The films Agora (2009) and
Fatima (2020) contain very different depictions of Christianity. By depictions,
I mean ways in which Christianity can be interpreted and lived. This is not to
say that all of the interpretations are equally valid, for only those that
contain internal contradictions evince hypocrisy. The sheer extent of the
distance between the depictions shown in the two films demonstrates not only the
huge extent of latitude that religious interpretation can have, but also just
how easy it is even for self-identifying Christians, whether of the clergy or
the laity, not only to fail to grasp Jesus’ teachings in the Gospels, but also
to violate the two commandments even while believing that Jesus Christ is
divine (i.e., the Son of God). The human mind, or brain, can have such stunning
blind spots (or cognitive dissidence) when it comes to religion that even awareness
of this systemic vulnerability and efforts to counter it are typically
conveniently ignored or dismissed outright. This is nearly universal, in spite
of claims of humility and fallibility more generally, so I contend that the
human mind is blind to its own weakness or vulnerability in the religious sphere
of thought, sentiment, and action. Augustine’s contention that revelation must
pass through a smoky stained window before reaching us is lost on the religious
among us who insist that their religious beliefs constitute knowledge.
I contend that this fallacy as well as the larger vulnerability to hypocrisy
should be a salient part both of Sunday School and adult religious education.
For the vulnerability is correctable, but this probably requires ongoing
vigilance. That is, the problem is not that the divine goes beyond the limits
of human cognition (as well as perception and emotion) as Pseudodionysus pointed
out to deaf ears in the 6th century; the human brain is fully capable
of spotting and countering its own lapses in the religious domain. In other
words, the problem here is not that of the human mind being able to understand
the contents of revelation because must travel through a darkened window before
reaching us; rather, the problem lies in grasping what Jesus preaches in the
Gospels and putting the spiritual principles into practice, rather than doing
the opposite and being completely oblivious to the contradiction, which is
otherwise known as cognitive dissidence. The two films provide us with the
means both to grasp this problem and realize how much it differs from a healthy
faith that has the innocence of a child’s wonder.
Agora is set in
Alexandria, Egypt from 390 to 410 CE, while Fatima is set in Fatima,
Portugal in 1917. Both are based on historical events. Agora centers around
Hypatia, a pagan mathematician and astronomer whom Bishop Cyril had his Christian
brotherhood kill for having refused to convert, especially considering that
she had considerable political influence locally. Historically, the brotherhood
skinned Hypatia alive; in the film, her ex-slave Davus, who loves her,
suffocates her before the brotherhood can stone her to death. He who has not
sinned throw the first stone apparently does not apply to the members of
the Christian brotherhood, who are no strangers to using violence. Earlier in
the film, they throw stones at Jews at a music concert for listening to music
and eating sweets, according to Cyril, on the Sabbath. This prompts the Jews to
retaliate, and the brotherhood in turn with Cyril saying that even women and
children should be killed. Earlier
still, the brotherhood is among the Christians who fight the pagans, who start
the violence because Theophilus, the Christian bishop (or patriarch) who precedes
Cyril encourages the Christian crowd to throw food at a statue of one of the
Egyptian deities. Whereas violence used to “answer the insult” is not an
inconsistency in the Egyptian religion, such a response contradicts Jesus’ second
commandment, which includes serving rather than insulting one’s neighbor. The
presence of God is most of all in love that is not convenient, and thus that
goes against the human instinctual urge to retaliate.
In the Gospels, Jesus preaches on
how a person can enter the Kingdom of God. In Luke (4:43), Jesus says, “It is
necessary for me to proclaim the good news about the kingdom of God . . .
because I was sent for this purpose.” Jesus attempts to orient his hearers to the
Kingdom of God. The latter should be the focus of a Christian. Peace
characterizes that kingdom, and the way to peace is through loving one’s
enemies. More concretely, this means turning the other cheek, both literally
and proverbially, but this is not enough. A person must go further to help, or
serve, one’s detractors, which, incidentally, does not mean staying in an
abusive relationship. Serving a person who insults Jesus, rather than
retaliating, is an excellent way into the Kingdom of God.
In Agora, both Theophilus
and Cyril miss an opportunity due to their hatred and prejudice against other
religions. A person being served even as that person insults the helpful person’s
ideals is more likely to convert to Christianity by grasping the humble
strength that lies in voluntarily serving one’s detractors. The way not to
convert is to insult, violently attack, and retaliate. The two Christian
bishops are far from being able to enter the Kingdom of God. Like the Pharisees
in the Gospels, the two patriarchs of Alexandria evince Jesus’ teaching that many
who are first, or presume themselves to be first, are actually last—behind even
the poor who suffer from illness (presumed even by Jesus to result from sin).
Humility, as is present in the
willingness to serve even jerks and people whose political, social, or
religious ideology contradicts one’s own, is shown by the three children who
see and hear the Virgin Mary in Fatima. Those children suffer the
hostile disbelief of the mayor and even Maria, the mother of Lucia, one of the
children. Maria is a character of irony, as she seems so devoted to the Virgin
Mary and yet is so hostile. As Paul wrote, faith without love is for naught. In
1 Corinthians (13:2), Paul writes, “if I have a faith that can move mountains,
but do not have love, I am nothing.” What sort of love? Loving your friends and favorable neighbors
is not enough. In Matthew (5:43-45), Jesus says, “You have heard that it was
said, ‘Love your neighbor and hate your enemy.’ But I tell you, love your
enemies and pray for those who persecute you, that you may be children of your
Father in heaven.” The presence of the divine can be sensed by both the
Christian and one’s detractor as the former helps the latter in spite of
attitude of the latter toward the former. The Christian lays that aside and instead
feels compassion in helping a fellow creature who is existentially so dependent
on God. To view one of God’s creatures as such is to take on God’s perspective,
and out of the sense of basic vulnerability comes the motive of compassion. A
more basic bond between finite creatures can then be felt by both, and the
presence of God is this bond because the dependence is so basic to a person’s
being. Bringing this presence of God to humanity is Jesus’ task in preaching
how to enter the Kingdom of God by loving one’s enemies.
Devotion to a deity or
quasi-deity (for Mary is believed by Catholics to be in heaven in body and
soul) is of no value and is even hypocritical if the person is not helping, but
rather attacking people deemed as bad or as threats or antagonists. In Agora,
Maria is convinced that her daughter Lucia is lying, and thus is needlessly
and selfishly putting the family at risk of attack and financial ruin. Mobs are
not known for their wisdom. Maria is only superficially a Christian. In
actuality, she worships herself, as she presumes to be omniscient in knowing
that the Virgin is not really visiting Lucia and the other children. That
Maria’s devotion is for naught because she is cold rather than loving even to
her daughter can be discerned from the fact that the Virgin is not visible to
Maria while she is standing behind Lucia during a visitation. The implication
is that believing in the Virgin Mary and even sacrificing to her in the
misguided belief that doing so will cause Maria’s son to come back from
the war alive are for naught if in heart and deed there is not love even and
especially where it is difficult. The faith of the three children that the
Virgin really is there and the willingness to pass on the Virgin’s messages
even after the children are briefly imprisoned by the mayor evinces love that
is difficult, and Lucia’s caring for her sick mother is a case of loving one’s detractors
can thus be contrasted with Maria’s harsh mentality that is at best heroine
worship. Maria imposes on her daughter a severe religious causality that merely
supports Hume’s contention that we really don’t understand causation. Maria is
consumed by getting the Virgin to keep Maria’s son alive in war, whereas Lucia
resists the pressure of the priest, bishop, and mayor to tell them something
that the Virgin said not to tell anyone. Far from insulting the Virgin by
betraying her, Lucia protects her.
Whereas in Agora the
Christians insult other gods, and then fight rather than serve those whom the
Christians have insulted, in Fatima the Virgin Mary tells the children
to pass on the message to stop insulting the Abrahamic god by sinning and not
being sorry for doing it (i.e., repenting). Even the Christian bishops in Agora
not only sin by insulting and attacking their enemies, but also fail to
repent. The blind are leading the blind into hypocrisy and sin under the
auspices of piety—serving Christ. Contrast the way in which the bishops serve
(or defend) Christ with the way in which the three children serve the Virgin.
It is ironic that the Christians
in Agora who arrogantly presume to know God’s will even as they violate
it destroy the Alexandria’s great library, which a pagan says is “the only
thing that remains of the wisdom of man.” Historically, had the Christians not
destroyed that library, the world might have not only books written by
Aristotle, but also early Christian manuscripts that have been lost. Again, the
Christians in Agora are working at cross-purposes—not just given their
desire to convert, but also in terms of learning more about Jesus’ preaching on
how to enter the Kingdom of God. Pride and prejudice are indeed short-sighted.
Historically, Augustine borrowed
from Plato and Aquinas was practically in love with Aristotle, and yet the
Christians burned down the library of Alexandria in 410 CE to destroy pagan
knowledge—Paul’s “wisdom of Athens.” Similarly, Queen Elizabeth II of Britain
forbid her own sister the love of her life because he was divorced, but then
allowed her own children to divorce their respective spouses, most notably
Princess Diana. Elizabeth refused to give her stamp of approval, which was
necessary, on her sister’s marriage to Peter Townsend because one of the queen’s
roles is as the head of the Church of England, which did not allow divorces at
the time. Where there is no act of love and mercy, however, faith and
ecclesiastical position are for naught. In Elizabeth’s son’s coronation,
the stultifying arrogance of exclusion evinced in the seating arrangement itself
belied the new king’s claim of being a Christian, much less the head of a
Christian institution. The invited guests in the farthest pews—those blocked
by a screen-wall from being able to see the events in the ritual—sat in
humility closer to the Kingdom of God than did the man sitting on King Edward’s
throne.
The Kingdom of God is
conceptualized differently in the two films. The Christians in Agora are
oriented to a political Christendom without pagans, whereas the Virgin and the
three children—and the children shall lead them—view the kingdom as a
matter of not insulting God (i.e., not sinning). Whereas the former conception
is externally oriented, against the pagans and Jews, and thus is earthly, the
latter notion is of the interior, of the heart, within a person. The Kingdom
of God is within. There’s no need to wait until the Son of Man comes on clouds.
Christendom viewed as a kingdom on earth
led to the Crusades in which four popes raised armies to kill rather than love
enemies. Alternatively, the popes could have sent Christians to serve the Muslims
in the Holy Land. The land would then have been truly holy rather than the site
of Christian hypocrisy.
In his tome, Leviathan,
Thomas Hobbes’s “Kingdom of Darkness” is none other than the Roman Catholic
Church on earth—the same institution that has protected priests who have raped
children and the bishops such as Cardinal Law who enabled the criminals rather
than held them accountable. In doing so, those clerics, whether directly or, as
in the case of Joe Ratzinger (Pope Benedict XVI), by knowingly transferring a
rapist papist priest to avoid scandal for the universal church, can be viewed
as vicariously stomping out the innocent faith of the three children in Fatima.
I believe there is a special place in hell for adults who snuff out the
innocence of a child, whether or not those adults believe that Jesus Christ is
the Son of God. In The Da Vinci Code (2006), the last living descendent of
Jesus tells a monk who murders for God: “Your God burns murderers.” Doubtless
the descendent distancing the Christian god from herself is due to all the
hypocrisy that often occurs because so many Christians erroneously believe that
accepting Jesus as one’s personal lord and savior is sufficient. The Kingdom of
Darkness has much to atone for, and transferring accessories to crimes of
violence against children to posh Vatican positions (e.g. Cardinal Law) rather
than having the corrupt clerics serve the victims who would permit it speaks
volumes concerning convenience versus inconvenient love.
Bishop Cyril in Agora believes
that Jesus Christ is the Son of God; this belief works against the bishop, as
it had for Theophilus, as both characters use it to justify defending Jesus by violence
against the non-Christians who are critical of the insulting Christians. Cyril preaches
that Hypatia is a witch, which in turn sets brotherhood on a quest to kill her.
It is ironic that the brotherhood had been set up to “safeguard Christian
morality,” which ostensibly was needed because the splitting of the Roman
Empire in two meant that that the end of the world was nigh. Cyril reads a passage
from Paul that woman should keep silent. Hypatia has definitely not been
silent; in fact, she has considerable influence on her former student Orestes,
who is now the Roman prefect who governs the city. How dare a woman, and a
pagan no less, have such influence!, Cyril not doubt feels as he
characterizes Paul’s opinion women as “the word of God.” A human opinion in a
letter no less is the Word of the living God. To regard an opinion as such is to
reckon it as infallible truth. Such truth is immutable, and the role and status
of women deemed proper in Paul’s world have changed over time and from place to
place. In utter contrast to Cyril in Agora, the three children in Fatima
listen to the Virgin’s messages rather than give their own opinions. The
children regard the messages as different in kind. Indeed, the children resist considerable
pressure in not revealing the Virgin’s message not to tell anyone something
about the future. Unfortunately, the human mind has a proclivity to emblazon
opinion with the veneer of truth, and then to seek to enforce such truth by
imposing it on other people. The arrogance of self-entitlement can be guarded
against by keeping in mind that the fallible and limited human mind should not
be so sure of itself on religious matters as to regard itself as infallible.
The two films also differ on how
the Christians approach forgiveness. Astonishingly, Ammonius, a leader of the
brotherhood in Agora, rebuffs Davus, Hypatia’s the ex-slave who
suggests that they should forgive rather than retaliate against the Jews.
Ammonius declares, “Only Jesus can forgive the Jews.” Wrong! In Matthew
(18:21-22), “Peter came up and said to him [i.e., Jesus], ‘Lord, how often will
my brother sin against me, and I forgive him? As many as seven times?’ Jesus
said to him, ‘I do not say to you seven times, but seventy-seven times.’” Neither
Patriarch, Theophilus or Cyril, are in the business of forgiveness, especially
to the enemy.
In contrast, Lucia in Fatima forgives
her mother after the miracle of the Sun moving around in the sky convinces
everyone in the crowd, including Maria, that the children were right all along;
the Virgin Mary really is there. Lucia still loves her mother in spite of Maria’s
chilly hostility and refusal to trust her daughter even though the Virgin
obviously trusts Lucia. But the latter’s faith is not perfect. In asking the Virgin
to do a miracle so the crowd would believe the children’s claim that the
visitation is real, Lucia succumbs to the sensationalistic undercutting of
religious meaning or truth by the assumption that the validity of religious preaching
relies on something supernatural happening. The innocent faith of the children
is nigh eclipsed by the more sensationalistic need for verification of the
Christian adults who gather in the field to personally benefit from the
visitations. Pray for this, pray for that; this is human, all too human.
The salience of the need for a supernatural,
metaphysical miracle, even for the viewers of the film, to prove that the
Virgin is really there in the story world, and, by fallacious implication in
1917 as a historical event apart from the film, almost eclipses importance of
the childlike faith of the children in the film. Only after the miracle has
occurred can the movie end; the viewers would not be satisfied otherwise. The need
of Maria, the bishop, the priest, and even the mayor to know definitively
that the Virgin is really there with the three children is a need that the film’s
viewers have as well. Even Lucia wants a
miracle; even she lapses in giving the need to convince the crowd any
importance, especially relative to the content of the Virgin’s message.
The important thing is to stop insulting God. Cyril and his followers in Agora
insult God with their hypocrisy in God’s name.
Interestingly, witness accounts
in October, 1917 attest to the miracle of the Sun moving around in the sky and
even coming closer as a historical event, which could be seen from as far as 40
km away. It is tempting to let the metaphysical or religious actuality of
the Virgin Mary (or the historical or risen Jesus) be the focus; to be sure,
such a deviation from the children’s faith and the Virgin’s message is much
less damaging than is the violence by the Christians in Agora, for that
is antipodal to the way into the spiritual space of God’s “kingdom,” or way of
being. For it is God’s presence felt within and between people as love
especially when such love is not convenient that is of value in itself. Even
religious personages pale in comparison. In the Gospels, Jesus sets the Kingdom
of God as that for which he is tasked with orienting people. Within that
kingdom, the presence of the divine can be sensed, made possible by an inconvenient
love that expands human nature itself such that the human instinctual urge for
the divine can be more satisfied and perhaps even be fulfilled.
See: God's Gold
