The Confessions of Saint Augustine. The Influence of Self-Loathing.

Augustine of Hippo lived during a time of exceptional upheaval. It was the beginning of the Dark Ages, when the christianized Roman Empire was crumbling. His Confessions was written between 397 and 398 AD, 13 years prior to the sack of the capitol by the Visigoths. Perhaps this historical situation is responsible for the fervid tone of his philosophy, although truthfully, there are zealots in every age.

Among rational, educated people, it is easy to explain this early Christian philosopher as a relic of a darkly superstitious and insecure time. We can understand his cultural influences, and accept his limitations with the same charity that we understand Aristotle’s theory of Spontaneous Generation. But unlike Spontaneous Generation, Augustine’s ideas are taken seriously today. Many theologians see him as the seminal Christian Philosopher.  Many Catholic and non-Catholic lay people rapturize his quotes. The Dictionary of Scientific Biography includes him in what can be magnanimously described as an attempt to be open-minded. My copy of The Confessions gushes from its cover that this is “The greatest spiritual autobiography of all time.”

Unfortunately, Augustine comes with the emotional baggage of a damaged girlfriend who cuts. He is full of loathing and abuse towards himself. He calls himself “dust and ashes” (Augustine, p. 46). He says things like “I stank in [God’s] eyes” (Augustine, p. 65). With Flagellant masochism, Augustine describes his sin as if he is “bound about with painful chains of iron…scourged by burning rods of jealousy” (Augustine, p. 77). In response to the natural desires of adolescence, he says “clouds arose from the slimy desires of the flesh” (Augustine, p. 65).  The saint’s descriptions are so graphic, sensual and laced with bondage and discipline, that he makes a fetish of his self-hatred and writhes in an ecstasy of suffering and self-punishment for his humanness.

And what is his solution to the aforementioned sinfulness? More self-torture: God “scourged me with heavy punishments, but nothing in proportion to my faults” (Augustine, p. 80). God “stood me face to face with myself, so that I might see how foul I was, how deformed and defiled, how covered with stains and sores” (Augustine, p. 193). Apparently Augustine’s particular kink requires verbal abuse while he’s being whipped.

Even after a decade in God’s Pleasure Dungeon, and numerous renunciations that would make the most fanatic Ascetic weep, Augustine is still not good enough. He has tossed the woman (and child she bore him) out of his house and become celibate. He has given-up lucrative academic posts to pursue his warped truth. He lives with the scrubbed cleanliness of laundry beaten on rocks. But he needs a final push towards holiness. So what is his method? More self-torture:  “I upbraided myself much more bitterly than ever before. I twisted and turned in my chain” (Augustine, p. 199). God, ever the obliging dominatrix, “redoubled the scourges of fear and shame” (Augustine, p. 200). With this increased, punishing stimulation, Augustine is finally urged to let go in a climax of unity with the Divine.

I wish I could say that Augustine learned to love himself once he’d reached his goal. But this abused child of God was never good enough. He continues his celibacy and avoids physical pleasure. He even goes as far as avoiding pleasing fragrances and shutting-out pleasant melodies in church music (Augustine, p. 261). All senses are potential traps that can haul one back into sin. Concerning the sense of taste, he says “I…come to take food just as I take medicine” (Augustine, p. 258). For the rest of his life, Augustine is vigilant against the joys of the physical world.

It may interest free-thinking people to know what kinds of things are considered sins by this revered figure. In addition to the expected Seven Deadlies and violations of the Ten Commandments, Augustine includes Theater. Contact with The Stage, in Augustine’s colorfully graphic style, results in being “infected with loathsome sores” (Augustine, p. 78). Someone should have told him that the sores only occur if you have sex with the actors. As usual, knowledge is a bad thing, leading to the unfortunate consequences of thinking and questioning for one’s self (always a sin in the face of an authority that benefits from ignorance.) Knowledge leads away from God, “into the depths of apostasy and into the deceitful service of demons” (Augustine, p. 80). Free Will naturally follows: “the free will’s decision is the cause of our doing evil” (Augustine, p. 160). Anything to maintain a flock of sheep.

Paramount among sins is the sin of being human. “See how we wallow in flesh and blood” (Augustine, p. 195). It’s the tired, “spirit good; body bad” duality. Tired but ever profitable for religion. When it comes to creating converts, there is nothing quite as effective as telling people that what comes naturally to them, simply by being who they are is sinful; and that the only way to salvation is through the proffered organization.

Perhaps the most dangerous sin is that of heresy. Dangerous to the health of the heretic of course. In his discussion of the Manichean sect, Augustine states “They themselves are truly evil” (Augustine, p. 197). In another passage about them, he says that they “deserved to be spewed forth by a sickened stomach” (Augustine, p. 159). These are comments the saint makes about a sect that he was a part of for nine years. But he has no compassion for them. Dehumanizing the opposition is an excellent way to permit their persecution and destruction. If they’re characterized as vomit, or evil, killing them is okay. This is the foundation of what is called “The Augustinian Consensus,” a euphemism and philosophical justification for persecution. Augustine’s self-hatred regarding his own sin spilled-over onto humanity. It resulted in a millennium of violent persecutions against any individual or group perceived as unrepentant sinners.

This is the true danger of Augustine’s self-loathing. If it was just a case of this narrow, anti-motivational speaker influencing some horrible, small-minded people to hate their humanness as much as he hated his, I’d say that they were getting their just desserts. Unfortunately, these guilty-feeling busybodies never keep it to themselves. You’ll see them invade funerals for AIDS patients so that they can jeer at the bereaved family, or in the courtroom interfering with the private right of a couple to make end-of-life decisions, or in public schools trying to prevent condom distribution. And this is actually progress from the days when they would kill you for your transgressions (unless you’re an abortion provider, and then it’s game on…Dark Ages-style.) I’m not a psych clinician, but I can see the road that this self-hatred and self-denial leads down. And the dead end to that road is not a healthy place for either that individual or our society.

Augustine. The Confessions of St Augustine. Ryan, John K. (trans.) New York: Doubleday, 1960.

Bohemian Paris by Dan Franck. Cynthia Hope Liebow, translator.

Bohemian Paris is a lively portrait of the arts social scene between Montmartre and Montparnasse, from the late 1890’s to the 1930’s. Its chapters are predominately short biographical sketches of the personalities who lived in Paris. Their stories are laced with personal, sentimental and often lurid details of each subject’s life. Artists weave in and out of each other’s biographies, giving a sense of community and atmosphere to the book.

The writing is quite good. Dan Franck has an excellent translator in Cynthia Hope Liebow, who is able to maintain the author’s images with the smooth, informal style of an experienced storyteller. And a story it is, told in a narrative form by an author who has written some fiction. Those seeking hard, empirical historiography will be disappointed.

Sometimes factual reality suffers for the sake of story: “While Kiki and Man Ray were drifting off to sleep on the first page of their love story, a girl of about twenty was pushing open the door of her apartment on the rue Cardinet” (Franck, p. 332). This is a clumsy segue, not a chronological fact. The author also employs conflation as if it were a noble device, when describing a scene: We know that, when Picasso was told that his portrait of Gertrude Stein did not look like her, he responded “she will end up looking like it.” We know that Stein said of Madame Picasso “All she can talk about are three things: hats, perfume and furs.” We know that Braque was upset that his paintings were being blackened near Stein’s hearth. These are old chestnuts. But we can be relatively certain that they did not occur at the same party as expressed in the chapter “An Afternoon on the Rue de Fleurus.” Finally, there is a good deal of hyperbole: Derain “Knew everything there was to know about the literature of his time” (Franck, p. 66). “When [Picasso] was fourteen, his father deposited his own paints and brushes at his son’s feet, giving up an art in which the youngster had already surpassed him” (Picasso’s father was both a professional artist and art professor who did not give up his career at the age of 57)  (Franck, p. 16).

Because of this elevation of story above history, one begins to question some of the book’s claims. I found myself hitting the internet to investigate some of the more dramatic assertions. I was pleased to find that there were no deliberate falsifications. The reader will be amazed at the number of sordid details Franck was able to catalog.

There are undoubtedly times when the serious art lover or historian will be frustrated by the quantity of gossip and the obsession with subjects’ eccentricities. Additionally, there are segments that are tasteless. The author feels it necessary to mention more than once that Kiki of Montparnasse did not wear undergarments. The suicide of Jules Pascin is gratuitously described. Serious study is not a phrase that accurately describes this book.

One consistent problem with Bohemian Paris is that there is so little about the art itself. In a social history of art, one would expect to read more about how the artists influenced each other, what they discussed in terms of theory or technique, etc. Certainly there is some of this, but the author is more concerned with what drugs or lovers these people shared than what influences they shared. More time is spent describing how individuals dressed, rather than how they thought about their work.

To his credit, Franck covers some lesser-known figures of early 20^th Century Paris. Some are artists whose biographies are hard to find. More importantly, Franck includes the women of Paris. So few women were accepted in the artistic domain, that it is refreshing to discover their lives and ambitions. Unfortunately, (except for Gertrude Stein) the women are only important in terms of the men with whom they’re sleeping. Even Marie Laurencin, an artist in her own right who sold more paintings than many of the men, is discussed mainly as an appendage of Guillaume Apollinaire.

There is some value, beyond entertainment value, in the dishy social approach Franck chooses. This book is helpful to someone who already knows a good deal about Modern Art history, because it provides so much more information about personal lives and relationships than a traditional text. As a record of friendships, rivalries and social interactions, Bohemian Paris can help connect some dots in terms of social and environmental influence. One can even benefit from the sordid details: Knowing the eccentricities, problems, addictions and obstacles faced by the artist, does lend perspective to his or her work. There is little value in other books’ attempts to depict the artists of this (or any) period as flawless paragons of their profession. Few histories of this culture contain so many personal and environmental details recorded in one place. I would suggest that those new to Art History read a text first; then use this book to make connections and flesh-out the environment in which the creativity of Modern Art occurred. My personal recommendation on the subject of Modern Art is The Shock of the New by Robert Hughes, but that is a subject for a future review.

Franck, Dan & Liebow, Cynthia Hope (translator). Bohemian Paris. New York: Grove Press, 2001.

For review of a book that contains a comprehensive discussion of this time and place in art, see:
http://greatnonfictionbooks.blogspot.com/2013/05/jansons-history-of-art-by-hw-janson.html

For review of a general history on France during this time period, see:
http://greatnonfictionbooks.blogspot.com/2013/09/france-in-modern-times-by-gordon-wright.html

For a discussion of cubism, see:
http://greatnonfictionbooks.blogspot.com/2013/07/cubism-synthesis-of-robert-hughes-eh.html

Non-Overlapping Magisteria and the Quandary of Public vs Private Thoughts.

Non-Overlapping Magisteria (or NOMA) is a concept propounded by Professor Stephen Jay Gould who was best known as an evolutionary biologist and science historian. In his Leonardo’s Mountain of Clams and the Diet of Worms, Gould claimed that “the net of science covers the empirical realm: what the universe is made of (fact) and why does it work this way (theory). The net of religion extends over questions of moral meaning and value. These two magisteria [or teaching authorities] do not overlap” (Gould, p. 274). Professor Gould expresses this idea as a hopeful “resolution of the supposed ‘conflict’ or ‘warfare’ between science and religion” (Gould, p. 274).

Unfortunately Gould ignores that religion, from its very beginnings, was an explanation by superstitious people of “what the universe is made of and why does it work this way.” Our Judeo-Christian belief systems, for example, posit the existence of a monotheistic god, that this god created the Universe, that he created all organic life including humankind and that he infused Homo Sapiens with souls. While rational people may accept that science has pushed religion back from the empirical realm, this does not mean that religion has surrendered the field. The above beliefs are still advanced by Judeo-Christian believers. One may also take exception to the notion that religion addresses moral meaning and value, given the current and historical behavior of dominant religions worldwide, but I wish to maintain the focus of this response on the alleged separation of the realms themselves. Religion has always crossed the boundary between its purported domain and that of science. And if religion continues to invade the scientific realm with irrational positions on the physical world, science will continue to refute religious propositions.

There are people who are rational in most of their lives. They use empirical evidence when purchasing a car, or deciding what to wear when the weather changes. But many of those otherwise empirically-based individuals create within themselves Non-Overlapping Magisteria. Using the mental tools of denial, rationalization and compartmentalization, people are capable of holding any number of conflicting ideas. Many maintain illogical religious beliefs because these beliefs are comforting. As a nurse, I have met many a dying patient. Some of them believed in God and Heaven. There is not a hospital situation in which I would attempt to disillusion any of them of a belief in an afterlife. That would simply be cruel. Additionally, their belief is privately held and affects me not at all. I am a firm advocate of the view that people have a right to their private thoughts, regardless of whether those thoughts are superstitions or rational ideas.

People also have a right to express their ideas or beliefs publicly. But once those thoughts enter the public sphere, they are open to public comment. At that point, the author of the stated idea doesn’t get to say “these are my personal beliefs/ideas; you have no right to challenge them.” One has the right to express their personal views publicly, and the public has a right to agree or disagree. Stephen Jay Gould had personal motives as a self-described “agnostic” (Gould, p. 270), and as a scientist. He wanted peace between the two systems he held dear. Like many religious/spiritual people in denial, he overlooked that his NOMA theory was flawed, which allowed his spiritual/religious fantasy bubble to remain unpopped. He died on May 20, 2002. Had I been his nurse, I would have encouraged the comfort he obtained from his beliefs. It is in this more public forum that I examine NOMA and find it wanting.

Gould, Stephen Jay. Leonardo’s Mountain of Clams and the Diet of Worms. New York: Harmony Books, 1998.

A Distant Mirror: The Calamitous 14th Century by Barbara Tuchman.

A Distant Mirror is Barbara Tuchman’s detailed study of the Fourteenth Century. It ostensibly follows the life of one Enguerrand de Coucy VII, one of the less detestable nobles of the French court, who was frequently employed by the crown on both martial and diplomatic missions. But his life is merely an anchor for the book, which might otherwise drift among the many topics of the time. In truth, the Fourteenth Century itself, more specifically Fourteenth Century France, is the real focus. This period was one of exceptional upheaval, where cultural illusions were being destroyed.

The Hundred Years War had just begun, bringing with it unrelenting suffering and ruin. Over the period of its prosecution, this conflict ended the idea of Europe as a unified culture; a concept initiated during the period of Europe-wide resistance to Islamic incursions of earlier centuries. In its place was left the first stirrings of national identity.

The Schism in the Church, presenting one pope in Avignon and one pope in Rome, revealed to the public that this institution was little more than a context where the seemingly un-Christian motives of power and greed smothered the humble message of Jesus. The existence of two contradictory authorities in a once unified Church, alongside the apparent disagreement between words and deeds, allowed room for questioning of clerical authority and the insinuation of new ideas (most notably those of John Wyclif).

Equally important during this time was the unmasking of Chivalry, once thought of as a code of honor. Knights and nobles, who were supposed to uphold the values of humility and protection of the weak, were openly contradicting those precepts through their behavior. By taxing the poor to flaunt personal luxury, by carrying on various wars where vainglory and pillage appeared the goals and by assembling companies of brigands who robbed the countryside, the aristocracy was revealing to everyone that Chivalric words were simply a cover for selfish pursuits.

The last of the four factors in this disillusioning band of War, Schism and Chivalry was Plague. Periodic recurrences of the Black Death during this century exacerbated fear and chaos, causing the further breakdown of society. People of the time saw, and were encouraged to see, the Plague as retribution from an angry god for sinful living.

Peasants, artisans and merchants, disgusted by the greed of the religious and temporal authorities to whom they had once uncritically submitted, initiated several violent rebellions. Though the outcome was always defeat, periodic revolts were a fixture in the 14^th Century landscape.

A Distant Mirror is not an easy read. The difficulty is as much a problem of the often depressing topic as it is a problem of the author’s writing style. Tuchman has a passion (some might say obsession) for detail. Whether sorting the various parties and motivations in a political situation, or describing the extravagances of a wedding, Tuchman maintains an academic’s dedication to presenting as much of the chronicle as possible. Every jewel-encrusted comb is given a verbal endoscopy. While this unrelentingly thorough approach helps to preserve a history, it does not make for light reading. But it does make for rewarding reading. One will arrive, in the end, immensely well-informed about many of the personalities, cultures and issues, in 14^th Century Europe.

Tuchman, Barbara W. A Distant Mirror. New York: Alfred A. Knopf, Inc., 1978.

For a review on a history of the Bubonic Plague in the 14th Century, see:
http://greatnonfictionbooks.blogspot.com/2013/02/in-wake-of-plague-by-norman-f-cantor.html

For a review on the life of 14th Century mercenary knight John Hawkwood, see:
http://greatnonfictionbooks.blogspot.com/2014/08/the-devils-broker-by-frances-stonor.html

The Story of Art by E.H. Gombrich.

E.H.  Gombrich intended for The Story of Art to be a “first orientation” for newcomers to the subject. (Gombrich, p.7). No doubt, it is just that. But for those seeking a refresher on the chronological history of art, and those wishing to fill-in some gaps in their education, it is also quite valuable. I used it in preparation for my first trip to the Louvre and found that this intelligent observer had taught me much, even though I’d been an art enthusiast for decades. The book is written with teens in mind. But the author states “I never believed that books for young people should differ from books for adults.” (Gombrich, p.7).

Gombrich does not talk down to his reader. Neither does he encourage arrogance and pretension. He even goes so far as to explain how a new student of art might avoid the pitfalls of early learning and hubris that prevent one from enjoying art:

“People who have acquired some knowledge of art history…sometimes…when they see a work of art they do not stay to look at it, but rather search their memory for the appropriate label. They may have heard that Rembrandt was famous for his chiaroscuro…so they nod wisely when they see a Rembrandt, mumble ‘wonderful chiaroscuro’, and wander on to the next picture. [This is] half-knowledge and snobbery…we are all apt to succumb to such temptations, and a book like this could increase them. I should like to help open eyes, no loosen tongues…to look at a picture with fresh eyes and to venture on a voyage of discovery into it is a…more rewarding task.” (Gombrich, p. 37).

This teacher’s slant on the development of art over the centuries is not exceptionally original, but it is important. “Each generation is at some point in revolt against the standards of its fathers.” (Gombrich, p. 8). While explaining this motivation for change, Gombrich is emphatic in pointing-out that development does not mean improvement; just change. No one period is superior to another based upon it coming later.

Additionally, the author effectively tackles the issue of beauty in art. He asserts that a “bias for the pretty and engaging subject is apt to become a stumbling-block if it leads us to reject works which represent a less appealing subject.” (Gombrich, p. 15). As an example, he presents Durer’s portrait of his mother and states “His truthful study of careworn old age may give us a shock which makes us turn away from it – and yet, if we fight against our first repugnance we may be richly rewarded, for Durer’s drawing in its tremendous sincerity is a great work.” (Gombrich, p. 17).

Occasionally, Gombrich can overstate his cause. In his enthusiasm for Rembrandt, the professor claimed that the artist “must have been able to look straight into the human heart.” (Gombrich, p. 423). But if too much passion for one’s subject is a sin, most of us are willing to be forgiving.

Some of the flaws in The Story of Art are unavoidable. One cannot fully present the history of art in one volume of less than 650 pages of body. But to introduce this subject in a longer format would be overwhelming. So, Gombrich sets intelligent boundaries and does not indulge in presenting his favorite artists if they do not represent an important change.

In the event that I have just frightened those seeking an introductory book, with the mention of 650 pages, be aware that about half of this offering is taken-up with paintings, photos and drawings. The professor has made sure to provide ample illustration of the periods he discusses. Each topic within the book is accompanied by at least one example.

While Gombrich does his best to avoid technical language, his writing remains elegant and insightful. During instruction about Dutch still-life painting, he explains “just as there is great music without words, so there is great painting without important subject matter. It was this invention towards which the seventeenth-century artists had been groping when they discovered the sheer beauty of the visible world.” (Gombrich, p. 430). These abilities, fluid expression and command of the subject, make The Story of Art a pleasure to read and a superb guide.

Gombrich, E.H. The Story of Art. London: Phaidon Press Limited, 1995.

For a review of another art history option, see:
http://greatnonfictionbooks.blogspot.com/2013/05/jansons-history-of-art-by-hw-janson.html

France in Modern Times by Gordon Wright.

Gordon Wright’s cogently written France in Modern Times is a historical survey text from 1750 to the present. The author’s approach to teaching France’s modern history is admirably dispassionate. Wright presents a time or topic as simply as possible, then proceeds to offer the reader a number of conflicting interpretations from modern historians. This way, a reader may see the subject from more than one perspective. The professor will then present his own humble, one might even say timid, opinion on which current he supports.  Wright is rarely forceful or too insistent in the process. Because so many books have been written on each period discussed by Wright, and because there are such a variety of opinions on each period, the Professor ends each major section with a full chapter of related books with descriptions of their content. This open-minded, open-ended structure is one of the chief strengths of the book, along with the author’s broad and deep grasp of modern France.

There are two puzzling areas where Wright was unable to maintain the veneer of dispassion. First is his approach to increasing secularism in society, and second his views on what has been called the Revolution of 1848. Regarding his perspective on secularization and anti-clericalism, Wright begins in the Enlightenment. This normally fair-minded author uses the phrase “lunatic fringe” to describe Baron d’Holbach’s atheist views; hardly a politic choice of words (Wright, p. 26). He ignores that d’Holbach facilitated what is arguably the most important salon of the period. Wright’s opinion is not countered by the usual presentation of an opposing analysis. (For a differing view on the importance of atheism during this period, read Philipp Blom’s A Wicked Company. The Forgotten Radicalism of the European Enlightenment.) Wright continues with his Philosophe-bashing, by talking about the internalized “persecution mania” of these intellectuals, without discussing that they did suffer actual persecution in the form of censorship and jail (Wright, p. 29).

The professor’s prejudice against secularism continues with his characterization of the 1791 Church Settlement reforms, (a set of laws passed by the National Assembly to strip the Catholic Church of its special privileges) as “ill-conceived” and “the worst example” of reform measures because “it brought down the Pope’s anathema upon the revolutionary leaders and turned most of the clergy into stubborn opponents of the new system” (Wright, p. 48). Again, there is no contrary opinion from this proponent of presenting both sides. A countervailing evaluation how the separation of church and state might be a form of progress, and that a self-interested Church would naturally oppose such action, would have been apt here.

As France continues to remove the Church from public institutions, Wright continues to complain. The Professor appears bewildered by the 1870s attempts to further limit clerical influence on education and government. Regarding the country’s political leadership, he asks “why did it overact in the religious sphere? What produced its excessive, almost neurotic emphasis on the clerical problem” (Wright, p. 242)? For a second time, Wright employs the unfortunate phrase “lunatic fringe.” This time he is describing “Freethinkers associations” whose views were anything but lunatic or fringe, given that their ideas were the politically successful opinions of the majority (Wright, p. 243). It’s as if the professor did not himself live in a society that valued separate spheres for religion and public institutions.

Regarding the second puzzling area in Wright’s narrative, his perspective on the Revolution of 1848, the professor begins his analysis by calling it “a result far out of proportion to the cause” (Wright, p. 128). He explains this statement by claiming that “Frenchmen were not being oppressed or tyrannized (Wright, p. 128).” But the rest of the chapter about 1848 offers evidence to refute his initial statement. Wright discusses the “long-endured misery” of the working class and censorship in the form of opposition leadership “denied the right to hold public political meetings” (Wright, p. 130). In spite of this curious self-contradiction, the author writes a superb encapsulation of 1848 according to Marxist historians. While he did not share their political goals, Gordon Wright was open-minded enough to admit that “some aspects of Karl Marx’s original analysis and of the modernized Marxist version are undoubtedly sound” (Wright, p. 135).

This openness to differing ideas, and an ability to effectively present them, is more typical of Wright than are his views on the secularization of French society. Throughout his career, Wright rarely permitted his examination to fossilize. He was continually incorporating new perspectives. As historiography diversified to include People’s History, and Women’s History, so did France in Modern Times with each new edition. Since Wright himself was always learning and evolving, those who read this history will obtain a generally wide and balanced view.

Wright, Gordon. France in Modern Times. New York: W.W. Norton & Company, 1981.

The Age of Reason by Thomas Paine.

When The Age of Reason was published in 1794, its author was subjected to a great deal of public censure. The work, though occasionally flawed in its reasoning, was uncompromising in its dedication to using reason as a tool. In a style typical of his pamphleteering, Thomas Paine mercilessly, humorously and clearly scrutinized revealed religion and the Bible. The work was begun earlier in 1794, when Paine was being held as a prisoner by the revolutionary government of Robespierre, and his survival was uncertain.

Since Part One was composed in prison, Paine did not have access to a Bible. As a result, it relies more upon philosophical thought and rhetoric than Part Two. Some of the opening ideas are expressed in truly memorable fashion.  For example, after repudiating connection with any church, the author states “my own mind is my own church.” (Paine, p. 6). It should be pointed-out that, while Paine claims in that passage to disbelieve the creeds of all churches, including the “Turkish church” (read Islam), he confines his criticism primarily to those institutions professing belief in the Old and New Testament, since these are the works with which he is familiar. Additionally, he does not see his own Deism as a creed.

Paine goes on to discuss the Bible as a work of mythology no different than that of any other religion, and reinforces this idea by showing how the authors of this book used common mythological devices. About Jesus’ divine parentage, he states “almost all the extraordinary men that lived under the heathen mythology were reputed to be the sons of some of their gods. It was not a new thing, at that time, to believe a man to have been celestially begotten.” (Paine, p. 9). Further on he claims “the Mythologists had gods for everything; the Christian Mythologists had saints for everything.” (Paine, p. 9). The implication is, if we call pagan stories “myth,” then why don’t we use the same term for Christian stories?

There are arguments presented where, even I as a supportive skeptic, can see a reasonable counter-argument. Paine wrote “the Christian system of faith…appears to me as a species of atheism…it professes to believe in a man rather than in God.” (Paine, p. 33). But if one believes Jesus was God incarnated there is no atheism, just a belief that God took a unique form. It is difficult to tell which of the pamphleteer’s ideas were original, and which borrowed. The originality is more in the boldness and satire with which Paine presents his ideas; and the fact that he was willing to place his name on the document in full knowledge that it would create for him an unpopular legacy.

Part Two, published in 1796, is where the author truly shines. The superiority of the second part is owed largely to the conditions of its writing. Paine was no longer suffering the deprivations of prison where he had “little expectation of surviving,” and he finally had a Bible in hand. (Paine, p. 73). The now freed citizen of the United States takes exception to the cruelty exhibited by people in the Bible who claimed to be following God’s commandment. In particular, he objects to the passages exhibiting genocide where the Israelites “put all nations to the sword; that they spared neither age nor infancy; that they utterly destroyed men, women and children; that they left not a soul to breathe.”  (Paine, p. 76). Paine did not think his creator would sanction such actions, and at least pretended to be outraged that anyone would ascribe such immoral behavior to his god.

Paine uses the words of the Bible itself to deny that the first five books were written by Moses. If Moses died in the second book, how does he then write the next three books? Also, an anonymous writer of Exodus states that no one knows where the sepulchre of Moses is “unto this day.” That phrase indicates a time after Moses died and in which one of the actual writers lived. (Paine, p. 83).

In regards to the New Testament, Paine exploits contradictions between the Gospels to discredit their veracity. Discussing Jesus’ genealogy from King David through his father Joseph, this careful reader points out that no two Gospels agree. Matthew counts 28 generations between David and Joseph, while Luke counts 43. In addition, between the two lists of Matthew and Luke, only the names of David and Joseph match. The two apostles cannot agree on whom Jesus’ ancestors were, and only one can be correct. (Paine, p. 143). Further evidence of inconsistency is shown in Matthew’s description of an earthquake and the rising of many dead saints, which coincide with Jesus’ crucifixion. Neither Mark, nor John, nor Luke mentions these occurrences. (Paine, pp. 147-8). One might assume that, if the ground were shaking and numerous zombie saints were wandering about Jerusalem, the other three writers would have considered it worth mentioning.

Paine catalogs a multitude of disagreements between the Testaments. But he leaves out a glaring discrepancy concerning the death of Judas. Matthew 27: 3-5 reports that Judas “hanged himself.” However in Acts 1: 16-19, Luke quotes Peter’s speech in which Judas died in a different manner.  Judas is walking in a field bought with his blood money and “falling headlong, he burst open in the middle and all his intestines gushed out.” Despite the entertainment it may provide believers to choose a pet gruesome end for God’s betrayer, only one scenario can be correct. 

The importance of these discrepancies is not in the niggling details themselves, but in what they show about the New Testament. In the first place, any claim to biblical inerrancy or divine inspiration is disproven.  An all-knowing god would not inspire a book that contained falsehoods. In Paine’s words “the disagreement of the parts of a story proves the whole cannot be true…if Matthew speaks truth, Luke speaks falsehood…there is no authority for believing either. ” (Paine, p. 143). If a witness in court was proven to have lied or reported events inaccurately, it casts doubt upon that individual’s entire testimony.

The rest of the pamphlet is more an advertisement for Deism in contrast to Christianity. Paine discusses “the horrid assassinations of whole nations…with which the Bible is filled,” followed by “the bloody persecutions and tortures unto death, and religious wars that since that time have laid Europe in blood and ashes,” and concludes “whence rose they but from this impious thing called revealed religion?” (Paine, pp. 173-4). He goes on to advocate for his purportedly improved belief system.

Deism, the belief that the existence of nature proves the existence of God, is presented by the author as a religion of peace. This is stated in spite of the fact that Robespierre, who imprisoned Paine and instituted “The Terror” in France, made Deism the state religion, complete with ceremonies and holidays. It doesn’t really matter what the dominant religion of a culture professes. In a system without separation of church and state, the chosen religion will be used to reinforce the political authority regardless of that faith’s moral precepts.

But Paine did not believe that Deism had been “invented” by humankind. He thought this natural religion “must have been the first, and will probably be the last, that man believes.” (Paine, p. 179). In his mind, Deism was simply a rational conclusion that anyone would draw by observing “the Creation.” This of course presupposes that earlier Homo Sapiens were governed by rational thought. Employing hindsight, we of the 21^st Century can see how a group of post-Scientific-Revolution thinkers used a form of corrupted empiricism to contrive a religion. But the Deists of the Enlightenment had been raised in a society where God was a given. It was too frightening a prospect to discard this long-held precept and contemplate the universe without a deity.

While Paine’s then-fashionable Enlightenment faith has mutated over time, his criticisms of organized religion remain as contemporary as they were when first written. As long as there is a Bible and a set of corresponding Judeo-Christian traditions that are practiced, the arguments propounded in The Age of Reason will continue to haunt those traditions. The inconsistencies, injustices and superstitions, recorded in the Bible and believed by a segment of the world population, allow the objections of Thomas Paine to remain living ideas.

Paine, Thomas. The Age of Reason. Avenel: Gramercy Books, 1993.

For review of a biography on Thomas Paine, see: http://greatnonfictionbooks.blogspot.com/2013/02/tom-paine-political-life-by-john-keane.html