There are, broadly, two ways to state the “success” of Jesus theologically, one without the Devil and one with him. One theology says that mankind deserved punishment for its sins, but Christ “took the rap,” heroically atoning for all the sins of history by his passion and death. This theology has little need for Jesus’ resurrection—his death accomplishes everything that needs accomplishing—and no real role for Satan to play, even as enemy. The second theology, requiring both Satan and resurrection, tells Jesus’ success as an epic tale. Back in the Garden of Eden, it says, Satan led mankind through sin into death, but by the end of time Jesus will have led mankind from sin back into life: Paradise Lost will become Paradise Regained. Jesus will accomplish this by binding his followers to him in the endlessly repeated ritual of the Last Supper so that as he rose on the third day, they will someday rise as well. In this story and this theology, punishment is not the central topic; and because Satan plays the role of villain to perfection, there is little need to draft any Jew into that role.

It is this second theology of the cross—older and deeper than atonement theology—that is reflected in "The Passion." Nowhere in this film, surprisingly enough, is there any dramatic suggestion that "Christ died for our sins." There are, on the contrary, repeated suggestions that the divine Christ is engaged in a life-and-death battle with Satan. All the more reason, then, to regret that the screenplay of “The Passion,” with so mesmerizing a screen Satan, nonetheless finds it necessary to demonize Caiaphas and company as much as it does.

Once the Jewish mob begins chanting yitstalev, Jesus’ trial quickly becomes a bloody melee, Jews and Romans attacking each other and battering Jesus at the same time. When Pilate finally washes his hands and turns Jesus over, he plainly means to say to both groups: Have at him, both of you, but leave me out of it. Already, his soldiers have gone beyond his instructions (and beyond the Gospels) by brutally prolonging Jesus’ scourging. Yet now, cynically, he allows them to do with Jesus as they will. There is, yes, one noble Roman among them, as there were two brave Jewish dissenters at the court of the high priest. There is as well a decent Jewish bystander who, drafted by the soldiers into helping Jesus carry his cross, becomes, almost against his will, Jesus’ defender. But it is the Roman soldiers—loutish, drunken, sadistic, and depraved—who define the latter third of the film and move the action forward to its savage conclusion.