The Story of the Beard

I have not shaved since September, I think . It is the first time I have ever grown such a thick, long beard. Depending on which hat I put on, I could play the part of rough-n-ready mountain man (coonskin cap), orthodox Jew (black felt fishing hat, which looks strangely rounded and hasidic at some angles), orthodox Muslim (Kyrgeez hat, which is presently perched upon the dome), or neo-punk bass player (no hat - just the shaved heard and busy beard. Helps if I wear the retro-aviator glasses and slip a few hoops through the old earring holes).

I know my wife of 15 years does not find this look at all attractive, and that is not a small reason for its growth and perpetuity. First, she has noted that we should not judge one another according to outward appearances. This grows from her feeling that I only enjoy her for her body. The fact that I have been commanded by God to find her body (and her body alone) attractive escapes her : true love leaves the physical attraction behind and connects souls. Physical attraction (and by extension, appearance) only distracts us from the arena where true love might flourish.

On a more practical level is the immediate benefit this facial hair gives: I don't feel at all attractive to anyone, which makes me less inclined to even think about flirting with women. What woman would return a smile or nod from a man so oddly arrayed? Surely no hearts would beat faster, no cheeks flush from a sideways glance from this head. And thus I am safe from even trying to flirt with an attractive woman. The beard is the great de-sexualizer, the mark of an ascetic. The beard PLUS the tonsure of a shaved head? If any woman is attracted to this I don't think I could keep up a conversation for more than five minutes. She wouldn't be my type.

If only my spouse were so inclined to avoid the temptation of flirtation as this "delicate" period of our marriage. To wit: her email to a coworker this morning, which reads, "I'd love to keep in touch and do stuff often. Let's plan something soon okay? Do have a favorite downtown spot?" I must admit that it is frustrating to go to extreme lengths so that even a sidelong glance will not lead to flirtation and compromising situations only to find that she seeks out opportunities to cuckold me at every turn. But frustration has been the default experience for quite a while now. I should not be surprised nor disappointed. I do, after all, get to grow a kickin' beard while she enjoys late evenings at pubs and parties.

A promise, not a tender affection

We haven't spoken in months. Days will go by without even the barest of human interactions. Two souls standing in the same room, passing each other in the hall, without a word. Fifteen years since rings were exchanged. And all that investment, time, conversation, sex, arguing, singing, laughing -- all leads to this barren, silent plain.

I came across this quotation in a book recently:

"I didn't marry you because you were perfect. I didn't even marry you because I loved you. I married you because you gave me a promise. That promise made up for your faults. And the promise I gave you made up for mine. Two imperfect people got married and it was the promise that made the marriage. And when our children were growing up, it wasn't a house that protected them; and it wasn't our love that protected them -- it was that promise." Thorton Wilder, The Skin of Our Teeth

That second sentence is jarring; to think that a man would enter marriage without love as his primary motivation. But think about it: who, especially when marrying relatively young, knows a thing of love? We understand tender affections, burning lusts, deep fondness. Those come naturally. But love is something proven across years, through deep pains and disappointments. One can feel tender affections toward a slumbering newborn. One loves a toddler who just smeared his own poop on his bedroom wall. Love is predicated upon the promise, whether biological and social as parenting often is or willfully given in betrothal. Tender affections may very well give rise to a profound love, but they are not a mark of love's genuineness. (I have felt very fond of and close to literary figures in my life. And even movie characters. That is never love).

In the contemporary Western context the promise often finds first utterance under the flushed cheeks of affections. We are motivated to commitment because of that feeling of pleasure and joy. Who wants that secure, comforting embrace to ever end? We will make it ours eternally. We promise.

The question immediately rises: to what are we promising ourselves? You see, if one soul believes that the ensuing love must be encompassing all human experiences, including pain and sacrifice, yet the other believes herself committing to a perpetually state of tender affections, then the promise itself is a dead letter. Then the currency of human relationship becomes nearly worthless, and silence is simply easier than carting around the huge bundles of cash which every sentence, every terse conversation requires.