The Happiness Myth_ An Expose - Jennifer Hecht [148]
We have science and philosophy in common with the Greek world. What we have in common with the medieval world is Christianity, and a bit more equality for women than the Greeks had. More equality under monarch than under democracy? Yes. Though Athens was a democracy, it was a minority democracy of men whose families had been there for generations. That was truest toward the end, but from the beginning the polis always held more disenfranchised people than people who could vote.1 In the Middle Ages, power was in the hands of a tiny top of the hierarchy, firmly at the peak because of bloodline, but with room for a lot of jockeying within that group: no one needed a résumé; you could get ahead just by being useful or amusing the right person. The queen’s hair brusher—a princess, of course—could become her schedule maker, and thus one of the important people in government. Powerlessness on the bottom was equally general. There was no slave class in medieval Europe. Foreign families naturalized quickly. Men had legal dominion over women, but women could own things and land, run shops, chase their husbands with brooms, and tell dirty jokes in public. And since the average man had no political power, and most of what really went on at the top was about proximity and favor, men and women both had opportunities for resigning themselves to their fate, or for scheming against it.
There was tension between men and women, but it was mostly seen as domestic tension, not cosmic. In ancient Athens, men were citizens and thus expected to behave with decorum. It was for women to go mad, to become an animal and a violent spirit, to let blood run down their faces. In medieval Europe, partying was not about mad ecstasy. Instead, it was raucous, filthy, flirty, teasing, and soaked in ale. In this sense, we are more like them than like the ancient Greeks. There wasn’t much of an option to not go to bacchanal or carnival. Carnival was part of the church calendar—skipping it would be like skipping Christmas. Yet it was profoundly mocking of religion. At the carnival Feast of the Ass, for instance, absurd “asinine Masses” were celebrated.2 They were in remembrance of Mary’s trip to Bethlehem—particularly, of the ass she rode in on. The day’s fake priest would bray, and the congregation would bray back. As we look at what else they did, keep an eye on the relationship between what they said they were up to and what an uninformed observer would describe them as doing. Whatever else the carnival festivities were, almost everything about carnival was an acting-out of power inversions.
At carnival, there was permission to eat lots of meat, have sex, drink copiously, and laugh. There were topsy-turvy parades where everyone dressed and acted as their opposite, evenings of costumes, and Bible-reenactment theater. All sorts of folk games and delights were suddenly available, encouraged, and met by what the great historian Mikhail Bakhtin called “unbridled gluttony and drunken orgies.”3 In his words, people were allowed to dress as devils and run about freely in the streets and fields to “create a demonic and unbridled atmosphere.”4 Where did this fun fest come from? From the late 900s to the mid 1100s, Latin documents refer to an annual festival called Carnelevare—literally, “to remove the meat.” It was a public feast designated as an occasion to settle debts, get them paid or forgiven. A nice idea. After all, it is arguable that paying back is more important than confessing; and that nothing is bigger than having the power to forgive. The feast took place around the beginning of Lent, and that likely accounts for the name carnival, because a main feature of Lent is not eating meat. At first they saw themselves as feasting in order to tidy up, to get rid of the forbidden item. Lent is a forty-day observance representing the time Jesus spent in the desert. It begins with Ash Wednesday and