Thomas Cahill (1940–2022)

I truly thought I'd enjoy Mysteries, as it purports to be about "The Rise of Feminism, Science, and Art from the Cults of [Roman] Catholic Europe." Unfortunately, it is about nothing of the sort, and that's the least of its faults.

I suppose Mysteries could function passably as a collection of decidedly non-academic biographies of various historical personages with some connection to the Roman Catholic church, but that's it. Cahill goes to great pains to repeat his claim that said show more personalities pioneered the rise of feminism, science, et al, yet never offers one scrap of evidence to support this contention. (And one would have to offer up copious amounts of evidence indeed to prove such a thesis--the Roman Catholic church did not invent these movements. They arose in response to, and counter to, church orthodoxy, and were subsequently repressed and persecuted because of it. But I digress.)

Although this book is shelved in the history section, it would be better off under 'religion', because Cahill is nothing but a dishonest apologist for Roman Catholocism, whose attempts to whitewash its unsavory aspects would be comical were they not so insulting. He refuses outright to systematically list his sources, thus rendering any independent analysis of his 'arguments' impossible. According to the author himself, the work he consulted most for several chapters is a trio of twentieth century fictional novels about life in Medieval Norway. Another example: he quotes an (uncited) letter from one 12th century Italian noblewoman to her suitor. Except there's one problem. I recognized the 'quotation'--it was a verse from Thomas the Rymer, the 19th century Scottish Child Ballad.

But this dissembling is as nothing compared to the book's worst aspect: its religious bigotry. Cahill refers to Islam as an, I am not joking, "religion for simple people" (no really, I am quoting here), which only took hold because it was forced on its later adherants. (As opposed to, say, Christianity in northern Europe, Africa, Australia, and both of the Americas?) Cahill's constant snide asides about the Eastern Orthodox Church and Gnostic Christianity are obnoxious and tiresome. And then there's the contradictions. And the utter weirdness. (Example: Cahill praises the cosmopolitan melting pot of Rome and its empire, which incorporated nationalities and races from all over the contemporary world, before claiming not two paragraphs later that the Italians, unlike the British, French, or Germans, are the most "ethnically undiluted" people in Europe. (PS: WTF?) He also states that the Catholic church never persecuted the fourth and Albigensian Crusades on other Christians because guess what! According to his reading of history, only numbers one to three actually count as crusades...) The publishers have tried to mitigate these factors by producing what is arguably one of the most visually appealing books I've read this year, but even this failed to erase the bad taste in my mouth. Avoid this one like the plague and encourage everyone you know to do likewise. show less

It is absolutely true that one cannot begin to discuss the medieval eras without a grateful nod to the influence, "confluence" and consequence of the Roman empire. That is where Cahill begins, in antiquity, and then moves forward through a series of biographical vignettes. By exploring the lives of the most well known figures, Cahill hoped to demonstrate the rise of "mysteries" like feminism, science, and the complex arts.

While it is gorgeous, the "illuminated" illustrations, colorful show more marginalia cannot make up for Cahill's disjointed, deeply flawed narrative. Firstly, the "rise of feminism" is an afterthought. Three women are featured: Hildegard of Bingden, Héloïse and Eleanor of Aquitaine - described as "a smart cookie" - and even then, only in relation to the men in their lives. The chapter on the Cult of the Virgin Mary was interesting, but the Church can hardly be congratulated for being a feminist or pacifist institution.

What's more, Cahill enjoys making broad, sweeping generalizations that often fall apart upon scrutiny. For example, Cahill states that the modern Romans are pure, and have remained "unchanged since the Caesars," playing host to a permanent golden age. Then, in the same breath, Cahill is forced to acknowledge the invasions of so many nomadic tribes that resulted in a multi-national society that, through various wars, was "reduced to a defeated backwater" of cultural stagnation. Most of the time you're not sure what point is being made, or if one is being made at all.

Cahill also promotes the harmful prejudices and misconceptions of Islam that were popular in the early 2000s. That Islam is a religion of violence and conquest, appealing to the "simple-minded" or "simple" societies like Arabs...you know, the culture that gave the world algebra, chess and the windmill?

Honestly, read Janina Ramirez's "Femina" or Tom Holland's "Forge of Christendom" instead. show less

When I was in high school I would frequently go on book reading jags on a particular topic - well to some extent I still do. One of these involved reading about people who were either on death row, or imprisoned for life for heinous crimes. Although, I myself, have never committed any heinous crimes I seem to identify with those who have - or, at least with my imagined idea of them. So I read [Life Plus 99 Years] about Leopold and Loeb, and [The Birdman of Alcatraz], and books about how show more capital punishment doesn't deter crime - did you know that 90% of all murders are committed under the influence of alcohol? Well, the point of all this, for me, was the belief in the essential goodness of human beings and their capacity for redemption. And, while I'm sure this all had something to do with my own upbringing that left me in doubt of my own goodness and worth, still the essential goodness of human beings and their capacity for redemption is still right up there among the things I most deeply believe in.

[A Saint on Death Row] by Thomas Cahill is the story of Dominique Green who was charged and convicted of felony murder - meaning that a murder was committed in the course of a crime, and, under the statutes of Texas and some other states, all the participants in the felony (the robbery) are held equally guilty of the murder, even if they did had nothing to do with it. However, there were four young men involved, but only Dominique, the youngest of the four at 18, was charged with capital murder. The one white boy in the group was not charged with anything. The other two were able to plea bargain for lesser charges. Dominique was not only black, but also poor, and without family to support him. The book goes into his life prior to prison, which was extremely harsh, and the life he built in prison, through his own efforts and the support of others.

This is the first of this sort of book that I have read in a long time. There are some differences and similarities to the books I read earlier. The similarities are the belief in change and the opposition to the death penalty. The differences are that this book and the presentation of Dominique are less romanticized than many of those I read earlier. And, yet it presents a picture of a young man who made the most of a difficult life, supporting himself and his brothers as best he could, and then, in prison, was able to seek, accept, and return the friendship and support of others.

The picture of Dominique comes from his own letters, from interviews with people who knew him and his circumstances before his imprisonment, and from those who met him after he was imprisoned, including the author.

Much of the book is an indictment of the criminal justice system of Texas, in particular. The picture presented is one in which, at every stage of the process, justice and truth were not so important as wanting somebody to pay for the crime. Although provided with counsel, there was no attempt made to insure that the counsel was competent for the task, or even cared about being competent. It tells how his conviction was based on testimony by witnesses who received lesser sentences as a result, and how his sentence was influenced by a report by a psychologist that he was likely to murder again, but this was simply a belief the psychologist had about all Hispanics and African Americans. In addition, his defense allowed his psychotic mother to testify, without informing the jury of her condition. The appeals process is somewhat different from other states in that they are considered by a group of elected politicians - most ex-prosecutors - who typically campaign on a "tough on crime" platform. They turn down appeals that would not be turned down in other states. The book gives many additional details of all of this.

The evidence is pretty overwhelming that is Dominique had not been black and poor, that he would not have been sentenced to death, nor even convicted. This puts the arrest of Professor Gates, recently, in some perspective. In the debate over whether that was warranted or not - personally I think it was not - we shouldn't lose sight of the stakes of racism, not being just dignity, but even of life. Dominque was executed in 2004 after 12 years on death row. Those sentenced to death are nearly always poor, and very much disproportionately minorities. This is also true of the many more who are in jail. Whites are more likely to use drugs, but African Americans are more likely to go to jail for it. Once a person is in jail, we seem to feel it is ok to stop caring what happens to them. Prison rapes are mentioned in comedy routines, not as something which must be stopped.

Finally, the book reviews the numerous arguments against the death penalty itself - the finality (if new evidence comes to light), the financial cost (more expensive than life in prison), the end of any chance of changing their life (for someone who is guilty), the cruelty.

But mostly the book is about Dominique himself and the strength and dignity of his life.

I strongly recommend it. show less

There are reasons why government buildings in Washington, DC look very much like ancient Athens. If you have been shaped by the Western tradition, you have been shaped by ancient Greeks.

In Sailing the Wine Dark Sea: Why the Greeks Matter, Thomas Cahill continues his “Hinges of History” series which explores the critical moments and people who have led us to be as we are today. In many respects, this work can be understood as how the “civilization” came about which the Irish would show more need to save in the early medieval era.

The author writes well and brings you into the story. You need not already have much of a background in ancient Greece to be able to follow him and the story he told.

He began, as one must, with the Mycenaean world from which the characters in the Iliad and the Odyssey would spring. Much is then made of the warfare and travel described therein, as well as the Early Iron Age world of the Greeks during which the bards would have sung the stories of Troy and afterward (unfortunately, but understandably because of the time, spoken of in terms of a Dark Age). The author continued to tell the story of the history of Greece in its Archaic and Classical periods, but did so through the parties and poetry, the development of the tragedies and comedies, the philosophers and their developments, the artists and the craft of what has become familiar to us as Greek sculpture. He concluded by considering how the Romans would appropriate much of Greek culture, and how it would interact with Christianity and its Jewish heritage, leading to a Greco-Roman/Judeo-Christian synthesis which would define the medieval Western world and following.

Even if you already have an understanding of ancient Greece, you can benefit from how the author portrays what happened: its novelty, its extraordinary development, and how the moment proved fleeting. And yet for good reason all philosophy since can be understood as footnotes to Plato, we still admire the aesthetics of Greek art, we still read the Iliad and the Odyssey, and we ultimately still have the same kinds of arguments and disputes they did. The Greeks still matter because the way we think has been shaped by them and we remain haunted by their questions and quests. show less