Lex Maligna, Lego Inferna

In Dark Sayings, I explain how Emperor Justinian stands as a striking example of imperial harlotry. Like all rulers, he filtered Scripture through his own agenda—much like what we see in 2025, with elites twisting the biblical text to justify the very actions it condemns. Today’s world leaders are effectively reenacting the sins of the Bible’s villains.

If it weren’t a tragedy, it would be a comedy. I’d sit with Jonah beneath the vine—bag of popcorn in hand.

What came of Justinian copying the sins condemned in Scripture?

A massive stone temple—still longed for today. This longing betrays a rejection of the preaching of the story of the Gerasene demoniac, where God himself, through his anointed Slave, rejects Roman law and silences the Greek intellectual tradition.

In defiance of this witness, Justinian—praised even now—translated Roman law into Greek, a move that flatly contradicts the biblical text.

O foolish Galatians. You asked for a king, and you got one.

Justinian’s reign was marked by a bloody attempt to resurrect Rome’s former glory: the North African campaign against the Vandals, the prolonged and ruinous Gothic Wars in Italy, and a brief incursion into southern Spain. These campaigns were catastrophically expensive, devastating to local populations, and—like all imperial games—ended in failure. Far worse was the Justinianic Plague, a lethal epidemic that ravaged both the population and the economy.

Together, these calamities fractured the region’s future. Though the Western Roman Empire had already collapsed in the 5th century, Justinian’s ambitions destabilized its successors and hindered the organic development of local societies.

Things might have turned out differently. We might have avoided the first Dark Age—or at least the first one we know of—had Justinian not tried to impose a new civilization atop the ruins of the old.

Dear friends:

I place all my hope in his Slave who trusted in his command to subdue the Latin-lex and silence the Greco-lego at the Decapolis in Luke.

Everything I do, I do for this Slave’s Rebellion.

This week, I discuss Luke 8:30.

Show Notes

ἐρημόω (erēmoō) / ח־ר־ב (ḥet–resh–bet) / خ–ر–ب (khāʾ–rāʾ–bāʾ)

To dry up, to be desolate, or to be destroyed. To be devastated, often referring to lands, cities, or nations. Greek examples in the LXX include: ξηραίνω (xērainō - to dry up), ἐρημόω (erēmoō - to make desolate), ἀφανίζω (aphanizō - to destroy).

In Hebrew חָרַב and Arabic خَرِبَ both describe the undoing of cities, structures, or human systems—especially in the wake of divine judgment.

In both the Bible and the Qur’an, ruin is not random—it is the consequence of injustice, arrogance, or rejection of divine instruction.

• Isaiah 51:10 – “Was it not you who dried up (הַמַּחֲרֶבֶת [ha-maḥărébet]) the sea…”

• Surah Al-Hashr 59:2 - “They destroy (يُخْرِبُونَ [yukh’ribūna]) their houses with their own hands…” يُخْرِبُونَ (yukh’ribūna) comes from خَرَّبَ (khar·ra·ba) — they lay waste / destroy, describing the self-inflicted ruin of the Banu Nadir tribe, continuing on the itinerary of civilizational ruin brought on by pride and resistance to God’s covenant.

The function ח-ר-ב (ḥ-r-b) appears in Scripture to prescribe the destruction of cities and the downfall of kings—figures aligned with human systems of law and control. This same root functions in the name Mount Horeb, the site where divine law is given. It also functions as “sword,” an agent of God’s judgment. In Exodus 32:27, Moses commands the Levites at Horeb to take up their swords ח-ר-ב (ḥ-r-b) and execute judgment within the camp after the sin of the golden calf, connecting the themes of lawgiving and purifying violence. ח-ר-ב (ḥ-r-b) highlights the biblical tension between the collapse of human law and the assertion of divine will through biblical instruction and judgment.

In the Septuagint, ἐρημόω (erēmoō) corresponds lexically to ח-ר-ב (ḥ-r-b) in the following passages: Judges 16:24; 2 Kings 19:17; Job 14:11; Isaiah 34:10; Isaiah 37:18, 25; Isaiah 44:27; Isaiah 49:17; Isaiah 51:10; Isaiah 60:12; Jeremiah 28:36; Jeremiah 33:9; Ezekiel 26:2, 19; Ezekiel 29:12; Ezekiel 30:7; Amos 7:9.

Λεγιών (legiṓn)

(For a detailed discussion, please see Blaise Webster’s article, The Crux of Paul and John’s Gospel.)

• From the Latin legio, meaning legion, a Roman military unit (~6,000 soldiers), itself from the Indo-European root legō.
• From Latin legō, we also get Lex—law (that which is gathered or set in order)
  • Lex, derived from legō, becomes a symbol of civilizational control—a codified system that enforces order, often violently.
  • Roman Legions (from the same root) are the custodians of lex, instruments of imperial coercion and domination.
  • Lex and legion are bound together both linguistically and ideologically—law enforced by gathered violence.
• In Greek, λόγος (logos) stems from λέγω and is associated in Hellenistic philosophy with reason, logic, and natural law. The Pauline School’s co-opting of this term is an attack on Hellenism.
  • For Paul, λόγος is not Greek reason, but shorthand for “the word of the cross” (ὁ λόγος τοῦ σταυροῦ)—foolishness to the world and power to those being saved, who trust in God’s victory (1 Corinthians 1:18); Knowing that his work will find its own completion in the Day of the Lord. (Philippians 1:6)

Unlike the constructive Greek logos, which seeks order and coherence, the Pauline logos is destructive—an insurgent word embedded within Greco-Roman structures, intended to bring about their co-termination in the execution of Jesus, thereby dismantling the entire system.

• Lex (law) and lego (rhetoric/philosophy) represent false structures of control and meaning, in opposition to the Pauline gospel.
• T...