It is difficult to imagine another image so ubiquitous in literature as the image of Jesus Christ. Paradoxically, as an icon of the Christian world alone, Jesus is recognizable (not recognized) in every other faith: Islam, Buddhism, etc. When I speak of the image of Christ in literature, I am not referring to some figure with a crown of thorns on his head and wedges in his palms, but rather to a symbolic personification of his fate (suffering, self-sacrifice, beneficence) in the form of individuals, objects and entire settlements.
At the same time, the role of Christ in artistic prose has long gone beyond the rigid confines of religion and time: Jesus became a prototype for creators of the Middle Ages, the Renaissance, and the Enlightenment. Religious themes were a favorite theme for Spanish writers of the golden age (Lope de Vega, Tirso de Molina), later it was addressed by Oscar Wilde, the classics of the turn of the 19th and 20th centuries (although much less frequently), but just as many examples of the image of Christ can be found in modern literature (let us not go far, but simply remember The Gospel of Jesus by José Saramago and The Prayer of Owen Meany by John Irving).
The Image of Christ in 20th Century Literature
In the previous paragraph I mentioned in passing that in the 20th century writers resorted to the image of Christ a little less frequently. This statement needs further clarification. The fact is that in the last century the style and manner of storytelling about the Messiah changed dramatically. The most significant change is that centuries-old and outdated religious dogmas no longer apply, and so the writers have, roughly speaking, distanced themselves from the evangelistic norms that had been so strictly observed by their ancestors.
In 1921 Giovanni Papini published a book called The Story of Christ. In this book the reader sees an unaccustomed canonical image, completely devoid of the right angles of ecclesiastical faceting. Papini creates his own Jesus Christ, a living and active man who categorically rejects any derivation of power, political or economic. In his book, Papini argues that Jesus could talk quite calmly about money, see how others dispose of it, but would not allow himself to touch it. Of course, his entourage marveled at this behavior, but his whole being shuddered at the thought of touching this filthy symbol of wealth.
But if Papini offered an image of Christ with utter antipathy toward ostentation and wealth, the Greek writer Nikos Kazantzakis made an even more radical and explosive suggestion in his novel The Last Temptation of Christ (1951). The publication of this book cost the writer dearly: he was met with a barrage of criticism and bans from the Greek orthodox church. Nor did he get any help from his unsuccessful attempts to make it clear that his book was pure fiction, which had not even a hint of historical interpretation.
The thinking of the clergy is understandable–the fiction proposed by Kazandzakis completely negates the essence of the religious canons. In the book, the crucified Jesus imagines a very different life, one in which there is no place for the role of Savior or Messiah. He is an ordinary man with his own family and simple concerns of life. Obviously, this image of Christ reverses the whole course of events. The greatness of Kazandzakis’ work is that Jesus accepts his present situation and refuses the temptations of grandeur and canonization that promise him crucifixion and death. The phrase the reader sees at the beginning of the work probably characterizes Jesus’ entire life as accurately as possible: “Every moment of Christ’s life is a constant struggle.”
Now I would like to make one very interesting observation: almost any public work, even minimally related to religious themes, almost certainly leads to loud censure and condemnation by the church! One such work was the novel The Gospel of Jesus by the famous Portuguese José Saramago, which was written in 1991. This time the level of criticism that fell on the writer’s head reached the size of a hurricane. The Church called the book blasphemous and denigrating to the very essence of their religion, and the writer even had to leave his native Portugal. Saramago allowed himself to publish a critique of officially recognized church dogma and published his own version of the events described in the gospel. José Saramago paints an image of a Christ who constantly doubts, who does not blindly accept all the moral teachings of the Father, and who at the end of his life understands the inevitability of his fate.
The Image of Christ in Latin American Literature
While in Europe the image of Christ “developed” in one direction, in Latin America, where Christian belief reaches almost pan-continental proportions, this is not the case. In Europe, the image of Christ was formed around the symbol of the martyr and the altar, while in South America there was a different historical background: people had fought for centuries for their independence from the Spanish viceroys, so for them Jesus meant nothing more than a symbol of the self-affirmation of the poor and the afflicted. Thus, in the sixties a new theology of liberation began to take shape, according to which Jesus was the leader of the rebellion (you have to admit, this is not a very organic concept in our minds). It was the kind of rebel who fought for his peoples’ freedom through war against slavery, oppression, and exploitation.
In such semantic tones, Demetrio Aguilera Malta wrote his book Seven Moons, Seven Snakes in 1970. In one familiar Latin American setting, we watch Christ and his burning. But here he comes down from the cross and leads the fight against those who oppose the poor. Thus, Dametrio Aguilera, in his novel, describes two perspectives on religion: the one that stands for the rights of the haves and the one that turns out to be on the opposite shore. Christ, in his creed, chooses the side of the have-nots!