5 BAPTISM AND EUCHARIST


TRANSFIGURATION AND TRANSFORMATION


In order to better understand the greater relevance of the first messianic miracle in regard to Luke, we need to address the significant relationship between both
  messianic Christologies and the Sabbath : Eucharist. The latter is of particular relevance to the gospel of Luke given his idiomatic preoccupation with desire and belief-in-desire, which take their cue from haptic memory and soma. It is easy enough to notice the relationship between the three feeding miracles and the seventh messianic episode. In a sense the feeding miracles lead up to and culminate in the Eucharist, just as consumption grounds the metaphor proper to appetition and satisfaction, that is, to perceptual consciousness. The connection between the Eucharist and these categories, particularly that with which The Transformation Of Water Into Wine deals, in the gospel of Luke, is met with an equal and opposite tendency in the gospel of John, by means of the baptism and its connection to The Transfiguration. The latter reverts to the Day 1 rubric, and this in turn bears upon the meaning of Sabbath in the P narrative. The gospel of John is rightly the most appropriate context for the discussion of the relationship between the Sabbath and Transfiguration, and for the theology of death. We glimpse this in the final miracle story in that gospel, The Raising Of Lazarus.

Aligning the Eucharist and The Transformation Of Water Into Wine and as the corollary to this compact, baptism and The Transfiguration brings to light several parallels which we can briefly now note.
Apart from the fact that just as the first messianic miracle, which is of such moment to his gospel, is absent from Luke, the last is absent from John. The Transfiguration bears the same significance as does the first Christological miracle story for Luke. These narratives are the standard classical texts corresponding to the conceptual taxonomies of Genesis 1.1ff. The fact that the messianic series is nothing less than an organic whole secures their appropriation for each of the gospels in spite of these absences. Formally what we notice about the intertwining of the first event with the Eucharist and the last with baptism, is that just as the Eucharist marks a virtual end of the ministry of Jesus, the baptism, occurring at its inception denotes its beginning. The only short pericope intervening between The Baptism of Jesus and the beginning of the Galilean ministry in Mark consists of two verses describing The Temptation of Jesus (Mark 1.12, 13). The gospel of John passes from the hymn to the logos (John 1.1-18) to The Testimony Of John The Baptist, which leads without interruption into the Johannine account of The Baptism (John 1.29-34). In this way both miracle narratives when linked with each episode in the life of Jesus, a link which is explicitly attested in the texts of The Baptism and The Transfiguration, confer a certain circular character to the gospels. This too is pronounced in the case of John, the epilogue of which is plainly reminiscent of the early scenes of the calling of the first disciples.

Two of the Eucharistic miracles, the two miracles of loaves and fish, are theologically pertinent specifically to Transcendence and the Holy Spirit, rather than the Son. The disposition of the series as a whole, like that of the P creation narrative, relies on both the twofold and threefold patterns announced in both Christological miracles themselves, in the form of the cipher 'six', and recurrently to the story of beginning. But there is a more immediately apparent and resounding connection between the Christological feeding miracle, The Transformation Of Water Into Wine, and the Eucharist, since both relate specifically to the Son. The Transcendental miracle The Feeding Of The Five Thousand, and the Pneumatological event, The Feeding Of The Four Thousand, are equally linked to the Eucharist in their manners. The various records that we possess in the synoptic gospels all include the mention of Jesus taking bread ( a!rton), either blessing, or in the case of Luke, giving thanks for it, breaking it, and giving it to the disciples to eat, (Mark 14.22; Matthew 26.26; Luke 22.19.) The hermeneutic of the messianic miracles as a theology of sense-percipient consciousness thus links all three phenomenal modes to what we may call their ground, the mode(s) of smell-taste, the Eucharistic form(s) of sentience. But touch and taste enjoy an affinity which the remaining two phenomenal modes do not share. This is confirmed by experience, for which reason, taste itself is referred to in both miracle narratives: John 2.8, and Mark 9.1, the latter explicitly connecting it to death.

If then a certain association between the first Christological messianic miracle and the Eucharist obtains quite empirically and clearly to common sense, we may reasonably expect some equally significant bond between the last and the Sabbath. A more detailed account of The significance of The Transfiguration for the theology of semiotic forms belongs to the section dealing with the gospel of John, but we introduce it here, given the certain nexus between the two  Christological messianic miracles vis-a-vis the relation of the two most significant forms of Christian worship. The title first attributed to Jesus in the story of his baptism,  is noticeably repeated in The Transfiguration:
In those days Jesus came from Nazareth of Galilee and was baptized by John in the Jordan. And when he came up out of the water, immediately he saw the heavens opened and the Spirit descending upon him like a dove; and a voice came from heaven, "Thou are my beloved Son; with thee I am well pleased." (su\ ei~ ui(o/v mou o( a)gaphto/?v, e)n soi\ eu)do/khsa) Mark 1.9-11)

And a cloud overshadowed them, and a voice came out of the cloud, "This is my beloved Son (ou(~tov e)stin o( ui)o/v mou o( a)gaphto/v); listen to him." (Mark 9.7)

And when Jesus was baptized, he went up immediately from the water, and behold the heavens opened and he saw the Spirit of God descending like a dove, and alighting on him;  and lo, a voice from heaven, saying, "This is my beloved Son, with whom I am well pleased (ou~(to/v e)stin o( ui)o/v mou a)gaphto/v e)n w~(? eu)do/khsa.)  Matthew 3.16-17)
He was still speaking when lo, a bright cloud overshadowed them, and a voice from the cloud said, "This is my beloved Son, with whom I am well pleased (ou~(to/v e)stin o( ui)o/v mou a)gaphto/v e)n w~(? eu)do/khsa); listen to him." (Matthew 17.5)

Now when all the people were baptized, and when Jesus also had been baptized and was praying, the heaven was opened, and the Holy Spirit descended upon him in bodily form (swmatikw~?), as a dove, and a voice came from heaven, "Thou art my beloved Son; with thee I am well pleased (su\ ei~ ui(o/v mou o( a)gaphto/?v, e)n soi\ eu)do/khsa)." (Luke 3.21-22)

And a voice came out of the cloud saying, "This is my Son, my Chosen (ou~(to/v e)stin o( ui)o/v mou o( e)klelegme/nov); listen to him!" (Luke 9.35)
Too much can be made wholly dependent upon certain Christological titles such as 'Lord', 'Christ', 'Son of the most high God', 'Son of God' and 'Son of man'. Those which are most germane to the present studies are the latter two, which reiterate the categoreal paradigm, transcendence : immanence. The stories of the Baptism and Transfiguration identify Jesus almost verbatim, and identity is a clear marker of transcendence. At his baptism Jesus experiences the descent of the Spirit, although Luke alone speaks of the dove appearing 'in bodily form'. The Johannine account differs in that John the baptizer does not actually baptize Jesus; instead he witnesses the descent of the Spirit and receives an oracular understanding of the event:
And John bore witness, "I saw the Spirit descend as a dove from heaven, and it remained on him. I myself did not know him; but he who sent me to baptize with water said to me, 'He on whom you see the Spirit descend and remain, this is he who baptizes with the Holy Spirit.' And I have seen and have borne witness that this is the Son of God." (John 1.32-34)
The case for linking the first messianic miracle and the Eucharist, like that of linking the last and the baptism of Jesus, is clear cut. As theological texts, and taken syntactically as first to last, they proffer doctrines vitally and critically touching upon the psychology of Eros-Thanatos and the epistemology of mythos-logos. It is no exaggeration to contend that as Christologies, these two complexes are decisive for Christian theology over if not against its Judaic precedent. Neither event as praxis or theoria, that is, as an observed religious rite, nor taken in terms of its propositional content has any effective antecedents in the Judaic tradition or the Hebrew Scriptures. The documentary evidence of ritual lustrations having been practiced at Qumran cannot be taken as indicative of mainstream Judaism, so that baptismal sacramental or religious practice has no effective parallel in Judaism. Likewise, I shall argue that the Eucharist seals a radical departure from the principle Jewish ritual practice, animal sacrifice which tells for the nexus between mythos and consumption. Indeed the consumption of wine described in the records of the Institution Of The Eucharist as standing for the blood of Jesus would have seemed scandalous to a Jew. We have just now commented on John's recension of The Cleansing Of the Temple (John 2.13-22), the text supplementary to his first miracle story, and the fact that it deals with the supersession of the temple by the body in Christian theology along lines similar to those of The Letter To The Hebrews, one of whose primary concerns is also the supersession of the Judaic sacrificial system by the death of Jesus.


THE CHRISTOLOGICAL MIRACLES AND THE UNIQUENESS OF THE CHRISTIAN SACRAMENTS


The Hebrew Scriptures too lack any precedent for depicting the Spirit of God as a being in the form of a dove descending from heaven. (That said, Genesis 1.2b is worthy of consideration in the context of the Baptism narratives, more of which follows below, as does the tradition regarding Melchizedek.)
So too, the search for any recorded event in the Hebrew canon genuinely similar to the first messianic miracle, is in vain. Neither the concept of soma, the body, nor the psychology of desire above and beyond its mythological treatment in the J creation narrative, and in The Song of Songs, occupy the attention of the authors of the Hebrew canon to any abiding extent, leaving all the more pronounced the manner in which the two Christological miracles themselves touch upon the two primary Christian sacraments. Yet the paucity of serious theological reflection on these Christologies, which by my lights, are to be reckoned the most pre-eminent and the most universal of any contained in the New Testament as a whole, and their connection with the two pre-eminent sacraments of the Christian church, a paucity more pronounced in the west than in the east, is symptomatic of the disaffection with and subsequent neglect of miracle narratives. It has been detrimental to both Christology and the sacramental theology of the western church. We can deal very briefly with the claim that the Baptism and Eucharist narratives are more or less without adequate Judaic antecedents.

Firstly, as for the possible  reference of the baptism narrative to the P creation narrative, which combines the identity of the Spirit, the water motif and imagery that is in some sense avian:
The earth was still a desert waste, and darkness lay upon the primeval deep and God's wind was moving to and fro over the surface of the waters. (Genesis 1.2, translation Claus Westermann.)
Water is a pre-eminent motif in the creation narrative, and resonates there, as in theologies of baptism, with the phenomenon of death. Since I am proposing that the introduction to The Transfiguration defers to the story of the six 'Days', and to the story of Day 1, I will contend that the significance of baptism itself along with a theological perspective on death are to be found within the light-day-time construal which the Day 1 rubric first announces, and which structures the entire narrative as parallel to the messianic series, finally bringing the Sabbath into an analogical relation to Eucharist. Any possible reference to death in Genesis 1.2 is allusive, and introductory to the Day 1 rubric, with its overarching structural role. The two ensuing Day rubrics also sustain the motif of water. The possible allusion to death and thence to the depiction of the Spirit at the baptism of Jesus, is contained in the clause ' ... darkness lay upon the face of the primeval deep ...'. Westermann's commentary is worth quoting in detail:
The starting point is the participle tpxdm. L. Kohler, Lexicon, renders it by "hover" and "flutter" in Genesis 1:2 and Deut 32:1, in Jer 23:9 he renders the qal form by "shake". ... One can conclude then with B. S. Childs that the word tpxdm no longer offers any problem: "The verb can best be rendered by some verb as 'hover,' 'flutter' or 'flap'." So the earlier translation 'brood' no longer holds, nor does any reference to the world egg cosmogony. This conclusion is supported by the old translations, all of which render the word by a verb denoting movement: Greek e)pefe/retw; Vulg ferebatur, see  )AZQ.
       With the meaning of the verb settled it remains to examine the word xwr. If it means the spirit of God, then the verb can only be translated by "hover" or something like it; but if, as in the other two passages in the Bible, its meaning has something to do with "shaking" or "vibrating," then it can only be rendered by "wind." ... "the spirit of God" is not found elsewhere in the Old Testament either with Pxr or with any similar verb. We are dealing here with a traditional description and so must be ready to accept ideas which do not occur elsewhere in the Old Testament. (ibid p 107)


The traditions regarding Melchizedek are somewhat more substantial as possible antecedents to the Eucharist, and moreover, they are quoted extensively in The Letter To The Hebrews, to which we shall have recourse in the discussion of the gospel of Mark and The Feeding Of The Five Thousand. A primary given purpose of that book, as already affirmed, is to distance the praxis and pedagogy of the emergent Christian church from its Judaic genealogy in certain respects. Hebrews will serve also to elucidate the theology of soma as this underpins Luke's gospel, particularly the way in which the evangelist describes not only the bodily resurrection of Jesus, but also his exaltation following that event.
Luke's resurrection appearance stories and his account of the ascension are notoriously 'somatic', a fact which sits with the hypothesis regarding the major premises of his theology as argued here. The body does not exist in a vacuum. The common sense notion conceptualizes it as 'inhabiting' or 'dwelling' in a place. The living and dying body has its being in the evanescent natural world. Bodies are perpetually subject to change, and this as well as their ability to move among the various places they inhabit, marks their existence as 'earthly' or mundane, rather than 'heavenly'  or supramundane. As early as Plato we encounter the idea that the body and space : time are thus linked categoreally. The cosmology of  Timaeus speaks of the 'receptacle of all becoming' (Timaeus 49a), which he identifies with 'space' (Timaeus 52b ff). To say that bodies exist within the world of becoming is to say that they are born and die in the finite world of nature, and not the supernatural world.

The latter, the heavenly world, is a central construct of The Letter To The Hebrews, and is coterminous with the Johannine concept of 'the above'. And it
is the idea of the just such 'heavenly' or transcendent realm which Luke's account of the exaltation of the risen Christ employs, although it is not nearly so necessary to his outlook as it is to that of the gospel of John, and The Letter To The Hebrews. In these works the same concepts would appear to share elements in common with middle Platonist cosmologies, if in fact, they have not been derived from those sources. Nevertheless their formal and foremost frame of reference remains the P creation taxonomy, which develops the idea of a transcendent space explicitly in the Day 2 : Day 5 rubrics, as part of a taxonomy of the conceptual pole of consciousness.

The tradition regarding Melchizedek leans upon the lack of any mention of his parentage in the scriptures for evidence of his vocation from eternity. The text itself is summary, and some scholars have argued that in its entirety, Genesis 14.18-20, has been interpolated:
After Abram returned from defeating Kedorlaomer and the kings who were with him, the king of Sodom went out to meet Abram int he Valley of Shaveh (known as the King's Valley).
Melchizedek king of Salem brought out bread and wine. (Now he was priest of the Most High God.) He blessed Abram saying
:
"Blessed be Abram by the Most High God, Creator of heaven and earth.
Worthy of praise is the Most High God, who delivered your enemies into your hand. "
Abram gave Melchizedek a tenth of everything. (Genesis 14.18-20 NET Bible)

Melchizedek is mentioned again in Psalm 110:
The Lord makes this promise on oath  and will not revoke it:
“You are an eternal priest after the pattern of Melchizedek.”
O sovereign Lord,  at your right hand
he strikes down kings in the day he unleashes his anger. (Psalm 110.4, 5 NET Bible)
Hebrews adapts the narrative, conceiving his kingly and priestly functioning as prefiguring that of Christ:
So also Christ did not exalt himself to be made a high priest, but was appointed by him who said to him, "Thou art my Son, today I have begotten thee" (ui(o/v mou ei~) su/ , e)gw\ sh/meron gege/nnhka se); as he says also in another place, "Thou art a priest for ever after the order of Melchizedek." (Hebrews 5.5, 6)

For this Melchizedek, king of Salem, priest of the Most High God, met Abraham returning from the slaughter of the kings and blessed him; and to him Abraham apportioned a tenth part of everything. He is first, by translation of his name, king of righteousness, and then he is also king of Salem, that is, king of peace. He is without father or mother of genealogy, and has neither beginning of days nor end of life, but resembling the Son of God he continues a priest for ever.
(Hebrews 7.1-3)
The author of Hebrews combines the verse from Psalm 2.7 with the Melchizedek tradition, just as the same psalm appears to have shaped the Markan and Lukan versions of The Baptism. These both utilise the personal pronoun 'Thou' rather than the demonstrative 'This'. (For more on the background of the Melchizedek tradition in Hebrews see Alexey Somov, The Image of Melchizedek in the Epistle to the Hebrews and in the Jewish Texts of the Second Temple Period.):
The king says, “I will announce the Lord’s decree. He said to me:
‘You are my son! This very day I have become your father! (Psalm 2.7 NET Bible)

διαγγέλλων τὸ πρόσταγμα κυρίου κύριος εἶπεν πρός με
υἱός μου εἶ σύ ἐγὼ σήμερον γεγέννηκά σε (LXX)
But the effort of the epistle to enlist such an obscure tradition as a precedent for the Eucharist cannot survive any real scrutiny. Garry Wills lists six fallacies which undermine its rationale: (i) the argument from silence, by means of which the absence of any human lineage of Melchizedek entails that he was supernaturally conceived; (ii) Melchizedek's eternal priesthood suggests that he repeatedly sacrifices, yet the letter itself argues that such repeated sacrifice is of no avail (Hebrews 10.11-13); (iii) the act of Melchizedek blessing Abraham elevates him above the patriarch without any warrant; (iv) further to this argument, Abraham is said to have given a tithe to Melchizedek (Hebrews 7.4,7), in verification of his priesthood, tithes having been owed to the Levites, of which tribe Melchizedek is not a member, hence his priesthood must have been that of a Canaanite; (v) the untenable proposition that Levi himself, a priest 'in common with Melchizedek' also tithed along with his great grandfather Abraham since 'he was already in the loins of his father when Melchizedek met him' (Hebrews 7.9-10); (vi) the argument that Jesus is descended from Melchizedek, the latter having had neither predecessors nor successors (Hebrews 7.14). Conclusively he sums up the case against the presentation of Jesus as following the original model of Melchizedek's priestly identity 'according to the succession of' or 'after the order of' or 'of the kind of' or 'in the line of', thus:
The attempts of commentators to make sense of these many fallacies is a long parade of contortions. They invoke the argument from silence, or from a statement of what is "in the loins" over four generations, or from the "undoubted" view that blessings are only given by superiors, or from the existence of an "eternal priest" without eternal functions, even from a touch of "exaggerated humor." There is a pious protectiveness about Christian exegetes says about the Letter's fantastical use of Melchizedek. After all, the Letter is in the canon of Scripture. It must be inspired. This kind of learned fundamentalism is embarrassing. (Garry Wills, Why Priests?: A Failed Tradition, Penguin Books, New York, 2013, p 114)


John contains no account of The Transfiguration. There have been attempts to read part, if not much or indeed all of the opening hymn in conjunction with it. The particular verses which seem closest are also closely linked contextually with the pericopae about John the baptiser and Jesus' baptism.
... we have beheld his glory, glory as of the only Son from the Father. (John 1.14.b)
Once again also, an association of sorts linking John the baptiser with the figure of Elijah is made in John as in the synoptic accounts of The Transfiguration:
And this is the testimony of John, when the Jews sent priests and Levites from Jerusalem to ask him, "Who are you?" He confessed, he did not deny, but confessed, "I am not the Christ." And they asked him, "What then? Are you Elijah?" He said, "I am not. "Are you the prophet?" And he answered, "No." (John 1.19-21)
Even so, the final miracle story, which answers to the first in his gospel, The Raising Of Lazarus, shares the leitmotif of death with the last messianic miracle. In light of the role of sexual love in the first miracle story and its relation to the Eucharist, and the complementary aspect of these texts to the baptism-transfiguration complex, this is highly significant. This last miracle narrative in John is introduced with a reference to the activity of John the baptiser:
He went away again across the Jordan to the place where John first baptized, and there he remained. And many came to him and they said, "John did no sign, but everything that John said about this man was true." And many believed in him there. (John 10.40-42)

Most significantly, the two Christological messianic miracles are representative of the two most basic relations obtaining between the conceptual and perceptual poles of consciousness. This is clearly first posited in the first miracle story, and confirmed in the last. The central action, or process, in both is a transmutation, a conversion, a metamorphosis. The only way to understand it systematically so as to combine not just the two Christological messianic miracles, nor the two sacraments, nor the entire messianic series, but the story of 'Days' to which The Transfiguration first points, as well as all these mentioned texts, is to understand the narratives as a Christian theory of consciousness. The most fundamental formal feature of this consciousness, this mind, which the exordium of the gospel of John announces in tandem with its presentation as the congruent series of 'beginning and end', is a structural bipolarity whose two poles constantly interact. This doctrine is explicitly announced in the  introduction to the first messianic miracle, which Mark's introduction to the last in part at least seems to echo:

Nathanael said to him [Philip] "Can anything good come out of Nazareth?" Philip said to him, "Come and see."Jesus saw Nathanael coming to him, and said to him, "Behold, an Israelite indeed, in whom there is no guile! ( I)srahli/thj e)v w~(? do/lov ou)k e)/stin)" Nathanael said to him, "How do you know me?" Jesus answered him, "Before Philip called you, when you were under the fig tree, I saw you." Nathanael answered him, "Rabbi, you are the Son of God, you are the King of Israel!" Jesus answered him, "Because I said to you, I saw you under the fig tree, do you believe (pisteu/eiv)? You shall see greater things than these."And he said to him, "Truly, truly, I say to you, you will see heaven opened, and the angels of God ascending and descending upon the Son of man." (kai\ le/gei au)tw~? a)mh\n a)mh\n le/gw u(mi~n, o)/yesqe to\n ou)rano\n a)new?go/ta kai\ tou\v a)gge/llouv tou~ qeou~ a)nabai/ontav kai\ katabai/ontav e)pi\ to\n ui(o\n tou~ a)nqpw/pou. John 1.47-51, emphasis original.)

And he called to him the multitude with his disciples, and said to them, "If any man would come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross and follow me. For whoever would save his life will lose it; and whoever loses his life for my sake and the gospel's will save it. For what does it profit a man, to gain the whole world and forfeit his life? For what can a man give in return for his life? For whoever is ashamed ( e)paisxunqh~?) of me and of my words in this adulterous and sinful generation, of him will the Son of man be ashamed ( e)paisxunqh/setai), when he comes in the glory of his Father with the holy angels." (kai\ o( ui(o\v tou~ a)nqrw/pou e)paisxunqh/setai au0to/n, o(/tan e)/lqh? e)n th~? do/ch? tou~ patro\v au)tou~ meta\ tw~n a)gge/lwn tw~n a(gi/wn.   Mark 8.34-38)

The introduction to the first of the six messianic miracles acts as a perfect foil to that of the last. Jesus cannily judges Nathanael's character in light of the ensuing miracle, he refers to the disciple's identity a propos of sexual love. No shame attaches, as we might have expected, to his sexual appetite. But shame is the very thing mentioned in the last miracle narrative, where it is again out of place. The final miracle story has to do with purity, as with the desire to know, with psychological-epistemological complexes completely at variance with, but nevertheless linked to, the erotic. Yet again our expectations are controverted. The inclusion of the idea of shame in the virtually transcendent as well as the immanent Christological messianic event, even though it is present there by default, concerns the Son of man figure, which I have equated with the symbolic masculine, mentioned in both. It agrees with the role of vision as with the Pneumatological conceptual forms in either case: optic memory and symbolic feminine in the first messianic miracle, The Transformation Of Water Into Wine, and optic imagination and the symbolic masculine in The Transfiguration, the last. We shall comment directly on the prevalent references to vision in the first pericope. They validate the 'interpolar' contiguity between optic memory with its inherent sense of beauty, and the concept soma, or body, which underpins sexual desire, and which is the governing aconscious conceptual form foundational to Lukan theology.

The equal and corollary exemplification of the same value, beauty, by the transcendent category, symbolic masculine, here, and by the category of virtual transcendence, optic imagination, completes its axiological portrait. 
The first messianic event involves the symbolic feminine as corollary to the presence of the symbolic masculine ('Son of man') in the last; both are Pneumatological, both instantiate the value beauty. In the story of the miracle at Cana a variety of motifs - the wedding itself, the bride, Mary the mother of Jesus, the wine as opposed to the water - all of these mark the occasion in this way. The presence of the symbolic masculine in the first occasion is necessary, since definitionally, the symbolic feminine is 'male and female'. So  of course the figures of Jesus, Nathanael, the disciples, the bridegroom, the steward, the water and so on, are all party to the purpose of representing the masculine relative to the feminine. But the symbolic masculine in se, which is to say, the pure conceptual form, is logically proper to the final event. The rapport of the feminine and the first feeding miracle, and the masculine and the last miracle, have already been discussed in the section dealing with that episode, The Transfiguration.

One need only recall here that the haptic semeia for these conceptual categories masculine and feminine, are those of the gendered body, phallos and uterus, even though the contradictions to which they give rise as emblematic of the apprehension of beauty must seem outstanding. That is why the notion of shame is so fitting in the introductory Markan text subsequently to the ironising tendency in the Johannine one. More remains to be said on this score, since both miracle narratives in varying ways look to the 'unveiling' in The Apocalypse, as focused upon the Pneumatological categories in particular: the anthropic, and vision. The Markan text with its indubitable link to the Johannine pericope should thus be understood in relation to not only the negative value of the vision of the body 'unveiled', the naked, animal, body, but also in relation to its positive valuation.
The almost universal tendency among religionists to embrace the kind of ideal visualized in The Transfiguration, transcendence of erotic desire aimed at purification, but not perfection, and which seeks to distance the human from the animal, is envisioned in the last messianic miracle, hence its reference to 'not taste[ing]'. That is guaranteed by the angelogical images of glory with which the two introductions conclude.

In other words, just as vision, beauty, and shame are interwoven thematically in the first episode, dealing with erotic love, so too they are in the last, dealing with its transcendence and death. (For a more detailed argument concerning beauty and The Transfiguration see Zoltán Dörnyei, Transfiguration, Beauty and Biblical Interpretation; whose interpretation nevertheless somewhat privileges the role of optic sentience over that of the acoustic, with which The Transfiguration is most intimately linked, as I indicate directly below.
Dorothy Lee, Transfiguration, similarly emphasises 'the beauty of Christ on the mountain'. Appealing to the theology of Hans Urs von Balthasar, she argues that 'The adjective ka/lov originally meant "beautiful" in Classical Greek.' (p 154.) This not only muddies the waters, it entirely misses the point of the specific axiological identity pertaining to both Christological miracles - the good. The triadic structure of the four taxa is consistent regarding this matter. To have failed to realize the axiological doctrines of the miracle narratives and the corresponding Days rubrics, is just as remiss as not to have appreciated the same as the primary texts foundational to the doctrine of Trinity. Beauty is not exclusive to the Holy Spirit, nor is truth to the Transcendent, but it is apposite to this identity in God in just the same way that goodness identifies the Son. We see links consistently maintained between the Pneumatological categories, both symbolic masculine and symbolic feminine, and the two forms of optic sentience, as early as the second creation narrative. In The Transfiguration both figures, Moses and Elijah, convey these categories, which fact belongs to their description precisely as having 'appeared to them' - kai\ w)/fqh au)toi~v (Mark 9.4a). But the central figure remains the Son, not either of these 'appearances'. Moreover, the disciples are enjoined by the voice 'from out of the cloud', to ''Listen to him."' As if this were insufficient, what then follows in Mark, though not in Luke, is an extended discourse on the Son of man rising from the dead.)

The psychology of this emotion, shame, in both cases reinforces the enigmatic affiliation between haptic sentience and the act of consumption, redoubling the aptness of the motif of taste to both Christological miracle narratives (e)geu/sato John 2.9,  geu/swntai Mark 9.1), even though the narratives themselves are taxonomies of the immanent and transcendent forms of haptic consciousness, rather than animal sense-percipience, smell and taste. Beyond the obvious fact that to taste is necessarily to touch, is the fact that ingestion itself, which characteristically involves the death of living things to be consumed, is remarkably similar to sexual congress. Thus we might seek an explanation for the apparent conflation of the haptic with what I have referred to as the Eucharistic modes, smell and taste, though we might just as well call these the animal modes of sense-percipience. The same complex association is first outlined in the J creation narrative, to which the story of Nathanael under the fig tree recurs. He is as close a figure as we will find in the gospel of John, and the gospels in general, to a 'second Adam'. For all that, the gospels however, clearly do not share the Pauline Christology of recapitulation. In just this way, they avoid the untenable Pauline theology of death that follows from this; namely reading the J creation narrative as an aetiology of mortality. In the first place they are completely dependent logically on the P creation narrative since it functions antecedently to the messianic series, and secondly, there is nothing whatsoever to suggest that they read the mythology of the J story as veridical, which Paul does. The nearest thing in the latter creation story to which the 'Christ' of the first miracle corresponds, as we have already put, is the tree itself; or the two trees, since the J text all but elides 'the tree of the knowledge of good and evil' with 'the tree of life'. But the tree as a trope for 'the cross' never appears in the gospels, further evincing just how distant they are from Pauline anthropology and Christology.

Having for the moment dealt with the question of possible precedents to the two sacramental theologies of the gospels which immediately bear upon the two Christological miracle stories, we may pass to the issues surrounding the relation between the first of these and the Eucharist as it concerns the gospel of Luke. Before doing so however, we must say that the importance of the story of Jesus' Transfiguration for the gospel of Mark can hardly be overstated. Other than by means of this pericope, the gospel generally does not explicitly elaborate the essential and reciprocal relations designated in the Christological miracles in the same way as these are detailed by the cosmologies of John and The Letter To The Hebrews for instance. The two relations stem from the isomorphism of the texts dealing with the conceptual forms and perceptual categories, the P creation story and the messianic series, which the gospel of Mark contains almost in its entirety. The same two processes, 'transformation' and 'transfiguration', expressly detailed in the two  Christological narratives themselves, clearly concern the relationships between the conceptual and perceptual polarities of mind. We have already seen both depicted in terms of a serial order, which the theologies of semiotic forms replicate. Their serial orders highlight the fact of contiguity; the fact that the radicals of both series are bounded on each side by similar radicals.

Jesus' Transfiguration is theologically more congenial to the atmosphere of the gospel of Mark than is the first messianic event. Since this last messianic episode marks the inception of the intentionality of desiring-to-know, we have only to recall that Mark's gospel is premised on the intentionality of knowing and the will-to-believe. The Markan conatus, that of will-to-believe, stands at a certain remove from Lukan desire, just as Mark's idiomatic cognitive mode, knowing, is distinct from Luke's belief-in-desire. The same distinction is quite succinctly put in their status regarding the orders of conscious and aconscious. In Mark the driving power of conative will-to-believe belongs to the aconscious order, whereas in Luke, conative desire belongs to the conscious. The cognitive modes of intentionality native to these two gospels reverse this pattern. Mark's theological epistemic idiom, the cognitive form of intentionality on which his gospel is predicated, is knowing, and the Lukan counterpart, belief-in-desire, are conscious and aconscious respectively. Since knowing is of such import to Mark, he has as much a vested interest in The Transfiguration as does Luke in the theology stemming from The Transformation Of Water Into Wine. (Party to this same difference between Luke and Mark, a difference summed up as that between desire and knowing, or conative and cognitive, perceptual intentionality, is conveyed by the role that vision plays a propos of haptic memory in 'transformation', and the comparable role of hearing for haptic imagination in 'transfiguration', and ultimately for mind.  These are essentially disparate modes of sense-percipience. We know the former as Pneumatological, and  the latter as Transcendental. It is not necessary to replace those terms with others such as concrete and abstract, or physical and mental; their rational distinction is theological in nature. This fact is noticeable in the deliberative attention which the Johannine story of the first sign, affords to sight, (John 1.46, 47, 48, 50, 51); and in the various references to speaking/listening in the last, (Mark 9.4, 6, 7 (twice), and verses 9-13, the discourse concerning 'what they had seen'.)


TRANSFORMATION AND TRANSFIGURATION AND THE BIPOLARITY OF MIND


The serial ordering of semiotic forms, which both represents visually and expresses audibly that of the stories of creation and salvation, is of two kinds, so that we may speak of 'interpolar' and 'intrapolar' contiguity. By 'intrapolar' contiguity I mean the arrangement of the six categories within their first-level polarity or kind, as either conceptual or perceptual; the continuity of conceptual form with both predecessor and successor of the same kind, and the same applying to the organic arrangement of the perceptual categories. Thus the conceptual form space is contiguous with the conceptual form symbolic masculine, and the latter with the conceptual form mind, which in turn is contiguous with the conceptual form space : time, and so on. This serial ordering of the conceptual entities within the conceptual taxonomy, is reiterated in the intrapolar serial order of the perceptual categories. The serial order of the perceptual forms analogous to the conceptual entities just mentioned is therefore: acoustic imagination ... optic imagination ... haptic imagination ...  acoustic memory and so on. These particular series are both represented by means of one and the same sequence of optic semeia: red ... orange ... yellow ... green and so on. This intrapolar sequence signifies either serial order of the two examples just given, the conceptual and perceptual, and follows the co-ordinating sixfold cipher of the Christological miracle stories, as well as the analogical form of conceptual and perceptual categories.

In their totality, the acoustic semeia are dodecadic, as well as doubly hexadic, and so they provide for a clear distinction between the polarities, as well as expressing the organisation of the same within their kind. This means that unlike the optic semiosis, the dodecad makes every possible allowance for interpolar contiguity. The conceptual categories just noted are articulated by the tones Cb-Db-Eb-F and so on, whereas the perceptual categories are articulated by the tones C-D-E-F# and so on. In either case, they are separated by the interval of a whole tone. (I have deliberately chosen musical notation to emphasise the isomorphic analogy between the polarities.) The six perceptual radicals and six conceptual radicals of consciousness are both signified by the same spectrum; the six visible hues. But the two are, as we hear in the acoustic series, imbricated, or interwoven, so that no category of one kind is immediately adjunctive to the next of its own kind, whether perceptual or conceptual. Thus by 'interpolar' contiguity I mean the most immediate adjacency of any radical, conceptual or perceptual, with two of the alternative species. Every conceptual radical is in immediate contact with two perceptual radicals, and every perceptual radical with two conceptual radicals. This interpolar contiguity is fully expressed in the semeiacoustika as they establish what is called the chromatic, or dodecaphonic scale, in which each step is always that of a semitone, the smallest interval between tones. It sounds the basis of the transmutative processes detailed in both Christological miracle narratives. We mention the theology of the acoustic semiotic forms here as corollary to, but by no means ancillary, to the optic semiosis. Its articulation of the interpolar and immediate contiguity of categories relates the core of the doctrinal content of the Christologies. Thus the interpolar relations expressed in the acoustic semiosis, articulate the two processes identified in the Christological miracle stories: transformation and transfiguration. That is, they expound the processive dialectic of identity : unity which the textually isomorphic series of creation and salvation, 'beginning and end', Days and messianic events, sustain.

We may say then that all contiguous steps within the polarities, the intrapolar tangential steps between categoreal forms belonging to the same kind, the same polarity, whether it be conceptual or perceptual, are significantly less in terms of proximity that are the interpolar gradations. This is why the former are semiologically articulated by the whole tone, whereas the latter are articulated by the semitone, the smallest of intervals. Thus in effect, the interpolar step between optic memory and soma, for example, is virtually immediate, even though the first is a perceptual radical, and the second is a conceptual form; since these are immediately contiguous, immediately adjoined. Whereas either step or movement, that between optic memory and haptic memory, or that between soma and symbolic feminine, both of which are intrapolar, is greater, being articulated as such by the acoustic semeia; since these are actually separated by an intervening radical, that of optic memory. Such gradations of a whole tone denote less proximity. I have chosen this very example of the essentially nearest association between optic sentience and the suite of intellective and affective processes stemming from the conceptual form soma, the body, one of which is of course erotic desire, because it is so remarkably operative in the J creation story.

The acoustic semiosis is perfectly capable of rendering both degrees of separation/integration, both forms of contiguity, interpolar and intrapolar. (The optic semiosis as employed here is also. It represents contiguous elements which are immediately adjacent to one another, yet belong to different poles, both by the same semeioptikon, where the intentional mode is one emerging from the aconscious into the conscious; and by different but neighbouring semeioptika where the transition occurs from the conscious to the aconscious. That is, 'transformative' or 'transfigurative', interpolar steps or processes, those which are outlined in the two Christologies, are differeniated in that the semeioptika involved will be either of the same kind, or of immediately variant kinds. (The difference distinguishes between the two orders: conscious and aconscious. Thus all conscious processes, whether conceptual or perceptual, are represented by the same semeioptikon; whereas all aconscious processes are represented by variant semeioptika.) This is illustrated in the two mandalas designating the intentionality of desire and that of faith-in-desire immediately below.)

Even though they consist of contiguous radicals which are of the same kind, whether it be conceptual or perceptual, intrapolar gradations signify less similitude than do the interpolar ones. Their arrangemenet does not reflect the content of the Christological stories, Transformation Of Water Into Wine and Transfiguration. The interpolar contiguous radicals are what concern us here, since these engage the 'transformative' or 'transfigurative' exchanges between the poles of consciousness indicated by the Christological messianic miracle narratives. Thus they mark the passage from one to the other polarity in either direction.
They render the intentional process as ultimately of either kind, conceptual or perceptual, mirroring the given relation of Eros-Thanatos, the logos ensarkos-logos asarkos, mythos-logos and so on. They concern radicals which are intimately bound with each other across the two polarities of consciousness; and more often than not, across the divide between the two orders, conscious and aconscious, a point we shall elaborate later. In speaking of 'direction', as if 'heaven' were a location, I follow the Johannine spatial imagery which first presents not only the one kind of process, the intentional mode of desire, though we might have expected this, since the ensuing messianic miracle concerns specifically 'transformative' instead of 'transfigurative' relations; but both, as we should note, since he speaks of 'angels of God ascending and descending'. This complies with the reference to death - '"my hour"' - in the miracle narrative:
Jesus answered him, "Because I said to you, I saw you under the fig tree, do you believe (pisteu/eiv)? You shall see greater things than these." And he said to him, "Truly, truly, I say to you, you will see heaven opened, and the angels of God ascending and descending upon the Son of man." (John 1.51).

The specific example of the immediate and interpolar contiguity between optic memory and soma is germane to the gospel of Luke, and we shall return to it. It is discussed here as the introduction to the methodological, that is semiological, exposition of intentionality, which is seminal to the doctrine of consciousness. The particular process, belief-in-desire, is cognitive or epistemic, conceptual, and aconscious. The specific exemplification or instantiation of desire as the object of belief with which we are dealing here, is the canonical one, since we are discussing the gospel of Luke: that of erotic desire, sexual love. Thus the body, soma, functions in a preparatory manner to actual erotic desire. The most clearly evident conceptual basis of erotic desire is constituted by the interpolar relation between the perceptual form, optic memory and the conceptual form, the body. We affirm on the basis of experience and understanding of human and sub-human sexuality, and also on the evidence of the literature, that optic memory is indispensable in its relation to belief-in-desire.
The story of the commissioning of Nathanael, the introduction to The Transformation Of Water Into Wine, the messianic rubric denoting haptic memory, contains repeated references to the role of vision (John 1.46 - 'see', v 47 - 'saw', '"Behold'", v 48 - 'saw', v 50 - 'saw', 'see', v 51 - 'will see'). Vision is a commonplace theme in Luke's gospel, and it comports with his penchant for Pneumatology. This much is surely plain to common sense: if vision is that particular mode of sense-percipience which tendentiously compels the judgement of beauty, a fact just as operative in the sub-human realm as in our own, then it must be operative in the intentionality of conceptual desire, that is, belief-in-desire, the ambiguity of the visibly naked body, and the emotion of shame notwithstanding, as noted.

The function of vision with its ingrained concomitant, the judgement of beauty, as ingredient in the intentionality of belief-in-desire, which is specifically sexual desire, is just one example of immediate contiguity from the perceptual pole to the conceptual pole of consciousness. It occurs across the division between the conscious and aconscious. It is signified by variant optic semeia, blue-indigo, since the resultant mode of intentionality belongs to the aconscious order, and also by immediately contiguous acoustic semeia. In the nexus between radicals of consciousness of both sorts, perceptual and conceptual, there is a great number of relations, and these in their complexity and simplicity are explicable according to the disclosures of the optic and acoustic semioses.

The exchange preparatory to the miracle therefore notes, pursuant to its outlines in the J creation narrative, the role that vision plays in sexual appetition via the aconscious. That is, optic memory, the visual apprehension of the beautiful immediately affects the conceptual form, soma. In so doing, belief-in-desire is engaged preparatory to actual desire itself: '
Jesus answered him, "Because I said to you, I saw you under the fig tree, do you believe? (pisteu/eiv John 1.50a). "' (We encountered a reference to belief of the exact same kind in the equivalent healing miracle story, Jairus' Daughter, where it is directed to the parents of the young girl: 'But Jesus on hearing this answered him, "Do not fear; only believe (mh\ fobou~, mo/non pi/steuson); and she shall be well." (Luke 8.50)). In which connection we should note also the manifold prior references not just to vision and witnessing in The Baptism narrative and that of The First Disciples, (John 1.29, 32, 33, 36, 38, 39), but also those to the Holy Spirit, (John 1.32, 33). It is necessary to recognise these cross references in the Johannine texts, and to stress that they contrast sharply with the Pauline and subsequent post-Pauline anthropologies and Christology dependent on them to an illegitimate degree, since they fail to reckon with the first creation narrative. In order to do so we should again cite the J narrative of creation:

The woman answered the serpent: Of the fruit of the trees in the garden we may eat;

but of the fruit of the tree in the middle of the garden God said: you shall not eat of it, you shall not even touch it, otherwise you shall die.


And the serpent said to the woman: You will certainly not die!


God knows well, that as soon as you eat of it, your eyes will be opened, and you will be like God, knowing what is good and evil.


Then the woman saw that it would be good to eat from the tree, that it was pleasant to look at and that the tree was desirable so as to become clever. So she took some of the fruit and ate, and she gave it to her husband with her, and he ate.


Then the eyes of both of them were opened, and they realized that they were naked, and they sewed fig-leaves together and made themselves aprons. (Genesis 3.2-7, John J. Scullion's  translation of Claus Westermann's translation, emphasis added.)


This event is not said to have occurred on the seventh day, although, given the context of the previous creation story, and the unbroken flow from Genesis 2.4a to 2.4b, I am taking this connection as implied. (It would appear that the author of the rest (kata/pausiv) motif, as part of the theology of death in The Letter To The Hebrews, construes the creation stories in this way.) Notably, the second narrative refers to both categories announced in the Day 3 and Day 6 rubrics, not just those of the latter, the male and female animal and human couples. For the first part of the J narrative details the creation of the garden itself, and links the man at least, with the earth. Plants and earth were brought into being during Day 3, pre-emptively of the final Day of the hexameron, when the humans are created. Moreover, the hermeneutic put here of the two types of plants has read them as tropes for the internal and external disposition of the genitalia in sub-human animals and in humans. This hermeneutic developed the concept of the symbolic masculine, which I am equating with the Son of man figure, and whom we have seen in connection with the psychology of shame in the exordia of  both Christological miracle stories:

When Yahweh God made earth and the heavens -

there was not yet any plant of the field on the earth nor had any shrub sprung up for Yahweh God had not yet caused rain to fall upon the earth, nor was there any man to till the ground:

and a stream of water used to rise from the earth and water the whole face of the ground -

then Yahweh God formed the man out of dust from the ground and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life; so the man became a living being.

And Yahweh God planted a garden in Eden, in the east, and put the man that he had formed in it.

And Yahweh God made all kinds of trees grow out of the ground, pleasant to look at and good to eat, and the tree of life in the middle of the garden, and the tree of the knowledge of good and evil. (Genesis 2.4b-9, emphasis added.)

Any idea that optic sentience is in some way the source of our experience of aesthetic value, and disvalue, is not exclusive to Christian culture. In fact, as already indicated, cultures other than the Christian one, have probably quarried the sense of vision in the interests of religious thought to a far greater extent. In Plato we find an early philosophical notice as to the compact between seeing and our sense of beauty. In Phaedros he says of beauty:

[250δ] μετ᾽ ἐκείνων τε ἔλαμπεν ὄν, δεῦρό τ᾽ ἐλθόντες κατειλήφαμεν αὐτὸ διὰ τῆς ἐναργεστάτης αἰσθήσεως τῶν ἡμετέρων στίλβον ἐναργέστατα. ὄψις γὰρ ἡμῖν ὀξυτάτη τῶν διὰ τοῦ σώματος ἔρχεται αἰσθήσεων, ᾗ φρόνησις οὐχ ὁρᾶται—δεινοὺς γὰρ ἂν παρεῖχεν ἔρωτας, εἴ τι τοιοῦτον ἑαυτῆς ἐναργὲς εἴδωλον παρείχετο εἰς ὄψιν ἰόν—καὶ τἆλλα ὅσα ἐραστά: νῦν δὲ κάλλος μόνον ταύτην ἔσχε μοῖραν, ὥστ᾽ ἐκφανέστατον εἶναι

[250d] as I said before, shone in brilliance among those visions; and since we came to earth we have found it shining most clearly through the clearest of our senses; for sight is the sharpest of the physical senses, though wisdom is not seen by it, for wisdom would arouse terrible love, if such a clear image of it were granted as would come through sight, and the same is true of the other lovely realities; but beauty alone has this privilege, and therefore it is most clearly seen ...

Thus John's evocative reference to the P creation story which begins his gospel, is followed by the calling narratives, in which the brief image of Nathanael functions as a summary but important reference to the J creation story. This devolves upon the first messianic miracle narrative, a theology of sexual love. Resuming the issue of the immediate and interpolar relation of the radical forms of consciousness which is central to the event of 'transformation' in that miracle story, we can list the
main points of the hermeneutic of both processes, transformation and transfiguration which we shall develop, as follows:

OPTIC SEMIOSIS

These basic tenets can now be further elucidated by the theologies of semiotic forms. The discussion of the gospel of Mark must broach the broader issues germane to the acoustic semiosis, however its use to some extent here is indispensable to clarity, the reason for the all too brief mention of the dodecaphonic scale and is importance to the expression of interpolar transmutative processes. We have already listed the six categoreal forms of desire simpliciter. Their significations are given in the following mandala. The specific desire of any instance of aconscious belief, is represented by one and the same optikon. Thus the conceptual form soma, is represented by the same sign as that for haptic memory. This serves to remind us of the normative character of the conscious radicals. Faith-in-desire does not introduce any new generic form of actual desire to the spectrum already extant. The same is true of knowledge-of-will for will, and of will-to-believe for belief, and of desire-to-know for knowing. The conscious order is normative for value. The orthodox or normative quality of the conscious is tantamount to the fact that its categories are the intrinsic axiological exponents of consciousness. It is haptic memory rather than the conceptual form soma, which reifies what we believe to be good; just as it is mind rather than haptic imagination which performs the obverse. Mind is the pre-eminent exemplification of transcendent good. Thus erotic desire, stemming from actual haptic memory is the single, surpassing instantiation of the immanent form of the good, just as mind is the normative category exemplifying transcendent good.

The axiological nature of the categories, which first surfaced in the P creation narrative, there always under the generic name 'good'. But the distinctly triadic contours of the conceptual and perceptual elements of consciousness entail that this value be allowed its fullest meaning: the good, the true and the beautiful. Here however, there is no need to further investigate this strand of biblical metaphysics. It will follow as we proceed. Thus we have already noted the pertinence of beauty to the Holy Spirit, since the optic functions in her image and likeness. We ought always to remember that the normative categories are the intrinsic exemplifications of value, and their non-normative, that is aconscious counterparts, exemplify the same values extrinsically. That does not result however in the lesser significance of the aconscious radical a propos of its conscious counterpart. For we have already discussed the dyadic modes, belief-in-desire and desire simpliciter in terms of superordinate and subordinate capacities, and seen that the conscious mode of intentionality is not necessarily the superordinate term of a dyad. It is simply not the case that the conscious is inevitably the more powerful component, as we noted in the case of Luke.

The instantiation of faith-in-desire by the concept of the mind : body is precisely faith in erotic desire. Thus the desire of faith-in-desire, like the will of knowledge-of-will, the knowing of desire-to-know, and the belief of will-to-believe, are analogous to the dyadic, the analogical, equivalents in each case. Aconscious intentional processes do not introduce any alternative form or content to the normative, that is, conscious, order. Hence the same optikon, indigo, signifies erotic desire and faith in that specific occasion of desire, the canonical instance of the same, which enjoys its inception in the analogous conceptual form, mind : body. Faith in economic desire will thus be represented by the optikon blue and so on. I mention faith-in-desire rather than desire simpliciter first, because of its superordinate status vis-a-vis desire itself, which we must not forget.




The above mandala depicts those six occasions of conscious and conative 'transformation' from the conceptual to the perceptual pole. These are instances resulting in the conative mode desire. However, the same mandala may also signify the cognitive transformative processes, the instances of knowing. Both are transformative modes of intentionality. Both are perceptual in kind and both are conscious forms of intentionality. It is only the semeiacoustika which will differentiate semiologically the conative from the cognitive conscious perceptual processes, a distinction to which we shall come directly. The sum total of optic semeia are six-seven, whereas the tally of acoustic semeia are twelve. Desiring and knowing are comparable processes, as we see equally from the J creation account, and the recapitulation of the feeding miracles in Mark and parallels. Both are transitions from the conceptual pole to the perceptual, answering to the image of the descent of the angels in the Johannine text, as well as the descent of the Son of man, the incarnation itself. The two formative radicals in each of the six instances of desire are represented by identical optic semeia because the particular radicals which are engaged are always the analogous, dyadic, counterparts to one another. The relation between the soma as concept and haptic memory constitutes the possibility for both erotic desire, and technological knowing. (The cognitive mode is certainly prevalent in the Johannine text as the allusion to the second creation story in which 'the tree of the knowledge of good and evil' is a remarkable motif. Thus the exchange between Jesus and Nathanael rescues any reading of the J narrative which otherwise downplays either the value of sexual love or its instrumentality to knowing. But since we are most concerned with the gospel of Luke here, and so with desire and its aconscious underpinning, I shall leave consideration of the particular exemplification of cognitive consciousness occasioned by haptic memory, namely technological rationality, to the gospel of Mark, to which the discussion of the intentionality of knowing belongs.)

I must emphasise that the various forms of the desire of faith-in-desire are those of their dyadic or analogous counterparts or equivalents. This means that the inception of erotic desire is to be found in the mind : body as conceptual form; the inception of economic desire is to be found in the conceptual form male : female; the inception of hierarchic desire is to be found in space : time as conceptual form; the inception of kathartic desire is to be found in the pure conceptual form mind and so on. The coefficient 'faith' of faith-in-desire, or what is the same thing 'belief' of belief-in-desire, which determines the intentional mode as aconscious, is relative to the intentional mode desire simpliciter. It does not alter in any way the identity of the desire. This follows from the analogous constitution of the dyads. The same applies to the relation between desire-to-know and knowing, as to knowledge-of-will and will itself, and as to will-to-believe and belief simpliciter. Faith-in-desire is in a certain sense, derivative from desire itself, as is just this particular form of unity, mind : body, from haptic memory. This is why we speak of forms of unity vis-a-vis forms of memory in terms of forms of virtual immanence relative to forms of actual immanence. And for just this reason the same semeioptikon signifies the conceptual as well as the perceptual category. This applies also to the relation of virtual transcendence to actual transcendence. That is, it is true also of the derivation of the forms of imagination from pure conceptual radicals. Analogous categories here too are represented by the same optic sign. The rational justification for which follows from the relation of analogy. The instances of conscious desire simpliciter enjoy their inception in their proper conceptual analogues, in their dyadic equivalents. In this way the conscious intentionality of desire will be represented as different from that of the aconscious intentionality of faith-in-desire. The conscious mode engages the dyadic or analogous structure of the radicals; but the aconscious mode does not, as we see from the following mandala. That said, both however are interpolar, (with just two exceptions), and both are immediately contiguous. This sameness of contiguity will be expressed by the same, smallest semeiacoustik interval, that of the semitone.

The inception of erotic desire which is of such import to the specifically Lukan theological idiom, is to be found in the conceptual aconscious, and in the conceptual form, mind : body in particular. We should recall what has already been put regarding the relative magnitude of these two intentional modes, desire and faith-in-desire. The superordinate mode is faith-in-desire, which is of course, both aconscious and cognitive as well as conceptual. It differs from actual erotic desire in all three respects, for the latter is conscious, conative, and perceptual. Nonetheless, these are taxonomically immediately contiguous radicals. This immediate contiguity is marked by the identity of the optikon, whereas the acoustika, though they will articulate the same immediate contiguity, will nevertheless differentiate them as either conceptual or perceptual. Moreover, they are analogous, or as we have said previously, dyadic, or parallel. Four of the six such analogues are representative of the specificity of the four gospels, congruently with the annual template. They mirror the four cardinal points of the annual temporal compass, insofar as these consist of a relation between nocturnal and diurnal intervals.

The canonical instance of faith-in-desire, which is faith in erotic desire, stands figuratively for the diurnal interval at the winter solstice; the shortest day of the year. In itself, the length of the interval points to the capacity of the intentional mode. What matters is the fact that this final member of the class forms of unity, realises the innate tendency, the telos, of that taxon as a whole. The impetus of the class of forms of unity is reached with the minimum length of day. This factor, the location of each member within its own class given its directional impetus determines its capacity relative to other members of its class and to it dyadic counterpart. That aconscious but nevertheless epistemic or cognitive faith-in-desire is superordinate over desire itself gives a rational aspect to sexual love wholly in keeping with the theology of John, as the locus classicus of the theology of faith, the theology of the word or logos. In just this way, the first messianic miracle, even though it is fully pertinent to the gospel of Luke, is not misplaced in its single current location in the gospel of John. It will be incumbent on us here in dealing with the gospel of Luke to elaborate the actual exemplification of faith-in-desire in its canonical instantiation, faith in erotic desire, in the intentional mode faith simpliciter, even though this mode of intentionality is the property of John's gospel. This is because we necessarily revert to the normative status of faith as privileged over the non-normative status of faith-in-desire. The epistemic instance of faith, a conscious mode of intentionality, as for soma, the conceptual form of unity mind : body, can be summed up in one word more appropriate to Luke than to any other gospel: 'art'.


The optic semeia signifying the two radicals optic memory and soma, are blue and indigo respectively. Although they are distinct, they are contiguous, and immediately so. Their difference marks the change or transition from percept to concept; that they are immediately adjacent is signified by the almost imperceptible variation in these signs, blue and indigo. The semeiacoustika propose this ultimate degree of proximity, which makes the transition possible in the first place, by means of the interval of a semitone differentiating one radical from the other, as we shall hear. This interval occurs but twice in each sevenfold serial form of order; in both the major and natural minor scales. These scales express the cognitive and conative processes which are the various instances of intentional modes, given in the form and content of the narratives we have been addressing. Before amplifying the articulation of transitions of both species, transfigurative passages resulting in conceptual intentional forms, and transformative processes resulting in perceptual intentionalities, we can represent the optic semiology of the example just given, pertinent to Luke, and of the other five such occasions of belief-in-desire, according to the theology of optic semiotic forms:.











Desire, in its canonical occasion, the case concerning Luke, haptic or erotic desire, has as its source the conceptual form analogous to it, this is the conceptual form soma. In other words, erotic desire simpliciter has its inception in the conceptual pole, of whose six components or members, the body qua concept, soma, is one. Once again concerning Luke, in itself, this particular occasion of faith-in-desire, somatic faith, which is faith in erotic desire, is a conceptual form of intentionality. This particular instance of the conceptual mode of intentionality faith-in-desire, is the canonical one, just as erotic desire is the canonical instance of desire simpliciter. In itself this faith-in-(erotic)-desire is bound on its alternative side to optic memory, not haptic memory. It is here that its inception in the perceptual pole occurs. Thus, faith in sexual desire is linked to the perceptual pole at optic memory. The transitional process from optic memory to soma, is the transition consequent in a conceptual, aconscious mode of intentionality, faith-in-desire. It is transfigurative, meaning simply, conceptual. The transitional process from soma to haptic memory, a passage from the conceptual to the perceptual, is transformative, meaning of course, perceptual. It indicates the processes of both knowing and desire. Thus optic memory in its immediate relation to the conceptual form soma, serves as the source of faith in-erotic-desire. It is immediately contiguous with the conceptual form soma. The latter in turn serves as the source of erotic desire by means of its own immediate boundedness with haptic memory. In both of these processes, the one resulting in belief-in-desire, the other resulting in desire itself, the operative categories are immediately contiguous. But desire is a conscious, perceptual, and conative mode of intentionality, whose meaning belongs to the complex association between transformation and Eucharist. Faith-in-desire on the other hand, is an aconscious, conceptual, and cognitive mode of intentionality, and it occurs comprehensibly in virtue of the affinity posed by transfiguration-baptism. Utilising the language of John cited previously, the first corresponds to 'the angels of God ... descending upon the Son of man."', hence to Eros and incarnation; whereas the second corresponds to '"the angels of God ascending ... upon the Son of man."', hence to Thanatos and resurrection. This, while it certainly reinforces the nexus between the miracle and the Eucharist, explains the reference to death in the text:
And Jesus said to her, "O woman, What have you to do with me? My hour has not yet come." (John 2.4)


DESIRE AND FAITH-IN-DESIRE IN MARK

Given that the canonical forms of desire and faith-in-desire are those of the gospel of Luke, we need to ask: What of the remaining three gospels, and indeed The Apocalypse? These books of the New Testament subscribe to the same theologies of creation and salvation as does Luke, so that in turn, their contributions to the doctrine of intentionality and the theology of semiotic forms, whilst they complete the same by espousing the remaining modes of intentionality, they too nevertheless subscribe to the Lukan theology of desire and faith-in-desire. There is more to desire than simply erotic appetition and satisfaction, even if this is the exemplary or sovereign instance of the same. This is an ideal opportunity to introduce their several signature or characteristic perspectives, even if from the point of view of the Lukan modes of intentionality, rather than from those which are intrinsically proper to them. So, to begin with, rather than discuss knowing and the will-to-believe as the essential psychological-epistemological idioms of Mark, we shall examine the species of desire and faith-in-desire which the  Markan perceptual and conceptual categoreal forms instantiate.

We have already put the relationship of Mark to Luke, and that of Luke to Mark, in mandala illustrating the four gospels congruently with the annual template
. These envision each gospel as disposed in virtue of a conceptual-perceptual dyad, corresponding to one of just four cardinal points of the temporal compass of the year. The members of these dyads are analogous to one another. In Luke's case they are the concept of soma, and haptic memory; in the case of Mark they are the conceptual form space : time and acoustic memory. The conceptual forms of either gospel belong to the same class, as do their perceptual forms. But they invert their positions within each hierarchy. In a sense then, what begins in one of these gospels, ends in the other, and vice versa. This is tantamount to claiming the instrumentality of the initial radical to the telos of the class as a whole. Whereas haptic memory, the perceptual radical foundational of desire, and of Lukan theology, is the initial member of its class, and as such, delineates the remote past, it is conducive to acoustic memory, equally foundational of knowing, and which borders the present. This situation is reversed for the conceptual forms. Space : time as a conceptual form, delineates the remote past, and it conduces to the conceptual form of the soma. Thus what is conative in one case, assumes a cognitive function in the other, and vice versa, while at the same time there is a consistent fluctuation from pole to pole, conceptual to perceptual, and vice versa, according to the structural analogy which binds together the two components of the canonical, or cardinal, dyad. This and more, has already been depicted in the mandala. In terms of the categoreal forms which are the governing criteria of their theologies, the relationship obtaining between Luke and Mark, will be mirrored by that of Matthew and John; similarly, the relationship of Luke and John will be echoed by that of Mark and Matthew.

The foundations of Mark's theology are clearly visible where the miracle narratives are concerned. The Feeding Of The Five Thousand sits at the centre of the messianic miracle series, in his, as in every other gospel. Of course it is immediately followed by The Walking On The Water, proper to Matthew, whose recension is somewhat extended, since it is equally as important to Matthew as is the feeding miracle story to Mark. Thus the chiastic pattern of these six episodes effectively emphasises the four canonical members of the series. The Pneumatological events inhabit neither the peripheral nor the central places of the chiasmos. As
they are necessary to the specific perspectives of The Apocalypse, they do not enjoy the same 'cardinal' emphasis. Thus John too highlights that the miracle at Cana was 'the first of his signs', coming as it does soon after the hymn to the Word, which 'was in the beginning'. Mark no less, takes advantage of the location of the Transcendental feeding miracle story. We can say this, because the healing miracle which denotes the conceptual category with which acoustic memory is coupled analogously, enjoys exactly the same status. It enjoys exactly the same position within a chain of healing miracles, acting as a pivotal point about which several other miraculous healings are arranged. This story, The Haemorrhagic Woman, (Mark 5.24.b-34), is of course the single rubric we have to denote the conceptual form, because their categoreal treatment is the business of  the creation taxonomy. I have already listed the details concerning the catena of healing miracles, at whose apex The Haemorrhagic Woman has pride of place. The Calming Of A  Storm, a messianic miracle story, is the prelude which yields immediately to the first of four healing episodes constituting the chain. The first and last of them relate to each other as rubrics denotative of the symbolic masculine and symbolic feminine respectively: The Gerasene Demoniac (Mark 5.1-20), and The Syrophoenician Woman's Daughter (7.24-30). Thus both narratives, the messianic miracle and the healing miracle, are situated at the central points in chiastic structures, ensuring that we notice  the perceptual and conceptual forms which they portray, and the intentional modes which they generate, as of chief importance to Markan theology.

The conceptual cores of consciousness which focus the theological perspectives of Mark and Luke, space : time and mind : body respectively, differ widely, even though we see so many thematic elements shared by The Haemorrhagic Woman and Jairus' Daughter. Some of these are also common to the final event in the sequence, the Markan healing episodes which concerns the symbolic feminine, male and female. The Syrophoenician girl's illness is in certain respects related to sex, and to the sexuality presumptively attributable to the ethnic class to which her mother belongs, if not in fact to her mother herself. She remains representative of the category, the symbolic feminine, just as all three figures who are subjects of healings mentioned after The Gerasene Demoniac, are female. The latter is of course adroitly placed in the gospel of Mark. It follows the messianic event, The Stilling Of The Storm, thus linking the conceptual category, symbolic masculine which the latter posits, with its analogous and perceptual counterpart, optic imagination, the topic of the messianic event. All three miracles of healing which follow The Gerasene Demoniac, and which involve women or girls, are classifiable as theologies of conceptual consciousness. Although the leitmotif of the feminine in the latter three contiguous events secures their taxonomic status more specifically still than that of the grouping of four, since they address conceptual forms of unity. So where The Gerasene Demoniac concerns the conceptual conscious, the subsequent three episodes concern the conceptual aconscious.

Further to Mark's editing of The Stilling Of The Storm and The Gerasene Demoniac, we often find in the texts the same adjoining of miracle narratives according to the analogy stemming from the systematic morphology of Days and messianic events. There is an example of the same in the gospel of John, and it bears upon the Markan theme of time as conceptual form. The Johannine story of The Healing At the Pool (John 5.1-18), precedes that of The Feeding Of The Five Thousand, (John 6.1-14), with the interpolation of only two narratives, The Authority Of The Son, and Witnesses To Jesus, (John 5.19-30 and vv 31-47), both of which confirm the relevance of 'the Father' to both miraculous events, (vv 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 26, 36, 37, 43, 45; this count does not include pronominal references, or references to 'God'). Such editing identifies the healing and messianic event which are contiguously contextualised, as theologies of Transcendence. There is no mention of a father in the Markan pericope, but Jesus addresses 'the woman who had had a flow of blood for twelve years' as 'daughter' after the healing has occurred. Moreover, Jairus intercedes on his daughter's behalf, and that both he and her mother are present at her healing, given the ties already established by the stories of 'the woman' and 'the daughter', promotes the same theological identification of the episode. Space : time, no less than space, as a conceptual entity, identifies 'the Father'.

The substantial divide between Lukan and Markan idioma, readily perceptible in their adoption of divergent categoreal entities, means that what establishes knowing on a first order level, acoustic memory, functions in a degraded form as the basis of desire. (Conversely, the perceptual radical responsible for first order, or canonical desire, namely, haptic memory, instantiates knowing only in a degraded form.) But Mark of course, is not immediately pre-occupied with the theological import of desire; what characterize his perspective are knowing and will-to-believe. Even so, he is well aware that acoustic memory serves as the basis of hierarchic desire, the desire for status, for renown, for recognition, even for fame itself. It emerges in the very first verses of the narrative:
She had heard the reports ( a)kou/sasa peri\ tou~ I)hsou~) about Jesus ... (Mark 5.27a)
This squares immediately with the function of social discourse, and the fact that there is no more public an occasion than the miraculous feeding of five thousand. From start to end, there is the 'great crowd', (v 24a o)/xlov polu\v, vv 27, 30  o)/xlw?, v 31 o)/xlon). John's story similarly depends for its intelligibility on the same setting:
In these [five porticoes] lay a multitude of invalids (plh~qov tw~n a)sqenou/ntwn), blind, lame, paralyzed. (John 5.4, my emphasis.)
The crowd is in both cases much more than a simple, theatrical prop. (In passing, it would be remiss not to notice that 'plethora' in medical parlance, refers to an excess of bodily fluids, particularly blood, another fact telling for the common rubrical purpose of the two pericopae.) The crowds are concrete images of the phylogenetic character of the will-to-believe. They convey the social rather than individual bias of its psychology. Thus what The Feeding Of The Five Thousand views as a significant property of the intentional mode knowing, namely its rudimentary social quality, is common to the intentionality of the will-to-believe as depicted in both the Johannine and the Markan healing miracle narratives. Neither the man at the pool in Jerusalem, nor the haemorrhagic woman is identified as an individual. The human aggregate plays a key role in these events and both the man and the woman belong wholly to their respective phyla. All the figures gathered at the pool are believers in its therapeutic properties, they are all there for that very reason. Inadvertently they prevent the paralytic from gaining access to the healing waters. In the same manner, the crowd following Jesus and thronging about him are in some sense actively supportive of him, and believe in him, just as the haemorrhagic woman does. They too impede, even if they ultimately do not actually prevent, her access to Jesus. In the very next scene however, at the centre of which is the conceptual form soma, the function and value of the crowd changes remarkably. Mark's terse and elliptical style captures it in little more than two verses:
When they came to the house of the rule of the synagogue, he saw a tumult, and people weeping and wailing loudly. And when he had entered, he said to them, "Why do you make a tumult and weep? The child is not dead but sleeping." And they laughed at him. But he put them all outside, and took the child's father and mother and those who were with him, and went in where the child was. (Mark 5.38-40)
The two stories which Mark has grafted together as one seamless whole, are nevertheless very different; as different as the conceptual forms time and the body, even if we know them as inevitably somehow comparable, the reason for their contextualization in the first place. The divergence between Luke and Mark has been referred to in terms of the way in which we approach the constitution of mind. Clearly that is evidenced in the publicity of the 'phylogenetic' event, that of the woman. Place and time, space : time, is innately social, or phylogenetic. Most animals are social creatures, and humans are especially so, especially communal. Knowing itself, that peculiarly human activity, depends on the susceptibility of experience to being shared by means of public discourse. The soma, on the other hand, is me as mine. It circumscribes the realm we speak of as personal and individuated, and its susceptibility to being shared, is minimal or as we say, private rather than public. Here of course, the two perceptual radicals, the one acoustic, the other haptic, put the variation juxtaposed by the terms 'phylogeny' and 'ontogeny'. For this reason, the function and character of the crowd in the second episode, is anything but essential. In fact Mark abandons the word 'crowd' altogether, and uses a variety of periphrases which tend to proscribe it as a contributing factor in the miracle: 'some who said ... '; 'they said ... '; 'people weeping and wailing ... ', aorist, third person plural participles, equivalent in meaning to 'those who were weeping and wailing. ... '; and finally, 'all of them' (pa/ntav). In the miraculous cure of Jairus' daughter the crowd is no longer important, the child herself is. She is now more than ever, isolated by her own postpubertal body. Her status is markedly different from the representative status of the haemorrhagic woman, who is ultimately delivered from her illness, just as, in one sense, what has ceased in the woman, has commenced in the girl. So the haemorrhagic woman stands not only within the crowd, but, effectively in lieu of it. The little girl has no such refuge; and the crowd is removed from what takes place. If we are not told her given name, we at least know that of Jairus, her father. This too adds to the antithesis between phylogenetic and ontogenetic selves, or minds.

To read the two miracle narratives in this light is to determine the significant alterity between the points of view Luke and Mark adopt. There is no room here to examine in any real detail the presentation of just how Mark pursues those particular categories which ground his gospel, knowing and will-to-believe in question. Our concern is with Luke, and with desire and belief-in-desire. But one thing is apparent, the differences, and in turn the similarities, generated by their respective concerns as these develop from related by variant elements of consciousness. The conceptual forms underlying the Lukan and Markan theologies are members of the class of forms of unity, and they establish the aconscious. If they are not precisely secondary relative to their conscious counterparts, the forms of perceptual memory, their devolution to, or what is to say the same thing, their derivation from the latter, has been put in terms of the essential deviation from one another of second order concept from first order percept. Forms of memory constitute that particular class of entities which are actually immanent in kind; forms of unity are virtually immanent. Perhaps for this reason Mark does not hesitate to underline the roles of hearing and speech in a story which connotes the perceptual analogue of acoustic memory, the conceptual form space : time, just as he mentions Jesus touching the girl in a story which is about the body. Certainly this evinces the specific desire, and hence the specific faith-in-desire at work here: the desire for acclaim, for reputation, for recognition, which depends upon public discourse. It is a a third rate and degenerate form of desire insofar as it is the least canonical of any. Real desire has its defining moment in the practical reality of the erotic, to which Luke gives more than adequate attention.

Recalling that its conceptual underpinning, the conceptual form soma, is the superordinate, albeit aconscious, component of the conceptual-perceptual polarity, we can develop yet a further contrast between Mark and Luke. The polarity which governs and guides Mark's epistemological and psychological teaching is that of time-acoustic memory. Its aconscious and conceptual pole is subordinate. Here is yet another disparity between Luke and Mark. Conscious, acoustic memory is privileged in just that it is superior over the conceptual form to which it answers. We may say the same of the modes of intentionality necessitated by these radicals of consciousness, knowing and the will-to-believe. Knowing is the superordinate mode. But this does not alter the fact that both of them are phylogenetic. And if faith-in-desire exercises a dominant influence over desire itself, they too are both by definition ontogenetic. These dyads, whether we mean the primal, categoreal, structures of mind, or the modes of intentionality which they condition, exist at the two extremities of the taxa to which they belong. Haptic memory and acoustic memory subtend a relationship of maximum contrast while remaining the same taxonomically, as do the intentional forms they effect, desire and knowing. Likewise, the aconscious sorts the radicals space : time and soma as members of the same class, and the intentional modes will-to-believe and -faith-in-desire, which they process. They too are therefore both similar and dissimilar.

In saying that the desire for social status is degenerate, and so too, the trust or belief expressed in such a desideratum, we are making allowance for the real significance of the erotic as conative par excellence over and against the hierarchic. it has been referred to itself famously, as 'the last infirmity of the noble mind'. The situation is reversed of course for cognitive intentionality. And knowing is Mark's chief epistemological and psychological concern. We have already averred the third rate, or degenerate grade that attaches to technological rationality, which like erotic desire, is the product of haptic memory. Technological knowing is knowing of a distinctly inferior species. We see this as part of the subtext of The Calling Of Levi (Mark 2.13-17), which matches the ensuing healing miracle narrative, The Man With A Withered Hand (Mark 3.1-6), the healing miracle rubric for haptic memory, but the further elaboration of these considerations is pertinent to the chapter on Mark. The relativity between conative and cognitive, which the acoustic semiosis renders so articulately, as we have just indicated, is balanced by the aconscious radicals, which motivate the two gospels. We can note in passing, of the will-to-believe, that its basis, the concept of time, instantiates its canonical expression, and that this instance trumps the occasion of the same mode which soma instantiates. We can allege this as pursuant to the effective disparity between the phylogeny of the former, the form of unity, space : time. This is visible of course in what we have just noticed as the different characterizations given to the two crowds or multitudes which form the backdrop of the two healings, The Haemorrhagic Woman and Jairus' Daughter. The theological province of will, pertinent to Matthew, is to be be discussed in dealing with that gospel.

The first of the above mandala illustrates the immediately contiguous relation of space : time and acoustic memory. The shift from the former to the latter, from the conceptual to the perceptual pole, is
a transformative process, denoting both desire and knowing. The same is true of the perceptual to conceptual relation sustained by haptic imagination and space : time, illustrated in the second mandala. They too are immediately adjacent. But in this case the exchange begins at the perceptual pole and ends at the conceptual pole. It denotes transfigurative, and so conceptual, forms of  intentionality, both will-to- believe or belief-in-desire. What optic memory is to soma, the inception of believing in specifically erotic desire; haptic imagination is to the conceptual form space : time, the inception of believing in the desire for acclaim, for renown. We find the perceptual component so frequently mentioned in the narrative that it is almost possible to mistake the rubrical intention behind the pericope:
She had heard the reports about Jesus, and came up behind him the crowd and touched his garment ( h(/yato tou~ i(mati/ou). For she said, "If I touch  even his garments, I shall be made well."( e)an a(/ywmai ka)\n tw~n i(mati/wn autou~ swqh/somai (Mark 5.27))
And Jesus perceiving in himself that power had gone forth from him, immediately turned about in the crowd, and said, "Who touched my garments?" (ti/v mou h(/yato tw~n i(mati/wn; v 30)
And his disciples said to him, "You see the crowd pressing around you, and yet you say, 'Who touched me?'" (ti/v mou h(/yato;) v 31, emphasis added.)
There is no need to further review these narratives. The real value for Mark's objective lies not in the fact that the desire in question is of the kind we have described. These texts as vital to his own particular theological viewpoint, are worthy of examination in their own right as in connection with knowing and the will-to-believe. Arising in their canonical instances from the categoreal forms foundational to Mark's gospel, acoustic memory and space : time, these modes of intentionality permeate his theological objective to an extent that is unmatched by any of his three peers.


DESIRE AND FAITH-IN-DESIRE IN MATTHEW

The same is true of the critically operative radicals, acoustic imagination and the conceptual form space, for the gospel of Matthew, upon which, in their own rights, knowledge-of-will and will respectively are conditional. It should be obvious at once that a real divergence must occur between Matthew and Luke if we allow the incompatibility of will and desire. The universal feature of all instances of will is freedom; and that of desire, constraint. Their alterity to one another, is a commonplace of philosophical psychology to which the Christian doctrine of intentionality subscribes. Once again, we encounter the diversity which the gospels establish in their relational unity. But it is not greater nor lesser than the diversity of human consciousness itself; and it is the end of the one gospel in its plurality to reflect this. The rubric for the conceptual form remains the story of Day 2.
The Walking On The Water uses the motif of water so strongly in accordance with the Day 2 description of the creation of 'the heavens', that it may have justified Matthew's inclusion of Peter in the episode. The same conceptual form, space, is denoted in the first of the Markan healing miracles, The Man With The Unclean Spirit, with the unspoken concept of beginning in mind. In the series of 'the twelve', the disciples, this first healing story clearly pertains to Peter, who likewise, is usually the first name to appear on the lists of disciples. We find this in John as well as the other synoptic gospels, even though the calling narrative in John somewhat modifies Peter's pre-eminence (John 1.35-42). The epilogue of John clearly portrays Peter in terms of willfulness, in spite of his declining years, and does so in contradistinction to the character of 'the disciple whom Jesus loved' (John 21.18, 20).

Matthew unaccountably perhaps, omits The Man With The Unclean Spirit (Mark 1.21-28), but not the succeeding pericope, The Healing Of Simon's [Peter's] Mother-in-Law (Mark 1. 29-31), which appears later in his gospel, since The Centurion's Servant is the first healing episode, and immediately precedes that of Simon Peter's Mother-In-Law (Matthew 8.5-13, 14-1). Mark's editing of the first healing also reflects the significance of the category, space, and its necessary intentional mode, will, for the disciple. Thus he seems to link the event to Peter by its editing as well as various other means. Luke repeats both narratives as we have them in Mark (Luke 4.31-37, vv 38-39). If Matthew's gospel contains the story of Simon Peter's Mother-In-Law, a mere two verses of text (Matthew 8.14-15), but not the more important healing story which elsewhere precedes it, we are bound to ask why, if not because Matthew found aspects of the Markan portrait of the disciples too censorious? The difference in approaches is quite apparent in their recensions of the general rebuke by Jesus of his disciples' obtuseness following the recapitulation of the details regarding the two miracles of loaves and fish (Mark 8.14-21, par. Matthew 16.5-12). Matthew here too mollifies Mark's opprobrious tone. The two passages are as follows:
And being aware of it, Jesus said to them, "Why do you discuss the fact that you have no bread? Do you not yet perceive or understand? Are your hearts hardened? Having eyes do you not see, and having ears do you not hear? And do you not remember? ... And he said to them, "Do you not yet understand?" (Mark 8.17-21, emphasis added.)

But Jesus aware of this, said, "O men of little faith, why do you discuss among yourselves the fact that you have no bread? Do you not yet perceive? ... How is it that you fail to perceive that I did not speak about bread? Beware of the leaven of the Pharisees and Sadducees." Then they understood that he did not tell to to beware of the leaven of bread, but of the teaching of the Pharisees and Sadducees. (Matthew 16.8-12, emphasis added.)

However, the later rebuke by Jesus of Peter, after Peter's own confession of him at Caesarea Philippi is equally severely negative in both gospels, the dominical saying being virtually the same:
And he began to teach them that the Son of man must suffer many things, and be rejected by the elders and the chief priests and the scribes, and be killed, and after three days rise again. And he said this plainly. And Peter took him, and began to rebuke him. But turning and seeing his disciple, he rebuked Peter, and said, "Get behind me, Satan! For you are not on the side of God, but of men." (Mark 8.31-33)

From that time Jesus began to show his disciples  that he must go to Jerusalem and suffer many things from the elders and chief priests and scribes, and be killed, and on the third day be raised. And Peter took him and began to rebuke him, saying, "God forbid,  Lord! This shall never happen to you." But he turned and said to Peter, "Get behind me, Satan! You are a hindrance to me; for you are not on the side of God, but of men." (Matthew 16.21-23)

But in his text prior to this passion prediction, Matthew does present Peter as much more empowered, and the tone is more favourable:
Now when Jesus came into the district of Caesarea Philippi, he asked his disciples, “Who do men say that the Son of Man is?” And they said, “Some say John the Baptist, others say Elijah, and others Jeremiah or one of the prophets.” He said to them, “But who do you say that I am?” Simon Peter replied, “You are the Christ, the Son of the living God.” And Jesus answered him, “Blessed are you, Simon Bar-Jonah! For flesh and blood has not revealed this to you, but my Father who is in heaven (ou)ranoi~v). And I tell you, you are Peter, and on this rock I will build my church, and the powers of death shall not prevail against it. I will give you the keys of the kingdom of heaven (ou)ranw~n), and whatever you bind on earth shall be bound in heaven (ou)ranoi~v), and whatever you loose on earth shall be loosed in heaven (ou)ranoi~v).” Then he strictly charged the disciples to tell no one  that he was the Christ. (Matthew 16.13-20)
The link here between Peter and 'heaven' qua space, is explicit and purposeful. It helps also to avoid any mistaken conclusion arising from the association Matthew makes between Peter and what the miracle story denotes, acoustic imagination. For The Walking On The Water, does not function in terms of a chreia for Peter, but for another one of the twelve. Peter is clearly for Mark at least, signaled by The Man With The Unclean Spirit. The two references to place (Mark 1.28 (pantaxou~, o(/lhn th\n  peri/xwron); the fact that the miracle occurs both in the synagogue and on the sabbath (v 21); the editing such that Simon Peter's name is mentioned in the first succeeding verse (v 29) of the next pericope; that it is the first of any miracle in this gospel; that it is exorcistic in kind with links to both later exorcisms involving males which distinguish as well as link to it; all of this is a more than generous amount of evidence for the deliberative intent on Mark's part to have it appertain to Peter. Part of the same problem, the absence in Matthew of the single healing narrative which for Mark functions as a chreia for Peter, is why Matthew has Peter involved in the messianic event, when neither Mark nor John do.
Then he made the disciples get into the boat and go before him to the other side, while he dismissed the crowds. And after he had dismissed the crowds, he went up on the mountain by himself to pray. When evening came, he was there alone, but the boat, by this time, was many furlongs distant from the land, beaten by the waves; for the wind was against them. And in the fourth watch of the night he came to them, walking on the sea. But when the disciples saw him walking on the sea, they were terrified, saying, “It is a ghost!” And they cried out for fear. But immediately he spoke to them , saying, “Take heart, it is I; have no fear." (qarsei~te, e)gw/ ei)mi mh\ fobei~sqe)

And Peter answered him, "Lord, if it is you, bid me come to you on the water." He said, "Come." So Peter got out of the boat and walked on the water and came to Jesus; but when he saw the wind, he was afraid, and beginning to sink he cried out, "Lord, save me." Jesus immediately reached out his hand and caught him (Ἰησοῦς ἐκτείνας τὴν χεῖρα ἐπελάβετο αὐτοῦ), saying to him, "O man of little faith (o)ligo/piste), why did you doubt?" And those in the boat worshiped him, saying, "Truly, you are the Son of God." (Matthew14.22-33)

In the synoptic gospels as in John, we frequently see a systematic correlation of a particular disciple with a particular messianic or healing event. This is all the clearer in Mark who has a quota of twelve such episodes. John links Nathanael with the miracle at Cana by contextualisation as well as by the reference 'Nathanael of Cana in Galilee' (John 21.2); similarly, he links both Phillip and Andrew with The Feeding Of The Five Thousand, but it becomes sure that Andrew is the figure more to be associated with that miracle; Mark links Levi with The Man With A Withered Hand; he also links Peter with The Man With An Unclean Spirit, as noted, and as we shall explore in connection with the gospel of Matthew. The link which Matthew makes between Peter and The Walking On The Water is perfectly intelligible as part of the same conscious effort to present the theme of the failure of the disciples in a constructive if realistic manner. It also touches upon certain theological issues surrounding illness and suffering. We find that the healings are sometimes the equivalent of the commissioning of a disciple, as for example in the case of 'Mary called Magdalene, from whom seven demons had gone out' (Luke 8.2b). This is understandable once we grant the likelihood of the role of persons healed in the oral propagation of the event. The schema relating disciple and healing reinforces the nexus between the corpus of twelve healing miracles with the occurrence of that figure in The Feeding Of The Five Thousand, the episode which denotes acoustic memory.

Matthew's recension of the Transcendental messianic miracle endorses this pattern. Since his gospel for whatever reason, lacks the healing episode which would otherwise function relatively to the persona of Peter, a figure of symbolic importance to Matthew, he has instead utilised that particular event which denotes the perceptual analogue of the conceptual form. Peter is to the conceptual form space, what another of the twelve figures is to the perceptual form acoustic imagination. Nevertheless, these two components of consciousness, space as concept and acoustic imagination as perceptual radical, which are inexorably related, will be essential to the meaning of Matthew's gospel.

The species of desire to which acoustic imagination gives rise has been discussed. We referred to it as 'deontic', meaning that its quest is for what is right, just, and true. The term 'juridical' might be equally apposite to describe the kind of appetition which this perceptual form engenders. In the mandala above we can see that its adjoining conceptual form, space, is adjacent to haptic memory, part of whose presentation as foundational to Lukan theology, is conveyed by the use of the expression 'dei~', meaning 'it must be'. I do not mean to muddy the waters by inferring or connoting that constraint applies to deontic appetition. The modes of intentionality which are necessitated by both the conceptual form space, and the perceptual form acoustic imagination, concern the will: they are will simpliciter and knowledge-of-will, respectively. Such components of mind manifestly propose freedom of choice, rather than what is given by the expression dei~, namely constraint. But the immediate contiguity of haptic memory and the conceptual form space, visible in the mandala, and which is parallel to the relation between optic memory and soma for Luke, puts more succinctly than anything can, the uneasy issue at the heart of metaethical theory concerning human acts. Is this not perhaps why Peter, the would be exemplar of the will - its actual model is 'the Son of God - is 'caught' ( e)pela/beto) by Jesus in the miracle? The question emerging from the contiguity of the perceptual form haptic memory and the conceptual form space is if and how human acts are free or determined. Upon it, turns the further metaethical question of human responsibility. Haptic memory, effectively defines determinist accounts of human acts, since it defines erotic desire. It belongs on one side, to the conceptual form space, notwithstanding that this latter, its immediate neighbour, effectively provides for the intentionality of willing rather than desiring. On the other side of the same conceptual form, we find acoustic imagination. Thus two quite distinct perceptual categories border that of the concept, space, the provenance of will,  so germane to Matthew.
Any further exposition of the categories is proper to the discussion of the gospel of Matthew, for whom a primary theme will be the notion of law.

The aconscious belief in the desirability of what is true, just, and right, the inception of faith in deontic desire, occurs in haptic memory, and is resolved in the adjacent conceptual form, space, just as faith in erotic desire has its inception in optic memory, and its resolution in the concept of the body. Thus the source of faith-in-desire for justice is nothing other than what is ostensibly contradictory to the very first presupposition of justice itself: that one is actually wholly freed from constraining influences. But this inception is not the whole story. The actual desire for justice itself, deontic desire itself, is the business of the perceptual category. And it is here that the  perfect analogues are active. If haptic memory is immediately adjacent to space qua conceptual form, then this is only half of the picture. For just as immediately contiguous with it, is the imaginal percept, acoustic memory. This particular form of desire then, is suffused with complexity, because it is galvanised about the relation of will and desire. But at least some of the complexity which surrounds the broader metaethical issues of human accountability is attributable to the organization of these particular components of mind. Elsewhere, they have been distinguished in terms of practical rather than theoretical reason. This means that the psychologies and epistemologies which shape the contours of the gospels of Matthew and Luke, will and knowledge-of-will in the first case, and desire and faith-in-desire in the second, immediately bear upon understanding human actions. In one sense, these are the two most pragmatic of the four gospels. They most clearly address the dilemmas attendant on human accountability; but this is not to divorce practical from theoretical reason, as we see from the following.

The Markan rubric for acoustic imagination, The Boy With An Unclean Spirit (Mark 9.14-28), is contained in Matthew in exactly the same context; immediately after The Transfiguration (Matthew 17.14-21). His version is abbreviated, nevertheless, it sustains the same image of consciousness in which the will itself is visibly operative, and functions in alliance with faith. Its concluding apophthegm compensates for the brevity of the Matthean redaction. The Markan pericope is about twice as long, and dramatically envisions the intentionality of the will in terms of a power and the capacity to action, similarly to what we found in the messianic miracle involving Peter:
And one of the crowd answered him ... and I asked your disciples to cast it out, and they were not able (ou)k i)/sxusan)." And he answered them, "O faithless (a)/pistov) generation, how long am I to be with you? How long am I to bear with you? Bring him to me." Mark 9.17-19)
and Jesus said to him, "If you can! All things are possible to him who believes (to\ e)i du/nh? pa/nta dunata\ tw~? pisteu/onti v 23)

"And I brought him to your disciples, and they could not heal him. " And Jesus answered, "O faithless
(a)/pistov) and perverse generation, how long am I to be with you? How long am I to bear with you? Bring him here to me." (Matthew 17.17)

Then the disciples came to Jesus privately and said, "Why could we not cast it out ( ou)k h)dunh/qhmen e)kbalei~n au)to/)?" He said to them, "Because of your little faith. For Truly, I say to you, if you have faith as a grain of mustard seed, you will say to this mountain, 'Move from here to there,' and it will move; and nothing will be impossible to you." (meta/ba e)/nqen e)kei~ kai\ metabh/setai kai\ ou)de\n a)dunath/sei u(mi~n Matthew 17.19-20)

This story is necessary to a full understanding of the relation between will and belief, which we can legitimately describe as instrumental, analogously to the relation of desire to knowing. Even though it includes many references to belief, it remains a story about the capacity of the will, and more specifically about the knowledge-of-will. It denotes perceptual consciousness, which is announced in the descriptions of the boy as having a 'dumb spirit' (pneu~ma a)/lalon), and Jesus' rebuke of the spirit as '"You dumb and deaf spirit"' (to\ a)/lalon kai\ kwfo\n pneu~ma, vv 17, 25). As brief as the Matthean pericope is, its concluding and hyperbolical, dominical saying is wonderfully true as telling for the conceptual form space, here, place, just as for the intentional mode proper to the same, will, which is denoted by the fact of movement. This contrasts extraordinarily with the image of the boy, rendered rigid and corpse-like by the unclean spirit in Mark (9.18, 26). The miracle story as it exists in Matthew, sorts extraordinarily well theologically with his entire gospel.

The dominical saying in The Walking On The Water,'"It is I"', is often taken as recurring to the revelation of God to Moses in the burning bush which was not consumed by the fire (Exodus 3.14). Its deployment of the verb 'to be', hayah, can be translated variously as 'I am who I am', or 'I will be who I will be', or 'I am who I want to be'. This self-identification of God, almost coterminously with the significance of torah itself, given the context of the story, has for Matthew, a significance which it is hard to overestimate. Our study of that gospel in regard to the doctrine of intentionality has everything to do with will and the knowledge-of-will. But these same modes of intentionality, whose provenances are the conceptual form space and the perceptual acoustic imagination respectively, are also occasions for faith-in-desire and desire respectively. Both of these occasions are fixated on the phenomenon of law. They do not deviate from the original purposes of the intentional forms. Hence we have used the term 'deontic' desire. By this we mean of course, the just, the true, and the right as desiderata. For Matthew, torah, whether we translate it as law, justice, teaching, and so on, always has this sense of the will to truth. Only here, in virtue of the perceptual category, acoustic imagination, it is the object of desire. So then it functions less as subject than  an objective form.


DESIRE AND FAITH-IN-DESIRE IN THE GOSPEL OF JOHN


This gospel is predicated on the conceptual form mind, referred to in the opening hymn as 'the Word', logov. Its analogous perceptual form is that of haptic imagination. The conceptual category is the provenance of the intentional mode belief, and is the canonical occasion of this mode. The perceptual category is responsible for the intentional mode desire-to-know, and likewise, it instantiates this to a canonical degree. But here, we are considering the instances of desire simpliciter and faith-in-desire, so that we are in effect looking at the gospel of John through the eyes of Luke. It is clear from the mandala above that the conceptual category is bounded by the two perceptual radicals haptic imagination and optic imagination; just as we see the haptic imagination itself is bounded by the two conceptual categories, mind, or logos, and space : time. Only one of each of these is involved in the instances of desire and faith-in-desire. In the first case it is the predecessor to haptic imagination. Desire is a conscious intentional process, and all such processes are signified by the relation between analogous categories. In the second case, it is likewise the predecessor to the conceptual radical, which is optic imagination. Faith-in-desire is an aconscious intentional process, and as such, its configuration does not engage analogous categories, but categories which are nevertheless, necessarily immediately contiguous. The same formal patterns for analogous modes, such as conscious desire and aconscious faith-in-desire, ensure the coherence of the theology of semiotic forms. In the acoustic both are expressed by the cadence at the minor third. When the full picture, and the more detailed exposition of the acoustika are understood, this coherence is readily perceptible.

The passage from the conceptual pole qua mind to the perceptual pole qua haptic imagination, is an example of what we mean by a transformative process. As in the above mandala, it is the occasion of kathartic desire. This is that instance of desire, which in a given sense, must be antithetical to desire defined canonically, since haptic memory and haptic imagination, establish highly juxtaposed components of mind, just as soma and logos do. In the temporal analogy available to us, the perceptual categories are equivalent to the night at the winter solstice and at the summer solstice respectively; and the conceptual categories are analogous to the diurnal intervals at this same point of the year. We should keep in mind that they are simultaneous. This puts as well as we need for the moment, the appreciation of the simplicity and the complexity of what is at issue.

The Transfiguration is the classical exposition of haptic imagination, and its presentation of the theme of purity, and kathartic desire, has already been given. John has no such pericope, and that of The Raising Of Lazarus, the last miracle of his gospel, stands in its stead. It is immediately preceded by a brief reference to ' ... the Jordan ... the place where John at first baptized' (John 10.40). The chief means of delivering the same thematic index of haptic imagination in the miracle story is provided by the characters of Martha and Mary. They are not subsidiary to the narrative. They both play substantial roles in what transpires. When the evangelist first mentions Mary, he pre-empts the ensuing scene in the gospel, which is clearly evocative of katharsis:
Now a certain man was ill, Lazarus of Bethany, the village of Mary and her sister Martha. It was Mary who anointed the Lord with ointment and wiped his feet with her hair, whose brother Lazarus was ill. (John 11.1-2)
That event is relayed in the very next chapter, and its opening temporal reference resonates strongly with that of The Transfiguration:
Six days before the Passover, Jesus came to Bethany, where Lazarus was, whom Jesus had raised from the dead. There they made him a supper; Martha served and Lazarus was one of those at table with him. Mary took a pound of costly ointment of pure nard and anointed the feet of Jesus and wiped his feet with her hair; and the house was filled with the fragrance of the ointment. (John 12.1-4)
There is no need to labour the notional presence of desire in the text. It centres the narrative implicitly. The anointing itself alludes to the increasingly imminent death of Jesus, but even so, Mary's action can be read in the light of kathartic desire. In this respect, it is the complement of the first sign in the gospel of John, which also mentioned purification (John 2.6). The anointing at Bethany of course contains a meal, like the miracle at the wedding, and although this gospel has nothing like Luke's interest in such scenes and the theological freight they bear, both events, the anointing and as as such, cleansing of Jesus feet, and the meal which follows, are proleptic of another similar scene in chapter 13, Washing The Disciple's Feet. Luke of course early in his gospel, relates an event comparable to the anointing, The Sinful Woman Forgiven (Luke 7-36-50). That account more noticeably conveys these intentional modes which characterize his gospel. Both chapters 11 and 12 of John explicitly mention belief. The first reference is the passing reference to baptism, with further occurrences throughout the miracle narrative:
And many believed in him ( e(pi/steusan) there. (John 10.42)
Jesus said to her, "I am the resurrection and the life; he who believes in me ( o( pisteu/wn ei)v  e)me\), though he die, yet shall he live, and whoever lives and believes in me ( o( pisteu/wn ei)v  e)me\) shall never die. Do you believe (pisteu/eiv) this?" She said to him, "Yes, Lord, I believe (pepi/steuka) that you are the Christ, the Son of God, he who is coming into the world." (10.25-27)

I knew that thou hearest me always, but I have said this on account of the people standing by, that they may believe ( i(/na pisteu/swsin) that thou didst send me." (v 42)

So the chief priests and the pharisees gathered the council, and said, "What are we to do? For this man performs many signs. If we let him go on thus, every one will believe in him (pisteu/sousin ei)v au)to/n), and the Romans will come and destroy both our holy place and our nation." (11.47-48)
These texts deserve consideration in their own right. That is to say, in terms of the guiding intentional form of the gospel of John, which is belief simpliciter, belief itself, rather than its aconscious formation connecting it to the other Christological form of intentionality, desire. And the relation of faith, which is essential to any understanding of the gospel of John, to the Lukan expression is something that must concern us. But these same Johannine narratives vindicate the presence of the doctrines of intentionality comprehensively given in the gospel of Mark. This doctrine is essential to nothing other than the same theological reality characteristic of John, the Christological doctrine of mind, or logos.

The Raising Of Lazarus is the single text in John, which as a rubric, denotes both Christological elements of consciousness, mind or consciousness itself and haptic imagination. The only other passage we can single out here, is Washing The Disciples' Feet (John 13.1-11). The story comports perfectly with the previous meal scene which followed the final miracle, as if to emphasise the significance of purification vis-a-vis haptic imagination:
[Jesus] ... rose from supper, laid aside his garments, and girded himself with a towel. Then he poured water into a basin, and began to wash the disciples' feet, and to wipe them with the towel with which he was girded. He came to Simon Peter; and Peter said to him, "Lord, do you wash my feet?" Jesus answered him, "What I am doing you do not know now, but afterward you will understand." Peter said to him, You shall never wash my feet." Jesus answered him, "If I do not wash you, you have no part in me. " Simon Peter said to him, "Lord, not my feet only but also my hands and my head!" Jesus said to him, "He who has bathed does not need to wash, except for his feet, but he is clean all over (kaqaro\v o(/lov); and you are clean (u(mei~v kaqaroi/), but not every one of you." For he knew who was to betray him; that was why he said, "You are not all clean (ou)xi\ pa/ntev kaqaroi/ e)ste)." (John 13.4-12)

There remain two instances of the intentionality of both desire simpliciter and faith-in-desire. Before we proceed to these Pneumatological occasions of the same, we should note that what applies a propos of the superordinate and subordinate status of the two polarities in the case of the canonical instance, applies also to all instances. This follows from their canonical status. The principle which regulates the status of either kind, is the location of the category within its class. Each of the four classes of radicals is directed towards an end. This end corresponds to the temporal domain we described as proximal rather than medial or distal. Proximal temporality is nearest to the present and is distinguished by the fact that it borders upon the same. In the case of Luke, the two taxa or classes to which the categories belong, are the categories of actual immanence, perceptual memory, and virtual immanence, conceptual forms of unity. Haptic memory is a member of the class of actually immanent entities, or forms of memory; soma  belongs to the class, conceptual forms of unity. Haptic memory, and the intentional mode conditional upon it, and which instantiates this same canonically, namely, conscious desire, both of these are initial within the taxon. Haptic memory and desire thus configure the remotest or distal past. They originate, but nevertheless do not realize the inherent temporal motive of the class, forms of memory. Acoustic memory and knowing achieve this end. As such, the initial forms of their taxa are subordinate. These are uniformly cuasative or causally efficacious modes of intentionality. The opposite occurs in the class, forms of unity. The initial member here, which forms part of the dyad proper to Mark, is the form of unity space : time. Its consequent mode of intentionality is will-to-believe. Just the conceptual form of unity space : time is subordinate to acoustic memory, so too the will-to-believe is subordinate to knowing. As the final member of the class, forms of unity, the soma, mind : body, configures the proximal past, bordering the present domain. It is superordinate over haptic memory, and so faith-in-desire is superordinate over desire.

This structural pattern occurring in the canonical occasion of both the categories and the modes of intentionality, is determinative for all instances of the latter. All occasions of desire and faith-in-desire, are occasions which recognize the superordinate status of the conceptual form and the subordinate status of the conceptual, whether or not the same is true of the order among the categories and their consequent modes. Thus the relation of acoustic memory and the form of unity space : time, reverses the arrangement of the members of the canonical instance of faith-in-desire and desire. For the perceptual radical, acoustic memory dominates the conceptual category, space : time, just as the intentional mode, knowing, prevails over its aconscious dyad, will-to-believe. But where these analogues are operative for the modes desire and faith-in-desire, they conform to the canonical instance. This is the meaning of canonicity. The principle of temporal entelechy, that each of the four classes of radicals of mind is directed initially from either the remote future or remote past towards the domain of the present, is the principle deeming the superordinate or subordinate status to a member of a dyad and to the mode of intentionality for which it is the sufficient and necessary condition. That particular category which consummates its taxon as temporally bordering upon the present domain, is superordinate in status. The final members of their taxa realize the essential and directional purpose of the same, not the initial or medial members of the same, even though the latter are instrumental to those purposes or aims. Neither the initial, that is distal, members of the taxa, nor their central, that is medial, members possess this superordinate quality. It is the sole property of the final, that is, proximal and cognitive (epistemic) categories as verging on present immediacy which achieve the aims inherent in each of the four taxa. The analogous forms of alternative taxa reverse this order of subordinate-superordinate. Thus each of the four dyads which are the various premises of the four gospels, combine a superordinate and a subordinate category, with their subsequent modes of intentionality organized accordingly. This does not vary throughout the spectrum of any intentional mode.


DESIRE AND FAITH-IN-DESIRE IN THE APOCALYPSE

A proper consideration of the panoply of any of the modes of intentionality, is in its barest outlines hexadic, in virtue of the Christological, that is, hexadic, contours of the categoreal scheme operative within biblical metaphysics. The classical, typological forms of desire and belief-in-desire are obliged therefore to include The Apocalypse in its given relation to the gospels. We have already proposed the fourfold pattern of the gospel(s) as replicated in the four sevenfold series of The Apocalypse, and the interdependence of these five texts, an interdependence supported on both sides, that of the gospel and that of The Apocalypse.The four 'cardinal' instances of desire we have just considered are those which accord with the theological perspectives of the gospels, each in its turn. They are the occasioned by the two Transcendental perceptual radicals, acoustic memory and acoustic imagination, and the two Christological perceptual radicals, haptic memory and haptic imagination. Two instantiations of the intentionality of desire remain; those arising from Pneumatological radicals, optic memory and optic imagination. Of these, the form optic memory is the more closely allied with actual desire, since the other eschatological event arises from the conceptual pole of consciousness. That is to say, the real import of what appears as desire stemming from optic imagination, is the business of will rather than desire, and concerns the corresponding conceptual form, symbolic masculine. Nonetheless, there is a corresponding form of desire. The role of optic sentience for the intentionality of desire is maximal, and the role of the symbolic masculine for the intentionality of will likewise. We have noted that the literature accords to vision a role in the development of desire commensurate with its taxonomical arrangement contiguously with haptic memory. In the second creation story so clearly concerned as it is with the nature of desire, the function of optic sentience is paramount. Its role in the disobedience of the human couple is central, just as it is in their ensuing experience of shame at their nakedness. These ideas were recounted in both introductions to the Christological messianic miracles, which we have just examined.
The first creation story places its two Pneumatologies, those of Day 3 and Day 6, as the last of the events in their respective subsections, heaven and earth. The teleological accent the taxonomy assigned to the conceptual forms, symbolic masculine and symbolic feminine in the P narrative, particularly that of the symbolic feminine, will be resumed in the The Apocalypse. The same contiguity between the conceptual forms space and symbolic masculine, will result in the same necessity to concede to the former the same pattern of initiating the eschatological nature of will as instantiated by the symbolic masculine. Thus these Pneumatological categories, optic memory and the symbolic masculine, are vital to eschatology, for which reason, even though we encounter them often enough in the gospels, we find them never more so pronounced than they are in The Apocalypse.

We have alleged that each of the four quartets of The Apocalypse explicates the eschatology pursuant to the specific theological purposes of each of the four gospels, as these are given in the theology of logos, of which the doctrine of intentionality is an indispensable part. And that the final quartet, beginning with the series of 'vials of the wrath of God' (qia/lav tou~ qumou~), maps the eschatological realities effected by desire and belief-in-desire, since it adopts these Lukan theological premises. We have already given some attention to the ideas conveyed by the word qumo\v. It resonates with the redoubled instance of 'desire' in Luke's account of the Last Supper, and of course with the entire pattern of that gospel as configured around the theme of desire: e)piqumi/a? e)pequ/mhsa (Luke 21.15). Its translation might equally well read 'vials of the passion of God'. Both expressions are cognates of qumo\v - qumo/w: 'anger', 'wrath' - 'to provoke to anger', 'to enrage'.

In each case of conative intentionality, that is, in each occasion of desiring or willing, we see the inseparability of personhood and Godhood. This may seem overtly anthropomorphic, but it rescues Christian theism from any overtly and abstractly bloodless understanding of God. The portrayal of Jesus in Luke so corresponds immediately with that given in the last section of The Apocalypse. Not only do such treatments refuse the image of a deity totally disconnected from all the vagaries of the human condition, of which according to some philosophical-psychological accounts desire is the most determinative, they also provide a basis for grasping the nature of desire itself as emanating from God. This was a conviction which arrived quite late in the historical development of Christian theism, as we shall see, and it is still in process of resolution. The reservations attendant upon attributing to the divine nature anything even resembling desire in its incarnation as sexual desire, in spite of the certain portrayals of Jesus in such terms in both the gospels and the Apocalypse, stem in large measure from a less than nuanced reading of both the second creation story, and The Apocalypse, which is in many respects, its answer. By this, I mean that The Apocalypse recasts the second creation story, and envisions it, or rereads it interpretively through lenses which are historical and prophetic, according to its own primary premises, the categories of the anthropic, as well as those of optic sentince. These are wider concerns than the immediate question of the two remaining theologies of desire. Its revisioning of the J creation narrative recurs to the the sexual psychology of evil proper to the anthropic categories, feminine and masculine. These engender the two most egregious occasions of  sin in the forms of economic desire and militant will, greed and destruction.
Its theodicy recurs to the sexual psychology of evil first adumbrated in the second creation story, which involved both the man and the woman. The serpent, a recurent figure throughout The Apocalypse, is first encountered in the vision of the woman and the dragon, (Apocalypse 12.1-9), which indubitably portrays the feminine in the most positive of lights, a fact to be scored against the figure of the great harlot/the great city. But the latter in itself can be best understood in terms of the eschatology of economic desire.


ECONOMIC DESIRE


Economic desire is driven by the male-female form of unity as a radical and conceptual ingredient in human and animal consciousness. This is the teleological form of desire, which is to say, its eschatological instance. In advance of any charges of misogyny, I repeat categorically that the symbolic feminine consists equally of male and female. The rubric in Genesis 1.27 makes no distinction between male and female, and this text is to be taken together with the second creation story. Thus to read the latter as exclusively equating sexual reproduction with the disobedience of the human couple is completely untenable. The injunction to reproduce was already given unequivocally in the P narrative. The copula of 'male and female' is the operative expression here. I have stressed that immanence is compounded. It is by definition, or criteriologically, relational. Immanent relationality is internal relationality, consisting of the conjunction of two equal relata. The expression 'symbolic feminine' therefore refers in all instances equally to both sexes, and both genders. As such it  implicates the human race in its wholeness, in the ultimate, and ultimately open destiny of the created order, regardless of biological and social or cultural differences. It is necessary to emphasise these points because the image of the 'great harlot' in the last section of The Apocalypse, and not simply this figure
alone, has drawn much censure on the book as a whole, which as exegesis, approaches willful misinterpretation. 'Harlotry' in the first place, requires the participation of the male, assuming of course that a female prostitute is involved, and that the prostitution itself involves heterosexual desire. Such as these presuppositions usually remain without either investigation or contention. Nevertheless, I shall argue that the archetypal evil of the 'symbolic feminine' has to do with disordered economic desire, and that it is linked to violence and destruction as to the masculine archetypal form of evil, destruction. I shall put also that this symbolically masculine evil, which rages against the created order, is addressed in every measure as roundly and judgementally as the feminine form. The first picture we have of the 'great harlot' immediately succeeds the series of vials of God's passion:
Then one of the seven angels who had the seven bowls came and said to me, "Come, I will show you the judgement of the great harlot who is seated upon many waters, with whom the kings of the earth have committed fornication, and with the wine of whose fornication the dwellers on earth have become drunk." And he carried me away in the Spirit into a wilderness, and I saw a woman sitting on a scarlet beast which was full of blasphemous names, and it had seven heads and ten horns. The woman was arrayed in purple and scarlet, and bedecked with gold and jewels and pearls, holding in her hand a golden cup full of abominations and the impurities of her fornication; and on her forehead was written a name of mystery: "Babylon the great mother of harlots and of the earth's abominations." And I saw the woman, drunk with the blood of the saints and the blood of the martyrs of Jesus. (Apocalypse 17.1-6)
Here, as at Apocalypse 18.3, 9, 'committed fornication' ( e)po/rneusan) may be rendered 'practised idolatry', although the feminine typology of these descriptions is pronounced. What such idolatry must amount to, is an ideological stance towards wealth itself that supplants the inherent function of 'faith-in-desire'. Thus faith is necessarily involved in what I am contending is the feminine form of evil. The sin of harlotry reverts not to sexual desire as such, but to economic desire of an order that is essentially irreligious to an egregious extent. The images we have of the 'great harlot' from chapter 18, confirm this interpretation. The chapter is cited here in full:
After this I saw another angel coming down from heaven, having great authority; and the earth was made bright with his splendor. And he called out with a mighty voice, "Fallen, fallen is Babylon the great! It has become a dwelling place of demons, a haunt of every foul spirit, a haunt of every foul and hateful bird; for all nations have drunk the wine of her impure passion, and the kings of the earth have committed fornication with her, and the merchants of the earth have grown rich with the wealth of her wantonness." ( oi( basilei~v th~v gh~v met' au)th~v e)por/neusan kai\ oi( e)/mporoi th~v gh~v e)k th~v duna/mewv tou~~ strh/nouv au)th~v e)pllou/thsan Apocalypse 18.1-3)

Then I heard another voice from heaven saying, "Come out of her, my people, lest you take part in her sins, lest you sahre in her plagues, for her sins are heaped high as heaven, and God has remembered her iniquities. Render to her as she herself has rendered, and repay her double for her deeds; mix a double draught for her in the cup she mixed ( a)po/dote au)th~? w(v kai\ au)th\ a)pe/dwken kai\ diplw/sate ta\ dipla~ kata\ ta\ ee)/rga au)th~v, e)n tw~? pothri/w? w(~? e)ke/rasen kera/sate au)th~? diplou~n).
As she glorified herself and played the wanton, so give her a like measure of torment and mourning (tosou~ton do/te au)th? basanismo\n kai\ pe/nqov). Since in her heart she says, 'A queen I sit, I am no widow, mourning I shall never see,' so shall her plagues come in a single day, pestilence and mourning and famine, and she shall be burned with fire; for mighty is the Lord God who judges her." (vv 4-8)

And the kings of the earth, who committed fornication with her, will weep and wail over her when they see the smoke of her burning; they will stand far off, in fear of her torment, and say, "Alas! Alas! Thou great city, thou mighty city, Babylon! In one hour has thy judgement come."And the merchants of the earth (Kai\ oi( e)/mporoi  th~v gh~v) weep and mourn for her, since no one buys their cargo any more, cargo of gold, silver, jewels and pearls, fine linen, purple, silk and scarlet, all kinds of scented wood, all article of ivory, all article of costly wood, bronze, iron and marble, cinnamon, spice, incense, myrrh, frankincense, wine, oil, fine flour and wheat, cattle and sheep, horses and chariots, and slaves, that is, human souls (swma/twn, kai\ yuxa\v a)nqrw~pwn)."The fruit for which thy soul longed has gone from thee, and all thy dainties and thy splendor are lost to thee, never to be found again!" The merchants of these wares, who gained wealth from her (Oi( e)/mporoi tou/twn plouth/santev a)p au)th~v a)po\ makro/qen), will stand far off, in fear of her torment, weeping and mourning aloud, "Alas, alas, for the great city that was clothed in fine linen, in purple and scarlet, bedecked with gold, with jewels, and with pearls! In one hour all this wealth ( o( tosout~ov plou~tov) has been laid waste." (vv 9-17a)

And all shipmasters and seafaring men, sailors and all whose trade ( o(/soi th\n qa/lassan e)rga/zontai) is on the sea, stood far off and cried out as they saw the smoke of her burning, "What city was like the great city?" And they threw dust on their heads as they wept and mourned, crying out "Alas, alas, for the great city where all who had ships at sea grew rich by her wealth ( e)n h)~? e)plou/thsan pa/ntev oi( e)/xontev ta\ ploi~a e)n th~? qala/ssh?)! In one hour she has been laid waste. Rejoice over her, O heaven, O saints and apostles and prophets, for God has given judgement for you against her!" (vv 17b-20)

Then a mighty angel took up a stone like a great millstones and threw it into the sea, saying, "So shall Babylon the great city be thrown down with violence and shall be found no more
; and the sound of harpers and minstrels, of flute players and trumpeters, shall be heard in thee no more; and a craftsman of any craft shall be found in thee no more; and the sound of the millstone shall be heard in thee no more; and the light of a lamp shall shine in thee no more; and the voice of the bridegroom and bride shall be heard in thee no more; for thy merchants were the great men of the earth ( o(i e)/mporoi sou h)~san oi( megista~nev th~v gh~v), and all nations were deceived by thy sorcery. An in her was found the blood of prophets and of saints, and of all who have been slain on earth." (vv 21-24)
The inventories given here are not of sexual sins. They are lists of tradeable commodities, the stuff of commerce, and notably include the bodies and souls of human persons (swma/twn, kai\ yuxa\v a)nqrw~pwn). So too, the metaphor of the harlot cedes to the image of Babylon the great city as trading post. This text completes the eschatology of desire/faith-in-desire, which initiated  the last of the clearly demarcated four sevenfold series, the series of bowls of God's wrath (fia/lav tou~ qumou~ tou~ qeou~). In claiming that the main target of the apocalyptist's eschatology of desire concerns the economic rather than the erotic, I mean to suggest the possibility of an implicit reference to thwarted erotic desire, or 'sublimated' desire; sexual desire degraded and converted into economic desire, for one reason or another. In this event, desire has shifted from its radically ontogenetic status, and is in process of assuming the status of a collective consciousness. The final portrait of such economic desire in The Apocalypse shows it as a global phenomenon. This allows for the possibility of fornication qua idolatry; the totalising false belief system of entire groups of people which supplants 'orthodoxy', true praise, true worship. It is this tendency which earns its condemnation. Economism thus understood is a force majeure, a principle of evil on a virtually cosmic or metaphysical scale. It runs counter to the claims of truest religion as these concern issues of social justice. Both historically and prophetically The Apocalypse portrays such economism as counterfeit religion. In speaking of 'economism', I mean not only to allow for the idea of a belief system galvanised by false, that is, ideological, desire, but also for the central theodicean strain in that book.
My point is that a constructed secular framework of ideological neutrality and religious tolerance will no longer be adequate to contain these [powerful religious currents and communities]. It will be necessary for there to be a substantive, not merely a formal pluralism, an interactive pluralism which will eventually change the participants. In the terms proposed by systems theory: no one of the many functional subsystems which make up a society will be able to define and represent this unstable whole, neither one of the religions nor one of the dominant ideologies. No such totalising system could thematise the emergent whole and make a plausible claim to be normative for it. The only social subsystem that has come close to achieving this is the market, with economics as its ‘theology’ and all-pervading ‘economism’ as its normative value. The poverty of such a scenario was brutally exposed by the global financial crisis of 2008-2009, and it is manifested in a different way as China rises to global economic prominence while denying and suppressing the spiritual heritage of its great religious traditions. (John D'Arcy May, The Globalisation of Theology, pp 8-9)

ETHNIC DESIRE - ETHNIC WILL

The introduction of a conceptual mode if intentionality, namely will, here, within the discussion of desire, a perceptual mode, is necessary if we are to incorporate The Apocalypse as accounting for the full range of generic and conative forms of intentionality. The lot of the apocalyptist is in many ways unenviable, as was that of the author of the J creation narrative, since it falls to the purpose of such authors to explicate the existence of evil. Such a purpose surely follows from the conceptual categoreal focus of The Apocalypse; both anthropic categories, symbolic masculine and symbolic feminine. The clear connection between economic desire and the symbolic feminine has just been noted. Were we to seek a single byword for what the author regards as the feminine form of evil, it would be quite simply 'greed'. We have just observed how the notion of lust functions as a trope for avarice, most plainly in lines such as:

"... the kings of the earth have committed fornication with her, and the merchants of the earth have grown rich with the wealth of her wantonness." (Apocalypse 18.3)
It is less the phenomenon of insatiate sexual desire than it is of insatiate economic desire, which motivates if not the theological animus of the author, then his concerns for the injustices in the world order to which this specific form of desire gives rise. The typological-theological gravitas that accrues to the symbolic feminine, therefore can hardly be overestimated. But effectively this is less a matter of the conceptual category, symbolic feminine, than it is of the equivalent, that is, analogous, perceptual form, optic sentience. Optic memory establishes the realm of economic desire. The situation for the corresponding eschatology, the eschatology driven by the conceptual form symbolic masculine and its equivalent, optic imagination, is clearly equally dire, if not direr still. For the typologically masculine form of evil, which pervades the book, just as it pervaded Ezekiel, is that of murder, once again, on a global level, which is to say, warfare. The first portent we had of this was in the story of Cain and Abel, immediately pursuant to the the second creation narrative, Genesis 4.1-16. Thus the stories of the creation of man and woman, and their disobedience in the garden of Eden, and the story of Cain and Abel are to be read in tandem, and as prefatory to the theodicean project of this last book of the canon.

Even though the messianic miracle expounding optic imagination, The Stilling Of The Storm, presents the latter in terms that discernibly endorse the conceptual equivalent, given under the Day 3 rubric of the 'gathering together of the waters', and the division of plants into two distinct types, this last of the pure conceptual forms in the creation taxonomy, the symbolic masculine, rather than its perceptual counterpart, completes the full gamut of conative intentionality. The same rubric is evoked immediately prior to the description of the two beasts, the beast from the sea (Apocalypse 13.1s) and the beast from the earth (13.11s), which I have identified with these categories of symbolic masculine and symbolic feminine in their eschatological aspects:

Then I saw another mighty angel coming down from heaven, wrapped in a cloud, with a rainbow over his head, and his face was like the sun, and his legs like pillars of fire. He had a little scroll open in his hand. And he set his right foot on the sea, and his left foot on the land ... And the angel whom I saw standing on sea and land lifted up his right hand ... (Apocalypse 10.1s)
Conative intentionality which is ethnocentric in both its rudimentary ideation and ideological content, results from the conceptual form symbolic masculine; that centre of consciousness responsible for collective identity, however paradoxically. In itself this is not inherently or innately evil. If it were, the apocalyptist could hardly engage the ideas proper to the fourfold formula 'tribe and tongue and people and nation' (Apocalypse 5.9 et passim), without self-contradiction or disingenuousness. The notion of the tribe is essential to the meaning of the sixth seal (Apocalypse 6.12-7.8). Even so, in The Apocalypse its manifestly eschatological role appears, in general terms as generative of warfare. And this is of course anything but benign. The kinds of ethnic cleansing and genocidal warfare which reached a peak during the last century, remain attributable typologically and eschatologically to the conceptual form symbolic masculine. The twentieth century began with genocidal pogroms against the Armenians, members of a nation that can lay claim to having been the first country to make Christianity its state religion circa 294 C.E..

The Dragon is not introduced until after the last of the trumpets (Apocalypse 11.15s). Immediately following the description of the 'woman clothed with the sun, with the moon under her feet, and on her head a crown of twelve stars ... with child', 'the great red dragon with seven heads, and ten horns, and seven diadems upon his heads' is seen (Apocalypse 12). He is linked with 'war in heaven':
Now war arose in heaven (Kai\ e)ge/neto po/lemov e)n tw~? ou)ranw~?), Michael and his angels fighting against the dragon; and the dragon and his angels fought, but they were defeated, and there was no longer any place for them in heaven. And the great dragon was thrown down, that ancient serpent, who is called the Devil and Satan, the deceiver of the whole world, he was thrown down to the earth, and his angels were thrown down with him. (Apocalypse 12.7-9)

Then the dragon was angry with the woman, and went off to make war on the rest of her offspring, on those who keep the commandment s of God and bear testimony to Jesus. And he stood on the sand of the sea. (Apocalypse 12.17).
That the Dragon is connected in the first instance with heaven rather than earth, tells for the transcendent status of the conceptual form, symbolic masculine. But this status is tenuous, due to the innate paradox of the symbolic masculine, which is summed up in the fact that the 'earth' is created within the first half three of the creation series, containing three Days, rather than the second half, which contains four, precisely because this initial or 'beginning' half of the series in particular, is emblematic of transcendence, or, so to speak, heaven rather than earth.

If we had to choose between which of the two archetypal forms of evil, the symbolic feminine or the symbolic masculine is of most concern to the apocalyptist, it would necessarily be the former. That said, we should repeat also that the perceptual form which answers to the symbolic feminine, optic memory, rather than the symbolic feminine itself, is the main target of the eschatology of The Apocalypse. So of course, it is desire in one case, optic memory, and will in the other, symbolic masculine, which establish the most basic parameters of Christian eschatology. The business of explicating the propensity of the conceptual form symbolic masculine falls to Ezekiel. I have argued that the symbolic masculine is coterminous with the expression 'Son of man', an expression occurring  an inordinate number of times in Ezekiel, where it identifies the speaker-writer himself, namely, Ezekiel. This it does preparatory to its function in the gospels and The Apocalypse (1.13).


THE EUCHARIST AND DESIRE

There is no escaping the fact that the primary meaning of the immanent Christological messianic event, Transformation of Water Into Wine, is the phenomenon of sexual love. That this bears upon any interpretation for the Eucharist is equally inevitable. And surely the gospel of John supports such in its description of the dead Christ, The Piercing of Jesus' Side:
So the soldiers came and broke the legs of the first, and of the other who had been crucified with him; but when they came to Jesus and saw that he was already dead, they did not break his legs. But one of the soldiers pierced his side with a spear, and at once there came out blood and water. He who saw it has borne witness - his testimony is true, and he knows that he tells the truth - that you also may believe. (John 19.32-35)
Here of course the elements are water and blood rather than water and wine; and they are separated so as to be identifiable rather than one being changed into the other. But the alliance of desire and death, especially sexual desire and death, reinforces the relationship already given in both the form and content of the Christological miracles, of the two sacraments which they recall. So too the references to blood and water in this description of the death of Jesus must be taken in relation to a Johannine theology of the sacraments of the Eucharist and baptism respectively. No matter how subtle it may seem, the startling comment of Jesus concerning 'my hour' in the first Christological miracle was precursory to just such. John's record of the death of Jesus thus  links both sacraments conformably to the certain alliance of the Sabbath and Eucharist and equally to that of Christ-Thanatos and Christ-Eros. Of course John lacks a formal account of the institution of the Eucharist of the kind that we find elsewhere in the New Testament. Scholars of various persuasions are likely to associate The Feeding of The Five Thousand with a Johannine understanding of the Eucharist, especially when reading the extended passage  John 6.41-71, which, for example, contains:
"I am the living bread which came down from heaven; if any one eats of this bread, he will live for ever; and the bread which I shall give for the life of the world is my flesh ( h( sa/rc)." (John 6.51)
But these same scholars less frequently make a connection between the miracle involving wine and the Eucharist, in spite of the fact that without it, very much less than a Eucharist results. Nor is the citation about Jesus' death often enough understood in its sacramental aspect. The texts following John's account of that second Eucharistic miracle, a theology of the immanence of Transcendence, which sustain this are numerous:
"For the bread of God is that which comes down from heaven, and gives life to the world." (John 6.33)

Jesus said to them, "I am the bread of life; he who comes to me shall not hunger, and he who believes in me shall never thirst." (6.35)

"I am the living bread which came down from heaven; if any one eats of this bread, he will live for ever; and the bread which I shall give for the life of the world is my flesh." (6.51)

So Jesus said to them, "Truly, truly, I say to you, unless you eat the flesh of the Son of man and drink his blood, you have no life in you; he who eats my flesh and drinks my blood has eternal life, and I will raise him up at the last day. For my flesh is food indeed, and my blood is drink indeed. He who eats my flesh and drinks my blood abides in me and I in him. As the living Father sent me, and I live because of the Father, so he who eats me will live because of me. This is the bread which came down from heaven, not such as the fathers ate and died; he who eats this bread will live for ever." (6.53-57)

This suite of dominical sayings puts paid to any contention that there is no Eucharistic theology in the fourth gospel. More importantly, it depicts the Eucharist in terms of intentionality in league with the Markan recapitulation of the second and third feeding events, the two miracles of loaves. If the six messianic miracles are as we have avowed, a theology of the two radical sense-percipient modes of intentionality, desire and knowing, and of their aconscious counterparts, the desire-to-know and knowledge-of-will, what is contained in these pericopae completes that project. It articulates what was already adumbrated in the J creation narrative, the desire to be as God; the desire to live eternally.

Is this not a primal and instinctual longing, even in cases of persons who are closest to death, which itself can be desired as release from suffering? The same yearning, the same desire, is to the Eucharist as is sexual love and its concomitant form of desire to the miracle. And just as truly, of all three episodes which the immanent messianic miracle expound, namely the three sense-percipient forms of memory, the haptic, given pride of place in the messianic series in virtue of its Christological status, surely deserves the metaphor of miracle as well as that of assimilation. The Eucharist-Sabbath relationship supports the attribution of the desire to live and never die, consonantly with the Sabbath rest which Hebrews understands vis-a-vis death. Moreover, it contextualises the Eucharist relatively not only to the P creation narrative, but also to the J story, however nuanced this may seem regarding an aetiology of death. Throughout this hermeneutic we are emphasising the Eucharist in relation to the P story of beginning rather than in relation to the Passover, due to the logical relation of that story with the messianic series, although the latter comparison too, also emphatically engages the concept of deliverance from death. But we must also realise the connection the Eucharistic theologies of the messianic series has to the J creation narrative involving the first human couple, along with its obvious reference to Eros.


It is essential to philosophical psychology to note desire as occasioned specifically by the actual Eucharistic mode(s), smell-taste. In the above overview of the radical/categoreal forms of desire we included only those six which are instantiated by the six miracle stories, having left the Eucharist out of account. But of course the three immanent messianic miracles, which are normative for the perceptual conscious order, pre-empt the Eucharist. What applies to them, namely a form of desire instantiated by a specific mode of sense-percipience, applies also to the Eucharist. In that the Eucharist is the centre of gravity for the feeding miracles, the specific longing or desire to avoid death, must be deemed as foundational to desire itself. Or, what is the same thing, actual desire itself would seem to be grounded in the desire for eternal life. This has ramifications for a Christian theology of sexual desire. We shall explore these  propositions further in the sections dealing with the two miracles of loaves.

The recapitulation of the two miracles of loaves, theologies of the immanence of Transcendence and of the Holy Spirit, in Mark 8.14-2, with its incipient mention of 'one loaf with them in the boat', brings to Eucharistic theological discourse as also to Christian philosophical psychology, the fact of taste-smell as an original and primal source of both knowing and appetition, that is, desire. This pericope stresses 'perceiving' and 'understanding', hence knowing. But John's own theological commitment to an immanent Christological sacramental event, that is to Christ-Eros in the Eucharist, on the other hand, is largely predicated on the intentionality of desire, just as Luke's is. The unspoken premise in his extended Eucharistic discourse following The Feeding Of the Five Thousand, which appears to end on a note strongly reminiscent of the presentation of the intentionality of desire in Luke as far as its defining property of constraint is concerned, is that one should desire life for ever; that as individuals, we should wish to never die. (We noticed the same idea at the heart of his story of Lazarus, in the exchange between Jesus and Martha, who wants this if not for herself, then for her brother.) Thus John like Luke, roundly commends to us a Eucharistic theology at the heart of which sits a theology of the intentionality of desire. But if this is the case, it is because his gospel is itself directed by the categories of mind and haptic imagination, and hence the phenomena of faith and desire as radical modes of consciousness, and because the gospel of Luke is governed by the categories of soma and haptic memory, and hence desire simpliciter and faith-in-desire.



EUCHARIST AND BAPTISM IN RELATION TO INTENTIONALITY



We began this chapter with the heading 'Baptism and Eucharist : Transfiguration and Transformation', the purpose of which we can now realize. A series of binary constructs exists which can serve as synonymous with the two great sacraments of the Christian tradition. The cue for reading the sacraments in this way depends as much upon the Days series, that is, upon the conceptual polarity of consciousness, as upon the messianic series, that is, its perceptual pole. The messianic miracles which initiate and consummate that series are of course Transformation of Water into Wine and Transfiguration. We have discovered in the content of the narratives as well as their morphology, congruent with that of the creation series, more than sufficient evidence to vouch for the fact that these two episodes form that particular binary of the messianic series which is indubitably Christological. Semantically, that is, as far as the theology of semiotic forms is concerned, these miracles denote haptic memory and haptic imagination respectively. Of them, the former is clearly the more important. Just so, they are concurrent with the Christological events from the Days of creation, Days 1 and Day 4, which denote mind and mind : body according to the hermeneutic. And here, the former is the more important. This hermeneutic determines the actually conceptual and transcendent entity mind analogously the perceptual category of virtual transcendence, haptic imagination; and the perceptual category of actual immanence, haptic imagination analogously to the conceptual categoreal of virtual immanence, mind : body. This means that the character of haptic imagination is in some way both highly similar and yet secondary to that of mind, and that the character of the soma or mind : body is likewise, relatively to haptic memory. In any event, the categories which are normative, and conscious, are those of mind as per transcendence and haptic memory as for immanence.

Clearly the Eucharist as it stands in the gospels, is to be understood in keeping the feeding miracles, including of course, the first, which involves wine. (The account of The Institution of the Lord's Supper in Paul (1 Corinthians 23-25) is invaluable; but it lacks the overarching and far-reaching context supplied not only by the theology of 'end', the messianic miracles, but equally, that of 'beginning', the Days with which they are isomorphic.) Eucharist and baptism are inseparably linked, not just by the Johannine Christologies and the record of Jesus' death in John's gospel, but by means of the logical presentation of the two sets of themes which cluster about the seventh events in the two series. In the P and J narratives of creation these are the conceptual pole of consciousness as a whole, or mind, and death or Thanatos. In the gospels they are Eros, the Eucharist, and the Christological miracles. But it is almost impossible to finally distinguish the two. The theology of immanence is plainly numerically distinguished from that of transcendence in either case. The last four days comprise a 'half' of the P creation narrative, corresponding to the figure 'earth' of the introductory inclusio. The Sabbath event, described in that narrative in terms of rest, certainly belongs to this second half. In the New Testament the theme of God's rest Hebrews 3.7-4.11 will deal with it comprehensively. We have also taken the J narrative of the consumption of the forbidden fruit as encompassed by the Sabbath.

The lack of any explicit reference to baptism in the Day 1 rubric is more than compensated for in The Transfiguration, its analogue. This is so for every one of the three accounts:
And a cloud overshadowed them, and a voice came out of the cloud, "This is my beloved Son; listen to him." And suddenly looking around they no longer saw anyone with them but Jesus only. (Mark 9.7-8)

He was still speaking, when  lo, a bright cloud overshadowed them, and a voice from the cloud said, "This is my beloved Son, with whom I am well pleased; listen to him." (Matthew 17.5)


As he said this, a cloud came and overshadowed them; and they were afraid as they entered the cloud. And a voice came out of the cloud, saying, "This is my Son my Chosen; listen to him!" And when the voice had spoken, Jesus was found alone. And they kept silence and told no one in those days anything of what they had seen. (Luke 9.34-36)

Each case these accounts tally with those of Jesus' baptism in virtue of his identity:
In those days Jesus came from Nazareth of Galilee and was baptized by John in the Jordan. And when he came up out of the water, immediately he saw the heavens opened and the Spirit descending upon him like a dove; and a voice came from heaven, "Thou art my beloved Son, with thee I am well pleased." (Mark 1.9-11)

And when Jesus was baptized, he went up immediately from the water, and behold the heavens were opened, and he saw the Spirit of God descending like a dove, and alighting on him; and lo, a voice from heaven, saying, "This is my beloved Son, with whom I am well pleased." (Matthew 3.16-17)

Now when all the people were baptized, and when Jesus also had been baptized and was praying, the heaven was opened, and the Holy Spirit descended upon him in bodily form, as a dove, and a voice came from heaven, "Thou art my beloved Son; with thee I am well pleased." (Luke 3.21-22)
In Matthew's gospel the words ascribed to the voice are identical on both occasions except for the command given during the Transfiguration '"... listen to him."' Where in these narratives is the theme of death and so death qua rest given the hermeneutic of the Sabbath 'rest' in Hebrews? We have seen already that the Lukan account of The Transfiguration in particular emphasises the notion of departure-death. In Mark the same meaning is achieved by the placement of the first passion prediction just prior to the miracle, and arguably by the healing which ensues, since it involves a boy whose exorcism includes the description:
And after crying out and convulsing him terribly, it came out, and the boy was like a corpse; so that most of them said, "He is dead." (Mark 9.26).
Matthew and Luke follow suit in regard to both the antecedent and subsequent pericopae and also follow Mark's placement of the second passion prediction, which follows the healing of the boy. Only, Mark's healing miracle story alone contains the graphic similitude between his illness and death.

The Johannine  narrative of Jesus' baptism we have already noted, bears little comparison with the synoptic accounts, except for the Spirit 'as a dove from heaven' descending and remaining on Jesus (John 1.32-33). But the last of the signs in John, The Raising of Lazarus (11.1-44) which is comparable in so many respects with the last of the messianic miracles, Transfiguration, centres on death and resurrection. Given that part of Jesus' title in all three accounts of The Transfiguration contains the epithet 'beloved' ( a)gaphto/v), and that the repetition of the definite article allows for the reading 'my Son, my (or the) Beloved', there is something of a parallel between Jesus himself and Lazarus in the introduction of the latter to us by Martha and Mary:
So the sisters sent to him, saying, "Lord, he whom you love is ill." ( ku/rie, i)/de o(\n filei~v a)sqenei~ John 11.3).
John adds:
Now Jesus loved Martha and her sister and Lazarus. ( h)g/pa de\ o( I)hsou~v th\n Ma/rqan kai\ th\n a)delqh\n au)th~v kai\ to\n La/zaron John 11.5)
This amplifies the compass of Jesus' love since the later depiction of his anointing by Mary, even though it is not as sensuous as the Lukan parallel, is nevertheless erotically charged. The same link between Eros and Thanatos is audible in the overtones of Jesus' reply to Judas after the anointing, a link which we glimpsed formerly in the first miracle narrative containing Jesus' riposte to his mother at the wedding. Only here the rebuke is of a different order to that on the first occasion due to the role of Judas in his death:
Jesus said, "Let her alone, let her keep it for the day of my burial. The poor you always have with you, but you do not always have me." (John 12.7-8)
In accord with this, is ample evidence of the link between baptism and death in the New Testament apart from the gospels. But we need to focus our attention here on the relation between the Christologies of the messianic series, and those of the creation series, and the relation of such texts to the two sacraments basic to the life and worship of the Christian community. Another facet of commonality between the last sign in John and the last of the messianic miracles can be read if we extend the former to include the narrative of the anointing. This will occasion no great exegetical effort since Lazarus himself is still the subject of a pericope, The Plot Against Lazarus, (John 12.9-11) which is placed after The Anointing at Bethany (John 121-8). The latter begins:
Six days ( e(\c h9merw~n) before the Passover, Jesus came to Bethany where Lazarus was, whom Jesus had raised from the dead. (John 12.1)
The temporal phrase is too reminiscent of the introduction to the Transfiguration to ignore. In that context it notably recurs to the creation series. We have already examined in some detail the clear-cut analogy between the last messianic sign and the first of the Days rubrics. The miracle story announces the category haptic imagination as an ingredient of perceptual consciousness, and the canonical instance of the intentional mode, desire-to-know; the creation rubric announces the category mind as a radical component in the conceptual polarity of consciousness, and the canonical instance of the intentional mode belief. The two Christological miracles involve transmutation. In just which respect they portray the binary disposition of consciousness itself, its processive nature and its cleavage into perceptual and conceptual poles, as outlined in the messianic miracle series and Day series respectively. Such polarisation conforms in every regard to the binary constructs which pervade the gospel of John, and echoes of which we find elsewhere in the New Testament, in Hebrews for example. We found the same at the beginning of the first sign in the motif of '"... the angels of God ascending and descending upon the Son of man."' (John 1.51). But it prevails before this in the hymn to the logos: 'The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it." (John 1.5). In accordance with the deployment of both binaries, light-darkness and day-night, which not only begin the two halves of the creation narrative, the Christologies of Day 1 and Day 4, but which also underscore the entire narrative since it depends on the same for the discrete categorisation of its serial forms, John also utilises the day-night binary. It is introduced in chapter 3: "Now there was a man of the Pharisees, named Nicodemus, a ruler of the Jews. This man came to Jesus by night and said to him ..." (John 3.1-2a). Its more effective deployment however, occurs in the last two signs, of which the first is The Healing of a Man Born Blind:
Jesus answered, "It was not that this man sinned, or his parents, but that the works of God might be made manifest in him. We must work the works of him who sent me while it is day; night comes, when no one can work. As long as I am in the world I am the light of the world." (John 9.4-5)
In the next miracle narrative the same motif recurs:
Jesus answered, "Are there not twelve hours in the day? If any one walks in the day, he does not stumble, because he sees the light of this world. But if any one walks in the night, he stumbles, because the light is not in him." (John 11.9-10)
Both pericopae include other references to the notion of a day: the man born blind  is healed on the Sabbath day (John 9.14); the detail of Lazarus' lying dead in the tomb for four days is twice given (John 11.17 and verse 39); and  '... when he [Jesus] heard that he was ill, he [Jesus] stayed two days longer in the place where he was' (John 11.6); as well as Martha's response to Jesus' promise of the resurrection - 'Martha said to him, "I know that he will rise again in the resurrection at the last day."' ( e)n th~? e)sxa/th? h(me/ra? John 11.24). None of this is at all surprising once we acknowledge that both The Transfiguration and the last of the Johannine signs have everything to do with time itself.

Further examples of John's use of binary constructs are manifold:
Insofar as Johannine theology invokes the triadic logic of the P creation narrative, with the description of the first and Christological member of its three binaries, that of the polarity of polarities light/darkness : day-night, the most important, any mention of 'dualism' tout court is insufficient and misleading. We shall address the reasons how this is so in the discussion of the acoustic semiosis which belongs to the treatment of the gospel of Mark. For the acoustic semiosis elaborates the structural logic of the P creation story, which we might well expect in view of the fact that its predominant sense-percipient focus is speaking/hearing.

That semiosis, like the optic, is radically binary. The peripheries of the latter are usually referred to as red and blue; alternatively we speak of warm and cool colours in lay terms. Nomenclature makes little difference here, for the visible spectrum has a beginning and an end. So too do the acoustika. Pitch is relative, and each pitch in relation to all others is either higher or lower. In the discussion of the gospel of Mark we shall argue that this disposition is analogous to the most radical of the various binary dispositions of the twelve categories, and that the conceptual is analogous to the pitches which in relative terms are descending, and that the perceptual is analogous to those which are ascending. Unlike the optika, the acoustika as disclosed in the Transcendental feeding miracle, The Feeding of The Five Thousand, readily configure this gestalt, the entire twelve categories of Christian epistemology-psychology. They are referred to in the number of 'baskets full of remaining portions'. The meaning of this fragmentation will concern us once we grant the ecclesiological relevance of the Transcendental Eucharistic miracle, and its germaneness to the psychology of identity.
 


We can now consider two clusters or constellations which appear to act as both cause and effect of the first order bipolarity of mind, its simple apparent sectioning into conceptual and perceptual poles, but bearing in mind always the postulates of the Christological miracle stories, which affirm the transmutative processes between these two poles. The conceptual is aligned with baptism-Thanatos-logos; the perceptual is aligned with Eucharist-Eros-mythos. (The terms Eros and Thanatos in these clusters allude to the Christological miracle narratives. But that does not preclude the sense-percipient mode of knowing, a perceptual form of intentionality, from the theology of the Eucharist anymore that it proscribes the conceptual mode willing, from the way in which the narratives of Jesus' baptism and transfiguration must be sources of a theology of baptism. Indeed if we are to include the obvious connection The Feeding Of The Five Thousand must have with the Eucharist, it will be essential to acknowledge what was already implicit in the first of any biblical narrative concerning eating, that of the second , the J creation narrative, in which this act of the man and woman, disobediently to the divine command, results in 'knowledge of good and evil', rendering them 'like Gods' - LXX  w(v qeoi\.)

If we accept that the first and last events of the messianic miracle series are precisely Christological, there is no justification for treating either in isolation from the other, and this assures every need to consider  the two complexes in conjunction. Of these, that of baptism which demands in its wake the discussion of Thanatos-logos, is proper to the gospel of John. Luke's idiomatic preoccupation with the theologies of desire and faith-in-desire, entails that the relation of Eucharistic miracles to Eucharist, and hence that of Eros to mythos are of more importance than the alternative. Even so, we cannot avoid here some mention of the applicability of the alternative to what we are seeking. The Eucharist as related to the three Eucharistic miracles must countenance the various forms of intentionality which these occasion; desire, knowing and the hybrid mode desiring-and-knowing. The simple conative mode, desire, we are in the process of expounding. We have seen that each of the six perceptual categories in turn evinces a specific and rudimentary expression of desire, susceptible of identification. That the erotic is the canonical occasion of what is meant by desire means simply that of the entire range of such expressions, it alone is the most characteristic of this one form of intentionality. But it is The Transfiguration narrative, and Luke's version of the same, to which we will first turn to further define the link between the Eucharistic miracles and the Eucharist proper. That account renders the identification of Jesus by 'the Father' thus:

And a voice came out of the cloud saying, "This is my Son, my Chosen (ou(~tov e)stin o( ui(ov mou o( e)klelegme/nov, au)tou~ a)kou/ete); listen to him!" (Luke 9.35)
It is the word 'chosen' as descriptor of Jesus here, as befitting both the person of Jesus and the event itself, that differs remarkably from the other accounts. John more than once has Jesus himself use the same verb with the same meaning, to describe his election of the disciples:
Jesus answered them, "Did I not choose you, the twelve, (ou)k e)gw\ u(ma~v tou\v dw/deka e)celeca/mhn;) and one of you is a devil?" (John 6.70)
"I am not speaking of you all; I know whom I have chosen ( e)gw\ oi)~da ti/nav e)celeca/mhn); it is that the scripture may be fulfilled, 'He who ate my bread has lifted his heel against me.'" (John 13.18)

"You did not choose me, but I chose you ( ou)x u(mei~v me e)cele/casqe, all' e)gw\ e)celeca/mhn u(ma~v) and appointed you that you should go and bear fruit and that your fruit should abide; so that whatever you ask the Father in my name, he may give it to you. This I command you, to love one another." (John 15.16-17)

"If the world hates you, know that it has hated me before it hated you. If you were of the world, the world would love its own; but because you are not of the world, but I chose you out of the world (a)ll' e)gw\ e)celeca/mhn u(ma~v e)k tou~ ko/smou), therefore the world hates you." (John15.18-19)
Luke's narrative of The Baptism thus confirms the overarching premise of his theological agenda as this is readily apparent in the phenomenon of desire, the governing philosophical-psychological construal of his gospel. It emphasises where the parallel narratives do not, the element of necessity, or constraint. It almost flies in the face of any notion of free will on the part of Jesus. When taken independently, John's two pericopae which refer none too obliquely to Judas, might seem to support a doctrine of double predestination, albeit defiantly in comparison to the introduction to chapter 9. But the dominical saying in 13.18 militates against such; for if anything, it ostensibly depicts Judas as never having been 'chosen' at all by an omniscient Jesus. Thus 'election' has an exclusively positive sense in these passages. They sit well with the Lukan program of desire as defined criteriologically by the attribute of necessity. All of the above passages, and most of those in Luke and in Acts containing this verb convey the same notion: Choosing The Disciples (Luke 6.13); Mary's Choice Of The Good Portion (Luke 10.42); the parable of The Guests Who Choose The Place Of Honour (14.7); the reference to 'the apostles whom he had chosen' (Acts 2.1); and the rest. The theme of election is of course a well worked one in Judaisms past and present. Certain scholars deem it the central theme of Torah, adducing for example Exodus 19:5, 24:7-8; Deuteronomy 26: 17ff., and 29:9-14 in defence of the dogma.



INTENTIONALITY AS PHYLOGENIC AND ONTOGENIC IDENTITY


At the outset we are bound to acknowledge the obvious traditions of the twelvefold tribal system in the Hebrew scriptures, which is resumed in some detail in The Apocalypse in the second of its sevenfold series, that of the seals (Apocalypse 6.1-85). The difference between the tribe and the individual is identical to that between phylogeny and ontogeny as understood here. So the same use of the theology of identity, a theology of transcendence, may apply in equal measure to the collective or society and to the individual. The dialectic between individual and society, ontogeny and phylogeny, discloses a vital element in the relationship between the two canons, and is germane to the study of the miracle narratives, particularly The Feeding Of The Five Thousand, since the figure twelve occurs here with overtones that are unmistakeably eschatological.

To a qualified degree, we may superimpose if not upon the two canons, then upon the two serial narratives of creation and salvation, beginning and end, meaning by the latter, the messianic series, this same dichotomy: phylogeny and ontogeny. Certainly inasmuch as the first of the two canons is largely focused on the identity of Transcendence, that is to say "the Father", the second is purposed to the revelation of the Son; both Son of man and Son of God. These starkly disparate perspectives are mirrored in the Transcendental and Christological modes of intentionality, will and knowing on the one hand, and belief and desire on the other. The two Transcendental, conceptual modes, are nothing if not irreducibly phylogenic (i.e. 'phylogenetic'). This is reiterated in the immanent messianic event, the Transcendental feeding miracle, analogous to the Day 5 rubric. There we encountered the creatures of the two realms, the birds of 'waters above' and aquatic creatures of  'waters below'. Such animals are particularly and peculiarly apposite to the representation of four dimensional space-time, as said. But they are also for the most part, fitted for the representation of collective consciousness. The two are linked; for in terms of the migratory habits of birds, and the spawning habits of fish, place and time are of the essence, and these instinctive processes occur on a collective - phylogenetic - level, rather than in terms of individuals animals. Birds migrate en masse, that is, move through the space-time manifold, sometimes thousands of kilometres without stopping. This is in part a reflection of will simpliciter, though only in part, because it is will in its aconscious form, will-to-believe.

The expression 'instinctive' in this context thus points to the ambivalent or equivocal character of aconscious will, since it suggests if anything, the very opposite, the defining criterion of desire, compulsion, rather than actual volition. However the relation of non-normative will-to-believe to normative will itself, tells for the phylogenic character of will. The application of the dichotomy phylogenic-ontogenic befits each case of related conscious and aconscious modes of intentionality. Thus all Transcendental modes of consciousness, all forms of of willing and knowing, the conscious and aconscious forms alike, are marked as phylogenic. All the Christological forms of intentionality, the conscious and aconscious forms of both desiring and believing are truly ontogenic. The dichotomy  phylogeny-ontogeny then serves to set will apart from desire, both being conative; and set apart knowing from believing, both being cognitive. What will, and hence, will-to-believe are for phylogeny, desire and desire-to-know are for ontogeny.

I do not deem it necessary to labour this point. Knowing is clearly a consensual, and public, and contractual, form of intentionality; a fact which confirms its provenance in acoustic memory. Believing for its part, is equally, and that is to say distincly and acutely, idiomatic, personal, and unsocial, due to the corollary nature of mind itself. We see this in The Transfiguration, the witnesses to which are only three in number, and are enjoined to secrecy. The setting, 'upon a high mountain' (Mark 9.2) and Jesus' action of taking the three disciples forming his innermost circle 'apart by themselves' (kat' i)di/an mo/nouc  loc cit), leaves absolutely no room for doubt. This differential between the Transcendental and Christological roots of consciousness and their consequent forms of intentionality presents no dilemma for Christian metapsychology. On the contrary it presents every opportunity for clarification of both psychology and philosophy; or philosophical psychology. This is after all, the business of Christology.

Where The Apocalypse appears to reiterate the perspective of the Tanakh insofar as it makes copious mention of the tribes of Israel, it in fact recasts both perspectives. The hybrid forms of intentionality belong always to the Holy Spirit, and the certain Pneumatological functions of the theology of The Apocalypse can be understood in this light. Thus its stance as to the dialectic between the individual and the collective means that it is both. Its position in regard to the alterity of Transcendental and Christological intentionality is not equivocal in this sense. It deploys both phylogenic and ontogenic perspectives as one whole. The real significance of its eschatology lies in this fact. It concerns not merely the hybrid intentional mode desire-and-knowing, but all four hybrid forms: the two conscious forms; one conceptual (will-and-belief), and one perceptual (desire-and-knowing); and the two aconscious modes: the hybridisation of perceptual desire-to-know and knowledge-of-will, and the hybridisation of conceptual will-to-believe and belief-in-desire. I do not mean to pursue these facts here, where we are addressing the gospel of Luke, and the issue of identity vis-a-vis the theology of desire and its aconscious partner, belief-in-desire. Both of which are determined as ontogenic. But we can can at least glimpse something of the resolution of this apparent dilemma for theology in the last book of the canon, which takes up the question of eschatology, that most germane chapter in the book of theology. The claims made here for the characteristic complexion as necessarily either ontogenic or phylogenic of each of the four gospels, according to their dominant intentional modal outlooks, has probable ramifications concerning their actual composition. Thus it implies that the gospels of both Luke and John were written by single authors. This is virtually certain in the case of Luke, and for the greatest part, sure enough in the case of John.


The first miracle sign in John presents the phenomenon of sexual love. It all but identifies this phenomenon with the incarnate Word. Within the space of just fifty-one verses, we move from the realm of transcendence, that of the logos asarkos depicted in the opening hymn to the Word, to the realm of immanence, the logos ensarkos. This procedure 'from heaven to earth' so to speak, is equivalent to the shift from faith to desire as far the doctrine of intentionality concerns the structure and interpretation of the miracle stories. Both forms of consciousness or modes of intentionality are immediately recognisable as Christological. The momentum of chapter one is consummated in the final dominical saying before the miracle story about the ascent and descent of angels upon the Son of man. Compare for example, the following two texts:
But to all who received him, who believed in his name (pisteu/ousin ei)v to\ o)/noma au)tou~), he gave power to become children of God; who were born, not of blood nor of the will of the flesh ( (e)k qelh/matov sarko\v) nor of the will of man, but of God. (John 1.12-13)

Jesus saw Nathanael coming, and said of him, "Behold, an Israelite indeed, in whom is no guile!" Nathanael said to him, "How do you know me?" Jesus answered him, "Before Philip called you, when you were under the fig tree ( u(po\ th\n sukh~n), I saw you." Nathanael answered him, "Rabbi, you are the Son of God! You are the king of Israel!" (John 1.47-49)

The exchange between Jesus and Nathanael, the final moment in the introduction, tempers its initial gravitas, blending it seamlessly with the first miracle story, the tone of which is in sensu stricto inimical to the logos hymn. It is noteworthy in determining the calling of Nathanael, if not other disciples, though perhaps not the disciples of John referred to in verse 35, a propos of the significance of the miracle. For it sets their commissioning against the backdrop of the first of life's stages, to which erotic appetition-satisfaction is central. The first we hear of the fig tree is in the J creation story, which tells us that after consuming the fruit of the tree in the middle of the garden, the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, '... the eyes of the woman and her husband were opened and they discovered that they were naked; so they stitched fig-leaves (LXX fu/lla sukh~v) together and made themselves loincloths.' (Genesis 3.7, New English Bible). It is untenable to read the exchange between Jesus and Nathanael as John's introduction to the miracle story of the wedding at Cana independently of the second creation story. It completes the explicit connection John forges between the initial hymn and the first creation story.

The role of Nathanael as an individual in this particular miracle, and its theological value, is just as notable as the subtle modulation of tone from transcendence to immanence. John similarly gives to both Andrew and Philip, who were mentioned along with Nathanael in the stories of the first disciples, cameo roles in the subsequent feeding miracle, The Feeding Of The Five Thousand (John 6.5-9). Although he never confines the number of disciples to twelve, it is obvious that the disciples mentioned in John concur with those of the synoptists' lists, which of course Mark significantly restricts to just this number. (John 6.40 is the sole reference to the disciples in relation to the dodecad as cipher.) This is essential to the hermeneutic not only of the same figure mentioned in that feeding miracle, which enumerates the number of baskets containing  left over portions (Mark 6.42, John 6.13), but also to that of the two hexads of the two Christological miracles. There is both in the synoptic gospels and in the gospel of John, an obvious rapport between the disciples as individuals and the twelve categoreal forms. To bolster this same theological strand which we must apply to the interpretation of the miracles as a whole, is the fact that Mark has in all, twelve healing episodes, once we exclude the all too summary healing of Peter's mother-in-law.


Nathanael, identified immediately prior to the first sign in the gospel of John, is referred to at least once again in a pericope which also centres on the themes of eating and feeding, chapter 21, the epilogue so-called (John 21.2). One must not overlook the rationale of the chreia which sketches his character against the phenomenon of erotic love. It belongs to a 'theo-typology' of personality. The full extent of the congruence between the stories of 'beginning' and 'end' might persuade us to argue that there is finally no real difference between these perspectives; those of the one person and the many persons, individual and society; that, whether we conceive of existence in terms of ontogeny or phylogeny matters little. Both aspects of human existence, both perspectives in the two miracle narratives, The Feeding Of The Five Thousand and The Transformation Of Water Into Wine reiterate the same psychological dichotomy. It remains a persistent dilemma in the social sciences as well as in psychology, a fact to which we shall return.

But the first miracle of loaves, a theology of the immanent Transcendent, thus linking knowing with will, clearly determines knowing as a matter of the greatest public consensus. It is the product of the group or society at its greatest extent numerically. (The word 'society' here is comparable to, though not equivalent to, as many as four or more different terms for the same, extant in The Apocalypse.) Just so, The Transformation Of Water Into Wine makes the opposite point; namely that desires isolate us as individuals. The image that we have of Nathanael in the first miracle in John complements the same presentation of another individual, Lazarus, in the last. The presence of such single figures as these in John's two Christological miracle narratives, supports the doctrine of the two normative Christological categories, mind and haptic memory, along with their proper modes of intentionality, belief and desire respectively, as innately ontogenetic. That is, belief and desire, the two Christological modes ofconscious  intentionality, emerge as definitive of the individual or person over and against the group or society.

I am contending that the canonical instance of desire is sexual desire, and that its provenance is haptic memory. Conversely I am proposing that the canonical instance of knowing is psychological knowing, and that its provenance is acoustic memory. The former is conative; the latter is cognitive. The former has a cognitive form, namely, technological rationality; the latter has a conative form, namely hierarchic desire. 'Psychology' I mean in a sense less specific than what the expression habitually conveys, and we might equally say 'the human sciences', although that also conveys what is commonly subsumed under the clumsy expression 'sociology', for which 'p
olitical science' might be a more felicitous name. (I will argue that just such an episteme is instantiated by the form of unity space : time, pursuant to what was affirmed above regarding the Day 5 rubric and the collective sub-human consciousness.) Pope's maxim 'The proper study of mankind is man' very succinctly puts the canonical status of psychology as the pre-eminent form of knowing. Just as we might say of canonical belief, not note, belief-in-desire, that its essential aim is a philosophia christiania, so of knowing, we affirm that in its canonical form it must amount to a psychologia christiana. If these theses are true, then we should heed the inherent possibilities for psychology, and a specifically Christian psychology, stemming from special revelation, of which the acoustic semiosis is such a cogent and necessary element. But since we have to do here primarily with the gospel of Luke, I shall emphasise the role of the conative mode, desire, rather than the cognitive or epistemic mode, belief-in-desire. Both are proper to Lukan theology, but the discussion of belief-in-desire is here confined to its barest outlines, pending the fuller elaboration and argumentation of the psychology and philosophy of belief, that is the Christian epistemology of the same, which the study of the gospels of Mark and of John respectively will provide.

The two particular episteme, or forms of 'knowing', or means of understanding, which the Lukan dyad, haptic memory and soma establish, are technological consciousness and art respectively. ( I enclose the word 'knowing' in inverted commas for the simple reason that art is predicated upon the form of unity soma, and as such, it is an instance of belief simpliciter. The epistemic status of its premise, the body, is a conceptual form of unity.)  Of these, art is clearly more important than technological rationality on the basis that it completes the epistemic entelechy inherent in the taxon to which the soma belongs, forms of unity. 'Entelechy' here means the principle which guides the development and functioning, the inherent thrust towards realization of purpose, of this class of entities, conceptual forms of unity. The particular radical, soma, mind : body qua conceptual entity, is the only one of its kind which realizes the fullest epistemic potential of this class of categoreal entities as a whole. The particular instances of belief simpliciter to which both the symbolic feminine and space-time qua conceptual entities give rise, are inferior to that of the soma, which is art.  Luke composes his gospel fully aware of this, and so, as an artist, and this is a key to understanding him. Technological rationality, which is premised on the perceptual category, haptic memory, as an occasion for knowing is not the canonical instance of knowing; hence it is epistemologically subordinate to art. Psychology is, and its full exposition belongs to the gospel of Mark. Here then, rather than anticipate the discussion of psychology, we shall first address the idiomatically Lukan dyad and its two canonical instances: the conative mode erotic desire and the epistemic ('cognitive') mode, art, relative to the doctrine of identity. My comments regarding the latter will be necessarily restricted due to its final exposition in the study on the gospel of John.

Where erotic desire and art engage the distinct perspectives ontogeny : phylogeny, we can therefore legitimately claim that both assert the first. This does not exclude the possibility that individuals may shape their societies, mutatis mutandis, but it entails that we must countenance this in the cases before us. That individuals are the products of their societies, usually goes without saying. This is to a large degree the result of speech, the medium of knowing, which is always already at hand inseparably from the society into which we are born as individuals. But the obverse fact is equally viable, and to it therefore, the discussion of Lukan theology must pay all due heed. It is clear that both the particular instance of epistemic belief, art, and the particular instance of desire, sexual satisfaction, are disposed in favour of ontogenic human existence, or as we may say, the individual, the singular person. Belief and desire of all modes of intentionality, are the extreme exemplifications of ontogeny, a claim which squares immediately with their specification as Christological. This applies to both the simple and conscious, as to the compound and aconscious modes involved. Whether we speak of desire simpliciter or the aconscious form of desire, desire-to-know, and equally, whether we speak of belief or its aconscious form, belief-in-desire, the desiring or believing being of which we speak here is here is the individual. The  Christological and Transcendental modes are both homogeneous in this regard. That is, both espouse clearly articulated poles of the spectrum. Thus it makes no difference if we consider any of the binary construals utilised here: conscious versus aconscious orders, theoretical versus practical reason, cognitive versus conative modes of consciousness.

That said, there is nevertheless one caveat at least, of which we must be aware: the discussion of art as episteme involves the application of a conscious form of intentionality, namely belief, to the aconscious. In discussing art in relation to the gospel of Luke we are not speaking of the actual, specifically Lukan and aconscious epistemic mode, belief-in-desire, but rather, of belief simpliciter. The theology of belief itself as a conscious and normative fact of human awareness is proper to the gospel of John. This requires leaving in abeyance for the moment any detailed consideration of the intrinsic relations between belief simpliciter and belief-in-desire. The only dichotomy resulting in the  proscription of forms of intentionality is that of the first level distinction between conceptual and perceptual polarities of consciousness. But we see in just two compound and thus aconscious modes, those of belief-in-desire, here native to Luke, and knowledge-of-will, which is idiomatically proper to Matthean theology, that neither is this absolutely binding. These two aconscious forms of intentionality combine conceptual and perceptual radicals, whereas desire-to-know and will-to-believe are consistently perceptual and conceptual respectively.


THE MIRACLE AT CANA


The contextual ambit of this pericope is extensive. It is really only with the second sign, described as such, in John 4.43, that a noticeably deliberate change occurs in John's programme.  Jesus And The Woman Of Samaria (4.1-42), which ends the record of the first sign, even if it has been interpolated as is so often argued, fits perfectly into a whole of which the miracle story itself is the index. The twofold reiteration of the cipher six, first explicitly, next implicitly, secures the position of the passage and functions as the final term of an inclusio, relatively to the miracle story recalling as it does the same figure in that narrative:
Jacob's well was there, and so Jesus, wearied as he was with his journey, sat down beside the well. It was about the sixth hour ( w(/ra h)~n w(v e(/kth  John 4.6)
Jesus said to her, "Go, call your husband, and come here." The woman answered him,"I have no husband." Jesus said to her, "You are right in saying (kalw~v ei)/pav), 'I have no husband'; for you have had five husbands, and he whom you now have is not your husband; this you said truly." (4.16-18)
Of course the themes in this pericope all conduce to its consistency with the theological understanding of the incarnate Word plainly given in the sign story. For example the name of the city, Sychar which suggests the Hebrew for 'male'; the motif of Jacob's well; the metaphor of thirst as a trope for sexual desire, specifically the desire of woman for man, and the putative sense of the actual exchange between the woman and Jesus itself, which so scandalised the disciples. These elements all fit with the miracle narrative.

So too does The Cleansing Of The Temple (2.13-22), in which the temple is rendered a trope for the body:
The Jews then said, "It has taken forty-six years to build this temple, and will you raise it up in three days ( e)n trisi\n h(me/raiv)?" But he spoke of the temple of his body ( e)/legen peri\ tou~ naou~ tou~ sw/matov au)tou~  2.21)
The three day motif here recurs to the sign story which it introduced, so ensuring this narrative as of a piece with the first section of the gospel:
On the third day (Kai\ th~? h(me/ra? th~? tri/th?) there was a marriage at Cana in Galilee, and the mother of Jesus was there; (2.1)
The text of Jesus And Nicodemus, except for a brief pericope, Jesus Knows All Men (vv 23-25), follows directly. The latter includes a reference to 'the signs that he did' (v 23), and in the former Nicodemus mentions '"these signs that you do"' (3.2.). I have elsewhere dealt with the extrapolation from the diurnal/nocturnal cycle to the messianic events, concluding that the miracle at Cana signifies the nocturnal interval focused upon midnight, and in the annual cycle, midwinter night. Attentiveness to temporal references in these texts usually yields salient results, and this is no exception:
Now there was a man of the Pharisees, named Nicodemus, a ruler of the Jews. This man came to Jesus by night (nukto\v).
John pictures Nicodemus with the robustly graphic and candidly ironic tone that we have come to expect of him, and in a light at once comparable to his image of the guileless Nathanael:
Nicodemus said to him, "How can a man be born when he is old? Can he enter a second time into his mother's womb (ei)v th\n koili/an)?" (3.4)
Jesus then addresses Nicodemus in terms is reminiscent of Nathanael's recognition of Jesus himself as both a teacher, 'Rabbi' and 'the King of Israel' (1.49):
Jesus answered him,"Are you a teacher of Israel, and yet you do not understand this?" (3.10)
This entire passage turns on a series of dichotomous constructs. The first of these pits flesh and Spirit against one another (vv 5-8); then a further contrast ensues (vv 11-13), between 'earthly things' (ta\ e)pi/geia) and 'heavenly things' (ta\ e)poura/nia). Finally Jesus' speech so recalls the theology of the prologue and the language of ascent-descent which began the miracle story:
"No one has ascended into heaven but he who descended from heaven, the Son of man." (3.13)
The text concludes on the theme of belief and with a final juxtaposition of light and darkness qua good and evil (vv 19-21).

Like the story, Jesus And The Samaritan Woman, that of Jesus And John The Baptist (3.22-30) has at its core the water motif, even if its metaphorical value here is at fullest variance with its function in both the miracle story and the story of the woman, although the word 'purifying' (kaqarismou~ John 3.25) clearly resumes the miracle narrative (kaqarismo\n  2.6). This pericope adroitly mirrors that narrative in its handling of the relationship between baptism and Eucharist, logos and incarnate Son, Thanatos and Eros, heaven and earth:
John answered, "No one can receive anything except what is given him from heaven ( e)k tou~ ou)ranou~).) You yourselves bear me witness, that I said, I am not the Christ, but I have been sent before him. He who has the bride is the bridegroom; the friend of the bridegroom, who stands and hears him, rejoices greatly (xara~? xai/rei) at the bridegroom's voice; therefore this joy of mine ( h( xara\ h( e)mh\) is now full. He must increase, but I must decrease." (3.27-30)
Only the text of He Who Comes From Heaven (3.31-36) remains for consideration. It intervenes before the conclusion to this first section of the gospel, which the story of Jesus And The Samaritan Woman accomplishes, its juxtaposed categories of heaven-earth conforming to the basic construal of the elements utilised in the miracle, water and wine, and thus also to the eucharistic theology presented there. But here, for added contrast, the emphasis is on the transcendental rather than on the immanent term, just as it is in the portraits of  Jesus and the Samaritan woman.






This page was updated 30th January 2017.


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