Cheng sat transfixed by the image of the crucifixion. On the walls of the dimly lit room hung numerous icons, but Cheng could not tear her eyes from the image illumined before her.The face of the suffering Christ was especially gripping such that Cheng's own eyes filled with tears. For almost two years, Cheng had been exploring Christianity but had always stopped short of conversion; she resisted identifying herself with Christ because of her memories of her cruel grandfather, a man who had called himself a Christian but had abused her terribly for years.
Now as she contemplated the image in the flickering light, she felt she was looking at a scene that encompassed all her suffering and yet also at a face that radiated forgiveness. She later would report, "In a moment, I knew I could forgive my grandfather and I did right then and there." And that night, for the first time, she declared her identification with Christ publicly.In their practice of icons, Christians in the Orthodox tradition have long reported transformational encounters similar to this true account of a student in my campus ministry.
However, Cheng sat not in a Greek Orthodox nave with other parishioners but in the recreational room of a camp with other students who, like her, were "checking out" Christianity. And she was not staring at any of the icons hanging on the wall (hung by the Protestant camp director to "decorate" the room), but at a screen playing the closing scenes of Franco Zeffirelli's movie, Jesus of Nazareth.While I certainly rejoiced at the news of Cheng's conversion, I have been haunted by the scene of her and the others sitting transfixed before the flickering screen, while the faces of the icons ? visages backed by centuries of theological tradition and reflection ? stare on mutely.An Overview of the LiteratureThe need for theological critique and reflection of cinema is pressing.
In this past century, cinema has undeniably supplanted painting as the dominant supplier of images in our world.It would be difficult to come up with another historical example of a media revolution that took place so rapidly and completely (although the Internet may one day vie for the title). As I write this, a large section of American society eagerly awaits the date, May 19, 1999, for the next installation of the Star Wars series.The Wall Street Journal estimates that on that day over 2 million American workers will skip work (even more millions of students will skip school) to line up at movie theatres across the country. The return of the Star Wars' images to public display after their absence of over twenty years has become an unofficial national holiday.
It seems that we are witnessing the secular version of the Feast of the Restoration of the Holy Icons, the ninth century celebration of the return of icons to the Orthodox Church after the Iconoclastic Period.Yet serious theological reflection on this obviously powerful medium has been surprisingly lacking. No theologian has ever produced a widely acknowledged and definitive treatment on the medium of cinema. The majority of theological forays into cinema that do exist simply analyze the themes and plots of various movies.Even Margaret Miles, who elsewhere in books like Image as Insight (1985) has developed a theological perspective on visual understanding, restricts her main treatment of American cinema, Seeing and Believing (1996), to the values reflected in various popular films. In all these works, film is treated not as a medium but as any other reflection of contemporary culture.
Such attempts fail to analyze exactly what makes cinema what it is.The theological analysis of these works could be simply transposed to other media like painting, music or literature. Theology has yet to grapple with the unique dimensions of the medium of cinema.Miles' Seeing and Believing reveals another shortcoming in Christian theological discourse about cinema: a rather short sighted choice of the main theological conversation partners. For example, she chooses to correlate various movies with rather lengthy discussions of specific liberation and feminist theologians.
In sharp contrast, she makes only a passing and generalized reference to the theology of the icon.Otherwriters share this tendency to bring the cinematic medium into conversation only with relatively contemporary theologians like Martin Heidigger, Harvey Cox or Paul Tillich. Yet the theology of the icon deals far more explicitly with images than Heidigger, Cox, or any liberation and feminist theologian ever did.Furthermore, iconography enjoys a far more ancient intellectual tradition and a far more continuous religious practice than modern Protestant liberals like Tillich do. The Orthodox tradition and practice of icons have stood the test of numerous challenges over the centuries. It seems to me that when faced with a challenge like a media revolution, the church especially needs to correspond with its oldest thinkers.
From their end, theologians of the icon must bear a share of responsibility for their absence from theological discourse about cinema. During the century of cinema's ascendancy, they have shown little to no interest in exploring the new medium. This may be due to the historical context of the Greek and Russian Orthodox traditions during this century. Both have been forced into culturally defensive postures: the former in regard to Islam and the latter in response to Communism.Whatever the reason, even an Orthodox theologian as conversant with modernity as Paul Evdokimov will hint that other media like architecture or Mozart's music can serve some of the same functions as a traditional icon, but will nevertheless fail to deal with cinema at any length.
Interestingly (and perhaps sadly) the most extensive attempt to connect the theology of the icon to the actual medium of cinema is found in a few pages from Jacques Ellul's The Humiliation of the Word (1985) where Ellul essentially reintroduces arguments first advanced by iconoclasm.An Orthodox theologian may object that his absence from discussions of cinema is no failure but a moral necessity. Contemporary cinema, he might argue, is filled with decadent images of sex and violence. What does the holy icon have to do with the pagan movie?What does Byzantium have to do with Hollywood? While such a response is understandable, it begs a question that must be asked: is cinema fated to such decadent paganism by its very nature as a medium and if so, why? Furthermore, to reject cinema because of how nonbelievers use the medium seems to contradict the iconographic tradition itself. In the iconoclastic debates of the eighth century, defenders of the icon like Patriarch Nikephoros I repeatedly argued that the use of images was validated by the practices of the early church.Scholars like Paul Corby Finney and Sister Charles Murray have persuasively demonstrated that the early church never invented a "pure" Christian art form, but rather freely appropriated the artistic practices of pagan Rome.
Other scholars are exploring the likelihood that the Byzantine icon itself partially descended from Roman Fayum funerary portraits, an art form rooted in the Isis cult and various practices with corpses that Christians undoubtedly would have found repellent. There seems every reason at least to hope that the church today can similarly redeem the cult and practices of Hollywood.The realization of this hope, in my opinion, lies in awakening a conversation between the painted icon and the flickering screen. Since to the best of my knowledge there does not exist any major work that attempts this conversation, this paper can only put forth some tentative first exchanges. I seek to do so by focusing on the feature that most distinguishes cinema from other visual media: motion.Motion has named the medium from its conception.
Thomas Edison christened his first movie camera "the Kinetograph," drawing on kinein, Greek for "to move." The French influence over the early commercial ventures of this new medium replaced the Greek "k" with the French "c," producing the English term "cinema."If "iconography" refers to "the inscribing of an image," then "cinematography" refers to the "inscribing of movement." The more popular term "movie," of course, stands for "motion picture;" the immediate and wide adoption of this term demonstrates how people quickly grasped the defining feature of this new medium.This paper will explore the potential conversation between the theology of the icon and the medium of cinema by examining three particular types of motion: time, the viewer, and the subject.
I hope to foster a two way-dialogue that seeks mutual correspondences, insights, and critiques. I especially hope to show that the theology of the icon suggests how cinema can serve as a modern icon.
