The most appropriate way to begin a review of a book like this is by giving thanks for it. The Gift of Thanks is more a collection of micro-arguments and discursive observations on various aspects of gratitude than it is a sustained argument from front to back, and yet the end result is extremely satisfying. In it, Margaret Visser discusses the subject of gifts and gratitude from the standard angles, and also from a number of angles we would perhaps never have thought of. In a book like this, you should not be surprised to find a discussion of Christmas presents, for example. But Visser spends a good bit of time on why we spend so much energy on wrapping them all up. What is the thinking behind brightly colored paper going around the outside of a gift? Why is a minor industry dedicated to the production of wrapping paper? One of the pleasures of a book like this is that—without warning—you find yourself in the middle of interesting discussions of things you have done countless times, and yet without reflecting on what you were doing and why. And some of the things we do are so striking and odd that it is remarkable that we have never thought about why.

Visser discusses the practice of tipping, and what it means and represents. Why do we tip barbers, but not dentists, even though both of them have us sit in their chair while they do things to our head? What are the hierarchical assumptions embedded in tipping? After all, we tip down and not up. Why do we tip the way we do? Why are tips given immediately? Why do tips consist of money? Why do tips end a relationship instead of beginning one? In the course of this chapter, Visser cites one study of tipping, where customers in a restaurant are treated in different ways by the staff. "All kinds of ingenious experiments have been contrived whereby servers, secretly directed and monitored by the scientists, have elicited tips from diners." What a grand idea. The idea of a pack of social scientists with clipboards back behind the swinging doors of the kitchen, peering out those little round windows, just makes me happy.

There are profound philosophical problems caused by the laws of reciprocity driving gratitude, and Visser does a fine job in dissecting the issues surrounding the obligation we feel to "give back." In contrast to tipping, our reciprocal responsibilities (when someone has us over for dinner, say) must be delayed. For another example, if someone were to give you an unexpected gift, to rush right out to shop for a return gift (to be delivered before sundown that evening) would constitute a striking rudeness, and not thoughtful gratitude at all. And to forget about their kindness completely is another form of rudeness. There has to be a balance somewhere between right now and not ever. Factored into this is the Lord's teaching that we ought not to invite one another over with an eye to the return invitations. Balance is harder than it looks.

One of the finest sections of the book deals with the tangles of ingratitude and envy. Visser is plainly acquainted with the work of René Girard, and weaves her broader discussion around a number of his insights. Gratitude and envy are mortal enemies, and in a fallen world, he who would understand one must understand both. Just as Girard does, she uses the astute insights of Shakespeare on the "marble hearted fiend," and sees how ingratitude unravels everything. She describes gratitude by means of two contrary metaphors—gratitude as the lubricant that makes everything run more smoothly, and gratitude as the glue that makes everything hold together. "Where there is no gratitude, there is no meaningful movement; human affairs become rocky, painful, coldly indifferent, unpleasant, and finally break off altogether. The social 'machinery' grinds along and soon seizes up." And "another group of metaphors for gratitude performs an opposite role from that of lubricating: gratitude is 'glue.'"

Envy, to the contrary, lies behind the poisoned gift, the gift that seeks the destruction of the recipient. Visser discusses a host of examples—from Stalin as Giver to the Trojan Horse. Her discussion of Stalin lifts the lid of a box full of macabre inversions. "The State instituted orchestrated performances of ritual thanksgiving to Stalin in person …. A tribute to him in Pravda proclaimed in 1943, 'Thank you, dear Marshal, for our freedom, for our children's happiness, for life!' " It was not enough to pretend to omnipotence; the creatures cowering underneath had to pretend to like it.

In recent discussions with atheists, this point has slowly come into the foreground. The apostle Paul says in the first chapter of Romans that men refused to honor God as God, and they refused to be thankful. Lack of gratitude is one of the driving forces of unbelief. And if Visser is correct, as I believe her to be, and envy is the photonegative of gratitude, then the contest between the atheist and God must be examined more closely. The unbeliever envies God His prerogatives: "Envy is malevolence toward another because of his superior advantages." Who has more superior advantages than God, and who does He think He is?

One of the things you can do when you create a vacancy is apply to fill it yourself. Stalin attempted this on a grand scale; others content themselves with a universe of more modest size. The most fundamental apologetic for the Christian faith in the face of this kind of unbelief is therefore to exult in the Godness of God, and to overflow with thanksgiving to Him. Visser shows the potency of gratitude, even in the face of stark evil.

Gratitude is not adopted as a result of a crude calculus, measuring the effects on health and happiness, but this is one of the mysteries. Grace and gratitude are fully aware of the reciprocity involved, but it is not the reciprocity of a vending machine. Visser is able to point out, clearly enough, that grateful people are contented people, and they do not live in a state of perpetual churn. Grateful people are spacious, open … light. Visser cites a poem by Chesterton that captures this perfectly.

Evening
Here dies another day,
During which I have had eyes, ? ears, hands
And the great world round me;
And tomorrow begins another.
Why am I allowed two?

She begins the book with the ancient figure of the Three Graces, all barely clothed, one facing away from us and two facing toward us and their hands all intertwined. The origins of the figure were already hoary with age in Seneca's time, and he reluctantly felt he had to discuss it. "The Graces were three, and all alike: giving was a Charis, Receiving a Charis, and Returning a Charis. But Seneca now brings up an important point: the first giver is more honourable, he says, higher and better than the other two; she is 'the eldest sister.' The idea has inspired—but also haunted—gift-giving, in the West at least, for two thousand years." To initiate the cycle of giving is, at least on many occasions, a way of pulling rank. There is something profoundly right with the whole thing, but how terrible it is when it goes wrong.

An extra fifty pages of an already fine book (at least a book like this one) would usually just make it finer. In that vein, I would have enjoyed reading a discussion of how generosity and "overflow," and the resultant response of appropriate gratitude, are grounded in the triune nature of God. The Father begets—a form of giving, surely. The Son is begotten, a form of receiving. But because we are orthodox, the gift was always given, and there was never a time when the gift had not been received already forever. And the Spirit is the Spirit of both Father and Son, the Spirit of return. In Augustine's theology, the spirit of mutual love between Father and Son is so strong as to be an infinite Person in His own right. And in this, we have all the infinite obligations of generosity and gift-giving, while at the same time having all the ultimate liberty that attends true Gift—obligation without coercion, and liberty without chaos. Perhaps Visser was withholding this aspect of the discussion because to open the subject at all is to begin another book. If so, I would read that one as well.

Douglas Wilson is pastor at Christ Church in Moscow, Idaho, and senior fellow in theology at New Saint Andrews College. With Christopher Hitchens, he is the author of Is Christianity Good for the World? A Debate (Canon Press).

Copyright © 2011 by the author or Christianity Today/Books & Culture magazine.
Click here for reprint information on Books & Culture.