A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood

One approach to infusing religion in a film is to utilize a secular lens to keep overt religious content hidden such that only its messages that can be stated in a secular way come through. The basic values of a religion can be transmitted without specific religious belief-claims possibly turning off some viewers. Given the mass audience that a typical film can reach, the medium is a good means for presenting people with values that come out of religion but have their own intrinsic worth apart from the related religious belief-claims. Film can play a role, therefore, in enabling the values of a religion to survive the religion’s downfall. From watching the film, A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood (2019), a viewer would not know that Fred Rogers was an ordained Presbyterian minister. His wife says at one point in the film that Fred reads scripture and prays daily, but that is the only clue in the film that his religious faith is the source of his motivation for and messages on his show, “Mr. Roger’s Neighborhood.”

To be sure, Fred had a masters degree in child development, but as a very religious man, he was motivated apply Jesus’ teachings to kids. As he said on "The Charlie Rose Show," “What is essential is invisible to the eye.” Fred is quoting from the book, Le Petit Prince. Fred then elaborates: “What we see is rarely essential; what’s behind your face is what’s essential.” Charlie Rose then asks him, “What can’t we see about you that’s essential to you—to understanding you?” Fred replies, “Well, you can’t see my spiritual life unless you ask me about it.”  Rather than pushing his faith on others, he let its fruits speak for themselves. Fred would likely agree with the biblical passage, “And when you pray, do not be like the hypocrites, for they love to pray standing in the synagogues and on the street corners to be seen by men. I tell you the truth, they have received their reward in full. But when you pray, go into your room, close the door and pray to your Father, who is unseen.”[1] Before Fred taped each episode of “Mr. Roger’s Neighborhood,” he would quietly recite this short prayer: “Let some word that is heard be thine.”[2] The thine refers to God. Rogers saw himself as a conduit rather than the source of his messages broadcasted on his long-running television show. He believed that the Holy Spirit would make up for his shortfalls in getting the messages out.[3]

Fred Rogers once said that his ministry was the “broadcasting of grace throughout the land.”[4] Grace is a vague word. It is what God gives to people without them meriting it. According to Shea Tuttle, author of Exactly as You Are: The Life and Faith of Mister Rogers, “It’s not like he had a covert theological mission, but religion was so much a part of who he was that it was always there.”[5] Tuttle adds that the message that God loves us just the way we are was at the heart of Fred’s theology.[6] Rogers said the central message of his television show, that you are loved just the way you are, is based on God’s concern for all creation.[7] God’s concern issues out in the Gospels as Jesus’ preaching on love as universal benevolence—caritas seu benevolentia universalis. On Fred Roger’s television show, the resulting secularized message to the viewers is that they are fine just as they are, so they need not do anything to prove themselves. “You don’t need to speak overtly about religion in order to get a message across,” Rogers once said.[8]

Unconditional acceptance makes intimacy possible. Television can be an intimate medium, Fred tells Charlie Rose on “The Charlie Rose Show.” Fred tells Charlie, “Jesus said to the people around him, please let the little people come up here; I want to learn from them; I want to be with them—these innocent people who make up the kingdom of heaven.” The intimacy that Fred wanted to establish with the children also reminded him of the Incarnation, wherein God comes close to humanity by God becoming flesh in Jesus Christ.[9] As every episode of “Mr. Roger’s Neighborhood” opens, Fred sings about wanting his viewers to be his neighbor, which means he is inviting them just as they are to be close to him. He does not mention Jesus’ view on children or the Incarnation. He is using his faith’s teachings rather than preaching about them explicitly.

In the film, A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood, the passage about Jesus and children is nowhere to be found, yet its meaning is one of the major themes of the movie: kids should be accepted as they are. At one point, Fred says that each person is precious. Precious to whom? Or what? The answer is left unstated. Generally speaking, the religious substratum of Fred’s spiritual life and its direct impact on his television show is hidden in the film under the language of secular psychology, though a few choice words from the religious lexicon present clues that Fred is motivated beyond being a therapist.

When Fred meets Lloyd, who has just had a physical fight with his father at his sister’s wedding, Fred’s message concerns forgiveness and anger management. The former is no stranger to Christian teachings. In the faith narratives, Jesus urges his followers to ask God to forgive their trespasses, as his followers have forgiven those who have trespassed against us. Jesus reminds his followers, “But if you do not forgive others their sins, your Father will not forgive your sins.”[10] But in the film, Fred leaves Jesus’ teachings out and instead tells Lloyd that it is difficult to forgive those people whom we love. Fred is referring to Lloyd’s difficulty in forgiving his father for running out on himself, his sister, and his mother when she was dying. When his father does finally apologize just before he dies, Lloyd has a muted reaction, as if he were just taking it all in. The family’s happy ending may imply that Lloyd has forgiven his father, but the question remains as to whether he has forgiven himself. The family’s happy ending may mean that he has done so by the end of the film. My point is that forgiveness is a religious term, and yet in the film, Fred Rogers does not present it as such. The same can be said of his concern for Lloyd.

Besides forgiveness, compassion is also salient in the film. Fred stresses the importance of empathy and kindness. It is no coincidence that Jesus of the Gospels says to his disciples, “I feel compassion for the people, because they have remained with me know three days and have nothing to eat.”[11] Also, in seeing the people, “he felt compassion for them, because they were distressed and dispirited like sheep without a shepherd.”[12] When Jesus went ashore, he “saw a large crowd, and felt compassion for them and healed their sick.”[13] Finally, “Moved with compassion, Jesus touched their eyes and immediately they regained their sight and followed him.”[14] Fred does not lecture Lloyd on Jesus’ view on the importance of compassion; instead, Fred follows Jesus’ lead by empathizing with Lloyd even just after the two men met. It is the compassion itself that is important, and it can be conveyed by the intimate medium of film by how concerned Fred is when Lloyd admits that his physical fight was with his father.

Fred’s emotional interest in Lloyd from when Lloyd discloses that he was in a fight closely resembles that of a pastor even though Fred does not discuss religion with Lloyd, but uses words familiar to psychology. Fred’s compassion goes beyond that of a therapist because his empathy is intense and sustained. As Fred’s manager, Bill, says to Lloyd, “You’re still here because Fred wants it.” It is no longer a matter of Lloyd’s interview with Fred; the story has become Lloyd’s family problems. Rather than standing back and being as objective as possible, Fred literally leans closer to Lloyd in a way that shows an emotional sensitivity that a spiritual person would have. That Fred’s wife, Joanne, tells Lloyd that Fred reads scripture and prays for people daily is a hint that the ordained minister rather than a child-development psychologist is at work.

To the extent that some viewers may not like explicit mention or visuals of a religious nature, translating such themes (e.g., teachings) into a secular language could extend the religion’s reception. Moreover, in a secular culture, this can result, in effect, in the religion being expanded and even extended temporally. For example, the value of not fighting back and helping nasty people (i.e., loving thy enemies) can be spread without mentioning that Jesus preaches love of neighbor and that Jesus is the Son of God. Some viewers may not believe that Jesus is the Son of God and yet be open to the value of helping those who insult and even attack them. Doing so can have intrinsic value that could survive even the demise of the religion. Should Jesus’ identity ever become a matter of myth, then Jesus’ message on how to treat other people could at least continue on, and even be woven into the fabric of a post-Christian society. By putting secular robes on religious content, films can demonstrate that such content be extracted from its religious moorings and thus have intrinsic value.  

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[1] Matthew 6:5-6.

[2] Daniel Burke, “Mr. Rogers Was a Televangelist to Toddlers,” CNN.com, November 19, 2019.

[3] Ibid.

[4] Ibid.

[5] Ibid.

[6] Ibid.

[7] Ibid.

[8] Ibid.

[9] Ibid.

[10] Matthew 6:15.

[11] Matthew 15:32.

[12] Matthew 9:36.

[13] Matthew 14:14.

[14] Matthew 20:34.

Man from Earth

Although dramatic tension is a crucial element of a narrative, the main point is not necessarily in the resolution of the tension. Dramatic tension may be used as a means by retaining viewer-interest through a film whose main points are made along the way. Such points can transcend plot and be even more important than the resolution of the narrative. Man from Earth (2007) is a case in point.

In the film, John, an anthropology professor, has just resigned from his teaching position. The entire film takes place during the send-off party at his house just before he is to move away. As the discussion ensues, John admits to his university guests that he is actually a 14,000 year-old caveman. Because he looks about 35 or 40, he explains that once he reached a certain age, he stopped aging due to a biological abnormality (i.e., a genetic mutation). That his anthropological and biological lenses cover even religious matters makes his religious interpretations interesting and even useful to the viewer. I am assuming here that coming in contact with a different perspective can enrich a person’s understanding of a phenomenon. It is in this sense that the film provides valuable information to the viewer and is entertaining even beyond viewing the film. Indeed, a method for interpreting the faith narratives of Christianity, and religion in general, can be extracted and applied outside of the film.

John’s distinctive religious method for interpretation (i.e., hermeneutic), rather than how the narrative’s tension is resolved is the key element of the film. The denouement of the plot hinges on whether John really is who he claims to be in the film’s story world. As he ratchets up his successive claims, the dramatic tension increases. This keeps the viewer engaged, but this does not mean that this narrative device, or such tactics in general, is the film’s main point. Because the viewer knows the story world is fictional, whether or not John is who he claims to be in it is of minor importance, whereas whether his method for interpreting Jesus is relevant beyond the film itself and thus its story world.

Indeed, measures intended to keep the viewer’s attention through a film beg the question: why should the viewer pay attention? The answer surely cannot be: in order to encounter the measures. To be sure, the means of something can also be the end. Kant wrote that rational beings should be treated not just as means, but also as ends in themselves. It is thus admittedly possible that a narrative’s self-sustaining devices can contain the main point of the narrative; but it is also possible that a film’s main point is not the plot. Even mystery films can use the “who done it” question as a means to hold the viewer’s attention so another, more important, point can be delivered.

In Murder on the Orient Express (pick your version), for example, the question of who commits the murder on the train sustains the viewer’s attention so the previous narrative of the Lindbergh baby’s kidnapping can be told. The solution to the murder only makes sense on the basis of that narrative of the earlier event. In other words, the narrative of the train depends on the more fundamental narrative. The question of whether the murder on the train is just or unjust depends on the baby’s kidnapping and murder having been unjust.

In Man from Earth, John claims to have studied under the Buddha. Five-hundred years later, he taught Buddhism in the Near East context. The dramatic tension regarding whether John’s claims are true (in the story world) become particularly intense when he says that he is known to the world in that teaching capacity as Jesus. Boom! John instantly encounters an angry reaction from Edith, who is a devout Christian. At this point, the viewer might be tempted to eclipse the film’s narrative as well as the hermeneutical method being presented by thinking about whether the historical Jesus could have really been a man who taught Buddhism. A reader of the Bible similarly eclipses the biblical narrative by going beyond the faith narrative to ask what the historical Jesus did. Moreover, the historical critical method in the nineteenth century, such as by David Strauss, took the point off the biblical narrative, which holds its own kind of religious truth and meaning.

Staying within the story world of The Man from Earth, the viewer can concentrate on John’s account itself. After watching the movie, such a viewer could then apply the account as a method for interpreting the New Testament. Eclipsing the film’s narrative in which John’s account is given is thus counter-productive. Even focusing on whether John’s claims are accurate in the narrative can take a viewer way from the task of ingesting the substance of John’s account. That is, the astute viewer focuses on John’s description of what he did and taught as Jesus rather than on what Jesus taught and did historically and in the faith narratives, both of which reside outside of the film’s story world. It is to this description that I now turn.

John claims that when he was known as Jesus, he did not perform miracles; rather, he healed using natural remedies from South Asia. I am resisting the temptation here to think about whether natural remedies could have, historically speaking, brought Lazarus back to life. Such a question eclipses not only the film narrative, but also the biblical narrative. Instead, I am returning to John’s account just as a viewer of the film should do.

John claims that he was not resurrected; he was crucified, but the nails and crown were subsequently added as religious art. While on the Cross, he used Buddhist meditation to slow his body functions such that he would appear to be dead. Rather than being resurrected, he left the tomb to escape to Central Asia, where he was no longer known as Jesus.

It should come as no surprise that John denies being the Son of God. Even that label would not be uniquely applied to him if he were God incarnate born of a virgin. Hercules, the son of Zeus and a mortal woman who is a virgin in the Greek faith narrative, is the only begotten, a savior, the good shepherd, the prince of peace, and divinely wise. After he dies, he joins Zeus on Mount Olympus. Although I am tempted to consider how this information on Hercules reflects on my assumptions regarding the uniqueness of how Jesus is described in the Gospels, I am postponing going in this direction so I can stay with John’s claims in the film’s narrative. An uninterrupted account aids in the comprehension.

Philosophically, according to John, Christian teachings are “Buddhism with a Hebrew accent.” Kindness, tolerance, love, and brotherhood (as well as compassion), for example are highly valued by both the Buddha and Christ. The Kingdom of God is here in this world; the meaning is that goodness is right here, as wel live our lives, or at least it should be. In Buddhist terms, “I am what I am becoming.” This, John instructs, is “what the Buddha brought in” to what is commonly thought to be Christian. Goodness is possible in this life because original sin does not exist.

Lastly, there is no Creator; energy and matter have always been around. Here I am resisting the temptation to conflate cosmology with astronomy. This view also is consistent with Buddhist teachings, which a Christian might take as atheist precisely because a Creator is denied. Yet John insists that Jesus’ preaching not only is consistent with Buddhism, but also comes from that religion. Jesus of the Gospels is a Buddhist preacher who puts the teachings in a Hebrew context. He brings a “ruthless realism” to the Hebrews. In short, he is a Buddhist missionary.

Reacting to historical Christianity, John claims that it unwittingly incorporated idolatry in the veneration of “cookies and wine.” He laments, “That’s not what I had in mind.” Moreover, religions do wrong in purging the enjoyment of life as if this were sinful. Again, I’m tempted to stray by noticing that Nietzsche makes the same criticism of Christianity and especially its life-deprived priests, but I will stay the course just as the movie viewers should. John adds that anthropology has provided solid evidence for the contention that religions have castigated the enjoyment of life, whether by preferring a life to come or labeling enjoyment in this life as sinful. Augustine, for instance, insists that it is sinful to enjoy sexual intercourse even when the sole purpose is to reproduce. John is also critical of religion in its assumption that the simple path to virtue needs a supernatural justification, such as that the value of the virtues in the Sermon on the Mount depend on Jesus being the incarnate Son of God, crucified and resurrected.

Having completed my description of John’s claims without having gotten in the way, I can now reflect on the uneclipsed contents of John’s claims. The questions of whether they are valid in the film’s story world, which keeps the viewer engaged in the narrative, and have validity historically are not useful for analyzing the coherence of John’s claims as a hermeneutical method for interpreting Christianity’s faith narratives. That is, neither the film’s story nor historical events get us to the story-world of a faith narrative; so, John’s claims, if taken together as an interpretation (and method for further interpretation) of the Gospels, should be analyzed with respect to the faith narratives.

Some of John’s claims are also applicable to religion as a phenomenon (i.e., phenomenology of religion). For example, the salience of virtues in John’s perspective on Jesus’ preaching begs the question of whether John’s perspective is religious as distinct from ethical. Humanists can easily subscribe to virtue ethics while eschewing religion. Kierkegaard, a nineteenth-century European philosopher, makes the point that religious truth transcends ethics, and thus virtue. Ethically, Abraham almost murders his son Isaac. In religious terms, Abraham is willing to sacrifice his son. Abraham’s religious duty to obey a divine command is absurd to other people because they do not have access to the command so as to believe that it is valid. Even to Abraham, whose only offspring is Isaac, it is absurd that Yahweh would make such a command, given the deity’s promise that Abraham’s descendants will multiply. Kierkegaard’s main point is that the religious level is incomprehensible, and even absurd, from the vantage-point of the ethical level. Only the latter is universally accessible; anyone could say that ethically, Abraham would be guilty of murder, but only Abraham can say that Yahweh commanded the sacrifice. Religion and ethics are thus distinct. In the film, John may be seeking to impose the ethical level on what is typically taken to be the religious level.

On the other hand, ethics plays a salient role in Judaism and Christianity, given five of the Ten Commandments and the importance of compassion in Jesus’ preaching. Even in terms of entering the Kingdom of God, Jesus stresses the ethic of turning the other cheek and doing good even to one’s enemies. Such ethics are valid on the religious level because they have religious significance in reuniting our species with God. If an ethics-focus in Christianity does not need the supernatural trappings to succeed in people entering the kingdom, then such a focus could include humanists/atheists without compromising either the humanists’ beliefs or Jesus’ mission to preach on the mysteries of the Kingdom of God (including how to get in). Whether or not such trappings are necessary as matters of true belief, the ethics of turning the other cheek and helping one’s detractors have intrinsic value—assent to which being an alternative litmus test for whether a person is indeed a Christian. Yet such a litmus test could be criticized as ethical only, and thus not fit for use on the religious level; but what if a focus on the supernatural beliefs detracts Christians from ingesting and acting on the basis of Jesus’ ethic of universal benevolence? Such doctrinal Christians would be nominal Christians whereas authentic Christians (including anonymous Christians) could include humanists. In other words, the gulf between theists and humanists could be bridged while Jesus’ mission is closer to being accomplished. This is not to say that the religion would be reduced to ethics; were such the case generally, Abraham could only be an attempted murderer. The linchpin may be that by valuing and acting on Jesus’ ethic, a follower—even if a humanist—has a spiritual experience because the ethic is so far removed from the ways of the world and human nature. Such a person might have an “other-worldly” sense of being in a spiritual state without assenting to the supernatural belief that another world exists.

Nevertheless, Jesus’ ethic is  founded on the theological level. Universal benevolence, Augustine wrote, is based on theological love manifesting through human nature (i.e., caritas). For Jean Calvin, that love is self-emptying (i.e., agape) without the taint of a person’s self-interest. God is love, and that love is found in universal benevolence. A humanist can value selfless love without believing that God is self-emptying love. Helping detractors and enemies can be viewed as a particular kind of love, which is selfless. So here too, the theological level may be more open than is typically supposed. Whereas for Abraham opening up the religious level would mean that ethics trumps that level, here the theological buttresses the ethical because the two are in sync. Selfless love issues out in universal benevolence, especially when it is most difficult. Love transcends ethics yet it does not necessarily depend on supernatural trappings. This is a way of reconciling theism with humanism. This could be gained from analyzing John’s claims without bringing in the film’s story world or empirical history.

In conclusion, a viewer can better grasp the deep substance in a film’s narrative and even transcend that story ironically by not breaking the suspension of disbelief by going outside the story and its deep content that can later be extracted from the story and otherwise applied. That is, ethical, philosophical, and theological content can have value apart from the film narrative, as in analyzing how the ethical and religious levels relate for human beings. Therefore, film as a medium can deliver informational and even entertainment results beyond the particular film being viewed. Moreover, deep substance need not be a stranger to screenwriters and movie audiences. Substantial principles and lessons derived from films can be valued even apart from the vehicle (i.e., the films). From this wider perspective, film narrative itself is of subordinate value; as a means, narrative, including its dramatic tension, can succumb to its extractible content, which the viewer can hold on to even long after viewing a film. So too in religion, a narrative (i.e., myth) can be transcended with the aim of the particular religion ironically being more fully realized. Paradox may point to or reside in truth, but awareness of this point is not necessary for a person to instantiate truth.

Hail, Caesar!

For anyone interested in filmmaking, a film that features the internal operations of a film studio—especially one during the “Golden Age” of Hollywood—is likely to be captivating. After all, as Eddie Mannix, the studio executive in Hail, Caesar! (2016), says, the “vast masses of humanity look to pictures for information and uplift and, yes, entertainment.” This film provides all three for its audience on what film-making was like in the studio system. With regards to the Christian theology, however, the result is mixed.  The film makes the point that theological information best comes out indirectly from dramatic dialogue rather than discussion on theology itself. In other words, inserting a theological lecture into a film’s narrative is less effective than an impassioned speech by which entertainment and uplift can carry the information.

Mannix’s meeting scene with clerics is harried and thus difficult for the viewer (and Mannix) to digest, but Baird Whitlock’s emotional speech on a studio set as the Crucifixion scene is being filmed conveys religious ideas in an entertaining manner. The speech centers on what is so special about the person being crucified. The information is carried on Whitlock’s emotive warmth, and thus the acting of George Clooney who plays the character. In contrast, emotion is sparing in Mannix’s meeting with a rabbi, Catholic priest, Greek Orthodox priest, and Protestant minister. Instead, the scene is energized by fast-moving theological points, but this is unfortunately of little use to the viewers as demonstrated by Mannix’s confused reactions as the clerics debate. This is ironic because the scene’s role in the film narrative is to make the point that Capital Studio’s management takes the informational role the film being made seriously. Whereas Mannix just wants to know if any of the clerics are disturbed by the Jesus portrayed in Mannix’s film, the inclusion of the clerics’ discussion of theology begs the question: can’t film do any better in expressly handling theological concepts through dialogue? The viewer has not yet seen the scene of Whitlock’s emotional speech at the Crucifixion, but that scene does not address whether theological dialogue is viable in film. After watching Mannix’s meeting, the viewer likely answers, not well. The example may not be a good one, however.

How good is the medium of film in portraying Jesus Christ and the story that encapsulates him? I contend that this is precisely the question that Hail, Caesar! (2016) attempts to answer, but falls short. The scene of Mannix’s meeting not only relegates theological dialogue as being beyond the reach of viewers, but also assumes quite explicitly that the best portrayal of Jesus is that which is the least controversial. Because Whitlock’s reverential articulation of Jesus is appreciated universally on the movie set on which the film within the film is being shot, the message is that impassioned meaning itself is enduring; it is also the least likely to offend. Does not the strategy of coming up with a portrayal that does not offend anyone run the risk of being drab? Is such a portrayal merely a copy of the default, which may contain problems? Moreover, does the inclusion of something controversial take away from the uplift and entertainment value?

Even though avoiding anything controversial fit the 1950s—the time when the film takes place—especially in American society, and thus Hollywood, viewers watching the film in 2016 likely perceived the strategy to be antiquated and even suboptimal. Some viewers may have seen controversial films on Jesus such as Jesus Christ Superstar (1973) for trivializing the story with pop music, Jesus of Nazareth (1977) for emphasizing Jesus’ human characteristics at the expense of his divine Sonship, The Last Temptation of Christ (1988) for its moral stances and conflicted Jesus, and The Passion of the Christ (2004) for taking Jesus’s suffering beyond that in the New Testament. By 2016, the assumptions that explicitly theological dialogue is inherently beyond the grasp of viewers; such dialogue itself is too controversial; and films should rely instead on impassioned speeches could be reckoned as nonsense. Surely the controversy of King of Kings (1961) over the decision to show Jesus’ face would be deemed anything but controversial in retrospect. Hail Caesar! may be making the same point regarding the conformist era of the 1950s.

Perhaps the disappointment of Hippie idealism and the ensuing criticism of American government and society beginning in the late 1960s had accustomed Americans to viewing controversy as acceptable, and even finding it to be entertaining and uplifting in terms of ideational freedom (i.e., thinking outside the box). Studios may have been absorbed the cultural criticism in producing films like Jesus Christ Superstar that were certainly outside the box relative to the earlier films such as King of Kings. It could even be said that the medium was ushering in a new wave of historical theological criticism after that of the nineteenth-century Germans such as Feuerbach and Nietzsche. Put another way, perhaps their thought had finally percolated through or resonated with American society after 1968 such that studios could take chances precisely that are anathema to Mannix in Hail Caesar! and therefore 1950s Americana.

Of course, entertainment and uplift could not suffer; they were no longer assumed to be mutually exclusive with religious controversy.  Entertainment had been a mainstay of film since even before the medium partook of narrative. Fifty seconds of an oncoming train in Arrival of a Train at La Ciotat (1896), for example, thrilled audiences. Sound would only have added to the fright. Both uplift and sadness or fear can be entertaining. In its de facto insistence on happy endings, Hollywood has neglected this point. Relatedly, an insistence on avoiding controversy out of fear that it would detract from the entertainment-value of a film neglects the possibility that controversy could add entertainment-value while providing thought-provoking information. Even thinking about abstract ideas after viewing a film can be entertaining for some people because those ideas came out of a narrative.

Generally speaking, the information/knowledge element is most salient in documentaries, but even fictional narrative is capable of carrying heavy weight in this regard. In regard to the religious content of Judaism and Christianity, Mannix says, “The Bible of course is terrific, but for millions of people, pictures will be their reference point to the story.” He predicts that film would even become the story’s embodiment. In other words, he predicts that from his time in the 1950s, film would come to supersede even the Bible itself because of the film medium’s greater potential to provide information, uplift, and entertainment. One of my reasons for studying film is indeed the medium’s hegemony and thus role in transmitting abstract ideas and even theories.

While I do not doubt the medium’s tremendous potential to present an experience in the story-world by means of visuals and sound, whereas a book is only text that must be read, Mannix omits the pleasure that can be afforded only by the human imagination without visuals and sound to constrict the imagination to a story world presented by film. Especially in the multi-layered genre of mythology (i.e., religious narrative), imagination can be stretched in a myriad ways and on many levels, given the scope for interpretation in myth.

On the other hand, even though film constrains imagination to within the contours of a story world, the mind’s ability to suspend disbelief allows for immersion into such a world, resulting in greater understanding as well as uplift and entertainment. A viewer can “enter” a film’s audio-visual story world cognitively, perceptually, and emotionally such that a sense of experiencing can be had. Experiencing the Biblical world can enable a viewer to better understand Jesus’ dialogues because they are in their contexts. To the extent that the ancient world historically can inform our understanding of the Biblical world, film can make use of historians and anthropologists in order to improve on how that world is being portrayed. To be sure, the Biblical world is distinct from history, and our knowledge of the ancient past is limited. Film carries with it the risk that viewers might take a portrayal as the world that a historical Jesus would have known rather than that of a faith narrative. The use of abstract dialogue does not suffer from this problem because the ideas being exchanged transcend the dialogue’s context. So the assumption that narrative-specific impassioned speeches are superior to such dialogue is flawed. Of course, this assumption in Hail, Caesar! supports the problematic assumption that controversy must at all means be avoided in order to maximize the entertainment value and uplift, which in turn relate to profitability.

I turn now to a scene analysis of Mannix’s meeting with the clerics in order to make several points, including that the scene is a bad example of how a religious film can effectively use abstract dialogue. The studio executive wants expert feedback both from within Christianity and outside of it to make sure that no viewers whatsoever will take offence to the Jesus being portrayed in Mannix’s movie—the film within the film. When Mannix first asks his guests whether they have any theological objections to the movie being made, the Greek Orthodox priest complains that the chariots in one scene go too fast. Even a cleric has difficulty turning to religious dialogue! The message to the viewer can only be that such dialogue is neither natural nor befitting a film-viewing. This point supports the film’s solution by means of an impassioned speech even if the implications regarding the use of abstract dialogue in film are wrong.

At the studio executive’s urging, the clerics finally focus on the task at hand. “The nature of Jesus is not as simplistic as your picture would have it,” the Catholic priest says. He is speaking theologically. “It is not as simple as God is Christ or Christ is God,” he explains. The portrayal should go further. It should show that Jesus is “the Son of God who takes the sins of the world upon himself so we may enter the Kingdom of God.” Indeed, the Jesus of the Gospels announces that his mission to preach the mysteries of the Kingdom. Unfortunately, the screenwriter did not have the priest say anything about that kingdom (e.g., how to get in it). Instead, the priest’s focus, consistent with the history of theology, is left at Christ’s identity (i.e., Christology) in salvation (i.e., Soteriology) even though the less abstract teachings of Jesus on how to enter his Father’s kingdom, such as benevolence even to detractors and enemies, would be more easily comprehended by viewers.

After the priest’s abstract theological point, the clerics rapid-fire contending points so fast and without sufficient explanation to Mannix (who seems clueless even though he goes to confession daily) that the viewers are clearly not deemed able to follow a theological discussion. Yet the film makes a straw-man’s argument by presenting the dialogue at such a fast pace that little could be gained from the ideas expressed.

The Protestant minister says that Jesus is part God. The rabbi counters that the historical Jesus was a man. Mannix, a Roman Catholic, asks, “So God is split?” to which the Catholic priest answers, “Yes and no.” The Greek priest says, “Unity in division” and the Protestant minister adds, “And division in unity.” Such word games do not advance a viewer’s comprehension of the dialogue. As if standing in for the viewer, Mannix loses his concentration and admits, “I don’t follow that.” The best line of the movie comes when the rabbi replies, “You don’t follow it for a very simple reason; these men are screwballs.”

From the Jewish standpoint, the Christian clerics have gotten themselves tied up in knots because they are claiming something that a human being is both fully human and fully divine. Aside from a historical Jesus, the god-man character in faith narratives goes against the Jewish belief that a chasm separates human beings from God. The belief that God has an incarnate human form (i.e., a human body) smacks Jews as a case of self-idolatry.  As confirmed at the Council of Nicaea (325 C.E.), Christian theology upholds that Jesus has two natures in himself—the divine and the human (except for sin). The two natures stay distinct in Jesus, so the divine is of the same substance (consubstantial) with the other two manifestations (or “persons”) of the Trinity; the human nature is unaffected by the divine except for the former being without sin. This is necessary so Jesus’ self-sacrifice on the Cross can be for other people rather than to pay the price of his own sin.

For the viewers, an analogy would have served better than the abstractions in the dialogue. Oil and water in a cup, for example, would have been more easily understood. The screenwriters fare better when the theological discussion turns to God (i.e., the Godhead). The Catholic priest claims that the Jews worship a god who has no love. “God loves Jews,” the rabbi retorts. Reacting to the unloving way in which Yahweh treats other people, the Protestant minister insists that God loves everyone. Yahweh’s statement that vengeance is His does not square with God being love. In his writings, Nietzsche argues that this incongruity discredits the conception of Yahweh in the Bible. It is the discredited conception that Nietzsche refers to in writing, “God is dead.” Fortunately, as St. Denis points out in his writings, God transcends human conceptions of God. The screenwriter could have had the Rabbi make this point, and moreover, that the Christian clerics are too obsessed with theological distinctions that assume the validity of the operative conception wherein a vice belongs to God, which is perfect goodness (omnibenevolent).   

As if channeling Augustine to refute the rabbi, the Catholic priest says, “God is love.” Calvin’s writings contain the same point, which can be construed as the core of Christianity. Whereas Augustine’s theological love (caritas) is human love raised to the highest good (i.e., God), Calvin’s is the divine self-emptying (agape) love. Whether or not human nature, even Eros, is part of Christian theological love, it manifests as universal benevolence (benevolentia universalis). In the film, the rabbi could have asked the other clerics whether humans are capable of self-emptying divine love (i.e., agape), and how the god of love handles the evil people, given that God is all-powerful (omnipotent). The clerics could have pointed very concretely to how a person can enter the Kingdom of God.

Instead, the Greek priest gets existential, insisting that the basis of God is love is, “God is who He is.” The screenwriter missed an opportunity for the rabbi to say, God is I Am. The implication is that theological love is divine existence, which transcends existence within Creation. God’s nature and very existence as love may thus be wholly other than human conceptions and experiences of love and existence. St. Denis made this point in the sixth century, and yet, as David Hume pointed out in the eighteenth century, the human brain is naturally inclined to view the unknown by attributing human characteristics to it.

The theological dialogue in the meeting scene could have brought the viewers to the point of appreciating God’s wholly otherness as transcending even the polished theological distinctions that we make. However, Mannix, who goes to confession daily, personifies the assumption that even religious viewers would get lost in theological dialogue in a film even though the rushed dialogue is rigged to support this assumption. The studio executive, for whom profitability is important, states up front in the meeting that he just wants to know whether the portrayal of Jesus in the film being made offends “any reasonable American regardless of faith or creed. I want to know if the theological elements are up to snuff.” Given the rabbi’s statements, however, the portrayal of Jesus as a god-man would be controversial at least to Jews. So Mannix really means to Christians. That’s all Mannix wants from the meeting, so to him even the theological bantering is a distraction. In fact, it could invite controversy for the film, Hail Caesar!, even though the film within the film is not controversial. On this meta-level, the religious dialogue is written as comedic perhaps for this reason, though by 2016 avoiding controversy would not likely be a concern. To be sure, even then for a cleric to suggest that divine mystery goes beyond the Christian understanding of Jesus being of two distinct natures would invite controversy. St. Denis’ claim that God transcends even our conception of the Trinity would certainly be controversial even in the early twenty-first century.   

Regarding the 1950s film within the film, Mannix asks at the end of the meeting scene, “Is our depiction of Jesus fair?” Without questioning Mannix's underlying assumption that fairness means non-controversial, the Protestant minister, answers, “There’s nothing to offend a reasonable man.” By implication, to present anything that offends a reasonable person would be unjust even if controversy would likely occur from presenting advances in theological understanding, including alternative views, which alter or question the default.  A reasonable person is almost defined as one who holds the orthodox (i.e., doctrinal) belief on Jesus’ identity (i.e., Christology). By implication, it is fair if an unreasonable man—a person who has a “deviant” Christological belief—is offended. Such fairness, it turns out, is not so fair; it is at the very least biased in favor of the tyranny of the status quo both as it applied to theological interpretation and the wider heavily-conformist American society in the 1950s.

Mannix represents the position that theology can and should be filtered through the lenses of business. That of the sacred that reaches the viewers must survive the cutting board of the profane. Because the Catholic priest says that the portrayal of Jesus in the film being made in Hail Caesar! is too simplistic, perhaps the message is that only simplified theology survives. While this point applies well to 1950s Hollywood cinema, the plethora of controversial films on Jesus since the utopian convention-defying days of the late 1960s in America suggests that controversial films can indeed be profitable, at least if a wider society is no longer so conformist. Indeed, societal judgments on what is controversial have varied over time. 

Even theologians’ views of profit-seeking have changed through the centuries of Christianity. Until the Commercial revolution, the dominant view was that salvation and money are mutually exclusive.[1] The rich man cannot enter the Kingdom of Heaven. Willowing down theology to suit profitability would have been deemed anathema. With greater importance being attributed to Christian virtues actualized by profit-seeking followed by the belief that God rewards Christians monetarily for having true belief (i.e., that Jesus saves souls), Christian clerics in the twentieth century could be more accommodating of studio executives. The end of reaching a large audience, for instance, could have been believed to justify unprofitable scraps of theology on the cutting-room floor. The historical uncoupling of greed from wealth and profit-seeking, having been accomplished by the end of the Italian Renaissance, made permissible such an accommodation. Indeed, if God is believed to reward faithful Christians monetarily, as is held in the Prosperity Gospel, then a profit-seeking studio executive would be seen as being favored by God in using profit as the litmus-test for theology. 

Although in the film's period of the 1950s any explicit questioning and criticism of the operative assumptions in Hail, Caesar! would likely have been squashed like bugs, the screenwriter could have included such material (even the squashing) so the viewers in 2016 could have a better understanding of just how narrow, and even arbitrary, the film's historical assumptions are. Therefore, both in terms of theology and the related societal context, the screenwriter could have delivered more to both inform and entertain, with the uplift including what naturally comes from putting a theology and social reality (i.e., of the 1950s) in a broader, contextual macro- or meta-perspective. 

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1. Skip Worden, God’s Gold: Beneath the Shifting Sands of Christian Thought on Profit-Seeking and Wealth (2015).