It's hard to believe that I'm actually finishing this project. For all of the other inconsistencies in my life, and all of the other projects I've thrown into the metaphorical firepit over the last ten years, this blog is one thing about which I have been conscientious. Every book I've read during that time. Hundreds of them. It may be the only consistent thing in my life. I'm pretty proud of it, whether or not anybody ever reads it.
1:1 I guess this is technically a fourth hand account, transmitted by an as yet unnamed angel. John's use of "soon" here likely does not mean what he thought it did at the time.
1:3 This is interesting. What effect does reading these words aloud have? This is the only mention of such a phenomenon of which I am aware. Should I be reading this aloud as I go? I'm tempted to. But what are the terms and conditions of this blessing? And what makes this prophecy different from others?
1:4 A nice parallel to the beginning of his own gospel. John may have aged, but his voice and perspective are still recognizable here. Who are these seven spirits though?
1:5 The ruler of the kings of the Earth? In what way? I am inclined to view Christ's Kingdom as entirely unaffiliated with Earthly governments.
1:7 I wonder what aspects of this in the Greek make it verse, and not prose. What sets this passage apart linguistically?
1:8 A definite conflation of God and Christ here, consistent with John's theology elsewhere.
1:9 He "was" on Patmos? Where is he now?
1:11 The literality of the seven churches here argues toward a literal interpretation of the seven spirits in 1:4.
1:12-16 More symbolism of 7s, but the figure here can be none other than Christ. Didn't John say that the message was delivered to him through an intermediary in 1:1?
1:19 The Son of Man does not say "soon", but "after this". John must have interpolated the time frame.
1:20 And, as I recalled, the seven spirits are indeed literal. One for each church. What church are those spirits supervising today, if any?
2:1 Ah, John is writing to the angels now? Then perhaps not so literal after all. Either "angel" here is a metaphor for a human overseer, or it refers to the spirit of the church in a metaphorical sense.
2:3,6 Peter and Paul also pounded this point pretty hard.
2:10 Curious to know if this came true in a literal sense.
2:11 The theme of conquest seemed unworthy of mention in 2:7, but the repetition here alerts one to a pattern.
2:12 And the way he identifies himself to each congregation is a nice little mini-theme within each message. I don't recall John being this literary.
2:17 A fascinating and layered image. I don't recall if it gets develop later or not, but I have my eye out for it.
2:20 Again, John almost sound like Paul here, only more florid. Did they agree to this extent in life?
3:1 I would hate to be in the Sardis congregation when this letter was received . . .
3:11 Well, now he has said "soon". I guess John wasn't taking liberties.
3:12 To each congregation, he makes a different promise for their conquest. Of them all, the white stone with a new name on it is the one I would most like to receive.
4:1 This clears up the confusion about the messenger earlier.
4:2 The distinction is an important one. The Son of Man with his seven spirits etc. is a physical manifestation, and all of his accoutrements are symbols of earthly things. With this verse, though, everything we see until notified otherwise will be a symbol of something heavenly.
4:5 So much for that theory haha. We now have the seven flames and seven spirits again.
4:6-8 I've always tended toward an interpretation of this section as an alternate view of Isaiah's chariot. The see in from of the throne that John sees is the same expanse that Isaiah sees from below. The four living creatures, each with one face, are the same as the Cherubs Isaiah saw. Etc.
4:8 Definitely a theme with John, here and elsewhere.
4:9-12 I wonder how John resolved the clear separation between the one seated upon the throne and the Son of Man he met earlier. Or did the dichotomy register for him?
5:6 These seven spirits are becoming the most fascinating part of this book. Bound at the time of the writing to the seven congregations, but clearly not eternally so, they are here said to be sent into all the earth. This part of the symbolism was also seriously undertreated in my upbringing, to the extent that I hardly remember it being interpreted at all.
5:8 The one seated upon the throne is rather pointedly silent.
5:13 This dichotomy becomes even more pronounced here. There can be no doubt in John's mind that this Lamb is Christ. Who then is seated upon the throne? It cannot be this same Lamb. And the argument cannot hold that one is simply an earthly manifestation of the other, since we are solidly in the spirit realm here.
Monday, May 16, 2016
Friday, May 13, 2016
Samuel Wilson Fussell: Muscle
Whatever the intended audience for this book was, I am not among their number.
The most charitable interpretation I can offer is that it's a cautionary tale, one that successfully deglamourizes the world of competitive bodybuilding. As though bodybuilders were not already unappealing enough, the detailed observations on cystic acne, prolapsed rectums, incontinence, and other side effects should more than serve to dissuade the reader from ever setting foot in that world.
A more cynical interpretation is that the book is written as a mea culpa, an apology to his parents and others whom he left behind to pursue his ridiculous task. Each chapter is filled with self-deprecating explanations of why he did what he did, why he jettisoned his effete, academic life, and why he was sorry. This is the literary equivalent of the fellow in your office who wants so badly to be thought of as intelligent that you can't bring yourself to give it to him. It is the guy who says things like "What unspeakable hubris!" unironically, and "My clothes took on increasingly Brobdingnagian proportions" with a smirk that dares you to ask him what it means (201, 180). The last chapter may well have been titled, "Can I Come Back Yet?"
But my personal interpretation is that the book was written for an audience of one. I have certainly had those moments where I look back on my life from the emotional dumpster fire in which I stand and think, "How did I even get here?" It is as though another took hold of my strings and shook me wildly across the stage, and then left me in a heap, draped across the lip of the bandshell. What have I done? Why did I throw all of that away, and for what? It must not have been me; I was clearly possessed by a malevolent puppeteer, or an insane djinn. At those moments, the only way to preserve one's sanity and move forward is to write a book, to spin a narrative out of the frayed threads, and then tell oneself, "This is what it meant."
The most charitable interpretation I can offer is that it's a cautionary tale, one that successfully deglamourizes the world of competitive bodybuilding. As though bodybuilders were not already unappealing enough, the detailed observations on cystic acne, prolapsed rectums, incontinence, and other side effects should more than serve to dissuade the reader from ever setting foot in that world.
A more cynical interpretation is that the book is written as a mea culpa, an apology to his parents and others whom he left behind to pursue his ridiculous task. Each chapter is filled with self-deprecating explanations of why he did what he did, why he jettisoned his effete, academic life, and why he was sorry. This is the literary equivalent of the fellow in your office who wants so badly to be thought of as intelligent that you can't bring yourself to give it to him. It is the guy who says things like "What unspeakable hubris!" unironically, and "My clothes took on increasingly Brobdingnagian proportions" with a smirk that dares you to ask him what it means (201, 180). The last chapter may well have been titled, "Can I Come Back Yet?"
But my personal interpretation is that the book was written for an audience of one. I have certainly had those moments where I look back on my life from the emotional dumpster fire in which I stand and think, "How did I even get here?" It is as though another took hold of my strings and shook me wildly across the stage, and then left me in a heap, draped across the lip of the bandshell. What have I done? Why did I throw all of that away, and for what? It must not have been me; I was clearly possessed by a malevolent puppeteer, or an insane djinn. At those moments, the only way to preserve one's sanity and move forward is to write a book, to spin a narrative out of the frayed threads, and then tell oneself, "This is what it meant."
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