1 out of 4 stars
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Gather round children, it’s time for our daily riddle! What do you get if you mix a detailed discussion of a series of delicate but utterly pointless theological questions with a not-too-bright twelve years old’s belief in the crudest type of divine (as in supernatural) interference in our world? The answer, I’m afraid, is W. E. Combs’s Who Told You That You Were Naked?
I’m struggling to think of something I liked about this book but it’s not very easy. The author has clearly read his Bible and a number of assorted studies. Apparently, he holds a doctoral degree in the area. He is knowledgeable then – I’ll give him that. But what’s the point of all that knowledge, if it is applied this way? Let me explain by asking a question. Is the story of Adam and Eve (with which the book is much preoccupied) a veritable report of just what happened some millennia ago in a town called Eden? Or is it an allegorical story, a myth, whose value lies in its poetic reconstruction of humanity’s origins, rather than its “facts”?
I’ve always thought that intelligent opinion inclines towards the second answer. Well, not so Dr. Combs. He seems, as far as I could tell, to believe that Eve was really a piece of ribeye steak and that she and Adam were historical figures who actually lived in a very green garden until the day they tasted the forbidden fruit (presumably the very apple on the book’s cover?) and realized with shame they had been running around in their birth suit all along. He is therefore prone to considering such momentous issues as the exact location of our forefather at the moment of his wife’s temptation.
Do I hear you complaining that I am not being neutral and civil? You are right! You see, I get really touchy when I feel I’m being taken for a fool. And that’s exactly how I feel when I read that the devil’s “minions” kept the Reverend and his spouse awake on certain nights by the sort of pranks one would guffaw at if one saw them in the cinema: “Their technique: a constant pounding on the walls and hands descending from the ceiling” (pp. 150-1). I, for one, couldn’t quite decide whether the author has seen too many horror flicks and actually believes this stuff or if he is just a shameless liar – nor which would be worse.
To sum up, if you are the sort of person who believes that the Almighty has nothing better to do than dissolving the gallstones of some octogenarian true believer or, even better, that the Prince of Darkness would take a break from partying in hell just to pay a visit to the author’s wife at home while he is at the office – then I do feel a little sorry for you but, on the bright side, Dr. Combs’s opus may be just what you were looking for. If not, I have to warn you that the book does not contain enough laughs to sufficiently enliven the lengthy discussion of theological niceties. 1 out of 4 stars is what it gets from me.
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Who Told You That You Were Naked?
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