The Apocalyptic Chronotope

Michael E. Vines

AAR/SBL Annual Meeting

Bakhtin and the Biblical Imagination

San Antonio, Texas

November 20, 2004

It has been twenty-five years since the SBL Apocalypse Group published its survey of apocalyptic texts: Apocalypse: The Morphology of a Genre.[i] In the introductory article of that volume, John Collins provided a serviceable description of apocalypse as a literary genre. However, in retrospect, Collins’ definition of the genre seems overly formalistic. The purpose of this paper is to revisit the definition of apocalypse and see what additional insights a Bakhtinian approach can provide into the nature of the genre. By examining the rather peculiar way in which narrative time and space is construed within apocalypse, as well as the unique perspective of its form shaping ideology, we should be able to refine the definition of the genre and better discern the special value of apocalyptic for addressing life’s problems.

It might be helpful to begin by considering, in a more general way, the difficulties that attend to the problem of classification. In 1859, the famous naturalist Louis Agassiz noted that Carolus Linnaeus, the father of the modern system of biological classification, persisted in referring to mammalia as quadrupedia up through the tenth edition of his book Systema Naturae. In commenting on this anomaly, Agassiz remarked that Linnaeus failed to include “the Cetaceans” with the mammals and continued to include them “among the Fishes.”[ii] Agassiz’s criticism of Linnaeus illustrates the chief problem that confronts those who embark upon the task of classification: which features are essential and which are merely accidental? It is hard to fault Linnaeus for assuming that a whale is a type of fish. One might reasonably assume that a characteristic so obvious as the number of a creature’s (visible!) appendages should surely be considered taxonomically essential. But, as we know, that proved not to be the case. The lesson is that when we undertake the task of classification, we can often be deceived into thinking that obvious characteristics are therefore essential.[iii]

At its most basic level genre is about organizing literature into classes so that we can better understand the conventions that govern both the creation and interpretation of specific works. We proceed initially on the basis of induction. We collect specimens and then note their similarities and differences. However, at some point, we need a theoretical grid that will help us distinguish between accidence and essence. Without such a grid we are engaged in a merely “formalistic” comparison that runs the risk of becoming atomistic and reductionistic (and susceptible of classifying whales as fish!). It is here that Mikhail Bakhtin assists us. Bakhtin’s theoretical investigations into the nature of literature and his related explorations of literary genre help us identify what is essential in literature and place our generic classifications on more stable ground.[iv] For Bakhtin, genre is not about the presence or absence of particular literary forms (or linguistic devices). Genre is instead primarily about a work’s meta-linguistic form: the formal structure of a work that transcends its linguistic devices. Bakhtin observes that the various linguistic devices in a literary work are always made to serve a more comprehensive authorial intention, what Bakhtin calls the work’s “architectonic form” or its “form-shaping ideology.”

For Bakhtin, literature is primarily a mode of inter-personal communication. Behind the individual literary work is an author who is trying to give expression to a particular way of viewing the world. The author’s goal is to express this viewpoint in a persuasive way to a reader. Like any inter-personal communication, the relationship between the author and reader is a dynamic exchange between two thinking and perceiving subjects. Overly formalistic approaches to literature tend to overlook this somewhat obvious characteristic of literature and instead treat the literary work as a static object that can be successfully analyzed by breaking the work down into its constituent forms. This analytical approach is destructive of the underlying dynamism of literature as a mode of inter-personal communication.

According to Bakhtin, instead of “analyzing” literature we should try to discern the author’s voice. We do that by looking for the overarching unity of the literary work; the unity imposed upon it by the author’s creative intention. With respect to genre, the most important aspect of the author’s creative intent is the way in which the author creates the world of the narrative. Although the author shapes the world of the narrative to match her creative vision, this created world is never completely idiosyncratic. Instead, within the broader literary environment specific patterns of “form-shaping ideology” coalesce around particular perspectives and themes. These patterns of ideological expression are what we call genre. At the risk of oversimplification, there are two main aspects of these patterns that we should notice: an internal aspect, and an external aspect.

Internally, these patterns help an author create a context for the substantive content of the literary work. To use a simple example, when we wish to communicate a formal message to someone, we use the conventions of the “business letter.” These conventions establish a context for the message which communicates seriousness and formality. In narrative literary works, the creation of context is more complex, since the author is creating a whole world for the action of the narrative. By creatively using the conventions of genre, an author is able to construct an artificial context for the expression of a particular point of view within the literary work. This context establishes the axiological possibilities for the action of the hero. The literary work is therefore a kind of axiological or ideological experiment. The hero of the work, who generally embodies the values the author wishes to test, is placed in a world created by the author specifically to test the hero and the values represented by the hero. Since the author creates the world of the narrative, its temporal and spatial qualities can be manipulated to test the hero’s values, or the values of other characters within the narrative, in very specific ways. This manipulation is not merely dimensional (the length of story time, or the expanse of narrative geography). The author charges the time and space of the narrative with ethical qualities of meaning and significance. For Bakhtin, it is precisely the value laden temporal and spatial quality of a work, or its chronotope, that is the primary indicator of its generic relationships.

Externally, the use of a specific pattern or genre engages the author in an ongoing conversation about life; a conversation that may change and evolve over time. From this perspective, genre is not so much about taxonomy, but about ongoing conversations over what Bakhtin called “great time.” Thus, as an act of human communication, Bakhtin claims that a literary work is inherently dialogic. To the extent that the author is conscious of this ongoing conversation and the surrounding cultural polyphony, its importance may be acknowledged within the world of the text. Thus, within the literary work, the narrative may be more or less dialogic to the degree that the author allows competing points of view to enter the world of the text. Works that tend to be unaware of, or foreclosed to, competing viewpoints are monologic, while those that intentionally orchestrate multiple viewpoints are dialogic. Ancient works of literature, such as apocalyptic, are generally very monologic, the overtly dialogical work being a more modern literary form. However, even ancient works sometimes explore dialogism through the mimesis of dialogue within the narrative and through the incorporation of diverse subgenres.[v] However, these works remain essentially monologic, since the values of the author control the representation of the dialogic voices within the text and distort their perspective on life.

However, even monologic works are externally dialogic. The resources of language and genre that an author uses to express his intention belong not solely to the author, but also to the surrounding culture in which the author is embedded. The use of these common cultural resources, engage the author in a kind of dialogue with others who are using the same resources in similar ways. To be properly understood, a literary work should be situated within an ongoing dialogue with other works that share a similar form-shaping ideology or genre. Therefore, if we wish to understand the importance of a particular literary work within a genre, we need to be engaged in what we might call a diachronic history of literature, and not merely in its taxonomic classification.

Having established a theoretical framework for a Bakhtinian approach to the problem of genre, we are now in a position to examine what this perspective might contribute to the understanding of apocalypse as a literary genre. In contrast to Collins, we are interested not so much in the particular “forms” used in the apocalypse and their relative frequency, but in the ideological framework that holds these forms together. Following Bakhtin’s lead, we can probe the nature of apocalypse by organizing our observations under three headings: Chronotope, Author & Hero, and Dialogue.

CHRONOTOPE

The peculiar way in which time and space is constructed within apocalypse is one of the genre’s most obvious features. The time and space of apocalypse transcends the boundaries of this mundane world both dimensionally and axiologically. Dimensionally, the temporal and spatial boundaries of apocalypse are permeable and limitless. Vast expanses of time can be surveyed in both directions. Historical events can be reviewed and assessed and future events can be revealed and celebrated. The temporal boundaries of apocalypse are not limited by quotidian concerns. Nor is time bound by the biological extent of the hero’s life. The normal temporal boundaries of human life are suspended to make room for revelation. At times, the suspension of time within the narrative is explicit, as in 2 Enoch 2, but elsewhere the revelation occurs without any indication of its temporal duration. Even when there are temporal indications within the text (e.g., 4 Ezra), these primarily serve to create time for spiritual preparation and do not indicate the total extent of time taken up by the revelation.

Similarly, the spatial dimension of apocalypse is permeable and unbounded. This is true whether the hero is taken on a heavenly journey or is given a heavenly vision. In either case, the hero is allowed to pass freely, either physically or mentally, between earth and heaven. From the vantage point afforded by the journey or revelation, the hero can survey all the realms of heaven and earth. Within this unbounded space, the hero sees the splendor of heaven, the horrors of hell, and the persistent misdeeds of humanity. The lofty perspective of apocalypse is strange and disorienting to the hero. The visions are filled with strange symbolic creatures, and the heavenly realm is populated with fantastic supernatural beings. The hero’s confusion is dispelled by a divine companion who guides the hero on the otherworldly journey or explains the mysterious visions.

The significance of both the temporal and spatial unboundedness of apocalypse is that it affords a divine perspective on human activity. The purpose of apocalypse would therefore seem to be to gain a God’s eye view on human history and activity. If we ask why the apocalyptic authors created such a perspective, we need only look at what these texts imply about the state of human affairs. The meaning of human history has become opaque. The assumption that prevailed in Israel’s epic literature (the Torah, the Deuteronomistic History, etc.), namely that God’s covenant love ensures the success and prosperity of God’s people, no longer seems to hold. Instead, the world has become a hostile place overrun by those who refuse to acknowledge the one sovereign God and, worse yet, who torment and persecute God’s righteous followers. The possibility of justice in the present has disappeared. The apocalypse is therefore profoundly pessimistic about world events, human activity in general, and the terrestrial welfare of the righteous. Whatever hope might be expressed in the world of the apocalypse must be projected into the eschatological future.

AUTHOR AND HERO

The role of the hero in the apocalypse is distinctive. In the first place, the hero is most often a righteous figure borrowed from Israel’s epic past: figures like Enoch, Abraham, Baruch, or Daniel. Presumably, these epic figures are incorporated into apocalypse because they are the only ones capable of being entrusted with such important truths. If, as we have speculated above, the present age of the apocalypse is utterly corrupt with little or no hope of being salvaged, then the only possible bearer of the divine message must come from the epic past. By using heroic figures from the past, the author of apocalypse betrays both his mistrust of the present, and implicitly celebrates the virtues of a bygone age. These heroes embody the values that once sustained God’s people and guaranteed their blessing, but their day has passed. Now these heroes become the bearers of a message that asserts the sovereignty of God while it simultaneously acknowledges the hopelessness of the human situation.

As the recipient of the apocalyptic message, the hero is almost completely passive. The hero of apocalyptic is not the deed performing hero of Greek mythology whose actions affect the course of human events. The hero of the apocalypse is a completely passive vehicle of divine revelation. The hero is selected to be the bearer of revelation because of his exceeding virtue, but these virtues are never put to the test in the world of the apocalypse. Even in the Testament of Abraham, where Abraham shows himself to be a harsh judge of human failure, Abraham’s actions are only a demonstration of his surpassing virtue and not a test of his fidelity to God. The passivity of the hero of apocalypse establishes an important distinction between apocalypse and prophecy. In biblical prophecy, the hero is expected to relate the content of the divine revelation to a hostile audience. The virtue of the prophetic hero is measured by his faithfulness in speaking the “word of God” under these difficult circumstances. In apocalypse, the emphasis is on the splendor and complexity of the heavenly message, along with its proper interpretation, rather than on the action of the hero.

Rather than testing the hero, the author of apocalypse is interested in testing the cosmos. “Creation” is therefore the character that is scrutinized by apocalypse. The author of apocalypse seems all too aware of the corruption of the world. The question is how does the creator intend to deal with this corruption? What will be done to right the inequities of society? Is the creator still in charge of the cosmos? The hero not only learns that the terrestrial world is beset by corruption, but that corruption also extends to the supernatural realm. Nevertheless, the hero also discovers that God has always been in control of the cosmos, even during times of great injustice and human unrighteousness. Furthermore, there is a divine plan to deal with disobedience, sin, and corruption. It is the disclosure of this plan that is the main content of the apocalypse, and its purpose is to display the majesty of God and to vindicate God’s sovereignty and justice.

DIALOGISM

With respect to its internal dialogism, apocalypse supplements heavenly visions and journeys with the somewhat fantastic mechanism of other worldly dialogue. The hero normally has a heavenly guide with whom he converses. However, the hero is usually passive in this regard as well. The hero sometimes argues with his divine guide on behalf of humanity, and will even prayerfully intercede for those who are in need. However, the action of the hero consists mainly in pressing his heavenly guide for explanations of the meaning of things. This provides the author with an opportunity to express his finalizing vision of this world and the world beyond. The apocalypse is therefore a profoundly monologic genre, since no dialogic response is allowed or even entertained within the discourse of apocalypse. The thoroughly negative assessment of human history offered within the apocalypse is unmitigated by any competing perspective. Thus, there is little or no sympathy in the way apocalyptic reads history and no rebuttals are allowed to counterbalance its harsh judgments.

An investigation of the apocalypse’s external dialogic relations would take us well beyond the limitations of this paper. At best, all that we can do is to propose some prospective lines of inquiry. First, how is apocalyptic related to biblical prophecy? This question is not so much about whether or not the apocalypse is a transform of biblical prophecy, but more about an inquiry into the ideological connection between the two genres. Both types of literature are clearly revelatory and concerned with bringing a divine perspective to bear on the human condition. Yet, they are at the same time clearly different in the way they convey this perspective. The prophetic chronotope is by turns both fantastic and realistic, both prosaic and poetic, while the apocalypse is more firmly rooted in the fantastic and the supernatural. The prophet speaks the “word of God” to his contemporaries, but the hero of apocalypse only witnesses and internalizes the revelation. The point of this difference seems to be that prophetic literature seems to hold that the present is still redeemable, if only people will reform themselves and follow the spirit and intent of God’s laws. While the apocalypse despairs over the possibilities of reforming the present.

A second line of inquiry might explore historical and ideological developments within apocalypse. Collins is struck by the distinction between those apocalypses that are based upon mystical visions, which he labels Type I apocalypses, and those that involve heavenly journeys, which he calls Type II apocalypses. Collins seems intrigued by the formal distinction between these two types of apocalypse. If the distinction is valid, we might be led to ask what historical or social changes were involved in this change within the genre. But from a Bakhtinian point of view the question is rather whether or not Type I and Type II apocalypses construe the chronotopic boundaries of apocalypse in different ways. It seems to me that they do not. The difference between the two types appears to be only formal, and therefore not such that it would indicate an essential difference within the genre.

CONCLUSION

In a more recent treatment of apocalypse, John Collins has claimed that “A worldview is not necessarily tied to any one literary form, and the apocalyptic worldview could find expression in other genres besides apocalypses.”[vi] A Bakhtinian approach to the problem of genre suggests that this cannot be the case. The particular way in which a literary work construes the world is essential to its genre. This is not to deny that the apocalypse may be in conversation with other literary genres that construe the world in similar ways, but we should be able to point to something distinctive in the worldview, or chronotope, of the apocalypse if it is a distinct genre.

In this too brief survey of its chronotopic characteristics, we find that apocalypse is an essentially “finalizing” genre: an attempt to fix the axiological position of human activity and then measure it in relation to divine standards of justice. Within the world of the apocalypse there is no room for rebuttal or justification. Invariably, the cosmos is found to be deeply, if not fatally, flawed. Apocalypse is not interested in deliberating over the guilt or innocence of the cosmos. What it wants to explore is how the sovereign creator God intends to deal with a flawed creation. The past is filled with errors and the present appears irredeemable, what then will God do about the future? The hero of the apocalypse is invited to view the cosmic situation from God’s point of view and learn the mysteries of God’s hidden plan. This is true whether the hero gains this perspective by a mystical vision, or a heavenly journey. What the hero learns is that God is in control of the cosmos, and that there is a plan for dealing with human disobedience and corruption.

This, it seems to me, is a much more helpful way of looking at the essential nature of apocalypse. It is not that the formal approach is fundamentally wrong. It is rather that attention to literary devices does not go far enough in uncovering the essential unity of apocalypse as a literary genre. If we look at apocalypse through the lens of chronotope we begin to discern this essential unity. With greater clarity about the essential nature of apocalypse as a literary genre we are in a much better position to engage in the kind of literary history that will help us understand its place in the development of literature and ideas.