Word and Flesh

So lately I've been thinking that I haven't done a lot of thinking. As it's summer, I've gotten complacent in my education -- rhetorical, academic, and spiritual. I'm trying to fix that with this post -- trying to get what has been swirling in my head since my Milton and rhetoric courses last year. What follows might seem garbled, but in the absence of being able to post in my course blog, I've found that I need to sometimes just fill these little white texts boxes with words. (Don't worry, ma. I'm working on filling my white word documents with words for my thesis, too.)

I've been thinking that, come September, when the hubbub of Gothic scribbling has ended, I'll look into the Lingua Adamica and rhetorical theory in light of my religion. For those of you who do not know, I am a Mormon (i.e. a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints) and one of our most core beliefs is that Jesus Christ is our Savior and atoned for mankind. Our ability to understand Him and, likewise, His ability to save us, is made possible only through His condescencion -- that is, becoming mortal and living on this earth and sharing of the Fall of Adam.

In August, I'll be going through the temple, a step in our mortal existence which we (as Mormons) believe enables us to make sacred and important covenants with our Heavenly Father in order to fully utilize the blessings of Christ's sacrifice and atonement. (For more on temples, please visit our official website. It really is a valuable resource on learning, first-hand, what we believe, know, and feel on the matter.) The temple is regarded to be the House of the Lord -- a place on earth so holy that He can occupy it with His presence and spirit -- and where we can, for a time, put aside the world and learn more about our eternal heritage.

What I've been considering recently, as I read my scriptures is this: we know that Christ made the first condescention in becoming mortal for us. The Word made Flesh. But I'm thinking there is a necessary and inevitable step that also must be made in order to become comprehensible to us as fallen beings: the Flesh become Word. Christ Himself did not record His life but rather allowed his prophets to chronicle it. Many scholars debate the accuracy and validity of these words. Were they written as first-hand accounts? Did these men know Christ? Does it even matter? I've reconciled, some time ago, that any error found within my scriptures is the error of mankind. (Yes, yes. For once I agree with Derrida.) Human transcribers cannot be perfect; in fact, human language cannot be perfect. As Derrida is keen to point out in Grammatology, there are multiple meanings, multiple translations, errors brought about by the wear and tear of time and a translator's choice in alternative meanings . . . (For an example of this, see the Joseph Smith Translation -- JST -- of the Bible.) To me, this is a second violence which Christ and our Heavenly Father subject themselves to, not unlike the first, which furthers my appreciation for them. As Christ allowed us to feel the nails in His hands and feet and to know of Him, learn of Him, and follow Him, so, too does He allow us to speak of Him, testify of Him, and encounter Him through Words expressed by Him, but mediated through someone else.

Mediation, as we know from Derrida, allows confusion between signifier and signified. . . It allows for error, but it also allows for personal interaction, interpretation, and interference, which need not all be bad things. I am someone who firmly believes in personal revelation and a direct connection through God. But, as I've come to think, God is experienced through me -- I cannot help but see through my own eyes. I'm mortal; it happens. But He allows us to experience and express Him ourselves, in part submitting to us in order for us to come to Him. But ultimately, of course, we are to come to Him. . . not he to us.

I'm curious; I look forward to exploring the linguistic rammifications of this. Medieval and Renaissance scholars (largely of the Kabbalistic tradition) such as Paracelsus (actually not Jewish. I modify my previous comment) strove to achieve once more the Lingua Adamica: the unmediated language of Adam -- before the Fall. Before there was a disjunct between Being and Meaning and Existing. Before form conflicted with matter. Of course, this is the very language that both Derrida and Nietzsche would say is impossible, but I'm curious: is this a pre-Fall language? And what does it mean about or own language and our relationship with God if we have to mediate with a defunct system of words?

I think it's beautiful in a way that only such things can be beautiful. It's mortality and flaws are what make it extremely personal and intimate, but its promise of transcendence just makes my heart swell. I think it shows the mercy and the willingness of God and our Savior to come to our level and attempt to become knowable in the only way we know how, even if at great risk to themselves.

And, because everyone else is doing it, I'll reference Inception. Cobb goes to Limbo in search of his wife, Mall and finally, when given the choice to settle for a dreamed-up Mall or the Real Deal (arguable which he chooses and I wouldn't mind hearing your thoughts on that, either), tells her, sadly, that she is but a shade: he cannot imagine her with all her perfections and imperfections. I'm thinking that that is how we must view God. There is a limited, myopic scope on the world, view, and language we have today. Our God is ours -- that is, we've tried to imagine and experience Him as best we know how through what tools we've been given. But ultimately, He is but a shade (don't worry. I'm not spouting heresy. Hang on a second.) I therefore look forward to a time when, beyond the veil, we can see through not our own eyes but His -- where we can see God in his Totality. I think of the fortunate prophets in the past who have been transfigured to see God in glory, who have indeed been able to see God with God's eyes, not their own. I think that this is the Lingua Adamica, and I think it is what we are striving for -- something beyond this life, this view, this understanding.

Now, isn't it nice to know that Derrida can actually help you understand the meaning of life and the Gospel? If only I could make Neitzsche do the same. . .

Anyone have any good reads on this topic (both rhetorical or spiritual) that could help me look further into this? Any thoughts? I realize I don't have the most avid readership (hahaha), but if you do come across this, I'd love to hear what you believe -- regardless of what belief-system you subscribe to.