Myth as the “Beginning” of Revelation
After the drafting of the Septuagint, the next decisive step was the transformation of the inherited writings into a sacred canon: a closed collection invested with religious authority and protected by the conviction that nothing could legitimately be added to it or removed from it. This development changed the entire structure of Revelation. What had come through a living prophetic voice became enclosed within a literary institution, and the authority of the God who speaks was gradually transferred to the authority of the sacred book.
The very idea of such a sacred canon comes from Greek culture. Greek civilization had already learned to build intellectual authority around recognized textual corpora. Homer was authority. Plato was authority. Aristotle was authority. Their writings became fixed literary worlds around which schools formed, interpretations developed, and intellectual traditions were transmitted. Hellenized Judaism adopted this same model and applied it to its own religious inheritance. The result was the emergence of the Bible as the holy book, a defined body of texts that came to represent divine speech as a completed literary deposit.
At that moment Revelation ceased to function as a living flow and became a closed collection. The prophetic structure had been fundamentally different. God spoke when He chose to speak. He called prophets, confronted kings, corrected priests, judged the people, announced events, and entered history through living testimony. Canon replaced this openness with a volume in which God was assumed to have already said everything that religion needed Him to say. Authority moved from continuing Revelation to the text that claimed to contain Revelation in complete form.
This transformation became especially dangerous because the collection itself was already mixed. Once a text entered the sacred corpus, its origin became secondary to its canonical status. Revelation, mythology, later religious tradition, philosophical interpretation, and editorial development could now stand beside one another under the same divine authority. Canon did not merely preserve the truth. It sacralized the mixture.
The consequences become visible immediately at the beginning of Scripture. Genesis 1 already presents a coherent and profound Revelation of Creation. Humanity is created in the Image of God and receives a moral vocation: responsibility, discernment, fruitfulness, dominion, and the calling to represent God within creation. The human being begins with dignity and purpose.
Then comes the Eden myth, and the entire theological atmosphere changes. Humanity moves from bearing the Image of God into a world of prohibition, transgression, guilt, curse, expulsion, and punishment. Knowledge becomes forbidden. Human death becomes the consequence of disobedience. The serpent becomes a cosmic enemy. Woman becomes connected with the origin of transgression. Instead of humanity being presented as God’s responsible representative, human existence becomes defined by a primordial catastrophe from which religion must provide rescue.
These elements are foreign to the theology of the Law preserved in the Mosaic Revelation. They enter together with the later textual world visible in the Greek manuscript tradition and cannot be attributed to the original Mosaic revelation. They are not harmless allegories. Once inserted at the beginning of Scripture, they become instruments of ideological power. They establish the premises for hereditary guilt, fallen nature, mediating religious authority, sacrificial salvation, cosmic dualism, and the entire later theological structure built upon the idea that humanity begins under condemnation.
Genesis 1 gives humanity the Image. The Eden myth gives humanity inherited catastrophe. Canon then places both under the same sacred authority and allows the mythology to redefine the Revelation that precedes it.
The historical period in which this transformation occurred is equally significant. Between the last authentic prophetic texts and the appearance of the Septuagint lies a silence extending across several centuries. During this period Revelation was gradually abandoned and replaced by writings produced from reason, inherited tradition, religious imagination, and increasingly Hellenized thought. Jewish apocalyptic literature, wisdom literature, late psalms, expanded traditions, and new theological compositions arise in precisely the environment in which Greek philosophy had become the language of intellectual culture.
This prophetic silence is therefore more than an empty chronological interval. It marks the transition from prophetic Revelation to literary religion. The inherited texts are collected, translated, edited, rearranged, supplemented, and classified during a period in which the intellectual world of Judaism has already changed.
What we now call the Old Testament is not an archive of Revelation. It is a collection created, selected, edited, and transmitted within a historical environment of compromise. Revelation is present within it, but so are the layers accumulated after Revelation. The criterion governing what was included and what was excluded was already shaped by an intellectual world infected by Greek thought. The collection therefore preserves both the truth and the history of what was done to the truth.
Once this mixed corpus acquired absolute sacred authority, the most enduring theological error became possible: the text itself replaced Revelation as the final criterion. Every doctrine could now be constructed from combinations of canonical passages, because every passage had already inherited the same divine status.
Christian theology was built upon precisely this mechanism. Sinful nature, Adamic inheritance, sacrificial atonement, salvation by faith, metaphysical doctrines concerning God, and complex systems of redemption could all be justified by arranging canonical verses into theological structures. The authority of the doctrine came from the authority of the verses, and the authority of the verses came from the authority of the canon.
The system became circular and almost impossible to penetrate. The doctrine is true because Scripture says it. Scripture says it because the relevant passage belongs to the canon. The canon is sacred because religious authority declared it sacred. Anyone who questions the passage is then accused of attacking Revelation itself.
This is how a falsified and reinterpreted text becomes more powerful than living truth. The mixture becomes protected in the name of the Revelation buried within it.
Daniel 8 describes precisely this tragedy. The Little Horn rises from the Greek world, reaches into the Sanctuary, attacks the tamid, and casts truth to the ground. The Sanctuary in this prophecy represents the domain of Revelation, the sphere in which divine truth properly possesses authority. Its defilement occurs when Philosophy enters that domain and claims jurisdiction over what Revelation means.
The cleansing of the Sanctuary therefore means separating Revelation once again from philosophical falsification. It means distinguishing what God actually revealed from what human beings later placed in His name. Mythology, Greek metaphysics, theories of essence, hereditary guilt, predestination, sacrificial necessity, and the philosophical systems that later religion declared sacred must be traced back to their real origins and removed from the revealed core.
The Septuagint stands at the center of this process. It was an act of theological betrayal committed with the approval of Jewish religious leaders. Alexandria brought Greek Philosophy, scholarship, royal power, translation, religion, and Jewish sacred tradition together in the same intellectual environment. Revelation entered a language already saturated with philosophical categories and mythological assumptions, and translation became the instrument through which those categories gained access to the sacred inheritance.
The betrayal went far deeper than isolated mistranslations. It changed the structure of authority itself. The resulting textual world was accepted, transmitted, and eventually sacralized. What Philosophy had altered could thereafter be defended as Scripture.
Yet the same texts that preserve the falsification also preserve the evidence necessary to expose it. Their contradictions, repetitions, seams, differing traditions, linguistic changes, theological discontinuities, and manuscript variations allow the history of Revelation to be reconstructed. Cleansing becomes possible precisely because the traces of the intervention remain.
The time of cleansing has therefore come. The Little Horn has been identified. The path from Greek Philosophy to Alexandria, from Alexandria to the Septuagint, from the Septuagint to canon, and from canon to later Judaism and Christianity can now be followed as one continuous transfer of authority.
The truth requires no mythology to support it, no philosophical architecture to make it divine, and no sacred canon to turn human additions into Revelation. It requires recognition, conscience, and the courage to separate what God revealed from what later generations placed beside it in His name.