Showing posts with label Mel Gibson. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Mel Gibson. Show all posts

Monday, May 21, 2007

The spectacle of Martyrdom

Martyrologists who exaggerate the details of the suffering and torture of the martyrs in order to increase the rhetorical impact of their work are in fact doing the martyr a great disservice. The risk here is that the martyr is painted as merely a victim, and the rhetorical impact of telling the story is then limited to pathos for the suffering of the victim. The content of their witness then disintegrates...

The gospels show the way here: as we read of the death of Jesus, we may feel pity for the disciples, and sorrow for the role our fellow human beings played in his execution, and even disgust and outrage at the injustice perpetuated: but the evangelists do not draw us to pity Jesus. They do not dwell on the gruesome details of his torture and suffering (pace Mel Gibson); they do not portray him as powerless or voiceless; they do not depict the sadistic pleasure of his executioners. Jesus is no victim; events do not get out of hand for him at all – he is seen as always ahead of them. His innocence is not established merely so we can feel appalled at the miscarriage of justice, but so that we can understand the significance of his sacrifice in a theological matrix.

There were (and are) worse, more painful deaths; there certainly were (and are) more pitiable victims of injustice. Jesus is not, like some protagonist in a Greek tragedy, the victim of a twist in fate or the misalignment of the planets. An account that emphasizes the pathos of Jesus’ death quite misses the point – which is that the cross of Christ is the expression par excellence of the divine rule over all. It is the moment of the enthronement of Israel’s messiah in Zion and over the whole world. Likewise, a martyrology that dwells too luridly on the blood that flows is not a martyrology but a victimology. A death cast in these terms in the end witnesses only to itself as a death. The best of the early martyr-acts, for all their faults, do not lapse in this direction: Polycarp, for example, though of great age, dies in such a way that his captors look more pitiable than he. Events are not in their control (nor Polycarp's); but Polycarp's faith and asssurance makes it a triumph. Who could feel sorry for him?