Introduction
Someone reading the gospel of Mark will probably need to read it
more than once in order to understand it. However, genuine
understanding in any measure is likely to generate the desire to
read the text more than once. I do not know if that applies to
these pages. Because so much remains to be said concerning this
gospel, I have tried to emulate the economy of Mark, the gospel
remarkable for the logical significance with which it arranges
the miracle stories in particular. I have also had to deal
sensitively with the meaning of this economy. In an age when
information abounds, it is incumbent on authors not to abuse the
patience of their readers. Even so, in such an age it is more
incumbent than ever on philosophers to bring some clarity and
order to the profusion. This, one of the chief projects of
epistemology, was perhaps never more required of philosophy than
it is today. The gospel of Mark is invaluable to me precisely
because it contains the hope of bringing clarity and order to
the biblical tradition.
That tradition remains a primary source for theology. There are
others; I would broadly identify at least two, one on either
side of the emergence of Christianity. The first is of course
those religious traditions that continue to claim the allegiance
of millions of persons today. These are mainly forms of Hinduism
and Buddhism, which because of their strong sense of the
immanence of God, sit well with the general atmosphere of the
New Testament and provide something which Judaisms cannot
provide. There is an instructive sense in which Primitive
Brahamanism and Sramanism vis-a-vis Buddhism compares in certain
respects to the relations obtaining between Judaism and
Christianity, not least in the sense in which the later
religions have in turn influenced the earlier ones. (In
connection with which, see Lal Mani Joshi, Brahmanism,
Hinduism and Buddhism: An Essay on their Origins and
Interactions). In either case one should not lose
sight of the fact that religion if it is to survive, must
evolve, although that should not encourage a liberal
progressivism which equates the latest with the best. 'The decay
of Christianity and Buddhism, as determinative influences in
modern thought, is partly due to the fact that each religion has
unduly sheltered itself from the other.' (A. N. Whitehead, Religion In The Making,
Cambridge, 1926, page 131.)
There is yet another warning by the same author, which will
serve to introduce my second point:
Thus rational religion must have recourse to
metaphysics for a scrutiny of its terms. At the same time it
contributes its own independent evidence, which metaphysics
must take account of in framing its description.
This mutual dependence is illustrated in all topics. For
example I have mentioned above that in modern Europe history
and metaphysics have been constructed with the purpose of
supporting the Semitic concept of God. To some extent this is
justifiable, because both history and metaphysics must
presuppose some canon by which to guide themselves.
The result is that you cannot confine any important
reorganization of one sphere of thought above. You cannot
shelter theology from science, or science from theology; nor
can you shelter either of them from metaphysics, or
metaphysics from either of them. There is no short-cut to
truth. (Ibid pp 66, 67).
The word 'evolve' alludes to the second
extra-curricular area for theology. Broadly speaking, this is
learning. I would use the term 'science' but for the fact that
it has tended to encourage the very attitude to which I have
just referred, the uncritical equation between time and
progress. (There is an epistemological rationale, which also
discourages the same tendentiousness inherent in science. As an
epistemic discourse, I do not consider evolutionary theory, any
more than that of historiography, scientific sensu strictu.
They avail themselves of narratological reason. Neither seeks to
determine its pre-occupations by the methodical implementation
of nomological, deductive reason. In short, there appear to be
no laws, no principles, guiding evolution nor history. As we are
constantly reminded, they follow random patterns of events, if
patterns at all. That the legacy of evolution itself is beauty
makes for even more difficulty in its accounting which might be
deemed in any manner 'scientific'. The same fact points to the
kind of sheltering of 'historiographical' reason from its
innately metaphysical obligations just mentioned.) Thus
Christian theology can profitably engage with both these fields
- the other world religions, and all epistemic endeavour,
whether scientific in nature or not. I hope that such an
exchange is evident in this work.
That said, my real brief is with the Bible, and I hope to some
extent, the entirety indicated by that expression.
Specialisation is endemic in an age of information, and it
serves as an index of the reigning zeitgeist. Biblical scholarship illustrates
this fact as much as any scholarly pursuit. It has conferred
enormous benefits. Not the least of these is an understanding of
the history of the written traditions. I would indeed have liked
to pursue that idea in relation to the proposition that the six
miracle narratives, the basis of this study, form an integrated
and early part of the same tradition.
The claim that the miracles in the gospel of Mark are
systematically related to one another may seem all the stranger
because they have always offered the opportunity for scholarship
to deal with increasingly smaller textual units. But, the
interest of theology in increasingly atomic textual units is
inimical to the philosopher's case and the costive
interpretations which such methods accepted as received may
deliver, do not answer the needs of such a person. The
philosopher cannot indulge the luxury of specialisation. By his
lights, it is fragmentation by any other name, and any unchecked
pursuit of analysis for its own sake, is dangerously close to
obscurantism. The most characteristic feature of the miracle
stories in the gospel of Mark is their logical and aesthetic
co-inherence. They are somewhat like a body. One can approach
these narratives as individual units. They enjoy the status of
identifiable members of an organic whole. It is the latter which
concerns me. The many miracle stories in the gospel of Mark
cohere not merely by dint of being party to the same genre.
Because they create a structural nexus, their meaning will
continue to elude the best efforts of the analytical approach,
as long as it is not complemented by some corresponding
synthesis.
With the exception of the first sign in John (2.1-11), all of
the miracle stories considered here belong to the gospel of
Mark. As such, this study is a hermeneutic of Mark. That there
is a sixth sign belonging to his 'messianic' series I am
convinced by the formal arguments alone, notwithstanding the
arguments concerning content. The questions why and exactly how
The Transformation of Water into Wine became dislodged
from the other five messianic miracle narratives, are questions
beyond my competence to answer. Far more interesting to me is
the meaning of such stories as revealed by their form and
content. I find myself capable in part at least of addressing
this. It requires speculative reason and an avowedly synthetic
rather than analytic approach.
Some will greet my procedure here as nothing less than
methodologically transgressive. Those who entertain scruples of
a kind that divorces biblical, systematic and philosophical
theologies will anathematise not only the addition of the first
sign from John to the five messianic events contained in Mark.
They will condemn the extrapolation between the miracle
narratives and Genesis 1.1-2.4a. In response I can say only
this. I first came to study Mark four decades ago. What
immediately became obvious to me was the presence of form in the
miracle narratives. I cannot believe that the author(s) of the
gospel simply assembled a collection of various narratives, of
mostly oral tradition. The presence of form and the aesthetic
integrity of the gospel as demonstrated by the patterns of the
miracle narratives are those of its qualities which have
sustained my interest for more than four decades. Nothing has
dimmed my original enthusiasm for the philosophical
possibilities of these narratives. To this day, my conviction
that the gospel integrates the Tanakh as I have tried to
indicate, continues unabated, as does my belief that this
integration holds the greatest potential for a viable and
encompassing, systematic Christian theology. I make no apologies
for the fact that this work is a synthesis. It rides roughshod
over not only the boundary between a synoptic gospel, Mark and
John, but the boundary between the two traditions, Judaic and
Christian. It flies ungraciously but I hope not too awkwardly in
the face of the prevailing winds.
Those same prevailing winds claim to have accounted for the
miracles in Mark in large part, by means of the form
critical efforts inaugurated by Bultmann. In some cases this has
resulted in an attitude towards the miracle narratives which is
just shy of ridicule; in others, it has tried to reproduce the
apparently equivocal stance of the evangelist him/herself
(evangelists/themselves) towards 'signs' as evinced for example
in Mark 8.11-13, but without the understanding of the miracles
crucial to that very attitude, which is the subject of the pericope
immediately prior. The intention of much recent historical
research, or at least the intention to which it has admitted
publicly, may be less obviously to deconstruct the apparent
'mythology' embedded in these stories.
But even if it were correct in its basic assumptions, which I
cannot accept, because the hermeneutical question, the question
of meaning, remains unanswered, it would still leave one
with a sense of impoverishment rather than a sense that the
interests of the truth have been served. The temper of such work
is inherently ever uncongenial to the miracle narratives, even
if its avowed project, a 'history' shorn of the miraculous
and the mythical were possible. It remains redolent of a
lingering suspicion that few if any of the miracles represent
historical actualities and therefore verities of any kind. The
product of such scholarship for any possible meaning of these
narratives which make up a third of the gospel, is entirely
negative. As to these basic assumptions: the source of the
miracles beginning with The Stilling Of The Storm and
ending with The Feeding Of The Five Thousand, and
including certain of the healing events, is said to lie with the
miracles of the Exodus tradition and the healings of the
Elijah-Elisha cycle.
The main reason why the form - and therefore intention - of the
cycle as a whole has not been noticed is that the first event of
the series, the miracle at Cana, has been detached from the
whole as we have it in the gospel of Mark. In addition, the form
critics have overemphasised the similarity of the two miracles
of loaves, and too soon rushed to the verdict that one is
(mistakenly) a copy of the other, while neglecting the same
pattern a propos of the two miracles at sea, or if noting
it, failing then to perceive the relation between the three
feeding miracles, and the three transcendent messianic events,
and the further relation of this sixfold series to the creation
story. As it stands, contemporary scholarship has failed the
aesthetic integrity of both series of miracle stories in Mark:
the healing miracles, and the so-called 'nature miracles'. In
this it has seriously compromised the purposes of the gospel,
while its uselessness in the face of the question of meaning
remains. Having adopted the verificationist principle,
theologies which have at best, avoided any consideration of the
miracle narratives, and at worst, which have derisively
pronounced them meaningless in virtue of being 'mythological',
seek to evade their hermeneutical responsibilities. If
consequently, the miracle stories have fallen on hard times in
what congratulates itself as 'the age of science', then so too
has Christian metaphysics. The ramifications of which for
Christology are monumental.
The general privileging of the historical methodical approach to
the miracle stories must face a still more serious reproach -
namely that the tradition history of the same narratives is yet
to be written. I reject out of hand the claim that their genesis
can be traced to the Exodus tradition and the Elijah-Elisha
cycle. That is, I regard those hypotheses themselves as
equivalent to myth. In terms of the hermeneutical understanding
which reckoning of this kind brings to Mark, these arguments are
self-serving and iconoclastic fictions. The tradition
history of the messianic miracles begins with 'the first of his
signs', John 2.1-11. That it bears an important relation to the
meaning of the Passion and death of Jesus should be obvious from
John 19.34. An identical case can be made for the relation
between The Transfiguration and Mark's Passion
narrative. To have alleged the stories of Moses receiving the
law on Mount Sinai (Exodus 24, 34) as the primary source of The
Transfiguration, demonstrates the pitfalls of an
exclusively analytic method. It truncates that miracle narrative
from its syntax, the other members of the messianic series, and
furthermore from the Days series. It is destructive of the
inherent seriality of the messianic miracles and consequently of
so much of the aesthetic unity of a vital aspect of the kerygma.
Such arguments treat the texts of the messianic miracles in
piecemeal fashion, and violate the integrity of the series. In
so doing, they are at a complete loss to explicate the
relationships which occur between the various events, that is to
account for the formal or logical aspects of Markan doctrine as
it is contained in the messianic series. They founder on their
failure to honour and interpret the unity of the messianic
miracle series as a catena conceived in relation to the sequence
of Days. No less serious is their complete ignorance of the
messianic miracles as the major New Testament incidence of the
doctrine of the triune nature of God. The meaning of the
messianic miracles remains immune to analytic rationalisation of
this kind. To have failed to appreciate the significance of its
two great Christologies is signal of the failure of what
currently passes for intelligent theological study of the
miracle stories. The overall attitude towards the miracle
narratives which has dominated the academy since the modern era
has been one of extreme cynicism, commensurate with the failure
to frame a Christian metaphysics sufficient to the needs of the
age. Party to this very same dilemma is the confusion
surrounding Christian eschatology, to say nothing of the
confusion which the one great eschatological text generates, The
Apocalypse.
That said, lest my stance be misunderstood, I am not seeking to
give a revisionist account of the miracles in Mark. The
consolations of myth, or for that matter, art, leave me just as
unconvinced, and as untouched as the current historically based
scholarship. There is no point in re-instating 'unreflective
supernaturalism', or to put it another way, no point in entering
the third millennium 'dragging a cherished image'. I am
indifferent as to the historical status of the messianic
miracles; that is, the question of whether or not these
narratives reflect historical verities does not concern me,
since it cannot be settled either way. What does concern me, is
that as stories, they do have meaning. This is the crux of my
disagreement with and determination to navigate against, some of
the dominant currents in contemporary scholarship. The form and
content of the miracle narratives carry very much of the
pedagogic freight of the gospel. Mark is not often seen as a
teaching gospel, the palm for which is usually awarded to
Matthew. But the view of his gospel as a drama of 'secret
epiphanies' void of doctrinal concerns is untenable. The
accepted wisdom has encouraged us to believe that, of the three
synoptics at least, the gospel of Matthew should be viewed as
the teaching gospel: 'If Mark wanted to preach, by contrast,
Matthew wanted to teach.' is one such summation of this popular
conception. I believe strongly that to be a serious distortion
of the essential psychological orientation of the gospels of
Matthew and Mark both. And as psychology will occupy much in
these pages, it is worth stating this at the outset.
The first exercise in determining the meaning of the miracles,
the hermeneutical task, is the identification between three sets
of biblical narratives: the Days of creation, the messianic
miracles, of which both Christological episodes advert us with
the keyword 'day' (John 2.1, Mark 9.2), and finally, the
tradition of the resurrection of Jesus 'after three days'. A
reconstruction of the history of the miracle tradition as we
have it in Mark - and this necessarily involves the gospel of
John - can only begin with the acknowledgement that an intimate
connection obtains between these three textual centres, which
have in common the crucial motif of 'day'. It has not been
possible to examine the last part of this compact. Thus the
messianic miracles conform also to the theologoumena of the
three days and three nights referred to in the gospels of
Matthew and Luke in the saying about the 'sign of Jonah', yet
another vital clue in unraveling the history of the tradition,
one which engages Q. This too has gone unnoticed thus far.
It seems likely that the messianic miracles began in this way,
namely as a correlate of the tradition of 'three days and three
nights'. Their binary pattern of transcendence : immanence
answers perfectly to the diurnal/nocturnal formula, just as it
does to the two halves of the creation story. The morphology
shared by the messianic series and the series of Days of
the 'archaeological' week, I regard as a fait accompli,
and because it is truly promissory of delivering the meaning of
these narratives clearly and wonderfully, it is the core of this
hermeneutic of Mark.
Philosophy presents an intractable topos that is not
always compliant with the requirements of good style and the
linear format of a conventional book. For that reason, my
objective in writing has been to set out more or less the
categoreal scheme, which I believe is operative within Markan
metaphysics. The choice of the gospel of Mark, rather than say
Matthew, rests not merely upon the probability now widely
accepted that it represents the earliest example of the genre
and that Matthew and Luke both used some form of it. It is
entirely due to the fact that Mark seems to me to provide the
most promising example of a theology that is encompassing and
systematic. The formal analogy between the series of Days and
messianic events attests the comprehensiveness of this short
gospel, and the patterns connecting both sets of miracles,
messianic and healing, proves the systematic nature of Mark's
approach. These miracle stories comprise approximately one third
of the gospel. Hence, any serious effort to come to terms with
the gospel must deal with them.
The messianic events exist firstly in analogous rapport with the
story of creation. That is the basis of my claim that Markan
metaphysics is consequently biblical metaphysics. To study Mark,
which we have only just begun to do, is necessarily to study its
relationship with the story of creation. This relation puts very
nicely, one of the first requirements of biblical theology,
namely that it spans both testaments. The bible consists of two
testaments. Any truly biblical theology (metaphysics) must
eventually face the demand to realise the integrity of both
testaments or to relinquish it as nothing more than putative.
Mark is very well placed in respect of such demands. Moreover,
the significance of 'creation' for the Old Testament as a whole
is the pledge of a a relationship between the gospel and a
range of the literature of the Old Testament beyond that of the
first creation narrative. It is this mutually inclusive
relationship of 'beginning' and 'end', which the various
Christological titles reformulate, that the relationship of
Genesis and the gospel (Mark) perfectly epitomises.
The story of 'beginning' is the first metaphysical text of the
canon. As such, it is the logical impetus for the equivalence
between the psychophysical, the phenomenon of consciousness, and
the Son. Herein lies my second departure from classical
hermeneutics. My guess is that the reader will respond to the
proposition that this most classical of Old Testament narratives
first puts not only the doctrine of the logos, the Son,
but that of the triune nature of God ('Transcendence') also, in
either of two ways. In the case of agreement, the reader will be
subsequently perplexed that anything so obvious could have
escaped our notice for so long. Alternatively, I anticipate
irrevocable dissent. There does not seem to me to be much room
for middle ground on the issue. But that is as I see it: the
creation story is pre-eminently a Christology, and the clearest
biblical theology of Trinity that we possess. The logic of both
narratives, the creation series of Days, and the messianic
miracle series is from the very first, unaccountably triadic, a
fact with which contemporary theology seems to have failed to
reckon. Theophilus of Antioch - Ad Autolycum, Book 2, Chapter XV, Of The Fourth Day - in the
first century, briefly mentions the story of the first three
Days in relation to the doctrine of Trinity, after which it
disappears permanently. (An English translation of the full text
is available at Early Christian Writings, under
the author's name, titled in English To Autolycus.)
This is compounded by one partial reason for the neglect of the
P creation narrative: Paul's exclusive and uncritical adoption
of the J creation narrative, clearly manifest in Romans 5 and 8,
the hymn of Philippians, and 1 Corinthians 15. This adoption
serves his Christology of recapitulation, casting Jesus as the
'second Adam'. Paul's indiscriminate acceptance of the
mythological narrative regarding the disobedience of the first
human couple and their expulsion from the garden of Eden, known
as 'The Fall', has had unintended consequences for Western
Christian theology. These are visible in concentrated form, in a
raft of doctrines usually referred to as 'original sin', the
legacy of Augustine to both the Protestant and Roman Catholic
branches of the Western Church which propagated it after The
Reformation. Irrespective of the legitimacy of such doctrines to
which the second creation story is foundational, it has eclipsed
the theology of the P creation narrative, which is clearly
espoused by the gospels.
The result has been to emphasise the doctrine of 'original sin'
at the expense of an anthropology which understands humanity as
the imago Dei. Coupled with the insights provided by
evolutionary theory into the natural origins of humankind, the P
narrative, Genesis 1.1-2.4a now suffers more unwarranted neglect
than ever. Yet it is of immense value, not the least because it
delivers the doctrine of humankind as made 'in the image and
likeness of God'. It stands as indispensable at the categoreal
level, to Trinitarian and Christological theologies, as to the
theology of perceptual consciousness which the series of
messianic miracles proposes. Contained virtually verbatim
in varying quotas in every gospel, and
culminating in the Eucharist, the latter are the
essential rudiments of the Christian doctrine of mind, that is
to say, of logos Christology. Moreover, this
relationship between the two series, those of Genesis and
gospel, Genesis 1.1-2.4a and the messianic series, has
repercussions of the utmost importance to Eucharistic theology.
The presence of the latter throughout each of the four gospels
testifies to the function and value they have as the sine
qua non to the core of the keygma. The tradition
ignores them at its peril.
A propos of the John and Mark connection, both have an
understanding of the identity of Jesus, the Son, which refers in
the first instance to human and animal consciousness. In other
words, both avow that a Christian epistemology will by
definition be Christology. Here, both evangelists accept the
identification of the Christological with the psychophysical
first posited in Genesis. In John, it is the first theological
proposition that we encounter, and it is framed in language
which unmistakably recalls the P creation story. The order in
which I first approached these texts was that from the gospel to
Genesis. The certain logical contours of the miracles directed
me to the latter. Having discerned the structural significance
of the messianic series and its analogical relationship with the
story of 'beginning', it does not seem possible to me to read it
theologically any way other than as a theology of the triune God
and as a Christology.
Thus, I have tried to draw together some of the basic tenets of
the Christian doctrine of mind disclosed by the gospel of Mark,
that is to say, its Christology, and the doctrine of Trinity.
The mutual consistency of these doctrines is unmistakable, as is
the claim that they provide much that is distinctive of
Christian theology. In all of this, my real truck has been with
Christian philosophy, or metaphysics. The need to answer to my
own personal satisfaction and to the best of my abilities the
fundamental questions concerning death, and more specifically,
to move towards a Christian understanding of time, these have
been primary motivations in writing. It was never my intention
to assume the role of teacher. I am well aware of the advice
contrary to the presumption of this function, (James 3.1):
Let not many of you become
teachers, my brethren, for you know that we who teach shall be
judged with greater strictness.
My delight in the heuristic side of learning overrides such
considerations, and it is this as much as the discoveries
themselves that I wish to convey. I can only respond to the
sobering thoughts of the letter of James with those of 1 John
1.4:
And we are writing this
that our joy may be complete.
This page was updated on 30.03.2022.
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