last outburst of our sexuality.

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