At 9:41 A.M. on September 11, 2001, a man in a white tunic launched out of the North Tower into the pure blue sky. Perhaps he was thrown by the force of the explosion within the building, or he was simply looking for air, leaning too closely out the window. Or, knowing that there was little hope for survival as the ceilings and floors began to collapse, he chose to jump. No one knows his motive, nor is anyone certain of his identity, but ‘The Falling Man’ photographed by Richard Drew is an image that, with its well-popularized and tragic nature, has come to embody the American Civil Religion’s reply to the events of 9/11 in the form of a passion.

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The terrorist attacks on September 11th sent the traumatized United States into a tailspin, launching itself into what would become the nation’s longest-ever war. To make matters even more grim, the brutality was televised, and in some cases, uncensored. En masse, the American populace from coast-to-coast found themselves entrenched in atrocity. What were once chronological news broadcasts written in the subjunctive tense became a spectacle, and reporters leaned into the emotionally-charged nature of the event by their emphasis on being at the scene and interviewing any bystanders who would talk, encouraging them to recount their entire experience from start to finish. The role of the media expressed the brutality of terrorism to those far outside of the Metropolitan area and combined with the long-standing American Civil Religion created something of a mythos out of September 11th. 

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It’s crucial to understand the theological significance of the Passion within the Christian lexicon before beginning to apply it to the American Civil Religion and the events of September 11th. Prompted by the vast success of the Protestant Reformation, the Council of Trent was the 19th ecumenical council of the Catholic Church in which many of the cornerstones of both Catholicism and Christianity today were solidified and standardized. One of the most important developments of the council was a new emphasis on the Passion of the Cross, also known as the interpretations of the events leading to and including the death of Jesus. Roman Catholics and Protestants found themselves in agreement, “that we are saved through Christ’s suffering of the cross” (Viladesau 1). The Catholics went farther with this piece of theology; they believe that “not all receive the benefit of his death, but only those to whom the merit of his passion are communicated” (Viladesau 1). Essentially, one has to understand and, in at least in a manner of metaphor, experience the Passion in order to receive salvation. Depictions of the Passion – Jesus, dying painfully yet resigned, with his arms stretched to either side of the cross, the same geometric pose each and every time – are the most recognizable forms of Christian imagery.

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The conception of the American Civil Religion is hard to pinpoint. Robert Bellah, a sociologist, published a paper in 1967 entitled, “Civil Religion in America,” and his deep dive into the odd, ritualistic notions Americans have about the intersection of nationalism and Christianity popularized what was once an obscure phrase (Laderman 29). While the founding fathers delineated national secularism in their separation of church and state, they neglected to consider a vast number of variables, from the lack of divine monarchy to the influential presence of the Puritans to the Protestant stance as the dominant American strain of Christianity without any attachment to the papacy. This resulted in what could be interpreted as a new religion with all the bells and whistles of traditional religions but with a complicated confluence of zealots and patriotism.

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The idea of suffering within the American Civil Religion is not new. Almost 150 years before the events of 9/11, the South seceded from the United States and launched the country into a civil war. Both the North and the South rallied under the idea of baptism in blood, which is “a notion that is associated with… forgiveness of sin through the death of Jesus but applied to the national crisis” (Laderman 84). With this zealotry, enhanced by the words of religious leaders Protestant and Catholic alike, as well as from secular speeches by politicians, Americans integrated this Christian doctrine into their perceptions of patriotism. This allowed them, through the Civil War and into the new millennium, to carry the belief that the deaths of its citizenry “was both necessary for the country’s sins and redemptive in the larger cosmic scheme of national identity” (Laderman 84).

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Richard Drew, a photojournalist for the Associated Press, was known before 2001 for capturing a photo of Senator Bobby Kennedy just seconds after he was shot in the head. On the morning of September 11th, he left his scheduled shoot at a maternity fashion show as he received news that the World Trade Center was under attack (Junod). There, the desensitized instincts of a seasoned journalist kicked in as he heard what was described as a string of booming explosions. Not from the Towers directly, rather the noises that came when those jumping out of the buildings hit the concrete (Junod). He began to capture photographs of the last moments of these victims, often referred to as “jumpers,” as they tumbled through the sky.

 

One photo in particular, after later review, was somehow more disturbing and yet more brutally human than all the others; Drew would call this image “The Falling Man.”

Much controversy erupted from the publication of this photograph on page seven of The New York Times on September 12th, as well as in journals across the world. This image caused an uproar with many calling it disrespectful to the victims or overly grotesque (Junod). However now, over 20 years later, thanks partially to an article written by Tom Junod in Esquire tactfully and tragically searching for the identity of the man photographed, it has become one of the most heart-breaking images associated with 9/11. The symbolism of the photos stands starkly in the scope of American patriotism, tragedy, and religiosity. “The Falling Man” was, after all, a man falling to his death – to some, a martyr, and many (especially from the most severely-impacted areas in New York and New Jersey) find the image so sacred and upsetting that even decades later they do their best to avoid it. In the generation following the events of September 11th, it’s difficult to distinguish fact from myth, but the nature of religion indicates that both can exist at once. The case of “The Falling Man” seems to be no different. The American fixation on the suffering of the victims of 9/11 could very well be its citizenry’s examination and communication of a national Passion.

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Much of the structure of the rhetorical analysis for this piece will be utilizing strategies from Greg Dickinson, Carole Blair, and Brian Ott’s “Introduction” in Places of Public Memory: The Rhetoric of Museums and Memorials. They state early on, “...exploring the relations among rhetoric, memory, and place is of crucial importance to understanding contemporary public culture” (Dickinson et al., 1). It’s been roughly two decades since the terrorist attacks. In some ways, twenty years is a long time, but in others – especially in evaluating the rise of hyper-nationalist sentiments in recent years – it is overwhelmingly current. Especially as a member of Generation Z who has no memory of the incident, it’s difficult to wrap my head around the exact significance of the event, and why Americans continue to come back to not simply the one date, but the details of said date with an unrivaled fervor. They elaborate that this “haunting” I have experienced is common and can be comprehended through an analysis of the complicated intersection of rhetoric, memory, and place (Dickinson et al., 2).

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It’s not so much an exploration of the exact symbolism or meaning of “The Falling Man.” Moreso, as the authors of “Places of Public Memory” put it, “meaning-fulness invites us to consider how… objects… inflect, deploy, and circulate affective investments” (Dickinson et al. 3). An investigation into the permanence of the image in the American public memory, and by extension, the American Civil Religion, results in an examination of the American response en-masse to the image over the years, as opposed to a dissection of the image on its own. Objects are “understood as deployments of material signs serving as the grounds for various identifications or perceived alignments to take shape,” (Dickinson et al. 4) and therefore, a suggestion that an image could represent a key portion of the American Civil Religion during a particular era would align neatly with the ideals of rhetoric that Dickinson, Blair and Ott elaborate upon.

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Phaedra Pezzullo’s discussion of immaterial cultural performance will also assist in developing these arguments. In this article, she argues that sometimes, certain groups will talk about helping women, but in a way that is false and does not truly help them (Pezzullo 346). A similar contradiction arises in the existence of the American Civil Religion. Many Americans believe that their relationship with their nation is relatively average compared to the world, because it’s what our history and government states. However, the truth of the matter is that our brand of patriotic nationalism is deeply unique to the United States, and that truth can be discovered upon an inspection of the specific performances that Americans undergo in regards to their country.  Pezzullo continues, stating that “participant observation can be used in a way that might complement and/or extend the rich work that has been offered by prior studies of public spheres” (Pezzullo, 350). Along with the image of “The Falling Man,” responses to its publication and its existence in general, paired with American response en-masse to the events of 9/11, are as equally important to the significance of this project than the subject itself. 

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Still, though, “The Falling Man” is the cornerstone of this analysis, and Pezzullo’s discussion of performance theory adds clarity to an intentional examination of both the photo and Passions in general. “Through its attentiveness to bodies,” Pezzullo claims, “performance theory enables us to account for the role of non-verbal activities in shaping public discourse” (Pezzullo, 351). The impact of the jumpers on rhetoric and public perception of 9/11 is massive, and despite the fact that they are not associated with spoken words, nor do we know the specifics of why they jumped, the sight of their bodies falling through the air has meaning in and of themselves. Similarly, while there are biblical accounts of what Jesus said and did whilst dying on the cross, the imagery of Jesus on the cross itself often speaks more than the actual Gospel.

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The traumatic nature of the American reaction to 9/11 hinges on the cornerstone of the American Civil Religion, which was taken from the Puritans who arrived here as some of the first settlers. The Puritans staunchly believed that they had an obligation to build the kingdom of God here on Earth. The American Civil Religion synthesizes that point with our cultural sensibilities, motivating the populace to “[see] America as an exceptional nation… destined by God, or Providence, or the Creator to lead the world by promoting democracy, freedom… and Christianity” (Laderman 78). This can be seen directly in the name of the Twin Towers, also known as the World Trade Center. It was built to establish the United States as the commercial hub and intermediary of the world, and the Towers loomed over the New York City skyline. The destruction of the World Trade Center was felt by many not simply as a tragedy or even a regional tragedy, but a direct attack on the sanctity of a blessed nation.

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Furthermore, it felt like the beginning of a holy war. As discussed earlier, much of the American Civil Religion was made concrete during the Antebellum period. What led to the ferocity that “pit brother against brother” was a fervent belief that any “carnage [was] a millennial conflagration, drawing on biblical imagery and themes to demonize the other and transform the war into an apocalyptic battle.” In a nation that had not been attacked in over half a century, and not on the mainland since the War of 1812, the sight of entire commercial liners coasting into the Twin Towers and people screaming and covered in ash, drew to mind psychologically the end of the world, at least as they knew it. It would trigger the United States’ longest war, one that is unable to be surrendered or won.

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The connection between the American Civil Religion and apocalypticism stems straight from Jesus’s time. Jesus belonged to a very specific sect of Palestinian Jews that were adamant that the end of the world was on its way, as many prophecies were believed to be coming true, and they were both occupied and oppressed by the Roman Empire. Jesus’s death signaled to many during his time that life after death was the promised reward to progressing through a dying world and culture. Belief, after all, in both Christianity and American nationalism, is catalyzed in blood.

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“The Falling Man” is, at the moment the photo was captured, “perfectly vertical,” one leg slightly bent, as rigid and geometrically posed as the beams of the North Tower behind him. Both the photo itself and its controversy, sanctity, and later veneration, I would argue, has become a Passion for the American Civil Religion. Both the Passion of the Cross and “The Falling Man” are a visualization of the last moments of their lives. Both Jesus and the Falling Man are depicted in angular positions, and are recognizable for those poses. These angular positions, moreover, are not completely accurate to the reality of their deaths. Jesus would have died slumped forward as he lost consciousness, and it would have truly been an agonizing death, as he would not have died from starvation or dehydration as many believe – a crucifixion kills by causing the lungs to drop and would have made Jesus suffocate to death. His depictions of a bloodied but resigned messiah, or even an agonized but determined son of God, are inaccurate because he would have been in immeasurable amounts of pain. The same goes for “The Falling Man” – despite the relative calm that the man possesses, he was actually tumbling head over heels as his clothes were stripped from his body, and his gruesome death was waiting on the concrete seconds away (Junod). 

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On top of all this, though, people are fully aware that dying is rarely a calm, beautiful, or introspective event. It is tragic and often graphic, especially as those grappling with the aftermath of 9/11 are familiar with. However, the simplicity of these images gives people something to hold on to that isn’t overly grotesque. The contexts of both “The Falling Man” and Jesus on the cross are well-known, and their deaths are also well-known to have been brutal even if they are not depicted as such. The haunting nature of these images, I would argue, is caused by the belief shared en-masse that no person should be in these positions, crucified or tumbling from a skyscraper amidst an explosion but they are, and their images are not graphic enough that one must look away to avoid gore. No, one is encouraged to look, and fill in the agony with what the brain can perceive as the most unimaginable pain.

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Lastly, the question of why Americans feel like they have to look and reflect is what makes “The Falling Man” the American Civil Religion’s Passion beyond the material parallels. Section VI of the aforementioned Council of Trent states in regards to the salvation granted by Christ’s death, that “God makes us righteous, that is, insofar as our mind is renewed by the spirit given by God, so that we are not only regarded as righteous, but… really are righteous.” The tenets of Christianity state that Jesus’s death isn’t simply a blank check for Christians to enter heaven. Rather, it is contingent on renewal. One must relive the suffering of Christ to benefit from the spiritual righteousness that was gained after his death. The American Civil Religion presents this ideal with the American obsession with 9/11 decades after its occurrence. In order to properly complete that covenant of baptism in blood, experiencing the event is not enough. One must recall the event in its full tragedy to feel as if the event wasn’t in vain, to justify the incoming holy war.

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It would lack feasibility to walk the deserts of Palestine carrying a cross on our backs, just as many find it inaccessible to climb up hundreds of flights of stairs in full gear as some firefighters do each year. Instead, we regard the moments leading up to each event. We read the last days of Christ’s life in the Gospel during the yearly Lenten period, and many flock to their devices to consume the same news footage that they watched as the terrorist attacks unfolded. But most are unwilling to, disturbed by, or feel it's disrespectful to consume images of the dead. “The Falling Man” is not yet dead. The photo is oddly beautiful in its dimensional nature. Many are able to look and experience the trauma of the day in its full culmination – hence the veneration from some, and the intensity of the backlash from others as to its merits being released to the public.

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Many variables have yet to be addressed within the constraints of this paper. The victim himself has not yet been placed properly in the midst of the deliberations on the American Civil Religion, nor his every-man quality that also added to the discomfort of the image and the religious implications of photographing a potential suicide. Nor have we discussed the elements of regional tragedy – the scope of 9/11 and those affected by it ensures that many in the New York-New Jersey metropolitan area knew someone who died. Emotional reactions to any sort of event of this magnitude are laden within perspectives. Still, September 11th’s long-living, intense legacy is at least in part tied to the force of the American Civil Religion. The image of “The Falling Man” stands as an American martyr, a representation of the Passion of the Cross to ensure that the suffering of the United States will, in the end, only make us stronger.

 

 

Works Cited

Blair, Carole, Greg Dickinson and Brian L. Ott, “Introduction: Rhetoric/Memory/Place” In Places of Public Memory: The Rhetoric of Museums and Memorials (Tuscaloosa: The University of Alabama Press, 2010)

 

Junod, Tom. “The Falling Man.” Esquire, Hearst Corporation, 12 Sept. 2022, www.esquire.com/news-politics/a48031/the-falling-man-tom-junod.

 

Laderman, Gary. “Part 2. Blood in the Body Politic.” American Civil Religion: A Fortress Press eTextbook, Fortress Press, Minneapolis, MN, 2012, pp. 75–130.

 

Pezzullo, Phaedra., “Resisting ‘National Breast Cancer Awareness Month’: the Rhetoric of Counterpublics and their Cultural Performances,” Quarterly Journal of Speech, 89(4) (2003), pg. 345-365.

 

Silberstein, Sandra. “From News to Entertainment: Eyewitness Accounts.” War of Words: Language, Politics And 9/11, Taylor & Francis Group, London, England, 2002, pp. 61–90.

 

Viladesau, Richard. The Pathos of the Cross: The Passion of Christ in Theology and the Arts-The Baroque Era. Illustrated, Oxford UP, 2014.