Wednesday, March 6, 2013

The Last Temptation of Christ - Nikos Kazantzakis


Across Palestine, from the hills of Galilee, to the gates of Jerusalem, the Jews are a people lamenting their station and yearning for a better day. One that they worry may never come. Each morning the cry goes out for the coming of the Messiah. As prophets arise (and are subsequently cut-down), the hopes of a nation are given brief flight—only to be dashed. “How long, lord? How long?”

Within a humble home in Nazareth resides Jesus, the only son of Mary and Joseph the carpenter. Reclusive and seemingly haunted, he is known throughout the region only for supplying the crosses for the crucifixions of zealots and prophets who challenge the glory and the rule of Rome. Hardly the firebrand that Simeon the rabbi, or Judas the blacksmith, expect to hew the tree of the old world order, the Son of Mary spends his nights sleepless, wandering the highways and the hills in search of a rest that will never come. In the hidden depths of his heart, Jesus knows that he is called by the Lord to set the world ablaze with the holy word. But he is afraid.

Thus does Kazantzakis set the story of Jesus. From his humble beginnings to his Last Temptation on the cross, the Christ we meet evolves from solitary dreamer and uncertain wanderer, to saviour terrible to behold. It is his calling, and his love for men, that eventually will give him the voice he needs. In his conflicted nature, seemingly schizophrenic at times, Jesus in fact reminds us most of the God of the Old Testament, both friend of the family and merciless warrior, lord of hosts and simple pilgrim striving to be understood in the world. Within the multitudes of personality many of the faithful can find solace and protection, but taken as a whole his evolution is both striking and, at times, off-putting. Because many of his revelations and conversations with God occur away from the reader’s inquiring gaze, we are seemingly met with a new wholly-formed Messiah, from time to time. Why must the sword, the ax, replace Jesus’ message of kinship and love, the reader is left to wonder.

In its summation, the faith that this Jesus asks of men most resembles a cult of death. Why must we blindly look beyond this world to an uncertain kingdom of God? While Jesus at once seems most at peace contemplating the lilies of the field, or amongst the birds and the animals, he conversely threatens to reduce the world to ash. A grand and vast illusion? Who would encase the spirit in such a prison? Many of the questioning of Israel and Palestine remain unconvinced. Kazantzakis has done much to ground Jesus in the world of men, so that we might see ourselves in him, and he in us. However, the disparities between this world and the next remain unresolved. Was Judas right?