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Left Hand of God ,The

Adolf Holl

Left Hand of God ,The

Adolf Holl

$33.99

Hardback
Adolf Holl's divine biography examines the life of the Holy Spirit in the context of the history of Christianity, Judaism, and Islam. Interweaving scholarship with religion, myth, and culture, Holl expertly traces the influence of the Holy Spirit on men and women from all walks of life, over the course of centuries. The result is quite unlike anything written before. ^The Holy Spirit inspired a few Galilean fishermen to find the courage to preach a new world religion. The Jews recognized it as the breath of God. Mohammed was inspired by it in the dictation of the Koran. Yet this same spirit has moved individuals to rebel against convention, authority, and even sanity. Through Holl's freewheeling yet always crystal-clear discourse, we see how the Holy Spirit informs an incredible array of beliefs (including those underlying the rituals of Appalachian snake handlers) and ideas (the works of Freud and James Joyce are among the many discussed). ^When the book was published in German

- Publisher Women's Friend During the Second World War, the French writer Simone Weil died of malnutrition. Her medieval foremothers, who were, according to circumstances, vilified as witches, honored as saints, or regarded as madwomen, experienced their accesses of grace so intensely that they frequently forgot to eat. This sisterhood, in its happiest moments, became immersed in the divine Spirit like tears in the ocean. But No, But No, She Said She was so fair, she was so fair. No fairer maiden could be found, not anywhere on Polish ground. But no, but no, she said, not this; I never kiss. In this soldiers' song about a Polish girl, male desire encounters a female refusal, and the less the young woman is prepared to change her mind, the more delightful she becomes. As they sing, the marching troops grow familiar with images that urge them to rape. Deeds that are taboo in peacetime go unpunished in war. The troops have long ago grasped the notion that relations between the sexes are equivalent to war. In this age-old order of things, the Polish girl really doesn't have a chance. I never kiss.Unexpectedly, as though emerging out of fog--their outlines are still blurred--certain female forms enter the history of couples and their relations. These are girls who say no, and they're made of sterner stuff than the Polish maiden of the soldiers' fantasy. They are women whose daily bread doesn't come from the bakery. They speak, down through the centuries, with a single voice. Like this, for example: He came into my room and said, You poor wretch, you understand nothing. Come with me and I shall teach you some things you haven't even an inkling of. I followed him. He led me into a church. It was new and ugly. He walked me up to the altar and told me, Kneel down. I said to him, I haven't been baptized. He said, Fall on your knees with love before this place as though before the place where truth is. I obeyed. He had me leave the church and climb up to an attic room with an open window from which one could see the whole city, a few wooden scaffolds, the river where ships were unloaded. He told me to sit down. We were alone. He talked. Sometimes someone would come in, join the conversation, and then leave. It wasn't winter anymore. It wasn't yet spring. The branches of the trees were bare, without buds, and the air was cold and full of sunlight. The light brightened, grew radiant, faded, then the stars and the moon came in through the window. Then the dawn brightened again. Sometimes he stopped talking, went to the cupboard and took out a loaf of bread, and we shared it. This bread truly had the taste of bread. I've never found that taste again. He poured me and himself some wine that tasted like the sun and like the earth on which this city is built. Sometimes we stretched out on the floor of the attic room, and the sweetness of sleep descended upon me. Then I woke up again and drank the sunlight. He had promised to teach me something, but he taught me nothing. We chatted about all sorts of things, in a general way, as old friends do. One day he told me, Now go. I fell on my knees, I embraced his legs, I begged him not to send me away. But he threw me onto the stairs. I went down them without knowing anything, my heart seemed to be in pieces. I walked through the streets. Then I realized that I didn't have any idea where that house was. I never tried to find it again. I understood that he had come looking for me by mistake. My place is not in that attic room. Sometimes I can't stop myself from repeating, with fear and remorse, a little of what he told me. How can I know if I remember correctly? He isn't there to tell me so. I know well that he doesn't love me. How could he love me? And yet deep inside me something, some part of me, trembles with fear and can't stop thinking that maybe, in spite of everything, he loves me. Simone Weil (1909-1943), a teacher in a

- Publisher

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About "Left Hand of God ,The"

Adolf Holl's divine biography examines the life of the Holy Spirit in the context of the history of Christianity, Judaism, and Islam. Interweaving scholarship with religion, myth, and culture, Holl expertly traces the influence of the Holy Spirit on men and women from all walks of life, over the course of centuries. The result is quite unlike anything written before. ^The Holy Spirit inspired a few Galilean fishermen to find the courage to preach a new world religion. The Jews recognized it as the breath of God. Mohammed was inspired by it in the dictation of the Koran. Yet this same spirit has moved individuals to rebel against convention, authority, and even sanity. Through Holl's freewheeling yet always crystal-clear discourse, we see how the Holy Spirit informs an incredible array of beliefs (including those underlying the rituals of Appalachian snake handlers) and ideas (the works of Freud and James Joyce are among the many discussed). ^When the book was published in German
- Publisher

Women's Friend During the Second World War, the French writer Simone Weil died of malnutrition. Her medieval foremothers, who were, according to circumstances, vilified as witches, honored as saints, or regarded as madwomen, experienced their accesses of grace so intensely that they frequently forgot to eat. This sisterhood, in its happiest moments, became immersed in the divine Spirit like tears in the ocean. But No, But No, She Said She was so fair, she was so fair. No fairer maiden could be found, not anywhere on Polish ground. But no, but no, she said, not this; I never kiss. In this soldiers' song about a Polish girl, male desire encounters a female refusal, and the less the young woman is prepared to change her mind, the more delightful she becomes. As they sing, the marching troops grow familiar with images that urge them to rape. Deeds that are taboo in peacetime go unpunished in war. The troops have long ago grasped the notion that relations between the sexes are equivalent to war. In this age-old order of things, the Polish girl really doesn't have a chance. I never kiss.Unexpectedly, as though emerging out of fog--their outlines are still blurred--certain female forms enter the history of couples and their relations. These are girls who say no, and they're made of sterner stuff than the Polish maiden of the soldiers' fantasy. They are women whose daily bread doesn't come from the bakery. They speak, down through the centuries, with a single voice. Like this, for example: He came into my room and said, You poor wretch, you understand nothing. Come with me and I shall teach you some things you haven't even an inkling of. I followed him. He led me into a church. It was new and ugly. He walked me up to the altar and told me, Kneel down. I said to him, I haven't been baptized. He said, Fall on your knees with love before this place as though before the place where truth is. I obeyed. He had me leave the church and climb up to an attic room with an open window from which one could see the whole city, a few wooden scaffolds, the river where ships were unloaded. He told me to sit down. We were alone. He talked. Sometimes someone would come in, join the conversation, and then leave. It wasn't winter anymore. It wasn't yet spring. The branches of the trees were bare, without buds, and the air was cold and full of sunlight. The light brightened, grew radiant, faded, then the stars and the moon came in through the window. Then the dawn brightened again. Sometimes he stopped talking, went to the cupboard and took out a loaf of bread, and we shared it. This bread truly had the taste of bread. I've never found that taste again. He poured me and himself some wine that tasted like the sun and like the earth on which this city is built. Sometimes we stretched out on the floor of the attic room, and the sweetness of sleep descended upon me. Then I woke up again and drank the sunlight. He had promised to teach me something, but he taught me nothing. We chatted about all sorts of things, in a general way, as old friends do. One day he told me, Now go. I fell on my knees, I embraced his legs, I begged him not to send me away. But he threw me onto the stairs. I went down them without knowing anything, my heart seemed to be in pieces. I walked through the streets. Then I realized that I didn't have any idea where that house was. I never tried to find it again. I understood that he had come looking for me by mistake. My place is not in that attic room. Sometimes I can't stop myself from repeating, with fear and remorse, a little of what he told me. How can I know if I remember correctly? He isn't there to tell me so. I know well that he doesn't love me. How could he love me? And yet deep inside me something, some part of me, trembles with fear and can't stop thinking that maybe, in spite of everything, he loves me. Simone Weil (1909-1943), a teacher in a
- Publisher

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Product Details

Product Details
  • Catalogue Code 124671
  • Product Code 0385492847
  • EAN 9780385492843
  • Pages 288
  • Department General Books
  • Category Spirit-filled Living
  • Sub-Category General
  • Publisher Doubleday
  • Publication Date Nov 1998
  • Dimensions 254 x 178 x 34 mm
  • Weight 0.658kg

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