καὶ εἶπεν αὐτῷ, Υπαγε νίψαι εἰς τὴν κολυμβήθραν τοῦ Σιλωάμ {ὃ ἑρμηνεύεται Ἀπεσταλμένος}. ἀπῆλθεν οὖν καὶ ἐνίψατο, καὶ ἦλθεν βλέπων.
Kai eipen auto, hupage nipsai eis ten kolumbethran tou Siloam (ho hermeneuetai Apestalmenos). Apelthen oun kai enipsato, kai elthen blepon.
And he said to him, “Go wash in the pool of Siloam” (which means Sent). Then He went and washed and returned seeing.
In this verse, the narrator offers an explanatory aside for the narratee, translating Siloam as “Sent.” This pool of Siloam, which is mentioned in Isaiah 8:6 and Nehemiah 3:15 and perhaps in Genesis 49:10, appears to function as a symbol of both Jesus (the one whom is sent) and the sacrament of baptism.[1] This verse also appears to mark the end of a section[2] thus bringing these blog posts (September with Celidonius) to an end before we really got to know much about the character of Celidonius himself.
The hope was to cover a verse a day throughout the month of September but besides the fact that there are more verses in chapter 9 than there are days in the month of September, this endeavor proved to be far too ambitious. I was also hoping to move into chapter 10 during the month of October and then call my blog posts “Flocktober” because of all the sheep and shepherd references in the chapter, but instead I will spare my implied readers from such a groan-worthy play of words.
I needed to start fleshing out my methodology, which is why the last two posts were so long. This post will also be long since I will be introducing the four literary dynamics to which I will be attending throughout my project: intertextuality, symbolism, intratextuality and characters.
Each of these dynamics can actually be applied to this verse (9:7), in which, as indicated above, we can follow intertextual cues (referencing Isaiah, Nehemiah and perhaps Genesis), unpack symbolic meaning (of the pool of Siloam), determine the intratextual frame of the pericope or section (9:1-7) and investigate the function of the character (our friend Celidonius as well as the disciples).
Following Intertextual Cues
By paying attention to literary dynamics as contemporary readers, we strive to take on the role of the implied reader and the narratee in order to remain faithful to the text. However, we know that we cannot completely reconstruct the implied reader or the narratee just as we cannot completely reconstruct the implied author or the narrator, even with multiple readings. Our own questions and biases provide focus as well as limitation. Furthermore, our own questions and interests may likely invite us to discover insights in the text that the real author, the implied author and the narrator did not intend. Even so, we “believe there is something in the text prior to the act of reading—gaps, indeterminacies, instructions, flags, and signals, for example—that calls for and governs their response. The reader follows invitations; like a polite guest being shown the narrative sights, the reader obliges the author by catching the cues and looking in the right direction.”[3]
Though we seek to be polite guests who take on the role of the implied reader, we also know that, like guests, there are some “dishes” we may prefer more than others. Indeed, there are some “dishes” that our narrator/host offers us that we may have to reject completely due to ethical restraints like a guest allergic to certain types of foods. Also, there might be “dishes” hidden in the cupboards of the text for which we may have to scavenge in order to find answers to our question and nourishment for our particular hunger and appetite. We might, at times, have to put aside the required etiquette of a polite guest. But first we must know the etiquette, at least to an extent. We must have a basic understanding of how the ideal polite guest behaves by knowing how the implied reader ought to respond to invitations and cues within the text.
One way that we can behave as polite guests and implied readers is by following intertextual cues. Often, implied authors assume that implied readers have a degree of familiarity with outside texts. Sometimes these outside texts are referenced explicitly while other times they are evoked implicitly. For example, it appears that the implied author assumes that the implied reader of the Fourth Gospel is familiar with the book of Genesis and the concept of Logos as indicated by the Prologue. The implied author expects the implied reader “to recognize allusions to those writings even when explicit citations are not made.”[4] So when the implied author describes Jesus healing a blind man by telling him to wash in the pool of Siloam, the implied reader might be expected to see such a healing miracle as reminiscent of Elisha’s healing of Naaman in 2 Kings 5.
Regarding verse 9:7, we might imagine that the implied reader is expected to recall references to Siloam or Shiloh from the Hebrew Scriptures: Isaiah 8:6 and Nehemiah 3:15 and perhaps in Genesis 49:10. If so, how do these intertexts add meaning to the pool of Siloam in John? C. K. Barrett writes, “In Isaiah 8:6 it is said that the Jews refused the waters of Shiloah, just as in this chapter they refuse Jesus.”[5] So the reference to Siloam may evoke Isaiah 8:6 which foreshadows the religious leaders’ rejection of Jesus that will occur later in the chapter. Similar arguments could be made about Nehemiah 3:15 and Genesis 49:10.
According to Roland Barthes, “Every text is an intertext; other texts can be perceived within it at various levels, in various forms which may be more or less clearly discerned: the texts of earlier culture and those of its contemporary context. Every text is a new construction of past quotations.”[6] Jean Zumstein explains that the “term intertextuality refers to the basic fact that a reading always takes place against the backdrop of certain pre-texts or in correlation with other texts.”[7]
Continuing with the dinner guest analogy, paying attention to intertextuality and allusions is like listening to the background music at the dinner party. Schneiders uses this same analogy: “Because, unfortunately, many contemporary readers of the Gosple are not as steeped in the Old Testament as were our forebears in the faith, it is important to use commentaries in studying this Gospel so that one does not miss this important ‘background music,’ which like the soundtrack in a film, often forms and guides the sensibility of the reader in ways that deepen and clarify the explicit text.”[8] For instance, if I arrive at the dinner party and loud party music is playing then I respond accordingly by perhaps dancing (or trying to avoid dancing). If a romantic love song is playing, I pay attention to the possible implications. Perhaps it is jazz and soft folk music. Either way, this background music helps set the mood for the meal and conversation and helps add meaning and texture to all that is spoken.
One resource that we will utilize in following intertextual cues is that of Aileen Guilding. Based on her study of the structure of the Fourth Gospel, Guilding asserts in The Fourth Gospel and Jewish Worship that in order to correctly interpret John, one must have an understanding of the Jewish lectionary of the first-century.[9] The long discourses, the many references to the Jewish feasts and the miracles within the Fourth Gospel strongly suggest to Guilding that the real author “arranged [Jesus’] sermons against the background of the Jewish liturgical year.”[10] Following a Triennial Cycle, the lectionary readings for each Sabbath included passages from the Pentateuch, the Prophets and the Psalms. The Fourth Gospel, according to Guilding, was intended to be read along with these texts. Markus Barth, Swiss New Testament theologian and son of Karl Barth, reviewed Guilding’s work and wrote, “Many keys have been offered and are being used for opening the door the mysteries of the Fourth Gospel. To the competing claims of Greek philosophy and Jewish mysticism, syncretistic Gnosticism and Ignatian sacramentalism, Miss Guilding’s book adds a new element that deserves to be taken no less seriously than, for example, H. Odeberg’s, W. Bauer’s, R. Bultmann’s, C.H. Dodd’s, or O. Cullman’s methods and achievements.”[11] Although he also lumps Guilding among “chosen initiates” who “discover baffling resemblances and analogies where other eyes find little or nothing,” Barth remains impressed with Guilding’s “scrutiny” and “courageous imagination.”[12]
In this project, we will not adopt Guilding’s position that the real author wrote the Fourth Gospel with a particular Jewish lectionary in mind, which Guilding herself has reconstructed based on textual evidence. However, we will use her work and knowledge as a guide in learning how to take on the role of implied reader in regards to following intertextual cues. In addition, we will use the work and intertextual knowledge of Margaret Barker, who herself utilizes Guilding, in following the intertextual cues of the Fourth Gospel.
Unpacking Symbolic Meaning
Much has been written on symbolism in the Fourth Gospel. G. H. C. Macgregor insisted, “No understanding of the Gospel is possible without an appreciation of the part played by symbolism.”[13] And Sandra Schneiders states, “Symbolism is the primary hermeneutical key to understanding the Fourth Gospel. Its theology is based on the incarnation itself, the self-symbolization of God in the Word become flesh.”[14] Schneiders defines a symbol in five parts: “(1) a sensible reality (2) which renders present to and (3) involves a person subjectively in (4) a transforming experience (5) of transcendent mystery.”[15] I have always appreciated the definitions that Schneiders offers and have actually put to memory her definition of spirituality: “the experience of conscious involvement in the project of life-integration through self-transcendence towards the horizon of the ultimate value that one perceives.” According to her definitions of spirituality and symbol, symbols appear to be possible instruments or vehicles for enhancing and deepening one’s spirituality. “With this definition,” Culpepper writes, “[Schneiders] is able to treat Jesus himself, his words, his works, and the community of believers as symbols.”[16] Yet he points out one potential weakness to her definition when he says,
While symbols may involve the observer or reader in a transforming experience of the mystery of the transcendent, not all symbols are so powerful and not all evoke the transcendent. Likewise, such an expansive concept of symbolism needs to be supplemented by further discussion of the types and functions of the symbols found in John. There is a significant difference between Jesus himself, his works, the images of water and bread, and the stone jars as symbols.[17]
Culpepper’s caution is helpful especially in terms of the “symbols” we will be dealing with in John 9 and 10, particularly the “symbol” of blindness, if we may call blindness a symbol. Is blindness in John a symbol or a metaphor? According to Schneiders’ definition, blindness does not seem to function as a symbol. In her discussion of symbols, she distinguishes between symbols and signs explaining that the latter point to “an absent reality that is totally other than itself [whereas] the symbol renders present the transcendent because and insofar as it participates in what it re-presents.”[18] Schneiders explains that the distinction between symbol and sign can easily be confused in the Fourth Gospel because of the Greek word that the implied author uses for symbol: shmeion (semeion), which is most often translated as “sign.”[19] Of the man born blind and symbolism she writes,
The man born blind (John 9), in the semeion of his healing, encountered the glory of the living God in Jesus and progressed in that experience even before he could name his healer (9:17, 30-31, 33, 36).[20]
According to Schneiders, the healing of the blind man is a symbol, not necessarily the blindness itself. “A symbol,” she writes, “cannot be explained [as indicated by the healed man’s apparent failure to explain the significance of his healing to the Pharisees] because it is not simply an appeal to the intellect but a locus of experience.”[21] In her extended interpretation of John 9, Schneiders speaks of water as a “central motif” in John along with life and light and she describes the water in John 9 as “symbolically named by the evangelist ‘the Sent [One]’ (9:7).”[22] Schneiders lists Celidonius among her “symbolic characters,” a term she derives from Raymond Collins’s “representative figures.”[23] She writes,
The evangelist concentrates the characters of these figures into a single or a couple of traits that are highlighted and intensified. The character becomes a kind of incarnation of the feature or trait. Thus, the Beloved Disciple is the personification of loving insight into the mystery of Jesus; Judas, the refusal of the light that has come into the world; the man born blind, of the dynamic of coming to believe in Jesus, and so on.[24]
So for Schneiders, Celidonius represents and symbolizes “the dynamic of coming to believe in Jesus.” The symbolic characters, she explains, invite the reader to “identify with the character, positively or negatively, and thus enter into the dynamic of the narrative in a deeply personal way.”[25] The reader is thus invited to identify with Celidonius. She writes,
The reader is, of course, supposed to identify with the man born blind. But do we, perhaps, recognize something of ourselves in the parents who confess Jesus in private but become sophisticated evaders when that confession has consequences for our reputation or job or safety? Even worse, are we religious authority figures whose first allegiance is to the institution and who are willing to suppress the prophets among us when their testimony to their experiences calls that institution or our position within it into question?[26]
The one set of symbolic characters that Schneiders does not mention here are the disciples who ask Jesus the question of suffering in the first place, the question that initiates the entire narrative. In this project, I the reader choose to identify with the disciples who ask the question. Although the disciples ‘take a back seat’ throughout the rest of the narrative, I argue that the entire Johannine pericope (John 9 – 10) functions as the response of the Johannine Jesus to the question of suffering and therefore as a response to the reader’s question. This would be an appropriate time to shift our discussion to intratextuality in order to justify my argument that John 9 – 10 are to be read as one Johannine pericope. However, we still have not decided how we are to understand blindness. Is blindness a symbol or metaphor?
Schneiders identifies the healing of Celidonius as a symbol of an encounter with the living God. She also identifies Celidonius himself as a symbolic character or, to use Raymond Collins term, a representative figure. But she does not identify blindness itself as a symbol. In Symbolism in the Gospel of John, Paul Diel says “the miracle is entirely symbolic” and Celidonius “symbolizes the banal man, the man who since birth is blind to essential life.”[27] According to Diel, the blindness does not represent a failure to “recognize the divinity of the Son” but rather blindness to the meaning of life and a failure to read one’s own conscience.[28] I like that Diel expands the meaning of blindness beyond simply recognition of Jesus’s divinity, but in the end, he does not help us in understanding the symbolic or metaphorical nature of blindness. In order to tackle this question, we will turn to Paul Ricoeur.
Schneiders brilliantly sums up a dense 24-page chapter of Ricouer on Metaphor, “which is a purely linguistic reality, and symbol, which stands on the threshold between reality and language participating in the former and giving rise to the latter.”[29] In Ricoeur’s words, “Metaphor occurs in the already purified universe of the logos, while the symbol hesitates on the dividing line between bios and logos.”[30] There is a two-dimensional quality to symbol: it exists in the semantic world and the non-semantic world while metaphor exists solely in the semantic world. However, metaphor needs symbol in order to convey its power. Symbol is what fuses metaphor with meaning. According to Ricoeur, “metaphor is…the linguistic procedure…within which the symbolic power is deposited”[31] and “metaphors are… the linguistic surface of symbols, and they owe their power to relate the semantic surface to the presemantic surface in the depths of human experience to the two-dimensional structure of the symbol.”[32]
So Celidonius is a symbol or symbolic character in that he represents or symbolizes more than just a literary figure. Celidonius symbolizes more than just “the dynamic of coming to believe in Jesus.” Celidonius also symbolizes and represents a real historical person or at least someone “historically associated with [a] real person” who may or may not have been named Celidonius. “The evangelist,” Schneiders explains, “is using history symbolically, not inventing ‘symbols’ out of whole cloth.’”[33] And perhaps the healing also represents a historical reality But is something a symbol just because it represents a historical reality?
Perhaps I do not fully comprehend the difference between a metaphor and a symbol. I was going to say that Celidonius and his healing could both be understood as symbols while the blindness itself is a metaphor, except I am not entirely sure what makes them so different. I guess I am having a difficult time understanding how blindness meets the five criteria of Schneiders’ definition: a symbol is “(1) a sensible reality (2) which renders present to and (3) involves a person subjectively in (4) a transforming experience (5) of transcendent mystery.”[34] Blindness is a sensible reality, but how does it render present to and involve a person subjectively in a transforming experience of transcendent mystery? I can see how the healing of Celidonius might fit these criteria, but does Celidonius himself fit this criteria.
Maybe, for now, we can say that the healing is a symbol while Celidonius and blindness are symbolic. Schneiders herself says the Celidonius’s blindness “is symbolic of the universal congenital incapacity for divine life that must be overcome through birth anew/from above/by water and the Spirit (see 3:3,5). It is not due to sin but provides the arena for God’s salvific work (see 9:3).”[35] But if something is “symbolic” doesn’t that mean that it functions as a symbol?
I am afraid to say that it seems Schneiders’s definition of symbol is too specific for her own symbols. I can see why Culpepper pushes against her definition and offers the definition of Xavier Léon-Dufour instead. According to Léon-Dufour, a symbol is simply “that which represents something else in virtue of analogical relationship.”[36] Culpepper then points to John Painter’s work on symbolism, which focuses primarily on John 9.
Clearly, this attempt to briefly unpack symbolic meaning in John has proved far too complex to be covered appropriately in one portion of a blog post. We did not even cover the symbolic meaning of the Pool of Siloam. I will have to bracket this investigation for now in order to move on to intratextuality.
But before we do, I want to continue briefly with the dinner guest analogy. I like the idea of seeing the symbols as the meal itself. We all share the same dish but we taste the food differently. We all encounter the same symbols but because of their surplus of meaning, we experience them and interpret them in different ways. The intertextual cues (the background music), the intratextual frame (where I am sitting in the room and at the table), and the function of the characters (my social position in relation to the host and the other guests) all inform how I taste the dish, but ultimately I taste the dish in my own unique way.
Determining the Intratextual Frame of the Pericope
Intratextuality refers to the texts relation to itself. In this case, intratextuality involves looking at how John 9 and 10 relate to the larger Gospel and how do they relate to each other. For now, I intend to demonstrate how both John 9 and 10 function as the implied author’s response to the question of suffering, using C. H. Dodd’s commentary The Interpretation of the Fourth Gospel.
The connection between the healing narrative (9:1-12) and the following discourse, which takes form as a trial scene (9:13- 41), is clear. However, C. H. Dodd explores the possibility that the episode continues into chapter 10, explaining that “it is not until the beginning of [chapter 11] that a fresh narrative begins.”[37] Dodd highlights two clear sections in chapter 10: the Good Shepherd discourse (10:1-21) and the Chanukkah dialogue (10: 22-39). Both of these sections, which follow a pattern of discourse and response,[38] are held together by the word e[rgon (“work” in 10:25, 32, 33, 37, 38) and references to shepherd and sheep. Furthermore, the reference to Jesus healing the blind, which is couched within accusations of demonic influence (10:20-21), connects the conclusion of the Good Shepherd discourse with the preceding sign narrative. Indeed, Dodd asserts that the reference “would be senseless unless 9:1-7 had preceded it” and sees it as a “clamp” which holds the whole pericope (9:1 – 10:21) together as a cohesive unit. [39] Within this unit, Dodd detects the following sequence: narrative, followed by a pattern of dialogue and monologue, and followed yet again by dialogue transitioning into monologue with the key phrase ajmh;n ajmh;n levgw uJmin (“truly, truly, I say to you”); a sequence he also observes in chapter 3.[40] Although verse 10:22 introduces a new time and place, Dodd understands this verse and its following verses to serve as an epilogue much like 3:22-36, 5:60-71 and 11:45-53, which append their preceding discourses, elaborating on themes previously discussed. Based on this overview of Dodd’s literary analysis, we can begin to investigate how these 73 verses function as a response to the question of suffering.
Once again returning to the dinner guest analogy, attending to intratextuality is analogous to attending to cues from your host regarding whether it is time to move into the den for some coffee or perhaps it is time to leave. It can also be analogous in a spatial sense informing the guest about which rooms are appropriate to visit and which are off limits, which decorations are out in order for the guest to see and which are out to be seen at another time etc.
Investigating the Functions of the Characters
Investigating the functions of the characters is very similar to unpacking symbolic meaning, especially when we are dealing with symbolic characters, as most of them tend to be in the Fourth Gospel.
According to Culpepper, “Most of the characters appear on the literary stage only long enough to fulfill their role in the evangelist’s representation of Jesus and the responses to him.”[41] He then describes minor characters or ficelles who “exist to serve specific plot functions, often revealing the protagonist, and may carry a great deal of representative or symbolic value.”[42] In John, most of the characters seem to function as ficelles, offering a variety of human responses to Jesus. Culpepper concludes that “the functions of the characters [in John] are primarily two: (1) to draw out various aspects of Jesus’ character successively by providing a series of diverse individuals with whom Jesus can interact, and (2) to represent alternative responses to Jesus so that the reader can see their attendant misunderstandings and consequences.”[43] In this project, we will pay attention to how the disciples’ and the reader’s question of suffering draws out various aspects of Jesus’ character as he offers a multi-layered response in John 9 and 10.
Schneiders highlights the fact that the Fourth Gospels pays special attention to individuals or groups that speak with an individual voice, like the disciples in John 9:2. She writes, “By identifying, positively or negatively, with these symbolic figures, the reader of John is educated in believing. She or he learns both what to do and what not to do in relation to Jesus.”[44] Raymond Collins calls these characters representative figures while Schneiders calls them symbolic figures or symbolic characters.
In our dinner party analogy, these characters may be similar to the various postures held by guests or seats assigned for guests at the party. In this project, however, I am more interested in what Culpepper considers the primary function of the characters: to draw out the character of Jesus, especially in relation and in response to particular characters. Even more specifically, I am interested in how Jesus responds to the question of suffering asked by the disciples in 9:2. In our analogy, we might consider this question akin to the hunger and appetite of dinner guests. The guests are hungry for a satisfying meal just as the reader might be eager for a satisfying answer to the question of suffering. How will Jesus respond to this hunger?
I can summarize my muddy method of reader-response criticism, narrative criticism and the insights of mimetic theory in the following dinner party analogy:
I bring a bottle of wine (mimetic theory) and an appetite (the question of suffering). I follow and attend to various cues such as sitting in my assigned seat, offering assistance to the host, etc. First, I am served an appetizer (the first response of Jesus). Then, background music (intertextual cues) begins to play as I am served a dish (symbols of blindness and exclusion), which pairs well with the wine I brought (mimetic theory). In fact, it seems like the dish would be almost incomplete or insufficient without the wine. Finally, I am served a second and final course (of symbols of sheep and a good shepherd), which my taste buds experience and interpret in a particular way. After completing this final course, I realize from the cues that it is time to move into the next room and I am grateful that my hunger has been satiated.
How does the implied author satiate my hunger, that is, satisfy my desire for an answer to the question of suffering? In his final dish (of symbols of sheep, wolves and a good shepherd), the implied author feeds me in such a way that I begin to realize that I myself am the hungry wolf. I begin to realize that the Johannine Jesus lays down his life not only for the sheep but also for the wolf, who both live within me. As the Good Shepherd, Jesus is willing to take the blame for all the suffering in the world and in my life; and, perhaps more importantly, Jesus is willing to respond to my need to blame someone by being that someone, being the object of my blame. Although I am satisfied with this response, I am convicted by my violent hunger for someone to blame and thus invited by the implied author to be transformed by the self-giving love of the Johannine Jesus who wants me to eventually let go of my violent hunger and relax into the loving arms of the Good Shepherd.
[1] “The story of the man born blind appears seven times in early catacomb art, most frequently as an illustration of Christian Baptism (F.M. Braun, Jean le Théologien et son Evangelie dans L’Eglise Ancienne, p.149 ff). Chapter ix served as a reading in preparing converts for Baptism…In particular, when the practice of the three scrutinies or examinations before Baptism developed (at least from the 3rd century on, according to Braun, p 158-159), John ix was read on the day of the great scrutiny.” Raymond Brown, The Gospel According to John I-XII, p. 380.
[2] “There is a clear break between v. 7 and v. 8.” C. K. Barrett, The Gospel According to St. John: An Introduction with Commentary and Notes on the Greek Text: 2nd Edition (London: SPCK, 1978). Culpepper also marks 9:1-7 as “Scene 1: The Healing of the Blind Man” in The Gospel and Letters of John, 174.
[3] Kevin J. Vanhoozer, “The Reader in New Testament Interpretation” in Hearing the New Testament: Strategies for Interpretation, ed. Joel B. Green (Grand Rapids MI: William B. Eerdmans Publishing Co., 1995), 318.
[4] Mark Allan Powell, “Narrative Criticism” in Hearing the New Testament: Strategies for Interpretation ed. Joel B. Green (Grand Rapids MI: William B. Eerdmans Publishing Co., 1995), 247.
[5] C. K. Barrett, The Gospel According to St. John: 2nd edition, 359.
[6] Roland Barthes. Text (théorie du). Encyclopaedia Universalis 17:996-1000, p. 998 as cited by Jean Zumstein in “Intratextuality and Intertextuality in the Gospel of John” translated by Mike Gray in Anatomies of Narrative Criticism: The Past, Present, and Futures of the Fourth Gospel as Literature, edited by Tom Thatcher and Stephen D. Moore (Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature No. 55, 2008), pp. 121-135, p. 121.
[7] Jean Zumstein, “Intratextuality and Intertextuality in the Gospel of John,” 122.
[8] Schneiders, Written, 36.
[9] Aileen Guilding. The Fourth Gospel and Jewish Worship: A Study of the Relation of St. John’s Gospel to the Ancient Jewish Lectionary System (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1960), 2.
[10] Guilding, The Fourth Gospel and Jewish Worship, 1.
[11] Markus Barth, Journal of Religion 42 (1962), pp. 65 – 66.
[12] Markus Barth, Journal of Religion 42 (1962), pp. 65 – 66.
[13] G. H. C. Macgregor, The Gospel of John, xxv.
[14] Sandra Schneiders, Written That You May Believe: Encountering Jesus in the Fourth Gospel. Revised and Expanded Edition (New York: Crossroad Publishing Co., 2003), 76 -77.
[15] Schneiders, Written, 66.
[16] Culpepper, Anatomy, 187.
[17] Culpepper, Anatomy, 187.
[18] Schneiders, Written, 67.
[19] Schneiders, Written, 65.
[20] Schneiders, Written, 67.
[21] Schneiders, Written, 67-68.
[22] Schneiders, Written, 150.
[23] Schneiders, Written, 75. Raymond F. Collins, “The Representative Figures in the Fourth Gospel,” Downside Review 94 (1976): 26-46, 118 – 32.
[24] Schneiders, Written, 75.
[25] Schneiders, Written, 75.
[26] Schneiders, Written, 161.
[27] Paul Diel, Symbolism in the Gospel of John, 102.
[28] Paul Diel, Symbolism in the Gospel of John, 1.
[29] Schneiders, Written, 67 n. 8
[30] Paul Ricoeur, Interpretation Theory, 59.
[31] Paul Ricoeur, Interpretation Theory, 69.
[32] Paul Ricoeur, Interpretation Theory, 69.
[33] Schneiders, Written, 75.
[34] Schneiders, Written, 66.
[35] Schneiders, Written, 151.
[36] “Towards a Symbolic Reading of the Fourth Gospel,” pp. 440-41. The definition is taken from Lalande, Vocabulaire technique et critique de la philosophie, p. 1058. Cited by Culpepper, Anatomy, 187.
[37] C. H. Dodd, The Interpretation of the Fourth Gospel (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1968), 354.
[38] Good Shepherd Discourse: Discourse (10:1-5), Response (10:6), Discourse (10:7-18), Response (10:19-21). Chanukkah Discourse: Discourse (10:22-30), Response (10:31), Discourse (10:32- 38), Response (10:39).
[39] Dodd, 356.
[40] Brief narrative (3:1), dialogue and monologue (3:2-10), dialogue transitioning into monologue with ajmh;n ajmh;n levgw soi (3:11-21).
[41] Culpepper, Anatomy, 102.
[42] Culpepper, Anatomy, 104.
[43] Culpepper, Anatomy, 145.
[44] Schneiders, Written, 34.
DANIEL DeFOREST LONDON 
See Brian Neil Peterson, John’s Use of Ezekiel: Understanding the Unique Perspective of the Fourth Gospel (Minneapolis MN: Fortress Press, 2015)