(Note: this was actually written long ago; the November dating is something of a compromise between when it was actually written and when it was actually posted. Not that this detail matters at all.)
Last night I attended a talk at a local church given by a professor of systematic theology at Oxford. I enjoyed it very much, in part because I’ll be heading off to Oxford myself in a couple weeks, and such ideas as he presented in his talk helped motivate my desire to study at Oxford…the rational and narrative presentation of heady ideas is a great appeal to me in my intellectual journey. I agreed with much of what he said, especially his emphasis on narrative as a means to understand and present theology, as well as his reasoned response to postmodernism. However, in keeping with my often contrary mind, I’ve been pondering those ideas we disagree about far more than those we share.
Admittedly, he is a far more educated man than I am, wiser, more familiar with the Scriptures, etc., so by differing with his opinion I stand in great danger of being wrong. However, being wrong does not worry me, since I’ve had plenty of wrong beliefs before and found that articulating wrong ideas is often the first step towards reaching right ideas. Also, my disagreement with this fellow is in part drawn from a Christian writer who, I think, would likewise disagree with the speaker…and so I take some small comfort in not standing alone in my uneasiness with the view the professor expressed. In fact, I find it very likely that, if I had not recently read this other Christian writer, my ears would not have perked up at the troublesome claims I heard.
I spoke with the lecturer after his talk, and found much in his way of thinking that appeals, much in his career that I admire. However, what sparked my disagreement was not a misunderstanding; after speaking with him at length, I confirmed that we do have quite different views on God and the Gospel. Nothing drastic, perhaps, nor something truly troubling…merely an ideological contrast. I respect this man greatly, and I know he has done much more for the kingdom than I have at this point. And so, if through disagreeing with him I come across as disparaging him in any way, it’s merely a flaw in my argumentative style.
Two main points struck me as faulty. The first and main issue was his emphasis on God as a God of Peace, to the exclusion of God’s warlike qualities; wrapped up in this is the fellow’s belief that the idea of redemptive violence is a faulty myth, and un-Christian at that. Connected in some way to this view is his opinion that we need not worry too hard about persuading people to the right way of thinking, or really struggle against conflicting worldviews…all we need concern ourselves with is telling our Story accurately, and it in turn will take care of “out-telling” all other stories. In addition to these two well-communicated ideas of his, I found fault with something that didn’t surface until I spoke with him at length afterwards: a shrugging away of the violence of God in the Old Testament, a dismissal of the Jewish understanding of God’s involvement in their victories…in short, he seemed to believe that when the writers of the Old Testament expressed views of God that were in conflict with his own view of a God only of peace, these writers were hindered by primitive views and inaccurate beliefs.
I’m going to address the second point—the idea of the Christian Story out-telling others—first, because it is, in my opinion, less dangerous as well as closer to the truth. For our Story is the most compelling one, not only because it is the True Story, but also because of the Grace and goodness and love contained in it. And yet, this speaker ignored one crucial element, one truth that explains why—even when we tell the Christian Story well—it often does not seem to “out-tell” other stories. And that is the reality of sin: though the Story is true, there is also present “the wickedness of men who suppress the truth by their wickedness.” If the best Story always convinced, always “out-told” the others, then evangelism would be wonderfully easy: the whole world would have long since been won over.
Yet it is true that we do not “persuade with wise words” or manipulate people into belief in Christ. No matter our eloquence or stuttering, it is only the Holy Spirit Who can convict and save. Yet if we proceed forth in this childish belief that all we need to do is tell our story compellingly, then we will leave in our wake a host of confused, resistant souls. We are called to tell the Story well—both the Great Epic of the Gospel and our own experience of that Story—yet if we do not see that in doing so we take part in a great and real struggle, a war of ideologies and powers, a contest for not only the understanding of our listeners but also their very, shadowed wills, we will not reflect the Light where it can heal.
After listening to this thought of his, a classic parable came to mind. In Plato’s “Allegory of the Cave,” the soul rescued from the world of darkness, captivity, and shadowed sight is freed into the world of Light and Truth. When he returns to his fellows, still chained in the Cave and debating the shadowy projections that are their whole world, these men disbelieve the true experience of their once-comrade. Moreover, they notice that he can no longer argue about the shadows as well as they can—for he, knowing the realities projected onto the wall of the Cave, and having eyes now better attuned to light than darkness, lives in a different world than they.
And so it is with us: we cannot convince the world against their will simply by telling them about the Outside and about the Light. They think us mad. In truth, we cannot convince them at all—it is not a matter of a Story out-telling others; it is a matter of being freed. For even that fortunate soul who was brought out of the Cave was brought out…he didn’t perceive the truth and break his chains because he glimpsed the truth. In fact—and this is important—even after freed, after he was brought into the light, he still didn’t see the Outside (the Story, in our terms) for what it was. Inside the Cave (as a slave to Sin), one cannot hear the Story for what it is—it is only after one is called Outside that one begins to understand. The metaphor of “a Story out-telling all others” is nice, but it ignores the present reality of Sin…for sin, twisted and twisting as it is, does not know what is best—that is, in a way, what sin at its core is.
That, in a way, brings me to my main objection to the lecture. The denial of God’s involvement in the war…for the “Story,” the “Great Epic,” is a tale of war. This speaker would agree with me as far as this goes, but he would then present the Adversary as the only one who uses force in this war. This instead of seeing that the struggle is between the One who has a monopoly on the use of righteous force and his Adversary who fights against Someone bigger, stronger, more powerful, with a force to which he has no right. God achieves all He achieves through Peace, not through conflict—the sword Christ came to bring, the Sword of the Word, and Christ’s double-edged sword at the Second Coming are not weapons at all (this I heard from him after the lecture); apparently “sharp double-edged sword” is ambiguous.
Let me back up for a moment and provide some context. The speaker used a review of the movie “The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe” in his lecture; the review was by an atheist who recognized the strong Christian imagery of Aslan…and hated it. The reviewer (if I’m remembering closely enough) lamented the presentation of a powerful force of absolute Good, a Force to which the other characters could appeal, Someone who would win on their behalf when they were outmatched. In the end, the speaker stated that the reviewer’s understanding of Aslan was flawed, for He wasn’t primarily an irresistible force of reckoning and righting, but rather a Being of peace Who laid down in unresisting sacrifice for the other characters.
It’s a persuasive interpretation. After all, Aslan (and Jesus) did lay down his life for one who betrayed him, one who was wholly unworthy, and did choose not to resist. That is certainly a part of the story…but it is not the whole story. In fact, it misrepresents the Story. Aslan, before and after the Stone Table, was a warlike Lion. This is a constant throughout the Chronicles, a Lion who is loving, comforting, and playful with those in relationship with Him, and yet unmistakably, irrefutably, painstakingly-obviously, fearsome and violent to His enemies. It’s the same for Jesus (who really thinks Lewis would mess up such a vital part of the Story?); we well know the imagery of Jesus’ Second Coming, and we shouldn’t forget that even in His First Coming, He came not to bring peace but the sword. Also, of course, we can look to His clearing of the temple, as well as His irresistible confrontation with however many demons He cast out; they fled not because He was peaceful and good, but because of the power He could bring to bear. When Jesus died on the Cross He certainly did lay down His life…but it was, in Grand Strategy terms, a decisive victory. To only focus on Christ’s refusal to resist is to ignore the greater reality of what was going on…disciplined obedience to a heroically aggressive plan.
The speaker presented redemptive violence as a myth…instead, he said, what occurred was redemptive sacrifice. I would offer that both are real, both took place on the Cross. The speaker maintained that redemptive violence (or violence of any sort) was a doctrine of other religions, but not true Christianity. That the sacrificial Lamb is a better image of God than the roaring Lion; that, when the Lion imagery holds, it implies a God who is proactive and clever (but oh, not violent) in His peacefulness…in short, instead of a Lion we have a Lamb in Lion’s clothing.
Jesus’ peaceful attitude was not the absence of violence, it was the perfect restraint of a perfect violence…that violence of God that is an indivisible part of His great Glory and Holiness—for Holiness burns irresistibly, forcing even the Seraphim to cover their eyes in His Presence. That was the speaker’s great mistake—shying away from righteous aggression and the proper use of force. I honestly cannot understand (even after speaking with him at length) how he explains away the very real use of righteous force that God displays throughout His Word…although I suspect that it has much to do with a wish for it to be otherwise.
For we are well familiar with the abuse of force and evil violence. Indeed, violence carries the connotation of evil in our everyday language. Looking at God’s commands to put whole cities to the sword and flame, and David’s call for swift, decisive judgment upon his (and God’s) enemies, we find a violence we are uncomfortable with. We seek some way out of it—we refuse to see that God can be both absolutely Good and capable of destruction. But with the existence of evil, He can be no other way—a good, just, holy God must destroy what is evil. God creates, and He destroys what mars that Creation; He gives, and He takes away. Thankfully, our God displays unparalleled patience in His judgment.
Of course, if there were no sin, God would (I believe) have no cause to display violence. This may—and I’m saying this tentatively, for I feel I’m touching upon mysteries unknowable to me—be why God allows sin. It is one of the more troubling theological questions. How can a good God permit evil? All He does is for His Glory…how does allowing sin glorify God? Again, these are not ideas I’d care to defend, for I simply do not know. But, the explanation that makes most sense to me is that sin allows for God to display His characteristics as a Warrior (think Exodus 15:3, “The LORD is a Warrior, the LORD is His Name”) and as an Ever-Victorious Conqueror. The speaker’s image of God—a God of quiet peace, not in truth a warrior at all, does not stand up well to the presence of sin; for a God who did not ever want a struggle yet is faced with one nonetheless is a bit problematic. Although, perhaps (most assuredly, rather) much more is going on in all this than we can see.
However, what we can see is what is written throughout the Word of God; conflict between good and evil. When only evil is using violence, we get the sense of a God postponing His judgment, not a God incapable of responding in like kind. Indeed, when God uses violence, it completely overwhelms the violence of the Adversary. This is seen most clearly in the Old Testament (and Revelation, although I won’t make an argument from symbolic prophecy at the moment), although it is not hidden in the New Testament either. However, the speaker quickly dismissed the Israelite view of God wherein God “hands over their enemies into their hands” and grants them victories. I think this is a very irresponsible thing to do—it is explaining away a very common role of God in the Scriptures.
Explaining away the forceful conflict in the Old Testament is to be guilty of what Lewis calls “chronological snobbery;” surely, more of God has been revealed through the New Testament, but what was revealed of Him in the Old still holds true. Deuteronomy 20:4 is clear: “For the LORD your God is the one who goes with you to fight for you against your enemies to give you victory”—to muddle it beyond recognition is to invite a free-form interpretation of the Scriptures whereby a man’s preference becomes truth. Psalm 44:2-3 is equally unambiguous: “With Your hand You drove out the nations…It was not by their sword that they won the land, nor did their arm bring them victory; it was your right hand, your arm, and the light of your face, for you loved them.”
Why did God cull Gideon’s force down to so small an army? The motivation was to show that it was the LORD, not the swords of Israel, that assured them of victory…the LORD fought their battles. David was a man after God’s own heart—and a warrior as well as a worshipper; indeed, it can be said David worshiped through his warlike attributes, at least at times. This, incidentally, may reveal a small part of why the imprecatory Psalms are part of God’s Word: righteous conflict glorifies Him, as the man after His own heart well knew. Again, muddling these parts of the Story, these emphases of the LORD as a warrior on His people’s behalf, into something merely revealing the particular explanation of the people of Israel for their own violent acts, is setting one’s self above the authors of Scripture themselves.
Moreover, God’s fighting spirit is not found in the Old Testament alone. In addition to Jesus clearing out the Temple with a whip, there are a few spots that indicate we, too, are called to take active part in the war. Matthew 11:12 says “From the days of John the Baptist until now the kingdom of heaven suffers violence, and violent men take it by force.” A similar sentiment is found in Luke 16:16 “"The Law and the Prophets were until John; since then the good news of the kingdom of God is preached, and everyone forces his way into it.” We are called to the appropriate use of force—the watered down, liberal, modern view of the Christian as a milksop has little relevance to our roles as sons and daughters of the King. We look back through history and see Christians misusing force—the Crusades come to mind, as does the Inquisition, although other moments stand out as well—and we shy away from appropriate aggression, righteous strength, our role as warriors. And we wonder why Islam is advancing around the world, and why Christian values are being so overwhelmed at home. We refuse to stand in the gap—and not always out of cowardice, but often simply because we have been taught that all resistance is bad. We do not put on our Armor; or, if we do, we do not take up our Sword; or, if we do, we cower nonetheless, ashamed of our power or unaware that we are to charge into battle alongside the other saints.
God is the Lion AND the Lamb; not a Lamb alone, nor a Lamb in Lion’s clothing. Such a seeming dichotomy may be difficult for our human minds to grasp…But the Divine (and Spiritual reality as a whole) is full of apparent paradox to human eyes; God is Just and Merciful, He possesses self-sufficiency that is yet eager for relationship, He is Three Persons yet One Being, Christ became fully man while remaining fully God. Christ is Prince of Peace yet the Ever-Victorious Conqueror. It’s not an either-or choice for God—God can be both Lion and Lamb, can be utterly Peaceful yet the Champion of Heaven. God WARS against sin. This is a central theme of the Story, and even if we have trouble understanding this aspect of God, we refuse it at our own peril.
Orthodox Christianity knows better. What would Augustine say to the suggestion of a milksop God, only and ever about Peace? What did Lewis (an author the speaker himself used more than once) say? Among other things, Lewis said “The Christian idea of the knight—a Christian in arms in defense of a good cause—is one of the great Christian ideas.” Violence is not always evil, as the fashioner of Narnia well knew. I believe Lewis would have been likewise aghast at the presentation of God as solely a peaceful God, to the exclusion of all else. For Aslan was a Lion—equally a Lamb, we cannot forget this—and to focus on one aspect of a multi-faceted God is to ignore an equal, yet not-quite-opposite, aspect.
The speaker also described the Final Judgment as the result of a natural law; men go to Hell not because God “sends” them there, but because they were going there all along. I agree, more or less…but some of us God has rescued from the path to Hell (and this He does, mind you, not through passivity and peace but through conflict). Also, though, the way the speaker presented the story was again incomplete to the point of misleading. Yes, men chose to walk down the path to Hell, and in that way they cannot blame God for their end; but, in the end, they are tossed into the fiery pit, as Satan and his demons are likewise tossed. Hell is where those who have rebelled against God rightly belong—but it is also a punishment. God is not uninvolved in the Final Judgment. Judgment comes from God; Death is the natural consequence of Sin, but that Law (the causality of Sin, whereby to sin is to die) is not above God: He chooses to punish according to His justice, for Who determines natural laws? He is the Judge, not a helpless bystander watching as sinful men stride into Hell, wringing His hands in impotent sorrow. Christ’s parables, for example, show otherwise: God takes active part in the harvest, burning the weeds afterwards.
One more point from the Old Testament: Exodus 19:12-13 “Put limits for the people around the mountain and tell them, “Be careful that you do not go up the mountain or touch the foot of it. Whoever touches the mountain shall surely be put to death…whether man or animal, he shall not be permitted to live,” combined with Deuteronomy 4:24 “For the LORD your God is a consuming fire, a jealous God.” These are not nice, cozy sentiments from God. Holiness is a high and weighty thing; there is an irreconcilable battle being waged between the Holy and the unholy…no compromise, but only total victory, is possible. This is a part of who God is; what is further revealed of Him in the New Testament is hugely (and rightly) comforting. But, the grace and mercy and love of God cannot be rightly understood unless this other aspect of God—the jealous lover, the fierce and total conqueror, the unflinchingly just—are also acknowledged. Furthermore, if we remember Ananias and Sapphira, we know that God Himself is unchanged, no matter the extent of His grace that has been made known.
God as only the Peaceful King, the sacrificial Lamb, is a comforting notion, especially in a world of conflict, pain, and evil. It’s easy to think of a loving God as a kind old grandfather, lacking violence or aggression…but a Just God—and, in truth, a Good God—cannot be passive when it comes to Sin, just as we should not be passive in the face of sin. In our modern culture, faced by terrorism, domestic violence, and other ills, we like to imagine a God who is without violence, without aggressive force. But the problem there is that God is not without force…the very opposite. Instead, He claims a monopoly on force. Lucifer challenges that proposition; Satan claims the right to use force for his own purposes, and there the lines are drawn. Righteous force, though, sends Satan to the earth like a bolt of lightning; Satan’s spurious force cowers and corrupts.
I think at the core of the speaker’s refusal of the warlike aspect of God is a very real difficulty in seeing the drastic difference between right and wrong force, as well as the mistake of seeing peace and threat as mutually exclusive. Without the existence of threatening force, peace has no substance; peace is the restraint of—or immunity to—threat. Christ is the Prince of Peace because He wins that peace, not because He’s incapable of war…if He were, the End would look very different. Why else would the demons shudder? Redemptive violence is a theme of Christianity, whether it’s the wrath of God poured out on His Son on the Cross, or the stripes Christ suffered for our healing, or the cleansing violence of His Second Coming, or, in fact, the violence of the Flood…and still other examples of the War raging around us. War may look very different for the Christian; our only visible battle wounds may be the worn-out holes in the knees of our jeans, our double-edge weapon is the Sword of Truth, but the battle rages anyway. We fight differently than the world, but fight we must—God arms and armors us for no other reason. He commands us to stand firm in our struggles against the powers and authorities of evil, and to “fight the good fight.”
That is the point. There is a Good Fight, and when we ignore righteous aggression (out of fear or distaste of the misused violence we see all around) we are in peril of becoming ineffectual—or even overrun by the fight that is, without exception, coming our way. One cannot fight without violence: emphasizing the Peace of God, to the exclusion of the rest of His nature, and supposing all violence to be evil is to miss out on our central Mission—in which, as the biblical and later Christian authors affirm, there are two Lions. One who is out to kill, steal, and destroy; the Other, as a kindly Beaver stated, is of course not safe…“but He's good. He's the King I tell you."
