What Is God?
Posted 10 December 2005 - 05:51 PM
Posted 10 December 2005 - 10:20 PM
---Well, u know, when u want something really bad and u close your eyes and u wish for it? God's the guy, that ignores u! "
that movie was cool
Posted 11 December 2005 - 07:12 PM
Which god are we talking about? The god of Islam? The Budhist?, The Brahmins or the Shinto?
Are we talking about Aramazt?
Don’t tell me we are talking about that clown called Yahweh!!
Wow! I am so flattered that some people do actually read my posts and agree that the term Judeo-Christian may be the oxymoron of all times. Is it Judaic or is it Christian? As the cliché goes; “East is east and west is west and twain will never meet“.
Don’t take my word for it. Listen to what the heirs to those who gave us the concept of Yahweh (and Jesus) in the first place have to say about it/.
Sorry for the length of the link, it may worth listening to the whole thing to see what fools we have been for all these 2000 years These are the same people who have been telling us that there really was no Moses, that there is no archeological evidence of Abraham and that there really wa no Exodus, yet it takes idiots like us to believe that all that gobbledygook is the “word of god/breath of god/Աստուծաշունջ”. Which Աստուած?
Harold Bloom: Jesus and Yahweh
Chris, October 11th, 2005
Click to Listen to the Show (24 MB MP3)
Help us out, seriously. In the light of President Bush’s conversations with God about the Middle East, these may be urgent questions:
What is your name for God? Do you have a notion of His personality? Can you say where you learned it? Is your God a comforter, or a warrior? A healer? A business counselor? Does He wear the sandals of Jesus of Nazareth, or the halo of Jesus the Christ? These are the everyday lay versions of an inquiry that we’ll pursue on Tuesday with, intellectually speaking, a higher authority.
Harold Bloom’s new book Jesus and Yahweh: The Names Divine is way out there, “beyond category,” a sort of holy romp across the peaks of theology and literature. Do we know anybody else who would undertake confidently to explain that the God of the Hebrew Bible is to Jesus of Mark’s Gospel what King Lear is to Hamlet? Who else would opine that St. Mark, like Edgar Alan Poe, is “both a bad writer and a great one”?
The Yale legend dubs himself Professor Bloomstaff–after his favorite playwright’s grandest clown. I think of him as The Man Who Reads Too Much and, dammit, remembers every word. This is a man who can recite all of Paradise Lost from memory, and vast swaths of Emerson, Shakespeare, Whitman, Dickinson, Hart Crane and many others close to his heart as well as his mind.
Bloom is writing now, in his mid-seventies, in a hurry to distill some essential questions of a lifetime and a few answers. He writes about the names of God not as a mere textual detective, and not just as a drama critic observing the Hebrews’ God-like-a-man and the Christian man-like-a-God as characters on a stage–characters that he might say don’t belong in the same theater. Bloom is absorbed (furiously, it seems) in the reduction of the “impish mischief and moral terror” of Yahweh to the almost supernumerary God the Father of the Christian Trinity… alongside the transformation of the enigmatic, ambiguous Jesus of Nazareth into the exalted Jesus the Christ.
Bloom is trying, with a minimum of irony, to help us understand the American religion:
Jesus, to most Americans, of whatever origin or denomination, is both unique and universal. Has he taken the place once held by God the Father? If so, then the American Religion would evade Freud’s reduction of all religion to the longing for the father. For a while now I have rejected Marx’s notion that religion was the opiate of the people. In the United States it is rather the people’s poetry, both bad and good…”
But he is also working out some of his own puzzles, toward the conclusion that “The human being Jesus and the all-too-human God Yahweh are more compatible (to me) than either is with Jesus the Christ and God the Father.” He has composed, he says, an “elegy for Yahweh.”
I wake up these days, sometime between midnight and two a.m., because of nightmares in which Yahweh sardonically appears as various beings, ranging from a Havana-smoking, Edwardian-attired Dr. Sigmund Freud to the Book of Daniel’s silently reproachful Ancient of Days. I trudge downstairs glooomily and silently, lest I wake my wife, and breakfast on tea and dark bread while rereading yet once more in the Tanakh, wide swatches of Mishnah and Talmud, and those disquieting texts the New Testament and Augustine’s City of God. At times, in writing this book, I defend myself only by murmuring Oscar Wilde’s apothegm that life is too important to be taken seriously.
Bloom is our teacher of teachers — scornful lately of our “mediaversity” educations and information technology, perhaps because he’s always carried his own Google search engine and an infinite system of references in his own fertile head. But for me he is one of rare mystical humanists — still moved by William Blake’s line “For everything that lives is holy” — with trustworthy answers to the question in the title of his last book: Where Shall Wisdom Be Found?
Chris’s Post-Game Analysis
What a piece of work is Harold Bloom! Around the office we talk about self-parodies of public radio, and we verged on it here. But I gotta say I enjoyed, I loved, I savored every moment. Which is to confess that I was as much a parody of the gushing straightman as he was of the voluble star. But I’ll take the role. Beside that monumental erudition and memory — footnoting his digressions, and digressing in his many footnotes — Harold Bloom is of course a fabulous performer, one of those classic Yale lecturers (Vincent Scully was another, back in the day) who get used to standing ovations at the end of class. There’s even a hint in the impish, multifarious Bloom of his own Yahweh, who “required feeding through sacrifices, and wanted also endless barrages of praise, prayers, hymns of gratitude, and immense love, unceasing love.” But why not? Harold Bloom has earned it, and besides he makes high fun of the whole enterprise. I had fantasy flashes tonight that we were working our own sort of Johnny Carson show — me with my bouncing pencil, he with highlights of his Las Vegas act.
We never quite nailed the question of just what Harold Bloom is up to in this new book — “not at all a quest for me,” he writes, though some sort of stirred-up search is underway in the man who keeps announcing his age and his infirmity. Is this theology? Is it literary criticism? The prayer of a doubter? A declaration ol belief? Unbelief? “Impossible questions, dear man,” I imagine him saying, if he didn’t in fact speak the words. I put the book and our conversation this evening in the big folder of stuff that grown-ups are just built to think and talk about, as Ivan Karamazov explained to his aspiring kid brother, the apprentice Christian, Alyosha .
Ivan: “And what do they talk about in that momentary halt in the tavern? Of the eternal questions, of the existence of God and immortality. And those who do not believe in God talk of socialism or anarchism, of the transformation of all humanity on a new pattern, so that it all comes to the same, they’re the same questions turned inside out. And masses, masses of the most original Russian boys do nothing but talk of the eternal questions! Isn’t it so?”
“Yes, for real Russians the questions of God’s existence and of immortality, or, as you say, the same questions turned inside out, come first and foremost, of course, and so they should,” said Alyosha, still watching his brother with the same gentle and inquiring smile.
The Brothers Karamazov, Chapter 34
I like that image better than Johnny Carson interviewing a diva: we were just hamming up a little dialog out of Dostoevsky.
Finally, two family notes. In the studio we don’t hear the five-minutes of news at the top of the show; we hear music. Tonight it was Johnny Hodges’ transcendental “Isfahan” from the Ellington-Strayhorn “Far East Suite.” As soon as Harold Bloom heard the Hodges alto sax in his earphones, he melted into that bath of beauty for maybe 30 seconds, then looked up. “Remember, Chris,” he said, “no Johnny… no Bird.” The man was born knowing. Second note: Bloom, who never forgets a student, mentioned pre-show that he’d taught Chip McGrath (of the New York Times) and his son Ben McGrath (of the New Yorker’s Talk of the Town)–respectively brother and nephew of our own nonpareil Mary McGrath. Bloom’s last words to me as he left WGBH were, “Dear fellow–do give my love to Mary. She is the best of the McGraths.”
Posted 11 December 2005 - 07:37 PM
Posted 11 December 2005 - 08:01 PM
Dear Ed, of course, to each his own. I cannot dictate what everyone must believe or not, but let us listen to what others are saying, specially those who thrust that joke on us.
I doubt if you listened to the whole audio, it is an hour long. At the end it comes to, that the conecpt of Yahweh is a cruel joke , that they themselves don't believe it except for its nationalistic and ethnic value. Yet, we, the perennial morons became the butt of the joke, neglected our entire culture and bet our lives on that "clown" who has failed us every step of the way.
They have their "yahweh", let us have our own Astvats. We were the first to fall for that joke let us be the first to get outt. For once let us have the last laugh.
And, speaking of yahweh/jehovah, they can all stick it up their noses.
Look what those shunshanordi Jehovah's Winesses who come from the worlds most militaristic and the hsitory's most militarily powerful country are wreaking havoc in our Motherland, capitalizing on our "cowardice" and convincing our unsuspecting youth to dodge the draft and refuse to fight for their country. Do the sons of yahweh, Avram and Moshe do that? Do they refuse to defend the land of TelAviv?
It only takes cowards like us to hide under the skirts of jehovah and refuse to join the army and defend the Land of Yerevan.
I wish they would stick their Jehovah up their voriks.
Edited by Arpa, 11 December 2005 - 08:40 PM.
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