The novel, Logos, dramatizes
the advent of Christianity. The primary
action ultimately involves the composition of the original Gospel – by the
novel’s protagonist, Jacob.
The novel’s premise is predicated on the
consensus among biblical scholars that the canonical Gospels were written
decades after Jesus’ death, and that all of their authors are anonymous. They likely were not written by persons
bearing the names that are attached to them: Matthew, Mark, Luke, or John. Moreover, mainstream Gospel scholarship has
concluded that there must have been at least one additional Gospel, now lost,
that preceded and was a source for these canonical Gospels. The mystery source is most often identified
as Q, a proto-Gospel. But there are
dozens hypotheses for the provenance of the canonical Gospels, and much
disagreement exists among biblical scholars.
Other hypothetical sources or proto-Gospels that may have been sources
for the canonical Gospels have been identified as well, e.g., L, M and K. None
of these have been found.
But I am a novelist, not a biblical scholar. The great historical novelist Hilary Mantel
says, “I try to stick with the facts until the facts run out.” I began with these facts: To quote Harold Bloom, “there was an
historical Jesus.” Apparently, like Che Guevara or Ethel Rosenberg, and like
legions of other Jews in the first century, he was murdered by the powers that
be because he was rebelling against an unjust society.
We know almost nothing about the historical
Jesus, but we know quite a lot about Palestine at the time: There was a dominant imperial
power–Rome–which ruled by means of local client autocrats, including a Jewish
King (the Herods) and a theocracy focused on the Jerusalem Temple. And there were many poor, and
revolutionaries. Among the dissidents
there were also Jewish pacifists, who lived monastically, and preached against
the worldliness and the acquisitiveness of the priests, and against animal
sacrifices, eating meat, and slavery, and practiced celibacy. They also prophesied that an apocalypse, the
end of the world, was at hand. The most
prominent among these were the Essenes.
Apparently, the historical John the Baptist
and the historical Jesus emerged as charismatic leaders among the
radicals.
At the same time, a Jewish scholar and
philosopher named Philo lived in Alexandria, Egypt, from 20 BC to 50 AD. Philo
was a product of a momentous event in the history of the world that had
happened four hundred years before: the encounter between ancient Greek
civilization and influence, and ancient Judaism, the Jewish people. This was precipitated by Alexander the
Great’s conquests which drove the Persians out of Egypt and the Middle East including
Palestine.
Alexander died young, but his generals who
succeeded him established important cities, schools, and cultural centers
throughout the Middle East: most
important, the City of Alexandria and its great, now almost mythical library. The modern word to describe the resulting phenomenon
is Hellenization, which means the spread of Greek language, culture, and
population into the former Persian Empire after Alexander’s conquest.
So, in the first century, Philo lived with
one foot in the secular world and one in the religious tradition of his fathers
– Judaism – and he set out to synthesize or reconcile those two traditions that
were equally dear to him. His focal
point was Greek philosophy’s “Logos” concept.
The writings of Heraclitus, a Greek
philosopher who lived in about 500 B.C., are the earliest evidence we have of
the word Logos receiving special attention.
If there were such a thing as a Greek-English dictionary at that time,
you might find the word Logos defined to mean: an argument, reasoned discourse,
an opinion, word, speech, account, to reason.
Later, the Greeks refined the concept to include the rational and
intelligent principle of the universe by which it is energized and
operates: the orbit of the planets, the
seasons, life itself, the thing that that caused it to come into being, that
gave birth to it, and that still gives it life.
Philo reworked Logos to mean a mediating
element that joins the Torah’s God with our material world – for example,
angels, the burning bush, and whatever it is that makes us human: reasoning,
words, compassion. Philo wrote that
intermediary beings are necessary to bridge the enormous gap between God and
the material world. The Logos was the
highest of these intermediary beings, and was called by Philo “the first-born
of God,” and the eldest and chief of the angels.
Still, within just 50 years of the death of
the historical Jesus – a time span well within living memories even then –
something unique and momentous in the history of the world occurred: the
deliberate and systematic creation of a myth that would ultimately swallow the
Roman Empire. The participants in this premeditated
myth-making are anonymous, but we can surmise a few facts: They were likely
Hellenized Jews, and therefore among the intelligentsia. Likely they created
the original gospel in the aftermath of the destruction of the Jerusalem Temple,
and were profoundly affected by that event.
How did Philo’s Logos – which to him was always an abstraction: Philo was a lifelong Jew – become a human being and God incarnate? That is what my novel is about
In A.D. 66, Jacob is an educated and privileged Greco-Roman Jew, a Temple priest in Jerusalem, and a leader of Israel’s rebellion against Rome. When Roman soldiers murder his parents and his beloved sister disappears in a pogrom led by the Roman procurator, personal tragedy impels Jacob to seek blood and vengeance. The rebellion he helps to foment leads to more tragedy, personal and ultimately cosmic: his wife and son perish in the Romans’ siege of Jerusalem, and the Roman army destroys Jerusalem and the Temple, and finally extinguishes Israel at Masada. Jacob is expelled from his homeland, and he wanders by land and sea, bereft of all, until he arrives in Rome. He is still rebellious, and in Rome he joins other dissidents, but now plotting ironic vengeance, not by arms, but by the power of an idea.
Paul of Tarsus, Josephus, the keepers of the Dead Sea Scrolls, and even Yeshua, the historical Jesus himself, play a role in Jacob’s tumultuous and mysterious fortunes. But it is the women who have loved him who help him to appreciate violence’s dire cycle.
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