apocrypha

Dearest Iqbal-

Why is there no Gospel according to John the Baptist? 

It could start like all the others:

"The Book of the Generation of Jesus Christ, the son of David, the son of Abraham.

"Much to the chagrin of Herod, John, called the Baptist, lived along the Jordan, preaching of a divine apocalypse that was near.  He, wearing only a raiment of camel hair and a leather belt, would bring the sons and daughters of Israel into the water and cleanse them on their sins.

"'I indeed baptize you with water unto repetence' he told them that came, 'but he that cometh after me is mightier than I, whose shoes I am not worthy to bear: he shall baptize you with the Holy Ghost, and with fire.'

"Then came Jesus from Galilee to the Jordan unto to John, to be baptized of him."

Etc.

But then he could go back! John the Baptist could tell how, what distinctions recognized the Christ to him, and what lead him to to know that which he did. And the moment when he came to see his own role. 

In the dark he could hear the light shuffle of Salome's dance as he hurried to complete the story, a story not even completed but one whose ending was clear from the beginning.

The narrative repetition of the Gospels (to read them strait through, like chapters in a book is to return to start at the beginning and go to the end 4 times) reminds us that this was always meant to be, always was going to be, and is still happening. It matters not, to Elijah, that his death comes before the Christ's demise. 

Upon completion, John takes the pages and folds them into his mouth, lining his gums, and tucking them under his tongue. Three guards enter the cell, all masked, one carrying a scimitar, the other a cutting block, and the third holding a silver platter. The block is laid on the floor before him. 

"Would you like to pray or speak?"  

His mouth  filled with paper, his tongue immobilized, John lays his head down on the block. 

The head is presented to Salome on the silver platter. "He was silent to the end," the guard happily tells her. She pretends to be pleased, and smiles to her mother. She has the head brought to her boudoir and the party continues, the men lasciviously eyeing her.  

But isn't done with her. She feigns fatigue and excuses herself to her room, much to the disappointment of Herod. The head sits before her mirror, eyes and mouth shut. She runs her hands through his hair, pulling his curls back and accidently opening his mouth. A piece of paper emerges. She removes it and searches the rest of his cavity with her soft fingers, plying page after page of tightly folded paper out. "Silent indeed."

She locks her door and lays them out on her bed. They cover he entire mattress. The dead man's saliva is quickly deteriorating the pages and smudging the ink so she furiously copies it in her own girlish hand, filling the final third of her gold lined notebook that had begun as her journal. She slips the notebook, now filled, under her mattress, places the head of John the Baptist on the pillow beside her, and drifts to sleep.

She is discovered by her mother, who assumes that her daughter has been indecent with the prophets head (hence the rumor, perpetuated by Oscar Wilde, who has another appearance to make, that Salome was enamored with the severed head of John the Baptist). Whether Salome is killed here or merely spirited away from the head (and her adoptive father) is not important, what is important is that she loses her journal, the one that contains the Gospel according to John the Baptist. 

Now why would Wilde perpetrate such a myth about Salome's lasciviousness? Who is he protecting? Certainly Salome was not indecent with the severed head. Her respect, like the respect that Herod had for John (which fundamentally was the cause of his death), would have precluded any vileness. A hint is found many years later, and still more. 

The journal fell into the custody of Herodias. Flipping through it she sees that it is entirely filled and it's subject is often the affections that Herod has for the little girl. The mother is jealous and displeased. Nonetheless the journal is quite pretty and she keeps it displayed (partly as a keepsake for her daughter whom she no longer saw). 

Upon Herodias' death in 39AD, the journal becomes unaccounted for for centuries until it shows up rather miraculously in the inherited library of George Cecil Ives, a knownhomosexual and acquiantance of Oscar Wilde. By this time the gold flaking has been cast off by humidity and rough treatment and the book hardly seems anything special. But one evening Charles takes it down and starts on page 1. 

It begins with a the musings of a rather spoiled, wealthy girl. She writes of what she wants and what she fears. But later becomes obsessed with "the love which dare not speak it's name." It is unclear from the context of the journal what this refers to (likely it is her mother's husband, King Herod, who she may or may not return the affection to), or it may be a homosexual attraction, or an affair with a peasant (inappropriate for the 12 year old daughter of a queen), or simply a love that must be kept secret. Some modern historians, myself included, suspect that Herod himself was quite enamored with Salome, and Herod's marriage to Herodias was merely a ploy to become closer to Salome (which if it is the case doubles the irony and wisdom of John the Baptist: for nominally when Salome is offered anything she'd like by Herod, she looks to her mother for guidance. Now I ask you, what 12 year old girl doesn't know exactly what she wants? She knew, but it was "the love that could not speak it's name," so instead of revealing it, she turns to her mother. Herodias tells Salome to tell Herod that she, Salome, wants John killed. Now of course Herodias was the one who really wanted John killed because John had denounced the marriage of Herod and Herodias because Herodias was already married to Herod's brother [see Matthew 14:3], but if Herod had no interest in his wife, but much interest in his adopted daughter, then John's death completely circumvents Herodias' scheming and separates Herod from the one who it is sinful for him to have).

Now as soon as Ives discovers this "love which dare not speak its name" he passes the book on to a number of his friends, including the Lord Alfred Douglas (who, knowing that the book will likely never see the light of day, takes the line and uses it in a poem, where it denotes a specifically homosexual love) and Oscar Wilde, who was at the time being mildly persecuted for homosexual tendencies. Wilde, recognizing a kindred spirit in Salome through the lens of his own oppression, decides that he must cover for Salome's crime by reaffirming her heterosexuality. So he has her kiss the severed head of John, get caught in the act, and be killed. Now there are plenty of things to say about this. Is Salome being punished, in Wilde, for her indiscretion or for her lie? Or is it punishment at all? By severing her head she becomes a martyr of sorts.

It is unclear who, if any, of Ives friends actually got to the end of the journal and discovered that the last 23 pages were actually a gospel, and the only one written during the lifetime of the Christ. Maybe they were all too taken with Salome's secret to find her real secret. 

-Robert de Saint-Loup