Veronica
Sept 15, 2020 | Jadan Anderson MC ‘22
It might seem a bit absurd, given the dire situation of the nation and the greater world, to put out a journal themed around something so seemingly privileged. It is easy to think that wonder, in the sense of standing in awe of the beautiful, good, and enrapturing, is only afforded to those carefree with youth or leisure. Most others count it a luxury.
For all its associations with childlikeness, wonder is actually quite complex. It is an encompassing emotion, one that holds within it awe and astonishment and surprise and curiosity. Wonder is also an action. Near-synonyms of the verb are things like ‘thinking about’ or ‘admiring,’ among others. Some philosophical and phenomenological studies of wonder even deem it a creative force: Socrates wrote to Theaetetus that “philosophy begins in wonder” [1]; Aristotle concurred, saying “wondering” raised “questions about the greater matters” [2]; Aquinas added that “poets and philosophers are alike in being big with wonder” [3]. Wonder, then, produces philosophy and art, which are the foundations of the world’s human cultures. Indeed, the psychologist Neel Burton says that “wonder begets culture.” [4]
If all this is true—the importance of the state of wonder and the unique human capacity to wonder and the creative utility of wonder—then we should begin to understand that wonder cannot be a luxury, reserved for the naive young and unburdened rich. In fact, some scholars conclude that wonder is a prerequisite, a necessity, for moral living and human flourishing. Howard Parsons believes that a world of value comes from sufficient material goods and services as well as “the will to wonder, the will to consider great alternatives for self and society.” [5] Marilynne Robinson’s essay What Kind of Country Do We Want places the hope of America’s near future in the citizens’ almost lost propensity to wonder, and wonder beautifully, about ‘basic’ questions—like the one that titles her piece—and ‘truths’ about human nature otherwise suffocated by the too-pervasive utility maximization theory driving modern economics. [6] Daniel Fusch concludes that even “one’s ability to love is conditional on one’s ability to wonder.” [7] Wonder is a necessity, a moral imperative for better, more loving people and societies. If so, what the world needs is a reclaimed sense of wonder, especially the creative kind, which is the kind that can affect culture and the world.
While reading all of these sources, I couldn’t help asking myself what the world would look like if it began wondering. Then, though perhaps this should have come first, why it, why we, stop wondering in the first place. Finally, I wracked my brain––and truthfully some unsatisfactory psychology articles––trying to understand what motivates a person to act on, to create from, their sense of wonder and wondering. What bridges the gap between the sense and act of wonder and its creative form? I found the shadow of answers as I revisited, over and over again, the story of the bleeding woman recorded in the gospels. Here I have humbly endeavored a retelling of her story, highlighting (what I believe could have been) some of the aspects and forms of wonder in her journey and ultimately claiming, perhaps predictably, that faith is the bridge to wonder’s creative form. However, I leave that claim for the reader’s wonder. [8]
Veronica
In the sunlight She is hardly able to tell the color of the skin on her feet from the dirt on which they stand nor the tunic hanging about her. She wonders if the crowd passing before her is unable to, either. They are untouchable to her—literally, but also in a way that betrays her sneaking suspicion that She and those She sees live in different worlds. Today, unlike most days, they are not simply unseeing: they are entranced by the man they follow. He is the reason She, a shadow vulnerable in the light of the sun, trails behind them.
She has heard that the man, a Nazarene, heals the afflicted. And though it seems that his reputation for undermining religious law and performing miracles is what has amassed him his followers—followers both rich and poor, pious and cunning, laymen and Pharisees—She trails behind him because of who She is. [9] She is the afflicted.
She follows the crowd at a distance. A young man and his wife ahead of her shift up on the balls of their feet, stealing a glimpse of the Nazarene. On the way down, the man looks at his wife, and his wife looks back up at him. Excitement shines on his tanned and weathered face as a happy curiosity graces his wife’s. Unblinking, She looks on, and the corners of her mouth twitch upward for just a second. She admires their proximity, which seems merely reflected by their joined-at-the-hipness. The pair are magnetic, and she is curious, though her curiosity is sad, to know what it would feel to be in that sort of bond. She studies the way the man looks at his wife, and envy momentarily clutches at her chest. She cannot tell whether she is envious of what the look contains or simply that the object of the gaze is seen. In this instant, no one looks at her but an older man, who occasionally glances sideways to ensure She maintains her distance. He does not know it is self-imposed.
If She lets herself, She can imagine that the distance between her and the crowd is gone. She could look someone in the eye, talk to another, hold hands with a friend—but she does not let herself imagine such things. Too quickly does that imagining transform into images of disgusted faces and people retreating from her body—and rightly so. By sight or breath or especially touch, She will not make another person heavy with impurity. She does not want them to look at her as if She did. It is better that they do not look at her at all.
As the crowd moves she mulls over the claims about the Nazarene. She is not a woman to believe tall tales but She is in need; and his name, fire on the tongues of the local people, had quickly consumed her thoughts. [10] She heard of the Nazarene through overhearing a few women that regularly loiter on the other side of her dwelling door. They first spoke of his preaching, then of his exorcising. She never paid much attention until she heard one of the women incredulously ask “He healed a leper?” and another reply, “More than that. He brought a dead man back to life.”
From that day on, her curiosity transformed into a demand to know if the Nazarene could actually heal sickness—her sickness, which has evaded every effort of healing from any physician she could afford until she could no longer. A part of her was even angry. Surely those women knew it was cruel to stand outside her door, thoughtlessly gossiping about rumors of healing. And if they were sincere, then they were sincere fools. What power could he have to lift that which God has let dirty her? But rumors of the Nazarene’s ability to heal the street’s sick slowly morphed into stories of people leaving their homes to seek his healing, and receiving it. That was why he was here now. The man called Jairus, a ruler at the synagogue, has begged him to heal his sick daughter. Even a religious ruler believes this man can help.
She looks up at the sea of people in front of her. She must part them. She must know.
Shortening the distance between herself and the married couple, She announces her name. Surprised to see her out of her house, they move swiftly to the side before continuing on. The older man glances over, his mouth in a curl of disgust, but She continues through the crowd, announcing her name. She is thankful she does not have to say it too loudly; those in the crowd that recognize her give way to avoid her graze. Some warn the people ahead of them as well. She notices that as She presses closer to the Nazarene, those She displaces are increasingly upset. It does not take long before She realizes why: She could dirty the man.
She remembers slowly realizing that the bleeding would not stop. For seven days she waited, unbothered, and likewise on the eight and ninth day. On the morning of the twelfth day a visiting friend, while She turned her back to retrieve some bread, sat where She had been sitting and was thus made to stay until the evening.
After six months She started calling on physicians. Over several years She was prescribed every fennel variation and outlandish herbal treatment. The last physician She could afford stayed with her for the day to study her routines and emotions and ask her about her dreams. He said sometimes dreams could provide a diagnosis and a treatment path. When she ran out of money, the physician, regretfully but promptly, left. Then her recurring dreams about God’s curse on Eve began. In the month after, She counted two days that the bleeding seemed to cease. On the third day it returned and had remained since. It has been twelve years.
No one has been able to heal her. Who is She to endanger someone so pure with a touch? What if he is not able to heal her? Worse, what if She dirties him? Suddenly the Nazarene turns his head slightly, and the sun behind him casts a shadow on the profile of his face. She looks, scared in a sense, for this man with the features of an unremarkable human carries an unmistakable air of power and purity. She knows her opposite—and yet, as She looks on, She finds his face familiar, kind. For a moment, She is shocked by guilt and stops her movement through the pressing crowd. She looks down at her hands and back up again at the Nazarene. The corner of her eyes sting with tears before her knees give way below her. Her eyes are downcast and She claws at the dirt with her fingers. For a moment She thinks that the brown color falling like sand with the backdrop of streaming sunlight is the color of the Nazarene’s eyes. Perhaps it was just her fleeting reflection in them. Her hands match the brown of the dirt.
In her periphery she senses the crowd stop. She turns her gaze upward onto the edge of the Nazarene’s robe. The robe hangs over him like a curtain, like a shield, like plain wrapping hiding something very important. It separates the man from the rest of the world. [11] It is protective. If she could just touch that.
She pushes herself up, with more speed and unfamiliar force now, through the press, announcing her name. The crowd abruptly starts forward again, and in the mismatched speed between herself and the crowd She falls once more to the ground, just within arms reach of the edge of the Nazarene’s robe. She watches her own hand as it reaches out to clutch a fray.
It is a great removal. It is a quiet and complete restoration. From the soles of her feet to the top of her head, a weight is peeled from her body. At the same time, strength returns to her center and from the center to the tips of her fingers, like a cup in overflow. In the place of disease She receives clarity—a mental clarity along with physical healing, the realization that the Nazarene indeed heals, certainty that her sickness is completely gone. She is no longer the afflicted.
The first thing She does is close her eyes and breathe deeply, and the air fills what feels like new lungs. She takes in the sounds of the water nearby, of the shuffle of feet on the ground, of the people’s fervent whispering—her eyes snap open. Her hand, shaking unceasingly, finally releases the Nazarene’s robe. With fear and trembling, She raises her eyes to meet the crowd which, at meeting her gaze, falls silent and stares. The Nazarene draws near her, and She turns to look at him. He now stands above her. His face is unreadable.
He looks at her with eyes the color of the dirt. It is certainly a reflection of her in them. The Nazarene draws a hand from his side. She wonders if it is for her. A slow smile spreads across his face, and She is mystified at the softness of his look. It is kind and warm and without pity, unlike those that have met her since She was sick. She has been healed—but this hand, is it for her, really? The Nazarene, as if answering, calls her name loud enough for the crowd to hear:
“Daughter.” [12]
1. Plato, Theaetetus 155c-d.
2. Aristotle, Metaphysics, Book One, 982b.
3. Aquinas, Commentary on Aristotle’s Metaphysics.
4. Neel Burton, “A Study of Wonder.” Psychology Today, December 2, 2014. https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/blog/hide-and-seek/201412/study-wonder
5. Howard L. Parsons, “A Philosopher of Wonder,” Philosophy and Phenomenological Research 30, no. 1 (1969): 84. https://doi.org/10.2307/2105923
6. Marilynne Robinson, “What Kind of Country Do We Want?” The New York Review of Books, June 11, 2000. https://www.nybooks.com/articles/2020/06/11/what-kind-of-country-do-we-want/
7. Daniel Fusch. “The Spirited Mind: The Ethics and Epistemology of Early Modern Wonder,” Mediterranean Studies. (2008): 183-204. https://www.jstor.org/stable/41167397
8. A note on the title: the apocryphal work Acts of Pilate called the woman with the issue of blood discussed in Matthew 9, Mark 5, and Luke 8 by the name “Veronica.”
9. Popular religious/political party in New Testament times characterized by strict adherence to the law of Moses and also extra-biblical Jewish traditions.
10. “A man finds a newly blossomed rose wonderful: the primary determinative occurrence is that he is in love, though he believes that the wonder originates outside him” (Parsons, 85). In other words, our interior state determines whether we are struck with wonder by something external.
11. “Wonder is the spark of excitation leaping across the gap between man and the world” (Parsons, 85).
12. “Daughter, your faith has made you well; go in peace” (Luke 8:48).
