From my translation-in-progress of the Revelation, here is part of my commentary on I am Alpha and Omega (Revelation 1:8) -- To understand better what this phrase is about, we must recall that the modern understanding of letters is very different from that of classical times. Today we think of letters atomically: each letter of the alphabet is like a single brick or board or stone, each one worthless by itself. Letters are simply means to an end, parts with no more individual identity than a nail or a screw, with their only value being derived from what is done with them: when they are placed with other letters into a solidly built meaningful edifice of written communication. Conversely, to the classical way of thinking A is not just the first letter but the letter that contains in potential all of the other letters: it is the seed or semen that begins life, life that grows letter by letter until it has branched out into the entire alphabet. No wonder that the Aramaic word ܐܠܦ (ˀālap̄) not only is the name of the first letter in the alphabet, but that as a verb it means “to learn/teach” or “to know/be known”. And Z is not just the last letter in this perspective, but the letter that sums up and restates succinctly the entire œuvre of the preceding letters. Indeed, in many ancient and traditional cultures letters are seen as plants of a sort, with branches and roots. And again, no wonder that the Aramaic word ܬܘ (taw) is not just the name of the last letter of the alphabet but the word for “mark” (as in writing: a written letter). Indeed, John’s œuvre reflects this understanding of A as potential and Z as summation: it begins chronologically with short writings (found in The Writings of John), letters written not for all time but for specific momentary issues in the spiritual community of followers of Jesus’s teachings; and yet these letters anticipate briefly the concerns that John would be writing about lifelong, and which are far more fully entered into in his three great monuments of literature, the Gospel of John, the Revelation, and the Songs of the Perfect One. And that last one, as the last one, is the most succinct and powerful summation of all John’s teachings, the teachings of Jesus that he had taken within himself and made his own. Even though the work is virtually completely forgotten today, it is in the Songs of the Perfect One that John most truly “makes his mark”. Taken individually, John’s three major works also reflect this understanding. Consider, for instance, how the gospel begins with the celebrated phrase εν αρχη ην ο λογος (which I translate as “In the first place the Logos has been existing…”). This phrase cannot make a great deal of sense as the reader encounters it for the first time, but as she or he reads more and more of the gospel it slowly becomes increasingly meaningful – and when the reader reaches the end of the gospel and turns back to reconsider these opening words they should now make a great deal of sense. And the final words of the gospel, ostensibly spoken to Thomas, are truly directed to the reader (“You believe because you have seen me. Blessed are those who have not seen and yet believe!”), and perfectly sum up the entire teaching of the gospel. One small part of all the wisdom that God means to impart here is that all wisdom, all truth, everything that can be said or written, is contained in God. With all the letters of the alphabet, from A to Z in English, from Α to Ω in Greek, from ܐ to ܬ in Aramaic, and so on with the equivalent in any other linguistic system, all truth can be expressed. And since God is truth in the Johannine theology, this verse is saying that all of this truth is intrinsic to God’s nature. This very Revelation, and indeed all writing, is composed of those letters from A to Z. Indeed, this A-to-Z phrase, by its inclusion appearance at the beginning, the A of the Revelation, and at its end, is itself a demonstration of its meaning and its truth! Of course, for meaningful statements to result, for truth to be inherent in writing, the letters must be carefully arranged according to a certain pattern: it is in their arrangement that they reflect the truth. The arrangement is not found within the letters; it is imposed on them “from above”, to use a Johannine term: ανωθεν (anōthen). Even my own attempt here to write in letters about the patterning of letters such that they create meaningful and truthful statements can itself only be meaningful and truthful if it adheres to a patterning that is “above”, that is extrinsic to the writing. To the modern mind, this pattern is a cultural convention, and as I type I am choosing words and groups of words as my best effort, in accordance to the cultural convention about their meaning, to represent in words my thinking. In the Johannine view, this pattern is the Λογος, the Logos, most famously mentioned in John 1:1 where it is usually but incorrectly translated as “Word”: it is the perfect pattern/plan that God has for the unfolding of events in this universe, and to the degree that I am myself (or any author of a text is) in harmony with the Logos my writing will likewise reflect the truth. When the Psalmist says “From the start your word is true” (Psalm119:160; the word I translate as “start”, רֹאשׁ, rosh, is the same word that begins Genesis 1:1 and is behind John 1:1), it is not just hyperbole. When Jesus says if we know the truth it will make us free (John 8:32), he means if we truly know God, then God will make us free. For a classical mind like John’s God and truth were the same thing. And so the things of this world, including the letters of the alphabet evoke the presence of God when our words and actions pattern them according to the pattern, the Logos, prescribed by God. And that, of course, is John’s goal in this and all of his writings: to evoke the presence of God. Therefore, for John, the act of writing, like any other human endeavor, is to be done within the Logos, such that it reflects God’s will, such that it is meaningful and true, and hence lasting. Thus John intends in his writings to reflect so perfectly that Logos pattern that it becomes one with the pattern, and as a result is a microcosm of the Logos, and one who reads it and incorporates its inherent truth within oneself in turn also becomes part of and a reflection of the Logos – will come to know God, the truth, and be thus made free. To the modern mind, John’s three great works, the Gospel of John, the Revelation, and the Songs of the Perfect One, are very different in terms of genre: a biography, a description of a vision, and a collection of poetry. By the classical definition of history, however, all three are histories: that is, they are records of the truth that John himself witnessed and now testifies to in writing. As histories, they succeed to the degree that they reflect the truth, and in reflecting the truth they become the truth, and if the reader takes within her- or himself the truth in the works, the reader too becomes an eyewitness, and an embodiment of the truth, and is living in accordance with the Logos. Jesus comes, according to the gospel, to bring to humanity God’s message of truth that we must live in accordance with the Logos; by living his own life in accordance with it, Jesus becomes the truth, as he testifies in John 14:6. And as the conclusion of the gospel (quoted above) suggests, we too are to become like Jesus, to become the truth. Of course there are writings that are neither meaningful nor truthful; thus, by nature they are gibberish. And likewise there are writings that are meaningful (that is to say, they are not gibberish) but yet not truthful. These are writings patterned by a patterning of this world, not of God, and so by their very nature they cannot be truthful. For if they were truthful they would a priori be guided by God’s pattern, the Logos. John would say that the writings of Paul are examples of this group: they often sound authentic, wise, and sincere, but they are patterned by Paul’s determination to create his own religion and maintain personal control over it – and so, even when his writings sound truthful, even when he writes something that is word-for-word identical to a truthful statement (one written by John, for example), it is still but a mimicry of the truth. It is still no more truthful than a parrot squawking “Love one another, love one another!” It is still at base a blatant lie. Often Paul writes, for instance, about loving others, about patience and forgiveness and forbearance, and yet almost every letter of Paul we have contains vile verses of venomously vitriolic invective versus John. To quote another John about another Paul, “How do you sleep at night?”
Posted on: Tue, 16 Sep 2014 22:59:46 +0000
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