Towards A Blending-Based Approach To Early

Biblical Interpretation 29 (2021) 498-529

Towards a Blending-Based Approach to Early

Christian Characters: Nicodemus as a Test Case
Michael R. Whitenton
Baylor University, Waco, TX, USA
[email protected]

Abstract
This article presents a blending-based approach to characters in early Christian

narratives. Even cognitive approaches to complex characters (including my previous
work) tend to frame character development as a primarily linear unidirectional process.
However, the human mind integrates incoming information through processes that
are more recursive than linear and more synergistic than summative. I propose that
Cognitive Blending Theory, pioneered by Gilles Fauconnier & Mark Turner, provides
a heuristic approach that better accounts for the complexity of cognitive information
processing. First, I articulate a blending-based approach to ancient characters. Next, I
show the validity of such an approach by modeling the blends for each of Nicodemus’s
appearances in John’s gospel, focusing on the novel insights only available through
blending. As will become apparent, these blends are interrelated, building upon
and challenging one another on the path toward a complete characterization of
“Nicodemus” across John’s gospel. I conclude with brief reflections on the future
prospects of blending-based character studies. 
Keywords
conceptual blending – cognitive approach – character development – information

processing – Gospel of John – Nicodemus
© Michael R. Whitenton, 2021 | doi:10.1163/15685152-29040005

This is an open access article distributed under the terms of the CC BY-NC-ND 4.0 license.
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nicodemus as a test case 499
Introductory Remarks*
Until recently, modern scholars of ancient narrative often treat characters

like mere plot functionaries—one-dimensional pawns in service of plot pro-
gression.1 While traditional literary readings have maintained this decidedly
text-based focus, integrating cognitive studies into the field of narratology
introduced new questions and offered novel insights for “reading” characters
in the minds of readers.2 Indeed, my work takes part in the ongoing “cognitive
boom” in the study of the New Testament and other early Christian literature.3
In Configuring Nicodemus: An Interdisciplinary Approach to Complex
Characterization (Bloomsbury 2019), I proposed a dynamic approach to com-
plex characterization based on Ralf Schneider’s cognitive theory of literary
* I wish to thank the editors of this special issue, Jan Rüggemeier and Elizabeth Shively, both
for the invitation and their critical eye. This article is far stronger because of their constructive
criticism and that of the anonymous reviewer. Thanks also to Ralf Schneider, my respondent,
whose work has been so formative for my own integration of the humanities and cognitive
sciences. Finally, a special thanks to my writing group at Baylor, especially Paul Carron, Anne-
Marie Schultz & Lenore Wright, and to Rachel Whitenton, for their insightful comments on
earlier drafts. Responsibility for all remaining shortcomings must surely be mine alone.
1 For a literature review characterization in the New Testament, see C. Bennema, A Theory
of Character in New Testament Narrative (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2014); M.R. Whitenton,
Configuring Nicodemus: An Interdisciplinary Approach to Complex Characterization (lnts, 549;
London: T&T Clark, 2019). Cf. C. Gill, “The Question of Character-Development: Plutarch and
Tacitus,” ClQ 33 (1983), pp. 469–487.
2 See, e.g., U. Margolin, “Collective Perspective, Individual Perspective, and the Speaker in
Between: On ‘We’ Literary Narratives,” in W.V. Peer and S.B. Chatman eds., New Perspectives
on Narrative Perspective (New York: suny Press, 2001); J. Culpeper, “Reflections on a Cognitive
Stylistic Approach to Characterisation,” in G. Brône and J. Vandaele eds., Cognitive Poetics:
Goals, Gains and Gaps (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2009). See further, J. Culpeper, “Inferring Character
from Texts: Attribution Theory and Foregrounding theory,” Poetics 23 (1996), pp. 335–361; J.
Culpeper, Language and Characterisation: People in Plays and Other Texts (London: Routledge,
2001); J. Gavins and G. Steen eds., Cognitive Poetics in Practice (London: Routledge, 2003); D.
Herman, Storytelling and the Sciences of Mind (Cambridge, MA: mit Press, 2013). See also,
R. Schneider, “Toward a Cognitive Theory of Literary Character: The Dynamics of Mental-
Model Construction,” Style 35 (2001), pp. 607–640. See also, M. Bortolussi and P. Dixon,
Psychonarratology: Foundations for the Empirical Study of Literary Response (Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press, 2003).
3 See, e.g., M.R. Whitenton, “The Dissembler of John 3: A Cognitive and Rhetorical Approach
to the Characterization of Nicodemus,” jbl 135 (2016), pp. 141–158; M.R. Whitenton, “Feeling
the Silence: A Moment-by-Moment Account of Emotions at the End of Mark (16:1–8),” cbq
79 (2016), pp. 272–289; M.R. Whitenton, “Tasting the Kingdom: Wine-Drinking and Audience
Inference in Mark 15.36,” jsnt 40 (2018), pp. 403–423; M.R. Whitenton, Hearing Kyriotic Sonship:
A Cognitive and Rhetorical Approach to the Characterization of Mark’s Jesus (BibInt Series, 148;
Leiden: Brill, 2017); Whitenton, Configuring Nicodemus.
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500 whitenton
characters.4 Schneider argued that the mind constructs mental models of char-
acters by responding to incoming textual information in ways that oscillate
between categorization- and personalization-based pathways. Categorization
prioritizes the use of cognitive frames5 (including character types), organized
bundles of knowledge based on cultural norms, experience, and other prior
knowledge to make inferences about a character.6 For example, in the United
States, a woman carrying a package and wearing a brown uniform approaches
your front door will probably activate your ups Worker frame. If textual cues
do not activate cognitive frames in the readers’/hearers’ mental lexicons, then
Schneider argued, the mind tends toward “personalization,” which relies more
on a character’s individuating actions and behavior, but not to the exclusion
of a reader’s personal experiences.7 Note that even in personalization, a reader
must rely on category-based processes.8 All things being equal, the human brain
prefers categorization- to personalization-based pathways.9 When a reader first
encounters a character, they form an initial categorization of the person based
on available frames. If additional incoming information supports the initial
4 Schneider, pp. 608, 627. See further, R. Schneider, Grundriss zur kognitiven Theorie der
Figurenrezeption am Beispiel des viktorianischen Romans (zaa Studies, 9; Tübingen:
Stauffenburg, 2000). On empathy and its role in the narrative experience, see E.S. Tan, Emotion
and the Structure of Narrative Film: Film As An Emotion Machine (New York: Routledge, 1995),
pp. 15–40, 153–194; S. Keen, Empathy and the Novel (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007), pp.
65–100. Cf. E.S. Tan, “Film-Induced Affect as a Witness Emotion,” Poetics 23 (1994), pp. 7–32.
For the details on the model I proposed, see Whitenton, Configuring Nicodemus, pp. 11–54.
5 The important question of whether a character type is a frame or simply organized by one
lies beyond the scope of this essay. For Faucounnier and Turner, “frames and characters are
interlocking aspects of human reality,” which each mutually converge on our understanding of
the other (The Way We Think: Conceptual Blending and The Mind’s Hidden Complexities [New
York: Basic Books, 2002], pp. 252–253). For the sake of this essay, character types can either
function as an input space or a frame, depending on their positioning within the blend.
6 Some scholars refer to categorization as a top-down approach because textual cues activate
frames from readers’/hearers’ mental lexicons which then allow readers to work deductively
with incoming information. See further, Schneider, “Toward a Cognitive Theory,” pp. 626–627.
Cf. P.C. Hogan, Cognitive Science, Literature, and the Arts: A Guide for Humanists (New York:
Routledge, 2003), pp. 42–58. By contrast, personalization is more of a “bottom-up” process
because the reader constructs the character more inductively.
7 Schneider, “Toward a Cognitive Theory,” p. 627.
8 As Schneider (“Toward a Cognitive Theory”) points out, “personalization can occur whenever
the reader does not categorize a character, i.e., when he or she is not able or willing to apply
stored structures of knowledge for ad hoc impression formation. Even in that case the mental
apparatus cannot entirely do without recourse to top-down processing, but […] the structures
of knowledge that come into play” derive from specific memories of actual properties of real
people (p. 625).
9 Schneider, “Toward a Cognitive Theory,” p. 617.

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characterization, confirmatory categorization occurs. Recategorization occurs

if incoming information more strongly activates a different, competing frame.
In the relatively rare event that incoming information does not strongly acti-
vate any frame, the reader cobbles together a mental model of a character in
an attribute-by-attribute fashion with only minimal recourse to any category
through piecemeal integration (or personalization).10
Using the framework outlined above, I argued that Nicodemus probably
developed from dissembler to disciple across his three appearances in John’s
gospel, in terms of ancient audience reception. When ancient audiences
heard John’s gospel read aloud, I argued, they would likely initially categorize
Nicodemus as a dissembler, who loved the darkness too much to come to God’s
light, rather than someone who merely misunderstands Jesus’s message (John
3:1–21).11 Nicodemus’s subsequent defense of Jesus would likely trigger ele-
ments of both confirmatory categorization and personalization (7:50–51). For
example, Nicodemus still dissembles with a clever question (cf. 7:51), which
confirms the initial categorization of Dissembler. However, Nicodemus dis-
sembles in a way that his fellow Pharisees interpret as a step toward allegiance
to Jesus (which personalizes his character) (cf. 7:52). Ultimately, I argued that
Nicodemus’s public support for and service to Jesus after his death would lead
attentive readers to recategorise him as one of Jesus’s disciples (cf. 19:38–42).12
In this article, I extend my previous work by offering a blending-based the-
ory and model for understanding and representing the dynamic processing
theory of characterization described above.13 First, I adapt blending theory,
primarily as represented in the work of Giles Fauccounier, Ralf Schneider, and
10 Adapted from S.T. Fiske and S.L. Neuberg, “A Continuum of Impression Formation, From
Category-Based to Individuating Processes: Influences of Information and Motivation on
Attention and Interpretation,” in M.P. Zanna ed., Advances in Experimental Social Psychology
(New York: Academic Press, 1990). For Schneider’s map of these “dynamics of mental model
construction in character reception,” see “Toward a Cognitive Theory,” p. 627.
11 On which, see Whitenton, Configuring Nicodemus, pp. 79–106. The Dissembler character type
was ubiquitous in antiquity and, Nicodemus’s fawning praise, unexplained befuddlement,
and connection to the duplicitous Pharisees would probably have activated the Dissembler
character type. On the Dissembler and other relevant character types, see Whitenton,
Configuring Nicodemus, pp. 55–78. The literary context similarly suggests that audience
members treat Nicodemus as one of the anthropoi whom Jesus did not trust (cf. 2.23–25).
Jesus’s own rhetoric supports such a conclusion, as well (cf. Quintilian, Inst. 9.2.68–70).
12 On which, see Whitenton, Configuring Nicodemus, pp. 107–118.
13 Following Fauconnier and Turner, I understand mental spaces as “small conceptual packets
constructed as we think and talk, for purposes of local understanding and action. Mental
spaces are very partial assemblies containing elements, and structured by frames and
cognitive models. They are interconnected, and can be modified as thought and discourse
unfold.” See G. Fauconnier and M. Turner, “Conceptual Integration Networks,” Cognitive
Science 22 (1998), pp. 133–87 (137).

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502 whitenton
Mark Turner, to explain the dynamic processes of characterization. From this

perspective, dynamic processing becomes a recursive two-stage blend that
ultimately yields a mental model of a particular character in ancient literature:
(1) the initial blend that takes place during a character’s first appearance and
(2) the subsequent integrations of later appearances with that initial blend.14
I begin with the initial blend of Nicodemus in John 3 with relevant character
types (“Nic A”). Next, I detail a blend of Nic A with Nicodemus’s appearance in
John 7 (“Nic B”). I conclude by blending Nic B with Nicodemus’s last appear-
ance (John 19) (“Nic C”). The progression from Nic A to Nic C is recursive, syn-
ergistic, and represents a holistic characterization of Nicodemus within John’s
narrative world. Not only does such an approach highlight significant method-
ological possibilities regarding the integration of the cognitive sciences with
more traditional literary approaches, but it also prompts us to think of one
of John’s most essential and peculiar characters in ways that ground us to the
experience of actual readers.
An Overview of Blending Theory
Nearly twenty years ago, Gilles Fauconnier and Mark Turner argued that a
phenomenon known as “blending” accounts for several processes that influ-
ence perceptions of identity, both of self and others.15 “Blending theory,” also
called “conceptual integration,” explains the mental realm of sense-making
as a mixture of incoming information with different “mental spaces.” These
mental spaces include related frames (such as the Mad Scientist, the
Problem Child, the Femme Fatale, the Liar, the Damsel in Distress,
the Hospitable Host, etc.) and other background information. The end
product of this mental process of blending is more than a mere summation
of the individual parts, often reflecting elements that move beyond the sum of
their parts. While conceptual metaphor attracted most of Blending theory’s
early attention, the theory claims to reflect the entirety of human cognition,
from the origins of language to fictive realities to corporations to notions of the
self, others, and even literary characters.16
14 On which, see R. Schneider, “Blending and the Study of Narrative: An Introduction,” in

R. Schneider and M. Hartner eds., Blending and the Study of Narrative: Approaches and
Applications (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2012), pp. 16–17. These two blending subtypes are not
necessarily mutually exclusive.
15 Fauconnier and Turner, The Way We Think, pp. 249–267.
16 Fauconnier and Turner, The Way We Think, p. 40.

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figure 1 Basic Blending Model17
Figure 1 below shows a basic blending model, while Figure 2 provides an oft-
used example blend.
Blending models must have at least four mental spaces. Two input spaces,
linked by a generic space, selectively integrated to form an emergent struc-
ture called the blended space, an imaginative equilibrium of the input spaces
that goes beyond a simple summative union to form genuinely new meaning
17 Reproduced and adapted from Fauconnier and Turner, The Way We Think, p. 46.

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504 whitenton
figure 2 Blend for “That surgeon is a butcher!” (here and throughout, an asterisk [*]
indicates emergent structures)
(sometimes called “emergent structure”).18 Corresponding elements among

input spaces may project onto the blended space (selective projection), even
as the blended space can project backward, challenging or reinforcing the
content of the input spaces (backward projection).19 In addition, the input
spaces can and do interact based on similarities and differences through cross-
space mapping. The square within the blended space represents the “emergent
structure,” which is the product of (1) the composition based on (selective and
backward) projections from the inputs, (2) completion through independently
recruited frames and scripts from prior knowledge, and (3) elaboration, also
18 By “new meaning” and “emergent structure,” I refer to emergent meaning within the blended
space not present in any input space.
19 See Figure 2 below for an example.

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called “running the blend,” in which the mind runs imaginative simulations of
the products of completion based on the principles established by the blend.20
A classic example from the study of conceptual metaphors illustrates how
blending works in practice: “That surgeon is a butcher!”21
In Figure 2 above, notice that cross-space mapping creates meaning based
on similarities and differences between the corresponding aspects linked
through the generic space (composition). In this case, Table 1 shows how the
elements associated with “butchery” map onto those of “surgery”:
Cross-space composition, however, does not alone explain the emergent
structure in the blended space (incompetence). As we organize the blended
space through completion, we integrate the corresponding elements according
to associated frames (including the connotations of those frames). In this case,
the dissonance between the connotations of surgery and butchery account
for the emergent material: Surgery conjures up images of a clean operating
room, sterile specialized equipment (e.g., scalpel) used to open the body, and
careful methods for closing the surgical openings after the procedure with the
ultimate aims of healing or restoration of a living human body. By contrast,
Butchery calls to mind the non-sterile, however skilled, severing of dead ani-
mal flesh, with larger cutting implements, and no concern for closing the dead
(and usually skinned) animal because the goal is harvesting food, not heal-
ing. In elaboration (“running the blend”), we simulate the completion for “that
table 1 Mappings for That Surgeon is a butcher22
Source: butcher Mappings Target: surgeon
Butcher → Surgeon
Dead animal → Live patient
Cleaver → Scalpel
Slaughterhouse → Operating Room
Butchery → Surgery
Severing flesh → Healing/Restoration
20 M. Turner, “Conceptual Integration,” in D. Geeraerts and H. Cuyckens eds., The Oxford

Handbook of Cognitive Linguistics (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010), pp. 379–380. Cf.
Fauconnier and Turner, The Way We Think, pp. 39–58.
21 The first extensive study of conceptual metaphors from a blending perspective was G. Lakoff
and M. Johnson, Metaphors We Live By (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1980).
22 Adapted from V. Evans and M.J. Green, Cognitive Linguistics: An Introduction (Edinburgh:
Edinburgh University Press, 2006), pp. 401–402.

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506 whitenton
surgeon is a butcher!” based on its internal logic. You want a skilled butcher if
you are looking to harvest an animal, but a skilled butcher does not necessarily
make a skilled surgeon. Likening a surgeon to a butcher implies the surgeon
abandons the norms associated with Surgery for those linked to Butchery.
People would typically classify a surgeon who acts like a butcher as incompe-
tent qua surgeon.
If this is how Blending theory works with metaphors, how might it apply to
characterization more broadly?
Blending and Characterization
Blending theory holds significant potential to explain the interplay between

categorization (based on frames, scripts, and other prior knowledge) and per-
sonalization (the individuating actions and speech of a character) that go into
mentally modeling a character’s first appearance, as well as integrating that
character’s subsequent appearances.23 Schneider has suggested two kinds of
blending vis-à-vis characters: (1) those used to construe characters in their nar-
rative worlds (inner-fictional blends) and (2) those that blend character and
reader (reader-character blends). In this context, I am only interested in the
former.24 Inner-fictional blends help readers experience “the identity forma-
tion processes of the character, using as input spaces different manifestations
of that character at different points in time and in different places and com-
press them.”25 These blends can take at least two critical forms: (1) blending a
character and a frame (such as a character type), and (2) blending a character
23 See Schneider, “Blending,” pp. 15–17. While blending has not received much attention within
the study of early Christian narrative characters, this is beginning to change. See, e.g., H.
Lundhaug, Images of Rebirth: Cognitive Poetics and Transformational Soteriology in the Gospel
of Philip and the Exegesis on the Soul (nhms, 71; Leiden: Brill, 2010); J. Rüggemeier, Poetik der
markinischen Christologie: Eine kognitiv-narratologische Exegese (wunt 2, 458; Tübingen:
Mohr Siebeck, 2017), pp. 7–102; K.M. Hartvigsen, Aseneth’s Transformation (dcls, 24; Berlin:
De Gruyter, 2018).
24 While this essay focuses on inner-fictional blends, I plan to work with reader-character
blends in a later project.
25 Schneider, “Blending,” p. 16. Inner-fictional blends can occur through explicit manifestations
of a character, or they can arise implicitly through tacit comparisons between characters
in similar situations that behave differently. They also occur between interacting character
perspectives. M. Hartner, “Constructing Literary Character and Perspective: An Approach
from Psychology and Blending Theory,” in R. Schneider and M. Hartner eds., Blending and
the Study of Narrative: Approaches and Applications (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2012), pp. 85–120. See
also, M. Hartner, Perspektivische Interaktion im Roman: Kognition, Rezeption, Interpretation
(Berlin: De Gruyter, 2012).

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and a character (including subsequent appearances of the same character).26

The first type of blend (between a character and a frame) relates most directly
to categorization-based aspects of dynamic processing because readers often
work from social categories and character types, from folk psychology and/or
in literature, which “must be blended with the space referring to the particular
character presented in the text.”27 The second type of blend (between initial
and subsequent character appearances) represents categorization and person-
alization tendencies in the dynamic processing model. This second type of
blend is where we begin to appreciate the complexity of characterization from
a cognitive perspective (see Figure 4 below).28
Figure 3 below shows one way to represent a blend between a character and
character type(s):
Selective projection fueled by similarities and differences between input
spaces via cross-space mapping populates the blended space (composition).
Once composed, pre-existing frames (including type-scenes and narrative epi-
sodes) organize the blended space (completion), which is ultimately simulated
imaginatively in the reader’s mind (elaboration).
This initial blend, however, is only the beginning. After a reader develops
their initial character model, “[that mental model] is continually updated to
incorporate the latest information, as with all mental representations in text
comprehension.”29 While the processes involved in updating the initial blended
space are largely the same as in the creation of the initial blended space, I sug-
gest we alter the basic model above in Figure 3 to depict the initial appearance
(the original blended space) as an input space and the subsequent appearance
26 Similarly, Fauconnier and Turner, The Way We Think, p. 253; Schneider, “Blending,” p. 17.
27 Schneider, “Blending,” p. 17. I do not claim that personalization has no role in the blend
between a character and a frame; my point is that the process is categorization dominant.
Schneider implies that this type of blending is the means by which dynamic mental
modeling of characters occurs. One benefit of this type of blend over traditional dynamic
processing one is that it accommodates and represents piecemeal integration of multiple
character types to inform a reader’s initial characterization (via cross-space mapping). On
the mental modeling of characters, see Schneider, “Toward a Cognitive Theory,” pp. 607–640
(627). Together with Schneider, I think of “frames” as one type of mental space, which can be
activated within a Blend either as a frame or as an input space, depending on the context.
28 So also, Schneider, “Blending,” p. 17. This type of blend likely uses the same mental processes
as blends between characters and frames.
29 Schneider, “Toward a Cognitive Theory,” p. 617. Cf. A. Collins, J.S. Brown and K.M. Larkin,
“Inference in Text Understanding,” in Theoretical Issues in Reading Comprehension (London:
Routledge, 2017), p. 387; A.M. Glenberg, M. Meyer and K. Lindem, “Mental Models Contribute
to Foregrounding During Text Comprehension,” J Mem Lang 26 (1987), pp. 69–83; R.A. Zwaan
and G.A. Radvansky, “Situation Models in Language Comprehension and Memory,” Psychol
Bull 123 (1998), p. 162.

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508 whitenton
figure 3 Blending a Character & Character Type(s)
as an additional input space. Resonance and dissonance via cross-space map-

ping will ultimately facilitate confirmatory categorization, decategorization/
individuation, and/or recategorization in the completion and elaboration steps
(see Figure 4 below).30
The initial blended mental model of the character, including the setting,
their actions, purpose, reply (and/or interlocutor’s response), and the conse-
quences of those (inter)actions become one input space and those of their
next appearance in the narrative become the other input space. As with any
other blend, selective projection based on similarities and differences between
the initial and subsequent appearances via cross-space mapping populates the
blended space (composition). Depending on which frames the blending space
activates during completion, readers might experience confirmatory categori-
zation, individuation, decategorization, or recategorization of their rendering of
30 For an alternative arrangement of frames in relation to the input spaces, see Hartvigsen,
pp. 71–75.

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figure 4 Blend Model for Subsequent Character Appearances
the initial characterization vis-à-vis the subsequent appearance. This process

repeats for each subsequent appearance, with the new blended space always
becoming the next input space with which the next appearance blends. To
illustrate the utility of this two-step recursive model, I now revisit the charac-
terization of Nicodemus in John’s gospel.31
Blending Nicodemus32
In what follows, I represent the mental processes we might expect from ancient
readers constructing Nicodemus in John’s gospel and discuss their outcomes.
I begin by representing Nicodemus’s initial appearance in John 3 as a blend of
character and character types.
31 By “recursive” I mean that the second of the two steps (blending subsequent appearances)
happens each time the character makes an appearance in the narrative.
32 Since space does not permit a rehashing of all the viable frames potentially involved in the
dynamic process of Nicodemus’s characterization, see Whitenton, Configuring Nicodemus,
pp. 55–106.

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510 whitenton
Initially Constructing Nicodemus in John 3:1–21 (=Nic A)
I have written on multiple occasions why I believe ancient audiences would

likely categorize Nicodemus in John’s gospel, at least initially, as a Pharisaic
dissembler who loves the darkness instead of God’s logos (cf. John 3:20).33
The blend in Figure 5 below represents Nic A as a blend between textual
artifacts in the interaction between Nicodemus and Jesus in John 3:1–21 and
character types activated within the text (Pharisee) and external to the text
(Dissembler).
According to the model above, the blend begins as their minds encounter
the text of John 3:1–21, Nicodemus’s interaction with Jesus would activate the
character types for Pharisee and Dissembler.
(1) Composition: For attentive ancient readers, Nicodemus’s exchange with
Jesus will probably activate the Pharisee and Dissembler character
types as mental spaces. I have treated these character types as input
spaces to illustrate the dynamic mental modeling that occurs because
of selection, connection, and comparison (resonance and dissonance)
through cross-space mapping. These correlating elements will initially
populate the blended space through selective projection.
Figure 5 above indicates the ways Nicodemus’s identification as a “Pharisee”
(and a Jewish leader) would encourage readers to map their expectations
about Pharisees onto Nicodemus. Yet Nicodemus’s behavior—particularly his
combination of praise for Jesus and his apparent misunderstanding of rela-
tively simple concepts—would also encourage selective cross-space mapping
between Nicodemus and expectations surrounding the Dissembler charac-
ter type. The integration of these three mental spaces (Nicodemus, Pharisee,
and Dissembler) is much clearer in a blending model than a traditional
dynamic processing model.
During the composition of the blended space, backward projection to the
three input spaces (“Nicodemus” in John 3, the Pharisee character type, and
the Dissembler character type), introduces new structures to audience per-
ceptions of them. In other words, backward projection changes the content of
the Pharisee and Dissembler character types because they participated in
the blended space. For example, a Pharisee mental space may now include
some level of dissembling, self-deprecation, hunger for power, etc. Similarly,
within John’s gospel, a dissembler’s duplicitous character would seem to
oppose God’s true logos.
33 See Whitenton, “Dissembler,” pp. 141–158; Whitenton, Configuring Nicodemus, pp. 59–106.

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Blend for Nic A (= Nicodemus in John 3 + Character Types)

figure 5

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512 whitenton
(2) Completion: To bring structure to the blend, readers will need to draw upon
information that falls outside the input spaces. Inferences at this level
help “complete” the initial composition via categorization. According to
Figure 5, at least three such “frames” play a role in completing the blend
of Nic A: (1) the Rabbinic dialogue type scene; (2) Jesus’s mixed reception
in the Temple (John 2:13–25); and (3) the Prologue (1:1–18).
(a) The Rabbinic Dialogue Type Scene: Rabbis (and sometimes
their disciples) would often debate questions about interpreting
the Law or some related aspect to Jewish practice and belief.34
Sometimes these debates happened in the evening, but they need
not only occur after dark.35 Furthermore, exchanges between two
rabbis on the nature of spiritual transformation (cf. 3.1–10) would
presumably activate audience associations with such a common
practice.
(b) Jesus’s mixed reception in the temple (2:13–25) narrative frame:
Jesus made a whip and chased the moneychangers out of the tem-
ple, offering the resurrection of body-as-temple as a sign of his
authority to do so. Similar to Nicodemus in John 3, “the Jews” take
Jesus’s figured statement: “Destroy this temple, and in three days
I will raise it up” literally and are thus incredulous (2:19–20). Even
his disciples only recognize the metaphorical truth of his teaching
after his resurrection (2:22). Nevertheless, “many believed in his
name” (ἐπίστευσαν) because of the signs (2:23). Yet Jesus would not
entrust himself (οὐκ ἐπίστευεν αὐτὸν) to them because he knew all
people (τὸ αὐτὸν γινώσκειν πάντας) (2:24). He did not need anyone to
testify about people (περὶ τοῦ ἀνθρώπου) because he knew what was
in people (ἐγίνωσκεν τί ἦν ἐν τῷ ἀνθρώπῳ) (2:25).
The repetition of ἄνθρωπος in 2:24–25 primes audiences to organ-
ize their construction of Nicodemus, as one such ἄνθρωπος (3:1), in a
suspicious light. The reason for this suspicion is that Jesus’s knowl-
edge of such ἄνθρωποι suggests a hostile incongruity between their
claims to believe and their actual orientation to God’s logos. This
division between such ἄνθρωποι and Jesus is especially compelling
34 Cf. Pirkei Avot 5:17 (second century ce); m. Eduyot 1:4–5 (second century ce); Gen. Rab.
27:4 (ca fourth to sixth century ce); b. Eruvin 13b (seventh century ce); b. Kiddushin 30b
(seventh century ce). These dialogues do resemble Greek philosophical debates to some
degree.
35 So also, C.S. Keener, The Gospel of John: A Commentary (Peabody, MA: Hendrickson, 2003),
p. 536.

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considering the thematic overlap with the final narrative frame in

the blend: the Prologue (1:1–18).
(c) The Prologue (1:1–18) narrative frame: The Prologue of John’s gospel
(1:1–18) provides an interpretive grid through which readers ought
to understand the rest of the gospel.36 According to Aristotle, pro-
logues ought always to provide a guide for readers (Rhet. 3.14.1).37
Similarly, cognitive scientists, literary critics, and communication
scholars have all noted the “primacy effect,” in which the beginning
of a narrative becomes its interpretive lens.38 Unsurprisingly, then,
Nicodemus’s exchange with Jesus in John 3 organically maps onto the
Prologue. God’s logos created everything that has come into being
(1:3), including life itself. The Prologue casts this life metaphorically
as a struggle between light and darkness (1:4), which tried, unsuc-
cessfully, to overcome (κατέλαβεν) the light of God’s logos (1:5). The
conflict is especially apparent between God’s logos and “the Jews”:
“His own did not receive him favorably” (αὐτὸν οὐ παρέλαβον) (1:11).
But God’s logos conferred the power to be “born” as children of God
to those who did receive him favorably (1:12–13).39 As with creation
36 Such a claim is by no means contentious, going back in modern scholarship at least as early
as W. Baldensperger, Der Prolog des vierten Evangeliums, sein polemisch-apologetischer Zweck
(Tübingen: Mohr, 1898); A. Loisy, Le Quatrième Evangile (Paris: Picard, 3rd edn, 1903). More
recently, see, e.g., M. Theobald, Die Fleischwerdung des Logos: Studien zum Verhältnis des
Johannesprologs zum Corpus des Evangeliums und zu 1 Joh (NTAbh, 20; Münster: Aschendorff,
1988); C.W. Skinner, “Misunderstanding, Christology, and Johannine Characterization:
Reading John’s Characters through the Lens of the Prologue,” in C.W. Skinner (ed.),
Characters and Characterization in the Gospel of John (lnts, 461; London: T&T Clark, 2013);
J.-A.A. Brant, John (Paideia, Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2011), p. 23; Keener, pp. 333–339.
37 See also, Cicero, De or. 2.315; Quintilian, Inst. 4.1.5; Theon Prog. 34, Lucian, How to Write
History 53. Cf. Virgil, Aen. 1.1–6; Josephus, J.W. 1.17–30; Polybius 3.1.3–3.5.9, esp. 3.1.7; 11.1.1–2;
Aulus Gellius, pref. 25 as noted in Keener, p. 334n310. So too, H.-J. Klauck, “Hellenistische
Rhetorik im Diasporajudentum Das Exordium des Vierten Makkabäerbuchs (4 Makk 1.1–
12),” nts 35 (1989), pp. 451–465. See further, Whitenton, Configuring Nicodemus, pp. 81–85. Cf.
Whitenton, Hearing Kyriotic Sonship, pp. 98–108.
38 See, e.g., P. Stockwell, Cognitive Poetics: An Introduction (London: Routledge, 2002); C.A.
Castro, “Primacy and Recency Effects,” in W.E. Craighead and C.B. Nemeroff eds., The Corsini
Encyclopedia of Psychology and Behavioral Science (New York: Wiley, 2001), vol. 3. Malbon
also recognized this phenomenon in her “Ending at the Beginning: A Response,” Semeia 52
(1990), pp. 175–184 (178–181).
39 ἔδωκεν αὐτοῖς ἐξουσίαν τέκνα θεοῦ γενέσθαι

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514 whitenton
itself, and in contrast to literal human conception and birth, God’s

logos confers divine birth through speech and stands (1:13).40
As the minds of the readers run the completion step, the relevant elements of
the Rabbinic dialogue type scene, the Prologue (1:1–18), and Jesus’s mixed recep-
tion in the temple (2:13–25) structure the blended space in ways that organize
and create new relationships between selected elements of Nicodemus’s inter-
action with Jesus, the Pharisee character type, and the Dissembler charac-
ter type. This step in the blend yields emergent material that exists only in the
blend: In their initial encounter with Nicodemus, ancient audience members
will likely categorize him as a dissembling Pharisee via completion.
(3) Elaboration: Once readers have created the blending space (NicA) (com-
position) and structured it according to relevant frames that introduce
emergent meaning found only in the blend (completion), the minds of
readers will imaginatively simulate Nicodemus’s interaction with Jesus
(Nic A is a dissembling Pharisee), according to the internal logic of John’s
gospel (elaboration). Here, elaboration will entail projecting what it
means that Nicodemus is a dissembling Pharisee who has yet to “come to
the Light” when his interaction with Jesus ends.
Blending helps show how a dynamic processing theory of character works
to assimilate a character into a frame (or a mashup of various frames). Perhaps
most importantly, it accounts for emergent structures in the blended space
(e.g., Nic A is a Pharisaic dissembler & loves the darkness rather than the light)
via processes largely either assumed or ignored by typical dynamic process-
ing models (including my previous work). Just as a character integrates with a
character type, blending also shows how subsequent appearances of a charac-
ter integrate into the earlier appearances in the same narrative.
If readers/hearers construct Nic A as a Pharisaic dissembler who loves the
darkness instead of the light of God’s logos, integrating Nicodemus’s second
appearance (John 7:45–52) via blending complicates matters considerably.
Integrating Nicodemus’s Subsequent Appearances in John
In Configuring Nicodemus, I argued that Nicodemus’s appearances in John 7 and

19 individuated or nuanced his characterization in John 3 in ways that suggest,
by the story’s end, Jesus’s rhetoric in 3:1–21 eventually transforms him into a
40 οἳ οὐκ ἐξ αἱμάτων οὐδὲ ἐκ θελήματος σαρκὸς οὐδὲ ἐκ θελήματος ἀνδρὸς ἀλλ᾿ ἐκ θεοῦ ἐγεννήθησ
αν. On divine birth in John’s gospel, see A.D. Myers, Blessed Among Women?: Mothers and
Motherhood in the New Testament (New York: Oxford University Press, 1st edn, 2017).

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spiritually “born” child of God (cf. 1:11–13).41 However, because dynamic pro-
cessing models alone do not adequately represent such individuation/person-
alization, below I offer blending models integrating Nicodemus’s subsequent
appearances, starting with the blend of the material in John 7:45–52 with Nic A.
Constructing the Blend for Nic B (= John 7:45–52 x Nic A)
Blending multiple character appearances works from the same basic frame-
work as blending a character and character types. However, in Figure 6 below,
I have represented the character types as frames in the blend. This arrange-
ment allows me to represent cross-space mapping between—and selective
projection from—Nicodemus’s appearances with greater precision. It also
more clearly shows how the respective frames contribute to the completion of
the blended space. Ultimately, the integration of John 7:45–52 and Nic A reaf-
firms some initial categorizations while encouraging personalization in other
aspects of Nicodemus’s character.
Integrating Nicodemus’s Second Appearance (John 7:45–52) with

His First (Nic A)
According to the blend above in Figure 6, as the minds of readers/hear-

ers encounter the text of John 7:45–52, they will integrate Nicodemus new
behavior and actions into their mental model of “Nicodemus in John’s gos-
pel” (which until now has been synonymous with Nic A). This integration will
create a blended space (composition), bolstered by relevant frames and prior
knowledge (completion). At this point, readers will run an imaginative simu-
lation of the scene consistent with the narrative’s internal logic (elaboration).
“Running the blend” in this manner will yield a more nuanced characterization
of Nicodemus (=Nic B) when compared to Nic A. As before, Nicodemus’s inter-
action with the Pharisees would activate the character types for Pharisee
and Dissembler, the Single Voice of Reason type scene frame, and the
Prologue as a narrative frame (John 1:1–18).
(1) Composition For attentive ancient readers familiar with his first appear-
ance, Nicodemus’s exchange with the Pharisees would readily map onto
their mental space for a Nic A. Repeated expressions that direct audi-
ence attention to a particular episode—or what Barbara Dancygier calls
41 See Whitenton, Configuring Nicodemus, pp. 107–118.

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516 whitenton
Blend for Nic B (= Nicodemus in John 7 x Nic A)

figure 6

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“narrative anchors”—galvanize such mapping.42 These enthymematic

phrases activate, for attentive readers/hearers, an entire mental space
without the need to rehearse all the essential details. That critical task
belongs to the reader and enhances audience participation.43 This
retrieval of narrative anchors facilitates cross-space mapping by com-
pressing space and time to construct the “story.” In John 7:50, the nar-
rator’s description of Nicodemus as “one of [the Pharisees]” who “had
come to Jesus earlier,” cues the narrative anchor (Nicodemus’s encounter
with Jesus) and compresses it with immediate narrative space (7:45–52)
in terms of space and time. This compression highlights the resonance
and dissonance between the two appearances.
The input spaces resonate to some degree, but dissonance does the heavy lift-
ing in the integration of John 7:45–52 with Nic A. During compression, selective
cross-space mapping confirms the categorizations of Nicodemus as Pharisee
and Dissembler (see Figure 5 above). However, the changing contexts (private
vs. public) and narrative audiences (Jesus vs. other Pharisees) personalize both
categorizations.44 Depending on the significance hearers assign to darkness/
night and light/daytime, the dissonance between private and public settings
may produce emergent material in the blended space (see below on “comple-
tion”).45 Nicodemus came to Jesus privately at night in John 3, but, in John 7,
42 B. Dancygier, “Narrative Anchors and the Processes of Story Construction: The Case of
Margaret Atwood’s The Blind Assassin,” Style 41 (2007), pp. 133–151; B. Dancygier, “The Text
and the Story: Levels of Blending in Fictional Narratives,” in T. Oakley and A. Hougaard
(eds.), Mental Spaces in Discourse and Interaction (Amsterdam: Benjamins, 2008).
43 On which, see Whitenton, Configuring Nicodemus, pp. 96–101.
44 The continued recruitment of the dissembler frame (via narrative anchoring) also reinforces
audience uncertainty and (hopefully) curiosity about Nicodemus’s motivations. Like his
dissembling predecessors, Nicodemus’s beheavor is intentionally ambiguous or, perhaps
better, polysemous. On value of polysemy in ancient rhetoric vis-à-vis ancient dissemblers,
see Whitenton, Configuring Nicodemus, pp. 96–103. On polysemy, see further C.M. Condit,
“The Rhetorical Limits of Polysemy,” Crit Stud Media Commun 6 (1989), pp. 103–122; L.
Ceccarelli, “Polysemy: Multiple Meanings in Rhetorical Criticism,” qjs 84 (1998), pp. 395–415;
R.F. Thomas, “A Trope by Any Other Name: “Polysemy,” Ambiguity, and Significatio in Virgil,”
hscp 100 (2000), pp. 381–407. Cf. F. Ahl, “The Art of Safe Criticism in Greece and Rome,” ajp
105 (1984), pp. 174–208.
45 Scholars have long debated the significance of the timing of Nicodemus’s visit, typically
raising two basic possibilities: (1) Jewish teachers often studied during the evening,
especially if they worked during the day (see, e.g., 1qs 6.6–7; t. Šabb. 1:13; b. ‘Abod. Zar. 3b).
On which, see F.P. Cotterell, “The Nicodemus Conversation: A Fresh Appraisal,” ExpTim 96
(1985), pp. 237–242 (238); R. Bauckham, “Nicodemus and the Gurion Family,” jts 47 (1996),
pp. 1–37 (31); M.M. Beirne, Women and Men in the Fourth Gospel: A Genuine Discipleship of
Equals (JSNTSup, 242; London: Sheffield Academic Press, 2003), p. 73. (2) Nicodemus wishes
to avoid being seen (cf. John 7:51–52; 12:42–43; 19:38; Judg 6:27; 1 Sam 28:8; 2 Kings 25:4;

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518 whitenton
he confronts the Pharisees publicly during the day. The nature of Nicodemus’s
questions has also changed from a reactionary self-deprecation (“How can this
be?!” [3:9]) to a calculated injunction to obey to the Law by listening to Jesus
(the interrogative mood provides plausible deniability) (7:45–52).46 In the lat-
ter, Nicodemus’s question forces the Pharisees to choose between their inter-
pretation of the Prophets and their reputation as accurate interpreters of the
Law.47 Their opposition to Jesus forces them to abandon the Law and mock
Nicodemus as a “Galilean.” As for the shifting audience, Jesus cannot contain his
amazement with the level of (ostensible) ignorance in Nicodemus’s questions
(3:7, 10), while the Pharisees mock him, suggesting (ironically, correctly) that he
must now believe in Jesus (7:47–49). For some readers, the differences between
the first and second appearances may personalize Nicodemus’s dissembling
and his status as a Pharisee in ways that suggest service to Jesus.
Dissonance in the cross-space mapping between Nicodemus’s focus on phys-
ical generation in John 3 and his lack of concern for the physical generation of
the messiah in John 7 may further individuate Nic B from Nic A, suggesting
an openness to, or perhaps a deepening understanding of, Jesus’s message of
spiritual birth (birth ἄνωθεν). In John 3, Nicodemus almost comically fixates on
physical conception and vaginal birth.48 However, by the time readers reach
7:45–52, Nicodemus shows no interest in the messiah’s physical birth(place).
Instead, he pushes his colleagues (unsuccessfully) to overlook such debates
involving physical origins and encounter Jesus as he did. This shift presumably
would lead some readers to conclude that Nicodemus occupies a sort of limi-
nal space of dual (un)belonging. He no longer sees eye to eye with his Pharisaic
colleagues regarding how to respond to Jesus, and while he seems to defend
Sophocles Ajax 47). Those who opt for option #2 usually understand Nicodemus as some
sort of secret disciple. On which, see C. Bennema, Encountering Jesus: Character Studies in
the Gospel of John (Milton Keynes, UK: Paternoster, 2009), pp. 150–151; J. Painter, The Quest
for the Messiah: The History, Literature and Theology of the Johannine Community (Edinburgh:
T&T Clark, 1991); C.R. Koester, Symbolism in the Fourth Gospel: Meaning, Mystery, Community
(Minneapolis: Fortress, 1995), p. 45; H. Ridderbos, The Gospel of John: A Theological
Commentary (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1997), p. 123; F.J. Moloney, The Gospel of John (sp,
4; Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, Revised edition edn., 2005), p. 510. See also Keener, p.
536; R.E. Brown, The Gospel According to John I-xii (AB, 29; Garden City: Anchor Bible, 1966),
p. 130.
46 On plausible deniability as a common motivation behind dissembling, see Quintilian, Inst.
9.2.68.
47 Nicodemus’s insistence that the Law demands they give Jesus a hearing follows conventional
precedent (see Josephus, Ant. 14.167; J.W. 1.209; Exod. Rab. 21.3). Cf. Brant, p. 141.
48 On the potential for humor in John 3 – and its rhetorical effect – see Whitenton, Configuring
Nicodemus, pp. 120–136.

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Jesus via the Law, neither does he unequivocally identify as a Jesus follower.
However, the narrative hints at Nicodemus’s belief by reintroducing him in the
narrative immediately after the Pharisees castigate the guards, who have just
come from listening to Jesus’s figured living water speech (cf. John 4:13–15).
When the guards respond that they did not capture him because of his rhetor-
ical prowess (“No one has ever spoken like that.”), the Pharisees scoff, saying,
“You haven’t been deceived too, have you? Nobody from among the leaders
has believed in [Jesus], have they? Have any of the Pharisees? But this crowd,
which does not know the law – they are accursed” (7:48–49).49 The next person
to speak is none other than Nicodemus. The scene drips with irony for those
who infer that Nicodemus is a Pharisee who believes in Jesus. Put another way,
cross-space mapping between the input spaces encourages ancient audiences
to individuate Nic B from Nic A in terms of a change of allegiance, or better, as
a change in loves. While Nic A loved the darkness instead of the light in John
3, Nicodemus’s daytime defense of Jesus suggests that Nic B now loves God’s
light.
To make sense of all this, audience members will need to recruit relevant
frames to better structure and organize the blended space.
(2) Completion As with Figure 4 above, the lines connecting the narrative,
type scene, and character types to the input spaces and the blended
space in Figure 5 indicate their influence in organizing and filling out the
blended space.50
(a) Narrative Frame (Prologue): The Prologue’s focus on the conflict
between God’s logos and his own people, couched in a metaphorical
battle between light and darkness, continues to provide an instruc-
tive framework. Importantly, Nicodemus’s positioning within these
themes seems to have shifted. While God’s logos remains in conflict
with the Jewish leadership, Nicodemus (literally and metaphori-
cally) steps into the light to challenge their rejection of Jesus (cf.
1:4–5, 10–13). In terms of framing, the Prologue primes readers to
interpret “night” as aligning Nicodemus with the “darkness” in 3:2
(cf. 13:30), whereas his public and frank defense of Jesus takes place
(presumably) during the day.51
49 Attentive audience members might make the inference that Jesus’s divine speech has
swayed Nicodemus, just as it had the Samaritan woman (cf. 4:4–42).
50 Note that backward projection onto the Pharisee and Dissembler frames (which previously
acted as input spaces) reflects emergent material from their role in the blend for Nic A.
51 On frankness of speech (παρρησίᾳ) in ancient rhetoric, see Lib., P.Herc. 1471, col. 8b.6–13,
quoted in Brant, p. 141. See also, D. Konstan, Friendship in the Classical World (ktah, 6;
Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997), p. 21.

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520 whitenton
(b) Type Scene Frame(s): Single Voice of Reason: In these type

scenes, which were common in contemporary literature, a single
individual arrives in the scene to stop a group of people from mak-
ing a disastrous decision. Ironically, the crowds typically ignore
that voice of reason (e.g., Virgil Aen. 2.40–56; 11.243–295).52 Those
for whom the Single Voice of Reason type scene is activated
would easily assimilate Nicodemus as that voice, putting further
distance between him and his Pharisaic colleagues.
(c) Character Type 1 (Pharisee): As the voice of reason, attempting to
lead the Jewish community right action, Nicodemus’s failed inter-
vention by appealing to the Law (re)activates the Pharisee frame
during the completion step. Recall from Figure 4 above that the
Pharisee frame gained emergent structure via backward process-
ing with Nic A (“duplicity”). Activating the (duplicitous) Pharisee
character type at this point in the narrative via selective projection
reinforces the idea that Nicodemus is attempting to defend Jesus in
7:45–52.
(d) Character Type 2 (Dissembler): The Dissembler character type
also gained emergent structure because of the construction of Nic A
(in Figure 4, I noted opposition to God’s logos as a potential motiva-
tor for a Dissembler). Ironically, if Nicodemus’s behavior in John
7:45–52 (re)activates the Dissembler character type, it will be in
the context of defending God’s logos, not opposing it. Nicodemus’s
suggestion that they offer Jesus a hearing may strike audience mem-
bers as a carefully calculated strategy. The Pharisees cannot believe
that Nicodemus is defending Jesus. The interrogative provides
him with plausible deniability. Instead, he asks a question, which
ancient rhetoricians widely recognized as more persuasive for
non-sympathetic crowds than direct statements.53 While he does
not feign ignorance, his interrogative tone may give the impression
of naivety. Ancient audience members who remember Jesus’s own
clever rhetoric toward Nicodemus might realize that Nicodemus,
too, has adopted emphasis as a dissembling technique.54 Because
his rhetoric now reflects the rhetoric of God’s logos, the Pharisees’
rejection of Nicodemus is tantamount to a rejection of Jesus.
52 See also Keener, p. 733.

53 See, e.g., Ps-Demetrius, Eloc. 279; Ps-Longinus, [Subl.] 18.1–2; Rhet. Her. 4.15.22; Quintilian,
Inst. 9.2.7–11.
54 Cf. Rhet. Her. 4.53.67; Quintilian, Inst. 9.2.67–74; Ps-Demetrius, Eloc. 222

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Nevertheless, the clever, even chameleon-like, quality of the

Dissembler, if projected onto Nicodemus, would reinforce uncer-
tainty regarding his standing in John’s gospel. While Nicodemus’s
behavior in John 7:45–52 will probably lead many readers to catego-
rize him as either a Pharisee or a (Pharisaic) Jesus follower, those for
whom the Dissembler frame is strongly activated may withhold
judgment. Dissemblers were notoriously untrustworthy.55
In sum, the completion step recruited frames that ultimately confirmed audi-
ence categorizations of Nic B as a dissembler and Pharisee, but other frames
(Single Voice of Reason) and narrative context (7:45–49) personalize his
dissembling and Pharisaic identity in a way that suggests a change in loves.
(3) Elaboration The recursive nature of characterization-as-blending sug-
gests a great deal of dissonance occasioned by the backward projection
of Nic B (lover of Jesus) onto Nic A (lover of darkness), which readers
will need to resolve. More traditional literary approaches sometimes sug-
gest that readers ought to allow the characterization of Nicodemus to
hover between these two representations. The result is that Nicodemus is
“ambiguous,” perhaps even intentionally so.56 While my comments above
show that I do not deny this possibility at this point in the narrative, as
I have argued elsewhere, the human mind prefers stability to instability
and coherence over tension.57 Instead of living in the tension between
two poles, as Schneider puts it, “we can expect the mind to create mean-
ing out of opposed items and seemingly incompatible inputs” for charac-
ter identity in literary narratives.58
While it is too early for final judgments, it would seem that Nic B has changed
the object of his love, leading to the audience inference that Jesus’s clever rhet-
oric in John 3 may well have given Nicodemus a spiritual transformation.59
55 A later note appended to the description of the dissembler in Theophrastus reads, “One
should be more wary of disingenuous and designing characters than of vipers.” See J. Diggle
ed., Theophrastus: Characters (trans. J. Diggle; cctc, 41; Cambridge University Press, 2004),
p. 167.
56 See, e.g., J.M. Bassler, “Mixed Signals: Nicodemus in the Fourth Gospel,” jbl 108 (1989),
pp. 635–646; S.E. Hylen, Imperfect Believers: Ambiguous Characters in the Gospel of John
(Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2009), pp. 23–40.
57 Whitenton, Configuring Nicodemus, pp. 79–80 (esp. 80 n. 78.
58 Schneider, “Blending,” p. 15.
59 By contrast, Nicodemus’s defense of Jesus in John 7 will confirm his insider status for those
who constructed Nic A as a (secret) Jesus follower.

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522 whitenton
Constructing the Blend of Nic C (= John 19:38–42 x Nic B)
In John 19, Nicodemus’s actions, combined with narrative framing, now far
exceed those of Nic B in ways that lead attentive audiences to recategorize
Nicodemus as Jesus’s disciple and peerless bereaved companion. Figure 7
below represents the formation of Nic C via the integration of Nicodemus’s
appearance in John 19 with Nic B. While many interpreters have sterilized
Nicodemus’s extravagant actions, reducing them to underscoring “the orderly,
even exceedingly dignified burial given to Jesus,” the blend below suggests a
more impassioned undertaking.60
Integrating “Nicodemus (John 19)” with Nic B
According to Figure 7 above, as the minds of readers/hearers encounter the

text of John 19:38–42, they will integrate relevant material into their mental
model of “Nicodemus in John’s gospel” (which has shifted from “Nic A” to “Nic
B”). In particular, cross-space mapping and selective projections from Nic B
and “Nicodemus in John 19” begin populating the blended space in ways (com-
position) that will individuate Nicodemus away from the Dissembler cate-
gorization and confirm the recategorization of Nicodemus as a Johannine
Disciple and Bereaved Companion (completion). Ancient audience mem-
bers will imaginatively simulate this new emergent structure according to the
internal logic of John’s gospel (elaboration). Ultimately, I argue that Nicodemus
emerges as the Johannine disciple who loves Jesus the most.
(1) Composition: For attentive ancient readers familiar with his journey to
this point, Nicodemus’s participation in the retrieval and burial of Jesus’s
body in John 19:28–37 would readily interact with their mental space
for Nic B via resonant cross-space mapping. In both mental spaces,
Nicodemus acts on Jesus’s behalf publicly. Nic B publicly challenged his
colleagues to give Jesus a hearing, even if he does not respond to their
mockery.61 However, his public retrieval of Jesus’s body and his extrava-
gant gift of myrrh and aloes goes far beyond Nic B’s legal question in John
7:45–52. Some in the audience may understandably wonder whether any
60 It is true that no emotion is attributed to Nicodemus, but that does not preclude ancient
audiences projecting appropriate emotions onto Nicodemus in the blend. In fact, that is
exactly what we would expect them to do. On audience emotion in response to narrative,
see Keen, pp. 6–100; Whitenton, “Feeling the Silence,” pp. 272–289.
61 Motivation for that silence is not explicitly stated, but those who understand Nic B as a
dissembler may infer that he is hedging.

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Blend for Nic C (= Nic B + “Nicodemus” in John 19)

figure 7

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524 whitenton
character in the story has shown affection for God’s logos greater than
this bereaved friend of Jesus. For such audience members, these actions
and their setting would probably cue several relevant frames in comple-
tion that prompt either confirm the categorization of Nicodemus (or
recategorize him) as a Johannine Disciple.
(2) Completion: The narrative frames below organize and structure the
blended space populated by composition.
(a) Johannine Jesus’s Death (19:28–37) Narrative Frame: The
Johannine Jesus’s Death frame provides a ready scaffolding for
structuring Nic C as a man transformed by the spirit Jesus promised
to send after his “glorification” (cf. 7:39)62 Joseph and Nicodemus
retrieve Jesus’s body immediately after the audience learns of his
death (19:28–37). Attentive audience members will probably attrib-
ute symbolic meaning to the blood and water that burst from Jesus’s
pierced chest in keeping with his speech at the Festival of Sukkot:
“‘Let anyone who is thirsty come to me, and let the one who believes
in me drink. As the scriptures have said, ‘Out of the believer’s heart
shall flow rivers of living water’” (John 7:37–38).63 This living water
was none other than the spirit, which Jesus would give after he was
“glorified” (7:39; cf. 3:14). Now that Jesus’s glorification-as-cruci-
fixion has come, he has delivered on his promise of the spirit. As
readers organized their mental model of Nic C, a reasonable infer-
ence would be that Nicodemus has now been “born from above”
via Jesus’s promised spirit, symbolized by blood and water pouring
forth from his side (cf. 19:34).
(b) Prologue (1:1–18) Narrative Frame: Jesus’s death-as-glorifi-
cation forms the crescendo of the conflict between the dark-
ness and God’s ever-shining light (cf. 1:3–5). The darkness has
tried and failed to overcome God’s light (cf.:1:5). This episode,
62 “Glorification” (ἐδοξάσθη in 7:38) almost certainly refers metaphorically to Jesus’s crucifixion

in John’s gospel. On which, see John 12:23–28; 17:1; cf. 21:19. So also, Keener, pp. 728–729; J.
Marcus, “Crucifixion as Parodic Exaltation,” jbl 125 (2006), pp. 73–87.
63 If the reference to “water” activates the first manifestation of Nicodemus, ancient audiences
might render “blood and water” as a reference to the end of Jesus’s physical life (blood)
and the continuation of his presence via the spirit (water) (see John 3:5–8; cf. 1.10–13). As
Jesus nears death he tells bystanders that he is thirsty (διψῶ). Outside of his death, the
verb only shows up in the dialogue with the Samaritan woman (John 4:13–15), the bread
of life discourse (6:35), and his speech at the Festival of Sukkot (7:37–38). In each of these
instances, “thirst” is linked to unmet desire (symbolized by the desire to drink), “drinking”
to believing, and “water” to the Spirit. On “thirst” as a metaphor for desire, see Plato, Gorg.
496e–498b.

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which portrays Jesus’s death as the ultimate failure of his own

people (via physical generation) to accept him (1:11) and offers
spiritual generation (via God’s spirit at the glorification-cruci-
fixion of Jesus) to all who receive him, frames Nicodemus’s final
appearance in John’s gospel as one suggestive of spiritual birth
(cf. 1:12–13; 3:1–10; 7:37–39).
(c) Events after the Death Type Scene Frame: Attentive ancient
audiences would recognize this scene as part of the standard “events
after death” element prescribed for the composition of encomium,
synkrisis, and diegesis, as, for example, the progymnasmata of
Ps-Hermogenes (second century ce) recommends.64 The arrival of
two men to retrieve the body of Jesus, one of whom is explicitly one
of Jesus’s “disciples,” suggests that these men have some affinity for
Jesus. That they request his body from the man who ordered his
execution and that Nicodemus brings such an extravagant amount
of burial spices creates the expectation that these men were close
to Jesus. Furthermore, the traditional role that loved ones and
other family usually played in funerals—absent here unless audi-
ences so categorized Nicodemus (and Joseph)—ancient audiences
would likely construe the men who retrieved the body and per-
formed the simple but extravagant funeral as some of Jesus’s closest
companions.65
(d) Bereaved Companion Character Type: The Bereaved
Companion often accompanies the Events after the Death
type scene frame. Any number of the many extant literary examples
of the Bereaved Companion character type may inform audience
impressions of the relationship between Jesus and Nicodemus.66
Such figures make demonstrations of their deep love for their
deceased friend, whom they often grieve in intense and—by
64 “You will examine also events after death: if they held games in his honor, as for Patroclus;
if there was an oracle about his bones, as with Orestes; if he had famous children, as did
Neoptolemus” (Ps-Her Prog. 16–17). Arguably, events after death may be included in Aelius
Theon’s instruction to narrate the “good death” (Prog. 110). “Events after death” also feature
in the biographies of Plutarch (Alcibiades 39.4a and Coriolanus 39.5-6), Philostratus (Vita
Apollonii 8.31), and Philo (De vita Mosis 2.291b). On which, see M.W. Martin, “Progymnastic
Topic Lists: A Compositional Template for Luke and Other Bioi?,” nts 54 (2008), pp. 18–41.
65 See Plutarch, Alcibiades 39.4a; idem, Coriolanus 39.5-6; Philostratus, Vita Apollonii 8.31; and
Philo, De vita Mosis 2.291b. Cf. Virgil Aen. 6.224–225; Ovid Metam. 2.626; Josephus, Ant. 17.199;
J.W. 1.673; m. Ber. 8:6.
66 Cf. Achilles (mourning Patroclus); David (mourning Jonathan); Jesus (mourning Lazarus);
and Phaedo, Crito, & Apollodorus (mourning Socrates).

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526 whitenton
modern standards—even theatrical or hyperbolic ways (see Figure

7 above). Likewise, we should assume that ancient audiences had
their own experiences burying friends and family and will construe
Joseph and Nicodemus as loving Jesus as they had loved their own
departed.
(e) Johannine Disciple Character Type: For many audience mem-
bers who find themselves in the completion articulated this far,
Nicodemus’s behavior will activate the Johannine Disciple
character type.67 Essentially, a Johannine Disciple has come
to God’s light and received the power for a spiritual generation
(1:10–13). They continue in Jesus’s teaching, set free by the truth of
God’s logos, to “follow me” (8:31–32; cf. 1:43; 8:12; 10:27; 12:26; 13:36;
21:19, 22). Their service to Jesus, or what Jo-Ann Brandt calls “expres-
sions of fidelity,” characterize the most exemplary disciples within
John’s narrative world.68 Nicodemus’s actions in John 19:28–37 fit
hand-in-glove with such expressions and would probably activate
the Johannine Disciple character type.69 This frame adds con-
siderable significance to (and provides an interpretive lens through
which to view) Nicodemus’s courage to “follow Jesus” to his actual
cross to retrieve his body and lovingly bury it with such costly and
high honor, risking his life and reputation in the process.70
67 Entire books have been written on the nature of discipleship in John, and I cannot do the
topic justice in this context. I would encourage the interested reader to consult, most recently,
M. Zhakevich, Follow Me: The Benefits of Discipleship in the Gospel of John (Minneapolis:
Fortress, 2020). See also, R.M. Chennattu, Johannine Discipleship As a Covenant Relationship
(Peabody: Hendrickson, 2005); C. Bennema, Mimesis in the Johannine Literature: A Study
in Johannine Ethics (lnts, 498; London: T&T Clark, 2017); S. Brown and C.W. Skinner eds.,
Johannine Ethics: The Moral World of the Gospel and Epistles of John (Minneapolis: Fortress,
2017).
68 Brant, p. 288. As Brant points out, the disciples’ desire to know the place where Jesus stays
(1:38); they retrive food him, while he rests at Jacob’s well (4:8) and encourage him to eat
when they return (4:31). An entire town town invites him to stay with them (4:40). The
disciples attempt to keep him from drowning by bringing him into the boat (6:21). Martha
worries that the smell of Lazarus’s decaying body will offend Jesus (11:39), and Mary cares for
his tired feet (12:3).
69 For evidence of early Christian inferences that Nicodemus ultimately became a disciple of
Jesus, see, e.g., the Gospel of Nicodemus and John Chrysostom (Hom. Jo. 24 [on 2:23–3:4]),
who notes that, compared to his encounter with Jesus in John 3:1–10, Nicodemus acts more
courageously in 7:50 and 19:39.
70 So also, Brant (p. 288) who notes Nicodemus’s provision of an excessive amount of spices for
Jesus’s burial as a demonstration of the authenticity fo his discipleship (19:39).

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Whatever dissembling Nic A and Nic B undertook has given way to the
courageous grief of someone who has lost the teacher they loved dearly. This
completion stage of the blend decategorizes Nicodemus as a Dissembler and
recategorizes him as a Johannine Disciple and Bereaved Companion.
Bereft of his teacher, he did not abandon service to him, even at the risk of his
own life, social capital, and resources. Nicodemus was faithful, even—perhaps
especially—after Jesus’s death.
(3) Elaboration: As audience members “run the blend,” simulating the
character imaginatively according to the inner logic of the narrative, I
argue that many will continue to think of Nic C acting as a dear friend
and bereaved disciple, not merely a pious Jew fulfilling the Law (cf. Deut
21:23).71 Along with Joseph, Nicodemus retrieves Jesus’s body in the light
of day and carries it to a nearby tomb. Such intimate and intense phys-
ical and emotional labor points to love not obligation. Even if some in
the audience infer that Nicodemus provides Jesus a burial fit for a king,72
I argue that many will (also) make a more fundamental inference: any
person who risks their life to retrieve the dead body of someone killed by
the state and brings a nearly unheard of amount of spices for the funeral
loves that person.73 Audience members would likely draw upon their own
experiences carrying a dead body as they run imaginative simulations of
Nic C. As such, their simulation may lead them to think of Nicodemus
and Joseph loving Jesus more than his mother, Mary Magdalene, and the
beloved disciple do—at least within the narrative world of John’s gospel.
They may have been present at his execution, but they did not risk com-
ing for his body.
While audience members likely initially categorized Nicodemus as a suspi-
cious dissembling character in John 3, that he departs the gospel performing
the most intimate and selfless act of kindness—preparing his friend’s body
for burial—strongly encourages recategorization as a Johannine disciple who
loved Jesus deeply. He used to be so concerned with physical generation, but
now he has transcended birth from “blood or of the will of the flesh or the will
of man,” having received the “power to become one of God’s children” via God’s
logos (1:12–13). He may have first come to Jesus under the cover of darkness, but
in his final encounter with Jesus he showed that he had indeed “come to the
71 Contra, e.g., R.E. Brown, The Death of the Messiah: From Gethsemane to the Grave, a
Commentary on the Passion Narratives in the Four Gospels (New York: Doubleday, 1994),
pp. 1218, 1240.
72 Certainly, the Johannine Jesus is portrayed as a king in John 19 (cf. 19:3, 12, 14–15, 19, 21).
73 Naturally, these options are not mutually exclusive.

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528 whitenton
light, so that it may be clearly seen that [his] deeds have been done in God”
(3:21).
The characterization-as-blending approach proposed above shows how a
dynamic processing model works. The characterization of a character’s initial
appearance starts with their actions and speech either triggering an initially
category-based or personalization-based pathway for a reader. Subsequent
appearances blend with the initial appearance in ways that confirm or
challenge the initial categorization. In the subsequent appearance blends,
cross-space mapping sets up a composition that yields confirmatory categoriza-
tion, individuation, and/or recategorization in the completion and elaboration
steps. It also extends the dynamic processing model by incorporating more
recursivity into the processes and accounting for inferences about characters
beyond anything explicit in the narrative in a more explicit and precise way.
The printed text of John’s gospel simply does not provide everything needed to
account for such a reading. For any reading to take place, one must draw upon
narrative frames, character types, type scenes frames, personal experiences,
and a host of recursive processes that work synergistically to produce the men-
tal model of, in this case, “Nicodemus in John,” who may just be the Johannine
disciple par excellence.
Concluding Remarks
A blending-based approach to characterization helps account for aspects of

Nicodemus’s character that, while not explicit, were likely implicit for ancient
readers/hearers of John’s gospel. This Blending approach above not only
suggests that ancient audiences would probably tend toward constructing
“Nicodemus” not in terms of cognitive (mis)understanding, but misdirected
love, it also shows why this is the case. The changes in Nicodemus’s love over
his three appearances—evident through cross-space mapping—encourage
readers to infer his ultimate spiritual birth and ponder their own.74 Just as
God’s logos spoke the world into being, so too did his rhetoric birth eternal life
within Nicodemus (cf. 1:1–4; 11–13).
Representing characterization as blending is a messy business that moves
us well beyond traditional linear interpretation of a character as “round” or
74 For more on the potential rhetorical effects of the characterization of Nicodemus, see
Whitenton, Configuring Nicodemus, pp. 119–136.

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“flat” into the dynamic and multidimensional landscape of the narrative mind.
Even so, the approach outlined above is necessarily a simplified representa-
tion of the processes that take place as a reader experiences a narrative in
real-time and reflects on a character in light of the totality of the story. No
model currently available can predict the intricacies of prior knowledge
primed and activated during a narrative simulation. Yet, the blends in this
article realistically represent the cognitive processes involved in constructing
a recurring character. That is, a blending-based approach to characterization
helps explain the mechanics behind the dynamic processing model’s interplay
between categorization (based on narrative frames, character types, and viable
examples of relevant prior knowledge) and personalization (represented by
the character’s behavior and speech).
And yet questions remain. For example, how might audiences perceive
“Nicodemus” if they only heard John 1–3? Or John 3 in isolation from the
Prologue? Or only John 7? Or only John 19? What if they only heard John 1–3
and John 19? Or what if they heard all three episodes but out of sequential
order? We are, naturally, a long way from any notion of authorial intent, but a
cognitive approach to characters, based in realism, ought to acknowledge the
certainty of a multiplicity of possible textual experiences. In this essay, I have
entertained only one such configuration, but answering the questions posed
above would doubtless enhance, complicate, and challenge my work. Alas,
articles can only be so long, and “what I have written I have written.”
Cognitive research is a treasure chest full of potential for the study of
early Christian narrative. Blending-based approaches, such as the one advo-
cated here, could be readily adapted to accommodate recurring intertexts or
metaphors. One might also combine blending with the study of emotional
response to narrative to anticipate audience emotions to recurring narrative
elements. The possibilities are seemingly endless. Regarding the study of char-
acters, in particular, blending allows us to embrace the subjectivity of reading
while offering a stable set of parameters to guide judgments about audience
inferences, the interplay between distinct character manifestations, and the
potential for character development. The result, I suggest, is a more dynamic,
engaging, and (hopefully) faithful modeling of the characters we encounter in
the New Testament and beyond.

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Biblical Interpretation 29 (2021) 498-529