Institutions such as the Federal Bureau of Investigation utilize a set of criteria for denoting a group as a cult; these characteristics describe an exclusive collective with a self-appointed, allegedly unique leader who charismatically attempts to foster a trusting and dependent relationship among his or her followers to the end of achieving the group’s prescribed goal(s).[2] Such a collective is ideologically dogmatic, structurally authoritarian, and can be implicitly or explicitly permissive of violence. In 1998, Keith Raniere and former psychiatric nurse Nancy Salzman founded the now-well-known cult of NXIVM as a self-help organization offering paid workshops, which were marketed as a means of overcoming “limiting beliefs.”^[3]

Raniere weaponized his followers’ vulnerability and need for guidance by ideologically hijacking their respective identities, ultimately expecting them to objectify themselves for the pleasure of the “Vanguard.”[4] In the process of cult recruitment, the usurpation of a vulnerable individual's identity is of particular importance. Cults researcher Dr. Steven Hassan writes, “After different types of manipulation, the creation of a new identity is done step-by-step by formal indoctrination…Behavior modification techniques are employed, such as rewards/punishments, thought-stopping, and control of environment (isolation or restriction of access to others). And then the new identity is reinforced and the old identity suppressed.”[5]

Former NXIVM member Kristin Marie Snyder is suspected of having committed suicide following her four-month participation in the group’s curriculum; Snyder’s last correspondence reads, “I attended a course called Executive Success Programs…I was brainwashed and my emotional center of the brain was killed/turned off. I still have feeling in my external skin, but my internal organs are rotting. Please contact my parents … if you find me or this note. I am sorry life, I didn’t know I was already dead. May we persist into the future.”[6] Snyder’s remarks are reflective of an inability to identify with the established and valued self. Thus, a reactive identification with a different, unknown, and ambiguous “future” is sought via the only seemingly available avenue: death. Émile Durkheim would consider this an act of fatalistic suicide, “the suicide deriving from excessive regulation, that of persons with futures pitilessly blocked and passions violently chocked by oppressive discipline.”[7]

Durkheim’s Le Suicide: Étude de sociologie examines the causes and influences of suicide, i.e., “cases of death resulting directly or indirectly from a positive or negative act of the victim himself, which he knows will produce this result.”[8] The French sociologist identifies several distinct forms of the self-destructive act, viz., egoistic, altruistic, anomic, and fatalistic, that are distinguished by their respective catalysts; given co-occurring catalysts, mixed-types occur.[9] At the base of each type’s description is the observation that societies and communities offer participation in a structure of value that grounds and orients individual identity and action in “an object transcending” the structure – a summum bonum. The transcendent object provides a raison d'être (reason for being).[10] Fatalistic suicidal ideation thus results where one’s access to, participation in, and identification with such value is hopelessly hindered.

In the context of a collective suicide, Tony Salvatore, director of suicide prevention and postvention at Montgomery County Emergency Service, writes, “Suicide pacts require shared intent and capability, which may come about similarly…Suicidal ideation gives way to intent, a doable plan, the acquisition of means, and an attempt in a manner that may result in death.”[11] Identity formation within Durkheim’s framework is undergone via participation in a shared value structure; within a cult, this is done via a wholesale subordination of the self to the group identity. Thus, the value system adhered to by a cult’s members confers a shared reason for being, and therefore collective intent. An otherworldly existence, achieved through the rejection of earthly embodiment, became the transcendent object in the value structure of Heaven’s Gate. A psycho-biographical assessment of Marshall Applewhite and his companion Bonnie Lu Nettles sheds light on how their respective religiosities and personal influences gave rise to the self-destructive value system of Heaven’s Gate, an ideology that reflects a collective identification with, and thus intent to achieve, an existence that present physicality impedes.

The early life of Marshall Herf Applewhite Jr. was considerably ordinary; his formative years were likely characterized by the religious and cultural attitudes typical of a young Presbyterian Texan in the 1930’s and ‘40’s.[12] The fact of Applewhite’s relatively stable yet strict upbringing is relevant to understanding the behavior he would express after several novel experiences and changes in environment. Following his graduation from Austin College in 1952 with a bachelor’s degree in philosophy, Applewhite attended Union Presbyterian Seminary in Richmond, Virginia. During this time, he married a woman named Anne Pearce, with whom he conceived two children. His domestic life was then interrupted by a military draft in 1954.[13] , Applewhite then enrolled at the University of Colorado to pursue a master’s degree in music with a concentration in musical theatre after two years of service in the United States Army and a reconsideration of his career aspirations.[14] Failing to find employment as an actor in New York, Applewhite put his training to practice as an instructor at Alabama State University – a position he would lose after his sexual relationship with a male student came to light.[15]

An extended crisis of sexual identity was a major characteristic of Marshall Applewhite’s life and informed the doctrinal direction of Heaven’s Gate. Many homosexual affairs preceded Applewhite’s divorce of Anne Pearce and continued with his move to Texas from Alabama in 1965.[16] In Texas, he took a position at the University of St. Thomas where he remained until 1970, resigning due to “depression and emotional issues,” which were exacerbated by the death of his father the following year.[17] At an emotional boiling point, Applewhite sought a “cure” for his homosexuality at a psychiatric hospital in Houston, where he encountered nurse Nettles.[18]

Bonnie Lu Nettles was born in Houston in 1927. Though religiously raised as a Baptist, she became greatly interested in astrological occultism as an adult and joined the Houston Lodge of the Theosophical Society in America in 1966.[19] The Theosophist Society was founded in 1875 by Helena P. Blavatsky and Henry Olcott in the attempt to “form the nucleus of a Universal Brotherhood of Humanity, without distinction of race, creed, sex, caste, or color.”[20] Theosophists acknowledged an impersonal deity without reference to masculine or feminine traits; Blavatsky regarded the Christian God as “a bundle of contradictions and a logical impossibility…the gigantic shadow of man, and not man at his best, either.” Rather, the divine was seen as “a universally diffused, infinite principle” that imbibes and imbues all people.[21] With respect to humanity, Theosophists' notions of karma and reincarnation informed their relationship to “the root of All.” Men and women were thought to potentially return from a previous life as their sexual opposite, deemphasizing the limitations and expectations of sexual embodiment; the circumstance of female physicality is termed the “Curse of Eve” in reference to Gensis 3:16.[22]

Nettles’ meeting of Marshall Applewhite in 1971 was indicative to her of prophetic fulfillment. She believed herself to be psychically connected with a nineteenth-century monk called Brother Francis who supposedly foretold of “a tall man with white hair” that would alter Nettles’ life; citing mutual star alignment on an astrological natal chart, the Houston nurse was convinced that Applewhite was her cosmic soulmate.[23] A believer in the ancient astronaut hypothesis, Marshall Applewhite became convinced through his discussions with Nettles that UFOs are biblical angels. He also concluded that he and his nurse were the two witnesses described in the Revelation to John.[24] The pair’s notion of the “Next Level” and the importance of its achievement derived from dispensationalist soteriology.[25] Applewhite’s insecurities and Nettles’ ideas informed a conception of human embodiment that compelled limited physicality. Sociologist Dr. Susan Raine writes of the duo, “They considered the body not only an encumbrance but also the symbol of wickedness and immorality. Members of Heaven's Gate fought a daily battle with their bodies, and their experiences of self came to be extremely dysfunctional…Applewhite continued to believe that change was possible…”[26]

Chastity was required of Heaven’s Gate members. Control over the body via total abstinence reflects Applewhite’s own attempt to reconcile a fact of the self, i.e., his sexual orientation, to the notion of personal value he had been exposed to by the belief system of his youth.[27] One’s sense of self-worth is damaged where an incompatibility between a fact of self and value of self occurs, requiring a denial of said fact or a new raison d'être that permits it.

Returning to Émile Durkheim’s suicidology, Applewhite’s inability to value and embody his physical self seems to have contributed significantly to a fatalism that his and Nettles’ ideology sought to quell via the achievement of an other-worldly identity devoid of the characteristics he believed were antithetical to proper life. In 1976, interviewer Hayden Hewes asked “the Two” what the cost of accompanying them to the “Next Level” would be; they responded, “Your humanness!”[28] The collective goal of Heaven’s Gate’s members via strict adherence to Applewhite’s self-denying tenets would thus be considered by Durkheim as an act of altruistic suicide deriving from “a state of impersonality in the social unit” in which one is “trained to renunciation and unquestioned abnegation.”[29]

Overlap among Durkheim’s typological categories resulting from co-occurring catalysts for suicide requires the consideration of mixed-types, which “combine macro-level conditions with social psychological, individual conditions.”[30] In the case of Heaven’s Gate, there is evident interplay between fatalistic psychopathology and collective suicidal altruism in the actions of Marshall Applewhite and his followers.

Notes

[1] George D. Chryssides, “Suicide, Suicidology, and Heaven’s Gate,” Journal of Religion and Violence 6, no. 2 (2018): 191, https://www.jstor.org/stable/26671570.

[2] Rick Ross, “Warning Signs,” Cult Education Institute, https://culteducation.com/warningsigns.html.

[3] Sarah Edmonson, interviewee, Cults and Extreme Beliefs, season 1, episode 1, “NXIVM,” Prime Video, 2018, https://www.amazon.com/gp/video/detail/B07DC7W1R1/ref=atv_hm_hom_c_lZOsi7_2_1?jic=8%7CEgNhbGw%3D, 03:20-30.

[4] Ibid., 37:45-50.

[5] Steven Hassan, “Understanding Cults: The Basics,” Psychology Today, June 5, 2021, https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/blog/freedom-mind/202106/understanding-cults-the-basics.

[6] Dennis Yusko, “An Espian’s Brief Life,” Times Union, February 1, 2004, https://thefallofnxivm.com/the-coverage/an-espian-s-brief-life/.

[7] Seth Abrutyn and Anna S. Mueller, “The Socioemotional Foundations of Suicide: A Microsociological View of Durkheim’s Suicide,” Sociological Theory 32, no. 4 (2014): 338, http://www.jstor.org/stable/43186681.

[8] Émile Durkheim, Suicide: A Study in Sociology, trans. John Spaulding (Taylor & Francis Group, 2002), 43, https://ebookcentral.proquest.com/lib/uncp-ebooks/reader.action?docID=242097&ppg=228.

[9] Abrutyn and Mueller, 333.

[10] Robert Jones, Émile Durkheim: An Introduction to Four Major Works. Sage Publications, 1986. 92.

[11] Tony Salvatore. “Suicide Pacts: Deciding to Die Together.” U.S. Department of Justice, 2024. https://leb.fbi.gov/articles/featured-articles/suicide-pacts-deciding-to-die-together#:~:text=One%20individual%20often%20induces%20the%20other%20to%20join%20in%20a%20pact.&text=The%20initiator%20has%20been%20termed,female%20partners%20to%20join%20them.

[12] George Chryssides, “‘Come On Up, and I Will Show Thee’: Heaven's Gate as a Postmodern Group,” in Controversial New Religions, ed. James Lewis and Jesper Aagaard (Oxford University Press, 2004), 355, ISBN 978-0-19-515682-9.

[13] Jacques Steinberg, “From Religious Childhood to Reins of a U.F.O. Cult,” The New York Times, March 29, 1997, https://www.nytimes.com/1997/03/29/us/from-religious-childhood-to-reins-of-a-ufo-cult.html.

[14] Genevieve Carlton, “The Story of Marshall Applewhite, The Unhinged Cult Leader Who Orchestrated A Mass Poisoning,” All That’s Interesting, August 8, 2022, https://allthatsinteresting.com/marshall-applewhite.

[15] Robert Balch and David Taylor, “Heaven's Gate: Implications for the Study of Commitment to New Religions,” in Encyclopedic Sourcebook of UFO Religions, ed. James R. Lewis (Prometheus Books, 2003), 215, ISBN 978-1-57392-964-6.

[16] Don Lattin, “Cult's Doctrine Was Based on Leader's Insecurities,” SFGate Chronicle, March 29, 1997, https://www.sfgate.com/news/article/Cult-s-Doctrine-Was-Based-on-Leader-s-Insecurities-3502954.php.

[17] Steven Jones, “The Strange Story of The Heaven’s Gate Cult,” Historic Flix, https://historicflix.com/the-strange-story-of-the-heavens-gate-cult/.

[18] Howard Chua-Eoan, “Imprisoned by His Own Passions: Marshall Herff Applewhite,” Time, April 7, 1997, https://time.com/archive/6730591/imprisoned-by-his-own-passions-marshall-herff-applewhite/.

[19] Jones, “The Strange Story of the Heaven’s Gate Cult.”

[20] Mary Bednarowski, “Outside the Mainstream: Women's Religion and Women’s Religious Leaders in Nineteenth-Century America,” Journal of the American Academy of Religion 48, no. 2 (June 1980): 221, https://www.jstor.org/stable/pdf/1462703.pdf.

[21] Ibid., 224.

[22] Ibid., 222.

[23] Jones, “The Strange Story of the Heaven’s Gate Cult.”

[24] Ibid.; Revelation 11:3.

[25] Benjamin Zeller, “Scaling Heaven’s Gate: Individualism and Salvation in a New Religious Movement,” Nova Religio: The Journal of Alternative and Emergent Religions 10, no. 2 (2006): 80, https://doi.org/10.1525/nr.2006.10.2.75.

[26] Susan Raine, “Reconceptualising the Human Body: Heaven’s Gate and the Quest for Divine Transformation,” Religion 35, no. 2 (2005): 116, https://research.ebsco.com/linkprocessor/plink?id=60ac1df8-6f8b-3cd1-ad61-38fc763c47f7.

[27] Ibid., 100.

[28] Zeller, “Scaling Heaven’s Gate: Individualism and Salvation in a New Religious Movement,” 80.

[29] Bruce P. Dohrenwend, “Egoism, Altruism, Anomie, and Fatalism: A Conceptual Analysis of Durkheim’s Types.” American Sociological Review 24, no. 4 (1959): 467, https://doi.org/10.2307/2089533.

[30] Abrutyn and Mueller, 333.

Bibliography

Abrutyn, Seth, and Anna S. Mueller. “The Socioemotional Foundations of Suicide: A Microsociological View of Durkheim’s Suicide.” Sociological Theory 32, no. 4 (2014): 327–51. http://www.jstor.org/stable/43186681.

Bednarowski, Mary. “Outside the Mainstream: Women's Religion and Women’s Religious Leaders in Nineteenth-Century America.” Journal of the American Academy of Religion 48, no. 2 (June 1980): 207-31. https://www.jstor.org/stable/pdf/1462703.pdf.

Balch, Robert and David Taylor. “Heaven's Gate: Implications for the Study of Commitment to New Religions.” In Encyclopedic Sourcebook of UFO Religions. Edited by James R. Lewis. Prometheus Books, 2003. ISBN 978-1-57392-964-6.

Carlton, Genevieve. “The Story Of Marshall Applewhite, The Unhinged Cult Leader Who Orchestrated A Mass Poisoning.” All That’s Interesting, August 8, 2022. https://allthatsinteresting.com/marshall-applewhite.

Chryssides, George D. “Suicide, Suicidology, and Heaven’s Gate.” Journal of Religion and Violence 6, no. 2 (2018): 191–205. https://www.jstor.org/stable/26671570.

---. “‘Come On Up, and I Will Show Thee’: Heaven's Gate as a Postmodern Group.” In Controversial New Religions, edited by James Lewis and Jesper Aagaard. Oxford University Press, 2004. ISBN 978-0-19-515682-9.

Chua-Eoan, Howard. “Imprisoned by His Own Passions: Marshall Herff Applewhite.” Time, April 7, 1997. https://time.com/archive/6730591/imprisoned-by-his-own-passions-marshall-herff-applewhite/.

Dohrenwend, Bruce P. “Egoism, Altruism, Anomie, and Fatalism: A Conceptual Analysis of Durkheim’s Types.” American Sociological Review 24, no. 4 (1959): 466–73. https://doi.org/10.2307/2089533.

Durkheim, Émile. Suicide: A Study in Sociology. Translated by John Spaulding. Taylor & Francis Group, 2002. https://ebookcentral.proquest.com/lib/uncp-ebooks/reader.action?docID=242097&ppg=228.

Hassan, Steven. “Understanding Cults: The Basics.” Psychology Today, June 5, 2021. https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/blog/freedom-mind/202106/understanding-cults-the-basics.

Jones, Robert. Émile Durkheim: An Introduction to Four Major Works. Sage Publications, 1986.

Jones, Steven. “The Strange Story of The Heaven’s Gate Cult.” Historic Flix. https://historicflix.com/the-strange-story-of-the-heavens-gate-cult/.

Lattin, Don. “Cult's Doctrine Was Based on Leader's Insecurities.” SFGate Chronicle, March 29, 1997. https://www.sfgate.com/news/article/Cult-s-Doctrine-Was-Based-on-Leader-s-Insecurities-3502954.php.

Raine, Susan. “Reconceptualising the Human Body: Heaven’s Gate and the Quest for Divine Transformation.” Religion 35, no. 2 (2005): 98-117. https://research.ebsco.com/linkprocessor/plink?id=60ac1df8-6f8b-3cd1-ad61-38fc763c47f7.

Ross, Rick. “Warning Signs.” Cult Education Institute, https://culteducation.com/warningsigns.html.

Salvatore, Tony. “Suicide Pacts: Deciding to Die Together.” U.S. Department of Justice. 2024. https://leb.fbi.gov/articles/featured-articles/suicide-pacts-deciding-to-die-together#:~:text=One%20individual%20often%20induces%20the%20other%20to%20join%20in%20a%20pact.&text=The%20initiator%20has%20been%20termed,female%20partners%20to%20join%20them.

Steinberg, Jacques. “From Religious Childhood To Reins of a U.F.O. Cult.” The New York Times, March 29, 1997. https://www.nytimes.com/1997/03/29/us/from-religious-childhood-to-reins-of-a-ufo-cult.html.

Yusko, Dennis. “An Espian’s Brief Life” Times Union, February 1, 2004. https://thefallofnxivm.com/the-coverage/an-espian-s-brief-life/.

Zeller, Benjamin. “Scaling Heaven’s Gate: Individualism and Salvation in a New Religious Movement.” Nova Religio: The Journal of Alternative and Emergent Religions 10, no. 2 (2006): 75–102. https://doi.org/10.1525/nr.2006.10.2.75.

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Moses and the Burning Bush, 1883 by John Martin

A particular pen on one’s desk is known among others by its distinguishing characteristics; these features being unknown would render the pen an unidentified member of its collective category.

“Grab a pen from my desk.”

“Which pen?”

“Any pen, they are all the same.”

In fact, varying sizes, colors, and unique scratches in lacquer set the objects apart. The recognition of each implement is dependent upon both its collective and individual identity. The object on the desk is known as a pen insofar as it shares essential features with other members of the pen category; the pen that I ask for is known by its distinctive presentation of these features. Likewise, I am known as a person insofar as I present the qualities of personhood; the person I am is known by what sets me apart from other persons.

As features relating to the collective category are observed to differ in expression, collective subcategories confer identities that are nested within that of the greater collective category, e.g., fountain and ballpoint as identities within the greater identity of pen. Further differences within the subcategories ultimately bring individual identities as categorization reaches its end, an epistemological limit corresponding to the depth of one's relationship with the existent being identified, e.g., long red fountain, short blue fountain, long blue ballpoint, short red ballpoint, short blonde man, tall ginger woman, etc.

“Hey, you!” I shout.

Everyone turns.

I am then more specific, “Sir!”

The men in the room continue looking while the women turn away.

More specific yet, “Short blonde man!”

The miliue dwindles.

“Mr. John Crumb!”

The man with whom I wish to speak remains facing me.

Thus, individual identity is obtained by existing in a relational state of otherness among fellow constituents of a collective category. Suppose the object were to know itself and its others.

“I am a pen, you are a pen.”

Suppose the object were alone.

“I am…What am I?”

The object's individual identity is redundant where other objects, which are essentially alike though ostensibly different, are not present to form a category and collective identity. It might be said that the subjective identity of I remains despite the sentient object's solitude. However, if identity as such depends upon the relation of two existents, one being set apart from the other, awareness of oneself as an I would be dependent upon the existence of some other I with which to relate. Therefore, whence comes I to the lonely?

Adam Naming the Animals, circa 1630 by Jan Brueghel the Younger

To be alone is unreconciled otherness. One is an other to his family, his neighbors, his environment, his god(s), and indeed himself. These relations confer particular identities to the self, e.g., son, friend, steward, worshipper, I, etc. Inter-category relationships arise from teleological dependency. The object on my desk is a pen, not the paper it stains; however, the identity of pen cannot be fulfilled without a surface to mark. Likewise, a being is not its environment, but it could not be without one.

Intra-category and inter-category relationships form identities that suffer upon one relation being distanced from the other; there is a positive correlation between the degree of separation between identities within a relationship and the damage dealt to them. A woman conceives a male child, creating the identities of mother and son within a family. The son is swept away by a rip current on a vacation to the coast. The woman that once nursed, nurtured, caressed, and cultivated the life she bore is bereft and bereaved of the apple of her I. A gardener is injured, leaving his garden unattended for some time. In the gardener's absence, the garden is overrun with weeds. It is no longer a garden, it is indiscernible from wilderness. How is one to act as a mother to a dead son or as a son to a gone father? What is a gardener with no garden or a garden with no gardener? Can one be a friend with only foes? How could the object on my desk without ink or a tip be written with as a pen? Thus, discordance with respect to inter-category and intra-category others damages the self as it is separated from that upon which and those upon whom its own identity depends within these relationships.

The issue extends to the self's subjective identity: If I am an I, and I am alone, how to know what I should be with no example except myself? As I stumble through my environment, of which I have limited awareness, I inevitably step on an unseen thorn. I encounter error, pain. As an ignorant lone wanderer, I do not know how an I should see because I am the only one. I am at odds with myself, confused, and afraid.

“Whoever has learned to be anxious in the right way has learned the ultimate.” – Søren Kierkegaard.

Søren Kierkegaard, 1902 by Luplau Janssen

Untowardness is recognized as the self perceives itself in unamiable relation to a valued other. Awareness of the self's untoward otherness poses two options: reconcile or rebel. Reconciliation occurs where the self is viewed and valued as a you in dependent relation to an intra-category other; in the case of an inter-category other, the self empathetically ascends or condescends to the higher or lower category, respectively. Rebellion is the self's rejection of an other for its identity.

Towardness – a state of concession and progression, active or passive and intentional or unintentional, with respect to a value.

• Peace: Sense of towardness

• Joy: Identification of towardness

• Fulfillment: Identification with towardness

Untowardness – a state of transgression and regression, active or passive and intentional or unintentional, with respect to a value.

• Anxiety: Sense of untowardness

• Guilt: Identification of untowardness

• Shame: Identification with untowardness

The (un)towardness experienced by the self corresponds to its position on the (un)towardness spectrum and the higher or lower status of the value in question.

“To see a world in a grain of sand / And a heaven in a wild flower, / Hold infinity in the palm of your hand / And eternity in an hour.” – William Blake

William Blake, 1807 by Thomas Phillips.

One attends to values, such as personal health, family welfare, political stability, social justice, etc., in a manner that falls on the spectrum of (un)towardness; values correspond to an identity of the self, and therefore to a relationship:

• Personal Health - self and I

• Family Welfare - son to mother, father to son, husband to wife, etc.

• Political Stability - citizen to nation

Active and intentional towardness with respect to a value brings one’s greatest sense of peace, joy in acting, and fulfillment of identity. To conduct oneself in an untoward manner with respect to a value elicits anxiety to a greater or lesser degree depending on such action being active and intentional or passive and unintentional, respectively.

Suppose one highly values environmental cleanliness, they feel anxious at the thought of an other participating in a transgression against their high-status value. One's anxiety is greatest where he or she is intentionally acting in an untoward manner with respect to the value, e.g., littering. Recognizing the cause of anxiety, i.e., the act of littering, brings guilt in the case of personal culpability.

The relationship between the self and an other creates, orients, and animates one's identity; the anxiety experienced as a result of perceived untowardness with respect to a valued other compels and motivates value preservation for the longevity of the identity. Following an identification of that which one is, is not, and potentially could be in relation to a value, identification with the untoward state of neglecting value brings shame.

Adam and Eve Driven Out of Eden, circa 1868 by Gustave Doré

Religiously, Christian and Jewish sin, Buddhist akusala kamma, Hindu pāpam (पाप), etc., would be instances, patterns, or states of untowardness. The resulting anxiety and guilt, i.e., sense and identification of existential disconnection with the divine, is addressed via reconciliatory action toward fulfillment – redemption, salvation, enlightenment, Nirvana, moksha, etc.

In the Judeo-Christian cosmogony, awareness of untoward otherness is demonstrated by humanity's mythological progenitors as they set themselves against that to which – the Other upon whom – they are ultimately dependent: “And the eyes of them both were opened, and they knew that they were naked; and they sewed fig leaves together, and made themselves aprons.”1 Adam expresses the shame he and Eve experience in being exposed to the knowledge of good and evil, knowing what they are, are not, and could be. He says to God, “I heard thy voice in the garden, and I was afraid, because I was naked; and I hid myself.”2 To address their hopeless shame, i.e., identification with the Fall and the resulting existential untowardness, they attempt to cover themselves with foliage; God then clothes them in animal skins and turns them out of Eden.3 This scene, often thought a punishment, is best read as a mercy: To be juxtaposed with perfection in a state of imperfection is to find oneself within a category that is not his own, unreconciled, and alone.

God uses animal skins – implying the death of the animal – to cover Adam and Eve; the term for “atone” derives from the Hebrew kaphar (כפר) meaning “to cover.” Christian hermeneutic practice links this sacrifice with Christ's own. For the Christian, the pattern of reconciliatory towardness is embodied and fully realized by Jesus Christ while rebellious untowardness is epitomized by Satan.4

“We shall be free. The almighty hath not built / Here for his envy, will not drive us hence; / Here we may reign secure, and in my choice / To reign is worth ambition though in hell: / Better to reign in Hell than serve in Heaven.” – Satan in Paradise Lost by John Milton

The Fall of Lucifer, 1866 by Gustave Doré

The Christian identity requires identification with Christ. In identifying with the manifest fulfillment of personhood, the embodied Logos (Word or Order), the Son of God, and the Second Person in Trinitarian theology, the Christian is brought into proper relation with the others within his own category of person, the inter-category others with which he shares an environment, and the Other upon whom the value of each self as an I, qua imago dei, is dependent. This identification is held as a soteriological imperative: “No man cometh unto the Father, but by Me,” says Jesus.5 Through reconciliatory identification, the Christian does not lose individuality nor is he conflated with the Other who is beyond category. Rather, in recognizing and accepting its dependent position, the self is given a new identity to embody.

The Rose Gives Honey to the Bees, 1629 from Medicina Catholica by Robert Fludd (first)

Dante’s Beatific Vision, circa 1868 by Gustave Doré (second)

Where an I is known, a you is present; indeed, “where two or three are gathered together in my name, there am I in the midst of them,” says the Second Person.6 To identify with, see through, and live in the second person – to be a you to an other's I – is not a loss of individual identity but a recognition of the others and Other without whom the I would be unknown, cease to be.

Two I's affording proper depth perception, the self sees its own value clearly – I am a you because you are an I. Jesus, the O/other as both God and man, admonishes against the self-destructive selfishness of stumbling through the wilderness with only the lone, near-sighted, and unreconciled I, “For whosoever will save his life shall lose it…whosoever will lose his life for my sake shall find it.”7

Qua Logos incarnate, Christ reconciles fact and value, is and ought, object and subject, self and I; the Other's condescension to and identification with humanity allows the self, others, and the Other to be known and reconciled. Thus, to actively and intentionally sacrifice one’s I for a new identity in, with, and through the O/other is to “love the Lord thy God” and “love thy neighbor as thyself”8 – You and I are for each other.

The Calling of Saint Matthew, circa 1600 by Caravaggio.

Reconciliation of relationship through the fulfillment, not negation, of identity is central to the New Testament, hence the name. Many examples are shown of one's I being given new vision and identity by the light of the O/other, to wit: the respective encounters of Levi/Matthew, Simon/Peter, and Saul/Paul with Christ. Levi/Matthew, a member of the ill-regarded tax collector category, is beckoned from his occupation by Jesus to serve as a disciple.9 Simon, a fisherman whose name means “he has heard,” becomes Peter, meaning “stone” or “rock,” and is tasked with founding the church.10

Saul, a Pharisee “breathing out threats and slaughter against the disciples of the Lord” on a mission of persecution following the events of the Passion, falls to the ground as “there shined round about him a light from heaven.” He hears a voice say to him, “Saul, Saul, why do you persecute me?” The enlightened voice identifies itself, “I am Jesus whom you persecute.”11

Conversion of St. Paul on the Road to Damascus, circa 1865 by Gustave Doré

The blinded man, “trembling and astonished,” says, ‘Lord, what will you have me to do?” Christ instructs him to “arise, and go into [Damascus], and it shall be told you what you must do.”12 Saul, who “could not see for the glory of that light,” is led by the hand of his others that “saw indeed the light, and were afraid.”13 Ananias, “a devout man according to the law,” restores Saul’s sight and tells him that “God of our fathers has chosen you, that you should know his will, and see that Just One, and should hear the voice of his mouth.”14

The three aforementioned figures each encounter the O/other’s I, they see Christ in Jesus, the value in the person. They are found where and as they are, and shown where and who they could be. To see the Second Person, the you – the Other in the other – is to see who one is, is not, and could be. One sees that he knows himself as an I because the O/other is an I that knows him as a you. Therefore, “those with eyes to see and ears to hear” accept the quest of reconciling otherness. They beckon every I to turn from the lowly shadow of the self toward the light, the value, the you of the O/other, as they were beckoned: “Be not afraid…Rise up quickly…Follow me.”15

St. Peter Being Freed from Prison, circa 1617 by Gerard van Honthorst

The events of Peter’s persecution by Marcus Julius Agrippa (Herod Agrippa) as they are described in the Acts of the Apostles illustrate the battle waged within the repentant self between reconciliatory identity and rebellious identity, a daily scrimmage in the war erelong won by the O/other.

“Herod the king stretched forth his hands to persecute certain of the church…he proceeded further to take Peter…he put him in prison…intending after the passover to bring him forth to the people.”16 Peter, the archetypal disciple of the Second Person, is chained by a prideful king. As the prisoner sleeps, “an angel of the Lord stood by him, and a light shined in the cell.” Peter is awoken by the light, “and his chains fell off from his hands.”17 The captive man goes free; once he has “come to himself,” he says, “Now I know of a truth, that the Lord hath sent forth his angel and delivered me out of the hand of Herod.”18

“Arrayed in royal apparel,” Herod Agrippa speaks to his others with “the voice of god, and not of a man.” He is then destroyed by the same light that delivers the apostle because “he gave not God the glory.” Peter’s persecutor is taken from himself, and given to the worms.19

Death of Herod Agrippa, circa 1703 by Jan Luyken (first)

The Wrestle of Jacob, 1855 by Gustave Doré (second)

The Fall of Babylon, 1819 by John Martin (third)

Suppose my pen were to gain the knowledge of pen and not pen, deny its fellows, and proclaim its identity to be independent of the others in its family; it tosses its tip and spills its ink in stubborn refusal of being written with. The others could not see it as one of them. In search of a pen I would toss the unrecognizable object back in the drawer – “I know you not.”20 It would be unreconciled to itself, without purpose, without a name, alone.

As a confused and frightened tool, how to know what a good pen should be and do? A feather is dropped among the prodigal ballpoints to remind them,

“Know the writer as you are wielded in passion and bear his word with the ink that runs through you now, that once covered me.”

The Inspiration of Saint Matthew, circa 1602 by Caravaggio

The Dead Christ Mourned, circa 1604 by Annibale Carracci. (first)

The Death of Socrates, 1787 by Jacques-Louis David. (second)

The biblical Passion narrative and Plato’s Apology demonstrate the love of wisdom as embodied, active, and self-sacrificial through the respective actions and attitudes of Jesus and Socrates. Charles Kahn, a classicist and professor at the University of Pennsylvania, calls the Athenian a “martyred embodiment of a moral ideal.”[1] Christ, qua Logos and Son of God, is understood as the manifestation of transcendental truth. Early Christian apologists therefore regarded Socrates and others in the pantheon of Greek philosophy as “partakers in the Word of God” insofar as the pagans were also “those who lived by reason.”[2] The present purpose of a rudimentary analysis and comparison requires that the historicity of both figures’ respective source literatures be addressed, albeit in a brief manner given the limited scope.

Donald Morrison of Rice University writes, “the problem of the historical Socrates is like the problem of the historical Jesus: it is vitally important to our sense of ourselves, as well as to our sense of the civilization to which we belong, that we obtain a historically reliable picture of who [these men were].”[3] Extra-biblical information regarding Jesus of Nazareth derived from Josephus’ Antiquities of the Jews and Tacitus’ Annals describe the figure as a Jewish teacher at the center of a messianic movement who was crucified by order of Pontius Pilate in first-century Judaea during the reign of Emperor Tiberius, which concords with the biblical accounts.[4]

Scholars such as Bart Erhrman have argued against the reliability of the Gospels – and the New Testament generally – as a source of accurate insight into the person of Jesus, claiming the available manuscripts to be considerably “error-ridden” as a consequence of theologically and/or socially motivated alterations.[5] However, a study conducted by Maurice Robinson of Southeastern Baptist Theological Seminary examining the textual variances Erhman cites – sections of Luke and Matthew in particular – illustrates that “the base form of the autograph text has been substantially preserved, tending to differ only in minor details among the manuscripts. The primary base text otherwise clearly represents that which originally had been given by the sacred writers in the first century.”[6] Not intending to produce a strict biographical account of Jesus, these authors agree in the overall portrayal of the Nazarene where they may vary in minor specifics.

The Socratic discourses by Plato face a similar inquiry with respect to the presentation of their subject, given a number of anachronisms and historically-dubious inconsistencies. Eminent scholars such as Klaus Döring and Charles Kahn argue that, to a greater extent than the other dialogues, the Apology affords a measured and reliable account of the patron saint of philosophy. Following his assessment, Kahn concludes that “Plato has given us a true picture of [Socrates] as he saw him.”[7] Döring assents, stating, “the picture of Socrates in the Apology is in its basic features authentic.”[8]

Gregory Vlastos, among the most reputable individuals in the scholarship of Socrates, arrives at the same position of “accepting the Apology as a reliable recreation of the thought and character of the man Plato knew so well.”[9] Researcher Donald Morrison emphasizes that such a view is tenable from the perspective of the text as a “rhetorically-effective public defense of Socrates’ character and opinions,” rather than a precise verbatim transcription.[10] Thus, seen as philosophical and theological works with significant biographical elements, the Apology and the Gospels may reliably inform a general conceptual comparison of the foundational cultural figures they each shed light on.

Jesus and Socrates present paradigms of humility. Both men acknowledge themselves as what they are said to be; however, they emphasize their reliance on an Other for their particular titles and characterize their wisdom as not merely possessed, but possessive. In 399 B.C. Socrates was brought before the People's Court of Athens by Meletus, Anytus, and Lycon to be tried for crimes of heresy and “corrupting the minds of the young.”[11] Socrates states his ignorance plainly as the questioning begins, saying, “What you will hear will be a straightforward speech in the words that occur to me…Let me remind you of my position. This is my first appearance in a court of law…and so I am a stranger to the language of this place.”[12] He also clarifies the nature of his purported wisdom, saying, “Real wisdom is the property of God.”[13]

For Socrates, wisdom is grounded in an awareness of one’s limited knowledge and submission to critical inquiry. He says to the court, “[The oracle at Delphi] has merely taken my name as an example, as if he would say to us ‘The wisest of you men is he who has realized, like Socrates, that in respect to wisdom he is really worthless.’”[14] Socratic practice of philosophy, the love of wisdom, therefore begins with an active and honest quest for that which is lacking from an other who can provide it. Indeed, the process of questioning and reconciling his understanding to the divine is a duty for the Athenian: “That is why I still go about seeking and searching in obedience to the divine command, if I think that anyone is wise…[But] when I think they are not wise, I try to help the cause of God by proving he is not.”[15]

“The Wisdom of God,” as Luke’s Gospel calls him, justifies himself as such in the Gospel of John.[16] The Pharisees say to Christ, “‘You are bearing witness to yourself; your testimony is not true.’ Jesus answers, ‘Even if I do bear witness to myself, my testimony is true…you do not know whence I come or whither I am going. You judge according to the flesh, I judge no one. Yet even if I do judge, my judgment is true, for it is not I alone that judge, but I and he who sent me.’”[17] During Jesus’ trial, Pilate asks, “Are you the King of the Jews?” The accused answers, “You have said so.” As charges continue to be made against him, Jesus gives “no further answer, so that Pilate wondered.”[18] Contextually, the Messiah – the anointed one – was expected to be an earthly political ruler; this limited understanding of the fuller nature of Christ’s kingship therefore occurs frequently throughout the Gospels.

In the context of the narrative as a whole, Jesus’ interrogation, crucifixion, and resurrection effect the fulfillment of his royalty and the correction of the misunderstanding displayed by his apostles and others. Thus, the Nazarene’s approach to ignorance holistically embodies that of Socrates in attitude, belief, and choice – the Word, the Wisdom of God, “is made flesh” in the Passion.[19]

Through Christ’s suffering (passion, passio, πάθος) his fullest relevance is realized. “Truly,” says the centurion beneath Jesus’ body, “this man was the Son of God.”[20] Keeping in mind the imagery of bread as the body of Christ, Jesus’ presence becoming known to the two apostles during the breaking of bread in Emma′us represents the necessity of being witness to and a participant in the sacrificial process – the Passion, the suffering. Before the meal, the now-resurrected Messiah asks his doubting disciples, “Was it not necessary that the Christ should suffer these things and enter into his glory?” He then blesses and shares the broken bread with his companions, becoming “known to them in the breaking of the bread.”[21] Prior to the climax of the Passion, not yet having the necessary knowledge for such suffering to be understood by them, the disciples insist that Jesus’ death should be avoided. Christ tells them before the crucifixion that “the Son of Man must suffer many things…and be killed, and after three days rise again.” Peter, the archetypal apostle, rebukes his teacher; the latter retorts, saying, “you are not on the side of God, but of men….If any man would come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross and follow me.”[22]

Jesus is communicating that in order to “enter into his glory” one must recognize the “Wisdom of God” via participation with, in, and through passionate sacrifice – love.[23] Christ is shown to question and ultimately accept the pain of such participation, the suffering and death of his present self. In the Garden of Gethsemane, he prays, “My Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from me; nevertheless, not as I will, but as thou wilt.”[24] Despite the suffering, Jesus acts in trust of the One by whom he has been in-formed, indeed inspired: “the Holy Spirit descended upon [Jesus]…and a voice came from heaven, ‘Thou art my beloved Son; with thee I am well pleased.’"[25] He admonishes his followers against the temptation to cling to the limited self, saying, “For whoever would save his life will lose it, and whoever loses his life for my sake will find it.”[26] Theologically, the possibility of life’s fulfillment would have been lost had Jesus acted on such a temptation.

Socrates also accepts and assures others of the veracity and fidelity of the “prophetic voice” that has hitherto guided him, a guide that he says “could not have failed to oppose” him if his actions were not “sure to bring some good result.”[27] Having not been counseled to the contrary, he willingly faces his impending death, saying, “The difficulty is not so much to escape death; the real difficulty is to escape from doing wrong…”[28] Thematically, Socrates is guided by an external source of information regarding the sacrifice necessary for the embodied fulfillment of his wisdom. The Athenian keeps his cup (of hemlock) so that the corruption of his prosecutors can be witnessed.

As Jesus embodies his correction of Pilate, Socrates demonstrates knowledge, truth, the wisdom of God, etc., through sacrificial action rather than sophistic profession, “not for lack of arguments…but a lack of effrontery and impudence.”[29] Each figure’s reference to an Other, by whom he is afforded the qualities he is said to possess, shows that one should recognize and humbly accept his or her dependent relation to more experienced and knowledgeable others. Further, Jesus and Socrates demonstrate that it is through love, i.e., the willing sacrifice of one’s present and limited state of self for the sake of an other, that one achieves intellectual, ethical, and overall personal betterment.

Notes

[1] Donald Morrison, “On the Alleged Historical Reliability of the Apology,” Archiv für Geschichte der Philosophie 82, no.3 (2000): 235, https://philpapers.org/archive/MOROTA-3.pdf.

[2] Justin Martyr, “The First Apology,” in Fathers of the Church: The First Apology, the Second Apology, Dialogue with Trypho, Exhortation to the Greeks, Discourse to the Greeks, the Monarchy or the Rule of God, tran. Thomas Hall (Catholic University of America Press, 1948), 83, https://ebookcentral.proquest.com/lib/uncp-ebooks/detail.action?docID=3134832.

[3] Morrison, 235.

[4] Paul L. Maier, “Josephus and Jesus,” North American Mission Board, March 30th, 2016. https://www.namb.net/apologetics/resource/josephus-and-jesus/; Cornelius Tacitus, The Annals, eds. Alfred Church, William Brodribb, and Sara Bryant (Random House, 1942; Perseus Digital Library), 15.44. https://www.perseus.tufts.edu/hopper/text?doc=Perseus%3Atext%3A1999.02.0078%3Abook%3D15%3Achapter%3D44.

[5] Thomas Howe, “A Response to Bart D. Erhman’s Misquoting Jesus,” The International Society of Christian Apologetics, 2006, https://files.mychurchwebsite.net/c7579/2006_howe-aresponsetobartehrman.pdf, 20.

[6] Ibid., 19.

[7] Charles Kahn, Plato and the Socratic Dialogue (Cambridge UP, 2008), 88, https://uncp.primo.exlibrisgroup.com/permalink/01UONCAP_INST/camo2t/alma991005871662105736

[8] Ibid., 236.

[9] Ibid., 237.

[10] Morrison, 242.

[11] Plato, “Apology,” trans. Hugh Tredennick in The Last Days of Socrates, ed. Betty Radin (Penguin Books, 1969), 43, 54.

[12] Ibid., 45.

[13] Ibid., 52.

[14] Ibid.

[15] Ibid.

[16] Luke 11:49 (RSV).

[17] John 8:13-16.

[18] Mark 15:2-5.

[19] John 1:14; Luke 11:49.

[20] Mark., 15:39.

[21] Luke 24:26, 35.

[22] Mark 8:31-34.

[23] Luke 11:49

[24] Matthew 26:39.

[25] Luke 3:22.

[26] Matthew 16:25.

[27] Plato, “Apology,” 74.

[28] Ibid., 73.

[29] Ibid., 72.

Bibliography

Ehrman, Bart D. Misquoting Jesus: The Story Behind Who Changed the Bible and Why. Harper San Francisco, 2005.

Evans, Stephen C. The Historical Christ and the Jesus of Faith: The Incarnational Narrative as History. Oxford UP, 1996. https://research.ebsco.com/linkprocessor/plink?id=5f5fb133-0713-39a3-a5a4-2277637c1096.

Howe, Thomas. “A Response to Bart D. Erhman’s Misquoting Jesus,” The International Society of Christian Apologetics, 2006. https://files.mychurchwebsite.net/c7579/2006_howe-aresponsetobartehrman.pdf.

Kahn, Charles. Plato and the Socratic Dialogue. Cambridge UP, 2008. https://uncp.primo.exlibrisgroup.com/permalink/01UONCAP_INST/camo2t/alma991005871662105736

Maier, Paul L. “Josephus and Jesus.” North American Mission Board, March 30^th, 2016. https://www.namb.net/apologetics/resource/josephus-and-jesus/. Accessed February 28^th 2025.

Martyr, Justin. “The First Apology.” In Fathers of the Church: The First Apology, the Second Apology, Dialogue with Trypho, Exhortation to the Greeks, Discourse to the Greeks, the Monarchy or the Rule of God. Translated by Thomas Hall. Catholic University of America Press, 1948. https://ebookcentral.proquest.com/lib/uncp-ebooks/detail.action?docID=3134832.

Morrison, Donald. “On the Alleged Historical Reliability of Plato’s Apology.” Archiv für Geschichte der Philosophie 82, no. 3 (2000): 235-265. https://philpapers.org/archive/MOROTA-3.pdf

Plato. “Apology.” Translated by Hugh Tredennick in The Last Days of Socrates. Edited by Betty Radin. Penguin Books, 1969.

Tacitus, Cornelius. The Annals. Edited by Alfred Church, William Brodribb, and Sara Bryant. Random House, 1942; Perseus Digital Library. Accessed February 28, 2025. https://www.perseus.tufts.edu/hopper/text?doc=Perseus%3Atext%3A1999.02.0078%3Abook%3D15%3Achapter%3D44.

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Storm on the Sea of Galilee, 1633 by Rembrandt. 

How might one captain his intellectual vessel such that he can journey on in confidence of his navigation and that of his fellow seafarers? What is the compass with which we ought to guide our charter for the interconnected islands of truth? Answers have been supplied by merchants of method; many offer solipsistic rationalism, crude empiricism, naïve idealism or base realism. Yet, our judgement – as a compass – is guided to true north by the relation of opposing poles.

Whether reason and/or reality, mind and/or matter, intuitions and/or institutions, one chooses to trust in the reliability of his and/or another's judgement so as to reconcile himself to his environment. To reject it all at the outset, i.e., to begin by refusing to place trust in one's and/or another's ability to attain true knowledge, renders the skeptic adrift amidst a chaotic sea of possibility wherein he will die an epistemic death, drowned beneath the waves of what's and why's having been blown overboard by the incessant winds of circumstance. Inversely, to adopt dogmatic assent to propositions however construed and conceived is to go into this tempest of potentiality in denial of its strength; erelong, the gale steals the sails, the tide takes the crew, and the ship of conviction is capsized.

Thus, neither doubt nor trust are to be cast out, but rolling-hitched – the knot tightening under tension, neither line fraying.

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Platform 9 3/4 by Christopher Clark.

The Harry Potter fantasy novels by J. K. Rowling share significant narrative themes with the biblical corpus. Criticisms by Western Christians of the series typically concern the potential negative influence of the books’ occult imagery on the culture and its heirs. Upon closer inspection, the magic of Hogwarts – far from subversive – is a literary means of world-view enchantment and moral guidance in an age of mere-materialism, relativism, and selfishness.

Bloomsbury Publishing released Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone, the first of Rowling's novels, in the United Kingdom in 1997; the book made its 1998 American debut with Scholastic Press as Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone – with an initial print run of fifty-thousand copies. Though garnering success and much acclaim, many groups and communities throughout America sought to censor the title as its popularity grew; for example, a teacher’s prayer group submitted a proposal to their employers at a high school in Russel Springs, Kentucky seeking the removal of Rowling's work from the library – concerned that the book's depiction of “ghosts, cults, and witchcraft” would warp the minds of their students. By 2003 the novel ranked second on the American Library Association's list of most challenged works.

Christian author and playwright Richard Abanes presents a case against Rowling's fantasy by contrasting it with the work of J. R. R. Tolkien and C. S. Lewis. The pertinent point parents should consider in assessing fantastic imagery, he says, is whether children “can find information in a library or bookstore that will enable them to replicate what they are seeing in the film or the book.” Abanes posits that Harry Potter’s verisimilitude with respect to real world practices of “magik” qualifies it as dangerous, unlike the “story magic and imagination” of Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings and Lewis' Narnia books – which he perceives as “not real.” Attributing growing interest in Wicca among young Westerners to the series, he says that “real Wiccans, real witches, and real occultists are using the popularity of Harry Potter to lure kids toward real world occultism.”

A defining feature of Abanes’ criticism is his reference to the respective religious beliefs of the three aforementioned fantasy world-builders. He writes, “Tolkien and Lewis, of course, were devout Christians. J. K. Rowling does not seem to be…we have no statements from her at all that would indicate that she has made a profession for Christ, that she defines God the same way that Christians define God, or that she views Jesus Christ in the same way. There is nothing.” In point of fact, Harry Potter’s creator is a practicing member of The Church of Scotland. While Abanes does acknowledge the literary value of the series in communicating themes that are “biblically sound…like integrity, honesty, bravery, courage, [and] forgiveness,” he holds that the manner in which this is done, i.e., through representations of sorcery, puts Potter on precarious ground from a Christian perspective.

However, narrow focus on the less-than-pious superficial particulars blinds one to the significance of the story’s deeper narrative pillars of peace, sacrifice, love, and hope; this tendency of Rowling's hyper-conservative critics to fixate on specific literary devices of imagery used to frame profound themes renders them comparable to the Pharisees who “cleanse the outside of the cup and leave the inside untouched, or strain at gnats and end by swallowing camels.” Studied in the classics, Rowling draws from a store of myths that have contributed to the growing Western literary tradition – the foundation of which being the Hebrew Bible and Greek New Testament. Rowling’s execution of plot development, her use of foil pairing, and the portrayal of certain moral principles conflict with the conclusion of Richard Abanes' critique.

A recognizable Christian concept serves as the foundation of the series' plot: the salvific nature of sacrificial love. Harry's parents, Lily and James Potter, are killed whilst trying to protect their son from Voldemort – whose name derives from the French vol de mort meaning “flight of death.” Dumbledore makes this explicit to Harry, saying “Your mother died to save you. If there is one thing Voldemort cannot understand, that is love.” An ultimate act of familial affection overcoming death thus establishes Harry as “The Boy Who Lived.” It is later revealed that Potter and Voldemort have been bound by this event such that Harry retains a part of the Dark Lord's essence. Literarily, the linking of the characters in this manner creates their foil-pair relationship; narratively, the connection will prove to be the core of Harry's role as a wizard and the key to Voldemort’s ultimate downfall.

Early foundational plot points of Harry Potter are analogous to the narratives of the Fall and Flood in Genesis. In the Christian cosmogonic myth, God “moved upon the face of the waters” and orders the world out of chaos – water being symbolic of disorder; the familiar story of Noah’s Ark shows the immersion of the world in this chaos, with a dove bringing an olive branch indicative of dry land, i.e., a sign of hope for peace and order. Orphaned and marked by death with the iconic scar, Harry is sent to live amongst the Muggles; he is brought to the home of Petunia and Vernon Dursley, the former being his only blood relative. Over the next decade, the young Potter suffers the chaos of an unloving reality in experiencing the abuses of the Dursley family. A week before his eleventh birthday Harry receives a sign of hope: an acceptance letter from Hogwarts – a place of enchantment, order, and peace.

The magic Harry participates in throughout the series after his arrival at the “School of Witchcraft and Wizardry” is shown to be a force with which the witch or wizard engages so as to effect change – for good or ill. Criticisms of the series often omit reference to a crucial point in the ethos of Potter’s world: Not all forms of magic are permitted. “The Ministry of Magic” enforces prohibitions against improper conduct; this institution of authority is infiltrated by Voldemort's underlings to undermine Potter's plot to defeat the Dark Lord. In the event Harry and other protagonists act in defiance of the rules they do so to adhere to a higher principle: loving sacrifice for the sake of the other. When Harry's cousin Dudley Dursley is attacked by a dementor, a life-draining creature that serves Voldemort, Potter uses a spell to protect him – the use of magic by a student of his year beyond the walls of Hogwarts is strictly forbidden. Thus, a clear moral message in concordance with Christian thinking is conveyed: the spirit of the law takes precedence over the letter thereof.

Nowhere in Rowling's series does the triumph of loving sacrifice over death become more potent than in the final novel, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. Harry discovers that he harbors a part of Voldemort’s vitality, along with several objects called “Horcruxes,” and must die to facilitate the Dark Lord's demise. Potter willingly confronts Voldemort and is struck with the Killing Curse spell. However, Harry has since gained ownership of the “Deathly Hallows,” the Invisibility Cloak, the Elder Wand, and the Resurrection Stone – which make their possessor immune to death. There is an important contrast made between these magical items and the MacGuffin narrative device of the first novel: The Hallows conquer death, the Philosopher’s/Sorcerer’s Stone only forestalls it. In Rowling’s first book, Dumbledore offers Harry reassurance that the ultimate destruction of the stone of earthly life was proper and necessary; he says, “After all, to the well-organized mind, death is but the next great adventure…the [Sorcerer’s] Stone was really not such a wonderful thing. As much money and life as you could want! The two things most humans would choose above all – the trouble is, humans have a knack for choosing precisely those things which are worst for them.”

Following his sacrifice, Potter enters an ethereal vision of King's Cross station, where he first departed the Muggle world for Hogwarts, and encounters a vision of Dumbledore. The schoolmaster's spirit tells his pupil that Voldemort “did not recognize the Resurrection Stone he turned into a Horcrux.” Explaining this blindness, Dumbledore says “whom would [Voldemort] want to bring back from the dead? He fears the dead. He does not love.” Following the startling revelation to onlookers that he survived, Harry enters into his last battle with Voldemort – a final duel with death. As they war, Harry says to his foil-pair counterpart “I know things you don't know…I know lots of important things that you don't.” “Is it love again?” Voldemort retorts, “Dumbledore’s favorite solution, love.”

Love being the proper animating spirit of Hogwarts is also seen in Dumbledore's description of an object that plays a key role in kindling Harry's development as a wizard: the magic mirror of “Erised” – desire reversed. The wise wizard tells his student, “It shows us nothing more or less than the deepest, most desperate desire of our hearts.” Potter peers into the looking glass and sees the parents who knew and loved him, whom he never fully knew. Dumbledore goes on to admonish Harry against staring too long, he says, “Men have wasted away before it, entranced by what they have seen, or been driven mad, not knowing if what it shows is real or even possible…It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live.” Symbolically, an inkling of familial love beckons Potter to its unity through a balance of self-reflection and redemptive action – cardinal characteristics of Christian faith. The series concludes with a collision of polar forces: love and hatred, good and evil, life and death. Voldemort is “killed by his own rebounding curse,” reuniting Harry with his friends and mentors in a new condition of peace without the looming threat of the Dark Lord: “The sun rose steadily over Hogwarts” while the personification of death lay dead, “the snakelike face vacant and unknowing.” In this outline of Rowling's story one can discern clear and significant overlap with a central theme of the Christian mythos, viz., love, life, and peace win in the war against pride, death, and chaos.

Central to addressing the Potter problem is appreciating the didacticism of literature and mythology. Critic and philosopher Sir Roger Scruton writes, “We read stories of heroes and their adventures…the emotions and motives of other people ‘come before us’ in works of art and culture and we spontaneously sympathize, by recreating in imagination the life they depict.” Rowling affords a positive ontological status to imagination through the words of Dumbledore, her wise old man archetype. In the post-death vison, Harry poses a question concerning the reality of his experience to his now-deceased mentor and master wizard; the latter responds, “Of course this is happening in your head, Harry, but why on earth should that mean it is not real?” Harry then contrasts Voldemort’s selfish lust for power with Dumbledore’s “favorite solution” of love, calling his mentor “a better wizard, a better man” than the Dark Lord.

Qua modern myth, Harry Potter employs exemplary characters that are formed by and comprehended with the emotional knowledge of the West's Judeo-Christian cultural inheritance. Harry Potter embodies the role of heroic savior, a mythological archetype epitomized by the figure of Christ. Practical knowledge is not the only stock culture deals in. Rather, a culture is also a repository of “knowledge of the heart,” which pulses through its body of literature, music, visual art, etc. Thus, Rowling is not demonstrating how to do witchcraft or perform spells but is inviting her readers to feel as Harry does in his growth as a wizard learning the ways of magic – as a person seeking to understand love, sacrifice, and hope.

Many of the series’ initial disparagers have since come to acknowledge and embrace Rowling's work for its narrative successes. Russ Briemier writes in Christianity Today, “People seem to be changing their minds after seeing the films or reading the books, discovering that there’s more to J. K. Rowling’s multi-volume masterpiece than fantastic storytelling. They’re finding redemptive themes that point to larger life lessons in harmony with Christian beliefs.” The principles propounded in Harry Potter transcend the “non-Christian” imagery employed to communicate them; a macabre crucifixion cross is transfigured into a symbol of life in light of Christ.

Emotional didacticism being a key function of myth, J. K. Rowling's fantasy is to be seen as one among many stories that allow its readers to feel foundational narrative themes that undergird Western culture, e.g., love and sacrifice triumph over death and despair. In an increasingly anxious, apathetic, and chaotic cultural moment, Harry Potter affords young readers a ticket to hopeful enchantment from a stair cupboard of spiritual isolation.

Bibliography

Breimeier, Russ. “Redeeming Harry Potter.” Christianity Today, November 15, 2005. https://www.christianitytoday.com/2005/11/redeemingharrypotter/.

Doyle, Robert. Books Challenged or Banned in 2002-2003. American Library Association. 2003. https://alair.ala.org/bitstreams/c5480cab-80f0-4162-988e-d0bad833cc6e/download.

Elliot, Belinda. “Harry Potter: Harmless Christian Novel or Doorway to the Occult?” The Christian Broadcasting Network, December 10, 2022. https://cbn.com/article/religion/harry-potter-harmless-christian-novel-or-doorway-occult

Ferrel, William. Literature and Film as Modern Mythology. Praeger Publishers, 2000.

Griesinger, Emily. “Harry Potter and the ‘Deeper Magic’: Narrating Hope in Children’s Literature.” Christianity and Literature 51, no. 3 (2002): 455–480. http://www.jstor.org/stable/44313128.

Haight, Victoria. “The Church of Harry Potter: Examining Harry Potter’s Popularity in the Context of Religious Faith and Function.” Master's thesis, University of Wyoming, 2016. https://login.proxy181.nclive.org/login?url=https://www.proquest.com/dissertations-theses/church-harry-potter-examining-i-potters/docview/1894180528/se-2.

Ostry, Elaine. “Accepting Mudbloods: The Ambivalent Social Vision of J. K. Rowling's Fairy Tales.” In Reading Harry Potter: Critical Essays, edited by Giselle Anatol, 88-101. Praeger Publishers, 2003.

Pearson, Sharon Ely. "The Life, Death, and Resurrection of Harry Potter." Anglican and Episcopal History 81, no. 3 (2012): 371-372. https://login.proxy181.nclive.org/login?url=https://www.proquest.com/scholarly-journals/life-death-resurrection-harry-potter/docview/1095399073/se-2.

Rowling, J. K. Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone. Scholastic Inc, 1998.

---. Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix. Scholastic Inc, 2003.

---. Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. Scholastic Inc, 2007.

Scruton, Roger. Culture Counts: Faith & Feeling in a World Besieged. Encounter Books, 2007.

Sutherland, Ray. Understanding Biblical Stories: Covenant, Sin, and Redemption in the Old Testament. Zion Press, 2020.

Zirkle, Ashley. “Harry Potter and the American Response: Persecution and Popularity of the Boy Who Lived.” Master's thesis, Grand Valley State University, 2015. https://scholarworks.gvsu.edu/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=1787&context=theses.

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The Four Horsemen, of the Apocalypse, circa 1498 by Albrecht Dürer (left).

Adam and Eve, 1917 by Max Beckmann (right).

The works Four Horsemen, of the Apocalypse by Albrecht Dürer and Adam and Eve by Max Beckmann depict biblically-inspired scenes of life and death, betrayal and revelation. Dürer’s woodblock print completed around 1498 is one of fifteen in a series of such pieces showing scenes from the Book of Revelation; the “Four Horsemen” are personifications of death, war, famine, and the Antichrist – or plague or conquest depending on interpretation. These riders are attended by an angel of merciful instruction: “Hurt not the earth…till we have sealed the servants of our God in their foreheads.”1 In a complex and precise manner, Dürer communicates the foundational narrative of a detailed apocalyptic vison. Twentieth-century artist Max Beckmann returns to the beginning, as it were, and portrays the central figures of Christian cosmogony. Adam and Eve shows humanity’s mythological forebears in their primordial starkness. Beckmann’s use of drypoint achieves his aim, qua expressionist, of conveying an emotional sense of the chaos out of which creation is pulled by God and into which it is plunged by deceit – central ideas of the Genesis story.

Albrecht Dürer and Max Beckmann create striking visualizations of biblical scenes; the technique used by each artist in the making of their respective pieces corresponds to the conceptual content of the narrative subjects they seek to communicate, i.e., life, death, ambiguous beginnings, and arduous ends.

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The Return of the Prodigal Son, 1670 by Bartolome Esteban Murillo

The nature of evil, truth, deception, and divine grace are assessed by Saint Augustine of Hippo in his Enchiridion on Faith, Hope, and Love. “All beings were made good,” he writes, “but not being perfectly good are liable to corruption.” As “the absence of good,” evil arises by our falling away, wittingly or otherwise, from the order of things; thus, error within the order is qualified as evil in itself – though not necessarily a sin.1

Augustine contends that “we cannot err except in ignorance” given that to transgress the order knowingly would render it not just an absence of good, i.e., evil, but an active subversion of truth – a lie.2 As we are limited in our knowledge of the order of things, error or evil is inevitable. Forgiveness of error that inevitably results from such ignorance is here understood as a grace of God. Intentional error, lying, or speaking contra one's conception of truth, be it true or not, is sinful; the deception remains such irrespective of its bearing on the reality, given that to measure the moral quality of an utterance – informed by fleeting glimpses of Truth – solely by its in-the-round veracity would render us all egregious liars.

So, one is not permitted to employ sinful means, e.g., lies, to pious ends. To deceive for a seemingly just cause would be to sacrifice the spirit of truth for good, of which we have an infinitesimal awareness. Augustine concludes, “there cannot be any doubt, that the only cause of any good that we enjoy is the goodness of God.”3 Moreover, “no man cometh unto the Father, but by me,” says Truth of reaching the Good.4

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The Journey of the Sun God Ra, 990-969 B.C. (top)

Niagara, 1857 by Frederic Edwin Church. (bottom)

The considered artworks offer insight into the respective cultural contexts of the artists through their effective communication of revered, spiritual subject matter. An unknown Egyptian working in the tenth century created The Journey of the Sun God Ra, depicting the solar deity sailing in the underworld above Apophis the serpent – whom Ra must defeat before rising to bring life-sustaining light again. Though lacking physical depth or proper proportion, the composition retains great profundity and aesthetic sophistication via a blend of material and spiritual imagery as well as figures sized to illustrate hierarchy. The focus is metaphysical; however, such language is somewhat misleading in that a strict material/spiritual dualism would not have featured in a worldview held by this ancient Egyptian. Painting on the interior of a coffin, the artist is intentional in rendering this scene of a god harrowing hell, as it were; the relationship between the piece and mythological/religious conceptions of life’s journey is evident.

Three millennia later, American artist Frederic Edwin Church paints a view of the natural world imbued with spiritual sentiments that reflect the time’s zeitgeist. With Niagara, Church endeavors to demonstrate the awe-inspiring expanse of the flowing form; a sense of scale and depth is achieved via an atmospheric perspective along with shifts in value as one follows the falls' curves. Influenced by Romanticism, the artist pursues a portrait of God in a landscape – he attempts to capture and display the beauty and grandeur of nature associated with the divine.

Wedding the immanent and transcendent, Church brings the viewer to a vantage point of appreciation for a (super)natural wonder; however, something might obfuscate the sight for a spectator today – manifest destiny. In light of the history of American expansion star-spangled lens could be seen as tinting and tainting the Romantic vision of Niagara; though, in the context of Church's time the birth and rearing of a nation by God in the cradle of creation is being celebrated.

For the tenth-century Egyptian and Frederic Edwin Church nature and the divine are in an inexorable relationship; the artworks addressed share few formal qualities, yet the theme of life's endurance remains constant between them. The Journey of the Sun God Ra and Niagara narrate the spiritual story that life shall persist – god(s) willing.

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A flowering branch of medlar (Mespilus germanica) with butterfly, chrysalis and caterpillar of a Papilio species. Coloured engraving by J. Pass, c. 1816.

The adaptation of a literary work into film presents an opportunity for the conceptual content of the source material to be transfigured, and conveyed with particular efficacy to an audience. The form of film offers a degree of accessibility and immediate aesthetic affection that can be more easily undermined in the realm of literature. In her 1966 essay “Against Interpretation,” Susan Sontag lauds cinema as “the most alive, the most exciting, the most important of all art forms” at that time; she praises the ability of a film to “elude the interpreters” through its “momentum," which allows it to be “just what it is.”1 Films can, for a given audience, communicate content in a more direct, unimpeded manner relative to written works.

Certain interpretive practices conceive of form and content in a way that subordinates one to the other; rather, the relationship should be one of coordination. Literary forms, e.g., poetry, novels, etc., are more susceptible to such types of interpretation, and rendered “rudimentary, uninspired, and stagnate” by the critics’ ilk peddling the “distinction between form and content which is, ultimately, an illusion.”2 Breaking from this false conception, original content gracefully guides – though does not despotically govern – an adaptive form to allow important conceptual elements of the work to be communicated in a new and independent way.

Making fidelity paramount in adapting the content of piece of literature to film devalues the particular artistic tools of the latter form; contributions such as costumes, acting, decor, space, and setting are often overlooked – with meaningful consequences from an aesthetic perspective.3 Such idiosyncrasies embody a content of their own which enhances the conceptual raw material, as it were. Sontag clarifies her critique; she is not claiming that “works of art are infallible, that they cannot be described or paraphrased.” Rather, she insists that in conducting criticism one ought to “serve the work of art, not usurp it.”4

Thus, faithfulness to essence should be maintained while permitting varied existence – the new form to which the original's content is adapted is as a child with its own identity and unique characteristics that honors his or her parent, not a slave that serves a tyrannical master.

Prioritizing particularity in form at the expense of universality in content or vice versa disembodies content and leaves form uninspired. This “old duality,” related to understandings of metaphor derived from Greek philosophy – and the metaphysical dualism of body and mind/spirit – lends logical justification to the aforementioned ways of interpreting and adapting literature and film.5 However, an amiable reunion of form and content is necessary for aesthetic affection in art. An essentialism, rather than fundamentalism, permits the original's offspring to retain its individualism all the while remaining faithful to its father, as it were.

Adaptation methods guided by a fundamentalist notion of fidelity restrict the actualization of aesthetic experiences potentially given to an audience; the qualities of film as a particular form allow for an augmentation, rather than an undermining, of source literature. This is shown by Christine Geraghty in her analysis of filmmakers’ takes on Pride and Prejudice; she regards these adaptations as “explorations and celebrations of femininity that actually depend on the transformation of Austen's novel into a conventional romance.”6 Were such a creative license revoked and rigid standards of adaptation employed, the effect would be an arbitrary limitation on expression and experience.

Film adaptation presents an opportunity for literature to reach audiences through aesthetic experiences unique to the former form. Viewing a film in the shadow of its literary relative, through the heavily-tinted lens of a false form/content dichotomy, one is blinded – “We no longer see the [work of art], only its reproduction.”7 Given the inexorability of content and form along with the especial aesthetic qualities that particular forms incarnate and convey, adapting literature to film properly involves an inalienable creative liberty that is to be exercised so as to enchant, enrich, entertain, inform, etc. – all in the spirit of the original work.8

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from The Raft of Medusa, 1819 by Theodore Géricault.

In the ninth book of Nicomachean Ethics, Aristotle assesses the nature of friendship and its essential place within the eudaimonic life. Primary and paramount to the “good life” of “the happy man” is the activity of contemplation: “Happiness in the highest sense is the contemplative life.” Given man as a social being, or “political creature,” and his teleological end being the “contemplation of worthy actions and [those of] his own,” the cultivation of character finds its fullest expression in the symbiotic bond of true friendship among virtuous others, for several reasons.

If happiness “lies in living and being active,” and one may “contemplate [his] neighbors” with greater veracity than he can his own conduct, it is in participating in the “company of the good” that the eudaimonic man gives and receives the joy which constitutes his and others’ existential aim. One is to his friend as he is to himself, in that each finds in the other the aspiration towards the good which he seeks – “Whatever it is for whose sake they value life, in that they wish to occupy themselves in friendship,” states Aristotle.

The embodiment of the good through the cultivation and exercise of virtue is of central importance to companionship; that is, “the essence of friendship is living together.” As two individuals might in sharing a physical space, friends arrange each other’s mental furniture, as it were. Attending to the good one loves in the other, with whom he strives, it might also be found for himself; honing attention and action amongst themselves as fellow travelers toward that eudaimonic end, friends are “augmented,” becoming “better too by their activities and by improving each other.”

Bibliography

Aristotle, “Nicomachean Ethics.” In Ethics: History, Theory, and Contemporary Issues. Edited by Steven M. Cahn and Peter J. Markie. OUP, 2020.

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Narcissus, circa 1598 by Caravaggio (first)

Thirty are Better than One, 1963 by Andy Warhol (second)

With Narcissus, circa 1598, the Italian baroque painter Michelangelo Merisi da Caravaggio portrays a classical scene from mythical antiquity: the self-fixation of the painting's namesake – who left the love of the nymph Echo unrequited. American postmodernist Andy Warhol’s Thirty are Better than One, created in 1963, corrals a set of silk-screened Mona Lisa smiles. These works present quintessential examples of their respective styles and aesthetic schools of thought. 1

Taking each work in turn, the use of light and shadow in Caravaggio's composition emphasizes a tone of uncertainty as well as the moral danger that besets its subject. Warhol's arrangement of faces, though lacking depth, effects a mood of its own through contrast and repetitive structure. Personally, the baroque piece elicits an aesthetic experience which surpasses that of Warhol’s work given its sophisticated display of these aforementioned qualities; the conceptual dimension of these works is of equal importance in this judgement.

Communicated through the glaze of the self-possessed Narcissus is a tragic indictment of its viewer’s own ego – it accuses, yet forgives. Didactic and prescriptive yet dynamic and descriptive, Caravaggio's creation shows us who we are, and asks that we not fall prey to it.

Thirty are Better than One does not entreat contemplation, it flees from it. As one's eyes shift from one face to the next, an anxious anticipation abounds: “What is to come?” Alas, in visuals and vitality, mechanical monotony dominates. Scholars such as Benedetto Croce have claimed that expression and its experience, not re-presentation, are the “vehicle[s]” of aesthetic value.2 By modern and pre-modern standards, Warhol’s work underperforms in being uninterested in creatively re-presenting objective context or cultivating subjective experience – there is no marriage of object and subject for the viewer. Rather, its regurgitation dashes one’s hopes.

Both artists defy expectations; but there is much difference between an impromptu gift and a slap in the face – or thirty, in this case.

Bibliography

from The School of Athens, circa 1510 by Raphael.

Socrates, in dialogue with Euthyphro, expresses that the latter’s metric for qualifying “holy” and “unholy” acts is faulty. He shows that Euthyphro's positioning ever-warring gods as supreme arbiters of ethical propriety implies that, given the quibbling among said deities, contradiction must arise. “Then by your account,” says Socrates, “different gods also regard different things as just…because unless they differed on those matters, they wouldn’t quarrel, would they?”

After considering the need to address the particularity of the act in question, Socrates returns to the universal principle that is meant to undergird the judgment of “holy” or “unholy.” Here, it is asked of Euthyphro whether one ought to “agree with a position merely on the strength of someone’s say-so…” Socrates follows his interlocutor’s answer with the (in)famous question: “Is the holy loved by the gods because it is holy? Or is it holy because it is loved?”

One brilliant exchange later, Euthyphro concedes that “being loved” is a state contingent upon some other agency which finds something of the thing to love – it is not loved for being loved. Socrates implores his friend to provide more than an extrinsic account of the holy, saying that the “property of being loved by the gods” does not explain its essence. “Please don’t hide it from me,” he says, “but start again and tell me what the holy might be…” Following a brief bout of fatalism on Euthyphro's part – “whatever we suggest…refuses to stay put,” he says – Socrates entreats him to continue.

As they move forward with the query, the matter of justness is displayed as that quality of virtuous or holy deeds which “the gods love” and its wanting in one’s action is therefore hated. Piety or holiness is then said to be but a piece of the justice puzzle; the nature of pious conduct expounded by Euthyphro, as being what is “gratifying to the gods,” ultimately returns the two to the beginning of their quest: “So either our recent agreement wasn’t sound; or else, if it was, our present suggestion is wrong…we must start over again.”

For Socrates, the good is so for its goodness, justness, righteousness, holiness, etc. – all good reasons for being loved.

Bibliography

Plato. Euthyphro. In Ethics: History, Theory, and Contemporary Issues. edited by Steven M. Cahn and Peter J. Markie. OUP, 2020.

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from Christ as Pantocrator, circa 6th Century AD by unknown artist 

St. Catherine's Monastery at Mount Sinai in Egypt houses one of the greatest collections of Christian iconographic works. Among the most prized of these relics is a depiction of Christ as Pantocrator, or “ruler of all, all-powerful, all-mighty, etc.” Originally considered to have been a thirteenth-century work, following a process of research and cleaning conducted by Tasos Margaritof of the Byzantine Museum in Athens in 1962, it was concluded that the icon likely dates to around the middle of the sixth century.

An unknown artist produced this staple of Christian iconography in an encaustic manner, wherein hot wax is employed as a medium, as opposed to others such as egg yolk, for example. Art historians have come to associate the image with the art of Constantinople, particularly that which would have been displayed along and above the entrance to the Byzantine Sacred Palace known as the Bronze Gate.

As an Orthodox icon, the piece is laden with timeless Christian symbolism, certain colors are intentionally chosen to represent particular themes and ideas. Gold, a hue reserved for Christ alone, is used in the circular shape found behind the figure’s head, the book held by the subject, and in the inner lining of the purple garment he dons; as the “King of Heaven,” purple conveys Christ’s royalty. The aforementioned circle is acting as a halo; the book is likely meant to represent the Gospel or the Book of Life.

Of course, the most striking feature of this work is its asymmetry, another tool of symbolism. Either side of the figure’s face is noticeably quite different from the other, an intentional choice on the part of the artist. The right side of the subject’s face displays a soft compassion; conversely, the left could be said to convey an anger or disdain. One understanding of this decision is arrived at in considering a common motif within ecclesiastical art: the dual nature of Christ, i.e., as both man and God.

Another compelling assessment of this facial split is that it juxtaposes characteristics of the subject’s divinity: mercy and judgement. Indeed, as one examines the image further, this theme becomes increasingly clear. The figure’s right hand, of the “compassionate” side is performing a gesture indicative of the act of blessing. In the subject’s left hand, the Book of Life or the Gospel is held shut as Christ’s expression on the corresponding side communicates disapproval.

The term “communicates” is of great importance in appreciating the gravity of the message these symbols relate to the viewer. Christ’s gaze in this piece is penetrating, questioning, forgiving, and critical simultaneously; while it may be said that all art in some sense “stares back,” as an icon this image does so in a profound and multifaceted way. One could conceive of a choice being offered in Christ’s countenance. It is as though he were silently entreating the viewer to remember that which is said of he who sits at the right of the Father, so as not to be left behind, as it were.

Personally, this image engenders an awareness of self that is frightening, consoling, humbling, and ennobling in an instant, a sense one could imagine having been evoked in its first spectators several centuries ago. As such, the work is exceptionally well executed from an iconographic and artistic perspective for its efficacy in eliciting a profound aesthetic, and arguably spiritual, experience.

Bibliography

• Apostolos-Cappadona, Diana. Visual Arts as Ways of Being Religious. In Frank Brown (Ed.), The Oxford Handbook of Religion and the Arts. Oxford UP, 2014

• Christ Pantocrator, Palladion of the Monastery of Sinai. (n.d.). Mused.  https://stcatherines.mused.org/en/stories/50/christ-pantocrator-palladion-of-the-monastery-of-sinai

• Elkins, James. The Object Stares Back: On the Nature of Seeing. In Brent Plate (Ed.), Religion, Art, and Visual Culture: A Cross-Cultural Reader. Palgrave, 2002.

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