Níkos Kazantzákis (1883–1957)

“In order to mount the Cross, the summit of sacrifice, and to God, the summit of immateriality, Christ passed through all the stages which the man who struggles passes through…That part of Christ’s nature which was profoundly human helps us to understand him and love him and pursue his Passion as though it were our own…We struggle, we see him struggle also, and we find strength. We see that we are not all alone in the world: he is fighting at our side."–Nikos Kazantzakis, The Last show more Temptation of Christ

Any meaningful book about a religious figure is bound to cause strife, something Kazantzakis found out when he published The Last Temptation of Christ.

The book covers the last three years of Jesus’ life, from the start of his ministry to his death. Throughout, he fights against all temptations to stay on his path. At the end, as he is nailed to the cross, Satan comes to him with one last temptation: the chance for a normal human life. In a vision that lasts a fraction of a second, Jesus experiences the joys of marriage and fatherhood. As an old man reflecting on his life, he realizes that he has been deceived and rejects the false vision. The book ends with his acceptance of his death on the cross.

Kazantzakis’ depiction of Jesus as a man who struggled to fulfill his destiny caused a great deal of controversy. The Eastern Orthodox Church excommunicated him and the Roman Catholic Church placed the work on its Index of forbidden books. Religious organizations across America condemned the book–without, of course, having read it.

Those who read The Last Temptation of Christ will find that it is a moving book, written by a man of profound faith. Kazantzakis reminds us that true sacrifice must be difficult, that it must be a struggle, or it is meaningless.

I originally wrote this for The Tiger Print. It is reprinted with permission. show less

Pjesë nga libri:

-Zgjohu, bir, zgjohu vetë, para se të të zgjojë Vdekja.

"Je dhi"- i thosha, shpesh, shpirtit dhe mundohesha të qeshja për të mos ia plasur vajit, "je dhi o shpirt i ngratë; ke uri dhe, në vend që të hash mish e bukë e të pish verë, merr një letër të bardhë dhe shkruan: mish, bukë , verë. Dhe ha letrën".

-Zoti edhe duron, ç'i kushton koha atij? Është i pavdekshëm. Po njeriu?
-Edhe ky i pavdekshëm është, u përgjigja; vetëm se jo i gjithi; ajo show more ç'është e pavdekshme brenda tij, mund të bëjë durim.

-Dallimi ynë i madh, Angjelos, është ky: ti beson se e gjete shpëtimin dhe shpëtove; unë besoj se shpëtim nuk ka dhe, duke e besuar këtë, shpëtova.
Miku im më mbërtheu butësisht për krahu:
-Kij durim, tha, mos u mërzit; shpirtin të kemi shëndoshë, ai mos na u rrëzoftë; se, po u rrëzuan disa shpirtra në botë, bota do të shembet; ata janë trarët që e mbajnë. Janë të paktë, por mjaftojnë.
Më shkundi fort:
-Mbahu, Mesolongj i shkretë! tha dhe qeshi.

Po ma merrte frymën lumturia; u ktheva nga miku im dhe hapa gojën, për t'i thënë: "Ç'lumturi qenka kjo!", por nuk guxova; e dija që po të guxoja, magjia do të prishej. Mbaj mend dikur, në Tajget, mbi Spartë, rreth mbasdites, pashë një dhelpër, tek ecte në majë të gishtave, me qafën tendosur, me bishtin e gufuar përpjetë dhe hidhte sipër gurëve një hije të gjatë në ngjyrë vjollce.

Mbajta frymën se mos më nuhaste dhe ikte; mirëpo, nuk i vura dot fre gëzimit dhe, padashur, më shpëtoi një britmë e vockël; dhelpra e dëgjoi dhe, pa arritur unë të shihja se nga mori, m'u zhduk nga sytë. E tillë më është dukur, ngaherë, edhe lumturia në jetën e njeriut.

Befas, u dëgjua një bisedë dhe disa të qeshura; kishim mbërritur, tashmë, në manastir; dy murgj të majmë rrinin ulur në pezulin e pragut dhe bënin shaka me derëtarin. U ndalëm menjëherë, sikur kishim parë gjarpër; miku im më vështroi, tundi kokën:
-Ishte ëndërr, tha, pandehëm një çast se nuk ka njerëz...

Pas disa ditësh, në Malin e Shenjtë, një oshënar gjysmë i çmendur, kacavarur majë një shpelle sipër detit, më tha një fjalë që më la pa gojë:
-Të të them edhe këtë tjetrën që ta dish, shtoi. Një herë, ishte një mbret i madh, i pashëm, hamës, qejfli, me 365 gra në harem. Vajti një ditë në një manastir, i zuri syri një oshënar: "Sa e madhe sakrifica që je duke bërë!" i tha dhe e vështroi me keqardhje. "Sakrifica jote është me e madhe se imja, o mbret", ia ktheu oshënari. "Si është e mundur? – Po ja, unë bëj fli botën e përkohshme, kurse ti bën fli botën e përjetshme". show less

this is a reread for me, but this time I listened to the excellent narration by Guidall. As usual, listening afforded different perspectives. I don't recall the philosophical discussion so intensely from my 'silent' reading, although the other episodes in the novel were more or less as I recalled.

Somewhere around the middle, the story changed for me, from a philosophical argument (already well discussed) to a more picaresque one. But the climactic events were still powerful.

Hearing the show more story, I was more and more aware of the primitive (for lack of a better word) view that men had of women in this society: enticements to evil, sources of pleasure, creatures desired and feared, the source of joy and disgrace, somehow responsible for all man's troubles. Not all of this is religious in context - I get the feeling that this hearkens back to pre-Christian views of nature and the world. It leaves this book very much about the love between men, not necessarily with any homosexual slant or activity, but as a group privileged and buffeted and weighed down by life.

The last exchange between Nikos and Zorba left me feeling very sad, as if Nikos never did understand, or could not act on, the deep feeling between them, and by analogy, the deep primitive feelings in himself. show less

"I think of God as being exactly like me. Only bigger, stronger, crazier."
By sally tarbox on 9 July 2017
Format: Audible Audio Edition
The narrator of this story is an introverted, bookish chap;his close friend has just left to fight for the Greeks suffering in the Caucasus, leaving the narrator traumatized. Shaken by his friend's parting criticism of him as a bookworm, he determines to embrace real life and, while waiting to sail from Piraeus to Crete, where he plans to run a mine, he show more encounters Alexis Zorba.
A colourful 60-something, Zorba is taken on to run the mine, and together the two enter a primitive world.
Zorba's attitudes, shaped by years of experience, are irreligious and very much of the 'seize the day' variety.

"I don't believe in anything or anyone,; only in Zorba. Not because Zorba is better than the others; not at all, not a little bit! He's a brute like the rest! But I believe in Zorba because he's the only being I have in my power, the only one I know. All the rest are ghosts... When I die, everything'll die."

Dancing, drinking, women and the music of his santuri are his interests; but he works hard, has grand plans, and discusses the meaning of life with his contained boss, who's working on a study of Buddhism, and whose continence exasperates Zorba. Zorba's actions sometimes seem kindly - his loving words to Madame Hortense - but it's all dissimulation to keep her sweet.
Some of Zorba's musings have a point. Some are seriously wrong - his cavalier attitude to God; his casual encounters with women. Nonetheless the relationship between the two men is well portrayed,, their final leave-taking moving.
Zorba is more clearly drawn than the narrator - despite an encounter with a woman, we strongly suspect the latter to be homosexual, his feelings for the absent Stavridaki consume him. I was baffled at his lack of apparent emotion when said woman is involved in a serious incident.
Life in early 20th century Crete is vividly brought to life: the festivals, the church, the people and the scenery, life, love and death.
This is an enjoyable work, very memorable characters, though you wont find a coherent answer to the meaning of life! show less