Kim Gentes

“The Gifts of the Jews” is the second book in the “the Hinges of History” series from Thomas Cahill. In many ways this book should probably be considered the first book, since it forms as its base the chronological beginnings for much of the other materials that come later in the series. The point of the book is simply to explore the narrative of the origins of Hebrew people, how the nation of Israel was formed and developed, and how that led to some of the most important philosophical, spiritual and intellectual advances across the globe and across history. Author Thomas Cahill is as unashamed of his admiration for the Jews and their narrative as he is about pointing to their faults and inconsistencies that he believes he finds in the story.  The Gifts of the Jews presents both and in doing so lends credibility to both his thesis and his manner of presenting it.

The author begins with the literal origins of civilization, exploring and articulating from ancient times how the Fertile Crescent of Mesopotamia progressed from the cradle of life to the launchpad for innovation and avarice. He shows how the original cities came into being in Sumer, examines one of the first written stories, “The Epic of Gilgamesh”, and details with imaginative freedom the temples, cult and ritual of the ancient Sumarians. In doing this, he creates the backdrop for the world in which appeared the nomadic Semitics, whom Cahill eventually identifies as the people from which Abraham (though he uses the technical translation of Avraham in his writing) comes.  Having set the stage well, The Gifts of the Jews begins with the story of Abraham, his family and the unique gift of faith that he represents. The author’s knowledge of world history helps to give us pointers on the many “firsts” that the Jews give us, including faith:

This God gives and takes beyond human reasoning or justification. Because his motives are not interpretable and his thoughts and actions are not foreseeable, anything—and everything—is possible. Many new things have already come into being as a result of this relationship, but faith most of all, which prior to Avraham had no place in religious feeling and imagination. Because all is possible, faith is possible, even necessary.[1]

From that point on, Cahill attributes the Jews with not only introducing the notion of faith, but time, individuality and even the concept of history itself:

Since time is no longer cyclical but one-way and irreversible, personal history is now possible and an individual life can have value.[2]

and

But the God of Avraham, Yitzhak, and Yaakov—no longer your typical ancient divinity, no longer the archetypal gesturer—is a real personality who has intervened in real history, changing its course and robbing it of predictability.[3]

finally:

The Israelites, by becoming the first people to live—psychologically—in real time, also became the first people to value the New and to welcome Surprise. In doing this, they radically subverted all other ancient worldviews[4]

Like all his books in this series, Cahill’s pithy writing is combined with an authentic ability to mine some meta-narrative truths. This one is a great example of such discovery:

Like Avraham, he never doubts the information of his senses—that this is really happening—only God’s lack of realism...[5]

I find this a particularly poignant note of the authors. Cahill is absolutely hit the nail on the head here, as anyone who has tried to follow YHWH knows. God seems to have a juxtaposed sense of “reasonableness” in almost anyone he calls to live with Him in relationship.  From Abraham to Joseph to David to the prophets to the disciples. Nothing significant is done by someone who is just “doing what makes sense”. While not other-worldly, YHWH asks men and women to dare to do things beyond themselves, knowing his spirit will be needed to actually do anything in “reality”. This point has never been made strong enough in the biblical teaching I’ve received or given. It is not as naive as heroism, but rather an unlinking of the desire to stay safe by trusting God fully. Sometimes in utter fear and trembling, but still obedient, knowing it the right thing to do, despite the serious threats to the contrary.

Cahill goes on to give the entire narrative (less than more) of the people of Israel, right up until the final exile of Judah and eventual restoration through the edict of Persian King Cyrus in 538 BC. In his retelling, the author points to the Jews as the originators of justice both personal and societal, through the introduction of the 10 Commandments[6]. He also acclaims Jews for being the inventors of leisure, or rest  from work, saying “No ancient society before the Jews had a day of rest.”[7] Cahill points to the story of David and the example of his triumph over Goliath as the ultimate story of hope for the weak and powerless. Speaking of David’s speech before slaying Goliath, he says:

This is a wonderful speech—and a wonderful moment in the history of Israel and of the human race—a resounding assertion that God is on the side of the small and powerless, not the high and mighty. This is a confrontation that has fixed itself permanently in human imagination; and who could count how many supposedly hopeless causes it has given strength and comfort to?[8]

Before retiring to the greatness of this book and author, I must lodge at least one essential objection. Cahill builds such a good rhythm between Hebrew scripture, historical context and plain good thinking that we can become anaesthetised to some of his flat out erroneous statements.  I will point out just one place in which he runs his ship into a gigantic rock of presumption and contradiction.

But even without resorting to modern scientific methodology or noticing what an inconsistent palimpsest the Hebrew Bible can be, we must reject certain parts of the Bible as unworthy of a God we would be willing to believe in. We read, for instance, in the Book of Joshua that God commanded the Israelites to put all Canaanites, even children, to the sword; and in the Psalms the poet regularly urges God to effect the brutal destruction of all the poet’s enemies. Though the people who wrote such words may have believed they were inspired by God, we cannot. ... But it remains true that there is no way of attributing mass carnage and vindictive slaughter to a God worth believing in. Even the fiercest believer among us must, I think, admit that these operations were the work of human beings who had wrongly convinced themselves that God was on their side.[9]

Cahill does not ask us to look at historical evidence, textual evidence or even possible modern scholarship that might put some source in question. No, instead, here he asks us to set aside the content of the text simply because he can’t believe in a God who would do such things. This is a tragic misstep for the author because he doesn’t make this kind of aberration of logic on such a major point in any other place in the book. While I can understand (and sympathise) with Cahill’s point (as can most people), we simply can’t accept our moral compass to be the judge of God’s judgments and character.  And, in fact, this goes against Cahill’s primary source of Hebrew distinction amongst all the other nations of the world - the “Voice”.  One of the author’s main thesis points is that the “Voice” that Avram follows is the great distinguishing source of reality that leads Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, the patriarchs and all Israel into the discoveries and truths that Cahill lauds.  If the “Voice” that declared the Decalogue is the voice we must listen to, then the same voice cannot be ignored if he commands Abraham to sacrifice his son on the altar.  We can look in hindsight and parlay our thoughts and justifications against these actions which we find painful and in-congruent, but ultimately leaving out these truths (and they are truths spoken by the same voice) means we leave out the Mystery of the Voice, which history has shown us is as important as any knowing of the same Voice, perhaps even more so. If the Voice is God, then we surely are not, and we must not, drown out his words with our murmurings and justifications of a “God we’d like”. Cahill fails on his attempt to make YHWH into the God “he’d like”, and a sound review of his book would be remiss if this point was not brought up.

That said, with this book, as with the others in this series, there is so many poignant points we can scarcely give even the most important a mention. But towering over all of them are the twin points of individualism (including personal choice as a way of transforming the present and future) and the requirement of all people to gain a sense of conscience and justice, which must eventually lead to freedom. I will allow quotes from Cahill himself to summarize his book most aptly:

The Jews gave us the Outside and the Inside—our outlook and our inner life. We can hardly get up in the morning or cross the street without being Jewish. We dream Jewish dreams and hope Jewish hopes. Most of our best words, in fact—new, adventure, surprise; unique, individual, person, vocation; time, history, future; freedom, progress, spirit; faith, hope, justice—are the gifts of the Jews.[10]

and

Nor can we imagine the great liberation movements of modern history without reference to the Bible. Without the Bible we would never have known... Democracy, in contrast, grows directly out of the Israelite vision of individuals, subjects of value because they are images of God, each with a unique and personal destiny. There is no way that it could ever have been “self-evident that all men are created equal” without the intervention of the Jews.[11]

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Review by Kim Gentes

[1] Cahill, Thomas, “The Gifts of the Jews: How a Tribe of Desert Nomads Changed the Way Everyone Thinks and Feels (Hinges of History)”. (New York, NY: Random House 1998)., Kindle Edition, Page 93

[2] Ibid., Page 95

[3] Ibid., Page 98

[4] Ibid., Page 128

[5] Ibid., Page 107

[6] Ibid., Page 146, 156

[7] Ibid., Page 144

[8] Ibid., Page 180

[9] Ibid., Page 245-246

[10] Ibid., Page 240

[11] Ibid., Page 248

“I and Thou” is a translated work, originally in German, written by author, scholar and professor Martin Buber.  Explaining and exploring this book in a review would be very difficult as an exercise of structure, since the book is not, in any sense, a structured narrative. It is actually a kind of artful, linguistic treatise, the purpose of which seems to be to reveal the folly of language itself (and thought to some degree) to properly frame reality. Buber’s main contention is that our language and our modern world drive us from the childlike assumption of relationship (the I and Thou) to the “mature” and felonious way of life that objectifies myself (I), people (others) and the world into the frame of I and It. Changing the Thou to an It, according to Buber, is done through many ways- but all of them break the powerful reality that the true Thou (God) intended. According to the author, we are meant to see the world through relational connections, not simply as objects and experiences.

As experience, the world belongs to the primary word I-It. The primary word I-Thou establishes the world of relation.[1]

More than any other part of the book, these two sentences scope the understanding of the entire text. I/It is a way to think about the world as objects and components. I/Thou is a way to think about the world that is relational. One compartmentalizes and dehumanizes others (I/It), the other makes everything possible and valuable by relation and connection not assignment of value.

By way of example, history is one way in which Thou changes to It. Buber clarifies that when we objectify (even living things) to describe them as details in the past, we remove them as living beings from our relational language (and hence our responsibility of personal direct relationship) to them. I and Thou is about the differentiation we place in understanding things as "it" and real beings as "thou", both of which are outside of "I". Everything outside of "I" is a way of seeing the world and defining both the "thou" and "it" as well as the "I". The whole concept sounds silly as I write it here, but becomes clear about 40 pages in to his book. For me, the writing is prose/poetry that helps extract us from the trappings of language that we are blind to. Think of Buber's challenge to writing this book-- imagine trying to help people see something that causes assumptions from the use of language. But in order to communicate the fact that language is problematic (or perhaps assumptive) in how we see the world, Buber must use language (the book) to deconstruct how people see their world. Buber does this with language (long before postmodernism had stolen this trick from the rationalists, believe it or not)- he doesn't use argument to deconstruct our assumptions- he uses writing style itself. So in using language (style) to deconstruct language (understanding) he accomplishes a dual purpose of deconstructing and constructing his new (though, not new, but just always missed due to our worldview) clarity to the characters of "I", "thou" and "it". By the time you get into the book deep enough to see his core concepts flourish into fully developed "results" you get some of the most riveting statements, such as this four sentence deluge of brilliance--

Feelings are "entertained": love comes to pass. Feelings dwell in man; but man dwells in his love. That is no metaphor, but the actual truth. Love does not cling to the I in such a way as to have the Thou only for its “content,” its object; but love is between I and Thou.[2]

The problem is, you can't get to that statement until you pass through Buber’s prerequisite points made through the first 40 pages of his book. I am learning a ton just reading this book, but it is likely I will have to re-read it a few times to start to mine its treasures well.

Still, the book contains dozens of succinct and poignant truths, the chief among them may be:

Love is responsibility of an I for a Thou.[3]

Another particularly astute observation he makes about all humanity

(This “fancy” does not in the least involve, however, a “giving of life to the universe”: it is-the instinct to make everything into Thou, to give relation to the universe, the instinct which completes out of its own richness the living effective action when a mere copy or symbol of it is given in what is over against him.)[4]

Speaking of infants/unborn children in the womb, Buber brilliantly explores their psychological reality. Here we see the idea that people try to create I and Thou relationships out of everything in life from the earliest age, because our first connection in existence is the I/Thou with the womb and person of our mother. Perhaps a bit Freudian, but ultimately a brilliant perception.

But my favorite parts of the book are that you can actually find practical nuggets of help for real life. This seemed surprising in such a combination of poetic, philosophical meanderings.  One of my favorite quotes of this type is on marriage where Buber says:

Marriage, for instance, will never be given new life except by that out of which true marriage always arises, the revealing by two people of the Thou to one another.[5]

My final quotation is in the very practical ground of community, where Buber seems to echo another great thinker in the last century.

It is not the periphery, the community, that comes first, but the radii, the common quality of relation with the Centre. This alone guarantees the authentic existence of the community.[6]

This sounds very much like Bonhoeffer's idea of a wish-dream in community. Here Buber is saying that true community exists only when the common quality of relation is defined in the Centre. That Centre (God) itself defines the arc of community. Community doesn't define God, He defines it and gives it reality.

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Review by Kim Gentes

[1] Buber, Martin (1934). I and Thou translated by Ronald Gregor Smith (New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1958) Kindle Edition, Location 187

[2] Ibid., Location 326

[3] Ibid., Location 332

[4] Ibid., Location 489

[5] Ibid., Location 717

[6] Ibid., Location 1642

“Good and Evil” is a short, but insightful philosophical work by Martin Buber.  The book is primarily involved with defining evil, exploring its origins and metaphors (across ancient scripture and myth) and understanding how it frames the struggle of man to become what God has called him to be. While the book is called Good and Evil, Buber spends very little time discussing good and, in fact, frames good only by giving a comprehensive understanding of its counterpart- evil.  From that perspective, Buber seeks to develop his main points of the two forces.

The book is broken in two sections. The first section examines five Psalms which deal mainly with the human plight of anguish and descending frustration in a world in which the wicked seem to prosper and righteous fail to win the day. The second section is a combination of both a dissection on the biblical account of the “fall” of man in the garden of Eden (and also the first active sin of Cain’s murder of his brother Abel) and an examination of the ancient Iranian/Zarathustrian myths that explore the origins of evil.

Buber’s contention builds through his exploration of evil at these various main points:

1. Evil is indecision to not act towards God and his desires. That is, good is decision made towards God’s desires, while evil is indecision, not polarized opposite good. Yet evil (as indecision) inevitably leads to a direction away from God.[1]
2. Evil action is dependent, first, on knowledge of evil. This acquisition of knowledge of evil happened as “pre-evil” in the garden (Adam and Eve), and once acquired manifests itself as evil actions since then (as in Cain’s murder of Abel).[2]
3. The core “sin” of evil is the lie.[3]
4. Evil is a denial of the true self and, in effect, is a pledge of the soul towards the lie.[4]
5. Evil is specific activity of mind towards one-self in which a person claims to be their own creator.[5]

During Buber’s exploration of evil he generates an outline, by circumspection, of what “good” is.  But his thoughts about good become a cogent synthesis in the final sections of the short book, where we encounter a combination of philosophical and theological thoughts that highlight Buber’s brilliance.

Buber infers, through negation, that good is staying focused and purposefully moving in the direction of God’s divine vision of your reality of who He created you to be, when he says

Phantasy... God pronounces evil because it distracts from His divinely given reality...[6]

All of Buber’s thoughts begin to rush like streams into one mighty river of thought in the last pages of his book, where his thoughts about human meaning and life surge off the pages. He concludes that man’s very life depends on God’s revelation to him, from which man can respond to move towards God by service which reflects and confirms that reason to which God created the man. God’s revelation, man’s service as authentication of that revelation, and the reiteration (via confirmation) back to the man is the perpetual cycle in which humans move in the right direction towards the creation God intended them to be.  This is summed up beautifully in these final two quotes from the last chapter.

Man as man is an audacity of life, undetermined and unfixed; he therefore requires confirmation, and he can naturally only receive this as individual man, in that others and he himself confirm him in his being-this-man. Again and again the Yes must be spoken to him, from the look of the confidant and from the stirrings of his own heart, to liberate him from the dread of abandonment, which is a foretaste of death.[7]

and

Every ethos has its original in a revelation, whether or not it is still aware of and obedient to it; and every revelation is revelation of human service to the goal of creation, in which service man authenticates himself. Without authentication, that is, without setting off upon and keeping to the One direction, as far as he is able, quantum satis, man certainly has what he calls life, even the life of the soul, even the life of the spirit, in all freedom and fruitfulness, all standing and status- existence there is none for him without it.[8]

This is a brilliant book by an obviously brilliant mind. It may require slower reading to drink the concepts in here, but it is well worth the time.

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Review by Kim Gentes

[1] Buber, Martin (1952). Good and Evil (Upper Saddle River, NJ: Prentice Hall 1992), Page 134

[2] Ibid., Page 82

[3] Ibid., Page 7

[4] Ibid., Page 113

[5] Ibid., Page 110

[6] Ibid., Page 126

[7] Ibid., Page 136

[8] Ibid., Page 142

It's true. There is a long history of a small segment of Christianity that has held to the belief that God will save all people, even those that reject him on this earth. Rob Bell's recent book "Love Wins" takes a look at another spin of this age-old concept of universalism.  Bell writes and thinks well. There is no denying it. But ultimately he stays well within the context of the best argument for universalism- human reason and human attribution of the qualities of "love" on to the Divine Person.  As long as you use logic that does not look at all the scriptural record, and rely heavily on personal anecdotes to frame the "kind of God" that you are willing to believe in (and that He is a good God), then you can arrive at the doctrine of universalism and feel pretty good about it. And this is primarily what Bell does.

I was surprised at how anecdotal the entire book was. I love much of Bell's writing, but his treatment of this topic relies initially on a logical progression of human reasoning (not based primarily on Scripture) and ignores investigation, explanation and support of key texts that seem to contradict Bell's thesis. I wanted to emotionally agree with Rob Bell. But neither the specific texts of the Bible that might seem to support universalism (but on deeper look, do not), the historical context of Jesus timeframe or a comprehensive review of all Scripture (including texts which clearly contradict universalism, and overtly declare literal judgment in a literal hell) line up to do anything but refute the premise and content of "Love Wins". I am not a Bell basher, and I appreciate and like some of his other works. Throughout, there are a number of concepts based on specific redefinitions of words (such as forever not actually meaning "eternal", hell not meaning a non-earthly place of punishment but instead meaning "Hell is our refusal to trust God’s retelling of our story"[1] according to Bell). And you see the conflict here- yes Hell could include our refusal to trust God's retelling, but it is a definition that removes the imagery Jesus used of suffering and eternity.

 Bell begins with exploring some thoughts about what kind of God we might be talking about, who is ultimatley in control, some thoughts about hell as a concept (placing it on earth mostly, and certainly not as a reality in the ethereal world), understanding more about what God's desires are and how they might work and ultimately towards a conclusion that just assumes that a good God would not send a person intentionally to a painful punishment for all eternity. But Bell uses conjecture as his backbone to the book, not scripture. He proof texts some support when possible, but does not draw his primary thoughts from the bible.

I love that Bell asks so many profound questions. For this, his voice is refreshing. But "Love Wins" ultimately answers none of its questions except to give universalism a "pass" because ultimately Bell's anecdotal view of life leads him to that conclusion.

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Review by Kim Gentes

[1]Bell, Rob. "Love Wins: A Book About Heaven, Hell, and the Fate of Every Person Who Ever Lived". (New York, NY: HarperCollins, 2011) Kindle Edition.  Pg. 170

The argument is made that naming God is never really naming God but only naming our understanding of God. To take our ideas of the divine and hold them as if they correspond to the reality of God is thus to construct a conceptual idol built from the materials of our mind.[1]

Thus launches a compact and insightful book on the Christian church for the postmodern age.  The book is “How (Not) To Speak of God” and is written by Peter Rollins.  This book is a philosophical building block for what is considered a new brand of Christianity- one that places itself beyond Catholic or Protestant confines as a re-invention of the foundational core Christian tenants of faith on a new trajectory than previous “Christian” classes of belief.  As with all belief centered in logic, foundational comprehension and exploration of such belief begins with language.  Rollins begins and fuels much of his book with the clarifying of language in his “emerging church” conversation.  This is done through visiting constructs such as definitions, re-definitions,  syntax (a/theology, a/theist, mis/understood etc) and even ambiguating subject/predicate grammar (God rid me of God[2]).

The purpose of Rollins use of language in this way is to break ground on traditional use of language against which our faith is eventually handcuffed into suppositions that it cannot adequately make it s way free of. As you can see from one of the opening arguments (top), one of the primary points of his re-imagining what it means to talk about God is to re-think about how conceive about him as an object in a sentence. The noun for God, in Rollins logic, is itself rife with our own thoughts about that noun. We name it and believe it in a circular motion, which continues to define who God is by our use of a label-- thus an undefinable God has become something by use of such a label that we cannot be sure he is.

It is with this kind of linguistic and philosophical approach that How (Not) To Speak of God uses to arrive at several points such as the meaning of what it is to be a Christian, what it is to become one, what belief is, reason and its place in belief, influenced observation (Heisenberg principle), ideology as idolatry, revelation as concealment and more.  He then explores many inversions of current orthodox belief such as a/theistic belief- the concept that our deconstruction of edifices about God (what he calls “unknowing”) actual lead us closer to God by removing what we think of God. He says this well:

This a/theistic approach is deeply deconstructive since it always prevents our ideas from scaling the throne of God. Yet it is important to bear in mind that this deconstruction is not destruction, for the questioning it engages in is not designed to undermine God but to affirm God. This method is similar to that practised by the original cynics who, far from being nihilists and relativists, were deeply moral individuals who questioned the ethical conduct they saw around them precisely because they loved morality so much. This a/theism is thus a deeply religious and faith-filled form of cynical discourse, one which captures how faith operates in an oscillation between understanding and unknowing. This unknowing is to be utterly distinguished from an intellectually lazy ignorance, for it is a type of unknowing which arises not from imprecision but rather from deep reflection and sustained meditation.[3]

All of this redefinition is helpful to allow in the inverted /dark side of thought as things which can become a vital part of faith- dis-belief, doubt, longings, sorrow and hunger.  Rollins hopes that his straightforward, though at times over-done, approach allows a more holistic exploration of broad formation of “theology”. His goal is to bring religion back to the ability to build in a orthodoxy of both knowing God and a tradition of self-critique, saying “To be part of the Christian religion is to simultaneously hold that religion lightly.[4]”

Rollins has a target, however, beyond just language and philosophical theological editing.  He leads the reader to a point of both the need for transformation and the need for a desire for transformation[5].  This is an important primer to creating a fresh man/God vacuum expository (Pascalian God-shaped hole: retold) he sets up the focus of need (hunger) that leads his readers to the primacy of Christianity.  For Rollins, the climax of all thought towards God leads self-critiquing people to the core tenant of love, but even that is re-envisioned:

Thus we can never rest easy, believing that we have discovered the foundations that act as a key for working out what we must do in different situations: for the only clear foundation laid down by Jesus was the law of love.[6]

The remainder of the book deals with practical exploration, including several case studies (examples) of gatherings that Rollins and others have designed to help with post modern expression, in the form of art/drama and concept that allow the attendants to enter imaginatively into this process of deconstruction and opportunity for re-envisioning God not as we see him now, but as we are relearning.

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Review by Kim Gentes

[1]Rollins, Peter. “How (Not) to Speak of God”. Kindle Edition (Brewster, MA: Paraclete Press 2006), Location 238

[2]Ibid., Location 265

[3]Ibid., Location 642

[4]Ibid., Location 971

[5]Ibid., Location 1054

[6]Ibid., Location 1333