Free The Spinoza Problem by Irvin D. Yalom Page B

For protecting the sacred book of that very God? Wasn’t God powerful enough to save my father, who revered Him so? If so, who needs such a weak God? Or didn’t God know my father revered Him? If so, who needs such an unknowing God? Was God powerful enough to protect him but chose not to? If so, who needs such an unloving God? You, Bento Spinoza, the one they call ‘blessed,’ you know about God; you are a scholar. Explain that to me.”
    “Why were you afraid to speak?” Bento asked. “You pose important questions, questions that have puzzled the pious throughout the centuries. I believe the problem has its root in a fundamental and massive error, the error of assuming that God is a living, thinking being, a being in our image, a being who thinks like us, a being who thinks about us.
    “The ancient Greeks understood this error. Two thousand years ago, a wise man named Xenophanes wrote that if oxen, lions, and horses had hands with which to carve images, they would fashion God after their own shapes and give him bodies like their own. I believe that if triangles could think they would create a God with the appearance and attributes of a triangle, or circles would create circular—”

    Jacob interrupted Bento, outraged. “You speak as though we Jews know nothing of the nature of God. Do not forget that we have the Torah containing his words. And, Franco, do not think that God is without power. Do not forget that the Jews persist, that no matter what they do to us, we persist. Where are all those vanished people—the Phoenicians, Moabites, Edomites—and so many others whose names I do not know? Do not forget that we must be guided by the law that God Himself gave to the Jews, gave to us, His chosen people.”
    Franco gave Spinoza a glance as though to say, You see what I have to face? and turned to Jacob. “Everyone believes God chose them—the Christians, the Muslims—”
    “No! What does it matter what others believe? What matters is what is written in the Bible.” Jacob turned to Spinoza, “Admit it, Baruch, admit it, scholar: does not the word of God say that the Jews are the chosen people? Can you deny that?”
    “I have spent years studying that question, Jacob, and if you wish, I will share the results of my research.” Bento spoke gently, as a teacher might address an inquisitive student. “To answer your questions about the specialness of the Jews we must go back to the source. Will you accompany me in exploring the very words of the Torah? My copy is only a few minutes away.”
    Both nodded, exchanging glances, and rose to follow Bento, who carefully put the chairs back in place and locked the shop door before escorting them to his home.

CHAPTER EIGHT
    REVAL, ESTONIA—1917–1918
    H eadmaster Epstein’s prediction that Rosenberg’s limited curiosity and intelligence would render him harmless proved entirely wrong. And wrong, too, was the headmaster’s prediction that Goethe and Spinoza would instantaneously vanish from Alfred’s thoughts. Far from it: Alfred was never able to cleanse his mind of the image of the great Goethe genuflecting before the Jew Spinoza. Whenever thoughts of Goethe and Spinoza (now forever melded) appeared, he held the dissonance only briefly and then swept it away with every ideational broom at hand. Sometimes he was persuaded by Houston Stewart Chamberlain’s argument that Spinoza, like Jesus, was of the Jewish culture but did not possess one drop of Jewish blood. Or perhaps Spinoza was a Jew who stole thoughts from Aryan thinkers. Or perhaps Goethe had been under a spell, mesmerized by the Jewish conspiracy. Many times Alfred contemplated pursuing these ideas in depth through library research but never followed through. Thinking, really thinking, was such hard work, like moving heavy trunks about in the attic. Instead, Alfred grew more adept at suppression. He diverted himself. He plunged into many activities. Most of all, he persuaded himself that the strength of