If most journalists and media types went into the movie hoping
for reasons to hate it (and no philosophizing is needed to doubt
that), I came into the movie wanting to love it. I wanted to love
it for its own sake, but beyond that, and more importantly, I
wanted to love the movie as an act of revenge–revenge for the
repulsive smear job that the media committed on Mel Gibson before
the movie was released.
I wanted to exonerate Gibson from Hollywood–the same Hollywood
that rewards convicted child molesters (Roman Polanski) with Oscars
and violators of 15-year-olds (R. Kelly) with recording
contracts.
The gauntlet had been thrown: My support for this movie was
going to represent a cultural–no, an almost metaphysical stance
against the moral and cultural despair of the modern United
States.
I did love the movie–at least for an hour or two after I left
the theater. In fact, like many others, I felt a visceral
connection with my Catholicism. One that I had not felt in a long
time. I felt like I did as a child, when my grandmother first
introduced me to the whole business about Jesus and Satan and the
“world beyond.” The Holy Ghost danced around me.
Yet, by the next morning, I had completely forgotten about it. I
didn’t even think about the movie until well after I awoke. I found
this weird, and I pondered. Then I realized what had happened: My
subconscious did what it was supposed to do; it was shielding me
from the images of the previous night.
The violence might not be gratuitous (that is, it may well be
historically accurate) but if this is what it takes to rouse
unbelievers from their agnostic sleep, then Christians have already
lost the battle. If Christians have to confront the world on the
world’s terms, or even want to, Christianity is no longer
Christianity.
This movie did not edify; it numbed. Watching much of the movie
is probably akin to watching a prisoner die of electrocution–about
100 times in a row. After a while, one forgets the original reason
for the execution; one forgets any redemption the death will bring.
One simply cringes, cries and begs it to stop.
dislike grew. I respect Gibson’s intentions, and many of the scenes
are breathtaking and beautiful. Nevertheless, Gibson mishandled his
opportunity.
In an interview with EWTN (a Catholic cable network), Gibson was
asked how he wanted his audience to react: “I want them to
believe,” he said. This is an honorable goal, yet I have met no
non-Christians, nor have I read any reviews from like-minded
people, for whom the movie was a transformative experience. From
what I have read, it reinforced their anti-Christian beliefs.
To the outsider, Christianity, especially Catholicism, is
already bizarre (“Eat my flesh and drink my blood”?). And the
movie’s relentless focus on Christ’s suffering–the blood spattered
all over the ground, the beastly beating enforced by the Roman
soldiers, the crown of thorns burrowing deeper into Jesus’ head as
he falls–makes Catholic Christianity appear even more weird. If I
were not a Catholic, I would have left the movie thinking that
Gibson is sick.
The message of the Gospels is not that Jesus suffered more than
any other person in history: The message is that this was voluntary
and that in consequence humankind was redeemed. No one disputes the
agony of the death–but the manner in which he died is less
important than what his death brought the history of humanity.
The movie has induced Christians to piety–this I do not
dispute. Nor do I dispute that it has moved many to rethink their
faith and perhaps come closer to it. But for those who adamantly
defend the violence as an instrument of piety, or as a necessary
“true telling” of the Christian story, I think a word of caution is
in order.
A relationship with God, at least for Catholics, has to be
cultivated in the depths of the soul–the innermost sanctuary of
our inner life. The Passion may encourage this cultivation
for those who already believe–but for those who doubt, or for
those who do not believe, this movie might prove to be a lost
cause.
Matt Emerson is a senior studying philosophy.
