Sex, Lies and Valentine

Happy or not, Valentine's Day has arrived once again, and with it comes celebration for those with dates and sorrow from those who would surely prefer another date, like February 15. But for those of you who mourn loves lost, take comfort in your fortune to avoid a celebration that revolves around the greeting card's replacement of the once noble (but time-consuming) poetry of love.

Valentine's Day, one would expect, celebrates the loving legacy of some third century saint. Of course, like the rest of pop history, that's all bunk. The origin of Valentine's Day has nothing to do with Roman martyrs, arising--depending on who you believe--out of ancient myths that tell stories of suckling wolves or mating birds.

Dear old Saint Valentine hardly has a romantic story. He spent his working days as a pagan priest and physician in ancient Rome until he was thrown in jail for protecting persecuted Christians. While in jail, Valentine converted to Christianity and restored sight to the jailer's daughter. Then they clubbed him to death, which when you think about it, was a relatively painless way to achieve martyrdom in those days. It sure beat the lions.

The origins of our tacky celebrations apparently derive not from the martyr but from one of two other sources. Historians place the Roman festival of Lupercalia in the middle of February and suggest that a pagan bacchanal might have developed over the course of centuries into our tamer celebration of romantic love. Alternatively, a poetic mistake might have placed the dawning of spring in the middle of winter.

Honoring the Roman god of fertility, Lupercalia celebrated the wolf who suckled Romulus and Remus, providing the luckier brother with the martial vigor to found a great city on the body of the unluckier brother. The holiday celebrated not only unrestrained sexuality but the martial spirit of Romulus' descendants in wild days of drinking, games and orgies. Greeting cards were not required.

English writers may have claimed St. Valentine's Day for the Christians when Geoffrey Chaucer linked the day to a medieval myth of mating birds. "For this was on Seynt Valentynes Day, /Whan every fould cometh there to chese his make," Chauser wrote in his "Parliament of Fowls." Apparently, the birds come together on St. Valentine's Day to celebrate the beauty of spring by enjoying their new mates. This was not such a happy occassion for the poet, who complains in the poem about swarms of mating birds, who tormented him with their noise and crowded the poor poet out of his garden.

Never mind that St. Valentine's Day takes place in the spring, which as I imagine the birds would tell you now, is awfully cold for mating. Henry Kelly, who actually wrote a book on this subject, suggests that Chaucer's St. Valentine's Day took place not in midwinter but in early May, in honor of an obscure saint from Genoa. Later poets erroneously carried the bird's mating day to the original St. Valentine's feast day on February 14.

All of this may provide little comfort to those of you who are left alone in the cold on a day when even the birds get a better deal than you. Our culture may be left with little more than Hallmark to sanctify Valentine's Day, but that information alone still doesn't get you a date.

Still, I bring some good news as well for those of you who thought your intellectual gifts came in exchange for fortune in love. Because like on any other day of the year, on Valentine's Day, the rich get richer and the poor get, well, lonelier.

According to a Gallup Poll in 1992, 89% of those young people in the highest income bracket said they were in love, compared to 67% of those in the lowest bracket. Apparently, money can buy happiness, which is good news for lonely Harvard students contemplating their brilliant careers.

Enjoy this Valentine's Day for those who can, and for those who cannot, take comfort in the fact that the odds are on your side for future years.

Steven A. Engel bows to consumerism and wishes a happy day to his own valentine.