The Concept of Redemption in Cerebus - Part One

First off, since Larry first brought this up, and since he originally posed it in terms of "what would have constituted Cerebus (the character) *redeeming* humanity," I want to deal with the Christian notion of redemption and why it's largely irrelevant to redemption stories even within a Christian culture. Most of this early stuff isn't going to be directly relevant to Cerebus, so please bear with me because I need to clear some ground.

Also, before I begin, I'm going to "spoil" some old movies, none less than 10 years old. Titles include The Killer, Magnificent Obsession, "Night of the Meek" (an episode of the old "Twilight Zone" show featuring Art Carney as an alcoholic department store Santa Claus) Pulp Fiction, Shane. I also mention "The Vampire Lestat" but don't spoil it, although talking about it does to some extent spoil "Interview with the Vampire."

Don't say you weren't warned.

Theologically speaking, for a Christian there is only one possible path to redemption: by the Grace of God through the sacrifice of Jesus Christ. Period. There is nothing you can do to redeem yourself, for anything, ever. End of story.

Unless you are perfect -- and none of us are -- you are doomed to hell, because you have committed some sins along the way, and nothing can ever undo those sins. Any good deed you do is simply what you should have done anyway, and in no way "makes up for" whatever wrong you've done. So you are doomed to hell without the divine intervention of God's son, who took on your sin and became a blood sacrifice to expiate that sin in the eyes of God.

Why the God who demanded blood sacrifice back in the days of the ancient Hebrews would change the rules and accept Christ's sacrifice in place of you killing a lamb for him, rather than just change the rules altogether and leave the blood sacrifice part out of it altogether, is something no Christian theologian has ever been able to explain to my satisfaction, but let that go. That is the Christian concept of redemption. There is one Redeemer, Jesus Christ, without whom we are all doomed.

Except that most people don't really believe that. Well, I shouldn't say that, since I can't see into their minds to see what they "believe they believe," as it were, intellectually speaking. But it's certainly true that most people don't live their lives as if they believed that, and don't respond to stories of characters redeeming themselves through their actions as if they believed it. Not just recently but for hundreds of years, our culture has been filled with stories of people who did bad things, repented, and then redeemed themselves through some heroic, selfless act, often large and self-sacrificing but sometimes quite small and ordinary. In most redemption stories the hero does, contrary to Christian theology, "earn" his redemption.

Ironically, there have fairly recently developed a rash of books and movies featuring *failed* redemption stories, which could be seen to at least implicitly support the Christian view -- a bad man tries to turn his life around, but his past catches up to him and things end tragically, often for those around him as well as himself. (Yeah, I know, that's not what "ironically" means -- but it's what most people mean when they say it, so you *do* know what I meant, so it must mean that after all).

I say ironically because these stories are usually viewed as atheistic and cynical and the result of a materialistic worldview where the universe is a hostile or at best uncaring place, rather than promoting the Christian point of view that because the hero was trying to save himself, which is from a Christian point of view impossible, he necessarily failed.

A typical example is John Woo's "The Killer," where the hitman who accidentally blinded a lounge singer takes one last contract to try to raise money for a corneal transplant for her, but everything goes wrong and he ends up being gunned down and she never gets the operation.

Contrast this with the overtly Christian "Magnificent Obsession," a 1929 novel by a minister and made into movies in 1935 (Robert Taylor and Irene Dunne) and 1954 (Rock Hudson and Jane Wyman). Rich wastrel Robert Merrick is indirectly responsible for the death of a good man, and more directly responsible for the blindness of his widow, but goes on to become a selfless doctor and a good man and even by the end manages to restore her sight -- and win her love.

If you actually pay attention to Christian theology, "The Killer" is much closer to the core message of Christianity, or at least the first half of it: you are a sinner with no hope of redemption. It's true that "The Killer" stops there and doesn't allow for redemption through Christ, either, but at least it doesn't turn Christianity on its head and essentially say, hey, you can *become* like Christ, and you don't even have to get crucified for it but be a rich and classy doctor and even get the girl! And yet, "Magnificent Obsession" is considered an overtly Christian movie.

Another common theme, particularly in American redemption stories, is the perverse notion that the hero continues doing bad things, but does them to other bad people and thus becomes a hero. The quintessential example of this kind of story is "Shane," where the former gunman desperately seeks to put his past behind him and become an ordinary farmhand, but finds his redemption in gunning down the gunslinger hired by the cattle baron to run off the small farmers. They recognize each other, and we realize that Shane was not so long ago the same kind of man as the villain. He wants to be a different kind of man altogether, but unless he fights fire with fire, the gunslinger will kill the innocent men and women Shane has allied himself with and come to love.

It's a strange kind of redemption, though, because in doing what he needs to do, he has discovered that he is not, in fact, fit to live among his fellow "good" people, and must ride off into the sunset alone at the end.

Anne Rice, after failing miserably with her second and third novels, returned to the scene of her best-selling first, but had no appetite for spending more time with Louis, the hero of "Interview with the Vampire," so she decided instead to rehabilitate the more fascinating villain, Lestat. Early on in "The Vampire Lestat," he tells us that Louis lied about him and you can't trust what Louis says and he's not nearly as bad as he appeared in that book, and his main proof is that what he *really* does is go out at night and hunt evil men. He doesn't suck the blood of young innocents, well, not very often and not to kill them. He only kills evildoers, so it's OK that he's an evildoer himself.

Now sometimes there is a more overt Christ-analogy being made, and the hero sacrifices himself to redeem the community. One could argue "Shane" is that kind of story. He has sacrificed himself not literally, but sacrificed the life he'd hoped to lead there, and he has redeemed the community in terms of saving it from the oppressive cattle baron -- at least for now.

A final note before we move on to Cerebus: some, but not all, redemption stories do at least make an implicit or oblique reference to the Christian theological notion by intervening some miraculous happening or signal of divine intervention. This is usually not in and of itself redemptive, but it in some manner allows the redemption to take place.

One example is "Night of the Meek," an episode of the old "Twilight Zone" TV show written by Rod Serling and starring Art Carney. Carney places an alcoholic department store Santa Claus who is fired on Christmas Eve for coming in drunk. Wandering around outside, still in his suit, he stumbles across a bag -- a bag that gives out any item that's asked for. Now there are a hundred ways one could devise to use such magic for oneself in a selfish manner. None of them even occur to him. Instead, he spends the episode spreading good cheer by giving gifts to people, many of whom would otherwise not have them. In the end, the bag is empty, dawn is coming, and he wishes he could do this every year, when an elf comes up and says he needs to get in the sleigh, it's time to go home . . .

Another example I've spoken of before is "Pulp Fiction," which has two redemption stories, one overt and linear of a not-so-bad man who does a bad thing but is redeemed, and the other fractured and not obvious on the surface about a very, very bad man who finds a better way to live.

Butch's story is linear -- he's told to throw the fight, he doesn't, and in fact kills a man who came into the ring expecting him to play along, goes home to get his gold watch, kills Vincent Vega, who was hiding out waiting for him, planning to kill him, runs into Marcellus Wallace, gets kidnapped by the pawn shop owner, escapes while the latter is brutallizing Wallace, and could just go, but instead goes back and saves Wallace, who agrees to let him off without retaliation for having essentially stolen money from him, so that when he rides off with his girlfriend on Zed's bike, he is scott free and without the burden of having to look over his shoulder the rest of his life.

The *real* story, though, is that of Jules, whose story differs in plot details but is essentially the same story of redemption. Perhaps because Jules has done so much more bad than Butch, however, divine intervention is necessary.

Jules and Vincent show up to retrieve the suitcase that has been stolen from Marcellus Wallace and kill the thieves. They do, but another thief hiding in the bathroom emerges and empties a gun in their direction. Not one bullet connects, and they blow him away.

Afterward, Jules and Vincent talk this over in the diner. Jules is convinced that they were saved by a miracle, that for whatever reason, an Angel or perhaps the Hand of God Himself reached down and saved them from certain death. Vincent blows him off -- perhaps because he doesn't believe that God would interest himself in saving hitmen, perhaps just because he's a cynical guy who can't believe in God. However, Jules says he is going to change his life. He's going to get out of the business of killing people and "Walk the earth, like Caine," referring to David Carradine's character in the old TV show "Kung Fu."

Because Jules has made this decision, when Pumpkin and Honeybunny rob the diner he doesn't intervene, and manages to talk them into giving him back his wallet so he can leave with dignity and not feel obligated to blow them away. And then he and Vincent go to deliver the suitcase to Marcellus Wallace, and if you put together the movie chronologically, that's the last scene with Jules in it. The Butch stuff, which appears before the diner scene but takes place afterwards, does not feature Jules. Indeed, it's clear that Marcellus Wallace is acting as Vincent's partner is watching Butch's apartment -- obviously because Jules quit and hasn't been replaced yet. So Jules goes off to "walk the earth" and become a better person, and is redeemed by recognizing the miracle he is given, and Vincent Vega, who rejects it, is gunned down by Butch with Vincent's own gun.

As with most redemptive stories, there is no hint here that the heroes are redeeming anyone but themselves. Which is why I think the question "What would have constituted Cerebus (the character) *redeeming* humanity?" is largely irrelevant.

Nonetheless, we'll deal with it next.