Sunday, January 11, 2004
You Can't Touch This
Our family spent Thursday evening watching the entire A&E production of "Pride and Prejudice". The girls were enraptured with the elegance and the obvious feminine appeal of a family with five daughters and no sons. The boys were less attracted, though the story line pulled them in, and I think the presence of military men gave them hope their might be a battle scene. At one point, I believe Joshua was on the edge of his seat thinking Darcy was going to hunt Wickham down and challenge him to a duel. Sadly, no. C'est la vie.
I was impressed with the lack of physical contact in social contexts. In a world where people hug near-strangers, the idea of bowing, nodding, curtseying, and generally keeping one's hands to oneself is nearly extinct. The only time men shook hands was when Darcy and Mr. Gardiner came to a business agreement on who was going to pay Wickham's debts. Children and parents embraced each other after long periods apart, as did sisters. Other than that, it seems physical affection was reserved for private personal moments between parents or spouses.
While I refuse to believe that there was any less adultery or any fewer temptations in the sexual realm during this era of mankind, I'm not opposed to the idea that those who chose to remain chaste in their thoughts and actions benefited so much more from this cultural pretense than the pretense that we have today: it's okay to touch another man's wife, especially if you are in church. Call me a prude (I'm not), or old-fashioned, but somehow it seems so much more respectful to keep your hands off of someone who is not connected to you by blood or marriage.
As the years have worn on, it's become more and more awkward hugging a female of any level of relationship. I am a very physically expressive person, and for the longest time it seemed "natural" to express affection in that manner. But there were moments when either in my own mind or in a very real sense, that expression laid the groundwork for something less than admirable. The most frightening moments were the ones where I detected a need in a married woman's momentary "hello" hug: an outwardly imperceptible lingering that said, "I need someone to understand me. He doesn't." The impropriety of that level of intimacy now terrifies me. So I work very hard at not hugging women unless they gave birth to me, took a vow of marriage to me, or are a product of my obedience to the procreative command.
I was impressed with the lack of physical contact in social contexts. In a world where people hug near-strangers, the idea of bowing, nodding, curtseying, and generally keeping one's hands to oneself is nearly extinct. The only time men shook hands was when Darcy and Mr. Gardiner came to a business agreement on who was going to pay Wickham's debts. Children and parents embraced each other after long periods apart, as did sisters. Other than that, it seems physical affection was reserved for private personal moments between parents or spouses.
While I refuse to believe that there was any less adultery or any fewer temptations in the sexual realm during this era of mankind, I'm not opposed to the idea that those who chose to remain chaste in their thoughts and actions benefited so much more from this cultural pretense than the pretense that we have today: it's okay to touch another man's wife, especially if you are in church. Call me a prude (I'm not), or old-fashioned, but somehow it seems so much more respectful to keep your hands off of someone who is not connected to you by blood or marriage.
As the years have worn on, it's become more and more awkward hugging a female of any level of relationship. I am a very physically expressive person, and for the longest time it seemed "natural" to express affection in that manner. But there were moments when either in my own mind or in a very real sense, that expression laid the groundwork for something less than admirable. The most frightening moments were the ones where I detected a need in a married woman's momentary "hello" hug: an outwardly imperceptible lingering that said, "I need someone to understand me. He doesn't." The impropriety of that level of intimacy now terrifies me. So I work very hard at not hugging women unless they gave birth to me, took a vow of marriage to me, or are a product of my obedience to the procreative command.
