Mel Gibson's Passion and Philosophy

by Irwin, William, Gracia, Jorge J. E.

  Christians also have issues with Jesus’s past. As we know, Jesus acted as a rabbi who prayed in synagogues and studied the Torah. His last supper was a celebration of the Passover, commemorating the Jewish exodus out of Egypt and the journey into the land of Israel. After his death, many of his disciples continued to pray in the holy Temple of Jerusalem, the center of Jewish life. Yet, throughout Western and Eastern Europe, Jews have at times been discriminated against, persecuted, and even murdered by Christians for sharing the same religion as Jesus. How can this be?

  I suspect that like most religious divides, the conflicts have more to do with politics and economics than they have to do with theology, because the more we dig into Jesus’s life, the more he is revealed as an important Jewish figure in a dynamic religious outpost at the fringes of the Roman Empire. Breaking away from the Jewish power structure of his day, Jesus followed a long line of Jewish mystics who challenged the established hierarchy, while holding on to their roots.

  By emphasizing Jesus’s mysticism and suffering, Gibson ends up focusing on the very characteristics that make Jesus appear more Jewish. To understand Jesus’s mysticism, however, we need a better understanding of mysticism and its relationship to philosophy. Only then can we determine what makes Jesus a mystic, and one who understands his important place in the Jewish tradition.

  Philosophy and Mysticism

  Before Jesus, it was Socrates (470–399 B.C.) who publicly questioned the leading officials of his day, combating their undeveloped ideas with his rational argumentation. Through dialogue and debate, Socrates learned and taught philosophy, literally “love of wisdom” in Greek. Over two thousand years later, Western philosophy still follows in the legacy of the Ancient Greek philosopher.

  But while Socrates often sought truth through rational argument, he also admitted that loving wisdom is a dangerous path, and loving anything is ultimately a “sort of madness.” In Plato’s two greatest dialogues on love, Symposium and Phaedrus, Socrates speaks of a wisdom that is not learned from books or schooling. Such mysterious wisdom involves a vision of true beauty that is only transmitted to a person who has learned to love. As Socrates explains in the Symposium, through love such wisdom “bursts upon him that wondrous vision which is the very soul of the beauty he has toiled so long for. It is an everlasting loveliness which neither comes nor goes, which neither flowers nor fades” (210e–211a). In the Phaedrus, Socrates makes it clear that people who experience such rare visions of beauty will have a deeper understanding of the world, even while all the world thinks they have gone mad. And, of course, they have gone mad since mundane experiences of beauty cause them to act differently from the common people. A true lover experiences “a shuddering and a measure of that awe which the vision inspired, and then reverence as at the sight of god. . . . Next, with the passing of the shudder, a strange sweating and fever seizes him” (251a). Socrates, then, gives us two different paths to attaining wisdom: the path of sober analysis and the shudders of the heart that come neither from words nor thoughts.

  The idea that wisdom can be imparted through irrational means had a lasting impact on Muslim, Jewish, and Christian thinkers in the Middle Ages. Between the eleventh and thirteenth centuries, philosophers such as Al-Gazali (1058–1111), Moses Maimonides (1138–1204), and Thomas Aquinas (1224/6–1274) all agreed that the rational emphasis of philosophy was insufficient for getting close to God. While philosophy might help prepare the path for the truth-seeking novice, these philosophers argued that books are poor substitutes for direct experiences of God’s revelations. And such revelations often flew in the face of some of the best laid theories in Western philosophy. Similar to Socrates’s descriptions of love, philosophers of the Middle Ages hinted at divine visions of beauty that would shake even the most profound thinker out of his carefully planned arguments.

  Since the Middle Ages, philosophers have had a difficult time reconciling the way of reasoned questioning with the mystical path of immediate experience. One of the most impressive attempts at confronting this problem was made by the American William James (1842–1910). In his seminal work, The Varieties of Religious Experience, James attributes four primary characteristics to mystical experiences. In the first place, they defy all rational understanding. Mystics can never adequately convey to others the full exchange that takes place. The nature of the experience is ineffable. If you want to understand what happens, “you have to be there.” According to James, the second characteristic of mystical experiences is that they convey truths that the rational mind is unable to comprehend, although one is made wiser through them. The third and fourth features are the fleeting nature of the experiences and the passivity of the person having them. The last point, though, is somewhat misleading. Mystics may not be active participants during their mystical encounters, but many have reported traveling rigorous roads of inner pain and struggle in order to open themselves to their possibility.

  Using James’s perceptive account, let us understand mysticism as the belief that a higher truth (divine Wisdom, in Western religions) can be accessed not through book learning, but through a painful inner journey that leads to a short-lived, direct experience that defies all rationality. Philosophy is no stranger to the torments of the soul, but it does require the kind of rational investigation and explanation that precludes its use of mysticism. While philosophers such as Socrates have at times acknowledged the possibility of mystical encounters, such encounters are usually mentioned as the exceptions to the rule. Rather than relying on direct experience, contemporary Western philosophy requires proofs and logical discourse, involving a rational thrust that distinguishes it from mysticism. As James and the Medieval philosophers argue, philosophy and mysticism may simply be two different paths to the same goal.

  With this new definition, we can better understand Gibson’s portrayal of Jesus in The Passion. Most scenes in the movie are not mystical, though there are a number of touching “other worldly” moments that show Mary’s love for her son. In The Passion, Mary seems to exude love so strongly that Jesus is made aware of his mother whenever she is near. Remember the beautiful scene after Jesus is tortured by Pilate’s guards and sent to the dungeon. Mary is seen walking along the Temple grounds, feeling for her son with an almost sixth sense. She then drops to the ground and lovingly moves her hand over the floorboards. Jesus, below, lifts his head in gentle understanding. Stirring as this scene is, if true, it wouldn’t qualify as a mystical experience by our above definition because there is not a direct experience with God or a higher being.

  Now let’s compare the mother-son scene with the opening of The Passion. After battling his inner demons, Jesus briefly experience a vision of God that changes him in non-rational ways. His renewed sense of peace and higher wisdom baffle his disciples, as Jesus willingly puts his life in the hands of his enemies. Here, Gibson makes the clearest connection between Jesus’s life and the mystical life as espoused by philosophers and theologians throughout the ages. While many other scenes show the powerful love between Jesus and Mary, the opening scene most clearly portrays the mystical love between Jesus and God.

  Mysticism and Philosophy in the Hebrew Bible

  Gibson focuses on the suffering of Jesus to highlight the mystical nature of Jesus’s crucifixion. Of course, Jesus wasn’t the first mystic to preach in the Promised Land. Tension between philosophy and mysticism is already evident in the Hebrew Bible. The author of The Song of Songs discusses a bride waiting for the groom as a metaphor for our longing to be physically touched by God.

  Thou that dwellest in the gardens,

  The companions hearken for thy voice:

  ‘Cause me to hear it.’ (8:13)

  For thousands of years, both mystics and philosophers have hearkened for His voice. But does one hear God’s voice through rational questions or irrational experiences?

  From the Tower of Babel to the wise men in the Book of Job, mortals who speak of knowing God’s wisdom are continuously thwarted. “Wisdom crie
s aloud in the street,” we are told in the Book of Proverbs (1:20), but the average person cannot hear it. Even the wisest among us are laid low. “For in much wisdom is much vexation; / And he that increaseth knowledge increaseth sorrow” (Ecclesiastes 1:18). On the one hand, God’s wisdom is everywhere; on the other hand when people try to find it, they invariably run adrift. Some wise men such as King Solomon are blessed by God in part because they pursue logical questioning. But other Old Testament prophets are blessed so much that they directly receive visions of God. Through these rare divine visions, select Jews are able at once to grasp the higher truths and thereby be changed forever.

  Before Jesus’s time, the land of Israel was rife with mystics and philosophers. In the Old Testament, however, it is the mystics who most often get closer to God. Moses, for example, didn’t learn his ethical code from a textbook, but from a direct experience with God. He walked up Mount Sinai, despite “the thunderings, and the lightnings, and the voice of the horn, and the mountain smoking” to receive the Ten Commandments (Exodus 20:15). Moses’s experience has all the marks of mysticism. It was, likely, a relatively short-lived experience that conveyed messages of truth to a passive listener. And like all mystical experiences, the effect that the divine words had on Moses cannot be explained. All the text says is that the skin on Moses’s face “sent forth beams” (Exodus 34:29, 34:35). What Moses saw and heard might be explained, but its effect on Moses’s soul cannot be described. We know there are beams in Moses’s face, but what took place inside Moses’s soul to cause such a light is “known” only to the one who has experienced it.

  Daniel is another figure in the Jewish tradition who directly experienced the divinity. According to the Hebrew Bible, Daniel became an important adviser to King Nebuchadnezzar, because of the wisdom that God gave him through visions and dreams in the night. His most powerful vision is of the “ancient of days” sitting on a throne.

  His raiment was as white snow,

  And the hair of his head like pure wool;

  His throne was fiery flames,

  And the wheels thereof burning fire. (Daniel 7:9)

  To the throne comes “one like unto a son of man,” who is given dominion over all the earth. Again, in Daniel’s account, the mystic’s voice speaks loudest, and wisdom is imparted through this brief vision. As with Moses, while Daniel can relate the specifics of the experience, the essence of the experience is ineffable. He is incapable of rationally describing the effect it had on his soul. All the reader gets is that Daniel’s spirit is “pained.” What took place inside the Old Testament prophet? The inner change is shrouded in mystery typical of mysticism. “As for me Daniel, my thoughts much affrighted me, and my countenance was changed in me; but I kept the matter in my heart” (7:28).

  Mysticism in the Time of Jesus

  These mystical encounters of the Old Testament had a lasting impact on Jews like Jesus. The Dead Sea Scrolls, for example, point to a Jewish community in Qumran (150 B.C–A.D. 68) that lived in some seclusion around the time when Jesus was preaching in Galilee. Apparently the desert commune spoke of the Holy Spirit entering anointed individuals directly, and kept a number of copies of the mystical Book of Daniel deep within their caves.

  The New Testament links the Jewish prophet Elijah with the mystical John the Baptist. In the Old Testament, Elijah is so blessed, he gets a one-of-a-kind escort to heaven. In the Book of 2 Kings, we learn that a chariot comes down from heaven with horses of fire to carry Elijah with them. The vision of Elijah’s chariot becomes an important theme in later Jewish mysticism. In the Old Testament, Ezekiel picks up the chariot theme. In his vision, “the appearance of the likeness of the glory of the Lord” is on a throne brought down by chariot to speak with Ezekiel. It is this throne that Daniel sees in his mystical vision. It should come as no surprise that John the Baptist dressed like Elijah, performed his cleansing rituals at the place where Elijah was carried off to heaven in a chariot, and is frequently likened to Elijah. “He is the Elijah who was to come,” Jesus claims of John (Matthew 11:14). John speaks as the voice of the wilderness, preaching the possibility of direct contact with God for all those who are physically and spiritually purified. For bringing God closer to the people of the desert, John’s reputation as a mystic grows. He is much “more than a prophet” (Luke 7:26).

  In the time of Jesus other Jewish mystics also experienced God on intimate terms. The Mishnah, written not long after the death of Jesus and the burning of the Temple, tells a story of Honi the Circle-Drawer. Honi got his name by allegedly drawing a circle and informing God that he wouldn’t leave the circle until the Father of the world caused rain to end the drought. It began to rain lightly, but Honi insisted on more. Then it started raining violently and Honi was still not satisfied, asking instead for “rain of good will.” Finally, God made it rain in a way that was pleasing to Honi. One amazed onlooker likened Honi to a spoiled child, who wanted his father to give him everything. “For you [Honi] make demands before the Omnipresent so he does what you want, like a son who makes demands on his father so he does what he wants” (Mishnah Taanit 3:8). Honi’s story is just one of many examples in Jewish lore of mystics and prophets who speak to God in familial terms.

  Jesus the Jewish Mystic

  Jewish mysticism has long preached an intimate, immediate relationship with the world’s creator. In both Old and New Testaments, God is seen as a father close to his kin, and the mystic’s suffering is like the discipline a father metes out to his children. In Gibson’s Passion, we continuously hear Jesus refer to God as Abba, Aramaic for papa. By emphasizing the Father, Jesus the Son continues the Jewish practice of treating one’s direct experience with God as a family affair. When Jesus refers to God as Abba, he places himself within that Jewish context.

  According to the New Testament, Jesus also has direct experiences with God, the Father. Gibson begins and ends The Passion with Jesus speaking to God on intimate terms. From Jesus’s pleading with God to take the cup away from him, to his anguished final cry on the cross, Jesus appeals to God like a distraught child appeals to his loving dad. Throughout the movie, Gibson seems particularly drawn to this intimate relationship so typical of Jewish mystical tradition.

  One of the most vivid mystical experiences in the New Testament, however, is the transfiguration (not shown in Gibson’s Passion). Disciples describe Jesus speaking with Old Testament prophets Moses and Elijah. True to the tradition of Jewish mysticism the participant is changed in ways that defy rationality. The disciples note how Jesus’s face “shone like the sun, and his clothes became as white as the light” (Matthew 17:2). Through their own mystical vision, the disciples learned directly from God that Jesus is the Son, and “fell facedown to the ground, terrified.” Better than any other story in the New Testament, the transfiguration connects Jesus to the tradition of Jewish mysticism. By placing Jesus alongside Moses and Elijah, Jesus is directly linked to two prophets who figure prominently in the annals of Jewish mysticism.

  Gibson connects Jesus to Elijah’s chariot mysticism more directly. In The Passion, the High Priest Caiaphas says to Jesus skeptically, “Some say you’re Elijah. But he was carried off to heaven in a chariot.” In the New Testament, Merkavah, or Jewish chariot-throne mysticism, is a recurring theme in Jesus’s visions. He sees himself sitting at “the right hand of the mighty God” (Luke 22:68) “and coming down on the clouds of heaven” (Matthew 26:64, Mark 14:62). Such visions of the chariot-throne are well-trodden chapters in the lore of Jewish mysticism since the time of the prophet Elijah.

  There is also an element of inner turmoil that is common to most documented mystical experiences. While mystics may come to taste God’s glory, they do so only after many desperate failures. The mystics’ path to a higher reality is rarely easy. “Cry and wail, son of man,” God tells Ezekiel (21:17), for it is through the trembling of the soul that God is experienced. Paul of the New Testament reminds us that joining ourselves with God involves “great endurance; in troubles, h
ardships and distresses; in beatings, imprisonments and riots; in hard work, sleepless nights and hunger” (2 Corinthians 6:4). And Paul should know. He received his “secret wisdom” from a flash of light and a mystical vision of his own that left him blind and unable to eat or drink for three days (1 Corinthians 1:7, Acts 9:9).

  Though Moses faithfully spent forty years wandering the desert, he was still denied entrance to the Promised Land. John the Baptist was beheaded. Jesus was crucified. Such are often the fates of Jewish mystics.

  Mysticism After Jesus

  For many Jews of Palestine, it wasn’t Jesus’s crucifixion, but the destruction of the Temple in Jerusalem in A.D. 70 that became the defining test of their faith. Forced to scatter across Europe and Asia, the Jewish people lost their centralized power structure. To compensate for this loss, many contemporary historians argue that mysticism disappeared from Judaism for hundreds of years in place of the more rigid and legalistic rabbinic literature. But if we are to understand Jewish mysticism as the belief that through suffering one can experience God directly in a way that defies all rationality, then we’ll see it alive and well after the Jews’ banishment from the Holy Land. The idea that God is everywhere is pervasive in the Mishnah and the Talmud—books that still constitute the backbone of modern-day Judaism. God’s word comes to Jews through the Torah. But the Torah is more than simply the first five books of Moses; Torah is a way of life. Anyone can experience God by living Torah in simple day-to-day activities. So we get stories such as the one in the Talmud about a disciple hiding out in a bathroom to listen for God’s word in a mundane exchange between a rabbi and a bathroom attendant.