Presence

The medium of film has great potential in playing with ontology, the branch of philosophy that asks (and tries to answer) the fundamental question: What really exists?  Put another way, what does it mean for something to exist. The being of “to be,” as opposed to not-be may be thought of, can be labeled as existential ontology. Whereas in the Hindu Upanishads, being itself is Brahman, which pervades everything in the realm of appearance, the Abrahamic religions posit the existence of a deity that creates existence and thus is its condition or foundation. Creation ex nihilo (i.e., from nothing) is another way of grasping why the Abrahamic god is not existence, or being, itself, for that which brought (and sustains) existence into (and as) being cannot logically be existence itself. Fortunately for most viewers who lead normal lives, the film, Presence (2024), does not hinge on such abstractions; the salience of ontology, or what is real beyond our daily experiences (in the realm of appearance), is merely implied in there being an entity that intriguingly is only a presence. It is real to both the main characters in the film’s world and to viewers of the film because of the inclusion of supernatural effects that the entity is able to register in the perception of the family living in the house. Crucially, such effects do not overwhelm the subtlety in how the presence is known to exist (i.e., be real). In this way, Presence succeeds where Poltergeist (1982) and Ghost (1990) do not: Presence is more philosophically intriguing and thought-provoking than the latter two films, and is thus a better example of the potential that the medium of film has in engaging viewers in philosophy. Being less oriented to visually titilating supernatural effects, Presence can better engage the mind philosophically. 

Presence can be regarded as instantiating an innovative approach to the horror genre. At the film’s very beginning, Chris (husband to Rebekah and father to Chloe and Tyler) corrects Rebekah regarding Chloe’s shock at the apparent drug-overdose of her best friend: “It’s not life; it’s death.” The tenuousness of the line between the two conditions—existing and not existing—is a leitmotif throughout the film. The film challenges this dichotomy itself, for in that story-world, people really do exist non-materially after the body dies. The modern default of medicine (and, more specifically, psychiatry) is evident in the film as Chloe’s parents grapple with Chloe’s sense of a dead girl’s presence in the house, but the supernatural eventually manifests even to Chris, Rebekah, and Tyler. Their notions of what is real—or, what really exists—is widened to include the existence of ghosts. Ironically, it takes manifestations that register in physics, such as books moving visually on their own, for the family to accept as a fact that reality includes entities that reside beyond the limits of (living) humans’ perception and even cognition. The modern assumption that natural science must be impacted in a supernatural way for the reality of an entity that lies beyond our realm to be accepted is erroneous yet it is accepted by the filmmakers and their characters in the film; the ghost need not act in ways that burst through into being perceived by the family for the ghost to exist, or even be known to exist. The psychic who visits the house is proof of there being sensed/known to be a presence even though no supernatural effects are witnessed. In fact, she knows that the ghost exists before Chris, Rebekah, and Tyler do.

The extension or deepening of reality to include entities that are in another realm from that of living people is “the reality” that the film presents. The very subtly of the presence (putting aside the supernatural events) invites philosophical reflection perhaps even more than reading a book on ontology does, for film engages sight (into a story-world) more tangibly than can the imagination) and hearing. The Matrix (1999), for example, does the human mind a great service in manifesting the philosophy of solipsism, the view that our brains are really in vats such that all that we perceive is an illusion, in a way that no one can get by reading a book. The human mind is such that when presented with vivid visuals and distinct tones of voice, the staying power is arguably longer than are sentences in a book. In Presence, the psychic describes the entity as “a presence that does not want to be forgotten.” Ideas can be like that too; hence it is a shame when a scholar dies before or without having published one’s knowledge, and that films perish before having been preserved.

Presence is especially ripe for philosophical reflection in furnishing the psychic’s description of the realm unknown to us wherein ghosts exist; it is not just in there being such a realm and thus an extension or depth of reality beyond appearance that the film furnishes to audiences. Whereas Chris can only admit, “There is mystery in this world,” the psychic describes the entity as suffering and being confused, for the past and present can be simultaneous for it. The entity can even anticipate the tragic accident that will occur in the house and even sense that there is a role for the entity itself to play in the incident. That the role is to protect Chloe even though the psychic says that the entity is not Chloe’s dead friend expands the viewers’ archetype of ghosts being angry and harmful. That the entity in Presence was not Chloe’s friend when alive renders the helpful nature even amid the anxiety of being in a realm that is qualitatively different from that of living humans all the more foreign to viewers, and thus intriguing philosophically. In short, going on to describe rather than merely stipulate the existence of a realm that is real and yet has very different dynamics than does the realm in which we live out our lives makes the film more philosophically interesting and idea-stimulating. Even though the viewers do not get the psychological payoff in being able to enter that realm vicariously by being shown it in the film, the point that reality is not exhausted or completely known to us comes through loud and clear.

Kant’s nominal realm of reality as distinct from his phenomenal realm of appearances may in fact be the basic paradigm on which the film and its story-world is founded. The philosopher’s theory that the human mind structures perceptions of space and time along rational lines is itself on the level of a paradigm. So too is Einstein’s theory of physics in which gravity can bend space itself and effect time, slowing it in proximity to a great mass. The film depicts space not as inert or static, as the entity can emit energy of such intensity and force that ripples in space are visible. As for time, I have already mentioned the observation of the psychic that the past and present are perceived as occurring simultaneously by the entity in the realm in which it found itself suddenly to be in at death. The line between living and death may be slim and thus easily and even accidentally crossed without notice, as the theologian and early-modern philosopher Jonathan Edwards sermonized to young people in an age in which they died in disproportionate numbers, yet the two distinct realms in Presence are very different—the paradigm in which the entity exists challenging and stimulating commonly held assumptions that we have from the world in which we live. Rendering the relativity or situatedness of our lived-in paradigm transparent to us is a great contribution that film-makers can make (and some have made) to the Hegelian progress of our species in coming to know itself in successively greater freedom. For being freed ideationally from our innate paradigm in being cognizant of its basic assumptions relative to others is indeed of value.

Religion in Film: Resisting the Formulaic

Historically, meaning in the history of cinema, perhaps too much effort or attention initially went into fidelity to doctrine, especially in Christianity. Heavily stylistic, unrealistic epics could be said to merely illustrate doctrines. Then as filmmakers began to think in an open-ended way concerning how to depict the transcendent both visually and ideationally (i.e., as an idea), the dominance of the earlier control-orientation slipped away to be replaced by innovative ways of understanding how the transcendent may relate to the realm of our daily mundane existence in the world. The extraordinary potential of filmmaking to tap into the human imagination without necessarily providing definitive answerers could be seen. I submit that this historical trajectory is a positive development. This does not mean that heterodox belief has or should win out; in fact, religious practitioners, including the clergy, can help filmmakers to depict the transcendent and its relationship to our existence in novel ways that do not seem so formulaic as to be easily brushed aside as less than credible. Old wine can indeed go into new jugs, and even new wine may be tasted without the world collapsing as a result.

Let’s begin with the old approach. “In his 1936 encyclical Vigilanti Cura, Pope Pius XI argues that, insofar as ‘the motion picture has become the most popular form of diversion which is offered for the leisure hours . . . ,’ it is crucial that Catholics pressure ‘the industry  [to] produce motion pictures which conform entirely to our standards.’ Only in this way can ‘the motion picture be no longer a school of corruption’ but ‘be transformed into an effectual instrument for the education and the elevation of mankind.’”[1] But what standards?  Are they moral or theological in nature, or both? Are the standards moral only that can be derived from theological doctrines? If not, on what basis are the extrinsic moral standards legitimate for the Church to enforce on Hollywood? The very notion of standards, moreover, connotes the negativity of prohibition, whereas teachings instead would imply that films are made proactively to illustrate through narrative principles and values found in Christianity. Rather than fixate on Hollywood as being corrupt, the pope could have pictured it as an opportunity full of potential, ignoring the decadent films. For beyond educating people, films can elevate us, as the pope admits. In short, rather than viewing the glass as half empty; it can be viewed as half full. Rather than concentrating on emptying out the stale brew, the focus can be on that which is added that is salubrious from a distinctly religious standpoint. What does it take to do so?

Going from the mentality of slapping a ruler on a wrist to helping filmmakers to render the transcendent through narrative using visuals and sound entails eclipsing the subjectivity of the filmmakers as well as “’the immanent frame’ of technological modernity,”[2] which includes not only the techniques but also the business of filmmaking.

Roman Polanski’s Rosemary’s Baby (1968), for instance, eclipses Polanski’s own subjectivity (or secular bias) in leaving it to the viewer whether Rosemary is dreaming or really is raped by Satan, although the short cut-away later briefly showing the baby’s face in the crib provides an answer that the supernatural realm that is transcendent of our world is indeed real. Furthermore, showing the animal raping Rosemary hardly fits with modernity, including the business interests of Hollywood. In short, Polanski took a risk, and he was not out to superimpose his own views of the supernatural onto his audience. That is, Polanski resisted what Heidegger calls the “culture-industry,” wherein, according to Barnett, “cinema merely discloses the rich subjectivity of the artist rather than any truth conveyed by the work itself.”[3] Instead, Polanski allows Heidegger’s “letting be” to occur by not trying, as Barnett puts it, “to wrest determinate meaning” from the work.[4] Polanski creates the openness in which viewers can be open to transcendence in a metaphysical sense.

Barnett points to The Greatest Story Ever Told (1965) as being an example of what to avoid in this regard, as “the thematization of Christian doctrine or dramatization of Christian conversion” in the film “is most likely to elicit eye rolls and snickers.”[5] The characters are so stylized and idealized as to please not only the camera, but the financially-inclined producers as well. Nothing offensive. Nothing challenging. To be sure, at the time, as the first film to show Jesus’ face, the film could have been reckoned by some people as controversial. Even so, merely illustrating a Biblical narrative visually and with sound goes only so far.  The Ten Commandments (1956) too, goes only so far. Both films are “safe” in that they follow well-established doctrines exquisitely and present the Bible in the modern medium.

To be sure, over-stylized, non-realistic illustrations of Biblical narrative can contain allusions to the holy that seem genuine or real. In the television miniseries, Jesus of Nazareth (1977), for example, an eerie scene takes place in which other-worldly instrumental music plays as Jesus silently walks, with bright back-light behind him highlighting his meager, weak (yet paradoxically strong!) form, toward Pontius Pilate, whose facial expression intimates that something wholly other is going on in the case of Jesus. We see something similar in the realistic reactions of the disciples witnessing Jesus recusitate Lazarus in The Greatest Story Ever Told. Both scenes resonate with the qualities of the holy described by Rudolf Otto in The Idea of the Holy. So the phenomenon of the holy can be depicted in a catching way even in heavy-stylized (i.e., unrealistic) films whose primary orientation is to present established Biblical narratives in an orthodox way. 

It would take perhaps until The Last Temptation of Christ (1988) for the transcendent itself to again be raised as a question rather than an established fact with respect to Christology, or Christian dogma. The Exorcist (1973) explicitly raises the question of whether the supernatural demon really exists, though the psychological bias of modernity is eviscerated by supernatural feats that cannot possibly be explained as mental phenomena.

Of course, the very existence of the transcendent need not flagged and left up in the air for a film to represent religion in a way that resists the easy and convenient stylization of modernity.  The Others (2001) resists simple movie technique by turning the tables on the viewers without questioning the reality of the transcendent. Ghost (1990) also provides an innovative way into there being another realm, though with the familiar bipolar trappings of heaven and hell that ironically give the film the veneer of established doctrine—such easy formulaic being used by the modern industry of film to sell.

To draw out the transcendent in a way that does not seem trite or already well-groved, “Filmmakers must uncover the tensity between beings and Being, between the systematized habits of the human world and the raw primitivity of non-technical existence. Thereby, the mystery of being-in-the-world is manifested, and with it, the possibility of a truly poetic encounter with Being itself.”[6] Overstylized, too-conventional depictions of Biblical narrative can fall short in terms of showing the human “struggle to discern the divine presence.”[7] To manifest “the ineffable and invisible” beyond “normal sense experience,” “a fundamental incongruity between human everydayness and the transcendent world is expressed” even as both are contained within a oneness.[8] This incongruity must burst through preconceived notions, as are in heavily stylized Biblical epics, or the depicted transcendent will not seem real to viewers. Put another way, raw Being should challenge the viewer, yet not be so different or new that it is not believed to possibly represent something real beyond the movie theater or living room.

The subtle, almost-invisible cascade of ghosts going down the stairs in Poltergeist (1982) and the human’s facial expressions of simple wonder are much more suggestive of another realm than is the over-fabricated, almost sensationalistic hole in the bedroom closet heading to the other realm. The liminality of the numen, which lies between realms in at least the human imagination, is difficult to capture visually, and is thus too susceptible to being done up in a meretricious or gaudy way by filmmakers in line with modern sensationalism and cinematic technique.

There are of course new ways of telling old stories. The Chosen, a television series made in Texas of Jesus and his disciples, is a case in point. They are all presented in a realistic way, as are the Romans. Matthew is mildly autistic. Jesus has some very human reactions to everyday situations. Yet the world depicted is one in which miracles take place. The transcendent is real even as the characters are portrayed realistically. So while some stories, such as The Others, may do away with conventional notions of a heaven and hell, other stories are quite conventional yet they resist easy formulation repeating oft seen epics. There is indeed so much potential in filmmaking to depict transcendence in a myriad of ways that the old way of controlling the medium so that it conforms with doctrine in a conventional way has thankfully been defeated.  Nevertheless, the danger of an over-reaching subjectivity of a filmmaker imposed through the medium is still with us, given human nature, and it may still be too tempting for filmmakers to turn to heavily stylized Hollywood props and well-trodden plots instead of thinking outside the proverbial box. I am convinced that the human imagination applied to religion in film has not come close to having been exhausted.  

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1. Christopher B. Barnett, “Can Cinema Be ‘Religious’? Heidegger, Technology, and the Transcendent,” Insights: The Faculty Journal of Austin Seminary, 139, No. 2 (Spring, 2024): 19-23.
2. Ibid. Barnett is quoting Charles Tayler, A Secular Age (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2007), 539-93.
3. Ibid.
4. Ibid.
5. Ibid.
6. Ibid.
7. Michael Bird, “Film as Hierophany,” in Religion in Film, John R. May and Michael Bird, eds (Knoxville, TN: The University of Tennessee Press, 1982), p. 4.
8. Paul Schrader, Transcendental Style in Film: Ozu, Bresson, Dreyer (Boston: Da Capo Press, 1972), pp. 3-13.