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The Eidolon of a Good and Faithful Soul

  • Writer: Mico Rivera
    Mico Rivera
  • Dec 22, 2022
  • 9 min read

Updated: Aug 3, 2023

The Passion of Joan of Arc (1928)


Unlike any other film of its kind, Carl Theodor Dreyer’s (1889-1968) ecclesiastical dramatization of the minutes leading up to the renowned martyr Joan of Arc’s execution omits the events that led up to her trial for heresy. Based on the meticulously recorded minutes of her trial, The Passion of Joan of Arc (1928) grants the audience the ability to witness the illustrious fervor that led to France’s salvation from the Anglo-Burgundians in 1429.


Undoubtedly, Joan of Arc is a beacon for social change amidst oppressive patriarchal societies—releasing in 1928, following World War I, where women changed the course of Allied powers from the Homefront. However, Dreyer evokes the principle of divine reason over the restorative nature of the Gregorian chant stating,

“…we discover Joan as she really was. Not the Joan in helmet and armor, but simple and human. A young woman who died for her country…a young, deeply religious woman attacked by a horde of blinded theologians and experienced lawyers.”

(The Passion of Joan of Arc, 2:36)


Accordingly, this entry will consider the cinematic elements that comprise Dreyer’s film, The Passion of Joan of Arc, to assess the outward image of a good and faithful soul.

In his dialectic film, Dreyer presumes divine truth in the “unifying and liberating revelatory force which reconciles the human with the divine” (Logos), that is Joan’s resolution in her piety, yet pejoratively reduces the Burgundian resolve to being pious.


Conceivably, the indelible mark left on Dreyer regarding his biological estrangement, though regularly dismissed, manifests under the impure persuasion of the rhetorical radiance of the divine. American literary theorist Kenneth Burke (1897-1993) describes “pure persuasion” as

“[involving] the saying of something, not for an extra-verbal advantage to be got by the saying, but because of a satisfaction intrinsic to the saying.”

(Burke, 1969)


Therefore, we can deduce impure persuasion to be involving the saying of something for extra-verbal advantage. All interpretations of hierarchic motives with regard to social motives and the Hundred Years’ War would be tumultuous—the widening gyre would surely inflict neurosis. Perhaps, the omission of the “cinematic events” that led to Joan of Arc’s capture and trial demonstrates Dreyer’s realization that the incident, born of quandaries, would require a universalization of a standard, i.e., justice—hence, scoping the narrative to a ceremony of innocence.


In the search for the truth, Georg Wilhelm Friedrich Hegel believed key developments can be characterized by

“a tension between conflicting forces—most famously between the interest of master and slave—which will be resolved as a new synthesis is achieved.”

(Burke, 1969)


Summoned, an abashed Joan of Arc (Maria Falconetti) approaches her interrogators—shot with a visceral, slight high-angle, bookended by two spears, and framed at the bottom of the shot (The Passion of Joan of Arc, 4:03)—insisting Joan of Arc is the victim before the trial begins. She is framed to appear small, childlike even, in a position of vulnerability. Subsequently, in contrast, Dreyer quickly employs a series of cuts comprised of close-up shots of Joan of Arc’s oppressors from a low-angle to emphasize the horde-like structure in her perceived-mistreatment (The Passion of Joan of Arc, 4:04).


Rhetoric seeks to attain a higher order of truth; however, the highest order of (Abrahamic) religion-based knowledge is faith, not reason. Thus, Dreyer is discussing ethical assumptions on which Joan of Arc is accused, not truth. The Passion of Joan of Arc concerns itself with the elements of virtue, i.e., justice, courage, poise, etc., an inquiry into the metaphysical contradictions of the “rationality in the human mind which seeks to attain universal understanding and harmony” (Logos).


Despite creating an elaborate and authentic set, Dreyer frequently engages his argument with close-up shots of the subjects, perhaps, asking the audience to consider only the argument inhabiting the frame while operating on the principle of identification with the aforementioned virtues.


Dreyer frames Falconetti center-frame in a close-up shot, so as to illustrate the courage of Joan of Arc to take the position of control against her accusers. Generally, the angle in which Falconetti was shot would indicate (and accentuate) the subjective perspective of the character as the subsequent shot is that of a judge—shot by iris—and back to Joan of Arc showing her reaction (The Passion of Joan of Arc, 6:31). Nevertheless, successive shots, filmed akin to the assumed-point-of-view shot, imply otherwise.


As other judges jump in on the interrogation, the shots clearly break eye-lines and are incongruent with earlier-established perspective. Insofar, Dreyer has attempted to persuade the audience via the oppressive means of the court as most (if not all) can identify with the concept of judgment, but Dreyer is not using the camera to act as the eyes of the subjects; therefore, he must persuade the audience to join him in sympathy by other means.


When assessing the eidolon of a good and faithful soul, there is little room for debate in the truth of morality, as it stands with religion—the principle of sacrifice, in accordance with virtue, is intrinsically advantageous. Yet, The Passion of Joan of Arc (and Dreyer) appear to not be motivated by the psychological appeal of Abrahamic religion, instead, it employs social objectives, i.e., social hierarchy.


The English, in rhetorical affirmation, ask Joan of Arc, “You claim to have been sent by God?” to which, she affirms, “To save France” (The Passion of Joan of Arc, 6:42).


Ostensibly, Joan of Arc is “good and faithful,” for, according to Romans 8:28,

“…we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.”

Assuming the Abrahamic God exists, and bestows favor and honor on those whose walk is blameless, the good and faithful soul would undoubtedly be rewarded for their obedience. Therefore, if Joan of Arc is the eidolon Dreyer submits her as, where is her reward for obedience? The popularly referenced Leviticus 26 states,

“‘I will grant you peace in the land, and you will lie down and no one will make you afraid. I will remove wild beasts from the land, and the sword will not pass through your country. You will pursue your enemies, and they will fall by the sword before you.’”

(Leviticus 26:6-7)


Yet, Joan of Arc finds herself subjected to the governing authorities of her enemy. Thereby revoking the purity and reverence of her “good and faithful” soul. Surely, a revelation is at hand. How could a benevolent “Father,” who swears,

“‘Yet in spite of [disobedience], when [My children] are in the land of their enemies, I will not reject them or abhor them so as to destroy them completely, breaking my covenant with them. I am the LORD their God,’”

(Leviticus 26:44)


punish such a devout follower so harshly?


Matthew Dessem, in his article on The Passion of Joan of Arc, writes,

“It’s impossible to watch [the] penultimate humiliation without wanting to do something, anything to stop it.”

A rational human would agree; however, the well-intentioned but ill-conceived effort overlooks the problem. As determined above, a universal standard for justice would be near impossible to navigate, thus, the audience finds themselves in the predicament of watching Joan of Arc stubbornly confront her mortality without the understanding of what the ideal actually is.


Consider the perspective of the Burgundian priests: Joan of Arc refuses the “Body of Christ.” Dreyer portrays this as an act of intense passion, fallaciously disguised by conviction as Joan of Arc covers her eyes, weeping—the mise-en-scène reeling indignation rather than repentance. The priests have, generally, been remorseful in punishing Joan of Arc (unlike the jailers) and Dreyer cuts to the Spiritus Mundi levied by said priests as they hang their heads in sorrow (The Passion of Joan of Arc, 47:40). Indeed, the priests are the ones acting in good faith:

“Let everyone be subject to the governing authorities, for there is no authority except that which God has established. The authorities that exist have been established by God. / Consequently, whoever rebels against the authority is rebelling against what God has instituted, and those who do so will bring judgement on themselves.”

(Romans 13:1-2)


Joan of Arc has become what George William Russell describes as,

“By intensity of hatred [individuals] create in themselves the characters they imagine in their enemies. Hence it is that all passionate conflicts result in the interchange of characteristics.”

Religion has an innate, protective means of gaining advantage over its adversaries: any one not living in accordance with the ideal—wholly without sin—is socially inferior to thy beloved-self,

“For the wages of sin is death, but the gift of God is eternal life in Chris Jesus our LORD.”

(Romans 6:23)


Let us return to the “good and faithful,” Joan of Arc attempts to invoke the illusory truth effect, stating, “I love and honor God with all my heart” (The Passion of Joan of Arc, 47:58), but the center cannot hold—Dreyer represents Joan of Arc’s spiral from the good and faithful by spinning the camera to reveal a circle of judgement about her. To which, in response to being referred to as an emissary for the Devil, Joan of Arc simply deflects the oath and issues the blasphemy back to her accusers.


Unfortunately, there is nothing left for the priests but to sentence Joan of Arc. Akin to the Shakespearean tragedy Hamlet, Joan of Arc, is confronted by her own mortality as she awaits execution—seeing her memento mori upon a pile of dirt with an (out-of-focus) crucifix looming beyond (The Passion of Joan of Arc, 52:34).


The phrase memento mori is thought to have originated from a Roman tradition where a slave would ride in the chariot of a general being idolized for their major military victory. The slave’s purpose during the procession was to whisper in the general’s ear continuously,

“Respice post te. Hominem te esse memento. Memento mori.”

In English,

“Look behind. Remember thou art mortal. Remember you must die.”

(History of Memento Mori, 2020)


Here, Dreyer illustrates the fading obstinance of Joan of Arc—a compromise as she approaches death and remembers, she too, is mortal. Considered one of the greatest performances ever captured on film, Falconetti’s Joan of Arc, paired with the incredible cinematography, is mesmerizing. However, as the audience is oft flung between perspectives, it is difficult to ascertain the exact thoughts of characters, especially Joan of Arc as she regularly appears void of self.


That is why the memento mori is so pivotal. Beyond the outward symbolism of the skull and out-of-focus crucifix, the scene pervades representation of the religious order.. The (dark) dirt—shot from a low angle—appears in the foreground, taking prominence over the (light) sky, splitting the heavens and the earth so as to add dichotomous-depth to Joan of Arc’s determinism.


In William Shakespeare’s The Tragedy of Hamlet Prince of Denmark, “The ghost of the King of Denmark tells his son Hamlet to avenge his murder by killing the new king, Hamlet’s uncle. Hamlet feigns madness, contemplates life and death, and seeks revenge. His uncle, fearing for his life, also devises plots to kill Hamlet.


The play ends with a duel, during which the King, Queen, Hamlet’s opponent and Hamlet himself are all killed” (Hamlet, 1599-1601). The Passion of Joan of Arc has a remarkable resemblance to the Shakespearean tragedy, and akin to Hamlet,

“This is the tragedy of [an individual] who could not make up [their] mind”

(Hamlet, 3:07).


Continued: on opposing sides of the frame are the memento mori (the skull) and a few rocks. Luke 8:13 states,

“Those on the rocky ground are the ones who receive the word with joy when they hear it, but they have no root. They believe for a while, but in the time of testing they fall away.”

Joan of Arc is drawing back into perdition—at a time of affliction and persecution, from other believers. Perhaps Dreyer is suggesting that those who do not have their roots in their faith will fall away as Joan of Arc does.


Additionally, to highlight the beauty of the cinematography and mise-en-scène of this particular shot, we place the Divine Proportion, i.e., the Fibonacci Sequence—commonly described as a mythical force—over the scene:

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(The Passion of Joan of Arc, 52:34)


The arrangement of the scene’s composition establishes a radial balance around Joan of Arc’s wavering faith as she begins to spiral out of control.


Joan of Arc signs her abjuration, freeing her from the bonds of excommunication, but “because [she has] rashly sinned, [the priests] condemn [her]" (The Passion of Joan of Arc, 57:00). However, unable to live with her choices, she repents.


Again, Joan of Arc appears to be the eidolon of the good and faithful soul,

“for in the gospel the righteousness of God is revealed—a righteousness that is by faith from first to last, just as it is written: ‘The righteous will live by faith.’”

(Romans 1:17)


Still, according to Abrahamic faith, the good will have eternal life and

“the devil who had deceived them [would be] thrown into the lake of fire and sulfur where the beast and the false prophet [are], and they will be tormented day and night forever and ever.”

(Revelation 20:10)


—akin to Joan of Arc being burned at the stake by those that but tried to save her soul.


Therefore, if one is to live by a code of ethics in which cannot clearly standardize justice:

“This above all: to thine own self be true.”

(Shakespeare, The Tragedy of Hamlet Prince of Denmark, Act 1 Scene 3)

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the eidolon of a good and faithful soul

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