John’s Gospel as the Eyewitness Event Itself

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What follows is a addition to The Gospel of John, my restoration of that original text, free from the later interpolations and excisions of the organized Christian religion, and translated afresh from the Greek. Ordering information here, but coming soon is the new two-volume edition!

In the preface to his five-volume opus, Papias (an early second-century Christian bishop and writer) explains his own approach to establishing the truth about Jesus in the following passage. Without doubt he was describing the historiographical method that his master John the Presbyter taught him, which means it is also the method John adopted in writing the gospel.

εἰ δέ που καὶ παρηκολουθηκώς τις τοῖς πρεσβυτέροις ἔλθοι, τοὺς τῶν πρεσβυτέρων ἀνέκρινον λόγους, τί Ἀνδρέας ἢ τί Πέτρος εἴπεν ἢ τί Φίλιππος ἢ τί Θωμᾶς ἢ Ἰάκωβος ἢ τί Ἰωάννης ἢ Ματθαῖος ἢ τις ἕτερος τῶν τοῦ κυρίου μαθητῶν ἅ τε Ἀριστίων καὶ ὁ πρεσβύτερος Ἰωάννης, τοῦ κυρίου μαθηταί, λέγουσιν. οὐ γὰρ τὰ ἐκ τῶν βιβλίων τοσοῦτόν με ὠφελεῖν ὑπελάμβανον ὅσον τὰ παρὰ ζώσης φωνῆς καὶ μενούσης.

And so whenever anyone who had followed the presbyters came along, I would ask carefully for the words of the presbyters, what Andrew or Peter had said, or what Philip, or what Thomas or James, or what John or Matthew, or any other of the disciples of the Lord, and which Aristion and John the Presbyter, disciples of the Lord say too. For I did not assume that whatever comes from books is as helpful to me as what comes from a living and persevering voice.

This quotation is not (as some have written) dismissing the value of books; certainly not when Papias wrote these words in a massive written work of his own. He is rather saying that when an actual eyewitness is still alive, still persevering in stating aloud in words his vivid memories, he deserves to be heeded more than a book, no matter how helpful the latter. It is saying that even the best books are of less value because they are indirect, coming between the student and the eyewitness descriptions, and that the eyewitness descriptions are superior because they are only one step away from the actual events themselves.

Modern historiography, while it pays lip service to primary sources, relies mainly on previously written works, as any survey of published material will amply demonstrate. And modern historiography, when it does turn to primary sources, insists that the best eyewitness is dispassionate, perceiving facts without their being distorted by the least shred of emotional attachment, free from subjective interpretation – in this case, spiritual understanding.

The classical historian, on the other hand, would aver that to lack emotional attachment to the event, that is, to not care about what one is observing, reduces one’s effectiveness as a witness. The best witness, that historian would say, is one who is invested in the event, and thus has senses well attuned and memory carefully storing the event away. The best witness is one who not just cares enough about the event to remember it well, but cares about it enough to recount it again and again to various audiences, who therefore has had good practice at the craft of putting memory into words, which strengthens the recall and prevents the memory from fading away.

As it is put in The Circle of Life:

Traditional peoples see time and place in terms of story. Everything around us is alive, and has its story. To exist, to live, is to create story: when we fall in love, when we have a child, and so on, we’re beginning a story, and the only way we can learn how the story is going to come out is by creating the story. The past, to the traditional way of thinking, is the stories that have been told and can still be told; the future is the stories that have not yet been told. Thus, this present moment is ceremony in progress, stories in the making. This moment now, with you holding this book in your hands as you read it, is your story-in-the-making. Some day to come you will remember reading this book. You won’t have this book in your hands, but you will remember reading something in it that really struck you, and what it made you think about, and what you did that you wouldn’t have done otherwise. This remembering will be for you a story, part of the greater story of your life. Death, in this view, is an ending not of life, but of a story – and other stories will always follow.

This issue was no doubt important to Papias because, as the Gospel of John demonstrates, it was crucial to his mentor John the Presbyter. The book, the gospel, that John wrote seeks to be something unique: to be not just a book of history like other books of history, even the best of them. It seeks to be more than merely an indirect witness to Jesus, a mere record of oral recollections like other written histories. Rather, it seeks to be itself a direct observer and describer of the events, telling the reader the story about them just the way a witness does – more than that, it seeks to be the event itself, such that we are not mere readers of a text that quotes witnesses about the event of Jesus, but that we are direct witnesses to the event itself. I said above that for classical historians the best witness is “invested in the event, and thus has senses well attuned and memory carefully storing the event away, … and cares about it enough to recount it again and again to various audiences”, which describes this gospel very well. For Jesus promises, in the gospel itself, that a new kind of eyewitness will come to the faithful; he speaks of it as the Paraclete (Παρακλητος), “the Spirit/Wind/Breath of truth … that will bear witness concerning me” (15:26), adding, “Whatever it hears it will speak … [it] will teach you all things and will remind you of all the things that I said to you” (14:26). That new kind of witness is the gospel itself. It is the eyewitness we attend to, so it is the event-itself that gives us Jesus.

In this modern age of malls and superhighways drained of all real intrinsic meaning, meaning, or the mere appearance of meaning, is a commodity that is bought and sold like any other: information technology, as it is called. The “ruler of this cosmos”, as Jesus calls him in this gospel, or Big Brother, as George Orwell called him, tells us to trust him and go home now, and he will explain everything to us later. We are in this modern age to believe what we are told to believe. Scholars in this modern age argue about what this gospel means. Most people just allow their religious organization to tell them what the meaning of this and other scriptures is, rather than discovering it for themselves through intelligent reading. The organized religious establishments took over the role of assigning meaning to events. And the scholars, just as bad, squeeze the scriptures for meaning and throw away the works themselves like an empty orange skin. Yet in fact Marshall McLuhan was right: don’t look for hidden meanings in the gospel; the medium, this gospel, is the message, and the message is the gospel itself.

For classical people, the event, the experience, and the meaning were all inextricably mixed. For the classical mind the truth as to the meaning of any event (historical or happening in front of one) was in the event itself, not in descriptions of the event – the descriptions contain truth to the degree that they conform their words to the truth in the event itself. That is the main criterion by which classical books of history were judged in classical times as to their quality, and it should remain such.

Moderns deem the meaning of an event or a teaching more important than the event or teaching itself. They suggest that there is something defective about a powerful symbolic work like the Gospel of John, and that therefore it needs the official explainers to explain it. They suggest that there is something defective about you and me, in that we are not able to appreciate the gospel fully unless we listen to the official explainers. This has the effect not only of devaluing the work itself and the readers themselves, but it creates a relativism of meaning: the meaning is whatever those powerful enough to take control of the social institutions of education, communication, media, and often government say is its meaning.

Symbols are not like highway signs. A red hexagon tells us to stop the car because we are trained by our culture so to do; someone from another culture will not know to stop. But a symbol, an archetype, is immediately a powerful spiritual dynamo for any human being of any culture in any epoch. It needs no explaining, and in fact explaining does it a disservice, suggesting that the symbol is of lesser importance, and that rather the big-mouthed bonehead who wants us to know how smart he is that he can explain a symbol is the real point. As Jung taught, symbols, archetypes, are hard-wired into our psyches as a species; they are ultimately a primal root part of the World Soul, the collective unconscious. Symbols are like bodies that express the ineffable archetypes; the archetypes are the souls inside the symbols that make the symbols come alive. So in my view symbols do not point at something beyond themselves: they simply are, and we can only gape at their inexpressible forever astonishing wonder. They are numinous. Like the famous “Flower Sermon” of Gautama Buddha, John the Presbyter was wise not to put a lot of explanations into this gospel. He simply gives us the symbols, points toward the allusions in the classics and the Tanakh, and leaves us to contemplate this glorious beauty that means what it is.

Most Jews and most Hellenes weaned on Plato would have agreed with John the Presbyter that the ultimate source of all truth is God, not the official explainers. If there is truth in someone’s words or deeds, in any situation, it is because these things are said or done in accordance with the will of God: they are, in the Presbyter’s terms, in accordance with the Λογος. Hence, if the Gospel of John was written by God’s will, then to the degree John the Presbyter wrote it as God wishes, it carries the truth of the words and events recorded. If it is more than an historic record, if it is in Kant’s term a Ding an sich, if it is in Lao-tse’s term 自然 (ziran; “self-so”), if it is in Borges’s term an aleph, then it is God’s own deed, and the Presbyter is but the instrument. And, if that is the case, then the gospel does not just embody the truth, but it is the truth, because the presence of God is in it.

Thus, the Gospel of John, as the Paraclete, by its established nature as the event itself, does not therefore reflect the truth of the event in its words as the moon reflects the sun, as we humans (should) reflect the image of Elohim, but rather it has the truth within its own very nature. And therefore it is for us, as not readers but eyewitnesses to this gospel-event and its inherent truth, to believe. Thus Jesus says the truth will set us free if we know it (8:32), that God’s word is truth (17:17), that he bears witness to the truth such that those who hear his voice have truth in them (18:37), and of course says to Thomas and us

“You believe because you have seen me.
Blessed are those who have not seen and yet believe!”

For example, the resurrection appearances of Jesus were for the disciples new experiences that at first they could not understand. They were receiving sensory data that did not make sense to them, and had to be explained to them. They probably discussed and even argued with each other as to the meaning of these appearances. They may have realized that their guesses at the meaning might be wrong or incomplete. But they would never once have thought it was for them to establish the meaning, that the meaning was theirs to decide, but rather that the meaning was in the event itself and was something that they must discern in the event. Thus, as an event in its own right, the gospel does not like other works of classical history seek to reproduce faithfully the meaning in the event; it is the event, and so it carries its own intrinsic meaning. The meaning it gives to the resurrection is that this is no ordinary man but Messiah, and no ordinary event but a kairos, a tirtha, a moment-place where the veil between the worlds has grown thin and one can glimpse the eternal, the Æon.

This gospel is to be accepted, then, not an ordinary history based on the accounts of witnesses but a witness itself; more than that, it is to be taken as the direct experience of Jesus: by reading it we are there with Jesus. Therefore, we are not mere readers, removed from the event by the intervening media of witness and book; rather, we are witnesses ourselves to the gospel-as-event/teaching, we are put squarely in front of the truth itself, the event-presence itself, and thus we are anointed as disciples and presbyters and apostles and elders ourselves. Jesus in effect addresses us, the readers of the gospel, when in the gospel’s very last words he says: “Blessed are those who have not seen and yet believe!” We, the readers of the gospel, have not seen the events and teachings in the gospel, but by reading we know them, and are called to believe. And the Envoi to the gospel, which follows immediately, drives home this same point:

πολλα δε και αλλα σημεια α εποιησεν ο ιησους ενωπιον των μαθητων αυτου α ουκ εστιν γεγραμμενα εν τω βιβλιω τουτω ατινα εαν γραφηται καθ εν ουδ αυτον οιμαι τον κοσμον χωρησαι τα γραφομενα βιβλια ταυτα δε γεγραπται ινα πιστευσητε οτι ιησους εστιν ο χριστος ο υιος του θεου και ινα πιστευοντες ζωην *αιωνιον* εχητε εν τω ονοματι αυτου

Indeed there are also many other signs Jesus has been doing in the presence of his disciples that are not written in this book, which, if each one of them were written, I think not even the cosmos itself could contain all the books (that would have to be) written. These, however, have been written so you might believe that Jesus is the Anointed One, the son of God, and that, by believing, you might have Æonian life in his name.

The Jewish view in John’s day was that truth flowed from the Torah and from the Temple – whichever Temple, and hence the conflicting “truths” espoused by the priesthoods in Jerusalem, Samaria, and Leontopolis in Egypt; Mary and Jesus allude to this conflict in 4:20-21. But the gospel seeks to present God as the only source of truth and valid meaning; God has sent Jesus as emissary to express this truth, and the gospel is presenting itself as the Paraclete, continuing to express God’s truth, the only real truth.

In saying we are blessed who have not seen and yet believe, in saying the gospel was written “so you might believe”, the gospel is saying that those who believe are good witnesses to the experience of Jesus. As the Paracete the gospel presents itself, as I have often said, not as a history book, but as in itself the experience-of-Jesus, which makes us not mere readers of a book but witnesses to an event. Some people over the millennia have read the gospel and remain readers, remain agnostic, because for them this book remains a book; no harm in this. Yet some organizations, while they pay lip service to calling this book scripture, treat it as a book that they will interpret for their adherents, despite the fact that the meaning of the event is in the event, not enforced upon it by a social institution, in this case the meaning is in the book, not the institution, and to separate meaning from event, like separating the spirit from the body, kills both.

But for those who read and believe, the book becomes not just a witness to Jesus, but moreover an event, the experience-of-Jesus. As I have also previously noted, classical historians preferred to base their writings on witnesses who were emotionally involved, because that quality better engraved their memories of what they observed than the “dispassionate observer” preferred today; also, they had experience in telling the story of what they witnessed, and so their wording would be useful to the historian. Like a dream quickly written down at dawn or immediately told to someone, verbalizing an experience helps to firm up and fix the details in the memory with exactitude.

Perhaps thousands of people heard and saw Jesus – but only a relatively very few were so moved that they didn’t just “hear and see” but listened and observed. The difference is in this very factor of becoming involved in, committed to, the event, such that one absorbs it: the individual becomes a part of the event and it becomes a part of the individual. Therefore, for the gospel to discuss belief as a result of reading this gospel is to say it is possible for some readers to become more than readers: to become believers, that is, emotionally involved, committed witnesses to the experience-of-Jesus as mediated by the gospel (20:29,31).

Classical and modern historians both understand that the truth known to human beings is subjective: the only truth we have is the knowable truth, the truth from our finite perspective. And of course in ancient times like now, people would “spin” their telling to make the truth appear in ways that furthered their desires. Thus the wise historian, then and now, presents various perspectives as if in a courtroom, and evaluates the evidence supporting each in order to arrive at the truth in the event itself. Thus in the Gospel of John we find occasional courtroom terminology; even the original title, The Paraclete, is a courtroom term. Thus too we find the gospel focused on the nature of truth: Pilate asks what it is, and Jesus says I AM is the truth that, if we know it, frees us.

Pontius (“What is truth?”) Pilate had no more access to objective truth than any other human being; thus he like most others sought only the truth that would serve him, he like most others sought to be the master of the truth, but Jesus said to him, in effect, “You would have no truth at all, unless it comes to you from above.” John the Presbyter would agree with George Berkeley that, while our human truths are subjective, that we have at best an asymptotic relationship with the truth, God is a priori the one entity for whom truth is objective, whole, and perfect. We human beings cannot bridge the asymptotic gap to perfect truth – the closer we get the harder it is to get closer, like approaching absolute zero or the speed of light. But in the Messiah of Jesus, and therefore in the gospel that embodies his teaching, the truth has come to us, God has come to us – for, where we cannot bridge the asymptotic gap, God can. This is a major point in the Prologue to the gospel, and this coming of God into the human experience is the very essence of kairos, the Greek concept of sacred time, the “eternal now” moment when all ordinary life hushes in the presence of the inexplicable.

The final two words in the quotation from the Muratorian Canon, saying that John wrote “all the wonderful things of the Lord in order” (italics added), are significant here. For a central factor in classical historiography, besides primary reliance on committed eyewitnesses, was the arrangement of the raw observational reports of the eyewitnesses interviewed into a seamless historical narrative: that is, imparting an architecture to that narrative, a pattern as pleasing to the mind as the structure of a cathedral is pleasing to the eye. In Hegelian terms, this is the dialectical relationship between content and form, between truth and beauty, in Greek terms, between χρειαι (units of oral recollection) and συνταξις (organization into a large-scale work): while the eyewitness and historian could be the same person, properly speaking the former was the provider of content, of truth, and the latter the provider of form, of beauty. A classical historical work of fine quality had both blended into a unity; indeed, in classical works of history – indeed, in all great classical literature – these two were the same thing: in the words of Keats, “Truth is beauty, beauty truth.” Put another way, the classical historian saw his task as a form of fine art, painting a truthful image of the past with the raw materials of testimony and records. The structure of the gospel, which is detailed in the Commentaries, is clearly modeled on that of a Greek play, in four major sections (called Acts in my translation), with at least the beginnings of a seven signs and seven seals substructure. It is also filled with inclusio (details or themes or phrases in the early chapters that return in the final chapters), as well as with abundant references to Greek poets such as Sappho and Homer, the philosopher Plato, and the playwright Euripides.

John the Presbyter’s work included more than putting the reminiscences into chronological order and inserting later marginal additions where they seemed best to go into the narrative flow. It included more than refining the literary language was and adding artful references to Hellenistic philosophy and literature, and composing the Prologue. It included more than arranging an artful A-B-A symmetry or inclusio format.

The Presbyter also was determined a: to attest to the truth of this gospel and its hard-to-believe contents, b: to effectively quash the inevitable allegations by cynics (Celsus being the first in a line of them to the present day) that the whole thing about Jesus was made up or a matter of delusion, and c: to prevent ideological tampering with the text. He did this as did the great prophets (e.g., Isaiah 8:2,16; cf. the concern expressed in Jeremiah 8:8), by writing into the text statements that in modern terms are written legal depositions or affidavits, solemnly certififying that the text tells the truth. Therefore, the structure includes a “seven seals” arrangement that was at least partly fleshed out.

Thus we find factual certifications at 1:14, 3:33-34, 19:24, 19:35, 20:30-31, plus two more by John the Immerser at 1:32 and 34. These seven certifications are mentioned in Revelation 5:1-9; they are “seven seals” that seal the codex which is clearly this gospel; the imagery is borrowed from Ezekiel 2:9-3:3. (Note: I do not include a separate certification at the end of chapter 21, since the latter was not originally part of the gospel, nor the approximately seven times that Jesus serves as his own witness, at 3:11, 7:7, 8:18, 5:39, 5:43, 5:46, 18:37, since these are certifications about Jesus, not of Jesus.)

There is also a partly fleshed-out structure of “seven signs” (in modern parlance, miracles) done by Jesus, equivalent to the seven trumpets in Revelation 8-9, trumpeting Jesus’s identity as Messiah. These seven signs are themselves certifications as well: in the Jewish faith then and now a putative Messiah is expected to perform certain signs (אוֺתוֺת; otot; the singular is אוֹת; oth, rhyming with “oat”) to certify themselves as meriting that recognition. However here John evidently ran into a problem which may have delayed completion of the gospel (permanently, as it turned out): the chiastic structure of the seven signs should have had the healings of the paralytic and blind man mirror each other as the third and fifth sign, with the loaves-and-fishes taking the center spot – however, that would only be possible in the text if it were to ignore the chronological fact that the loaves-and-fishes sign preceded that of the paralytic man. The amanuensis could easily have “solved” this problem by just changing the order – but the man who had criticized John Mark for putting events out of their actual temporal order, now had to choose between doing just that or accepting a flaw in the chiasm.

Why all these artistic devices, especially the inclusio and the references to classical literature, in an account that stresses its eyewitness nature? Artifice to our contemporary thinking suggests hyperbole, exaggeration, even outright deception and fallacy. How can these accounts be truthful, we moderns may well ask, when they are so beautifully contrived? The answer is found in such classical philosophers as Plato and Aristotle whom the gospel writer clearly admired and studied. To the classical person, if not the modern, Keats was correct in saying, “Truth is beauty, beauty truth.” All of the great works, in all genres of artistry, are beautiful and true, even when they are ugly and raw. Guernica, Inferno, Hamlet, Rashomon, Don Quixote, Le Sacre du Printemps; these works are jarring and difficult to appreciate – but, for me, that is their beauty. This gospel has its brutal scenes, most especially the passion and crucifixion of Jesus, as well as some that are exquisitely lovely – and note that it is during the crucifixion that the prose gives way to several lines of the most pure, passionate, poignant poetry. Yet without doubt the composition of the gospel was intended, or inspired, to make this another one of these truthful, beautiful works, beautiful even as Jesus struggles on the cross through the last tortured gasps of life. So, for the first century reader, this careful arrangement of the raw materials to create the inclusio effect and bring out the allusions to classical literature is not as we might think today – after too much exposure to the bathetic blandishments of mendacious politicians and hypocritical clergy – to deceive us, but, quite the opposite, to make the gospel more trustworthy and true.

John the Presbyter clearly states the intention that this gospel be the event itself, that it be the presence of Jesus, in 15:26-27. “The Paraclete,” he quotes Jesus as saying, “will bear witness concerning me, and you too (will) bear witness because you have been with me from the first.” The last two words, απ αρχης, form a double entendre: to his actual disciples he means the phrase in its common sense, that they have been with him since this whole series of events began; but to those who are reading this the Paraclete, he means that they, we, have been with him from the first (απ αρχης) word of the gospel, which is, though conjugated differently, this very word, εν αρχη. In other words, we are not just reading about, but experiencing, observing, and witnessing Jesus as he teaches and performs signs. Thus 15:27, like 20:29, can be understood as Jesus speaking directly to the reader of the gospel.

These two verses, therefore, provide future generations with two witnesses: the gospel and its readers. Since under Jewish law the consistent testimony given by two witnesses of probity is to be accepted as truth, the combination of this gospel Paraclete and its readers – readers who become involved, committed witnesses, which in this case is a demonstration of their probity – is to be accepted as the truth. Once again we see how this gospel is laid on a strong legal foundation.

Following these two verses in this reconstruction of the original gospel is verse 13:20, in which the Presbyter further drives home his point through Jesus’s words: “Anyone who receives what I will send receives me,” which is to say again that this Paraclete-gospel is Jesus’s continuing presence, and if we become involved, committed witnesses by receiving it, we thereby receive Jesus; and then he adds, “who receives me receives the One who sent me”, which is to say if we accept and live by Jesus’s teachings we are living in accordance with the Λογος, and hence we become part of the Æon, and are one not only with each other but also one with God (17:26,22,21,23).

This understanding of the gospel as not merely witness but the event itself would have been immediately comprehensible to first-century Jews, and would be to most Jews today were it not for the mental barriers erected between religions that often blind us to their shared elements.

Jesus gives this teaching about the Paraclete, hence about this gospel, mere hours before the beginning of the Passover. Exodus teaches us in the generations following the Exodus to observe the Passover with the understanding that we were there too, for if our spiritual ancestors had not miraculously escaped bondage in Egypt, we their descendants would not be free today. Notice how the following verses do not say “our ancestors”, but “me” or “us”. Exodus 13:8 says, והגדת לבנך ביום ההוא לאמר בעבור זה עשה יהוה לי בצאתי ממצרים (“And you shall avow to your son on that day, saying, ‘This is done because of that which YHWH did to me when I came out of Egypt’”), and verse 14 says, והיה כי־ישאלך בנך מחר לאמר מה־זאת ואמרת אליו בחזק יד הוציאנו יהוה ממצרים מבית עבדים (“And it will be, when in future times your son asks you ‘What is this?’, that you will say to him, ‘With a mighty hand YHWH brought us out of Egypt, from the house of bondage’”). For this reason, the Haggadah, the story of the Exodus, is told to this day at the Passover Seder as not our ancestors’ story, but our story, that we were there too.

Jesus’s Æon Found in Western Greece

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What follows is a addition to The Gospel of John, my restoration of that original text, free from the later interpolations and excisions of the organized Christian religion, and translated afresh from the Greek. Ordering information here, but coming soon is the new two-volume edition!

The word “Æon” (αιον) is the word used in the Gospel of John (and elsewhere in early Christian texts) as the Greek equivalent of the Hebrew word םלוע (olam) and the Aramaic word ܥܠܡܐ (almah). These two Semitic words literally mean “concealed” or “hidden”. In temporal references the concept is of a length of time rendered indefinite by virtue of proportion: a time period so long that the end of it is hidden/concealed from the vantage point of its beginning moment, and the present moment as well. It could thus be rendered into English as “time immemorial” or “time out of mind”; the New World Translation renders it well as “indefinitely lasting” in English, and tiempo indefinido in Spanish. The term often carries the suggestion of everlasting (at least in the past or future), or even of eternal (beyond linear chronological time altogether; i.e., the kairos). Even in non-temporal references it can suggest “hidden”, as in Isaiah 60:19-20 it refers to the spiritual light of our inner being.

The Hebrew (עַלְמָה; almah) and Aramaic (ܥܠܝܡܗ; alymah) word for “maiden” or “young woman”, plus its equivalents for “stripling” or “young man”, may go back to the same root meaning of “concealed” or “hidden”, on the logic that young men or women who are marriageable but not yet married are kept back by their parents as hidden from those who would seek to steal their sexual potential, and as valuable in the arrangements of advantageous marriages. However, Koehler and Baumgartner in their Hebrew and Aramaic Lexicon of the Old Testament trace the word to an Aramaic root ܥܠܡ (alma) that refers to youthful vigor, and associate it with a cognate in Ugaritic that means “to be agitated” and one in Arabic that means “to be filled with passionate desire”. I suspect both derivations may be valid; parents may want to keep hidden at home their teenaged children when they are overwhelmed with sexual hormones.

In the Gospel of John the term “Æon” is not for a physical place or chronological time, but a state of being that is beyond mere time and space, beyond mere being, a term not unlike nirvana in Buddhist theology. It is often used with a meaning similar to “heaven” (ουρανος, which also means “sky”), but not in the sense that we enter the Æon at death, but rather that, by living in accordance with the Λογος, the divine plan/order or Word, mediated by Jesus, we enter the Æon immediately, while still in this life, and thus at death we do not simply cease to exist, but continue to be part of the Æon. We enter it by loving all life, by recognizing our oneness with all being, which is also the essence of compassion in Buddhism. So it is heaven when we choose to live in harmony with God’s Λογος, plan, being one with all God’s creatures (17:21) for by doing so God draws us thither, into the Æon. This loving is particularly accomplished by becoming completely one with our spouse: through sexual desire one conjoins with one’s partner, and thus embodies the image of Elohim, God understood as including both male and female as one. Thus, in the term “Æon” there is the sense of the Semitic root that refers to sexual desire. We see this acted out at John 20:16-17 (see the commentaries).

Therefore, the term “Æon” is used to refer to the greater existence beyond corporeal existence. This κοσμος, the physical universe, is bounded – in three physical dimensions and one temporal dimension. Scientists postulate other universes with other numbers of physical and temporal dimensions, and medicine men and women often are able to spirit-travel in these other universes. But these, too, are still κοσμος, finite, bounded existence. The Æon is transcendent, beyond all possible bounded universes, but incorporating them: in the Æon, every possible bounded universe is but an infinitesimal dot without dimensions. Within these dots, time is χρονος, the slow tick-tock time of finitude in which seconds and hours, if laid side by side, are always of the same length, while in the Æon time is καιρος, the “Eternal Now”, as Tillich put it, in which every moment is eternal and eternity is a moment. Likewise, in these physical universes, space is τοπος, stretched out in physical dimensions, wherein all miles laid side by side are of the same length, while in the Æon space is γαια, in which great distances are nothing and immediately adjacent is infinitely far – as is often the case in our dreams, as with lung gom, the Tibetan technique for walking great distances in a single step.

In one sense the Æon is the Platonic realm of ιδεα, where everything is its own archetype or blueprint for the “thousand and one things” (in Lao-tse’s phrase) in the physical universe. This realm is beyond all bounded universes; as Plato put it, “it is not anywhere in another thing, not in an animal, nor in the earth, nor in heaven, nor in anything else, but is itself by itself within itself” (Symposium 211b). As Lao-tse put it in the first chapter of the Tao-te Ching, 道 可 道 非,常 道 名。可 名 非,常 名。– it is the path that cannot be walked; the name that cannot be named. As Lakota theologian and Christian catechist Hehaka Sapa (Black Elk) put it, “The Holy Land is everywhere.” Or as Joseph Campbell put it (in The Power of Myth):

Eternity isn’t some later time. Eternity isn’t a long time. Eternity has nothing to do with time. Eternity is that dimension of here and now which thinking and time cuts out. This is it. And if you don’t get it here, you won’t get it anywhere. And the experience of eternity right here and now is the function of life.

This spark of eternity is the soul within us, our aperture from mundane individuality into nirvana, making us one with all being throughout time and space: “He has made everything beautiful in (the course of) time, but he has also placed eternity in their heart such that humans will not find out the work that God has done from beginning to end” (Ecclesiastes 3:11).

Jesus’s teaching anticipates – or, in my thinking, is an early example of – Kabbalistic philosophy, especially as found in the Zohar, which comprises, for those not familiar with it, what can be briefly put as the “mystical” tradition of Judaism. The Zohar speaks of the “forbidden fruit” of the Tree as a nut (as regards the belief that it was an apple see page ###) that contains concentric spheres that are each one greater than the one around it – and the last one is a palace containing a primal point of infinite dimensionality, composed of the light of Creation (Genesis 1:3). This “nut” also symbolizes the nature of humanity, with the body containing a mind, the mind a soul, which is the “Temple for the Spirit” containing within the infinite presence of God (I Corinthians 6:19 dimly adumbrates this).

In all Utopias – not only that of More, who invented the term, but those of Plato, Butler, Morris, Bellamy, Wells, and many others – there are lavish, loving descriptions of the realm of perfection, and no matter how well written they are, they all ultimately fall flat, because though we can know (connaître, kennen) Eternity with our intuitive hearts, we can never know (savoir, wissen) it with our logical minds. Jesus (through the gospel writer) does not make this fatal mistake of trying to describe the indescribable Tao. The one thing he tells us is that in the father’s house there are “many abodes”, which strongly suggests that it is not everlasting but eternal, of infinite dimensionality.

Still, we may have a hint or two by way of the classical writers from which the gospel writer drew his imagery for the Æon. Æonia was a name for part of the ancient Greek land of Bœotia. It was probably the basis on which were built descriptions of the legendary country of Elysium, which the poets called the “Elysian Fields”, a region said by the classical Greek poets to be somewhere to the west, facing the sea. The name may come from ἀλυουσας (aluousas), whose root suggests being deeply stirred by joy, or from ἀλύτως (alutōs), a synonym of ἀφθάρτως (aphthartōs), meaning “incorruptible”, as in the eternity in which souls live in that place.

Æonia, Bœotia, does in fact look out westward at the wide expanse of the western Mediterranean. This bucolic region was the birthplace of Semele, the mother of Dionysos, who died and lived again like Jesus, and who was remembered with a sacred meal of bread and wine. Semele’s father, the hero and ruler Cadmus, introduced the Greek alphabet, and abdicated in favor of his grandson Pentheus, who is the equivalent to Pontius Pilate; Pentheus sought as ruler to outlaw the ecstatic religion of Dionysus, and in his trial of the god, as related by Euripides, the two have a deeply profound philosophical discussion reminiscent of the one between Jesus and Pilate.

All of this would have been well known to the amanuensis of the gospel, John the Presbyter. He was a Hellenized Jew, certainly educated at the university in Alexandria, which specialized in the Greek classics, and in his later years he was a respected writer and teacher in the Hellenic city of Ephesus with its famous library. John might have known Æonia from his travels but, if not, he had certainly knew about it from the classical literature he had read in his youth. Thus, in writing about the Æon he probably was picturing in his mind the rolling verdant hills of Æonia, also associated with Elysium, the land where the blessed dead lived in eternity.

This land is thus extolled in Paradise Lost, III, 565-70:

Amongst innumerable Starrs, that shon
Stars distant, but nigh hand seemd other Worlds,
Or other Worlds they seemd, or happy Iles,
Like those Hesperian Gardens fam’d of old,
Fortunate Fields, and Groves, and flourie Vales;
Thrice happy isles …

Of course the gospel author could not have read John Milton, but he would have known well the poets whose descriptions of this land were to inspire the Englishman. As a young man under the tutelage of Philo, the Presbyter would have learned this glorious depiction of Elysium in Homer (IV, 563, 565-68):

… Ἠλύσιον πεδίον καὶ πείρατα γαίης …
τῇ περ ῥηίστη βιοτὴ πέλει ἀνθρώποισιν:
οὐ νιφετός, οὔτ᾽ ἂρ χειμὼν πολὺς οὔτε ποτ᾽ ὄμβρος,
ἀλλ᾽ αἰεὶ Ζεφύροιο λιγὺ πνείοντος ἀήτας
Ὠκεανὸς ἀνίησιν ἀναψύχειν ἀνθρώπους:
οὕνεκ᾽ ἔχεις Ἑλένην καί σφιν γαμβρὸς Διός ἐσσι.

…the Elysian plain at the edge of the earth, …
There, everyone comes to exist in a gentle life,
Never any blast of snow, never cold, lacking in heavy rainstorms;
Rather, the Zephyr always blows free,
And Oceanus breathes refreshing breezes …

He would have read Pindar’s written portrayal of this land, and also how Hesiod described it aloud (Works and Days, 166-73):

… ἔνθ᾽ ἤτοι τοὺς μὲν θανάτου τέλος ἀμφεκάλυψε,
τοῖς δὲ δίχ᾽ ἀνθρώπων βίοτον καὶ ἤθε᾽ ὀπάσσας
Ζεὺς Κρονίδης κατένασσε πατὴρ ἐς πείρατα γαίης.
170καὶ τοὶ μὲν ναίουσιν ἀκηδέα θυμὸν ἔχοντες
ἐν μακάρων νήσοισι παρ᾽ Ὠκεανὸν βαθυδίνην,
ὄλβιοι ἥρωες, τοῖσιν μελιηδέα καρπὸν
τρὶς ἔτεος θάλλοντα φέρει ζείδωρος ἄρουρα.

… Truly some were forever enfolded in death,
But some other souls dwelt in abodes alone
Where God the father, son of Time, made them to settle at the end of the earth,
And thus indeed to dwell free from care, souls living
In the blessed isles by the deep-rolling Ocean,
Blessed heroes who fed on honey-sweet fruit
That ripened three times a year in fecund meadows.

He might even have read the Latin of Vergil. And surely he knew Korinna’s lovely lyric (fragment 15):

…καλλιχορω χθονος
Ουριας θουγατερ…

… a land richly blessed
With lovely dancing meadows …

Whether John knew or merely knew of this land, he would have been aware that Bœotia’s twin spiritual mountains where dwelt the heavenly Muses, Helicon and Cithæron, were akin to another pair of sacred peaks where the God of Abraham was said to reside, Sinai and Gerizim. He would have recognized the similarity of Semele mother of Dionysos to Mary mother of Jesus, and the parallel of Pentheus to Pontius. And most of all he would have seen the connections between Dionysos son of Jupiter, הי-Πατερ, Yah-Pater, God the father, and Jesus, son of YHWH, God the father.

The Presbyter may have had in mind not Bœotia, Æonia, the country that apparently served as the factual foundation for the Hellenic myth of Elysium, or not only that country, but instead or also Gaul. The references in the just-quoted lines of Homer and Hesiod to Oceanus are to the Atlantic Ocean, though in classical times what lay beyond the Pillars of Hercules (Gibraltar) was conceived of as an oceanic girdle around the earth. Thus a “plain at the edge of the earth” “in blessed isles by deep-rolling Oceanus” could be a reference to Gaul. It is not entirely inconceivable that John heard that Jesus and Mary had gone to this region not far from Oceanus. That oral history in southern France remembers Jesus’s attendance of the dedication of a Christian cemetery in Arles called Alyscamps, “Elysian Fields” in Occitan, as discussed on page ###, is ironic. It could be that Jesus expected that he himself would be buried in these Alyscamps – and that this too got back to the Presbyter by way of letters or visitors, and was in his mind as he composed these gospel references to the Æon.

Be it specifically founded on descriptions of Bœotia or Gaul, John must have had in his mind an Elysium associated by the poets with life after death; Bœotia besides being a land not just praised in literature, not just celebrated for its masters of literature, but exalted as the very birthplace of Greek literature, since its mountains, where the art of writing was introduced, were sacred to the Muses. And so the Presbyter must have framed Jesus’s references to the Æon in the gospel with his mind going back to these poems describing Elysium as a fair and gentle place where there is no weeping, with fruits ripening throughout the year.

While he did not provide his own poetic description of the Æon in the gospel, he did in his last great work, the Revelation, with 21:4 and 22:1-2 especially vividly recalling these classical poets.

και εξαλειψει παν δακρυον εκ των οφθαλμων αυτων και ο θανατος ουκ εσται ετι ουτε πενθος ουτε κραυγη ουτε πονος ουκ εσται ετι οτι τα πρωτα απηλθαν … και εδειξεν μοι ποταμον υδατος ζωης λαμπρον ως κρυσταλλον εκπορευομενον εκ του θρονου του θεου και του αρνιου εν μεσω της πλατειας αυτης και του ποταμου εντευθεν και εκειθεν ξυλον ζωης ποιουν καρπους δωδεκα κατα μηνα εκαστον αποδιδουν τον καρπον αυτου και τα φυλλα του ξυλου εις θεραπειαν των εθνων

And he will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death will be no more, nor mourning, nor weeping, nor pain: they will be no more because what was at first has departed. … And he showed me a river of living water, clear like crystal, flowing out from the throne of God and of the Lamb down the middle of its [i.e., the city’s] street. And on this side and that side of the river was the tree of life, producing twelve fruits, yielding [a different] fruit each month, and the leaves of the tree, for the healing of the peoples.

And these culminating passages in Revelation include a sacred marriage, a hierogamy, of Heaven and Earth, Bride and Lamb, Mary and Jesus, as an echo of John 20:16-17, and again bringing out that sense of the Æon found in its Semitic roots as having a strong connotation of sexual desire fulfilled and thereby embodying the image of Elohim, male and female as one.

In my Father´s House there is a Bull

GJohn-Mockup1

What follows is a addition to The Gospel of John, my restoration of that original text, free from the later interpolations and excisions of the organized Christian religion, and translated afresh from the Greek. You will find ordering information here. This excerpt discusses Jesus saying “In my father’s house” in John 14:2.

One possible reference is to the Second Temple; in 2:16, for instance, Jesus speaks of the Temple as “my father’s house”. As noted before, the Levites associated with Temple operations had their living quarters around the Portico of Solomon. In this sense, Jesus could be saying that, when he is recognized as Messiah he will be able to uproot these Sadducees, priests, and Levites who are so badly managing the Temple (the “hired hands” as he refers to them in 10:12-13, and “slaves” as he says in 8:35), and then there will be rooms available for Jesus’s disciples and others who believe in him and live according to the Λογος. In this interpretation, that is why Jesus adds “if not,” if these quarters in the Temple are not available at present, then “I am going to prepare a place for you.”

Second, Jesus may have intended here a reference to himself, specifically to his body, as his father’s house. That level of meaning appears in 2:19,21. Jesus, as Messiah, as Messenger of God, is in effect a vessel containing a message from God, the presence of God, the Spirit of God. Indeed, Paul uses this very metaphor at I Corinthians 3:16-17.

Finally, Jesus may have been referring to the Æon theology that fills this gospel, as in 8:35-36. In that passage, by the word “house” Jesus is referring not merely to the Second Temple in Jerusalem, a mere finite, physical structure that was built by human hands and could be (and was, in 70 C.E.) destroyed by human hands, but moreover to the House of God, the House of the Æon; that is to say, the Λογος itself, God’s overarching plan and purpose and pattern for the entirety of creation, not just the κοσμος, this physical aspect of it. There is no “house” in that sacred realm, for God Him-Herself is its house, as the amanuensis explains in Revelation 21:22. In this house, which is infinite in time and space, there are indeed an infinity of abodes, and Jesus assures them that he is leaving this physical life for the heavenly realm to prepare their abodes for them. This interpretation of the verse is strengthened by Jesus’s several references in this final discourse to his imminent death.

My view is that all three meanings were intended, and that this is therefore a triple entendre.

The word for “house” in both Aramaic (ܒܝܬ) and Hebrew (תיב) is pronounced beyt. It is no coincidence that the name for the second letter in both alphabets is also called beyt; the orthographical symbol that represents the letter is (as are the entire alphabets of both languages) pictographic in its origin, and that symbol is beth glyph the depiction of a house with an open door in archaic Aramaic, coming from the Egyptian letter, identical in appearance, but with the sound of “h” – that is, an exhalation, the breath of God, the ruach of life. In effect, the letter is a circle or a spiral, representing infinity. Moreover, it is a spiritual labyrinth, drawing the spiritual pilgrim ever deeper into the house of God, into the presence, of God: the symbol tells us that to be lost in the labyrinth of God is to be truly found. This letter became ב in alphabetic Hebrew and ܒ in alphabetic Syriac Aramaic.

The word for “father” in Aramaic is ܐܒܐ, ABA (misspelled with two “b”s in English, “Abba”; it is certainly not, as some contend, the Aramaic way of saying “Daddy”). It should be instantly apparent that this is a palindrome, with A-B-A symmetry (literally!), also called inclusio; as such, the word is a verbal circle, again, a representation of infinity, like the Worm Ouroboros. Even if you do not read Aramaic, you can see one letter at the beginning and end of the word, on either side of the letter you know now is beth. The first-and-last letter is aleph, aleph glyphthe depiction of an ox head in early pictographic Aramaic; this became ܐ in alphabetic Syriac Aramaic, and א in alphabetic Hebrew, the first letter in the alphabet of both languages. The ox head can still be seen in the English letter A: especially if we invert it thus – ∀ – we can better see the head with the horns above.

Thus one semiotic image of ABA is a farmstead: a home with oxen grazing around it. Another is that of the sacred labyrinth with the God-bull within.

The classical religions of the Mediterranean region often spoke of their god as in the form of a sacred bull that loved in the middle of a labyrinth-temple. The most famous version is the Minotaur of Crete, supposedly slain by Theseus, which lived in a labyrinth-temple said to have been built by Dædalus. But this was a variation of the Egyptian Apis Bull, which was associated with the renewal of life after death, and was said to live in a labyrinth-temple dedicated to Ptah. Herodotus, Diodorus Siculus, and Pliny the Elder provide awed descriptions of that massive stone temple, said to contain some 1,500 chambers. Later versions of this tradition appear in the Mithraist religion, popular among the Roman military and known to Jesus.

Much evidence supports the view that the ancient Israelite God was also often venerated in the form of a bull. For instance, Genesis 49:24, Psalm 132, and Isaiah 49:26 and 60:16 give an ancient epithet for God, לַאֲבִ֥יר יַעֲקֹֽב, usually rendered as “the Mighty One of Jacob” but more accurately translated as “the Bull of Jacob”, representing YHWH.

The Israelite sacred bull finds its origin in Egypt. During the Exodus (Exodus 32) the people made the famous idol עֵגֶּל הַזָהָב, called the Golden Calf in English, evidently modelling it on the Apis Bull of Egypt, which they had just left. A fourth-century Christian text, Apostolic Constitutions (vi:4), in fact, emphasizes that it was a representation of the Apis Bull.

The horns of the “Golden Calf” eventually became part of the sacrificial altar (Exodus 27:2) and incense altar (Exodus 30:1) in the First Temple, built by Solomon. The “Bull of Jacob”, the presence of God, was kept in the Temple built by Solomon, in the so-called “Holy of Holies”. This innermost chamber of the temple is called דְּבִיר (debir) in I Kings 6, a word whose pronunciation and exact meaning are modern guesswork. Giulia Sarullo, in her fine summary of recent paleographic studies on this matter (“The Cretan Labyrinth: Palace or Cave?”; Caerdroia 37, March 2008), says linguist Francesco Aspesi associates דְּבִיר with da-pu2-ri-to-jo, the Linear B script for the archaic genetive form of the Mycenaean word meaning “labyrinth”, which appears in three of the Linear B tablets found at Knossos. It is widely acknowledged that the nominative form of the same word, da-bu-ri-to, later developed into the word λαβύρινθος, meaning “labyrinth”. (The “d” and “l” sounds often shifted in classical Mediterranean languages, the most famous example being Odysseus/Ulysses.)

From such evidence it seems likely that Jerusalem’s First Temple was or contained a classical labyrinth to house the Bull of Jacob.

Rod Borghese points out that the first-and-last letter, א, aleph, has been since ancient times for classical Jewish mystics symbolic of the sacred Breath/Spirit/Wind of God that preceded even sound itself, the breath that existed before even the first Word was uttered, even before the Λογος came into being – since, the sages have observed, God had to breathe in first, before exhaling the Word that created light. I would add to Borghese’s point that what God breathed in was chaos, and what God breathed out was the Word, which so perfectly defines light that it is light. And that the fierce hot breath of the ox, who can drive the mill and plough the field, is associated with the power that makes creative things happen; thus it is that aleph represents power, breath, and creativity. This makes the ox equivalent to the חָכְמָה (Chokma, “Wisdom”), who Proverbs 8:23 says was the first of God’s creations, and his mainstay support in the act of creating the universe.

In this matter Jewish theology resembles Lakota theology. The latter speaks not of the Sacred Ox but the Sacred Buffalo, Tatanka, the first living creation of Wakantanka, the Great Mystery, whose first creation was not light (as in Judaism) but Tunka, stone. Buffalo and Creator are both often called Tunkashila, Grandfather. Note the homophony among these words. Read more in The Circle of Life.

The classic Jewish sages also note that the letter א (aleph) begins all three words in the most sacred name of God, אֶהְיֶה אֲשֶׁר אֶהְיֶה (“I Am What I Am”, but literally “I Shall Be What I Shall Be”).

Moreover, they taught, this primal letter א (aleph) symbolizes how God brings oneness to all creation, Heaven and earth. According to the Jewish mystics, the letter comprises an upper י (yud) representing the hidden ineffable deepest nature of God; a lower י (yud) representing the revealed presence of God in the world; and a ו (vav; “hook”) on a diagonal like a ladder or stairway uniting these two realms, the heavenly and earthly (“Jacob’s ladder”; cf. Genesis 28:12). Jesus speaks of himself in these very terms, as the emissary, the Messenger of God who goes back and forth between these two realms, like the angels on Jacob’s ladder (cf. John 1:51), and the Prologue to this gospel is very much built on the same imagery. Note also that yud and vav are the first and third letters in הוהי (YHWH), the Sacred Breath that is God’s Name, with a he, an exhalation, following each one. Note also that being a vav surrounded by two yuds, this letter is itself a palindrome, a symbol of infinity, as is the entire ABA word.

This, by the way, is the same theology of oneness expressed with different symbolism in the Revelation, probably written by the amanuensis John the Presbyter: in that book John uses 7 and 12 to speak of that oneness of Heaven and earth, since 3 = heavenly things (the triangle and pyramid were ancient symbols for God, and, to name but one among many examples, the Hindus had the त्रिमूर्तिः [Trimūrti] of Brahmā-Vishnu-Śiva long before the Christians invented the Trinity) and 4 = earthly things (the four winds, four directions, four seasons, etc.); 7 = 3 + 4 and 12 = 3 x 4.

The symbol א (aleph) has often represented infinity, in both mathematics and also in the symbolic work of Jorge Luis Borges. According to Borghese, “Infinity, nothingness, and continuity are concepts which have intrigued mathematicians, as well as Jewish scholars, throughout history. In many religions and philosophies it is believed that one must reduce one’s mind to a state which approaches ‘nothingness’ before one can begin to grasp the infinite knowledge and the divine connection between all things.” Borghese is right, and I find this to be a very Buddhist concept that Jesus may have picked up in the Himalayas if scholars like Holger Kersten and Suzanne Olssen are right that he spent his early adult years there – though he may have also encountered this concept among early Kabbalists.

As to the other letter in ABA, “father”, ב in Hebrew and ܒ in Aramaic (both pronounced beyt): Borghese points out that this, the second letter in both alphabets, originally referred not merely to “house” but to “container” or “vessel”. Again, we can see this pictographically in the fourth side open in order to take contents into the vessel. Thus, Borghese concludes, this name for God, ABA, shows us symbolically “the Infinite contained in the vessels, the Mystery of the Infinite contained within the Finite.” That is to say, all finite, created things in this universe contain in microcosm the Infinite, God. Again to add to Borghese’s point: This very Jewish philosophy has been around at least from Philo to Martin Buber; the latter writes eloquently of God playing hide-and-go-seek with us, begging us to seek and find the Sacred Presence hidden in every leaf and flower, and the Presence is saddened when human beings do not look for It, or look but fail to find It. Also and again this philosophy of immanence, the idea that the presence of God can be seen in and through every thing in creation, is very Buddhist and Taoist, as well as very Native American. In short, it is the ancient truth that the modern civilization of arrogation and greed has forgotten.

With this understanding in mind, we can see that Jesus meant “the house of my father” not only (as discussed above) to refer to the Second Temple or his body or to the Æon, but to how every created thing in this universe, though evanescent and ephemeral, still contains the Λογος, the glory of the presence of God, if only we would realize this! – and so too does each one of us.

The Mess at the End of the Gospel of John

GJohn-Mockup1

What follows is a addition to The Gospel of John, my restoration of that original text, free from the later interpolations and excisions of the organized Christian religion, and translated afresh from the Greek. You will find ordering information here.

This volume several times discusses the theory that chapter 21 was originally a letter composed by the team of the eyewitness, Lazarus, and the amanuensis, John the Presbyter; verse 24 represents the “signature” of that team. The letter was written to early followers of Jesus, especially and perhaps only to “the brothers”, the other original disciples, specifically those named in verse 2, and certainly most of all Simon the Rock, who the text suggests was the originator of the rumor addressed by the letter. The rumor among those disciples that Lazarus was never (again) going to die a natural death, because Jesus had raised him from the dead, and the letter was written to eradicate it. The letter, as will be discussed below, was in my view this team’s first written opus, and it led them to decide to take up the much larger task of writing a gospel. It is possible that the letter had some limited distribution (perhaps no farther than those fellow original disciples; as discussed below.

The letter apparently was placed by Papias, together with the gospel manuscript, into the hands of Polycarp, whom I believe was the redactor. By the time these two men were involved, decades later, it would strain credulity to believe the letter came to Polycarp by any other means.

I believe that the amanuensis, John the Presbyter, had intended to bring the contents of the letter into the text of the gospel proper, but never got to that task, along with many other refinements of that work, as discussed elsewhere in this book. Thus, when much later the gospel and letter manuscripts came to Polycarp, this task fell to the latter.

The redactor decided, reasonably, to place the general letter which we now know as chapter 21 as an Epilogue at the end of the gospel. But that created two problems in fitting a letter smoothly into the gospel narrative.

I think the redactor solved the one problem, the beginning of the letter, by rewriting it. As a letter, it would have almost certainly had at the beginning some kind of salutation, probably to Lazarus’s fellow disciples, and a statement of purpose, that this letter was written to counteract that rumor about Lazarus’s vaunted mortal life without end. I believe that the redactor had no choice but to remove such a salutation and statement of purpose in order to bring the letter into the gospel text as much as possible, and to write a new first verse to bridge the narrative gap from chapter 20. A careful reading establishes that 21:1 is an obvious composition of the redactor:

First, the opening phrase μετα ταυτα (“After these things”) appears only in the Synoptics; it is not otherwise found in the Gospel of John. The author of the latter would never have been so vague about the passage of time; he was so meticulous about specifically stating the number of days between a given episode and the previous or a high holy day that this translation can include the exact dates as subheadings.

Second, the verb φανεροω (“to reveal oneself”, “to appear”) is again a Synoptic word; it does not appear in any of Jesus’s three meetings in John 20, but it is the verb of choice most interestingly in Mark 16:12 and 14, the so-called “Longer Ending” of the gospel, which was evidently added to Mark, very early versions of which apparently had no resurrection appearance – and I strongly suspect this “Longer Ending” also to be the work of the redactor of the Gospel of John, Polycarp, accomplished mainly by summarizing the Lukan accounts.

Third, the lake is called the Sea of Tiberias. This designation otherwise appears only once in this gospel, at 6:1, where, strangely, it is conjoined to the older name, the Sea of Galilee. As noted in the commentary to 6:1, the name “Sea of Tiberias” only grew common later than Jesus’s lifetime, as Rome strengthened its grip on the region and its imperial designations for major locations took hold. I concluded at 6:1 that this was an addition of the redactor for the sake of readers who, in the second century, might not have been familiar with the lake’s older name. I conclude the same thing again here.

Since the conclusion is therefore inevitable that this verse was composed by the redactor, in my restoration of the original gospel it was relegated to the Appendix, as was done with all other such verses. However, that created a problem. I did fill in a very few obvious lacunæ elsewhere in the text, where the very short missing phrases were obvious. But to reconstruct the greeting and statement of purpose from a disciple to his close personal friends, his “brothers”, that I believe opened the original letter would be much more than the mere minor repair of those small gaps elsewhere; it would go too far into outright creativity. Further, such a reconstructed beginning of the letter would interrupt the flow of the tale of Jesus’s post-resurrection meetings. Thus I decided the best solution was simply to leave the gap as it is, and let the reader accept the difficulties of the manuscript as something that cannot be at this late date satisfactorily overcome.

The other problem for the redactor in fitting the letter into the gospel was that the conclusion of the letter was not sufficiently sweeping and eloquent for the very last verse of the gospel – in fact, the end of chapter 20 was everything the end of 21 was not.

Some early manuscripts lack verse 21:25, which suggests that it was not a part of the original manuscript, at least not at the end of chapter 21. If chapter 21 was, as I theorize, written before the gospel (likely before even the idea of writing this gospel was under serious consideration), as a general letter, simply to explain the facts regarding Jesus’s rumored promise that Lazarus would never die, then this verse does not fit, since it presumes chapter 21 is located at the end of the entire gospel. The verse doesn’t fit thematically either, as discussed below.

It could be that the verse does not appear in some early gospel manuscripts because chapter 21 had some limited circulation as a letter, and those manuscripts adhered to that original form. If added later, the verse would have to have been added by the redactor to create a fitting conclusion for the gospel along the lines of the Envoi in 20:30-31. Verse 21:24 is a sufficient conclusion for chapter 21 as a separate work, a general letter, being the “signature” of the eyewitness, “who bears witness concerning all this” and of the amanuensis, “who has written these things”. It is not, however, a fitting conclusion for this great masterwork, the entire gospel. Yes, over the centuries the “all this” and “these things” have been usually considered to refer to the entire gospel, but a careful reading concludes that they refer specifically and only to the episode described in the general letter that became chapter 21 – and thus, the redactor properly felt the need for a more fittingly glorious conclusion here.

In bringing the letter into the gospel, I think the redactor faced a choice as regards its ending: he could have a: simply moved the Envoi at the end of 20 (as originally written; see below) to the end of 21, or b: written his own new conclusion to 21, but he decided instead c: to “stretch” the available material by the original author: to take just a part of the conclusion of 20, leaving the rest of it where he found it, and then to construct from it a second Envoi to go at the end of chapter 21, as much as possible using the original author’s words in both places.

The main supporting clue for this theory is the very similar phraseology throughout 20:30-31 and 21:24-25. All four verses stress the verb γραφω, “to write”. Verses 20:30 and 21:25 both have, with only slight differences in the Greek, the phrase και πολλα αλλα [σημεια] εποιησεν ο ιεσους (“also many other [signs] that Jesus did”), with the minor variations easily accounted for as conscious efforts by the redactor to vary the double-use of the same text, in order to avoid any obvious signs of verbatim copying. The sole exception to the consistency is not in wording but in topic; 21:24 is a certification that the events described in chapter 21 are true, and verse 25 switches abruptly to saying Jesus did so many signs that the cosmos could not contain all the descriptions of them. From these clues I conclude that Polycarp took part of the original 20:30 and worked it up to create 21:25, leaving at the end of 20 only part of the original 20:30, with 20:31 (assuming it is original) following immediately.

We can be sure that all of this material with the exception of 20:31 (discussed below) is genuine, first because it has a logical, integral flow, in the amanuensis’s familiar style, that leads inevitably from “Jesus did many other signs not written in this book” to its finish, that the world could not contain the books that could be written describing those other signs; and second, because it is a final recapitulation of the theology stressed throughout the gospel by its original author: that, as is Borges’s aleph, this gospel is a universal, a finite thing that contains all things in microcosm. Like a circle it appears finite from without, but from within it reveals its nature as infinite. The cosmos, the book says, could not contain all the books that would have to be written to describe all the signs (σημεια) that Jesus did, so this book, with the seven signs it describes (seven being a number that, as in John the Presbyter’s Revelation) symbolizes completeness, is by implication itself larger than the cosmos: and indeed it is, for as the gospel theology repeatedly states, it is a guide for finding our way out of the cosmos and into the Æon. And, as discussed in the Introduction, this gospel was written after Jesus was no longer on the earth, such that the message, as he so eloquently delivered it, might keep on being delivered. Therefore this gospel is in a way a living thing, his continued presence on earth, one that embraces all things within it. Thus it is confirmed that this gospel is the Paraclete.

The author was likely thinking, when composing verse 21:25b, of Ecclesiastes 12:12, which similarly introduces the conclusion of that work: “There is no end to the making of books,” it says, embracing infinity, “and”, it adds in an image that calls to mind Borges’s Library of Babel, “much interest in them is tiring to the flesh.” Indeed, the envoi of Ecclesiastes has more thematic closeness with this gospel than does John 20:31, since it describes its author’s efforts to search for proverbs (like 21:24, the amanuensis seeking the teachings of Jesus from the eyewitness) and put in the correct order (which the reader will remember John the Presbyter criticized John Mark for failing to do in the Gospel of Mark, his arrangement of Simon the Rock’s reminiscences) the words of truth (this gospel often stresses truth in relation to the Λογος, and certifies itself several times as true, 21:24 being an example at hand) given by “one shepherd” (a significant image in John 10) to “my son” (and this gospel has God giving the truth to Jesus as his son, and Jesus memorably adopts the eyewitness, Lazarus, as his own son at the crucifixion).

Verse 20:31 clearly picks up on the conversation with Thomas about believing (20:27-29), so I conclude that it is genuine; however, it feels not quite complete. Where, one wonders, is the core point of the Gospel of John’s theology, which one would reasonably expect the author to state at the very end (discounting the Epilogue) of this great work? That core point is that Jesus was sent by God to urge humanity to live in accordance with the Λογος, God’s plan for the universe, and thus become worthy to live in the Æon. The expectation of this core point is intensified because, as noted, the conclusion of Ecclesiastes (12:13-14), which immediately follows 12:12, the verse alluded to in John 21:25b, is closer to that core point than is John 20:31. It is possible that a continuation of 20:31 was contemplated but unwritten, or written but lost like many other verses in the years of the original manuscript’s peregrinations (the outer page of a codex is especially vulnerable to loss), or, far less likely, excised by the redactor, though he let other such statements remain in his revised gospel. However that central theology is restored if this reconstructed original follows one early manuscript, 01, which includes the word αιωνιον (Æonian), a word we associate with the author of the gospel, and not the redactor.

At the Last Supper, Jesus said of the Paraclete (Advocate) that “it will bear witness concerning me” (15:26) and “will teach you all things and will remind you of all the things that I said to you” (14:26). Here in 20:31, the gospel writer tells us that this work was written “so you might believe that Jesus is the Anointed One, the son of God, and that, by believing, you might have life in his name.” We are being emphatically told here that the gospel is that Paraclete. The gospel’s message here is that the gospel is the message.