Gospel (n.) have no other function than to dig up the victims of collective violence and proclaim their innocence; nothing is hidden, and the real mystery is that we fail to read them so.
The Gospel (n.) are now the last scapegoat: chained to a false reading, blamed for the violence done in their name, and condemned by public opinion in the name of charity.
The Gospel (n.) simplifies human relations the way algebra simplifies an equation: all the false differences between doubles cancel out.
The Gospel (n.) can rise again only once historical Christianity dies — not as an exhumed corpse but as the newest, liveliest, truest thing we have ever seen.
The Gospel (n.) are the only sacred texts it is still respectable to suspect of bad faith; treat Buddhist scripture so and you would be called ethnocentric.
The Gospel (n.) reign in secret over the history that excludes them — and do so because of their exclusion.
The Gospel (n.) are becoming our scapegoat: the one thing we can still agree on is attacking them.
Gospel (n.) cannot be dissected with our weaker, still mythological thinking — like trying to cut a diamond with a softer stone.
The Gospel (n.) discredit myth by telling the same event as myth, not a different one: otherwise they could not undo the illusions point by point.
The Gospel (n.) are blamed for the collapse of our institutions, whether we know it or not: once the mechanism is understood, it can no longer work.
The Gospel (n.) are an account of persecution that has been abrogated, broken and revoked, the fulfilment of an initiative begun in the Old Testament.
The Gospel (n.) have no favourites, like the Heavenly Father; they care only about the unanimity of the persecutors, not who is more to blame.
The Gospel (n.) and Guillaume's text describe one event in opposite ways: one says the victim is guilty, the other proclaims her innocent, and the latter is ahead of us in the criticism.
The Gospel (n.) speak of the same murder as the myths, but not in the murderers' voice: the difference is how it is told.
The Gospel (n.) uncovers even in ordinary behaviour around a fire the ancient gesture of Aztec sacrificers and witch-hunters pushing victims into the flames.
The Gospel (n.) come from a higher intelligence outside the disciples' effervescent milieu, whose traces we find by reconstructing the mimetic theory.
The Gospel (n.) is a password carried by messengers who do not know the secret, and their ignorance guarantees the message is unaltered.
The Gospel (n.) force people imprisoned by mythical accounts of persecution to accept truths that stop them from making their victims sacred.