Afterlife 103: My Story

Salutations, and welcome to the third and final installment of my series on the origins of Hell and the afterlife. Today’s post might be a bit shorter than the previous two, as I’ve already shared most of what I know. What follows is my own story, one which I’ve shared only with a few people, but one which, after many years, I think I’m finally ready to tell.

Back in 2012, as I was in my final year of college, I finally agreed to attend a religious retreat my church participated in called “The Walk to Emmaus.” It was a fantastic experience, involving me spending three days separated from time and the world, alone with God and other believers. On the last night there, after a particular ceremony, I underwent a religious revelation, breaking down a number of walls I’d erected in my mind, walls which for years had made me intellectually arrogant and emotionally numb. I suddenly found myself feeling a deeper love from God than I ever had before, a love which flowed through me to other people. Since then, I’ve backslid every now and then, but it was the first step toward a much more balanced faith, and it has meant the world to me and to my wife.

But all was not perfect that night. Still feeling the aftermath of that experience, I went over and sat down next to my sister’s boyfriend (now her husband, my brother-in-law and pastor-to-be), Denny. I closed my eyes and then, suddenly, I felt like something had dug deep claws into my chest and pulled me away from that place. Wherever the new place was, I can only remember two things: a terrible sense of separation from all things (including God), and the color pale green. As if from some distance away, I heard Denny and a pastor praying for me, and then I returned to that place beside them, with their hands on my shoulders. Whatever had gripped me was gone, and I was rescued from that terrible, empty, pale green place.

To date, that ranks among one of the top two most terrifying moments of my life. I was able to recover the religious experience from earlier and put the bad moment behind myself, and I went on my way with a renewed sense of my Christian faith.

The following semester, I began my studies in graduate school, and one of my first classes was focusing on the book of Revelation. I was fascinated by the text, but froze when we reached chapter six. “I saw and beheld a pale horse, and its rider’s name was Death, and Hell followed close behind.” I froze because we dove into the original Greek, in which the horse was chloros, translated intermittently as pale or green (think of chlorophyll). The horse was pale green in color. Without hesitating, I raised my hand and asked the professor why the horse would have been pale green. He responded by telling me that “in the ancient world, Hell was often depicted as pale green.”

I can’t tell you what Hell is like for everyone, or what it will be like in eternity. But I can tell you what it was like for me: it was a place of complete and utter isolation, where even God is no longer present. For me, then, Hell is any place where God is not. So as Christians, we should not seek after God simply to avoid going to Hell, but because any life spent without him is hellish in itself. He is gracious in giving us whatever sort of life or afterlife we desire, but as for me, the only life and afterlife I want is one that’s present with him, and I pray the same for you.

Until next time, friends…

Revelation and John’s Gospel

Hello, all! I hope the past weeks have been treating you well. For me, work has been quite busy, with the introduction of two trainees for whom I’m at least partially responsible. At least, this is what my expectation will be, given that I’m writing this before their training officially starts.

In any case, lately I’ve been talking a lot about politics, and so I instead want to shift into discussing the Bible (shocker, I know!). In the past, I’ve touched on the idea of who wrote the book of Revelation. Today I’d like to dive in deeper and see just exactly why it is that scholars believe the writer of John’s Gospel…did not write the book of Revelation.

Introduction

It’s a long-held Christian tradition that the writer of the Gospel of John is the same man who wrote the book of Revelation. That individual, tradition claims, was the apostle John, one of Jesus’ three primary members of the original twelve disciples. Certainly that lends a lot of credence and power to the words of both books! But there are a few issues with this claim. First, while the writer of John’s Gospel (who for further usage I’ll refer to as “Gospel-John”) claims to have been present at the events described, he never actually claims to be John the Apostle. But to keep from going down a tangential rabbit-hole, I’ll end that discussion here. Now interestingly enough, Revelation opens with the writer identifying himself as “God’s…servant John” (beginning of chapter one). He doesn’t claim to be an apostle, only a servant. From here on out, I’ll refer to him by his traditional name of “John the Divine.”

To complicate things, there are some fairly critical differences – stylistic, linguistic, grammatical and structural – between the Gospel and Revelation. The Gospel reflects a mastery of the Greek language (the original language of both works), whereas the clumsy, clunky Greek of Revelation displays an amateur usage of the language. I don’t mean that to sound offensive, only to show that John the Divine did not have the Greek skills and understanding that Gospel-John possessed. But we’re going to look past these differences and explore what, to me, seems like the real, critical issue at hand: the theological differences.

The Eschatology of John’s Gospel

Eschatology refers to the study of belief about the end of the world, coming from the Greek word “eschaton,” meaning “end.” To have an eschatology means to have a particular belief about how the world will meet its demise. Jerry Jenkins and Tim LaHaye, the writers of the immensely popular Left Behind series, conform to a very specific kind of eschatology (click here to see my view of it).

Within the Gospel of John, there is a very distinct kind of belief which is called Realized Eschatology. Realized Eschatology views Heaven and Earth as two completely independent worlds coexisting simultaneously. However, during the life of Christ, God (through Jesus) essentially punched a hole, or a passage, between Heaven and Earth, allowing for humans to go to Heaven. See the diagram below.

In Gospel-John’s view, Heaven is accessible now, and through Christ alone, we can access it. As the Earth eventually fades away and dies, the connecting tunnel will essentially act as a sort of life boat, allowing those who trust in Christ to reach the safety of Heaven. Little is known of the sequence of events leading to the Earth’s destruction as, in Gospel-John’s eschatology, those events aren’t really that important. Heaven is accessible now, and when we’re on the other side, Earthly events will be irrelevant.

Much of this derives from Greek philosophy, including Christ’s identification as the “Word of God.” This comes from the Greek word “Logos,” meaning “word,” and it was developed by a Greek school of philosophy called Neoplatonism. This school saw God alone in the beginning before time. God spoke, and the word (or Logos) he spoke took a form of its own and created the universe on his behalf. Essentially, God created the world by proxy through an extension of himself: his Word. The beginning of John’s Gospel identifies Jesus as that Word, and it is by that Word that the portal was opened between Heaven and Earth, and only by and through that Word that humanity can be saved. Greek philosophy feeds into Christian theology and two millennia later, here we stand. Gospel-John really knew his Greek.

The Eschatology of Revelation

The book of Revelation operates under a very different understanding, corresponding with a belief system called Apocalyptic Eschatology. It’s quite a fascinating topic, and it was the focus of my Master’s Thesis. Anyway, apocalyptic eschatology envisions a world in which Heaven is distant and separated from Earth, very much like earlier. However, rather than having a tunnel or portal connecting the two, there is a much more gradual progression of time, during which Heaven is approaching Earth, and Earth is, in turn, being turned into Heaven. Eventually, at some unknown point far, far in the future, Heaven will arrive on the scene and merge with Earth, and that will be the final reality.  See the diagram below.

So what, in this system, was the purpose of Christ’s ministry on Earth? Glad I asked! You see, according to John the Divine, Christ’s appearance on Earth, and especially his crucifixion, was the catalyst which set in motion the chain of events leading to the fulfillment of his eschatological worldview. Jesus began the whole process, and John the Divine’s book describes what will come about as a result of it.

The worldview of apocalyptic eschatology was very thoroughly Jewish, and at the time Revelation was written, it had at least four centuries of literary and theological development under its belt. There were countless works out there among the Jews, and most interestingly, this whole genre of writing and belief (according to some persuasive scholars) actually arose as a reaction against Greek philosophy and culture. That’s why apocalyptic eschatology is so very, very Jewish, and that may be a contributing factor to John the Divine’s lack of knowledge in the fields of Greek language and philosophy.

Conclusion

So are John the Divine and Gospel-John the same person? Personally, I highly doubt it. While the former was fully entrenched in a thoroughly Jewish belief system which excluded Greek philosophy, the latter incorporated a great many Greek themes and ideas into his own work. Gospel-John’s realized eschatology emphasized the concept of space: there are two worlds existing simultaneously, with no regard to time or history, and Christ built the passage between the two. This emphasis is a reflection of both Greek and earlier Mesopotamian religious belief, in which the focus lay in temples and mountains and physical locations. John the Divine’s apocalyptic eschatology, on the other hand, emphasized the concept of time, with one world slowly feeding into the other over the course of history. This is a reflection of early Israelite belief, in which believers are to set aside not a land or space, but a day to worship God. Israelite and later Jewish believers are to honor God on occasions and days first and foremost.

Does this mean the two systems are incompatible? Of course not. After all, time and space both exist in our world. I remember my good childhood at my parents’ house, a place which helps me to remember moments. John’s Gospel is not incompatible with the book of Revelation, and John the Divine and Gospel-John were both followers of Christ who had messages from God meant to be shared with the world. But it casts a great shadow of doubt on the idea that they were the same person. For instance, an architect can design a history museum, but that doesn’t make him the curator. It just means that both men are necessary to get the full picture of what’s meant to take place.

Until next time, friends…

Apocalyptic Exultation

Greetings and welcome to 2017! We made it here, a full five years after the end of the world! Does that mean we’re living post-apocalyptically? Meh, who knows. In any case, today I’d like to end my exploration of the four ancient Jewish sects which existed in Jesus’ time. We first discussed the ever-notorious Pharisees, and then the rigid Sadducees (who were so sad, you see?), and then I touched close to home with the intense nationalistic fervor of the Zealots. And now, for our final chapter, I’d like to discuss my personal favorite, the Essenes, who may quite possibly have counted as a member none other than John the Baptist (it’s just a theory).

First, who were they? The Essenes were what’s called an “eschatological sect,” coming from the Greek word eschaton, which means “end.” The Essenes were, in fact, wholly obsessed with the end of the world. They were so focused on this idea, in fact, that they actually pulled out of society and established their own colonies out in the wilderness with the sole purpose of purifying themselves in order to bear witness to the end of time. One of their most popular settlements was in a place called Qumran, where most of the Dead Sea Scrolls were found. The Dead Sea Scrolls, in fact, were written by none other than the Essenes. These people had a deep focus on Biblical prophecy, and there are many hints that they believed themselves to be living in the physical presence of angels. Now what that means is not well known, but I’m sure it would only fuel the fires of ancient aliens theorists. In any case, the Essenes lived in isolated colonies kept ritually pure and completely prepared for God to set foot on Earth and destroy all but them.

Their influence over the development of Christianity was enormous. In their writings were the first correlations between the devil and the concept of an evil angel, suggesting that they were the first to introduce the “Lucifer was a fallen angel” idea. Their origins go back beyond those of the Pharisees, to the late 4^th Century B.C. at least, when Alexander the Great brought the remnant of Israel under control of Hellenistic kings. It has been suggested that their origin was as an immediate reaction to the influence of Greek culture on Jewish belief, but that theory gets much more complicated as you look into it (trust me, it was the focus of my Master’s thesis). Some have suggested that John the Baptist – who lived in the wilderness and called people to repentance before the Messiah came – was at least heavily influenced by the Essenes, if he wasn’t one himself. The book of Revelation, last in the Christian Bible, was written in the style of Essene eschatological works, and represented an incorporation of Essene theology into the newly-born Christian religion. In fact, while archaeology would suggest that the Essene communities died off after the Jewish-Roman War, many scholars would suggest that the Essenes were, instead, absorbed into Christianity, forming somewhat of a bedrock for the new faith. We cannot know for certain, but it’s interesting to think about nonetheless.

Right off the bat, there are some things to learn from these isolationists. A wholehearted devotion to our faith is one, and an attempt at living our lives – each and every moment – prepared for God’s return is another. We should live pure lives, and be prepared at all times. We should be strongly involved in our churches, helping our fellow brothers and sisters as if they were family. We should create a close-knit community devoted to preparing the way for Christ’s arrival.

But we should not isolate ourselves in the process. No, the Essenes didn’t live as hermits or ascetics, but they did remove themselves from the rest of their world, leaving it to fall apart and be destroyed, as they believed would happen. While we form the familial communities of our local church, we should not become exclusive, denying entrance into this elect to only those who are pure by our standards. On the contrary, we are called to remain in the culture, to actively engage with those around us who are far different. We should reach out to those who are not members of our church, sharing the gospel with them, sharing love and warmth and compassion with them. If we share the love of Christ, the greatest gift of the Messiah, then perhaps in our giving of ourselves to good works, we will unknowingly share that love with angels. As I write this, perhaps now I understand what it means to be living in the presence of angels. Maybe there are angels among us, and by showing compassion to all we meet, we have unknowingly entertained them, and brought more souls to the salvific one they serve.

Until next time, friends…

What Scholars Really Say: The Enoch Enigma

Good day and salutations, my dear readers! I appreciate your taking the time today to listen to my thoughts…or read them, I suppose is more appropriate to say. Before I get started on today’s topic, I need to make two announcements. First, next month my wife and I are moving cross-country to resettle in our home state of Indiana. She received an excellent job offer there and it’s right where our family is, so the move is ideal for our future. Unfortunately, I do not currently have any job offers there, which means that I may be unemployed upon our move. So with this in mind, I’m asking that you spare some prayers for me as I engage in the job search. Ideally, I’d like to make money as a writer, but that’s excruciatingly slow going right now, so a job is needed, and for that, prayers are priceless.

Secondly, all of this moving, being right around the time of our regular vacation, means that for the next month or so my blog posts will be somewhat sparse. After this, my next post will likely be on June 27th, three weeks from now. But there’s news on that front! With my newfound interest in Wattpad, an online fictional writing website, I’ve decided that once I settle into my regular routine in July, I’ll only be posting blog posts biweekly, rather than weekly. In the intermittent weeks, I’ll begin posting a new, ongoing steampunk series called The Rift. My plans for this series cover everything from flying, steam-powered dirigibles to Lovecraftian monsters, so this is bound to be a lot of fun, and I’m really looking forward to it!

Now, onto the topic of today: the book of Enoch. I’m sure many of you have heard of this strange piece of literature, but if you haven’t, let me tell you about it. The book of Enoch (which I’ll simply call Enoch from this time on) was written sometime in the late 300s to early 200s BC, shortly after the time of Alexander the Great. It’s what’s known as an “apocalyptic text,” meaning that it reveals hidden aspects of history, predicts the future and foresees the ultimate end of the world (an event which scholars call the “eschaton,” hence the name of this literary style: apocalyptic eschatology). In the canon of the Bible, we have only two thoroughly apocalyptic texts: Daniel, which is half-apocalyptic, and Revelation. Enoch is essentially the perfect example of an apocalyptic text, as it matches up with nearly every aspect which defines a book as apocalyptic, even moreso than Daniel and Revelation. Enoch gets its name from its claim to have been written by the Biblical character of Enoch, a man who, according to Genesis 5, was so close to God that he was taken up to Heaven and was seen no more. It’s also notable that he was the great-grandfather of Noah. Yes, that Noah. The one with the boat. Now this is, of course, completely untrue seeing as how we know that Enoch was written shortly after the time of Alexander the Great, nowhere near the ancient days when the real Enoch likely lived, but apocalyptic texts are known for claiming to be written by famous people (like Ezra, Moses, Noah and even Adam in one case).

Those are the basics of Enoch. But what especially fascinates me is what we find inside it, mainly in the first section, known as “The Book of the Watchers.” In this, we find not one, but two separate rebellions by angels in Heaven. Each of these rebellions are orchestrated by a class of angels known as “Watchers,” sometimes translated as “Grigori.” Let’s explore these two rebellions in detail.

The First Rebellion: For the Love of a Woman

The first rebellion was instigated by an angel named Shemyaza (sometimes translated as Shimyaza, although with the lack of vowels in ancient Hebrew, it was likely something similar to Shmyzh, so feel free to spell it however seems best to you). Shemyaza was a prominent angel among the Watchers, and their job was, as you can probably guess, to watch over the earth and mankind. Unfortunately, this went badly for Shemyaza as he fell in love with a human woman. A large number of the Watchers, following his example, also fell to Earth and began breeding with human women. Naturally, kids entered the picture, but you wouldn’t expect half-angel/half-human hybrids to be normal, would you? Of course not. So into the scene enters the Nephilim, sometimes called Rephaim, great and powerful giants. Now this is especially important as this is a play off of a passage in Genesis 6 (of our actual Bibles) which describes the “sons of God mating with human women…creating the Nephilim, giants mentioned in legends of old.” Until the time when Enoch was written, the Nephilim were speculated on, and some minor legends circulated, but Enoch was by far the most sophisticated adaptation of their mythos.

Unfortunately, these Nephilim proved to be far less than altruistic. Enoch describes how they conquered, oppressed, killed and (as is sometimes claimed) even ate humans. Naturally, this did not bode well for God’s beloved humans, so he took action on two fronts. First, he sent the global flood not to wipe out a wicked humanity, but to destroy the mighty and wicked Nephilim, who all drowned. However, as misfortune would have it, though their bodies were destroyed, the spirits of the Nephilim survived, thus forming an origin story for demons. Secondly, God took Shemyaza and his followers and he chained them up beneath the earth, to wait as prisoners until Judgment Day. And thus was the first rebellion ended.

The Second Rebellion: Arts and Crafts

There was also another Watcher known as Azazel. While Shemyaza’s name seems to be an invention of Enoch‘s writer, Azazel actually does appear in the sixteenth chapter of Leviticus (again, of our actual Bibles), where he is a mysterious character to whom the Israelites are to send a scapegoat from time to time. For clarification, it must be said that the mention of Azazel in Leviticus predates the Israelite concept of demons, which entered their mythology much later on. Anyway, Azazel is another prominent member of the Watchers. Now while he didn’t end up falling in love with a human woman, he did find the inclination to start sharing knowledge with humanity. He taught them medicine, metalwork, jewelry-making and, more dangerously, sorcery and magic. All of these things were, according to Enoch, forbidden by God, so Azazel and his followers were, like Shemyaza before them, chained up beneath the earth to await Judgment Day. Unfortunately, humanity had learned far too much at this point and the corruption by Azazel had left a lasting imprint.

Analysis

There are many fascinating things to discuss about these two rebellions. First, I wouldn’t be honest with you if I didn’t remind you about a key verse in the book of Jude (again, in our actual Bibles). Only six verses into the book, we find a curious mention of how “the angels who did not keep their proper domain, but left their own abode, [God] has reserved in everlasting chains under darkness for the judgment of the great day.” That is, almost exactly, a verbatim quote from the relevant passage in Enoch, which predates Jude by almost half a millennium. Thus, Jude had to have read Enoch, or at least been familiar with the story. But the curious thing is how he references this passage as if it’s scripture. That raises some very interesting theological questions, but I’ll leave that up to you for now.

More importantly is the social analysis of these two rebellions, which is tied in with the origin of belief in fallen angels. Enoch was written at a time of enforced Hellenism. Essentially, the ruling Greeks were trying to force their culture, philosophy and mythology upon the Jews. Some Jews were more accepting of this, while others became nearly militant in their rejection of all things Greek. We can actually see this reflected in the stories. First, we have Shemyaza, who leads the Watchers in interbreeding with human women and producing dangerous monsters. Many Jews saw this as a metaphor for how the Greeks were intermarrying with Jews and creating half-Greek/half-Jewish children, thus diluting the ritual purity which the Jews had striven for in maintaining their religion. I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with interracial/intercultural marriage, but I’m saying that the Jews at that time did think there was something wrong with it. So to the Jews who were reading the newly written Enoch, they found a metaphor for what was actually happening around them.

The second rebellion is nearly identical, except rather than intermarriage being the issue, the problem was the spread and influence of Greek medicinal, artistic and philosophical ideas. I’m sure many of the Greeks saw themselves in the role of Prometheus, “sharing the fire of knowledge with those backcountry Jews!” But the Jews would have seen Prometheus as an archetype of Azazel, that angel who was punished for teaching things man was not meant to know. Both rebellions, therefore, stand as symbols for the corruption of pure Judaism with Gentile culture and influence. And just as God had punished the angels, so they believed – according to most apocalyptic texts – that God was going to punish the Gentiles as well, for the same crime of diluting the proper relationship between God and his chosen people. This is definitely something worth thinking about in our own day and age.

Until next time, friends…

What Scholars Really Say: The Enemy of God

Hello, all! I hope you’re doing well, and surviving this terrible allergy season. I had incredible problems with them, and so now I’m recovering. In other news, we’re still looking for someone to adopt the stray we’ve taken in (we’re calling him Scrap). He’s a lot healthier now, with no parasites and his bald spots are healing up really well. Soon, the fur will grow back and he’ll be a brand-new dog! Well, an approximately 3.5-year-old dog, but still, in the greatest of health. Please pray we can find a home for him.

Now getting to our topic of today: the origin of the devil. A bit more bluntly stated than I’d prefer, but no sense beating around the bush, except in the utilizing of this very sentence. Last week, I went into detail on how the concept of evil had been personified throughout history. In harsh cultures, evil was seen as a great beast which crushed all who stood in its way. In cultures where different ideas on worship and morality clash, evil was seen as an invasive, polluting force. In our over-commercialized culture, evil is seen as a sneaky salesman trying to lure us in with all manner of seemingly-succulent temptations.

But what of the devil himself? What about that being mentioned in the Gospels and, especially, in Revelation? What about that guy who supposedly creates covens of witches and breeds heretics, and who’s believed to have once been the greatest of angels before his fall from grace? The standard story we’re all taught comes more out of tradition than scripture, and it claims that the devil (also called Lucifer or Satan) was once an angel, and one of God’s closest of confidantes. But then, due to his own pride, he refused to bow to Christ and then instigated a war to claim the throne of Heaven for himself. He lost, of course, and so he and his followers were cast from Heaven where they established dominion over the Earth as the devil and his demons. It’s a fascinating story and the source text is a beautiful read. But unfortunately, that source text is a 17th Century work of religiously-inspired fiction called Paradise Lost.

So what’s the real story, then? First, let me establish that in most of the Old Testament, there is simply no concept of a being we think of today as the Devil, or Satan. The serpent which tempts Adam and Eve in the book of Genesis is only ever referred to as a serpent, and his connection to the devil wasn’t drawn until decades after the death and resurrection of Christ. But there are a few strange areas of Biblical mystery, like the enigmatic Lucifer Passage of Isaiah or the appearance of Satan in the book of Job, and we’ll explore these in a bit more detail.

Lucifer of Isaiah

This passage was one of the primary inspirations for John Milton, the writer of Paradise Lost, and it is one of the most-quoted passages among those who look for Old Testament evidence for the devil’s existence. The issue at heart with this passage, however, is that Isaiah gives no context for it. The words seemingly pop out of nowhere, and the only hint of context is that, in the greater passage, Isaiah is taunting Babylon. This suggests that this “Day Star, Son of Morning” character may have been a particularly harsh Babylonian king, perhaps one who fell from power, as the passage would suggest. Those who take a more astronomical approach have suggested that the “Day Star” is really the planet Venus, which rises for only a few minutes before dawn, seemingly bringing the dawn with it. Lucifer, after all, comes from the Latin Lux-Ferre meaning “light-bringer.” In any case, we have no idea who this enigmatic character was. Was he a fallen angel? Possibly, though the text makes no suggestion to that effect, so the mystery remains.

Satan of Job

Aside from God and Job, who is the most remembered character in the book of Job? That’s right: Satan. But there’s a historical twist to this character. You see, this Satan was not the Satan we think of today. Instead, he was a being known in the times of ancient Israel as The Satan (pronounced Suh-Tahn, as opposed to Say-tin). When Job was written, The Satan was not considered to be an evil figure. On the contrary, he was regarded as an angel whose job it was to test people in order to determine if their faith was truly genuine. He was to put people to the test. So when God points out Job as the most righteous man on Earth, The Satan doesn’t see this as a way of attacking God via his faithful worshiper; rather, The Satan sees someone worthy of being put to the test. So The Satan is tormenting Job not for malicious reasons, but in order to discern whether Job loves God out of true faith or simply out of gratitude for God’s great blessings. When Job ultimately passes the test, The Satan would have been just as satisfied as God, and then he’d move onto the next person. This explains why The Satan is never punished in the book: he didn’t do anything wrong. He simply did the job God appointed him to do.

The Devil

While there was no concept of an ultimate enemy of God in Old Testament times, there was definitely belief in demons and evil spirits. However, there wasn’t any idea of a demonic hierarchy. To the ancient Israelites and, later, Jews, there were simply bad spirits out there who wished to harm humans, similar to how there were lions and bears that wanted to harm humans. But a term that showed up from times unknown (to me) is the term “Devil.” This comes from the Greek Dia-Ballo, meaning “to cast between.” Theologically, this refers to a person, being or entity which tries to cast itself (or some malady) between a person and God. Demons and evil spirits could be considered devils in this regard, as could hatred, strife, envy and the breaking of any of the Ten Commandments.

Now let’s build this into a coherent story. There was not originally any concept of a demonic hierarchy, no arch-demon or devil or Satan at the top. This was the norm for Jewish mythology all the way through the end of the Old Testament. But then, in the late 300s to early 200s BC, there arose a community called Qumran. Qumran was populated by a Jewish apocalyptic sect called the Essenes, and they were adamantly awaiting the end of the world. If you want a historical context, then I’ll say that all or most of the Dead Sea Scrolls were likely written and compiled by Essenes. Anyway, the writings of the Qumran Essenes have been found and they suggest something quite strange: the people of this community seemed to believe that they were living in the presence of angels. But it gets stranger, because in one of their texts, we see the earliest description in all recorded history of an evil angel. This angel was given no name, but was simply referred to as the “Angel of Darkness,” and he was greatly feared by the Essenes. After less than a century, more texts began showing up, describing all manner of fallen angels. One text, called the Book of Enoch, even describes two separate rebellions in Heaven, one led by the fallen angel Shemyaza (an event which is connected with the enigmatic Nephilim of Genesis 6) and another led by the angel Azazel (the name of a likely-demonic character cited in Leviticus 16). Historically, it seems, the Angel of Darkness arises and then all manner of angels begin to fall, at least where apocryphal literature is concerned.

The Devil of Today

Somewhere between that first Qumran text and the time of Jesus, the Angel of Darkness had gained mythological prominence in Judaism such that he came to be seen as standing at the top of a newly and loosely constructed demonic hierarchy. But such a being would undoubtedly need a name for reference, so the Jews began casting all manner of names at him: Satan, Devil, Moloch and Beelzebul (both of which are the names of Canaanite gods), the Adversary and, as we progress into the Christian era, Lucifer. This being incorporated into himself all of these different entities and identities, absorbing and compiling them into one character which appears in the Gospels and Revelation (where he is referred to as The Dragon).

This does, of course, raise a plethora of theological queries. What became of The Satan? Did he lose his name, or did the Angel of Darkness kill him and take his place? Or did he eventually evolve into the Angel of Darkness? And why did this strange fallen angel make no appearance before the days of Qumran? Was that when he fell? Or was he in hiding until the Qumranites found him out? Or did he arbitrarily choose that time to declare himself to humanity? Certainly, some of these answers would have far-reaching effects on our reading of the Old Testament. After all, scarcely a Christian can read Job without mistakenly thinking that the modern Satan and The Satan are the same character, and the Christian mind immediately sees Isaiah as describing a fallen angel, thus forgetting the possible link to a Babylonian king.

All I can tell you is what I’ve learned in my studies. It’s up to you to trust that God has these answers, and that maybe, just maybe, he’ll choose to someday share them with us.

Until next time, friends…

What Scholars Really Say: The Divine’s Opponent

 

Hello, and salutations! Yesterday, we celebrated Easter, and it was a great time to remember what remarkable event happened just under two millennia ago: the force of death, which has plagued mankind since time immemorial, the force to which even the smartest, greatest and most God-fearing of us succumb, was defeated by a man who was three days dead. On that day, Jesus walked from the tomb and demonstrated that not only could he raise new life, but he could even resurrect himself. What a remarkable thing that would have been to see!

In other news, my wife and I are currently sheltering a stray dog we found on our date night last Friday. My wife chose to call him “Scrap,” since we found him by the dumpster and, in her words, he’s “scrappy.” Here’s a picture of him in case anyone in the San Antonio area is looking for a 3.5-year-old dog of approximately 12 pounds ->

Now getting to the topic of today, I wanted to discuss something on the darker side of things, theologically speaking. I wanted to talk about the enemy of God. I’m not planning on repeating to you the same information so often quoted from Paradise Lost or the lone Lucifer Passage of Isaiah; instead, I’m going to share the personification of evil itself throughout history. This personification is something which has gone through radical transformations, and it was, in fact, a component in my Master’s thesis, so what I’m sharing today is essentially what I unearthed in my graduate school research. Let’s dive in.

I’ll begin during the age when Israel had finally settled the land of Canaan. They’d narrowly escaped from slavery in Egypt, then wandered in the Sinai Desert long enough for a whole generation to pass away and now, finally, God’s chosen people were granted the Promised Land. The great Jerusalem Temple was established and divine worship of God was carried out through the nation. And then, the Israelites found trouble. Trouble during this time (approximately 1000 – 586 BC, a time known as the First Temple Period) came in the form of ritual impurity and lack of devotion to God. Before this time, the concept of “evil” was nebulous and often misunderstood. After all, there are passages in the Torah (the first five books of the Old Testament) which even mention God himself “repenting of the evil he sought to do.” This raises significant theological questions, but that exceeds my area of expertise, so I’ll not explore them. Nevertheless, Israelite mythology during the First Temple Period had no established entity which stood in direct opposition to God. Instead, the opponent of God, that force which ran counter to the divine will, was ritual impurity. Scripture from just before this era records how Moses’ nephews, Nadab and Abihu, were “consumed by fire” for messing up in the ritual worship of God. Idol worship, which God saw as spiritual infidelity, often carried disastrous results, causing God’s temper to flare and Israel to suffer international defeats and internal strife.

Then came the Babylonians. First engaging in skirmishes with the southern Israelite kingdom of Judah in 597 BC, Jerusalem itself fell to the Babylonian Empire in 586, eleven years later. The Babylonian rule was harsh and oppressive, with Jews (the descendants of Judah, almost the only Israelites left) taken in chains to Babylon, their Temple burned and their infants often murdered before them. The Babylonian pantheon was forced upon them, and their children were in many cases to be raised as Babylonians. Now in this time period, known as the Exilic Period, the Jews came to see the Babylonians as God’s enemy, and wherever mythology was concerned, they imagined God being opposed by a great, dragon-like beast. This beast was the symbolic representative of Babylonia, and the reason is that a physical dragon (were it real) would be as oppressive, dangerous, violent and terrifying as the Babylonians themselves were to the Jews.

But time passed, and after approximately forty-seven years, the Babylonian Empire fell to the Persian Empire. These Persians were actually pretty nice to the Jews. As long as the Jews admitted that Persia was in charge, and they paid their taxes, they were mostly allowed to do as they pleased, and Persian mythology was not forced upon them. As a matter of fact, the Persians even allowed the Jews to return to their homeland and rebuild their Temple, establishing a period of history known alternatively as the Post-Exilic or the Second Temple Period. So with such a lenient and ideal nation ruling over them, naturally this was seen by the Jews as a time of peace (with a few minor hiccups), and any sort of enemy to God was scarcely mentioned. No dragon, no impurity, just peace among God’s people.

The Persians ruled for about two hundred years before a Greek force (actually Macedonian, but they were obsessed with Greek culture) gained control of the Jews. Intending to Hellenize (or Greek-ify) the Jews, they forced Greek culture on them, which caused a great deal of friction as Jewish morality and Greek culture were at odds in a great many places. So there began to be a resurgence in mythology about an enemy of God, and this enemy took not the form of an oppressive dragon, but rather as a sneaky character who would pollute the “pure” worship of God. There was a great deal of civil unrest among the Jews, who did not want their culture and religion polluted by this new enemy.

Another three hundred years went by and, in 63 BC, a Roman general conquered Israel and brought it into Roman control. The Romans were, like the Babylonians five hundred years earlier, highly oppressive, often carrying out gruesome mass executions against anyone even suspected of rebelling. And in this highly oppressive atmosphere there was a new explosion in mythology about the devil, who was usually seen as a great, dragon-like beast. The book of Revelation even refers to him as “The Dragon.” This symbolism had the same effect in the Roman era as it did back in the Babylonian era: the devil’s characteristics were symbolic of the oppressive characteristics of Rome itself. In an oppressive culture, God’s enemy was imagined as epitomizing that oppression.

But once Rome became Christianized a few centuries later, the beast/dragon imagery lost prominence as the early Church began to focus on rooting out heresies, returning to the symbolism of purity versus pollution. The heretics were viewed as the devil’s agents, polluting the “pure” worship of God. It’s interesting to note that an almost perfect parallel happened in America during the Witch Trials of Salem, Massachusetts in the 17th Century. Those accused of witchcraft were feared as the devil’s agents sent to pollute the religious purity of their Christian community.

So what do we see when we imagine the devil in our culture today? Do we see a great beast, a roaring dragon oppressing all who stand in its way? This is the imagery often clung to in oppressed nations, but it doesn’t really show up here in America. Instead, the Americanized devil is thought of as a clever salesman, trying to trick people into selling their souls and going down dark roads of perdition. We imagine him doing this by the clever mastery of speech, persuasively damning us with psychological wordplay and powerful temptations. Is this because of our heavily-commercialized society? Is this because of America’s charismatic nature, too often compelled to fall into a cult of personality, and thus suffer the resultant paranoia? I’ll leave that up to you to decide, but it certainly seems to be the case. I even did an experiment with my old Sunday school class back in Indiana a few years ago, and this theory held true in that scenario. In any case, I would encourage you to think on these things.

Now before I go, you may have noticed that I never used the term “devil” until the Roman times. If you didn’t notice that, go back and take a look. The reason for that is the mystery which we’ll explore next week.

Until next time, friends…

Stay tuned for my next blog post, in which we’ll explore the evolution of belief about God’s greatest enemy: the devil!

The Craft of Writing, Part Five: Information

Hello, hello, hello, hello! I hope your Valentine’s Day went well. Whether with a romantic partner-in-crime or alone with God, I’ve recently heard a number of my wise friends say that what matters most is that you foster the prime relationships you have – both with God and your fellow man. I have to wholeheartedly agree.

Today we’re crossing into the second half of our series about the craft of writing. So far we’ve covered plot, character development, setting and pacing. Now, continuing on the notion of pacing is a factor to which it is intimately tied: the dissemination of information. What do I mean by this? By “dissemination of information,” I mean the revealing of mysteries, the answering of questions or the introduction of something new to the story. Essentially, it’s adding a bit of novelty.

Suppose, for example, you’re writing a story in which your protagonist unveils and ultimately foils a grand conspiracy. You can’t simply reveal the whole conspiracy in your first chapter, or else you’d have nothing left to reveal in the rest of the tale. But if you wait until the second-to-last chapter to reveal all that information, then with what have you filled up all of the previous chapters? What you need to do is space the information out, spreading it like butter over the toast of your novel. This is most preferable for two complementary reasons:

1. By spacing out the information, you’re contributing to the proper pacing that you worked hard to establish according to last week’s post. If you go too long without revealing information, your story may soon grow boring. And if you give away everything at the start, then you have nothing left to reveal and the rest of your book (until the climax) will be similarly boring. What works best is establishing a steady rate of revelation: a little bit here, a little bit there, some more here, some new facts there. And eventually, these little bits of information will begin to form something new underlying your story, something rich and developed. Your readers will feel like detectives, better able to identify with your protagonist as they put the information together along with him (or her).
2. But you also want to add breaks. If every chapter reveals truckloads of new information, then your reader can quickly become overwhelmed and lost in all of the novelty. My recommendation is similar to that of the pacing: after every high-speed place, after every information dump, take a break and allow the reader to catch their breath. Let them process the information for a bit before you throw something new into the mix. You don’t want to pull a Matrix Reloaded and wait until one of the last parts of the tale to unload everything, or it will be too much for the audience to take in at a time (I still have no idea what The Architect was saying in that scene). Let the audience take the information in little spurts, or at a slow and steady rate, but not too slow, or you’ll lose their interest.

Now you may, unfortunately, run into a pinched point where you have no choice but to reveal a large amount of information in a short amount of time. It’s understandable, it happens to me from time to time. If you have exhausted all other options and find yourself facing this conundrum, my advice is to try and be as careful and clever as possible. While writing Torjen II: The Search for Andross, I arrived at a chapter where I was forced to introduce over a dozen new characters who were to have an intense discussion. The best I could do in that scenario was to make each as unique as possible so that the reader could keep them separate, then focus predominantly on only a few of them. I had a similar issue in my most recent work, The Choice of Anonymity, in which the ultimate explanation was revealed in one chapter. To balance this, I added foreshadowing in order to set this up, and then I still held a few key bits of information on reserve so as to keep the reader engaged. The foreshadowing worked like a charm, allowing for the revealed information to read more like a linking of facts than a wholesale revelation of them.

So the basic rule of thumb is to tie in the revealing of new information with the pacing you’ve already constructed. That adds some consistency to your book, as well as depth. But as a final note, let me point out that in the end of your work, all of the most important information must be explained. That’s my personal pet peeve in writing, when mysteries are established and then left unsolved. I mean, sure, you don’t have to explain whether or not one character followed through on their resolution to quit smoking or if another character ultimately conquered her fear of flying. But the big, crucial information that forms the core plot of your work must be answered.

However, it doesn’t necessarily have to be answered in this book. Suppose you’re writing a trilogy, or a series, or a grouping of works that interrelate but don’t form a linear series. If, over the course of your stories or books (notice the plurality there), those things will eventually be answered, then you may withhold key pieces of information to be made clear later. Again returning to The Choice of Anonymity, I leave the ultimate fate of all but my protagonist unknown, but the reason for this is that there will be two follow-up novels in this trilogy, and their fates will be made known there.

So if you’re going to establish a mystery, or some unresolved question, please ignore the tendency of the highly-talented and fascinating writer/director J.J. Abrams, who chooses to leave his mysteries unresolved. Let it be known, my friends. Let it be known.

Until next time, friends…

Stay tuned for my next blog post, in which I’ll discuss the deeper relationship between the protagonist and antagonist!

What Scholars Really Say: Mysteries in the Book of Daniel

Hello, hello! It has been over three weeks since last you heard from me. In that time, my wife and I took our dog and traveled to Indiana to spend the holidays with our families. It was a very enjoyable time, but alas, vacations must inevitably come to an end, so it’s back to the grindstone for me.

Today, I would like to discuss the book of Daniel. A short book of only twelve chapters, it is most famous for its stories of the three boys thrown into the fiery furnace by the dreaded Babylonian King Nebuchadnezzar and, later on, of the prophet Daniel being thrown into the lions’ den. Spoiler alert: they all survive. Well, at least they survived those ordeals; they’re long-dead now, possibly of old age or something. Who knows? But the book of Daniel is actually far more influential for Christians due to its enigmatic second half, with prophecies of crumbling kingdoms and dreaded beasts, of tyrannical rulers and a powerful being known as the Son of Man.

That last term is most important. You see, virtually every Christian today will tell you that the Son of Man is Jesus Christ. In the gospels, Jesus identifies himself in that regard, and other prophetic texts refer to him by that title (among others). But in the seventh chapter of Daniel, the prophet describes a vision of one coming down from Heaven who is “like a son of man” (emphasis mine). That certainly sounds odd. Why not the Son of Man? The reason for that is because the term actually evolved over time. In Judaism, the term “like a son of-” was a strange way of describing an entity’s species: a son of a pig is a pig, a son of a sparrow is a sparrow, a son of a man is a man. What Daniel may have been saying was that this being he saw coming down from Heaven was human-like in appearance. The term “son of man” occurs 107 times in the Old Testament, and 93 times in the book of Ezekiel. In almost all of those 93 instances, the term is used when God refers to Ezekiel as “Son of man.”

However, this term didn’t stay static with that meaning. Instead, it evolved, and eventually, the term “son of man” transformed from a weird way of calling someone a human into a proper title referring to a mysterious, messianic figure. After centuries of theological change in the Jewish faith, and the development and evolution of belief in a coming messiah, that term no longer meant just “human” in Jesus’ time. Instead, it referred to the coming Christ, and when Jesus stepped onto the scene, he claimed the title which was waiting for him.

That’s just one of the ways the book of Daniel has influenced Christianity. But before we delve in further, let me lay out a simple diagram for you.

Daniel 1-6: Narrative

Daniel 7-12: Prophecy

Admittedly, it is a very simple diagram. You essentially split the book right in the middle and that’s it. The first half tells the story of Daniel and three of his Jewish friends who are taken captive to Babylon, capital of the brutally oppressive Babylonian Empire. They experience persecution and blessing, they witness as Babylon falls to the more powerful Persian Empire and become servants to the new king, who becomes especially fond of Daniel. But political intrigue places Daniel in a lions’ den in which he miraculously survives. The second half, beginning with chapter seven, shifts into a series of visions Daniel has of the future. And that’s when things get hairy from a scholar’s point-of-view.

Traditionally, it’s accepted that the author of the book of Daniel is, naturally, the prophet himself. If that’s the case, then he chose to compose the first six chapters in the third-person in the guise of an unidentified narrator. That doesn’t seem too odd to me. It’s simply a stylistic choice. But then, after a brief introduction in chapter seven as that same narrator, the book shifts into the first-person, and it remains this way throughout the duration of Daniel’s visions. This in itself, while noticeably strange, can still be accepted as just an odd writing choice.

But then comes the content of chapters seven through twelve. These six chapters fit squarely into a category of writings called “apocalyptic eschatology.” That’s academic for “end-of-the-world stuff.” Daniel sees strange visions of Heaven, of monsters, of world-shaking things to come. He sees godless kings rise up and go to war, and he sees them defeated by an enigmatic, messianic figure described as “one like a son of man.” To top off this craziness, many of the visions are shared with him by an angel named Gabriel. This, honestly, is where much of Christian belief about the end of the world actually derives. The type of material in the second half of Daniel helped to set the tone for much of what we see in Revelation, in which we see visions of Heaven, monsters, godless kings who go to war only to be defeated by the Son of Man. And, in Revelation, John is shown these things by an angel. As a matter of fact, both Daniel and Revelation make mention of another angel named Michael, the only angel other than Gabriel to be identified by name in the entire Bible! Craziness!

But here’s the rub: apocalyptic eschatology didn’t develop until over two hundred years after Daniel’s death. I won’t go into the explicit details of how I know that, but let’s just say I wrote the thesis for my Master’s Degree on this very topic. So how is this possible? One could easily respond with the claim that Daniel was seeing the future, so of course his writings would be similar to future writings. Except that these six chapters would have been completely anachronistic for the style of writing and prophecy that existed in Daniel’s day. It’s like reading a letter written by George Washington, in which halfway through he suddenly mentions googling something or checking into Valley Forge on Facebook.

So does this mean that the entire book of Daniel is a lie? Of course not, stop being so melodramatic. What is more likely the case is that Daniel may have (but also may not have) written the first half of his book, chapters one through six. Then, over two centuries later, someone else chose to add in the second half, six chapters which accurately describe events leading up to about the year 164 B.C., the year of the death of Antiochus Epiphanes (a brutal Greek king who ruled Judea and tried to stamp out Judaism; most scholars believe he was the one to commit the “abomination of desolation” referred to in Daniel 9).

So, as most scholars believe (as well as myself), Daniel in all likelihood did not write chapters 7-12. But does this diminish the book’s value, or its truth, or its impact on Christian theology and belief? Absolutely not! In my opinion, mysteries like these only serve to make the Bible more fascinating and worth the effort of diving in and seeing what’s really there. I encourage you to do the same, and never hesitate to share with me any of the fascinating things you learn in doing so.

Until next time, friends…

The Interior Battle

Howdy, folks! Okay, that’s all the Texan you’re going to get out of me for right now, so let’s move on.

I’d like to share something that’s been on my mind since Saturday night. After my wife went to bed, I chose to watch a movie online, settling on a Halloween-themed horror film consisting of ten scary stories. Some of them were good, some unsettling, some bizarre and others left me wondering if I was actually saved for watching them. You see, I am quite a fan of the horror genre. I love scary stories and horror movies; not the gory or sexy ones, but instead the eerie, unsettling, creepy ones which get the audience’s own imaginations going into full-gear. I’ve liked horror movies since high school, and my love of scary stories goes back at least to Elementary school.

Yet for the last day-and-a-half, I’ve found myself wondering about the spiritual impact of these things, especially the films. I’ve wrestled with this concept before, as you can read in my Christian Defense of the Horror Genre, and I still stand by what I said in that article. So, then, what exactly is the problem? I watched a horror movie with the belief that a proper understanding of horror can be good, possibly even helpful, to one’s spirituality.

I think my issue arose from the question of what it is I truly like about the genre. When I watch a scary movie or read a scary story, am I appreciating its creativity? Am I focused on the ultimate triumph of light over darkness, or seeing it as a cautionary tale? Or am I instead reveling in the darkness and the fear, inadvertently losing my focus on the light? As you can guess, this is a deep spiritual struggle within myself. But I think that may be the point: as much as we hate to admit it, there is no one who is wholly good or wholly evil. As Martin Luther King, Jr. said, “there’s evil in the best of us, and good in the worst of us.” We are all a mix of the two, the intermingling of two opposites fighting for control over our souls. Each of us carries seeds of light as well as seeds of darkness, and that which germinates from each wars against the other in a struggle which continues until death (and possibly even beyond, who knows?). So when you enjoy a story, or you watch a movie, which side has your focus? Do you root for the slasher, or for the teens he’s stalking? Do you root for the misunderstood monster or the angry mob coming after him with torches and pitchforks? And do you enjoy the giant monsters for the sake of God’s creativity in creating such things (I fully understand that those things are Hollywood-produced, so stick with the analogy), or do you revel in their destructive power and the devastation they leave behind?

I’d like to say that I side with the teens, the misunderstood monster and appreciate the awesome creativity in giant monsters, but that’s not always the case. I am a human being, after all, a mix of darkness and light, and sometimes I dip into the dark and lose myself the way we all do when we fall to temptation. But I’ve not given up. The battle still rages, the light fighting against the darkness. Sure, the darkness may sometimes win the battle, and it may sometimes overwhelm the light, but in movies, that’s usually what happens just before the hero recovers and gains his ultimate victory. When you feel crushed by the darkness, take heart, for the dawn is coming. Even in the final book of the Bible, after all the devastation and turmoil we’re to expect at Christ’s return, we’re left with the light of God banishing the darkness forever. Whenever I doubt myself, I think I’ll pray and think about what that future world may be like.

Until next time, friends…

Stay tuned for my next blog post, in which I’ll explore how the interior battle manifests in the exterior world!

What Scholars Really Say: Who Wrote Revelation?

Hello, everyone! This is another addition to my new series, What Scholars Really Say, in which I describe various traditional beliefs about the Bible and then see what scholars have to say about them. Before I continue, I want you to rest assured that I in no way intend to cast doubt on the validity of the Bible, nor do I have some insufferably arrogant desire to debunk traditional beliefs in order to feel better about myself. I absolutely affirm the power of scripture, and it is with that reverence that I simply want us Christians to sharpen our knowledge of it. Oftentimes, the traditional beliefs are completely correct. But at other times, the traditional beliefs don’t quite line up with what scripture really says, and that’s what I wish to illumine in this series. So with that caveat in play, let us proceed to today’s topic: the writer of Revelation.

Introduction

Revelation is the very last book of the New Testament and, thus, caps off the entire Christian Bible. While Catholic and Orthodox Bibles may differ from Protestant ones in having additional books between the testaments, all three traditions affirm Revelation as the last book, a book which only barely made it into the Bible. Revelation is what is called an “apocalyptic text,” a very specific type of Jewish literature common from the mid-300s B.C. through the 2nd Century A.D. In this book, both Jesus and an unnamed angel appear at various times to a Christian man named John, who is currently exiled to a penal colony on the island of Patmos. Revelation is his record of all that John witnessed during his divine visitation, and it covers everything from a description of Heaven to the events culminating in the end of the world.

Nearly from the beginning, the traditional belief has held that this John is, in fact, the apostle John, one of the twelve disciples who traveled with Jesus during his earthly ministry. As such, it is generally accepted among the general Christian populace that John is the writer of the Gospel of John, the three Letters of John and, near the end of his life, the final book of Revelation. It is believed that, while all the other disciples were martyred, the apostle John survived into old age and was extremely elderly when he had these visions on Patmos.

Questions Arise From Early On

If you’ll remember from last week, I mentioned how doubts about Moses’ authorship of the Pentateuch began to arise sometime in the mid-17th Century. Well, the doubts of John the Apostle’s writing of Revelation go back a whole lot further. The earliest recorded skeptic was the 3rd Century archbishop of Alexandria, Dionysius (not to be confused with the Greek god of frat parties). Dionysius (the archbishop) raised two important points. First, he noticed that, while Revelation cites John as its author, the gospel and letters do not, suggesting some manner of inconsistency. Secondly, the archbishop described how in the original Greek, the gospel and letters flow elegantly, displaying a mastery of the language. Revelation, on the other hand, does not.

Since that time, there have arisen numerous arguments against the idea that the John of Revelation and John the Apostle were one and the same John. But ultimately, the most crucial of the differences I notice can be split into two categories, which I will explore separately: the lack of John of Patmos’ claim to apostleship, and the differences in writing style.

First Objection: No Claim to Apostleship

In the opening chapter of Revelation, the writer introduces himself as “his [Jesus’] servant John, who bore witness to the word of God, and to the testimony of Jesus Christ.” Many have used the word “witness” to bolster the claim that this John was the apostle, who “witnessed” Christ’s ministry in the early 30s A.D. However, the word “witness” is quite loosely used in the Bible, so this would be an example of eisegesis (that is, reading into the Bible what you want it to say). But more importantly, John does not identify himself as one of the Twelve Disciples or Apostles. The typical response to this is that he was being humble. But wouldn’t such humility ultimately harm the desire for his message to reach as many people as possible? I mean, if Billy Graham wished to send a declaration to the Christians of the United States, a declaration that he wanted as many people as possible to hear, would it be wise to simply sign it as “Billy”? Of course not; that would severely hinder the reach of his letter. Instead, resting on his fame and authority, he would sign it as “Billy Graham,” not out of a sense of pride but simply using the reputation he has to serve God’s will and reach as many souls as possible.

The absence of a claim to apostleship is actually only the tip of the iceberg, however. You see, it’s standard – almost expected – in apocalyptic literature for the writer to claim to be someone of Biblical fame or authority. There are apocalyptic texts which claim to be written by the apostles Peter or Paul. There are older ones which claim to be written by Enoch, by Moses, by Noah and even one claiming to be written by the ultimate human progenitor, Adam. All of these are completely false, of course, but when this habit is taken into account, it actually becomes downright peculiar that the John of Revelation doesn’t claim to be someone famous. He simply says that his name is John, and that’s that. Add to this the fact that John was as common a name back then as it is today and the likelihood of it being John the Apostle diminishes significantly.

Second Objection: Stylistic Differences

As I noted above, scholars for almost 1,700 years have pointed out the differences in vocabulary and writing style between the gospel and letters on the one hand and the book of Revelation on the other. Even if a difference in age is taken into account, you would expect someone who’s been sharing the gospel throughout a Gentile empire to have improved in his mastery of Greek, not gotten radically worse. But there’s another, more haunting discrepancy between the gospel/letters and Revelation, and this lies more in the underlying theology of the works.

In the opening of John’s gospel, we are introduced to strange imagery describing darkness and light, as well as an enigmatic entity known simply as “The Word,” from the Greek word Logos. It’s immediately established in John’s gospel that this “Word” is Jesus Christ. While this seems like normal language to most Christians today, it actually has its origin not in Jewish theology, but in Greek philosophy. These are, indeed, Greek philosophical concepts which eventually made their way into Christian theology. John the Apostle, preaching in a predominantly Gentile empire, would likely have come in contact with such concepts, and so he ingeniously weaved them into the gospel narrative in order to make the Jewish messiah more easy for Greeks to understand.

The book of Revelation, on the other hand, never broaches these concepts. Jesus is never described as the “Word,” and the imagery of darkness versus light is pretty much untouched; instead, John uses the imagery of two warring kingdoms, one led by Christ and the other by a demonic being called “the Dragon.” The Greek philosophical concepts found in the gospel/letters are absent, and what we have in Revelation is instead a more “purely Jewish” text. I can understand the omission of such imagery if John of Patmos is writing to a Jewish audience, but he’s not. Revelation is to be delivered to 7 mostly-Gentile churches in Asia Minor. Thus, this omission is highly telling.

This is not, of course, to say that the gospel/letters and the book of Revelation are inconsistent with one another. They are, on the contrary, totally consistent and theologically sound. However, it is clear that their writers were composing their works from very different perspectives, and thus, it is even more unlikely that John of Patmos is, in fact, an elderly John the Apostle. Having done the research for my Master’s thesis on the book of Revelation (and on apocalyptic literature in general), I can assure you that most scholars who specialize in the last book of the Bible agree: John of Patmos and John the Apostle were two different Johns.

Personally, I like to imagine these two guys chilling together up in Heaven and having a good time listening to the debates.

Until next time, friend…