Reincarnation, or something else?

As most regular readers will be aware, the proximate reason for my last post, "Trying to make Christian sense of original sin and reincarnation," was questions raised by Bill Wright's theory -- to which he adduces considerable synchromystical evidence -- that I am the reincarnation of Ar-Pharazôn, last king of Númenor, a character who appears in Tolkien's Silmarillion and whose story is elaborated upon in Daymon Smith's channeled material.

People have proposed past lives for me before -- Lord Byron, Herman Melville, and Hyrum Smith, among many others -- but Pharazon (we usually dispense with the prefix and the circumflex around here) presents unique problems. First and most obvious -- so obvious that we tend to gloss over it -- is the fact that he is a fictional character. Accepting that I or anyone else is his literal reincarnation means accepting Tolkien's novels as historically true -- not just in some broad or figurative sense, but in sufficient detail for individual characters in his works to correspond to real people who lived somewhere or other in the distant past. Even if we swallow that camel, as Bill and Leo do, there remains this gnat to strain at: According to those same fictional-but-maybe-not works, Pharazon never died. Rather, he and his men "lie imprisoned in the Caves of the Forgotten, until the Last Battle and the Day of Doom." You can't really reincarnate without dying first, but people somehow tend to overlook that. My Uncle Bill, the first and most prolific of those who have proposed past lives for me, believes that Jesus Christ has reincarnated several times (most recently as a notorious criminal), with no explanation given as to how that squares with the Resurrection; and most Christian believers in reincarnation will point to John the Baptist as Elijah reincarnated, even though Elijah reportedly ascended bodily to heaven in a chariot of fire.

Maybe literal reincarnation is actually the wrong way to conceptualize whatever is going on here. That a new approach may be called for is suggested by the fact that Bill identifies me not only with Pharazon but with Humpty Dumpty -- yes, the nursery-rhyme character, as expanded by Lewis Carroll. Obviously, no one is going to make the case that Humpty Dumpty really existed and that I am his literal reincarnation. I mean, there's crazy, and then there's crazy, and we're not that crazy. And yet it seems to me that the sync evidence tying me to Humpty is of exactly the same character as that tying me (and Humpty) to Pharazon. I think Bill's understanding of this is that the symbol of Humpty is being used (by the sync fairies or whoever) as another way of tying me to Pharazon. For example, Daymon's version of Pharazon had a very special belt of which he was very proud, whereas I once took up the hobby of climbing brick walls and walking around on top of them, a pastime I abandoned after spraining my ankle in a fall. Once Humpty Dumpty is added to the mix -- he of course fell from a wall, and in Carroll's version had a special belt or cravat of which he was very proud -- this counts as another link between me and the Númenórean king,

Another interpretation that suggests itself is that I "am" Pharazon only in the same sense that I "am" Humpty Dumpty.

But in what sense could that be?

I have already mentioned Elijah and the problems inherent in supposing this translated being to have reincarnated as John the Baptist. A different model is perhaps suggested by the Mormon take on the relationship between Elijah and John -- the distinctive and rather confusing "doctrine of Elias." In Mormonism Elias, besides being the Greek form of the name Elijah, is a sort of title or role, usually explained as being that of a "forerunner" or a "restorer." Why that name should have that meaning is not exactly clear, as Elijah the Tishbite of the Old Testament did not himself play either of those roles in any obvious way. The idea seems to have developed out of the closing verses of the Old Testament (Mal. 4:5-6), where it is prophesied that "Elijah the prophet" will be sent "before the coming of the great and dreadful day of the Lord" (i.e. as a forerunner) and will turn "the heart of the children to their fathers" (perhaps implying some sort of restoration). Apparently what was originally a prophecy that Elijah himself would do those things somehow evolved into the use of his name as a title for whoever would do those things -- mainly, as it turned out, John the Baptist.

Even though this "Elias, which was for to come" (Matt. 11:14), identified with John, would seem to be a wholly prophetic construct with no real connection to the historical Elijah, the historical Elijah nevertheless does seem to be involved, since Matthew goes out of his way to mention that John dressed in the same distinctive way as Elijah (Matt. 3:4, 1 Kgs. 1:8). (Funnily, this distinctive costume involves a special belt, just as with Pharazon and Humpty; perhaps a bit of synchronistic encouragement for this line of thought?) It seems that the Tishbite himself was "an Elias" even though he wasn't a forerunner or restorer. And plenty of people who were forerunners or restorers are never called Elias. This suggests that Elias is not something as simple enough to have a definition but has more the quality of a personality, a dynamic and ever-developing archetype which can be instantiated in individuals as if by something along the lines of Sheldrakean resonance. "We can make new archetypes," Laeth recently wrote, and perhaps we are in the process of doing just that?

(Added to my to-read list: Elias: An Epic of the Ages by Orson F. Whitney.)

This conception of "Elias," as vague as it is at this point, is recognizably similar to the way supernatural roles like that of the Fisher King are treated in Last Call by Tim Powers. Bugsy Siegel is succeeded in this role first by the evil Georges Leon and then by the protagonist Scott Crane, but not in a way that involves anything like reincarnation. Becoming the Fisher King is partly a destiny you are born with and partly something you have to actively embrace and fight for, and the role itself is nothing that could be encapsulated in a definition but is flexible enough that it can be played for good or for evil. Still, it is a distinct thing with some sort of ontological reality -- not just a figurative way of describing people -- and it can only be filled by one person at a time.

Still just thinking aloud here and trying out different perspectives.