Why the Gospels are Such as They Are

To expand on my notion of the Gospels as "thematic representations," I will turn simply to the present blog's theme of "roused, readied, reaped."  While it is perhaps possible to maintain that there is some semblance of natural order to "roused, readied, reaped" being understood as, say, "beginning, middle, end"--evoking thereby connotations of regularity and completeness to the assumed cycles--this assumption of natural order cannot be held to be warranted by actual experience.  Those persons "roused, readied, reaped" over a lifetime of three score and ten are neither more nor less "roused, readied, reaped" than those cut off in the flower of youth--the former instance simply seems to be more "natural" to us.

What "roused, readied, reaped" means in the context of the Gospels is the experiential phenomenon of human beings understanding that things begin, last for a time, and end--and in each instance of experience there is the possibility that a unique duration or degree of profundity will be evidenced.  Our lives--even viewed in our conceit of concrete, objective reality--are characterized by experienced cycles long or short, deep or superficial, mundane or surprising.  If we believe that divine superintendence is in play, then we are challenged to find meaning in experiences--or at least to find meaning in lives shot through with unanticipated and often unwelcome experience-arcs of greater or lesser import.

What I mean by the Gospels as "thematic representations" is that the Gospels seen as repositories of information about Jesus are best seen as writings that present themes themselves as being preeminent over the conceptions of humans about the expected workings-out of those themes.  What the Gospels talk about are themes before which are subsumed any possible illustrations of those themes.  For example, the Gospels speak of Jesus as the one-and-the-same Creator of Creation, but this theme--similarly with all other contentions about God--cannot be ratified by expectations that the theme will fulfill the conditions of some conceptualizable warrant.

Jesus created the fig trees.  In one parable, he speaks of a fruitless fig tree, the owner of which declares that it ought to be rooted out and replaced with something more productive.  The gardener suggests that the tree ought to be tended for another year in hopes that it will become fruitful.  The listener can nod sagely at the message of the parable--but there is no message.  The parable does not illustrate a theme--the parable exists because a pre-existing and pre-eminent theme overshadows it.  The shadow of the Reaper hangs over all in the mortal realm, and this truth is founded in the existence of the sovereign Creator.  The parable does not teach something because it conveys a message--the parable teaches something because it exists, and it exists because Creator Jesus exists.

Then there is the fig tree that Jesus curses.  Any notion that Jesus curses it because he can tell that it will fail in the coming season of harvest is folly--because the story has it that Jesus is hungry.  Jesus curses the fig tree because it has not borne fruit out of season.  The fig tree has been roused, and it has--to the purposes of God--been readied, and it is then (in the parlance of this blog) reaped.  The fig tree has displeased its Creator.  One might contend that Jesus is not being "fair," but the speaker cannot conjure up any notion that the fig tree deserved its existence to begin with, nor any notion that there are rules by which the Creator is bound.  One might as well--and as saliently--contend that is it "unfair" that the fig tree (or any creature) has a finite lifespan, it being accepted that Jesus could have made all creatures immortal.

The point is that any parable or illustration or story about the qualities of Jesus must exist either as something struck off as a spark or a shard from the ineffable and infinite essence of Jesus, or it must exist as a warrant-condition attached to his person--a warrant-condition that, if not co-equal with Jesus, is by necessity co-equal with some corresponding quality of Jesus, and is therefore a most blasphemous presumption.  There are no teachings about Jesus--there are simply teachings that exist because Jesus exists, and his existence leads to inescapable implications.  This is why the Gospels are such as they are, and--unsurprisingly--that "such as they are" quality is displayed in the Gospels being unanalyzable either as literature or as history.

Literature develops themes, and history uncovers themes, but the divine--as the author of themes--cannot be comprehended thematically.  That is why the Gospels read like plays.  The effulgence of God dances about the scenery, and it highlights from moment to moment the actions of particular characters, but its withdrawal will leave the stage dark and the action suspended--there are no self-existing nor self-actuated themes at play in themselves.  In the Gospels, the reality is always latent offstage, and the "reality" expressed in terms relatable to our concrete surroundings is always provisional.