The Passion (n.) is both the result and the proof of an intolerable revelation: men silence the truth about violence by using violence.
The Passion (n.) gathers everyone into the lynching: crowd, priests, Rome and even the disciples, who if they did not betray him either fled or stood by.
The Passion (n.) resembles every ritual on the planet — the trial, the jeering crowd, the mock honours, the casting of lots, the death outside the walls — because it reproduces the event all rituals come from.
The Passion (n.) is a nothing to historians busy with Tiberius and Caligula — and the secret motor of all the history that came after.
The Passion (n.) is the same drama as every myth, told from the victim's side, and so the one text that can end mythology.
The Passion (n.) matters because there the persecutors' representation failed, in a remote province but with an exemplary force.
The Passion (n.) is unique not in its evil but in its revelation; to call it unique in its violence is to fetishise violence and revert to pagan mythology.
The Passion (n.) returns to the violent origin again, but to reveal it and so make it inoperative; we consider this primitive because we fail to understand.