Baptisms of fire and blood: The Bible and Beyoncé’s Lemonade

This year, we had a load of fabulous essays from the students in our Bible and Pop Culture class. Today’s essay, though, has to be my favourite of 2016. It’s written by TianaTuialii, who recently completed her first year of a Bachelor of Arts and Law conjoint degree. Tiana was born and bred in Auckland city and has no intention of leaving anytime soon. She tells me that our Bible and Pop Culture course (THEOREL 101) was easily the most enjoyable course she took throughout the year, and she found it thought provoking, interesting and allowed breathing room for creative flair. Which is why she wrote not one, but two essays on the wonderful Beyonce Knowles. Tiana hopes that her future will be ‘a series of deliverances of justice’, as she intends to spend her lifetime working in the legal profession. I hope she continues to write too, as she has a real talent.

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Beyoncé: debunking biblical condemnation of sexuality using metaphors of baptism, flame and menstruation.

By Tiana Tuialii

No image has been more dominating in popular culture of the twenty-first century than pop icon Beyonce Knowles. In her recently released album ‘Lemonade’, Beyonce deconstructs biblical condemnation of female sexuality through extensive metaphors relating to baptism, flame and menstruation. The need to invalidate biblical vilification of sexuality springs from a history in which women were consistently disadvantaged by not only their own femininity, but stereotypes of femininity. Indeed, long before biblical Eve arrived to partner with Adam, Pandora was fashioned out of clay by Hephaestus, described as a “beautiful evil” (Hesiod 1914). As is the nature of literary tradition, women are often an inherent dichotomy, both beautiful and sinful. Female oppression is historic and universal, the story cyclical. A woman is construed consistently as less of a human being and more as a force of nature. Considering aspects from the Second Edition of the New Living Translation Bible we can note a transformation of women as a destructive force of nature, to a significant and positive authority as shown in ‘Lemonade’.

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The audience’s first glimpse of Beyonce in ‘Lemonade’ is of her sitting clothed in black, stark against the deep red of a stage curtain. The use of the colour red in scripture has symbolically meant sin and sinfulness. Indeed, “sins are like scarlet” (Isaiah 1.18). Therefore, it comes as no surprise that a woman should be presented amongst sin. However, it is not only sin that is associated with red, but menstruation too. Regardless, both sin and menstruation share a common theme of undesirability and uncleanliness. Biblically, menstruation is one of the pains gifted to Eve by God for biting into the forbidden fruit. He exclaims “I will sharpen the pain of your pregnancy, and in pain you will give birth” (Genesis 3.16). The prior asserts that a female’s bodily functions are intended to be uncomfortable.

bey-gifHowever, Beyonce expresses no such sentiment. Instead, she describes menstruation as simply tilling “blood in and out of uterus”. Further, it isn’t God or Eve she calls to blame “for the flush of blood”, but the moon. In refusing to recognize Eve’s sin as the source of discomfort as a result of regular bodily function, Beyonce rejects the idea that a woman should feel condemned under the aegis of the bible. In a prelude to ‘Daddy’s Girl’ Beyonce lyricises that “you look nothing like your mother, you look everything like your mother”. In essence, because a woman is sinful, we all look like Eve, the mother of humanity.

bey-darkHowever, Beyonce is not discouraged by appearing sinful, expressing her desire to look like her mother by wearing her lipstick. In picking up and using the tube of lipstick and subsequently offering the lipstick to young girls, Beyonce shows how unashamed she is to be a woman. She isn’t fearful of being associated with sin, of looking like Eve. Instead, she actively pursues the feminine and finds power in doing so. Such is shown by the perversion of Matthew 5:5, where instead of God, Beyonce begs “Mother dearest, let me inherit the Earth”. In her replacement of God with a matriarch, Beyonce refuses to acknowledge the lords second punishment to Eve, subservience to the male figure. Womanhood, characterized by menstruation and pregnancy, is shown in ‘Lemonade’ as a source of power rather than shame. Using imagery, dialogue and metaphors associated with menstruation, Beyonce shows a clear shift between traditional biblical condemnation of sin to a more femininely powerful modern perspective – a rejection of the synonymous nature of womanhood and shame.

bey-girlsIn baptism, believers rise from the water, immediately becoming symbols of spiritual longevity. They have accomplished a great feat: receiving resurrection-life through Jesus Christ (Moren 2010). Considering the prior, baptism has traditionally been the means by which one establishes a life-long relationship with Jesus Christ. In contrast, Beyonce uses baptism as a means to rebirth herself, rather than rebirth her faith. In doing so, Beyonce shows the regenerative nature of baptism can only be achieved for women once they accept power lies in femininity, not shame. She explains that as a result of shame, at not being enough to satisfy her husband, she “fasted for 60 days, wore white, abstained from mirrors, abstained from sex”. The list is extensive. However, despite the correct performance of the practices and not only the acceptance, but encouragement, of such practices by the bible, she is still left unfulfilled.

bey-water-2Pictured in a room flooded with water, Beyonce is literally drowning in her cloak of shame. It is not until she removes the cloak that she leaves the room freely, water rushing behind her. Consequent images show her walking through water, a line of women following. She gushes “baptize me. Now that reconciliation is possible”. Reconciliation has only become a possibility as a result of Beyonce leaving the room and the water where she was agonizing over her sin. Her choice to leave, to forget the ugliness committed against her is where shame dissolves. Shame does not dissipate as a result of baptism. Rather, baptism becomes possible once shame dissipates. This makes a broader comment on the oppressive structure of womanhood, perpetuated by the bible, that women who live in shame of themselves will never achieve freedom in life or through Christ. Matthew 3:13-17 notes that after Jesus’ baptism “the heavens were opened”. In a similar fashion, once Beyonce lets go of the questions “coiled deep”, she can undergo healing which will be “glorious”. Ultimately, imagery, dialogue and metaphor related to baptism in ‘Lemonade’ work to assert that for women, baptism is void of its regenerative properties until they can let go of the sin and shame that springs from the original temptation. While Beyonce’s music could be considered simple artistic expression, her message embodies feminism (Thompson 2016).

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No image is more classically associated with hell, the devil and sin than flame. In ‘Lemonade’ the use of flame is rampant. When viewing flame as a symbol of sin, the audience sees Beyonce unafraid, happily sitting in the middle of a box of flame in a prelude to ‘6 Inch’. She remains unaffected, because if the female body is the site of sin, then the presence of fire outside of her body is only a reflection of the flame within. Therefore, her strut through a hallway alight, only alludes to the female’s ability to handle the sin of the world and the sin the world has pushed upon her.

giphyIndeed, after Adam and Eve bit into the forbidden fruit, it was Eve who God turned to and questioned “what have you done?”. The male remained free of accountability, granted the opportunity to “rule over” the female as a result of her treachery. However, Lemonade marks a significant divergence from the traditional view of flame as an associate of sin. Admittedly, Beyonce uses flame as a trope to establish herself as blissfully aware and unashamed of her sin, as previously noted. But, she also uses flame in a way which is much more consistent with Bachelards description of it being unique, life giving, “intimate and universal” (Manopriya 2015). In the prelude to ‘Sandcastles’ the camera focuses intently on a fire place, the flames welcoming and warm. Beyonce states “Do you remember being born?”.

bey-fire-gifHere, flame is directly associated with life. Bachelard describes flame as rising “from the depths” and offering “itself with the warmth of love”. Here, birth and flame are consistent with what could be considered the ‘warmth’ of love, ‘Sandcastles’ being a love song (Manopriya 2015). With the focus on the fire place Beyonce extends the metaphor between fire and birth, stating “are you thankful for the hips that cracked the deep velvet of your mother and her mother and her mother?”. In closely linking flame and birth, Beyonce twists what is usually a negative symbol into becoming something “magic”, allusive of a women’s potential to birth life, but also rebirth her own life. Such is confirmed in losing the house, a traditional associate of femininity, to flame. In burning down a recognizable site of female oppression, Beyonce offers women a chance to rebuild something worthy from the ashes. Here, fire grants the opportunity to ‘relive’, to start again free of the restrictions of femininity. Hence, fire in ‘Lemonade’ is not a destructive associate of sin, but a powerful positive force used by women.

bey3Through her visual album ‘Lemonade’ Beyonce works to deconstruct biblical condemnation of sexuality through metaphors related to baptism, flame and menstruation. Since the story of Adam and Eve, where the Lord proclaimed “I will sharpen the pain of your pregnancy, and in pain you will give birth. And you will desire to control your husband, but he will rule over you”, women have been dealing with adverse effects. They have been viewed as the site of sin, the original wrong-doers and the downfall of men.

bey-in-yellowBeyonce refuses such assertions. Instead, she claims that “God was in the room when the man said to the woman wrap your legs around me”. She refuses to allow men a complicit position in actions that involve two. She demands male accountability. The lyric “she don’t gotta give it up” is imbued with a double meaning. As a women, she doesn’t have to give up sex, doesn’t have to be subject to someone else’s desire. As a women, she doesn’t have to give up, nor be afraid of, her femininity. Ultimately, the use of baptism, flame and menstruation in ‘Lemonade’ act as “exhibitions of female and sexual empowerment which disrupt traditional notions of femininity” (Kumari 2016). It is in this way, that ‘Lemonade’ works to deconstruct biblical vilification of sexuality.

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Works Cited

Hesiod. 1914. Theogony. Translated by H.G.Loeb Evelyn-White. Vol. 57. William Heinemann.

Kumari, A. 2016. “You and I: Identity and the Performance of Self in Lady Gaga and Beyonce.” The Journal of Popular Culture 49(2): 103-416.

Manopriya, M. 2015. The Two Elements of Nature. Vol. 15:5. Language in India.

Moren, Peter J. 2010. C.H Spurgeon and Baptism. Baptist Quarterly.

Thompson, Cheryl. 2016. The Sweet Taste of Lemonade: Beyonce Serves up Black Feminist History. Herizons.

Political Supersaviour

Today’s Bible and Pop Culture essay comes from Bachelor of Arts student Jessica Marshall. Jessica has just finished her second year of her Arts degree, majoring in history and English. She was born in Manchester, in the UK, but has lived in Auckland since she was ten years old. Jessica hopes to be a journalist once she finishes her studies. Like Christiane Amanpour and Kate Adie, she is passionate about wanting to hold people responsible in the court of public opinion, in order to ‘right the wrongs’ that we see too much of in the world.

Katie chose the wonderful TV series West Wing as the focus of her essay, and her evaluation of President Bartlet as a contemporary saviour figure casts a cynical eye at contemporary US politics. Enjoy.

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Josiah ‘Jed’ Bartlet: The Fictional Messiah U.S. Politics Always Needed

By

Jessica Marshall

At this point in time, politics in the United States has become a mockery of the democracy it claims to stand for. So, in the time of such a travesty, we must look to fiction. The television series The West Wing (1999-2006) created and written by Aaron Sorkin has the greatest example of a President (fictional or otherwise) that the United States could hope for in Josiah ‘Jed’ Bartlet. As one writer put it, ‘One of the only things that has made life worth living for left-leaning liberals … is the small fact that, for one hour … [George W. Bush] is not the president’ (Clark 2005, 224). And unlike most presidential characters, Bartlet is multi-faceted and layered (Parry-Giles and Parry-Giles 2006, 153). In this essay, I will argue that Bartlet shares a number of features with the figure of the contemporary messiah or ‘supersaviour’, who Jewett and Lawrence identify in their discussion of the American Monomyth (2002). I will do this through analysing several storylines and episodes of West Wing, including the Pilot (1×01), the shooting storyline (1×22 – 2×02), the episode ‘Two Cathedrals’ (2×22) and, finally, the parabolic episode ‘Isaac and Ishmael’ (3×01).

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There’s a phrase that came out of the protest movements of the 1960s: ‘The personal is political.’ It seems to be a sentiment that has continued over the decades, even going so far as to enter into the fictional White House, making itself pronounced in the pilot episode of The West Wing. One character, Josh Lyman (played by Bradley Whitford), deals with a faux pas with regards to the religious right. This is how our hero, President Jed Bartlet, is brought into the picture. Josh is forced to apologise for the faux pas. In the midst of this meeting, after another staffer – Toby – becomes frustrated with the recipient of the apology over racist comments she has made towards Jews, a debate over the Ten Commandments breaks out between Toby and one member of the religious right, John Van Dyke. Van Dyke makes the claim that ‘Honour thy father’ (Exod. 20.3) is the First Commandment. An argument ensues between Toby and Van Dyke in which Toby explains that ‘Honour thy father’ is, in fact, the Third Commandment, to which Van Dyke responds with the question ‘Then what’s the First Commandment?’ At this moment, President Bartlet walks into the room, answering the question correctly. Here, Bartlet combines the selfless zeal of a man who rescues a staff member he should have fired for a one-liner (Josh) with the zealous saviour who rescues the White House from evil. Yet, perhaps his behaviour is not entirely selfless (Lawrence and Jewett 2002, 6). Bartlet’s granddaughter, twelve-years-old, received a death threat from an over-zealous fringe group going by the name ‘The Lambs of God’, all because – in an article – she stated her opinions on reproductive rights. Bartlet, having already corrected them on the order of the Ten Commandments, then poses a question to those present in the room: ‘From what part of holy scripture do you suppose The Lambs of God drew their divine inspiration when they sent my twelve-year-old granddaughter a bloody Raggedy Ann doll with a knife through its throat?’ It is in this scene that Bartlet proves one of his messianic superpowers, according to the American Monomyth: his intelligence (Primiano 2009, 99). It shows up again and again throughout the show’s run, but the message is always the same: you would be best advised not to go up against him in a battle of wits.

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Perhaps the best storyline that Aaron Sorkin ever tackled as the writer on The West Wing – and one of its most controversial – was that of the Roslyn shooting. Here, we see two resurrections. In flashback, we see the resurrection of Bartlet the politician and in the present we see the resurrection of Bartlet’s staffer, Josh Lyman. While the second resurrection is important to another storyline, one I will discuss later, the first is the more interesting. At the beginning of the flashback, it looks like Senator John Hoynes (the Vice-President in present time) will win the Democratic nomination. Bartlet, on the other hand, is the dark horse, the outside candidate no one expects to succeed. As a woman in a New Hampshire bar says to Toby, ‘I didn’t even know Bartlet was running’ (‘In The Shadow of Two Gunmen Part One’ 2000). In the following scene, however, Bartlet again proves his intelligence; during a speech in Nashua, New Hampshire, he talks about the economy and taxes – not exactly a rousing topic, let’s face it. But then, when asked about a vote in Congress over the New England Dairy Farming Compact (he voted against a bill that would have given dairy farmers more money, but caused the price of milk to rise), Bartlet responds simply with ‘Yeah, I screwed you on that.’  It is one of those turning points for an election campaign. Normally, these occur during the presidential debates after the parties have announced their nominees (for example, Kennedy vs. Nixon in 1960 or Bush vs. Dukakis in 1988; see Spacey and Brunetti 2016). That this could happen so early in a campaign that next to no one had even heard of is nothing short of miraculous. He continues, saying, ‘One in five children live in the most abject, dangerous, hopeless, backbreaking, gut-wrenching poverty… I voted against the bill ‘cause I didn’t want it to be hard for people to buy milk… if you expect anything different from the President… I suggest you vote for somebody else.’ It’s an honesty we rarely see in politicians, it’s endearing, it makes you want to vote for the guy who admits that he stiffed his own constituents and it raises from the dead a campaign few even knew existed. In reviving the campaign with one speech, Bartlet resurrects his career as a politician and, therefore, himself.

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One of the most heart-breaking moments in this television series comes when President Bartlet yells at God in the National Cathedral in the episode entitled ‘Two Cathedrals’ (2001). It is flashback-heavy episode, as Bartlet deals with his grief for his secretary and friend, Mrs Landingham who has died in a car crash. The speech (a chunk of which is in Latin – the language of the traditional Catholic mass) is juxtaposed against Bartlet’s memories of his abusive father. In doing this, it pits God against Bartlet’s own father. The anger Bartlet felt towards his father for years is mixed in with his ire towards God in his moments of grief: ‘”You can’t conceive nor can it, the appalling strangeness of the mercy of God,” says Graham Greene. I don’t know whose ass he was kissing there ‘cause I think you’re just vindictive. What was Josh Lyman? A warning shot? That was my son.’ He all but screams, the sound of his voice echoing across the empty Cathedral. His anger is easily understandable. Christians are reminded that people are all ‘God’s children’ (Rom 8.16). Yet, even the most devoted of followers, the most desperate to please the father, cannot do so and even if they try their best to do so, God still takes and takes and takes. He’s taken Mrs Landingham, the only parental figure Bartlet had left, handed him a case of remitting-relapsing Multiple Sclerosis, and had his staffer, Josh Lyman – a man Bartlet has come to see as his own son – shot. Why? Bartlet, himself, asks this question: ‘What did I ever do to [Jesus] but praise his glory and praise his name?’ Confused and angry, Bartlet admits that he has lied to the American public with regards to his MS diagnosis, but surely that makes him like Jesus sending his disciples away before his crucifixion – he does not want the people around him to suffer because of who he is or the suffering he has to endure.

The final episode I wish to talk about is the first episode of the third season, entitled ‘Isaac and Ishmael’ (2001). Officially, a special rather than an actual episode (at the beginning of the episode, the cast inform us that it does not fit in with the normal plot). It was filmed and aired within the four weeks after the events of September 11th, a point at which the majority of the entertainment industry avoided referencing even the idea of violence, let alone terrorism (Jones and Dionisopoulos 2004, 21). It is parabolic, as students from the Presidential Classroom programme wind up in the midst of what the Secret Service calls a ‘Crash’ (meaning that the White House has been breached). For a small moment, as his staffers – Josh Lyman, Toby Ziegler, Sam Seaborn, C.J. Cregg and Charlie Young – are in the midst of fielding questions regarding terrorism, President Bartlet walks in with his wife, Abbey. Here, he is asked by a student whether or not there is something noble in being a martyr. To this, he replies with the line ‘A martyr would rather suffer death at the hands of an oppressor than renounce his beliefs. Killing yourself and innocent people to make a point is sick, twisted, brutal, dumb-ass murder… we don’t need martyrs right now. We need heroes. A hero would die for his country but he’d much rather live for it.’ Here, Bartlet crosses borders. His speech comes at a time in American history when they need a leader, a time when the Patriot Act was being passed with little to no forethought as to what it could do. In giving this speech, the United States is given a leader, a hero to quote the character himself, one who will not simply go to war because it is the easier option. The speech reminds people of who the enemy really is: not one particular race (as had already been explained earlier in the episode) or a particular religion but anyone who commits heinous attacks against America and its people. It is Bartlet’s sermon on the Mount moment, but instead of preaching to the poor and downtrodden, he preaches to those who form the future of society: children. Instead of saying ‘Blessed are the poor for theirs is the kingdom in heaven,’ he says that America needs a hero and, like any Messiah, allows for the phrase ‘and I am it’ to go unsaid (Matt. 5.3).

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There was a reason I subtitled this essay ‘The Fictional Messiah U.S. Politics Always Needed’ and, yes, it has to do with my own political leanings. It also has to do with the fact that Jed Bartlet, a creation of Aaron Sorkin’s own mind, represents the best of all the Presidents of American history. He’s honest like Lincoln, witty like Kennedy and Reagan. There’s an idea known as the cult of leadership and it’s normally applied to dictators like Stalin or Kim Jong-Il. In The West Wing, I believe we have a leader, albeit fictional, we could add to a list of political messiahs who actually deserve the cult of leadership. He is honest, a reviver of dead political campaigns, intelligent and he does not even realise that he is a hero. Jed Bartlet is the man America needs to bring it back from the abyss.

Bibliography

All references to the Biblical Text are from the New International Version (NIV).

Written Sources

Clark, J. Elizabeth. ‘The Bartlet Administration and Contemporary Populism in NBC’s The West Wing’ in Michael Hammond and Lucy Mazdon (Eds.), The Contemporary Television Series. Edinburgh, Edinburgh University Press, 2005. Pp.224-243

Jones, Robert and George N. Dionisopoulos, ‘Scripting a Tragedy: The “Isaac and Ishmael” Episode of The West Wing as Parable’ Popular Communication Vol.2 (1), 2004, pp.21-40

Parry-Giles, Trevor and Shawn Parry-Giles. The Prime-Time Presidency: The West Wing and U.S. Nationalism. Urbana, University of Illinois Press, 2006

Primiano, Leonard N. ‘”For What I Have Done and What I Have Failed To Do”: Vernacular Catholicism and The West Wing’ in Diane H. Winston (Ed.), Small Screen, Big Picture: Television and Lived Religion. Waco, Texas. Baylor University Press, 2009, pp. 99-123

Shelton Lawrence, John and Robert Jewett. The Myth of the American Superhero. Grand Rapids, W.B. Eerdmans, 2002.

Electronic Sources

‘George H.W. Bush vs. Michael Dukakis’ Race for the White House, directed by David Bartlett, produced by Kevin Spacey and Dana Brunetti. United States: CNN, 2016.

‘Government Surveillance’ Last Week Tonight with John Oliver. Produced by Liz Stanton. United States: Avalon Television and Partially Important Productions, 2015

‘In The Shadow of Two Gunmen Part One’ The West Wing, directed by Thomas Schlamme, written by Aaron Sorkin. United States: NBC, 2000

‘Isaac and Ishmael’ The West Wing. Directed by Christopher Misiano, written by Aaron Sorkin. United States: NBC, 2001.

‘John F. Kennedy vs. Richard Nixon’ Race for the White House, directed by Christopher Spencer, produced by Kevin Spacey and Dana Brunetti. United States: CNN, 2016‘Pilot’ The West Wing. TV Series. Directed by Thomas Schlamme. Written by Aaron Sorkin. United States: NBC, 1999.

‘Pilot’ The West Wing. TV Series. Directed by Thomas Schlamme. Written by Aaron Sorkin. United States: NBC, 1999.

‘Two Cathedrals’ The West Wing. Directed by Thomas Schlamme, written by Aaron Sorkin. United States: NBC, 2001.

[1] John Shelton Lawrence and Robert Jewett. The Myth of the American Superhero, Grand Rapids, W.B. Eerdmans, 2002, p.6

 

Another glimpse of Delilah

Today’s wonderful Bible and Pop Culture essay is by Lachlan Balfour, who takes us back for another look at my favourite biblical character, Delilah. Lachlan has just completed his second year of a law and arts degree, where he is majoring in politics. Lachlan hasn’t decided yet what he’ll do once he completes his degree (he has a while to decide!) but at this point, he is thinking about a career working in politics.  Lachlan tells me that he enjoyed our Bible and Pop Culture course, as it allowed him to gain a knowledge of the bible and to understand just how prevalent it is in contemporary society. So sit back, and relish some more Delilah fabulousness.

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Hedy Lamarr as Delilah in Cecil B. DeMille’s Samson and Delilah (Paramount, 1949)

Samson’s Judas: The Portrayal of Delilah as a Vindictive Femme Fatale

By

Lachlan Balfour

The portrayal of Delilah in cultural texts since the first mention of her in Judges 16 has tended to show her as a vindictive femme fatale, something that has little basis in the bible. Judges 16 provides limited background on Delilah, her motivation for betraying Samson or the nature of their relationship. Despite this, creators of cultural works, including Rembrandt in his 1636 work The Blinding of Samson, Rubens’ Samson and Delilah and Cecil B. DeMille’s 1949 film epic of the same name, attempt to fill these gaps to create Delilah the femme fatale. Delilah’s motivation for betraying Samson, the nature of their relationship, and whether Delilah regretted her betrayal are the biblical gaps discussed.  This essay will focus on how the world behind the text, including the creator’s experiences and the views of those around them, and the world in the text – focusing on the piece itself, are used to fill these gaps to create the  image of Delilah we have today.

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Poster for Samson and Delilah (Paramount 1949)

In Samson and Delilah, DeMille gives Delilah a number of motivations for cutting Samson’s hair, all of which aid in portraying her as a vindictive femme fatale. Judges 16 only refers to the possible motivation of Delilah receiving “eleven hundred pieces of silver” from each of the Philistine elders in return for discovering the source of Samson’s strength (JDG. 16.5). While DeMille does incorporate this detail into his telling of the story, he does not make it the sole reason for Delilah’s betrayal. DeMille instead makes her primary motivation that of revenge for Samson’s rejection of her over her sister and an all-consuming jealousy that means if she can’t have Samson, no one can – both very femme fatale like qualities. The world in the text of the film shows Samson rejecting the offer of marriage to Delilah after her sister betrays him by marrying someone else, stating he would “not want a thistle from a rose” (Zwick 2014, 219). After becoming courtesan to King of the philistines, she offers her services in trapping Samson as revenge for his rejection. Once Delilah has cut off his hair she offers another motive for her betrayal – jealousy. Referring to the virtuous Mirjam who loves Samson and convinces him to leave Delilah to save his parents, Delilah remarks:  “I could have loved you with a fire to make all others seem like ice…but one call from the milk-faced Danite and you run whining at her heels.” This is very much portraying Delilah as the femme fatale, a seductress who causes the downfall of a helpless man her for her own gratification. Her near hatred for Samson after his rejection also adds to this image, which is vastly different to the monetary reward which seems to motivate Delilah in the bible.

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Hedy Lamarr and Victor Mature, Samson and Delilah (Paramount 1949)

The society surrounding DeMille influenced him in making his Delilah a “scheming little dame,” taking from popular perceptions of Delilah in the 1940s and views on women more generally (Kozlovic 2010, 8). Delilah’s portrayal as a femme fatale fits very much within view of Delilah in the 1940s, that she was a temptress and therefore her whole character was bad. This is in line with the conservative view that promiscuous women were dangerous and immoral that existed during the period – though promiscuous men were not subjected to the same harsh judgement.  Samson is portrayed as an Israelite hero for murdering Philistines in revenge for his broken engagement to Delilah’s sister, but Delilah is seen as a vindictive temptress for doing what was in the best interests of her people. By portraying Delilah as, in DeMille’s words, “quite the bitch” but Samson as above reproach is a reflection of the world behind the text of 1940s society in America where men were seen as the superior sex (ibid., 12). Further, DeMille is enforcing the stereotype of  Delilah as a dangerous woman, determined to bring down Samson for initially rejecting her love. More recent interpretations consider that perhaps Delilah was only betraying Samson for her own survival, knowing that it was dangerous to disobey the Philistine elders (ibid., 10). No consideration is given to her situation, a single woman in a world very much dominated by men, and that maybe her motivations lay only in survival (Zwick 2014, 219).

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Delilah makes the fatal cut (Paramount 1949)

Rembrandt portrays Delilah as unremorseful for her betrayal of Samson, instead relishing in his pain to add to her image as an evil, vindictive woman. Judges 16 offers no insight into how Delilah felt about her actions, so he has filled this gap in a way that enforces the stereotype of her as an evil femme fatale. The world in the text of The Blinding of Samson shows Delilah as being both repulsed by the gouging of Samson’s eyes but also has a look of fascination and almost satisfaction as she looks on at the struggling Samson (Georgievska-Shine 2007, 249). Further, she is seen to be mocking Samson by clutching his hair in her hand and “flaunting it” in front of him (ibid). He is enforcing the stereotype of Delilah as a femme fatale who revels in the destruction she has caused by painting her as a “projection of the feeling of attraction mingled with repulsion elicited by woman and the danger she denotes” (ibid.). Rembrandt has completely imagined her response cutting Samson’s hair as there is no mention of her after the gouging in Judges 16, and instead of giving her qualities of shame and remorse he has used it to give her the qualities of a femme fatale.

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Rembrandt, The Blinding of Samson (1636)

            Looking behind the text, Rembrandt’s own fear of losing his vision, something that for a painter would be seen as ‘the ultimate deprivation’, combined with societal views impacts his portrayal of Delilah (ibid.). It is thought that the models for Samson and Delilah is the artist himself and his wife Saskia, with Rembrandt having only painted Samson during their marriage (ibid., 252). His own feelings about relationships between man and woman and the dangers that they contained were expressed through The Blinding of Samson. Rembrandt saw from his marriage that women could be unremorseful femme fatales, and used his deepest fear of going blind as a way to show the betrayal which can occur in relationships (ibid.). Further influencing his depiction of Delilah were those around him. There was a strong theme in Dutch art and literature at the time warning of the dangers of relations between man and woman (ibid.). This would have caused him to take a more moralistic approach to Delilah, portraying her as evil personified for betraying Samson and therefore unremorseful for her actions.

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Rubens, Samson and Delilah (1609-10)

Rubens’ Samson and Delilah portrays the relationship between the pair as sex worker and customer to enforce the image of Delilah as a femme fatale. Judges 16 does not give a clear picture of the relationship between Samson and Delilah. Although it assumed she is a concubine, Samson acts differently towards her than the woman he lay with earlier in the text (Jdg. 16.1-3), saying that he is in love with her rather than there just being a sexual attraction (Sasson 1998, 334). In Rubens’ painting, we see from the world in the text that he includes many of the traits of a brothel with an old woman as a ‘procuress’ and the inclusion of towels and jars typical of brothel scenes (Georgievska-Shine 2007, 461). Further hints at this being a brothel scene are that Delilah’s breasts are exposed and she is waring in a red dress, the huge Samson resting on her lap hinting that they have just finished making love (Exum 1996, 192). This sexualisation of Delilah combined with the perception of sex workers as people with ‘loose morals’ contributes to her portrayal as a seductress and dangerous woman – despite this not being the case in Judges 16. That Rubens chooses to portray her as a concubine is very much a reflection of his world and the beliefs at the time. Other artists during the 17th century also adhered to Josephus’ description of Delilah as a “harlot among the philistines” by painting her with an expression of indifference toward Samson, never having loved him (Georgievska-Shine 2007, 462). It is only natural that Rubens would follow this theme in his portrayal, interpreting Judges 16 in such a way that Delilah is made into an immoral seductress.

The portrayal of Delilah in cultural texts differs greatly from her biblical portrayal in Judges 16. Looking at the texts and their creators’ influences for Delilah’s portrayal show a vindictive femme fatale where only a vague description of Delilah exists in the bible. Cecil B. DeMille’s Samson and Delilah fills the biblical gap of the motivation for Delilah’s betrayal as revenge and jealousy, attributes that feed into the image of her as a femme fatale. DeMille’s world helped to shape this portrayal by its views around the interpretation of Delilah and women more generally. Rembrandt’s The Blinding of Samson also exhibits Delilah as an unremorseful, dangerous woman, with the moralistic Dutch contemporaries and his own personal views on relationships shaping this portrayal. Finally, Rubens’ Samson and Delilah fills the final gap in Judges 16, portraying the relationship between Samson and Delilah as a courtesan and customer. The prevailing view at the time of Delilah as a sex worker influencing his work and helping to add to Delilah’s image as an immoral femme fatale.

delilah-6

Bibliography

All biblical text references are from the New Revised Standard Version.

Exum, J. Cheryl.  Plotted, Shot, and Painted: Cultural Representations of Biblical Women. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic press, 1996.

Georgievska-Shine, Aneta “Rubens and the Tropes of Deceit in Samson and Delilah”. Word and Image 23, no. 4 (2007): 460-473. doi:10.1080/02666286.2007.10435799.

Kahr, Madlyn. “Rembrandt and Delilah”. The Art Bulletin 55, no. 2 (1973): 240-259. doi:10.1080/00043079.1973.10789742.

Kozlovic K., Anton. “The Construction of Samson’s Three Lovers in Cecil B DeMilles Technicolor Testament, Samson and Delilah (1949).” Women in Judaism: A Multidisciplinary Journal 1, no. 7 (2010): 1-31.

Sasson M. Jack “Who Cut Samson’s Hair? (And Other Trifling Issues Raised by Judges 16).” Prooftexts 8, no. 3 (1988): 333-339.

Zwick, Reinhold. “Obsessive Love: Samson and Delilah Go To the Movies”. In Samson: Hero or Fool? The Many Faces of Samson, edited by Erik Eynikel and Tobias Nicklas, 211-235. Leiden: Brill, 2014.

 

Controversial Judas

Today’s student essay comes from Flo Cardon, another student who took our Bible and Pop Culture class earlier this year. Flo is currently in the middle of completing her Bachelor of Arts degree, with a major in Classics and a minor in Ancient History. She loves art and history and in her spare time, enjoys painting. Unsurprisingly, her primarily subject matter in her art relates to religion and mythology. She also loves watching films, particularly musicals (which can probably be deducted from her essay topic!).

Flo chose a controversial biblical character to focus on in her essay – Judas – considering his (equally controversial) afterlife in the movie Jesus Christ Superstar. It’s a great essay, so read on, and enjoy.

Heaven on Their Minds: Judas in the Bible and Popular Culture

By

Flo Cardon

The name ‘Judas’ has become synonymous with ideas of betrayal, disloyalty and treachery. It is commonly known that in the Bible, Jesus Christ was betrayed by the only ex-disciple, Judas Iscariot, in exchange for money. The Bible presents Judas as a two dimensional person, simplified down to only that one moment in his life where he gave Jesus over to the Romans and sealed his fate as ‘Judas, the one that would betray him’ forever. Norman Jewison’s musical film Jesus Christ Superstar (1973) presents Judas as a complex and tragic character that plays an important part in the story of Jesus Christs’ life. By comparing Jewison’s Judas with his biblical counterpart, many investigations can be made into the history of Judas as a character and his portrayal as the one who brought down Jesus Christ.

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Carl Anderson as Judas in Norman Jewison’s Jesus Christ Superstar

In comparison to the Bible, Jewison’s Judas is presented as the tragic figure and the one who the audience should sympathise with. He is shown as only wanting the best for Jesus and the Jews, and uses the entire first musical number as a soliloquy as to how he thinks Jesus is going to doom all his followers and friends as well as himself. Here Judas is not presented as a villain but Jesus’ worried friend. His motivation is to get Jesus to listen to him so that they can prevent Jesus’ movement from getting too large that it will get attention from Roman authorities. This is not a man with evil intent, but one that cares for his friends and the danger he sees they are bringing upon themselves. Biblical Judas is a stark contrast to this; Judas is referred to as ‘Judas, the one that would betray [Jesus]’ more often than not. In the Gospel of John, Judas criticises Jesus’ use of expensive perfume on himself and voices that he thinks the money used on this perfume could have gone to the poor, and is subsequently labelled as a thief (John 12.5-6). This shows that Biblical Judas is motivated to betray Jesus through money, and not friendship like in the film. Judas’ realisation of the inevitability of Jesus’ fate at the beginning of the film contrasted with his obliviousness of the fact that he would be the one that brought Jesus’ downfall brings about an extremely tragic aspect to Judas’ character that isn’t found in the Bible. Before Judas’ death, he sings about how he did not know he was handing Jesus over to die, which is another tragic contrast to how he only intended to betray Jesus so that he would protect the fate of all those that followed his growing movement, including Jesus himself. This emphasises the tragic nature of Judas’ part in this story, as he was unknowingly playing into Jesus’ inevitable arrest and crucifixion much more than he was let on.

Photo of Carl AndersonHowever, in the Bible during the last supper, it is written in the Gospel of John that ‘the devil had already prompted Judas to betray Jesus’ (John 13.2), meaning that Biblical Judas only needed to be prompted in order to actually betray Jesus in exchange for money. Both versions of Judas hang themselves in response to Jesus’ sentence to be crucified, but in the film we feel much sorrier for Judas here than the Judas in the Bible. In the Bible, Judas’ death is short and sweet, with no sympathy or remorse shown towards him, just that ‘he went away and hanged himself’ (Matt. 27.5). This seems to imply that he did deserve this tragic ending, as he was shown as the villain who handed Jesus over to the Romans and only that, nothing more. However, just after Jewison’s Judas dies, we hear ‘So long Judas, poor old Judas…’ sung repeatedly as the outro of his death song, reinforcing the idea that Judas was the victim of this story and that he did not deserve this outcome. No one listened to his accurate predictions of what would happen to Jesus and his movement, and he died as a result.[1] Judas in Norman Jewison’s musical film compared to the Bible provides us with insight into the complexity of his character and differing nature of interpretations of it. Judas is clearly the villain in the Bible because of his betrayal of Jesus, but Jesus Christ Superstar (1973) presents us with a Judas with a much more composite, and therefore human, nature.

 

judas-kiss2The Judas kiss

An important aspect of the change in Judas between the Bible and Norman Jewison’s Jesus Christ Superstar (1973) is Judas’ race. It is known that Judas was a Palestinian Jew born in Jericho and one of the most well-educated among the Apostles. However, in the film, Judas is played by Carl Anderson, a black man, which caused a variety of controversy when the film was released. Among the controversy was the accusation that making the ‘villain’ of the narrative black was anti-Semitic. It was argued that by making Judas the only black person gave the character evil connotations, as the ‘true villains’ of the story, the Jewish priests, are also primarily clad in black (Hebron 2016, 157). When the film was initially released, Rabbi Marc Tenenbaum described it as ‘a witch’s brew of anti-black and anti-Semitic venom’ (Bennette 2016). This is in reference to how Judas has been depicted as the prototype of an evil Jewish figure throughout history, with offensive and stereotypical anti-Semitic features like a hooked nose, large eyes and black hair (Meyer 2009, 2). This dehumanized Judas as a biblical figure, cutting him down to being the villain who sold off Jesus Christ to be executed.

judas-jesus-superstarThe decision to make Judas black, as Marc Tenenbaum mentioned, also stirred up discussion of the portrayal as anti-black. This is the reversal of the anti-Semitic idea, as people thought Jewison’s Judas to be anti-black through the fact that the only black character is Judas, the primary image of betrayal and evil, according to the Bible. Carl Anderson being cast to play Judas is also argued to be ‘a comment on the history of African Americans’ (Grace 2009, 98). This can primarily be seen in Judas’ death scene, in which his suicide is clearly reminiscent of the lynching, especially the large amounts of black Americans that were lynched in the first half of the twentieth century as a result of extreme racial oppression and tension in the United States. This blurred the line between the actor and his role, as Judas knew of the violence and oppression that was being carried out by the Romans like no one else did (Hebron 2016, 159), which is a parallel to the racial suppression of black people that was still being carried out when the film was released, and still continues to this day, with the numerous racist responses to the Black Lives Matter movement. Judas understood violence and oppression like no one else did, yet no one listened to him. This afterlife of Judas is vastly different to that of the original biblical Judas, which can be seen in these varying responses to the choice to make Judas a black man in the musical film.

carl-anderson-judasAn interesting yet unique aspect of Jewison’s film is that it is told primarily through Judas’ point of view. It is obvious that Jesus is the hero in the Bible but that is because it is written by his devout followers, whereas it can be argued that Jesus Christ Superstar (1973) was created as a reaction to the lack of investigation into Judas’ side of the story, where Judas himself is the protagonist. This is because of Judas’ character development in the narrative; Judas started off as a follower of Jesus, he believed and supported him, subsequently betrayed him, and then felt such an overwhelming guilt at what he had done that he committed suicide. This is true for both the 1973 film and the gospels. But whereas in the Bible Judas’ feelings and thoughts are ambiguous, the film allows us a look into Judas as the main character and as someone who changes and learns (Miller 2011). The fact that the film is from Judas’ point of view means that the audience is being shown the story of Jesus through the eyes of someone who is critiquing him. Judas is allowed to critique Jesus here, as the audience goes into the narrative knowing the famous story of Judas’ betrayal, and knows that he is seen by many as the ‘villain’ of the musical. Judas’ critique of Jesus shows us mainly that he sees Jesus as not the son of God but a human man who put himself in danger by putting the focus on himself rather than the philosophies he preaches.

judas-5In the Bible, Judas is only mentioned in relation to Jesus’ arrest and crucifixion, which does not allow as much character development as the film. This contrast fills in a lot of gaps in the Bible, like what Judas’ thoughts, motives and opinions were when it came to Jesus and the last week of his life. He shows us a Jesus that is human enough to get angry, flip tables at the temple, get overwhelmed at his popularity and even doubt his own faith in his cause. Compared to the cool, calm and collected Jesus shown in the Gospels, this musical Jesus is a lot more unpredictable and human, as shown through Judas’ perspective. Judas can also be seen as he central character through the fact that in the film, Judas is the one resurrected, and not Jesus, as it is more commonly shown. Whether Judas’ reappearance after death is Jesus’ dream or, as some have put it, Satan himself appearing to Jesus to taunt him, Judas uses this last song of his to interrogate Jesus as well as apologise for what he did. Judas doesn’t get to apologise in the Bible, he is just said to have hanged himself and that was the end of biblical Judas. Judas in this film is not the hero, but he is more of one than Jesus is shown to be. Jesus, with his short temper and doubting faith, seems to be more of a villain than Judas in this film, showing how Judas’ point of view presents a unique take on the constantly retold biblical story.

judas-close-up

In conclusion, Judas in the Bible can be compared to his counterpart in Jesus Christ Superstar (1973) to reveal some in depth conclusions about his character and reactions to it. While the film may not change too much of the narrative presented to us in the Bible, Norman Jewison fills in gaps surrounding Judas’ thought processes and motivations as a complex character and puzzle piece in Jesus Christ’s last week alive. We are given the ending we expect to see but with new depth and details, which is what a successful rendition of a biblical tale, like Jesus Christ Superstar (1973), should aim to do.

judas-kiss

[1] This is reminiscent of the Greek myth of Cassandra, who was a prophet that no one listened to before she was killed; She is known as a central figure of epic tragedy, which shows how clearly Judas’ portrayal in Jesus Christ Superstar (1973) is one of the most tragic nature, emphasising how the complexity of this version of Judas is a stark contrast to the two dimensionality of Biblical Judas.

BIBLIOGRAPHY

All references to the Biblical text are from the NRSV

Bennette, Georgette, ‘Jesus Christ Superstar Resurrected’, The Huffington Post, 8 October 2016, http://www.huffingtonpost.com/georgette-bennett-phd/jesus-christ-superstar-resurrected_b_1712061.html

Grace, Pamela, New Approaches to Film Genre: Religious Film: Christianity and the Hagiopic. Great Britain, Wiley-Blackwell, 2009.

Hebron, Carol A., Judas Iscariot: Damned or Redeemed: A Critical Examination of the Portrayal of Judas in Jesus Films (1902-2014). Bloomsbury Publishing, 2016.

Meyer, Marvin W., Judas: The Definitive Collection of Gospels and Legends About the Infamous Apostle of Jesus. Harper Collins, 2009.

Miller, Scott, Sex, Drugs, Rock & Roll, and Musicals. Boston, Northeastern University Press, 2011.

 

 

A throne fit for a messiah: Daenerys Targaryen as a contemporary Christ

Today’s advent essay comes from Joanna Fountain, one of the students who took our Bible and Popular Culture course (THEOREL 101) earlier this year. Joanna has just completed her third year of studies towards her Bachelor of Arts degree, double majoring in history and classical studies. After university she hopes to become a published writer, encouraging future generations to get off their screens and read a book instead. Joanna enroled in Theorel 101 out of interest, and assures me that she  thoroughly enjoyed taking the course – and would highly recommend it!

Joanna’s essay touches on one of our more popular themes in the course – modern messiahs in pop culture. So read on, and enjoy.

game-thrones-daenerys-her-dragons-gifs

Protector of the Realm, Breaker of Chains, and Mother of Dragons: Daenerys Targaryen as a Christ Figure in Game of Thrones

by

Joanna Fountain

“This Mother of Dragons, this Breaker of Chains, is above all a rescuer.

-Tyrion Lannister, A Dance with Dragons (A Song of Ice and Fire Book 5)

As Bruce David Forbes says, “religion appears not only in churches, synagogues, mosques, and temples; it also appears in popular culture” (2005, 1). Often appearing in the fantasy genre of literature and visual media, including film and television, is the common trope of a messianic protagonist who is very much the hero of the story. In George R. R. Martin’s fictional world of Westeros, there is no one singular protagonist, but in the character of Daenerys Targaryen are numerous indicators of a Christ figure. Such a figure appears in popular culture again and again, subsequently creating the concept of the American Monomyth (Lawrence and Jewett 2002, 6). In many ways, Daenerys Targaryen provides an implicit parallel to the biblical Christ as a secular counterpart. The circumstances surrounding multiple events in her life, the messianic symbols attached to her character, and her perceived image by others as a liberator and a powerful contender all bear a close resemblance to the Biblical narrative of Jesus Christ as told in the New Testament Gospels. This essay will seek to explain how Daenerys Targaryen both fulfils and sabotages the notion of the American Monomyth in the way that she is a messiah figure who operates outside the standard black and white paradigm, rather operating within shades of grey in her characterisation. Because this essay will discuss plot details of both Martin’s book series A Song of Ice and Fire (1996-present) and the HBO television series Game of Thrones (2011-present), spoilers will follow.
game-of-thrones-daenerys-dragonFig 1: Daenerys hatches three dragons in “Fire and Blood” (1.10)

According to the writings of John Shelton Lawrence and Robert Jewett, the American Monomyth secularises “the Judaeo-Christian dramas of community redemption”, creating a character who embodies a combination of the ‘selfless servant’ who sacrifices their own needs for those of others and the ‘zealous crusader’ who triumphs over evil (2002, 6). The American Monomyth therefore serves the function in which a character in popular culture serves as a secular replacement to the Biblical Christ (ibid). What also is indicative of this supersaviour or the popular messiah is their justification for their use of violence for the greater good (5). These figures operate under a paradigm of black and white; the supersaviour is the light and good hero pitted against the bad villain. In terms of Daenerys’ character, she befits these prerequisites, but she is not wholly ‘good’ in the way she is portrayed. The constant use of warmongering imagery in her use of military might to free the slaves in Essos, and her unapologetic sexual appetites present her more as a character who operates in between the black and white paradigm, as a somewhat ‘anti-messiah’ who uses violence to fulfil and justify her noble task of freeing slaves. Constantly associated with Daenerys are the words ‘fire and blood’; words that do not necessarily match her with the image of the ‘perfect’ biblical Christ. But perhaps this is because Daenerys modernises and humanises the Christ figure of the American Monomyth concept. Therefore, this brutal side to her character is woven into the messiah rhetoric as a way of presenting a Christ figure who is flawed, humanised and relatable, thus shedding new light on the messianic individual of popular culture.

got2Fig 2: The Red Comet, seen in “The North Remembers” (2.01)

Robert Detweiler argues in his article ‘Christ and the Christ Figure in American Fiction’ that often in modern fiction the allegorical Christ figure offers the symbolic potential of Christ without the added implication of commitment to Christian faith (1964, 118). The likening of Daenerys Targaryen as a secular Christ figure is done implicitly in the way that the signs and symbols of the biblical messiah are translated into signs and symbols of Daenerys, the popular messiah. The first, and most obvious, of these is the Red Comet that appears in the sky soon after Daenerys successfully hatches three dragons from stone eggs (a ‘miracle’ in itself as the species were previously extinct). She even says herself in A Clash of Kings (A Song of Ice and Fire Book 2): “[the comet] is the herald of my coming”. Such treatment of a comet signifying her “coming” immediately bears resemblance to the star that proclaimed the birth of Jesus Christ in the New Testament Gospels (Matthew 2.2-10, Luke 21.25). Additionally, both Daenerys and Christ are descended from a line of kings (Matthew 1), and both undergo a “resurrection”. As highlighted in Luke 24.46, there is the emphasis that the death and resurrection of the biblical Christ was foretold in the old teachings long before the coming of the messiah. Such a prophecy of the messiah has a similar treatment in the world of Game of Thrones. Mentioned numerous times in the books and in the television adaptation is the prophecy of Azor Ahai, also known as “the Lord’s chosen” and very much the Game of Thrones’ version of a prophesied messiah. According to Melisandre, a red priestess, in A Dance with Dragons, the coming of the prophesied Azor Ahai will be signified “when the red star bleeds” and this saviour will “be born again … to awake dragons out of stone”. All three of these signs occur in short succession with Daenerys walking into a burning pyre, only to be discovered the next morning sitting amongst the ashes of the fire, alive, and holding three baby dragons (fig 1), while the red comet (fig 2) appears very soon after. Though it has not been confirmed in either the books or the television series if Daenerys is in fact the prophesied Azor Ahai, she has nevertheless fulfilled these three parts to the prophecy. Regardless, the fact alone that the symbols associated with the biblical messiah are translated to symbols of Daenerys therefore provide the implication that she indeed represents a secular Christ within her own narrative.

game-of-thrones-season-3-episode-10-mhysa-daenerys

Fig 3: Daenerys proclaimed ‘mhysa’ (‘mother’) by the freed slaves of Yunkai in “Mhysa” (3.10)

Just as the biblical messiah’s noble task was to be a saviour to humankind, Daenerys Targaryen is again portrayed in a similar light in the way that her task to free all slaves in Slavers Bay makes her a saviour to many as a result. The aforementioned symbols of Daenerys as the popular messiah adds further justification to her role as a saviour. With three dragons in her possession, Daenerys becomes a powerful contender to those she considers her earthly enemies, in this case the slavers, and is able to wage war on them for their slaves’ freedom. In fact, this contempt for slavery is a common ideal in the Christ figure (Gunton 1985, 137, 143). This may be due to slavery often having strong connotations to sin in the Bible, particularly in the way that Jesus says in John 8.34 that mankind is “a slave to sin”. Therefore, it can be argued that Daenerys’ preoccupation with ending slavery takes a rather more literal interpretation of the biblical messiah’s task of liberating humankind from their sins. Daenerys’ resulting reputation as a saviour is best highlighted in the final scene of Game of Thrones’ third season in which she is proclaimed ‘mhysa’ by the freed slaves of Yunkai (fig. 3). The cinematography of the scene arguably bears some similarity to Jesus entering Jerusalem, declared a king (Luke 19.28-40). This image of Daenerys being surrounded by grateful slaves who declare her their “mhysa”, or “mother”, therefore provides the best visual justification as the “Breaker of Chains”, a liberator, and a saviour from “sin”.

got4Fig 4: A slave of Meereen beholds one of the many unlocked collars that Daenerys has catapulted over the city walls to show that all who follow her are freed in “Breaker of Chains” (4.03)

Hebrews 2.14-15 speaks about how Jesus Christ “shared in [mankind’s] humanity” so that “he might break the power of him who hold the power of death … and free those … held in slavery”. Therefore, Daenerys Targaryen is an equally human messiah with added flaws, and exists within the “grey areas” of the good/bad paradigm whose noble task is her attempts to liberate slaves in Essos, thus earning her a reputation as a saviour to those she frees. What further develops Daenerys as a popular messiah figure are the numerous implicit parallels of her character to the Biblical Christ of the New Testament Gospels, including messianic symbols and experiences. As a result, Daenerys Targaryen arguably serves as a secular counterpart to the Biblical Christ. But in the wide world of popular culture, Daenerys Targaryen is only one of many popular messiahs according to the American Monomyth (Lawrence and Jewett 2002, 3-5). This is perhaps because in a world that is becoming increasingly secular, popular culture is one of the ways that a secular audience may engage in religious themes. As Detweiler argues:

With the shift of interest away from religion and the relocation of values from the divine to the human sphere that have characterised the past one hundred years, the traits and mission have been transferred to man, so that for some writers the nature and intentions of Christ can be observed in any good, moral, or heroic person. (1964, 3-5)

Therefore, the American Monomyth serves to initiate a dialogue between religion and popular culture, so that readers of modern literature may learn about Jesus through a secular counterpart. Daenerys as the (theoretically) prophesied Azor Ahai parallels the Biblical prophesied messiah, just as her noble task to end slavery is a very literal adaptation of the Christ as a liberator of everyone who is a slave to sin. This is why Game of Thrones’ Daenerys Targaryen makes a great fictional, popular messiah to a secular culture seeking a saviour from the many growing tensions apparent in contemporary society.

 

game-of-thrones-wallpaper-daenerys-wallpaper-1

Bibliography

All references to biblical texts are taken from the NIV.

Detweiler, Robert. ‘Christ and the Christ Figure in American Fiction’. The Christian Scholar 47, no. 2 (1964): pp. 111-124.

Forbes, Bruce David. ‘Introduction: Finding Religion in Unexpected Places’. In Religion and Popular Culture in America: Revised Edition, edited by Bruce David Forbes and Jeffrey H. Mahan, pp. 1-20. University of California Press, 2005.

Game of Thrones. Television Series. Created by David Benioff and D. B. Weiss. New York, NY: HBO, 2011-present.

Gunton, Colin. ‘“Christus Victor” Revisited: A Study in the Metaphor and the Transformation of Meaning’. The Journal of Theological Studies 36, no. 1 (1985): pp. 129-145.

Lawrence, John Shelton and Robert Lewett. The Myth of the American Superhero. W. B. Eerdmans, 2002.

Martin, George R. R. A Song of Ice and Fire. Bantam, 1996-present.

 

 

 

 

Salome – victim, seductress, or both?

Today’s advent student offering is a marvellous essay written by THEOREL 101 student Wen-Juenn Lee. WenJuenn is a third year student majoring in English Literature and Media Studies. She tells me that she likes to read, write and discuss everything related to Harry Styles being a contemporary messiah. But, for her Bible and Pop Culture essay, she tore herself away from Harry and wrote this excellent piece on that most enigmatic biblical figure – Salome. Read on, and enjoy.

The Dance of Seduction: the Power of Popular Culture on Shaping the Portrayal of Mark’s Dancing Daughter in the Bible

by

Wen-Juenn Lee

Although religion and popular culture are often perceived as two distinct categories, the relationship between the Bible and popular culture has often been dynamic. This is seen in the biblical portrayal of Herodias’ dancing daughter in Mark, and her subsequent afterlives in film, literature and art. As society alters and gives meaning to biblical characters in a way they can understand, we see the dialectic process in which popular culture, societal attitudes and religion shape one another in an ongoing evolution.

In Mark 6:21-29, Herodias’ daughter danced before King Herod and his guests, which delighted the King. As a reward, he offered her “anything you like and I will give it to you.” Herodias, furious that John the Baptist had condemned Herod’s marriage to Herodias, told her daughter to ask for John’s head. So the daughter requested, “I want you to give me John the Baptist’s head, immediately, on a dish.” In front of his guests and in swearing an oath to the girl, Herod was reluctant to break his promise to her. So Herod sent his guard to execute John, and to bring his head on a dish.

As Mark simply referred to the dancing daughter as “daughter of Herodias,” inevitable gaps surrounding the daughter’s identity and motivations emerge. In Flavius Josephus’ historical account The Antiquities of the Jews, a stepdaughter of Herod’s is referred to as Salome. (Book XVIII, Chapter 5, 4) In this way, people came to identify Salome as the same person as the dancing daughter, explaining why the daughter is only ever referred to as Herodias’ daughter and not Herod’s. Thus, the dynamic between “Herodias’ daughter” and Herod becomes a crucial factor in the way artists and writers understood Salome’s dance. According to Josephus, Salome was born around 14 A.D and married twice. Her name, deriving from the Hebrew word Shalom, means peace. Her status as a daughter of a queen, and eventually becoming queen herself, gives her a position of relative power, not to mention indicating her wealth.

Nevertheless, apart from these few inferences we can make, information about Salome, and the dance she became associated with, are scarce and few. Referred to as “the girl”, Salome’s age when she performed the dance could range from a pre-pubescent to a young adult. Her personality, which may have contributed to her motivations to dance, remain unstated. Thus, society is fascinated with a character and a dance about which there is has virtually no historical information. Furthermore, the question of Salome’s motivations for performing her dance, and in obeying her mother to ask for John the Baptist’s head, remains a mystery. In both Mark and Matthew, Herodias tells Salome to ask for John the Baptist’s head, but Salome is the one who makes the specific request “I want you to give me John the Baptist’s head, immediately, on a dish.” In asking for John the Baptist’s head, specifically “on a dish”, was Salome merely obeying her mother, or did she have personal investments in asking for his head?

lapparition
Gustave Moreau, L’Apparition (c.1876)

A hugely significant force that influenced society’s perception of Salome was Gustave Moreau’s L’Apparition, where Salome is interrupted by an apparition of John the Baptist’s head in the climax of her dance. Although the Bible does not describe Salome’s dance, Moreau interprets it in an extremely sexualised manner. Using Jospheus’ report, Moreau understood Salome as a step-daughter dancing sexually in front of her king. A languid leg peeks out from behind the sheer fabric of her dress, and an outstretched arm directs us to the decapitated head of John. Her body, twisted at the waist, directs the male gaze to her fully frontal and almost nude torso. Crowned with ostentatious jewels and Byzantine-like patterns on her skirt, Salome reinforces Western attitudes on the eroticised and oriental ‘Other’ (Said). The power of the gaze is extremely important in L’Apparition.

fig-1-2
Moreau’s L’Apparition, detail

Expressionless, Salome’s eyes directly meet John’s bloody head, floating in mid-air. His mouth is open in horror, while his eyes beseech and plead for Salome’s mercy. In the background, Herod, Herodias and the executioner gaze oblivious to the head of John the Baptist, while a performer looks off in the distance. While everyone averts their eyes, thereby averting their responsibility in the beheading, Salome’s expressionlessly gazes up to meet her victim’s, confirming her guilt. In depicting Salome as defiantly staring at the man she is about to behead, Moreau puts her at the forefront of the beheading, cutting out Herodias and Herod’s responsibility in John’s beheading. In this way, the nature of Salome’s dance changes. Salome is not a pawn who obliviously follows her mother’s orders, but a femme fatale who uses her sexuality to intentionally charm Herod, and simultaneously bring the downfall of a holy man. Like Eve tempting man to sin, Salome dances to ‘charm’ the King, “indifferent, irresponsible, insensible, poisoning,” to the consequences of her actions (Huysmans, 24).

salome-barry-moser
Barry Moser, Salome kissing the head of Iokanaan (2011)

In this way, the gaps of Salome’s dance and character in the Bible are filled in inadvertently by 19thcentury attitudes towards female sexuality. A dancing female who then follows her mother’s request for the beheading of a man can only be understood in one way; sexualised, immodest and manipulative. Moreau interprets Salome as solely guided by her sheer, destructive lust, an ‘enchantress’ intentionally wreaking havoc through dance. Similarly, Oscar Wilde expanded on Salome as evil seductress, seen in his L’Apparition-inspired play Salomé. Salomé, in love and spurned by John the Baptist, kisses John’s mutilated head after the climax of her vengeful dance. In this way, Moreau twists the biblical Salome to become the ultimate metaphor of destructive female sexuality, a metaphor that artists used to perpetuate patriarchal attitudes towards women. Merely referred to as “daughter of Herodias”, she is twisted into a sexualised step-daughter whose “dance”, barely described in the Bible, is interpreted as sexually manipulative. This is what shapes Salome’s appearance and personality, presented as a dark haired “exotic” temptress that is equally seductive as she is destructive.

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Salome in True Blood (HBO)

More recently, Salome emerges in HBO’s Television Series True Blood, as an elite and powerful vampire and leader of the antagonist group “The Authority.” Speaking to, and engaging in, conversation with her portrayal in the Bible and in art, Salome says, “They made me a convenient villain, a symbol of dangerous female sexuality. But I was just a girl with a severely f**ked up family.” In this way, Salome presents herself as a victim, one who was “just a girl” as opposed to the sexually developed femme fatale Moreau portrays her as. Instead, “they wrapped me up and delivered me to my step-father’s bed,” which was a “dance, of sorts.”

Thus,  Salome is portrayed as a pawn in which her mother “trades” her body in exchange for John the Baptist’s head. The syntax of “wrapped me” and “delivered me” stresses Salome’s passiveness in the face of her mother’s schemes. Helpless to the politics and “f**ked up family” she is a part of, Salome has no personal motivations in “dancing” in front of King Herod, or in asking for John the Baptist’s head. Instead, Salome is coerced by a heartless mother, and taken advantage of by her lustful step-father; the victim of the “dance” as opposed to its perpetrator.  Thus, Herod and Herodias become the vilified agents that drive Salome’s dance and John the Baptist’s beheading. Although Salome’s dance is interpreted with an underlying sexual nature like Moreau’s L’Apparition, True Blood uses the “metaphorical” dance of coercive sexual intercourse to highlight Salome’s vulnerability as a victim of the sexual act, cementing her empathy with the audience. Bill’s horror, depicted in a close up shot of his face, and Salome’s own suppressed emotions reinforce the empathy we are meant to feel for her.

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Salome and Bill, in True Blood (HBO)

But as quickly as True Blood tries to deconstruct Salome as dancing femme fatale, it perpetuates it. Salome uses her sexuality as a tool for power, in gauging the trustworthiness of Bill and Eric, and in coercing them to join “The Authority.” Her attempts and success, in seducing both Bill and Eric, are depicted as calculative and insidious, rather than acting out of genuine affection. Meanwhile, Bill and Eric, unaware that the other has been “wooed” by Salome, are depicted as helpless victims in the face of Salome’s aggressive sexuality: “She gets what she wants.” The gratuitous panning shot over Salome’s nude body as she slowly disrobes in front of Eric parallels Moreau’s male gaze, directing our attention to Salome’s breasts and hips. Staring at Eric as she undresses, Salome’s defiant gaze also parallels Moreau’s Salome, depicting her sexual agency as diabolical through the power of her gaze. Clothed in black lace and pink silk, Salome’s dark hair, red lipstick and heavily accented speech reinforces her depiction as a “foreign” femme fatale, who uses her sexuality to bring about the downfall of men. As Bill and Salome become lovers, Salome is depicted as bringing about Bill’s moral downfall, coercing him to do increasingly immoral acts. Urging Bill to feed on a pregnant women, and causing him to betray his best friend, Salome “taints” Bill’s moral compass, threatening his notions of good and evil. In this way, Salome embodies the stereotype she claims not be, seducing men for her own evil purposes.

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Sexualised Salome in HBO’s True Blood

On the one hand, then, True Blood seeks to dismantle the patriarchal interpretation of Salome as destructive femme fatale, by offering an alternative interpretation of Salome as victim, rather than perpetrator of a dance that caused John the Baptist’s beheading. Echoing mainstream feminist thought, Salome draws attention to the misogynistic portrayals of women in art: “I became a convenient symbol of dangerous female sexuality.” But the on the other hand, Salome as victim also has the danger of perpetuating gendered stereotypes. She must either be a damsel in distress or a manipulative whore, there is no in between. True Blood, reflecting wider Hollywood discourses, still relies on simplified and dichotomous understandings of female sexuality to interpret and depict Salome’s dance; as a virtue, with Salome as victim, or as a sin, with Salome as sexual agent. Either way, Salome’s physicality, as an object to be dressed in revealing clothes, and to be gazed at with long panning shots, perpetuates society’s hyper-sexualised treatment of female bodies; Salome, as a biblical dancing woman, is part of that. Perhaps “a progressive straight feminist reading…is actually impossible in light of the heavy misogynist cultural burden the Salome figure has carried for almost two thousand years” (Dierkes-Thrun, 201). Thus, True Blood’s Salome reflects conflicting attitudes towards female sexuality, shaped by a society whose own negotiations with gender and sexuality attempt to be progressive, but are equally influenced by lingering, traditional ideologies.

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True Blood‘s Salome – sexy and terrifying

From the gaps that emerge in Salome’s depiction in the Bible, her motivations to dance, and her responsibility in John the Baptist’s beheading, popular culture understands and depicts Salome’s motivations and character as a hyper-sexualised femme fatale, reflecting the varying and sometimes conflicting attitudes towards female sexuality. As L’Apparition and True Blood shows us, popular culture has the ability to adapt and shape Salome, through contemporary cultural attitudes that transgress the ambiguous and sometimes static depiction of a character in the Bible.

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References

Primary Sources

All biblical quotes are taken from the New Jerusalem Bible.

Moreau, Gustave. L’Apparition. 1876, oil on canvas, the Louvre, Paris.

“Whatever I Am, You Made Me.” True Blood: The Complete Fifth Season, written by Raelle Tucker, directed by David Petrarca, HBO, 2012.

“Somebody That I Used To Know.” True Blood: The Complete Fifth Season, written by Mark Hudis, directed by Stephen Moyer, HBO, 2012.

“Everybody Wants To Rule The World.” True Blood: The Complete Fifth Season, written by Raelle Tucker, directed by Dan Attias, HBO, 2012.

Secondary Sources

Cooke, Peter. “‘It isn’t a Dance’: Gustave Moreau’s Salome and The Apparition.Dance Research, Vol. 29 Issue 2, 2012. pp. 214-232

Clanton, Dan. “Trollops to Temptresses.” Daring, Disreputable and Devout : Interpreting the Hebrew Bible’s Women in the Arts and Music. T & T Clark International, 2009.  Print.

Dierkes-Thrun, Petra. Salome’s Modernity: Oscar Wilde and the Aesthetics of Transgression. University of Michigan Press, 2011. Print.

Girard, Rene. “Scandal and the Dance: Salome in the Gospel of Mark”. New Literary History. Vol. 15, Issue 2, 1984. pp. 311-324

Huysman, Joris Karl. À Rebours. London, UK; Penguin Books, 2003. Print.

Josephus, Flavius. The Antiquities of the Jewish. Accessed on http://penelope.uchicago.edu/josephus/ant-18.html

Said, Edward. Orientalism. New York, US; Pantheon Books. 1

Spotlighting student work finale: The Mysterious Magdalene

For our final student essay from the 2015 Bible and Popular Culture course, it seemed fitting to focus on one of the most popular biblical characters from this course: Mary Magdalene. Despite the fact that the biblical traditions about this character reveal little about her, Mary of Magdala has remained a figure of intrigue within popular culture over the centuries. Artists, literati, musicians and filmmakers have taken these scant biblical sources and conjured up (with more than a little creative licence) a plethora of colourful cultural afterlives for Mary, some of which have become so ubiquitous in the collective cultural consciousness that they are frequently conflated with the biblical traditions to the extent that the Mary of culture and the Mary of the gospels become indistinguishable from one another.

To discuss this further, I’ll hand you over to our guest blogger for the day, Sally Finegan-Dodds. Sally is a ‘new start’ student who is studying for a conjoint degree in Law and a Bachelor of Arts, majoring in psychology and sociology. After completing her studies, she hopes to work in the prison system and wants to help make New Zealand a better place for everyone. Sally tells me that she ‘absolutely loved’ doing the Bible and Popular Culture course, and would highly recommend it to other students, given its applicability to everyday life.

So, enjoy our final student essay for 2015. Next week, the season of Advent begins and I will be commencing Auckland TheoRel’s annual Advent Calendar. Something to look forward to.

Opening pic

Who was Mary Magdalene?

by Sally Finegan-Dodds

 The afterlives of Mary Magdalene have taken many shapes and forms throughout history and in contemporary society. While the New Testament offers a number of different traditions about Mary, there are also many silences surrounding her character. Popular culture has therefore filled these silences. In this essay, I will focus on two particular cultural texts that have constructed an intriguing afterlife for Mary Magdalene: Dan Brown’s 2003 novel, The Da Vinci Code  and the film adaptation by Ron Howard (2006).

DaVinciCodeAccording to the New Testament Gospel traditions, Mary is a follower of Jesus, travelling with him and the other disciples. These Gospels place Mary at significant events in Jesus’ life, such as his travelling and ministry with his disciples, his crucifixion and his resurrection (Chilton, 2005). Yet Mary is only mentioned throughout the New Testament thirteen times, which proves problematic when tracing her historical and narrative background (Kennedy, 2012). This is important to remember when analysing how Mary’s character has been constructed over time, as much of her character is left silent (King, 2005). Thus assumptions have inevitably played a part in the construction of Mary’s portrayal in popular culture (Kennedy, 2012).

Domenico_Tintoretto_-_The_Penitent_Magdalene
Tintoretto, The Penitent Magdalene (1598)

Throughout much of history and popular culture, Mary has been portrayed as a sinful prostitute from whom Jesus expelled seven demons (De Boer, 1997). She is compared frequently with Eve, the biblical woman in Genesis 2-3 traditionally associated with sinfulness and temptation (King, 2005). However, the tradition of the ‘Penitent Magdalene’ has also been used as an explicit example of the good that prevails from repenting for sin (King, 2005). These assumptions about Mary Magdalene the ‘sinner’ are commonly understood as the reason for her having become involved with Jesus and his disciples (King, 2005). Yet this character portrayal of Mary as a prostitute has no biblical basis (Ehrman, 2006). In reality, there is a scarcity of information about Mary in the Gospels, and the information that is there is not always consistent (Ehrman, 2006). The only fragment of information that in any way hints at a dark or negative past for Mary is that she had seven demons exorcised from her by Jesus (Luke 8:2). The seven demons have in the past been associated with the seven deadly sins (King, 2005).

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Anthony Sandys, Mary Magdalene (1858). Sandys has conflated Mary here with the sinful woman in Luke 7.36-50, who anointed Jesus’ feet with perfumed oil.

This construct of Mary as a sinner has shaped many portrayals in popular culture. It is important to analyse how this construct came to exist. An amalgamation of the four New Testament Gospels have manifested with time to create the prevalent ideology of Mary as a prostitute (Ehrman, 2006). There are sixteen women called Mary named in the Gospels, as well as several unnamed women (e.g. in Luke 7.36-50; John 8.1-11), who have been conflated to produce the common image of Mary as a ‘sinful’ prostitute (Ehrman, 2006). The label ‘sinner’ has also deviated from the realm it originally belonged to; a sinner in first century Jewish thought traditionally meant one who did not keep to the Torah law rigorously whereas this label, when applied to women, has been associated with sexual sinfulness, and thus used to claim Mary was a prostitute (Ehrman, 2006). Confirming this conception, Pope Gregory the Great in 591 CE issued a Homily affirming Mary as a sinful prostitute and an embodiment of the seven deadly sins (King, 2005).

THE DA VINCI CODE
Leigh Teabing, Sophie Neveu, and Robert Langdon argue about who Mary Magdalene really was (Ron Howard, The Da Vinci Code, 2006)

This illusory image of Mary Magdalene is raised in Howard’s (2006) film The Da Vinci Code in which Howard draws upon explicits retelling of the New Testament Gospels as well as additional sources, particularly the Gnostic Gospels. The film first introduces the common belief about Mary Magdalene as a prostitute (Ehrmann 2006). However, as the story progresses this depiction is challenged dramatically. Using Brown’s (2003) narrative, Howard (2006) portrays Mary as Jesus’s favourite disciple with whom he has a deep connection. Mary was not a prostitute but rather the most important person to Jesus, one of history’s best-kept secrets and a person imbued with holiness (Kennedy, 2012).

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Leonardo Da Vinci, The Last Supper (c.1520)

This portrayal of Mary Magdalene draws some of its support from the historically iconic image of Leonardo Da Vinci’s painting The Last Supper, used by Brown to give veracity to the claim Mary was the chosen disciple – the only woman present at the Last Supper and seated on the right hand of Jesus. The novel and film suggest that she is chosen for this position because she was Jesus’ most faithful and loyal follower. In the New Testament, Mary does undoubtedly have a special status, given that she is one of the first witnesses to the risen Jesus (John 20.1-2, Mathew 28:1-8 and Mark 16:1-8). Brown, however, has filled the gaps around these biblical traditions by claiming that such a status indicates she is Jesus’ ‘chosen one’. Such a claim challenges the misogynist patriarchal framework of Christianity, which has insisted on viewing Mary simply as a sinful follower of Jesus and his disciples (Chilton, 2005). In The Da Vinci Code, this challenge is made explicit, as the accusation is made that Mary’s position has intentionally been obstructed by the patriarchal Church, who deliberately tainted her image through the (erroneous) allusions to her prostitution (Kennedy, 2012).

gospel of Philip, recreation
Facscimile of the Gospel of Philip

Additionally, The Da Vinci Code also suggests that Mary was Jesus’s wife and lover. Brown draws upon the Gnostic Gospel traditions as evidence of this claim. The Gospel according to Philip 11.3.59.6-9 is the most widely known text in relation to this notion (Chilton, 2005). This text refers to Mary as the ‘companion’ to Jesus, and according to Brown, the term ‘companion’ conveyed the meaning of ‘spouse’ during the first century (Chilton, 2005). The Gospel of Phillip 64.1-10 also suggests that Jesus reserved a special love for Mary in contrast to that felt for other disciples, a favouritism that Chilton (2006) suggests has consolidated Mary’s reputation in popular modern culture as having been more than just a disciple to Jesus. In addition to these threads, Philip’s Gospel also mentions Jesus frequently ‘kissing’ Mary Magdalene, which again, Brown leaps upon to facilitate the idea that Mary was Jesus’s wife (Chilton, 2006). Although the exact location of this kiss is unknown (the manuscript is damaged in the crucial spot: ‘[Jesus] used to kiss her often on the____’), many have sought to fill the gap with the word ‘mouth’, thus further propelling the idea Mary was Jesus’s wife (Chilton, 2006). Yet the nature and significance of the kiss is unclear and does not by necessity imply a sexual relationship between the couple. Moreover, the term ‘companion’ conveys other nuances of meaning beyond that of spouse. It is also important to acknowledge there is nothing in the New Testament that specifically cements the notion of marriage between Mary and Jesus.

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Sophie and Robert take a close look at Da Vinci’s The Last Supper (Howard, 2006)

The Da Vinci Code novel and movie adaptation both refer to the idea that Mary was not only Jesus’s wife but also the mother of his child. Brown’s story fills the gaps in the canonical Gospels with the idea that Jesus was both divine and mortal (Kennedy, 2012). This retelling suggests Mary Magdalene was far important in the formation of Christianity and much more than just a disciple (Kennedy, 2012). The idea that Jesus’s bloodline carried by Mary Magdalene, is still in existence is the film’s central premise (Howard, 2006). This premise is based on the many silences in biblical texts concerning Jesus’ and Mary’s relationship, as well as the evidence from the Gospel of Philip, described above. This combination supports the claim that Mary was a mother and wife who was deliberately hidden from the world (Howard, 2006), and whose true status as Jesus’s wife and a mother was obstructed in Christianity by those seeking to keep woman separate from ecclesial power (King, 2005).

THE DA VINCI CODE, Audrey Tautou, Tom Hanks, 2006, (c) Columbia/courtesy Everett Collection
Sophie Neveu, descendent of the royal bloodline of Mary and Jesus? (Howard 2006)

Dan Brown’s reference to the mystery of the Holy Grail and the suggestion that Mary’s womb was indeed the Holy Grail, is insightful if not challenging (Kennedy, 2006). The Da Vinci Code concludes that Jesus’s bloodline is still existent within the character of Sophie Neveu. She is then regarded as the Holy Grail as she is a woman carrying on the secrets of Mary’s true identity and heritage (Howard, 2006). This representation utilises the theme in popular culture of Mary as a protector of pregnant woman and the matron of fertility and childbirth (Chilton, 2006). However, this more positive portrayal of Mary is still draped in patriarchal constructs as Mary is still subordinated by her gender (reduced to the status of ‘carriers’ of divine seed), while the religious male figures in the film still attempt to render her status unknown (Kennedy, 2006). Brown’s storyline, replicated by Howard in the movie, is thus an amalgamation of assumptions loosely linked to the biblical Gospels, and relying on biblical silences to portray Mary as one of the most important woman in Christianity.

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The Gospel of Mary, fragment

Another piece of evidence presented in The Da Vinci Code as evidence of Mary’s status as Holy Grail is Gnostic Gospel of Mary, which records that after Jesus’s death, Mary continued to have a huge influence in the early Church as Jesus’ chosen teacher (Chilton, 2006). This Gospel claims was Peter was hostile about the fact that Jesus chose Mary. These fragments are used in The Da Vinci Code to support the idea further that Mary was suppressed by dominant patriarchal Church forces, who objected to her special status (Chilton, 2006). Brown and Howard both present the Gnostic texts as ‘true’ accounts of Jesus’ life and teachings, which were omitted from the New Testament intentionally to hide Mary’s significance.

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At the end of The Da Vinci Code, symbologist Robert Langdon believes he has cracked the ‘code’ and discovered the tomb of Mary Magdalene – in a crypt beneath the Louvre

Thus, from the discussion above, we can suggest that Mary Magdalene’s character has been warped and misshaped consistently within popular culture, adapting to suit the cultural ideologies and beliefs of whomever is telling her story. The Bible contributes to these creative afterlives for Mary with its vague references to her, which leave ample room for creations of counter-memories (Kennedy, 2006). The Da Vinci Code novel and film portray an explicit, more rounded and fleshed-out Mary. However, it is essential to analyse how these various afterlives of Mary Magdalene are constructed. As the Gospel of Philip 69:7 -11 states ‘Truth did not come into the world naked, but it came in types and images. The world will not receive truth any other way’. Truth is inevitably accompanied by human subjectivity and cultural influences. Thus, when examining Mary’s portrayal in The Da Vinci Code, we need to bear this in mind.

In conclusion, both the New Testament and Gnostic Gospels allow us some insight into the portrayal of Mary Magdalene within early Christianity. However, this essay has highlighted the silences surrounding Mary’s character within these texts, and has considered how these silences have been filled in popular culture. The Da Vinci Code fleshes out Mary’s character by acknowledging the inherently patriarchal stigma that has surrounded Mary due to her reputation as a prostitute; the novel and movie seek to dispel this stigma by generating more inspirational notions of who Mary was. Brown employs the notion of Mary as a wife and mother furthering the depiction of Mary’s significant status in Christianity. Yet, like all of Mary’s afterlives, this is perhaps more subjective than based on historical or textual evidence. The ‘real’ Mary Magdalene may simply have to remain the best kept secret of all time.

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 References

 All Biblical references are sourced from RSV.

Brown, D. (2003). The Da Vinci Code (1st Ed). United Kingdom: Transworld Publishers.

Calley, J. & Grazer. B (Producers), Howard, R. (Director). (2006). The Da Vinci Code. America: Colombia Pictures.

Chilton, R. (2005). Mary Magdalene: A biography (1st ed.). New York: Doubleday.

 De Boer, E. (1997). Mary Magdalene: beyond the myth (1st ed). Harrisburg, Pa: Trinity Press International.

Ehrman, B. D. (2006). Mary Magdalene in Popular Culture and History. In Peter, Paul, and Mary Magdalene: The Followers of Jesus in History and Legend, pp.179-92. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

Kennedy, T.M. (2012). Mary Magdalene and the Politics of Public Memory: Interrogating The Da Vinci Code. In Feminist Formations, Vol.24 (2), pp. 120-139.

King, K.L. (2003). The Gospel of Mary of Magdala: Jesus and the first woman apostle (1st ed). Santa Rose, CA: Polebridge press.

 

Spotlighting student work 11: The Art of Temptation

Our penultimate piece of student work from Auckland TheoRel’s Bible and Popular Culture class focuses on a biblical tradition that has been ubiquitously retold in visual culture – the Genesis 2-3 narrative of Adam and Eve. We’ve discussed this text quite a few times on this blog, including here, here, and here, particularly its presentation in visual culture. So, adding her own voice to this fascinating topic, let me introduce our guest blogger today, Natalie Koch. Natalie has just finished her fifth year studying for conjoint Law and Bachelor of Arts degrees; in her BA, she is majoring in English. She wants to work as a lawyer in the future and is also interested in pursuing a Masters degree in law. Natalie  took our Bible and Popular Culture course because she thought it sounded really interesting, and  enjoyed learning more about the different ways that the Bible is used in popular culture.

So, let’s revisit the Garden of Eden and look to see how our disobedient duo have been depicted in the works of three artists from the 20th and 21st centuries.

Eve as ‘Leading Lady’ and Adam as ‘Sidekick’: The Theme of Blame in Genesis 2-3

by Natalie Koch

Genesis 2-3 delineates the creation of man and woman. and their subsequent expulsion from the Garden of Eden. “Adam and Eve” by Gustav Klimt, “Adam and Eve” by Karoly Patkó and “the Fruit Eaters” by Barnaby Furnas, all retell the biblical story. These artworks may be termed ‘high culture’ but they also engage with popular culture as part of a “cultural phenomena that [is] both widely distributed and widely recognized” (Sanders 2009, viii-x). In Klimt and Patkó’s work, disparities between the biblical narrative and its visual representation tend to conform to portrayals of Eve as the primary instigator in the transgression scene. As a result, she subsumes the majority of the blame for the Fall. In contrast, Barnaby Furnas portrays Adam and Eve as equal participants in the action. Eve’s blame is ameliorated by her portrayal as one link in the chain of causation.

In Genesis 3, wrongdoing is a condition precedent for punishment. The biblical text divides blame between Adam, Eve and the serpent by distributing punishment between them. The biblical author does not allocate sole blame with Eve. The language that God uses when addressing Eve parallels the language employed with Adam and the serpent. A rhetoric of blame is framed by similar semantic patterns that are reiterated with all three characters: God asks Eve “What is this you have done?” (v.13); when judging the serpent, “Because you have done this” (v.14), and when sentencing Adam, “Cursed is the ground because of you” (v.17). The essence of Adam and Eve’s punishment is somewhat alike, although manifested in different forms. Diane M. Sharon explains that the Hebrew word connoting ‘sorrow’ or pain’ is used to describe both punishments, but that it also signifies ‘hard work’. She concludes that the consequence for both is that “continued survival for them and for their descendants will now require hard work” (Sharon 1998, 79). Therefore, the biblical text does not hold Eve solely responsible for the Fall.

However, the biblical author appears to deploy a degree of blame-shifting between the characters. When God asks Adam whether he has eaten from the tree, Adam replies that “the woman you put here with me – she gave me some fruit from the tree, and I ate it” (Gen 3.12). As a result, Adam shifts the focus from himself to both God and Eve (Fewell and Gunn 1993, 33). Mignon R. Jacobs argues that, subsequently, “the Deity blames the woman for the role in the man’s action. It appears that the Deity is persuaded that the man is telling the truth” (2007, 64). However, blame is not allocated as unequivocally as Jacobs seems to assume. By asking Eve what she has done, God may be merely seeking confirmation of Adam’s account. In direct contrast, God does not give the serpent a similar opportunity to explain its actions. Therefore, the biblical author does not linger upon Eve’s culpability or overlook Adam or the serpent’s role. Eve is permitted to shift the blame from herself to the serpent (Gen 3.13).

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Gustav Klimt, Adam and Eve (1917)

Gustav Klimt’s “Adam and Eve” retells Genesis 2-3 in a way that indirectly reinforces cultural perceptions of Eve’s sole responsibility for the Fall. Adam is relegated to the background and is almost entirely shielded by the figure of Eve. In addition, he is featured in dark colours that create the impression that he is in shadow. Therefore, it is possible for the viewer to overlook Adam’s presence altogether. Adam’s lack of pictorial presence has the corresponding effect of diminishing his role in the overall narrative (Edwards 2012, 17).

klimt detailBy contrast, Eve occupies the entire foreground. She is portrayed in bright light. The juxtaposition of her white skin with Adam’s shadowed face compounds her function as the focal point of the painting. As a result, Eve’s portrayal reinforces her responsibility in the transgression scene by tapping into cultural assumptions of her role as primary actor. In addition, Adam is depicted with his eyes closed, whereas Eve’s gaze is front-on and directed towards the viewer. Her dominance may invert the gendered hierarchy of the biblical narrative. (ibid, 20). However, it is unlikely that Klimt is actively undermining the androcentric focus of Genesis 2-3. Rather, Eve’s direct gaze suggests that she is about to make a conscious choice. The emphasis on Eve replicates traditional portrayals of her as chief instigator of the action.

klimt eve's wee faceEve’s dominant role is consistent with Genesis 3. In distinction, it is unclear whether Adam is present until the biblical author informs the reader that he “was with her” (v.6). However, Klimt’s work purports to portray Genesis 2, rather than Genesis 3. For instance, Eve is naked. In Genesis 2, Adam and Eve are “both naked, and they felt no shame” (v.25), whereas, in Genesis 3, they make “coverings for themselves” (v.6). Furthermore, the painting is marked by the absence of fruit, and the inclusion of flowers presupposes that the couple are still in the Garden of Eden. Eve’s prominence in the painting is inconsistent with her passive role in Genesis 2, where she is only present at the culmination of the episode; does not speak; and largely functions as an object who is acted upon by God, who creates her (2.22) and Adam, who names her (3.23). The inconsistency between Eve’s role in Genesis 2 and her portrayal in the painting reinforces traditional perceptions of blame by alluding to, and capitalising on, her actions in Genesis 3.

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Karoly Patko, Adam and Eve (1920)

Similar to Klimt’s “Adam and Eve”, Karoly Patkó does not challenge the common cultural conception of Eve as leader in the transgression scene. Eve is portrayed handing fruit to Adam. Adam’s pose presupposes an element of indecision. The positioning of his left hand behind his head is indicative of an internal conflict, whereas his right arm is raised as if to shield himself from Eve’s advances. Adam’s pose implies that Eve is tempting Adam. Whereas Adam is represented visually in a state of internal dilemma, the biblical narrative does not recount his thoughts. It is unclear whether Adam was an unwilling participant. Although an element of compulsion is implied by Adam’s claim that he ate the fruit because Eve gave it to him, coupled with God’s explication that Adam’s punishment results from obedience to his wife, the biblical narrative as a whole negates the inference that Eve induced Adam to eat the fruit. Adam is present while Eve is conversing with the serpent and he appears wholly compliant. By depicting Eve tempting Adam, Patkó reconstructs the portrayal of Eve as a temptress, and the associated connotations of blame contemplated by that role.

pATKO DETAILUnlike Klimt’s work, Adam is not consigned to the background. Rather, Adam and Eve occupy equal space within the painting’s composition. However, both Klimt and Patkó shield Adam’s body from the viewer to differing degrees. Whereas Adam is completely effaced by Eve in Klimt’s “Adam and Eve”, Patkó has depicted Adam with his entire body facing away from the viewer. In contrast, Eve is turned towards the viewer. Both figures are naked. Nakedness is consistent with the innocence of the Prelapsarian stage in the biblical narrative.

patkoHowever, Eve’s nakedness assumes a different dimension because it is made directly accessible to the viewer vis-à-vis the stark contrast between Adam and Eve’s postures. In addition, Patkó uses chiaroscuro to highlight Eve’s body. The emphasis on the naked female form is coded with cultural stereotypes of Eve as a temptress because it is patterned on “the temptation of female sexuality” (Exum 2011, 92). Therefore, the representation of Eve’s nudity is embedded with cultural attitudes pertaining to female sexuality (Miles 1989, 81-82). By accentuating the female form, Patkó reaffirms the association between Eve’s culpability and her sexuality.

In contrast to both Klimt and Patkó, Barnaby Furnas’ “the Fruit Eaters” depicts all four characters from Genesis 2-3. In addition, Eve is not the primary focus of the work. Rather, the serpent is bright red and occupies most of the composition’s space.

Furnas_-_The_Fruit_Eaters 2013
Barnaby Furnas, The Fruit Eaters (2013)

The eye-catching colouring and position of the serpent stress its key role in the narrative. Moreover, the serpent’s horns, concomitant with the way in which it coils around Adam and Eve, creates an ominous tone. The emphasis on the serpent as instigator of the action ameliorates the blame that is commonly allocated to Eve in pictorial representations of Genesis 2-3. Moreover, it is difficult to distinguish between Adam and Eve. Both figures are amalgamated, and both hold fruit. The comparative similarity of Furnas’ representation of Adam and Eve eschews common depictions of Eve as more responsible than her counterpart.

fURNAS GOD HIDES BEHIND A TREE
God watches events from behind a tree

“The Fruit Eaters” is unique to the extent that it raises questions about God’s role in the Fall. The biblical narrative is not explicit about God’s physical whereabouts during the transgression scene. It is only after Adam and Eve have eaten the fruit that they “hear the sound of the Lord God as he was walking in the garden” (Gen 3.8). In contrast, Furnas’ God is hidden behind a tree. His partial visibility may be a figurative symbol for his omniscience. However, it also creates the impression that God is surreptitiously spying on the couple. In this way, the painting implies that God has predetermined the outcome of the transgression scene. The biblical narrative does not overtly provide God with the same knowledge: God asks Adam where he is and whether he has eaten the fruit. In addition, God’s absence during the transgression scene absolves God of responsibility for the Fall (Jacobs 2007, 62). Furnas tempers Eve’s culpability by portraying Adam and Eve as mutual actors. Moreover, the dominance of the serpent, and the presence of God, further qualifies their liability.

Klimt and Patkó emphasis the role of Eve in Genesis 2-3. In both paintings, Adam’s presence is mitigated. As a result, each painting rehashes common cultural assumptions concerning Eve’s blameworthiness for the Fall. In contrast, Furnas’ “Fruit Eaters” depicts all of the characters of the biblical story in an apparent mutual accusation. In addition, the presence of God in the Garden of Eden is unique. It militates against Eve’s sole responsibility and, instead, raises questions about God’s role in humankind’s fall from Eden.

 Bibliography

Bach, Alice Women, Seduction and Betrayal in Biblical Narratives Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997.

Brenner, Athalya A Feminist Companion to Genesis Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1997.

Edwards, Katie B. “Genesis 2-3: The Creation of an Icon” in Admen and Eve: The Bible in Contemporary Advertising, 12-34, Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix Press, 2012.

Exum, J. Cheryl. “Notorious Biblical Women in Manchester: Spencer Stanhope’s Eve and Frederick Pickersgill’s Delilah” in O’Keane, Martine (ed) Bible Art Gallery”, 69-96. The Bible in the Modern World, 21, Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix Press, 2011.

Fewell, Danna Nolan and Gunn, David M. Gender, Power & Promise: The Subject of the Bible’s First Story Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1993.

Jacobs, Mignon R. Gender, Power and Persuasion: The Genesis Narratives and Contemporary Portraits, Michigan: Baker Academic, 2007.

Miles, Margaret Carnal Knowing: Female Nakedness and Religious Meaning in the Christian West

Sanders, Theresa Approaching Eden: Adam and Eve in Popular Culture United Kingdom: Rowan & Littlefield Publishers, 2009.

Showcasing Student Work 10: BioShock: Infinite and the American Monomyth

Last week, we showcased an essay by Brianna Vincent, who had written about messianic themes and the American Monomyth in the videogame Dragon Age: Inquisition. Today’s student offering from our Bible and Popular Culture course likewise looks for a modern messiah in a popular video game, this time focusing on the first-person shooter game released by Irrational Games in 2013: BioShock Infinite. Our guest author is Samuel McKenzie, a soon-to-be third year BA student in the Faculty of Arts, who is majoring in French and German. Samuel took the course because he has always been fascinated by religious and biblical themes in pop culture; he also admits that he enjoyed the opportunity to write an essay on a videogame, and his favourite game to boot! After completing his degree, Samuel hopes to eventually do a Masters degree in Translation Studies.

So, whether or not you are a gamer yourself, give yourselves a treat and listen to Samuel as he considers the way that BioShock Infinity both affirms and disrupts conventional themes of messiahship.

Picture1

‘You think a dunk in the river is gonna wash away the things I’ve done?’

BioShock Infinite as critique of the American Monomyth

by Samuel McKenzie

The protagonist of a First-Person Shooter (FPS) videogame is typically a mysterious loner who emerges to rescue a community from evil. His morality is absolute, his violence justified, his sexuality renounced or absent. He is composed – almost divinely competent – even when facing odds and taking damage that would surely destroy a lesser man. His abilities may sometimes even seem supernatural. These qualities, then, mean that the FPS protagonist typifies the archetype that is the American Monomyth (Jewett and Lawrence 2002, 47), and one would then expect the protagonist of a game that has been referred to as “one of the best-first person shooters ever made” (online review) to be a particularly striking example of the concept. But Booker DeWitt, protagonist of Irrational Games’ BioShock Infinite, is not your typical messianic archetype. In this essay, I will be analysing how Booker’s portrayal both fulfils and subverts the concept of the American Monomyth, and how this ‘’anti-messiah’’ figure ties in to the Biblical messiah through analogy for the Christus Victor theory of atonement. As this essay will discuss storyline elements and plot details, spoilers will follow.

Flying city
The flying city of Columbia, the setting of the game

A Last Chance for Redemption

     In many ways, Booker DeWitt is an example of the American Monomyth. He is an outsider to the city of Columbia, the setting of the game. We know very little about his backstory but for a few key elements – such that he is from New York, that he fought in the Battle of Wounded Knee in 1890, and that he worked for the Pinkerton’s National Detective Agency. (fig. 1)

Fig 1
Fig 1: Booker’s Detective ID from the game’s loading screen

Booker renounces temptation, not once in-game showing any sexual interest, or getting caught up in a game of cards or round of drinks. This rejection of temptation parallels a key story in the life of the messianic figure the American Monomyth is intended to replace – Jesus of Nazareth. In Matthew’s gospel, we are told a story of how Jesus was tempted thrice by the devil in the wilderness, and rejected temptation each time (Matt 4.1-11).

  Like many messianic figures, Booker faces persecution. Soon after his arrival in Columbia, he is taken for the “false shepherd” foretold of in prophecy by Prophet Comstock, the leader of Columbia’s theocracy. The people of Columbia believe that the false shepherd will lead their “lamb” – Elizabeth, Comstock’s daughter and heir – ‘’astray’’. (fig. 2)

Fig 2
Fig 2: an in-game poster featuring the “false shepherd”

As such, he receives an extremely hostile reception. The rhetoric of a ‘’false shepherd’’ has Biblical roots – the Book of Ezekiel uses an analogy of ‘’false’’ shepherds to decry leaders of Israel who will not care for their people (Ezekiel 34).

As he is our protagonist, we naturally ally with Booker. The player must play as Booker DeWitt, and thereby sees all situations with him at centre. We unconsciously justify his actions as necessary to achieve his goals, and through doing so, are presented with a figure whom we see as unjustly targeted, but one we believe will make things right, as the standard messianic archetype.

I am not a righteous man, I am not a holy man

        However, Booker DeWitt is not the standard messianic archetype. The concept of the American Monomyth is not without flaw, and BioShock Infinite subjects it to thorough critique. The messiah is very much an ideal – Sarbatoare notes that the Jewish messiah’s “personal qualities surpass the ordinary standard of human abilities” (Sarbatoare 2004, 54). (fig. 3)

Fig 3
Fig .3: Booker using a “vigor” in a fight, a tonic that grants him pseudo-magical powers

The American Monomyth’s violence is typically seen as sanctified – but in fact, this seems to contrast several Biblical views on the topic. In Genesis 6 – the story of Noah – the Bible claims that the flood was sent because the earth was “filled with violence” (Gen 6.11-13). In Isaiah 59.2-7, Isaiah’s criticisms of the unjust involve accusations that “acts of violence mark their ways”. The sins humans perform are summarised under the concept of their effect – violence (Schwager 1987, 48-51). Booker goes through the game wracked with guilt over his violent past. When he, near its end, encounters a priest performing river baptisms, he snarls at his companion, Elizabeth, “You think a dunk in the river is gonna wash away the things I’ve done?”

BioShock Infinite takes place across different timelines, and through two of Booker’s alternate selves, the game criticises the expectations of the American Monomyth as a social outsider. Lang and Trimble note that the American Monomyth must complete “some violent act that the rest of society is incapable of performing” (Lang and Trimble 1988, 166), and yet is expected to serve as saviour figure. In one timeline, Booker allies with the anarchist Vox Populi, and quickly rises to become a leading figure in their movement. (fig.4) However, when Booker and Elizabeth enter this timeline, they discover that the revolution has destroyed Columbia and slaughtered most of its civilian population. The combination of expectations of abnormal violence and leadership results, unsurprisingly, in a ticking time-bomb.

Fig 4
Fig. 4: A Vox Populi poster of Booker from an alternative timeline

In another timeline, Booker becomes the architect behind and ruler of Columbia, Zachary Comstock. Comstock possesses an intensely bigoted, binary moral outlook. In one offshoot timeline, Booker finds an elderly Elizabeth in 1984, tortured by Comstock into ideological compliance, overseeing Columbia’s airships attacking New York. (fig.5, fig.6)

fig 5
Fig. 5: A mural to Comstock at Columbia’s “Welcome Centre” for new arrivals

Through the character of Comstock, BioShock Infinite manages to highlight the flaw in the American Monomyth’s morality – its absolutism. When the American Monomyth’s black-and-white moral view is coupled with his sanctified violence, the result is someone with absolute belief in his ways and a willingness – or even propensity – to take any ends to achieve them.

Fig 6
Fig. 6

Dies, Died, Will Die

   But the end Booker takes to achieve redemption is that of sacrifice, in a parallel to the Christus Victor theory of atonement. The Christus Victor theory posits that through his death, Jesus “fights against and triumphs over the evil powers of the world… under which mankind is in bondage” (Gunton 1985, 129). As Booker progresses through the story, he is witness to the injustice, oppression and devastation resulting from Comstock’s extremist rule over Columbia. He realises that to truly defeat Comstock, he must “smother that bastard in his crib”, at the root of all his timelines. This leads to Booker to the site of a river baptism, where he learns that Zachary Comstock is him, in a universe where he underwent the baptism to cope with his post-war guilt, and, believing himself to be absolved of his sins, became a religious zealot. Elizabeth is his daughter – Comstock, infertile from repeated use of trans-dimensional technology, travelled to Booker’s reality and bought his then-infant daughter, Anna, off an indebted Booker in order to have a biological heir. (fig.7)

Fig 7
Fig. 7: Booker attempts to stop Comstock from leaving with Anna DeWitt

Booker then undergoes the baptism, but stays under the water and drowns in what appears to be suicide, which is then implied to have undone Comstock’s becoming. (fig.8)

Fig 8
Fig. 8: Booker drowning while various iterations of Elizabeth look on

Booker’s death is redemptive. He starts the story travelling to Columbia to repay a debt, and ends it by wiping away another – the blood debt that Comstock has accrued. By sacrificing his own life, Booker takes on the sins of others – the injustice, oppression and violence occurring in the game – and redeems them by ensuring that they never occurred. Romans 6.3-4 mentions the idea of a “baptism into death”, saying that those baptised were “buried with” Jesus in order to “live a new life”. With Booker’s death as parallel to this analogy, the renewal it creates is highlighted, allowing his story to close so that others may begin.

Lives, Lived, Will Live

   BioShock Infinite’s protagonist, Booker DeWitt, is both an example and subversion of the American Monomyth, highlighting the key issues of the trope – those of its violence, moral absolutism and unrealistic expectations. And yet, Booker is far from being a failed messiah – he delivers redemption that his more typically messianic alternate selves cannot. Perhaps the game means to show that a messianic figure does not need to be some grand, imposing, perfect moral hero – it can just as easily be a flawed messiah, an imperfect messiah, but a believable messiah. It is realism that makes a fantasy more compelling – and thus, humanising a messiah gives his message more potency. After all, when Elizabeth asks Booker, “Booker, are you afraid of God?”, his response is “No – But I’m afraid of you.”

end

Bibliography

All references to the Biblical text are from the New International Version (UK).

“List of accolades received by BioShock Infinite.” Wikipedia. Accessed September 26th, 2015. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_accolades_received_by_BioShock_Infinite

“Booker DeWitt.” BioShock Wiki. Accessed September 27th, 2015. http://bioshock.wikia.com/wiki/Booker_DeWitt

Gunton, Colin. ““Christus Victor” Revisited. A Study in Metaphor and the Transformation of Meaning.” The Journal of Theological Studies 36, no. 1 (1985): 129-145.

Lang, Jeffrey S., and Patrick Trimble. “Whatever Happened to the Man of Tomorrow? An Examination of the American Monomyth and the Comic Book Superhero.” The Journal of Popular Culture 22, no. 3 (1988): 157-173.

Jewett, Robert, and John Shelton Lawrence. The Myth of the American Superhero. Grand Rapids, Michigan: Wm. B. Eerdmans Publishing Co., 2002

Sarbatoare, Octavian. “Messianic Ideas: Historical Sources, and some Contemporary Expectations of Fulfilment.” Honours Thesis, University of Sydney, 2004. http://prijipati.library.usyd.edu.au/handle/2123/7194 (accessed September 27th, 2015)

Schwager, Raymund. Must there be scapegoats? Violence and Redemption in the Bible. San Francisco: Harper & Row, Publishers, Inc., 1987.

 

Showcasing student work 9: The Messianic Doctor (Who?)

In this final week of showcasing student work from our Bible and Pop Culture course (THEO 101/G), we return to the theme of popular messiahs and the American Monomyth. Our guest author is Amy Calder – Amy is in her first year studying a Bachelor of Arts majoring in English. She admits to enjoying THEO 101 a great deal, especially as it gave her the opportunity to brag to her friends about being able to write an essay about top TV programme, Doctor Who. Amy hopes to continue her studies to postgraduate level once she has finished her degree. So, whether or not you are a fan of the Time Lord, read on and enjoy.

tenant and light

The Gallifreyan and the Galilean: Doctor Who, the Biblical Messiah and the American Monomyth

by Amy Calder

Messiah means an “anointed person or thing” (Stanton 2002, 242). There are many references to messiahs throughout the Hebrew bible, but Jesus is the figure who has come to be synonymous with the term in Christian tradition. The way Jesus behaved during his life, and particularly his death and resurrection, provides a model for the secular hero of western pop-culture known as the American Monomyth. Despite the name, this is not exclusive to American characters or texts. The monomyth involves a hero who is “lonely, selfless and sexless” who saves a community in danger then disappears (Lawrence and Jewett 2002, 5-6). Doctor Who (1963-1989, 1996, 2005-present) is a British science-fiction television show. This essay will focus on the Russel T Davies era of the series (2005-2010). The Doctor is an outsider and loner – the last of his people, the Time Lords of Gallifrey. He renounces temptation, particularly the temptation to become human. Most importantly, the Doctor sacrifices himself and is resurrected twice in the Davies era. Davies, as an outspoken atheist (Clark 2015, 33), did not intend for the Doctor to be a Christ figure but rather a Christ substitute (ibid, 31).

Ninth 1One of the aspects of the American Monomythic hero is that they come from outside of the threatened community or that they are a loner within that community (Lawrence and Jewett 2002, 47). In the classic series, the Doctor had a difficult relationship with his own people. He chose to interfere with the universe rather than being merely observant. Jesus had a similar relationship with his home people. When he returns to his hometown to continue his ministry, the people think of him only as a carpenter’s son. He tells them “A prophet is not without honour except in his own town and in his own home” (Matt 13:57).

Doctor Who
The Ninth Doctor and Rose Tyler

In the revival series, the Ninth Doctor is fresh from the Time War, which has left him the last of his kind. He embodies the Monomythic idea of originating outside the community he saves (ibid), and moving on. In “New Earth” (2.1, 2006) he is called “the lonely god.” Rose Tyler becomes the first companion of the revival series, and a disciple-like figure. Rose adopts a similar lifestyle to him, leaving behind her mother and boyfriend to travel in the Tardis. Similarly, Jesus’ disciples are asked to leave everything to follow him (Matt 4:18-22; Mark 1:16-20). It could be argued that Jesus and his disciples cut family associations to focus on their ministry without distraction. Jesus, in fact, seems to place loyalty to God above loyalty to family in Mark 3 where he calls his followers his mother and brothers. In Doctor Who‘s series 2 finale “Doomsday” (2.13, 2006), the Tenth Doctor has to seal the void into a parallel universe. Because Rose has been to this universe, she is in danger of being sucked into the void and lost forever. The Doctor intends to send her into the parallel universe with her family, but she chooses to stay with him, putting herself in danger and potentially isolating herself permanently from her family. The Doctor is a messiah-like hero in that he never has a sense of home, aside from those he brings with him.

dr who and his disciples
The Tenth Doctor and his ‘disciples’

In the American Monomyth, the hero overcomes temptation, and remains chaste for the duration of the mission (Lawrence and Jewett 2002, 47). Overcoming temptation is also important for the biblical messiah. Jesus undergoes 40 days of temptation in the wilderness (Matt 4:1-11; Luke 4:1-13). The Devil tempts Jesus into using his power for selfish reasons, and tempts him with power. Whether Jesus was tempted sexually is unclear, although widely speculated. In Hebrews 4:15 the author writes “For we do not have a high priest who is unable to empathize with our weaknesses, but we have one who has been tempted in every way, just as we are—yet he did not sin.” This implies that Jesus faced some sort of sexual or romantic temptation but did not give in to it.

Dr who and Joan Redfern
Dr Who and Joan Redfern

Likewise, Dee identifies “sexual abstinence” as one of the main parallels between The Doctor and Jesus (2010, 24). However, although nothing is made explicit, we know the Doctor was married in Gallifrey and had children. For the Doctor, the greatest temptation is humanity. In the two-parter story “Human Nature” (3.8, 2007) and “The Family of Blood” (3.9, 2007), the Doctor becomes temporarily human to hide from a family of aliens. His human alter-ego, John Smith, is unaware of true nature as a Time Lord and falls in love with a nurse, Joan Redfern. Towards the end of the story, John Smith must choose to take up his true identity and save the day, or remain human and be with Joan. He imagines growing old by Joan’s side. When he chooses to become the Doctor again, we know he has fought the temptation of humanity.

perfect goodbye rose
Dr Who and Rose, “Journey’s End”

Central to the Monomythic hero is the humanity-defying ability to be resurrected after death, the aspect which connects the American Monomyth most directly with Jesus as a Biblical Messiah. Ever since the first doctor became the second because of the failing health of the actor (Clark, 2015, 32-33), “regeneration” has become central to Doctor Who. But death in itself is not characteristic of the American Monomyth, rather death as sacrifice for a community. The Doctor makes many sacrifices to save humanity, but his deaths in the Davies era are to save individuals.

regeneration
The Ninth Doctor must die and regenerate in “The Parting of the Ways”

In “The Parting of the Ways” (1.13, 2005), Rose looks into the Heart of the Tardis and gains God-like powers. However, the power is too much for her, so the Doctor absorbs it himself, knowing it will kill him but that he will be able to regenerate. The Doctor’s speech to Rose before regeneration shows a calm resignation to his fate not unlike Jesus or other heroes following the Monomythic structure: “Time Lords have this little trick. It’s sort of a way of cheating death. Except… it means I’m going to change.” He knows, like Jesus, that he will be resurrected, although Rose is unaware of this. When he has regenerated, she struggles to accept his new face, not unlike Mary Magdalene who thinks the newly resurrected Jesus is the gardener (John 20:11-18).

end of timeThe Doctor has a different kind of “resurrection” in “The Last of the Time Lords” (3.13, 2007) when he is resurrected through the “prayers” and faith of the people Martha has talked to (Balstrup 2014, 148), amplified through the Archangel Network (Dee 2010, 29). When the Tenth Doctor becomes the Eleventh in “The End of Time Part 2” (special episode 5, 2010), the Doctor once again sacrifices himself for a friend, Wilfred Mott. After having saved the universe from the end of time itself, the Doctor hears four knocks and knows he will soon die. The Doctor rescues Wilf from the radiation chamber, and then begins to regenerate. However, he is less resigned to his fate than his predecessor. He visits all of his present incarnations’ former companions like Jesus appearing to his disciples before his ascension. Then, his final words before his regeneration “I don’t want to go” echo Jesus prayer in Gethsemane; “Take this cup from me” (Mark 14: 36). However, the Doctor has no choice, and he is reborn once again. Hefner notes the symbolism of sacrifice as a guilt-offering (Heffner 1980, 417). For Jesus, it is an offering for the guilt of humanity. For the Tenth Doctor, it is a guilt-offering for himself – for all the people he failed to save.

tenant and screwdriverThe titular character of Doctor Who fits many of the aspects of the American Monomythic hero. Firstly, he is a loner who saves the world, and moves on. However, his greatest temptation is settling down and living a normal life. Instead, he must sacrifice himself to save the world, and die for his friends. Russel T Davies invokes religious symbolism without completely acknowledging the Doctor as Christ-like. However, the audience reception of the character is just as important (dee 2010, 24). Whether seeing him as representing Christ, a substitute for him in a God-less universe, or a powerful secular hero, the Doctor continues to inspire audiences to this day.

gif rose and dr

Bibliography

All references to the Biblical text are from the NIV.

Balstrup, Sarah. “Doctor Who: Christianity, Atheism, and the Source of Sacredness in the Davies Years.” Journal Of Religion & Popular Culture 26, no. 2 (2014): 145-156.

Celibacy. In Encyclopedia of the Bible Online. 2012. Berlin, Boston: De Gruyter. Retrieved 9 Oct. 2015, from http://www.degruyter.com.ezproxy.auckland.ac.nz/view/EBR/MainLemma_5780

Clarke, Jim. ””The Resurrection Days Are Over”: Resurrection from Doctor Who to Torchwood.” Journal Of Religion & Popular Culture 27, no. 1 (2015): 31-44.

Dee, Amy-Chin. “Davies, Dawkins and Deus ex Tardis: Who finds God in the Doctor?” In Ruminations, Peregrination and Regenerations: A Critical Approach to Doctor Who, edited by Christopher J. Hansen, 22-34. Newcastle: Cambridge Scholars Publishing, 2010.

Family. In Encyclopedia of the Bible Online. 2014. Berlin, Boston: De Gruyter. Retrieved 9 Oct. 2015, from http://www.degruyter.com.ezproxy.auckland.ac.nz/view/EBR/MainLemma_5211

Hefner, Philip J. “The cultural significance of Jesus’ death as sacrifice.” The Journal Of Religion 60, no. 4 (1980): 411-439.

Lawrence, John Shelton and Robert Jewett. The Myth of the American Superhero. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2002.

Stanton, Graham. The Gospels and Jesus. 2nd ed. New York: Oxford University Press, 2002.