June 10 -- Feast of Saints Theophanes and Pansemne

"The Saint Harlot"  used without permission

Courtesan: that's the nicest word for it, right?  It makes it sound almost professional.  And by definition, a courtesan services only affluent, socially acceptable men.  Hookers and whores have the low-priced, high-volume mass market.

Pansemne was a very successful courtesan in fourth century Antioch. I would say that she was popular, but that almost implies a heavy trade -- rather, she was in great demand.  Her appearance, of course, was flawless; nature and art combined to give her sublimely irresistible beauty.  Moreover, having begun her trade at the apex of society, she was an object (yes, the word is chosen carefully) of aspiration.  One measure of a man's place in society is whether he might purchase a little of Pansemne's time and attention.  As her wealth increased, so too did the luxury of her home; as that luxury increased, so too did her price, and thus her wealth.

Theophanes was a modest polytheist in Antioch when he married at age fifteen.  He had three happy years before his wife died; in despair, he became a Christian and a hermit.  That seems a bit extreme to me, as it did to him after a while.  Although he remained a hermit, living in a mud hut in the desert, he would often wander into the city to admonish the idolaters to accept his adopted religion.

Sidd & Kamala -- nice hair, K.

On one occasion, he spotted Pansemne.  I cannot help but think here of Hermann Hesse's Siddhartha.  In that book, the samana (ascetic monk) sees Kamala the Courtesan. He dedicates himself to learning love from her, and in this pursuit, he abandons all spirituality for hedonism.  Fortunately, Theophanes was made of stronger stuff.  True, he dedicated himself to winning her love, but if he lost sight of his ultimate concern at all, he regained it in plenty of time.

In one telling I found, Theophanes shows up all scruffy and ragged, smelling like a desert hermit and talking about God.  Pansemne is intrigued, if not attracted, and lets him visit occasionally until he finally wears her down.  She repents her wayward life and joins a convent; he returns to his desert hut.  That version sucks, which is why I got it out of the way.  It is not, by the way, the version that comes from the Menaea Graeca, a twelve-volume set of saints' stories that I don't own. [Subtle hint, Santa Claus.] 

In the better version, he gets a boatload of gold and some proper primping.  Nice clothes, shave and a haircut, just a hint of the best cologne -- nine yards of upper crust.  How did a desert hermit transform himself into an urban dandy?  I could tell you, but I'd be making it up.  It's better if you use your own imagination.  Anyway, he gets an appointment on her calendar and turns on the charm.  A little wine, maybe some fruit and light conversation.

T: How long have you been practicing your art?
P: (Smiles at his euphemism): Twelve years.
T: And in all that time, you've never wanted to be married?
P: (chuckles) No one ever asked me.
T: And what if I were to ask you to be my wife?  What would you say?
P: (getting uncomfortable) I'd say that courtesans do not make proper wives.  They are -- that is, we are -- not publicly acceptable, not worthy company in polite society. 
T: No person is unworthy.  Be my wife, if you love me.

She accepted, but was somewhat dismayed to see the hovel where he lived.  Moreover, she was stunned to learn that she would be living in her own hovel beside his as soon as he hoveled it together.  Living celibately, no less.  She suggested that they could live in her mansion, but he countered that she needed to sell that and give all her wealth to the poor of Antioch. 

Home sweet home

How did those conversations go?  How was she persuaded to deke all her rich boyfriends and toss all the stuff they bought for her?  To give up the one thing that everyone said she was really, really good at?  To live with a man who didn't love her as a man loves a woman, but instead passionately wanted her to share his faith in an invisible God that would reward them after death?  Again, the imagination must serve where the record fails.  And once the imagination has been invited in, you might also consider whether Theo's proposal came on the first visit, or the fifth, or the twelfth.  Wouldn't she have been suspicious of a young man who paid a lot of money for her time but didn't want sex?  And in the desert, married and living together (more or less), was celibacy really necessary?  Was it even possible?  Your saint, your story. 

They enjoyed twenty-two months of blissful asceticism and devotion to the Lord before dying, both on the same day, at their desert home.