The Roots that Clutch. Thomas Esposito. Читать онлайн. Newlib. NEWLIB.NET

Автор: Thomas Esposito
Издательство: Ingram
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isbn: 9781532644887
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Elvis Presley and other dashing actors before shocking Hollywood in the early 1960s by entering a Benedictine convent just as her career was taking off!27

      Think too how wondrously liberating it would be if you never wrote another nasty venom-spewing breakup revenge song! If you want collaborators willing to craft that song with you, I would humbly suggest that you pay a visit first to the nuns, and then to my monastery in Dallas—Brother Francis and I do a wicked good cover of “Mean”!

      Dear Heraclitus of Ephesus,

      You probably don’t remember me, but a philosophy professor introduced me to you at the beginning of my junior year of college. The occasion was a semester-long fiesta called Ancient Philosophy, and you, at least for me, were the life of the party. Your wonder at the beauty of the cosmos was invigorating after the enlightened beatdown I received the previous semester at the hands of Hume, Kant, and Hegel. Truth be told, all of the pre-Socratic philosophers, not just you, fascinated me. I remember the thrilling sensation of grasping what Thales meant when he said that everything was water, and the joy of realizing how Empedocles could be right in asserting that love and strife govern every part of the cosmos and human life. There is an enduring freshness to the philosophy practiced by you and your Greek-speaking comrades that I found much more attractive than the analytic nitpicking I endured in other courses. I must confess, though, that a hopelessly romantic notion of the initial stages of philosophy clouds my judgment.

      I hesitate to inform you that your book of musings, On Nature, survives only in fragmentary form. It was somehow lost in the flowing river of time, and we possess mere scraps of words and sentences of all the pre-Socratics, yourself included. The only reason we have even a glimpse of your actual text is because other philosophers and theologians quoted your words in their books. Their preservation of certain passages has ensured that your name is passed down along with these fascinating fragments. I suppose you will appreciate the mystique that attaches to thinkers like yourself who have been consigned to live only in the lines of others.

      It is about this logos that I want to talk to you. In the fragments attributed to you, the word is a cause, the reason behind all things, and the source of unity binding all opposites together. In reading your assertion that fire, the symbol of the logos in our world of experience, is wise and rational, the thought occurs to me: Have you ever pondered whether the logos knew you, or even loved you? Aware that you are by definition a lover of wisdom, namely, a philosopher, I thought you might be grateful to hear the speculations of a fellow Greek-speaking lover of the logos who lived a few centuries after you. He is usually called an evangelist, since he proclaimed good news, but I consider him a full-fledged member of the elite club of wisdom lovers.

      His name is John, and he penned a most extraordinary book that, fortunately, is not fragmented. He devoted the very first lines of his book, called a gospel, to an exposition of the logos as he understood it (John 1:1–5):

      In the beginning was the logos, and the logos was with God, and the logos was God. He was in the beginning with God. All things came to be through him, and without him not one thing came to be. What came to be through him was life, and the life was the light of human beings. The light shines in darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it.

      After reading the opening verses of the Gospel of John, do you hear the same echoes of your teaching on the logos that I do? His description has much in common with yours, Heraclitus. The logos for John is the cause of all things, and sustains all things in being. There is even a brief reflection on the opposites of light and darkness, though I don’t think you had such a moral meaning in mind with your take on opposites.

      John begins his gospel with a central concept of Greek philosophy surely known to his Hellenized readers. A few verses later, though, something altogether unique and startling appears without warning: “And the logos became flesh and pitched his tent among us, and we have seen his glory” (John 1:14).

      I would love to see your facial expression when you read that verse for the first time. This simple and awesome sentence highlights the crucial difference between your logos and John’s, a distinction that has vast consequences for our understanding of the logos and our own relationship to it. Whereas for you the logos is a law, a harmonizing force, or a cold cosmic mind, for John the logos is a person, one who enters into relationship with all human beings. You probably noted that something was going on with the references to “he” and “him” in the prologue of the gospel, but the line in verse 14 is unmistakable and shocking: John insists that this eternal logos, this most glorious and unifying truth of life, became a human being at a specific point in history. The name of that human being, the logos incarnate, is Jesus Christ, and all those who read the Gospel of John as a word (a written logos) sent from God are called Christians.