‘'I Humbly Beg Your Speedy Answer'' Review: Instruction Fit to Print
One of the lessons of ''I Humbly Beg Your Speedy Answer,'' Mary Beth Norton's delightful compendium of 17th-century advice to the lovelorn, is a sobering one to us today: Things that we think are binary and absolute have, historically, often been neither. Take marriage. Today you are either married or you are not. Those are the only possibilities. Yet for much of European history, until well into the 18th century in many places, being a little-bit married was routine.
Marriage, under this conception, wasn't a one-time event. It was a process. There were usually four stages, all of them irreversible. First, a couple made a formal vow or commitment to each other to marry. Then came a public agreement and exchanging of tokens—typically a ring or a split coin. Then there was the ceremony and, finally, the consummation, or sexual congress.
Because of this staggered process, it was possible to be in a marriage but not fully married. A 17th-century couple could, for instance, have made vows but skipped the religious ceremony, in which case their marriage would be legally considered 'valid but not legitimate.' If vows had been exchanged but parental consent withheld, the couple was in the awkward position of being neither married nor permitted to marry anyone else. Ever.
Into this odd (to us) situation entered the genre now called advice-writing, the earliest example of which was found in the Athenian Gazette, or Casuistical Mercury, more commonly known as the Athenian Mercury. In ''I Humbly Beg Your Speedy Answer,'' Ms. Norton, a professor emerita of American history at Cornell University, brilliantly selects the most compelling—or bizarre—examples from this broadsheet, which John Dunton, a London printer, started in 1691. Dunton designed the paper to appeal to the customers of coffee shops, novel establishments where men met to sip that 'newfangled drink,' smoke and gossip. With two friends—including Samuel Wesley, the father of John and Charles Wesley, founders of Methodism—Dunton dreamed up 'the question project': Readers could anonymously write in with questions on any topic, and answers would be provided in subsequent editions. The first call for questions evoked such a huge mailbag that the weekly broadsheet quickly began to appear twice a week.
Hashtags
Try Our AI Features
Explore what Daily8 AI can do for you:
Comments
No comments yet...
Related Articles
USA Today
19 minutes ago
- USA Today
They led the fight for marriage equality
They led the fight for marriage equality | The Excerpt On Sunday's episode of The Excerpt podcast: Jim Obergefell and his partner John Arthur's fight to have their marriage recognized by their home state of Ohio ultimately paved the way for nationwide marriage equality for the LGBTQ+ community. John, tragically, passed before the ruling, but the couple's story endures as a milestone for the LGBTQ+ community. Jim Obergefell joins The Excerpt to share more about his historic journey. Let us know what you think of this episode by sending an email to podcasts@ Hit play on the player below to hear the podcast and follow along with the transcript beneath it. This transcript was automatically generated, and then edited for clarity in its current form. There may be some differences between the audio and the text. Podcasts: True crime, in-depth interviews and more USA TODAY podcasts right here Officiant: John Montgomery Arthur, do you, continuing from this day, take James Robert Obergefell to be the love of your life, your eternal partner, your husband? John Montgomery Arthur: I do. Zach Wichter: Hello, and welcome to The Excerpt. I'm Zach Wichter, a reporter at USA TODAY. What you just heard was John Arthur's vows to Jim Obergefell during a wedding ceremony that changed the course of American history. Obergefell and Arthur's fight to get their marriage recognized by their home state of Ohio went all the way to the Supreme Court of the United States, ultimately paving the way for nationwide marriage equality for same-sex couples. John tragically passed before the ruling, but the couple's story endures as a milestone for the LGBTQ+ community and in American history. Jim Obergefell joins me now to share more about his story. Jim, thanks for joining me. Jim Obergefell: Absolutely, Zach. Great to be here. Zach Wichter: Did you ever think that marriage was a possibility? Was that on the horizon for you at all? Jim Obergefell: For me, growing up, marriage always was part of my future, but that was a straight marriage. All of my siblings were married and having kids, so that was always what I imagined. But when I came out, I felt like that dream, that image of my future was taken away from me because that wasn't a possibility. And in fact, when John and I became a couple, early on in our relationship, probably 1994 or '95, we talked about marriage and how we both wanted to get married. But we wanted marriage. We didn't want a symbolic ceremony, we didn't want a civil union, a domestic partnership. We wanted marriage. So, we just thought we're never going to have that option because there isn't anywhere in the United States we can do that. They led the fight for marriage equality Obergefell and Arthur's fight to have their marriage recognized by Ohio ultimately led to nationwide marriage equality. Zach Wichter: Can you tell me a little bit more about how you and John met and about your story together? Jim Obergefell: The first time I met John was shortly before I quit my teaching job and left for graduate school. I was still in the closet and I went out with a friend and we went to a bar near the University of Cincinnati where we had both graduated. We walked into this bar and my friend Kevin said, "Oh, there's one of my friends, John." That was the first time I met John. He scared the daylights out of me, because he was an out gay man comfortable in his own skin. And I thought for sure he was going to see right through me and say, "Come on, Jim. We know. You can come out." Then I was back in Cincinnati for a weekend, went out with that same friend. We went back to that same bar, and guess who was there again, but John. In that conversation, John said, "You'd never go out with someone like me, and I said, "How do you know? You haven't asked." And he didn't take the hint, so I thought, that's it, I've met him twice now, probably never going to see him again. But then Kevin became one of John's housemates, and Kevin invited me to John's house for a New Year's Eve party. I went to that party and never left. And seven weeks later, John gave me a diamond ring. Zach Wichter: How did you know? And you mentioned before that neither of you really saw marriage as a possibility. So, what did that diamond ring mean for you in that moment? Jim Obergefell: That diamond ring signified you're the person I choose. You're the person I want to spend my life with. And we don't have the ability to do anything legal, but at least you know that's how I feel, and that's what this ring signifies. We both felt that. We both felt that this is a relationship that will last. We just made our commitments to each other. Even though they weren't legal, they weren't binding in any way, but they were binding on us in our hearts. Zach Wichter: What was the path to that day or night that you got the ring up through your actual wedding ceremony? What were the steps along the way? Jim Obergefell: We just had fun. We traveled, we collected art, and just all of those things that any couple does as they build a life together. Like I say, we had talked about marriage, but realized that isn't on the table for us, it isn't an option. So, we just kept doing what we were doing. It wasn't until 2011 that things really took an unexpected turn. It was that year in May, or late or early June that John was diagnosed with ALS. That was really when instead of seeing a few decades more together, we knew our time together was limited to two to five years. ALS for John progressed fairly rapidly. And by April of 2013, he started at-home hospice care. We could have put him in a facility, but we had to think about things that other couples didn't have to think about. How would he be treated as an out gay man in a facility? How would I be treated as his partner of almost 21 years? We had nothing legal, no rights. We made the decision, let's do at-home hospice care because that meant I could keep him safe and comfortable. And it was my honor to do that, no matter how tiring or overwhelming it was. Zach Wichter: At what point did you really start to feel like you needed to fight for this? How did you go from not thinking of marriage as a possibility to feeling the need to have that recognized by the state? Jim Obergefell: I'm going to start back a little bit earlier, and actually back to the day John came home from his third neurologist appointment, when that neurologist concurred with two others that it was ALS. He said, "Jim, we're going to have to find somewhere new to live.", because the condo we had was two levels in an old factory. And he said, "It isn't going to work for me. But when we find a new place, Jim, don't put my name on the deed. I don't want you to have any issues when I'm gone." So, he was already thinking about me and wanting to make sure that I would be okay after he died. And that was just how he was throughout his entire time with ALS. In June 26th, 2013, I was standing next to his bed, holding his hand when news came out from the Supreme Court that with their decision in United States versus Windsor, they struck down the Federal Defense of Marriage Act. That was that law that had defined marriages between only one man and one woman. We hadn't talked about marriage again since the mid-90s, but as that news was sinking in, I realized, wait, we've always wanted to get married, here's our chance. We could get married and at least have the federal government see us, recognize us, treat us as a married couple. So, I spontaneously proposed and he said "yes". Zach Wichter: Once DOMA was turned over, how did you start to think about this fight for yourself, and how did you go from this discussion to eventually suing the state and ultimately winding up in the Supreme Court? Jim Obergefell: Suing the state of Ohio was never our plan, was never on the radar, was never something we had considered. And going to the Supreme Court certainly was even beyond that. That all happened unexpectedly. We decided to get married. And because we lived in Ohio, which had its own state level Defense and Marriage Act, we couldn't get a marriage license or get married at home. So, we figured out let's go to Maryland because it's the only state that doesn't require both of us to appear in person to apply for a marriage license. I loved that because my whole goal was I want to keep John as safe and as comfortable as possible. So, I could get the marriage license on my own, come back to Cincinnati, and then we could go to Maryland just for the ceremony. And that's what we did. Through the generosity of our family and friends, they covered the cost of a chartered medical jet and we flew from Cincinnati to Baltimore, Washington International Airport on July 11th, 2013. We stayed in that medical jet and I got to take his hand and we got to say, "I do". That was all we wanted. We just wanted to get married. Because of a story that was written about us that came out in the Cincinnati Inquirer online two days after we got married, a local civil rights attorney, Al Gerhardstein, he'd been fighting for civil rights for women, for trans people, for prisoners, for the queer community for decades in Cincinnati, he came to hear about us. He read that story and he reached out through mutual friends to say, "Hey, I would like to come talk to you because you have a problem you probably haven't thought about." Five days after we got married, Al Gerhardstein came to our home and he pulled out a blank Ohio death certificate, said, "Do you guys get it? When John dies, this document, his last record as a person, will be wrong. Because here where it says, 'marital status at time of death', Ohio will fill this out and say that John was unmarried. In the space for surviving spouse name, Jim, your name won't be there." So when he said, "Do you want to do something about it?", he tells me, we talked about it for less than a minute, and said, "Yes." That was Tuesday, five days after we got married. On Friday, eight days after we got married, we filed a lawsuit in federal district court suing the governor of Ohio, John Kasich and the Attorney General Mike DeWine. And because of John's health, the federal judge it was assigned to, Judge Timothy Black, had to clear his docket and he heard arguments on the case on Monday, 11 days after we got married. And that very day he ruled in our favor. And then John died three months later to the day, but he died a married man. Zach Wichter: The fight didn't stop there, obviously. The judge ruled in your favor, but it went on in appeal, it got overturned. How did you decide at that point, once the record was correct in your paperwork, that you were going to keep on with the fight? Jim Obergefell: Once Ohio appealed and we lost to the Sixth Circuit Court of Appeals, when Al said, "Do you want to keep fighting?", my immediate answer was, "Of course I do." If I don't, I'm not living up to my promises to John. I promise to love, honor and protect him. And if I don't keep fighting this to make sure our marriage can't be erased, then I'm failing in my promises. In April, 2015, I was in the Supreme Court for oral arguments. And then I was there again on June 26th, 2015 when the decision came down. Zach Wichter: What was that experience like being in the court for oral arguments in a case that bore your name? Jim Obergefell: I don't think you could ever prepare yourself to go to the Supreme Court as a plaintiff, let alone as the name plaintiff, when there's more than 30 other plaintiffs in the case. It would be overwhelming enough just being one of those 30 plaintiffs, but to have your name and your story and your face be what everyone sees, what everyone hears, what everyone knows, it's overwhelming. And I had to be in that courtroom. I had to be there to hear what the justices said, to hear what the states argued. But to be fair, I went into the courtroom feeling optimistic. I refused to think that the highest court in the land could possibly rule against us. And I was positive, I was optimistic, and that didn't change after oral arguments. And I was happy that I knew I had at most two months to wait for a decision. Zach Wichter: I've seen in other interviews you've said that you never really considered yourself an activist. So, how did you go from Jim from Ohio to suing the state of Ohio and becoming a gay rights figurehead? Jim Obergefell: I think it just happened. And honestly, it's because of John, because we loved each other and we wanted to exist. Learning that our right to call each other husband and to have it mean something wasn't going to be reflected on his death certificate... I mean, it did, it broke our hearts. But I think the more important thing is it really made us angry, the injustice of it, the harm that it was doing to us. So, I think it was that. It was that I loved John, he loved me back. We finally had the chance to say I do. But then understanding how our home state, the state where I was born and raised, would completely disregard us, made me angry, made us both angry. So, not something I ever thought would happen, but it's amazing what'll happen when you love someone enough, when you're willing to fight for what you know is right, and when you're angry. Zach Wichter: And you mentioned before you were also in DC the day the decision came down. What was that experience like, and what were you thinking about, and what would you have said to John if he was there with you? Jim Obergefell: I'm just holding the hands of friends sitting on either side of me thinking, all right, here it comes, here it comes. And of course I'm thinking, John, I wish you were here, I wish you could experience this, I wish it was your hand I was holding. All I wanted in that moment was to hug and kiss John and say, "Our marriage can never be erased." He wasn't there. I didn't have that joy of sharing that moment with him. I thought about so many people who I had met over the course of the case, the people who were coming up to me and sharing photos and telling me stories and talking about what this potential decision meant to them and what it meant to the person they loved, their child, was thinking about them. And then just the unexpected realization that for the first time in my life as an out gay man, I actually felt like an equal American. I wasn't expecting to feel that. And that was a really beautiful realization. I feel equal. It's about queer kids having a future, knowing that in the words of a mom and dad who stopped me on the street in Philadelphia with their child in a stroller, they said, "Thanks to you and those other plaintiffs, Jim, we know our kid can one day marry the person they love, no matter whom that person is." That's what I think about. So, I don't get too hung up in the "you're a historic figure" because that just, I don't know, feels weird to me. I focus more on the difference the fight I was part of has made for millions of people. Hundreds of thousands of couples have gotten married since June 26th, 2015. And that's something we should celebrate. I'm really, really grateful that I got to be part of that. And it's simply because John and I loved each other and we wanted to exist. Zach Wichter: Jim, thanks for coming on The Excerpt. Jim Obergefell: Thanks for having me. It was great. Zach Wichter: Thanks to our senior producers, Shannon Rae Green and Kaely Monahan for their production assistance. Our executive producer is Laura Beatty. Let us know what you think of this episode by sending a note to podcasts@ Thanks for listening. I'm Zach Wichter. Taylor Wilson will be back tomorrow morning with another episode of The Excerpt.
Yahoo
35 minutes ago
- Yahoo
Dear James: I Love Going Naked on the Beach
The Atlantic Daily, a newsletter that guides you through the biggest stories of the day, helps you discover new ideas, and recommends the best in culture. Sign up for it here. Is anything ailing, torturing, or nagging at you? Are you beset by existential worries? Every Tuesday, James Parker tackles readers' questions. Tell him about your lifelong or in-the-moment problems at dearjames@ Don't want to miss a single column? Sign up to get 'Dear James' in your inbox. Dear James, In the second half of last year, I went to a naturist beach for the first time. I was afraid on my whole walk there that I would chicken out. But there was nobody around for miles—so I stripped. Since then, I've done it five more times, at various beaches, with growing confidence, in front of other people who have and have not been clothed. I've found great peace in lying naked on the sand, listening to the waves. But: Over the winter I started to get these feelings of shame and guilt. I was raised a very strict Catholic. And although my mother has been dead for a decade, I can suddenly feel her strong disapproval from beyond the grave. It's a conundrum. How would you handle it? Dear Reader, Well, I was in church on Sunday morning for the Feast of Pentecost, celebrating the wacky mandate of the Holy Spirit to go where it pleases—to land, if it likes, right on top of somebody's head (your head, my head, anybody's head) and nest there in a throbbing bolus of flame. So yup, I'm ready to get Catholic about this. I'm ready to get dogmatic. Your body is a gift from God. In the appropriate place (such as a naturist beach), you should be able to go as naked as Adam in the garden and feel not a twinge-let of shame. You should be like the primal newborns in the Doors' 'Waiting for the Sun': 'At first flash of Eden / We raced down to the sea / Standing there on freedom's shore.' (Who dares to say Jim Morrison isn't a great American poet?) Isn't that the true spirit of nudism? They don't call it a birthday suit for nothing. Shed your clothes; shed everything that cramps or abashes you. Air out those musty parts. Unshadow yourself. Let it all flap. Be a real American. Scamper shoeless across the sand into liberty's gold-green sunrise. Me, I'm not great at being naked. It makes me feel too … naked. So I know where you're coming from. But you've done so well, made such strides in self-development. The confidence, the peace, the waves: Keep going! Of course—as at any breakthrough moment, any evolutionary threshold of the psyche—you're being swarmed by the old demons, now at extra strength: guilt, disgrace, an image of your mother scolding you. They are to be stoutly resisted. Imagine instead your mother's delight in you as a baby, in all your sweet-smelling, roly-poly nudeness. Imagine reality taking pleasure in itself across the surface of your skin. Last word here goes to Gerard Manley Hopkins, great Catholic sensualist, nudist in his heart: 'The Holy Ghost over the bent / World broods with warm breast and with ah! bright wings.' Safe in my trousers, James By submitting a letter, you are agreeing to let The Atlantic use it in part or in full, and we may edit it for length and/or clarity. Article originally published at The Atlantic
Atlantic
3 hours ago
- Atlantic
Dear James: I Love Going Naked on the Beach
Editor's Note: Is anything ailing, torturing, or nagging at you? Are you beset by existential worries? Every Tuesday, James Parker tackles readers' questions. Tell him about your lifelong or in-the-moment problems at dearjames@ Don't want to miss a single column? Sign up to get 'Dear James' in your inbox. Dear James, In the second half of last year, I went to a naturist beach for the first time. I was afraid on my whole walk there that I would chicken out. But there was nobody around for miles—so I stripped. Since then, I've done it five more times, at various beaches, with growing confidence, in front of other people who have and have not been clothed. I've found great peace in lying naked on the sand, listening to the waves. But: Over the winter I started to get these feelings of shame and guilt. I was raised a very strict Catholic. And although my mother has been dead for a decade, I can suddenly feel her strong disapproval from beyond the grave. It's a conundrum. How would you handle it? Dear Reader, Well, I was in church on Sunday morning for the Feast of Pentecost, celebrating the wacky mandate of the Holy Spirit to go where it pleases—to land, if it likes, right on top of somebody's head (your head, my head, anybody's head) and nest there in a throbbing bolus of flame. So yup, I'm ready to get Catholic about this. I'm ready to get dogmatic. Your body is a gift from God. In the appropriate place (such as a naturist beach), you should be able to go as naked as Adam in the garden and feel not a twinge-let of shame. You should be like the primal newborns in the Doors' ' Waiting for the Sun ': 'At first flash of Eden / We raced down to the sea / Standing there on freedom's shore.' (Who dares to say Jim Morrison isn't a great American poet?) Isn't that the true spirit of nudism? They don't call it a birthday suit for nothing. Shed your clothes; shed everything that cramps or abashes you. Air out those musty parts. Unshadow yourself. Let it all flap. Be a real American. Scamper shoeless across the sand into liberty's gold-green sunrise. Me, I'm not great at being naked. It makes me feel too … naked. So I know where you're coming from. But you've done so well, made such strides in self-development. The confidence, the peace, the waves: Keep going! Of course—as at any breakthrough moment, any evolutionary threshold of the psyche—you're being swarmed by the old demons, now at extra strength: guilt, disgrace, an image of your mother scolding you. They are to be stoutly resisted. Imagine instead your mother's delight in you as a baby, in all your sweet-smelling, roly-poly nudeness. Imagine reality taking pleasure in itself across the surface of your skin. Last word here goes to Gerard Manley Hopkins, great Catholic sensualist, nudist in his heart: 'The Holy Ghost over the bent / World broods with warm breast and with ah! bright wings.'
