by Yasmin Esack
“Mr. Hart, there is a little matter that discredits your theory. You cannot prove that the human mind lives on. No one can, can they? If you don’t mind me saying so, I find you speak with surety about things unproven.”
“Consciousness cannot die, Father.”
“There you go again.”
Hart flashed a smile that eased the hard lines of his face. He even laughed a bit. “I’m still sure of all I say.”
“If you wish to say the soul does not die, maybe we can agree on that.”
“The soul does not die.”
“Well then, what else would the pages have said?”
“The pages would’ve said something of where we go after death, of other worlds. It’s all about secrets it seems.”
“In my opinion, Mr. Hart, based on what’s in the text, the Gospel of Mary Magdalene seems to focus mainly on a realm. It claims that the disciples were ordered to go forth and preach the good news of the realm and that they should be contented with another image of nature. Yet, they wept even as Magdalene said she would teach them all that was hidden from them.”
“The disciples did not understand the message.”
“No, Mr. Hart, they didn’t.”
It was no longer an assertion for Hart that the disciples understood nothing. He considered it fact. There was still an issue that truly burned his heart.
“There’s something I really need clarified, Father,” he said.
“What’s that?”
“Line ten of the gospel says: One doth not see a vision with the spirit or the soul but the mind that is between the two. It is...it is… The last two words refer to what? Do you know?”
Anatoli shook his head. “We’ll never know, Dr. Hart, will we?”
“It’s God, isn’t it? Someone ripped the page that came after the words. I believe it was deliberate. It is unthinkable to many that the essence of God could be seen.”
“But, it is, Mr. Hart, it is,” Anatoli fired back.
Hart recoiled. That Anatoli could wholeheartedly support such thinking was flabbergasting to him. He wasn’t prepared to accept it. The means by which a human could access the universal mind of God was the sole intent of the gospel. It was the singular element that made it different.
Deciding to let the matter lie, he removed a page from his pocket and placed it on the table next to the empty tea cups. Five words were on the page: Zama zama ōzza rachama ōzai
“Would you happen to know what these words mean by any chance?”
Anatoli frowned. “I don’t recognize this language at all. Maybe, you can take it to a philologist.”
“I did. No one knows what it is.”
“Well, I don’t know either.”
Placing the page away, Hart stood up. “Thank you, Father. I’m indeed enlightened by your knowledge. Now, I must think about making my way back to the town of Sharm el Sheikh.”
“Now, now Mr. Hart, you’ve come so far, surely you will not leave without seeing the great icons of this monastery, would you? Come with me.”
Hart followed Anatoli to the greater complex of the monastery, to the bell towers from which early monks looked out from. He soon got to the Katholikon, the main church which housed nine chapels. The Katholikon was very impressive, its lighting and altars consisting of very intricate designs. Its glory was the fresco of the Transfiguration that decorated the church’s apse. From there, Anatoli led him through a courtyard to the Gallery of Icons and then, the adjoining library.
The icons were of past saints and abbots. They were remarkably preserved as were the library’s manuscripts. Anatoli explained that it was due to the arid air. There were more than five thousand manuscripts in the library, many of Greek, Coptic, Arab and Slavonic origin. Held up by huge granite columns, the library piqued Hart’s interest. His face soon carried an expression of dismay as he stood feet away from the librarian who was engrossed in micro-filming the library’s ancient texts.
“Why does nothing exist of the Gnostics,” he asked him.
“Gnosticism was not a religion, not a recognized one, at least. They weren’t Christians but followers of Platonist traditions and some had a Jewish outlook.”
“They weren’t an obscure lot. The Gnostic, Valentinius, was a community leader and founder of a school through which many texts were documented. He came close to being appointed Bishop of Rome. Basilides, another Gnostic, was also considered a scholar, a well-appointed man.”
“There were many groups, the Cainites, the Orphites, those of the school of Cerinthus and externally, the Cathars. There were all deemed heretics.”
“They spoke of matter, at least. Father eh….”
“Cristos. I’m Father Cristos.”
“Father Cristos, do you have anything on matter?”
“What we have may or may not interest you.”
“I’ll still be happy to look at it.”
Father Cristos disappeared to the end of the room and climbed a few steps of a library ladder to get to a shelf. Soon, he returned.
“This is the Leiden Papyrus X. It’s dated around the 3rd century.”
Hart looked at the manuscript. It consisted of ten leaves each with twenty-seven lines.
“This manuscript is the earliest on Egyptian alchemy.”
“Alchemy?”
“Methodologies for making gold and silver and, of course, medical cures. Alexandria was at that time alive with the philosophy of Plato and Pythagoras. There was interest in alchemy. In this dubious way, matter found its way into gospels and texts.”
“Matter is reverent, Father Cristos. Ancient Chinese philosophers were alchemists. They captured the essence of Tao from creation and so defeated death. It was common in their time to find coffins empty. They rose to heaven in the form of pure light.”
“What’re you trying to say, Mr. Hart?”
“Matter is supernatural. There’s a connection between mind and matter. Our conscience can be super-conscience. Valentinius declared in the Gospel of Truth that a human can achieve perfection and become pure light.”
“And, you will not find that in any canon text.”
“I don’t expect to but maybe, I’ll find it in the missing pages of the Gospel of Mary Magdalene but I want to thank you for your time and help, Father. I’m grateful for all.” Hart changed his focus. He realized Anatoli had left to attend to another matter. He turned to Father Cristos again. “Who, Father could help me find the missing pages of the Gospel of Mary Magdalene? I’ve visited every museum in Berlin. No one knows anything.”
Father Cristos was gifted with patience for his eyes showed nothing of distress. “Well, that is difficult to say but I can suggest Mount Athos.”
“Mount Athos is in Greece.”
“The gospel, you may recall, was originally written in Greek. They have lots of Greek documents.”
“I would need a reference to go there.”
“I would be more than happy to oblige, Mr. Hart.”
Chapter 37
He felt an emotional stirring as he sipped coffee in the city of Athens, the home of Plato and Aristotle. Hart was an old soul. He could never shed his feeling of belonging to the past. He had little interest in a modern world filled with humbug and chaos and cared less for trappings of wealth. He was a simple man with a complex mind.
His journey to the Holy Mountain of Athos began next day. For much of his trip, he thought of little else than the supernatural force in matter and its realm of light. He had sifted through lots of ancient texts hoping to find references to them but found nothing. It was odd, he thought. His logic told him that teachings that were not understood were often unrecorded. The Gospel of Mary Magdalene would remain their only source and, to think, even that barely survived. He wasn’t giving up hope and was sure the missing pages lay ahead. For Hart, other realms had to exist and the dead were not dead at all but alive and well, living in a body that never aged.
From the Port of Dafni, he took a boat headed to the Monastery of Simonope
tra. He had his diamoneterion or Byzantine visa needed to visit the monastery. The Holy Mountain was governed by representatives of its twenty monasteries. It was on a peninsular in Macedonia and the centre of Eastern Christian Orthodox Monasticism.
Simonopetra, he found out, was more isolated than all the other monasteries, virtually sitting atop a cliff. It was quite a climb to get to the main entrance and, for a moment, he wondered how the monastery’s fifty-four monks managed to get to and from the place. Panting for breath, he thanked his guide and followed a path to the main building.
“I guess you want to know if the events described in the Gospel of Mary Magdalene did happen, Mr. Hart.”
Father Malaki Thoplikos, was surprisingly friendly and warm. Hart didn’t think he would be at all. When he had stumbled upon him in the hallway, Thoplikos had been giving orders to a young monk in a manner that was quite demeaning. Spotting Hart, he had approached and shook his hand, leading him through a series of narrow archways and up two flights of steps to his private room.
“Yes,” he replied in the office that overlooked the Aegean Sea. The room was cluttered with files held down by small silver boxes and gold plated replicas of the monastery. “Would you happen to have a complete copy of the gospel, Father?”
Thoplikos stared in disbelief at Hart’s naiveté. “You expect to find a complete copy of this gospel? The gospel is very old.”
“I do. Is something so wrong with that?”
“No one on this planet has one, Mr. Hart.”
Hart stifled his bitter disappointment once again. “I’m beginning to see that.”
“Nonetheless, we can speculate on its authenticity. The Greeks loved Egypt. They were mesmerized by its culture and sophistication. They wanted to be like the pharaohs. The Ptolemaic era lasted three hundred years. Egypt was unlike any other place they had been and the Egyptians tolerated the foreigners. There was the need to advance the Greek domination of Egyptian society and this came about by a union with the clergy. The Greeks gave aid to the Egyptians who in turn agreed to promote their language. To be upwardly mobile in status, one had to know Greek.”
“There were those who simply didn’t like the system, I suppose.”
“There were many revolts, at Thebes and Raphia. Now, let’s move on a bit. Greek rule faded with the death of Cleopatra and gave way to Roman dominance. It was the Jews of Jerusalem who secured Romanic rule in Egypt and, of course, you know of the Pharisees and the subsequent death of the Saviour. By the fifth century, Christianity was the most prevalent religion in Egypt. The Coptics were devout Christians.”
“The gospel was probably written around the time of Christ.”
“The Greek version. Christianity was introduced into Egypt by Saint Mark, and, by the fourth century had spread to rural areas. Texts were already being written and were sprouting up everywhere.”
“D’you know what he preached? He was an apostle.”
A knock on the door interrupted the conversation.
“Come,” Thoplikos ordered.
A young monk placed a tray down on a side table, and, with a polite nod, left. Hart got up and poured some coffee for Thoplikos and himself.
“Two sugars, please Mr. Hart, although I shouldn’t. I can’t drink coffee without sugar. I was trying to tell you that most religions have dual faces.”
“What d’you mean, Father?”
“There are teachings intended for a general audience and teachings that are mystical.”
“You’re saying that some things were revealed to the apostles and not publicly.”
“Of course. I’ve looked at this gospel for years and I believe it’s really a revelation of secrets.”
“So do I, Father Thoplikos.” Hart recalled Professor Liedman of the CSWR, the Centre for the Study of World Religions, mentioning them too.
“I believe Mark knew secrets and spoke of them and, so, they became part of a Gnostic Gospel.”
“Is there any other gospel that’s similar?”
Thoplikos thought for a moment. Past seventy, he looked fit with no outward signs of aging. The strict life he led seemed to agree with him, or, maybe, it was the peacefulness of the environment.
“Nothing that would specifically relate to matter and realms which I know are your interests. It would be quite difficult to find a similar text.”
“It seems so.”
“As for the Gnostics, their central point of view was that humans had an inner portal that led to salvation. The Romans were more ambitious than the Greek and did everything to get power. Many were disillusioned and schools of thought sprang up. Alexandria became a hotbed for spiritual change. Gnosticism was considered the Hellinization of Christianity. Apart from Saint Mark, I cannot think of anyone who may have influenced the gospel. Philo, a Hellenistic philosopher connected Greek thought to Hebrew doctrines and said the human mind could be replaced by the spirit of God.”
“Oh?”
Thoplikos reached for his cup and took a sip. “Plato, on the other hand, theorized much on forms. Forms, he said, are timeless, unchanging and perfect.”
“My issues are many Father, not just with the missing pages or their authenticity but also with a line in the gospel that says: Matter gave birth to a passion that has no equal or no image, depending on the translation. Plato would not have known this.”
“No one would have known except the apostles and it brings us back to Mark who founded the Church of Alexandria. How much mysticism did he bring with him? It’s all about secrets, Mr. Hart. Really, I believe that Mark influenced the gospel. In fact, a letter written by the ancient theologian, Clement of Alexandria, to Theodore, I’m not sure who he was, stated that there was a Secret Gospel of Mark in which mystical teachings were revealed. Clement claimed the gospel was in the hands of Gnostics but the manuscript was never found.”
“The Secret Gospel of Mark was never found?”
“No, Mr. Hart, never.”
“I’m quite saddened to hear that.”
“Well, I can understand that. I’m sure whatever was mentioned in the missing pages of the Gospel of Mary Magdalene would have also been mentioned in the Secret Gospel of Mark.”
“I’m almost sure of it. Someone did a good job of hiding all the secrets.”
Thoplikos grinned. “They did. I suppose you’ll still pursue your search for the missing pages.”
“I really want those secrets. They were intended for Mankind. The pages on matter are quite important. There’re other worlds. I’m sure of it. If two thousand years ago, dimensions were discussed, just think of how much more was said. We don’t have the capability to find other worlds. Those pages mean more than life to me.”
“I do wish you luck in finding them, Mr. Hart. There aren’t many documents like the Gospel of Mary Magdalene around.”
Hart glanced at his watch. It was approaching 4PM. Even though he hadn’t found the missing pages of the gospel nor gotten an idea of how to, he felt invigorated in the presence of Father Thoplikos.
The man’s eyes reflected warmth and sincerity. He was authoritative but embracing at the same time with a desire to assist. He had learnt much.
“I’m grateful for your time and knowledge, Father Thoplikos, but, I do have one other matter,” Hart said.
“Tell me, Mr. Hart.”
“Would you happen to know of supernatural matter?”
“Of course. The Ethiopian Orthodox church is the keeper of the Ark of the Covenant which holds the staff of Moses, although this is disputed, but, they may have ideas on it. The staff of Moses, you may recall, was a miraculous item, a rod of incredible power.”
“I believe the Gospel of Mary Magdalene would have discussed how matter becomes so supernatural.”
“You’re right, Mr. Hart. It would have explained the mystery.”
Hart got up. Thanking Thoplikos, he made his way out the aged corridors of the Monastery of Simonopetra. In the air, he could hear the chant of the Choir. It felt as if the heavens were bein
g summoned by their songs. He climbed down the slope to a boat that took him back to Port Dafni.
Chapter 38
Hart almost missed his flight from Athens International Airport next day. The secrets of the ancient world sat on his mind constantly. He could think of no secret that was as prodigious as a person having an inner universe where the soul passed onto another world. Small wonder that Mary Magdalene declared: How could such a thing be?
More than anything, Hart wished he could confirm the existence of other worlds but it was plain to him that finding the missing pages of the gospel was going to be a game of chance. There was no fixed path to follow.
He reclined to a comfortable position on the flight to Ethiopia, his thoughts on supernatural matter. Such matter deviated from all laws of nature and was beyond perception. If it existed on earth, it definitely was an intervention in the natural order of life. Hart pondered further, staring out at clouds lit by the sun. Science was moving ahead and dark matter had been found in the universe. There was no better description of it for no one knew what it was. It didn’t conform to any of the norms of earthly matter. Its particles were unidentifiable and never detected by any particle accelerator.
It was not of this world, yet, it occupied so much of the universe. Was it ultra-supernatural matter and where there truly other worlds in the universe, he wondered again.
He closed his eyes thinking of what lay ahead. Five hours later, he saw the lights of Bole International Airport in view as the Ethiopian Airlines flight descended. Tired from his trip, Hart booked a hotel and slept. Next day he awakened afresh, sure of what he was searching for. He headed to Aksum where majestic terrain stretched for miles. Aksum was Ethiopia’s most ancient city, known for its obelisks. Located at two thousand meters above sea level, it was a cool, picturesque place. In its heyday, Aksum was a major naval and trading post. It was where the Queen of Sheba was born.
Hart’s steps were motivated, expecting of course, that Aksum would unleash its secrets of matter and a lead to the pages of the Gospel of Mary Magdalene.
