[Many inquiries are coming to us concerning the widely announced film The Ten Commandments. Being a production based on an important Biblical theme, it is calculated to appeal to those who love the Word of God. The fact that religion is more popular in America today than it has been for many decades makes it easy for those interested in entertainment and in box office returns to choose a religious theme. The fact that they would deem it wise to make such a colossal investment is certainly significant. But we would not infer that it was for business reasons alone that this picture was made. Yet there are some things in this whole question that we must not overlook.
[This article, appearing in one of the leading religious journals of America, emphasizes a vital principle. The Christian Century has sometimes been acclaimed as "the best edited magazine of the religious press today," but it is definitely of the liberal school of theology.
[It was suggested by some of our denominational leaders that we reprint this article in THE MINISTRY. This we are glad to do. But at the same time we raise this question, that if leaders of liberal or modernistic thought view this kind of production with such concern, then how much more concerned should we be, as Adventist leaders, in our efforts to help our members to penetrate the problem and recognize the dangers of this type of modern dramatization.—Editors]
It is time the American churches woke up to what is happening to Christianity at the hands of the movie-makers. Cecil B. DeMille has just released his magnum opus, The Ten Commandments, which is being widely hailed—and by leading Protestant spokesmen—as a great religious movie. The publicity agents of Paramount Pictures are contacting thousands of pastors, urging them to see the film accompanied by members of their congregations. The big push is on, and if the Protestant clergy fall for it they will do more to preclude the preaching of the gospel than if they promoted Hollywood's sexiest fare.
If biblical faith means anything at all for our day, then we have passed the point where it is sufficient to comment innocuously over tea that one found this film to his taste or didn't. The time has come when it must be seen clearly what is at stake, the battlelines must be drawn and the fight joined.
I
DeMille has made what purports to be the story of Moses drawn from Scripture. The liberties taken with the biblical narrative would be permissible if they contributed to an understanding of what the biblical narrative intends. They do not. However, it is not the changes in the story-line which constitute the film's most serious fault. A vital biblical faith does not quibble over literalistic minutiae. But it must object when the primary drive and thrust of a picture, its conception, idiom and style, are in a direction exactly opposite from that of the Bible.
The Ten Commandments is made in a style which is dedicated to things external. Choose any detail, they all reflect the same bent: the star-studded cast, with thousands of supporting actors, whose very names seem to cause the screen to sag with the weight; the colossal length; the flaming technicolor; the very learned research assistants; the more than sufficiently comely daughters of Pharaoh, Jethro and whoever else happens by. When the first scene begins with its opulence (calculated to knock your eyes out) it is abundantly clear that the director will never be able to break out of the shackles of this technicolored pseudo-realism in order to present anything that belongs to the heart. The sun on the sands of Egypt, and all those extras, so dominate the style that it is incapable of communicating anything of the internal life of man.
This is true in spite of the fact that the film displays very much "religion." The actors (and Mr. DeMille off-camera) talk about God much of the time. In certain scenes you can hear the Divine Voice (a cavernous effect obtained by the best technicians in the world using numerous echo-chambers). You see Divine Flames belching from Mount Sinai, or watch supernatural lightning bolts blast out one by one the Holy Ten Commandments. All that may impress some as dreadfully religious; but as for the biblical message, it has nothing to do with it. To talk about God or to make like He's around in some red light or sound effect is the easiest thing in the world; but its net result is to sow confusion rather than faith.
II
The problem, and the basic confusion (shared alike by Hollywood and many churchmen), arise from the fact that Judaism and Christianity are historical religions. They perpetuate the memory of events which occurred at definite times and places. The producer or director who grasps that simple fact leaps to the conclusion therefore that his job is to re-create those times and places as they actually were. Enter the very learned research assistants. The Bible appears to sanction that approach because of its continual references to specific kings and countries and rivers and battles and the like. The biblical style, however, never dwells on those details. It uses concrete detail to anchor its narratives in the real world, especially the world of temporal history; but it always assumes this real historical world as its point of departure. In the biblical style, we always stand in the real world and look at the relation of God and man. Therefore the direction of thought is away from the outer, toward the inner. Although biblical style usually locates time and place, it never describes the physical details of a scene. If it did, it would defeat its own purpose.
The interested reader should take a look at the first chapter of Professor Erich Auerbach's study Mimesis: The Representation of Reality in Western Literature. There Auerbach contrasts the style of the Abraham-Isaac story in Genesis with that of Homer in the Odyssey. Homer's style, if I may paraphrase Professor Auerbach, is that of the technicolor camera. He is interested in every sharp detail—in each leaf on the tree, each vein in a man's hand; he focuses everything so that the eye may delight in its form and shape. Homer stands in the real world and contemplates the beauty of the real world. His artistry consists in the way he is able to heighten the experience of perceived beauty. By contrast, in the Abraham-Isaac narrative, we get no extraneous details. Where is Yahweh when he speaks to Abraham? Where is Abraham when he receives the divine commandment? In his tent? On the road? Beside the well? We don't know. The story does not care. Every detail it includes is there to develop the theme of Abraham's obedience amid the exigencies of his human life. Everything which does not contribute to this theme is omitted. It is a real world; but it is, if you will, sparse, imperative, and entirely directed toward the unseen God in his dialogue with the man who says Yes while he wants to say No.
Now you cannot tell such a story while at the same time trying to delight the eye with spectacular pictures. It is quite impossible, like trying to drive an automobile in two directions at once. You must either end up sacrificing the realistic and pleasurable detail which the camera wishes to photograph in Glowing Color, or you must transmute Yahweh into something which that omniverous camera can devour. And in The Ten Commandments Yahweh has been so transmuted. He becomes an out-ofthis-world yellow circular flame in the scene of the Burning Bush, or a cavernous hollow voice, or a meaningless red glow from a painted mountain, or some very noisy bolts of lightning. He is never, not for one instant, a mystery which sends a man scurrying into his inner self searching for a place to hide; he is not the God above all gods who is beyond thought and therefore must be apprehended through the imagination reaching out to meet his self-disclosure. The DeMille God is imprisoned in the DeMille style, which means in the irrelevant minutiae of Egyptian culture and the costume director. He bears no resemblance to the Old Testament Lord of History.
If the people of the churches should mistake this celluloid fascimile for the genuine article, they would betray the shallowness of their understanding of the Christian faith. This three-hour-and-thirtynine-minute god must be rejected quite as absolutely as the god of the Golden Calf was rejected by Moses, for he is, in fact, his latter-day descendant.
III
One hardly knows whether to feel more pity for Hollywood or for those elements in the church which appear to welcome this film with open arms. We seem on the verge of watching the most superficial veneer of churchianity joining hands with a crass and debased form of dramaturgy. Is it sadder to see a church which cannot recognize a blatant distortion of its own heritage, or an entertainment industry which cannot perceive the essential meaning of a dramatic narrative?
It would be possible to make a good film of the story of Moses. But it would have to be done by someone who knew in the beginning the inner intention of the biblical narrative and was willing to sacrifice everything which did not pertain to that. To a film-maker, and to an audience, that would seem like a total demand. But is the God of Moses, in fact, interested in anything else?
When the minister is invited to participate in the advertisement of this film (even by acquiescence) he will be unwittingly invited to choose whom he will serve.
