Impelled by recent shooting tragedies, one academic theologian turns to traditional Christian teachings for guidance. And that is the right tendency, no doubt. This particular Christian, however, advocates a wrong response…or rather, he propounds a half-truth, all the more insidious because the man probably has no intent to deceive.
He questions what he (and others before him) call the myth of redemptive violence. According to this professor,
“This myth divides the world into the "good guys" and the "bad guys," and then assumes the legitimacy of employing warring and violence against the "bad guys." Violence is the mechanism by which the good guys believe that they will win. It is a deep faith -- a killing faith -- in the saving efficacy of killing.” See http://www.huffingtonpost.com/lee-c-camp/batman-neo-nazis-and-jesus-good-news_b_1752013.html.
One might offer a slightly less hostile definition, but the broad strokes paint a fairly realistic portrait of the myth of redemptive violence. It is basically the idea that the exercise of violence—or force, or compulsion, or the willingness to contend—can have a redeeming effect on a broken system. In short, that might can and sometimes should accompany right. And,
rightly understood, it is integral to the Christian faith.
Yet when posing the question, “What does…traditional Christianity have to do with all this?” the theologian pontificates:
“The non-violent, suffering love of Jesus was a direct challenge to the myth of redemptive violence. One of the dirty secrets of the early church is the fact that for the first three centuries of Christian history, the leaders of the church insisted that Christians do not kill -- including in so-called justifiable war.
This consistent and insistent teaching of the early church is so ignored by so-called conservative Christians as to be laughable, if it were not so tragic.”
Now, it is true that early Christian leaders opposed members of their flocks joining the Roman military. The sound theological grounds for this were two-fold: first, worship of the Roman Emperor went hand in hand (at first “unofficially,” yet forcefully, and then by decree) with service in the legions, and such idolatry jarred unavoidably with the message of the Gospel. Second, the military (or the police power of the State) was all too often the means by which Christians were persecuted. The experiences of believers and their martyrdoms in the Roman Coliseum are too well known to demand recounting here, but there were also such threats as the judgment of Pliny the Younger, governor of a Roman province in Asia. He condemned Christians to death on account of their “guilt, by the name itself.” That is, although he could not point to any laws the Christians in his province had broken (at least none deserving death), their very identity as Christians on its own made them worthy of execution. It is clear in such a hostile situation that Christian legionnaires, who would be forced to arrest or even kill their brethren, would be frowned upon (to put it lightly) by church leaders. It should also be mentioned, briefly, that force employed against the State was also “frowned upon” by Christian thinkers: rebellion and strife were not only ills in their own right, but Christians waging armed conflict against the State would distract and detract from the true message of the Gospel in the early, defining years of its spread.
I think the theologian knows these reasons for the Christian leaders, “
for the first three centuries of Christian history,” advocating against joining the army. That timeframe is critical. What happened after those first three centuries? In brief, Constantine. In somewhat fuller description, the rejection of the cult of imperial worship and the cessation of imperial persecution of Christianity as such. The anti-myth of redemptive violence professor, in advocating “traditional” Christianity, is advocating effectively less than 20% of Christian history by focusing only on those first three centuries, before Constantine and Augustine and other seminal Christian figures. Moreover, this fellow is advocating only a biased portion of those three centuries, as is gleaned from looking at the reasons behind early Christianity’s disapproval of military service. More serious still, he’s ignoring the testimony of the Bible, in both Old and New Testaments.
I don’t intend to offer a fully fleshed out critique of this dangerous, invidious, emasculating, corrupting, and naïve antagonism to the myth of redemptive violence, although I’ve written more against it elsewhere. Suffice it for now that I include this brief, survey-like run-through of what this particular Christian thinker has overlooked or obscured.
Apart from one succinct quote, all I cite will be drawn straight from the Bible. This one, perhaps extraneous, quote is offered because what is recounted will be a fugue of sorts, with Burke’s “All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is that good men do nothing” repeating as a theme in the background. In counterpart to Burke’s warning, of course, is the answering motif “But the LORD Victorious reigns.”
That is the first thing to establish, that God Almighty, the Lord of Hosts, the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, is a God of Victory and power. Not for nothing is the phrase “the fear of the LORD” inserted continually throughout the Scriptures. This is a real fear, although a purer one than perhaps we are accustomed to: there is something to fear in God’s Nature—the God Who is a consuming fire, jealous, wrathful, and avenging. He is a God who can and does destroy: Sodom and Gomorrah are testament to this, and the firstborn sons of Egypt, as are much later Ananias and Sapphira. Far from being opposed to violence, “The LORD is a Warrior; the LORD is His Name.” Well, a critic might say, that is all well and good. God might use violence…but He does not approve of men doing so. After all, it was the LORD—not the fleeing Hebrews—who destroyed Pharaoh’s army.
We then turn to David, a man after God’s own heart, who was a passionate warrior and a fervent worshiper. He shows us that there is a time when a violent response is appropriate. One need not read his many psalms to see this—though it is there, as well—one need only turn to that most popular Davidic story. David did not seek to negotiate with Goliath, but responded thusly: “who is this uncircumcised Philistine, that he should defy the armies of the living God?” He proceeded to slay the enemy of Israel. This, from the man who had recently been chosen by God to lead His people. It is also worth noting that Saul, the previous king, was rejected by God because he did not kill the Israelite king. Yet beyond David and Saul, one need only look elsewhere to see that God does not disapprove of the right use of force: see Moses, and see Joshua; Samson, Gideon, and Phinehas. Such men—and, much more importantly, such a God—gives the lie to the theology professor’s superficial claim, that
“It has become a matter of faith, for left and right, that we can wage war on terror, somehow kill terror, somehow terrify terrorists into turning aside from terror. Terror cannot be defeated by war, for war makes terror. War operates in and out of terror. War destroys, imprisons, humiliates and kills. War delights in terror.”
One cannot utterly reject war while retaining the God of the Bible, for “The LORD is a Warrior; the LORD is His Name.” All of creation is at war; it is groaning with it. It is a war between good and evil, as the myth of redemptive violence teaches, and it is a war that God is involved in. Yet it does not dirty His hands, for violence in itself is not evil. God punishes the evil-doer, and after the royal triumph He casts His enemies into the lake of sulfur; to reject God’s use of violence is to reject His right to punish, and to reject Hell. To reject Hell is to reject God’s holiness, justice and/or sovereignty, in spite of what is cheaply peddled by some as a loving alternative. God’s use of violence began immediately following the Fall: what else is His slaying of an animal in order to provide skins for the First Couple, if not an act of violence? This first example (connected to the proto-evangelion, as some call it, the first subtle hint of the Son of God’s mission) is not chosen only because of its primacy in sequence. It is also illustrative of the fact that
the right use of violence redeems, and this is one of the foundational truths of religious thought throughout the Bible.
The spiritual reality between the Old Testament sacrificial system is not exactly simple, and I believe what really occurred on the altars of Tabernacle and Temple is cloaked in mystery. Yet it cannot be denied that in blood offerings, there was violence—a necessary violence that preceded the sprinkling of blood (which is or signifies life, rather than death) which effected a covering of the sin and impurity between God and His people. Likewise, during the First Passover, it cannot be denied that violence played a part in Israel’s deliverance—not only, or even primarily, the death of the firstborn of Egypt, but the death of the sacrificial Lamb and the sprinkling of its blood. Again, there was violence that occurred after the people’s rebellion on the threshold of the Promised Land: first, the immediate wrath of God, and then the long punishment of death to all the unfaithful. This, too, effected redemption, for the passing away of the rebellious generation allowed a new generation to enter into the Land. Then, there was necessary violence in the Promised Land, about which the LORD said, among many other things, this: “I gave you a land on which you had not labored and cities that you had not built, and you dwell in them. You eat the fruit of the vineyards and olive orchards that you did not plan” (Joshua 24:13). It was theologically significant then that the land was fertile, already producing and settled—and that Israel, under God’s guidance, destroyed those who prepared the land for them. And, lest we miss this, we have this description: “One man of you puts to flight a thousand, since it is the LORD your God who fights for you, just as He promised you” (Joshua 23:10). There we have an accurate picture of how the battle between good and evil should progress: the LORD fighting, yet through, at least in part, His people. Yet this violence does not end with Israel’s settling in the Land. Apart from the already-alluded to judges and later Temple sacrifices, there are the wars with the Philistines; there are other wars and conflicts, and in many of these the implication is that Israelites are faulted for their participation in violence. Yet as the earlier account should demonstrate, sometimes the Israelites are commanded to participate in violence. This is not an inconsistency, but instead the obvious, childishly-simply reality that some people in our contemporary age of accommodating evil have missed.
It matters who you fight and what you fight for. It also matters if you fail to fight when you are supposed to, which can be seen as far back as Israel’s spotty record of conquest in the Promised Land, or as recently as the Holocaust of WWII.
There has been a resource notorious, thus far, by its absence. What does the New Testament say about all this? We know that it does not contradict the Old Testament, and so there’s no use airbrushing over the clear picture of a victorious, warlike God. Yet, even in the Old Testament (one thinks of the Book of Hosea, for example), there is also a picture of a loving, gracious, and merciful God. Again, this is not an inconsistency. Is it inconsistent that William Wallace, as portrayed in Braveheart (and as seen in history, for that matter), was a man of deep, passionate love as well as a wild and implacable warrior? Or Hawkeye, in the book or film The Last of the Mohicans? Or Robin Hood, in whichever iteration of the story one chooses? Or, to dip into the children stories in which deep truths are often embedded, Simba of the Lion King? What of that other Lion King, Aslan, who was “not a tame Lion,” but “good”? Was Aslan a loving figure, to the point of sacrificing his life? Yes. Was he a violent figure, to the point of overwhelming his enemies? Yes. In these stories we glimpse the truth that love and war are not mutually exclusive, but rather inter-dependent. And, as both the Bible and our best stories teach us, love often compels one to fight a war, and to refuse such a summons is not only cowardice…it is unloving and hateful. For by the lover’s willingness to contend against evil for his beloved’s sake comes, through victory, redemption.
Now comes the New Testament. There are passages which argue this same myth of redemptive violence. In Matthew 11:12, for example, Jesus says “From the days of John the Baptist until now the kingdom of heaven has suffered violence, and the violent take it by force.” There is—clearer, I think—another statement by Jesus that He came not to bring peace, but a sword (Matthew 10:34). There is the casting out of demons, portrayed by Christ as a struggle against a strong man (see, e.g., Matthew 12:29). God wars against evil throughout Creation, and this does not end with Malachi. Also, He brings us into that struggle. There is this poetic and powerful passage in Revelation: “He said to me: ‘It is done. I am the Alpha and the Omega, the Beginning and the End. To him who is thirsty I will give to drink without cost form the spring of the water of life.
He who overcomes will inherit all this, and I will be his God and he will be My son. But the cowardly, the unbelieving, the vile, the murderers, the sexually immoral, those who practice magic arts, the idolaters and all liars—their place will be in the fiery lake of burning sulfur. This is the second death’” (21:6-8). But stronger than any string of verses is the overall thrust of the Gospel.
In the Gospel of Luke, Christ announces His mission with this Old Testament reference: “The Spirit of the Lord is upon Me, because He has anointed Me to proclaim good news to the poor. He has sent Me to proclaim liberty to the captives and recovering of sight to the blind, to set at liberty those who are oppressed.” Liberty, deliverance, salvation. Freedom from oppressors. Redemption. These are the things Christ came to bring us, and He did so in power. One might portray His death on the Cross as capitulation to evil…but one would be dreadfully wrong. Throughout His earthly ministry Christ demonstrated His purpose to undo and correct the works of the evil one; His Crucifixion and Resurrection were the
culmination, not the
reversal, of this mission. He overcame death and sin; He did not surrender to it. He suffered, but like a good soldier, obedient to His Lord and Father. This death was a necessary act of violence which preceded, or rather
initiated, Christ “making peace by the Blood of His Cross.” One might argue that it was Satan or mankind who ultimately employed the violence which killed the Son. Not so. Who was it that held Christ there on the Cross, until He breathed in victory, “it is finished”? To answer “Satan” or “the Romans” or “the Jews” is to quietly join the crowd mocking Him at the foot of the Cross, “He saved others; let Him save Himself, if He is the Christ of God, His Chosen One!” For it was Christ’s intent, and the purpose behind God choosing Him, that Christ suffer unto death and rise again. It was God—I suspect it right to say Father, Son, and Holy Spirit—who held Jesus on the Cross until it was finished. The means of the violence may have been human, but the animus was divine.
But the story is not over at the Cross. Jesus rose again, overcoming evil. This dynamic gave rise to the doctrine of Christian Atonement most popular throughout Christianity’s first millennium, the
Christus Victor theory. It is often merged with the Ransom Theory, but not only is it in fact distinct—it is opposed to that latter theory. But the point is not to delve into the rival (or, as I believe, mostly complementary once you exclude Ransom Theory) theories of Atonement. Instead, it is to point out that traditional, “conservative” Christianity—including but expanding beyond those first three centuries to which the professor gives perhaps improper weight—viewed redemption of Man and Creation as the product of a divine struggle of Good versus Evil, in which Good won decisively through both power and stratagem.
Christus Victor is a version of the myth of redemptive violence, and it is the right way to view that myth. Redemption
does come through violence: the reality of redemption, that it is both corrupting fall and intransigent rebellion, necessitates that violence. This is the violent slaying of a sacrificial animal to cover a people’s sin; the punishing destruction of a depraved people who stand in the way of God’s promise to His nation; the violent wrath of God poured out on a innocent man’s Cross. Evil must be vanquished, evil is vanquished, and evil shall be vanquished, and there is great joy in Heaven afterwards.
More could probably be said, philosophically, practically, historically, about the need for good men to contend against evil, but this is meant as a brief critique. It’s not for nothing that Paul taught us about the armor and sword we bear. It may be the case that Christians are only to wage a
spiritual war, though I for one believe the weight of the evidence is against such a view. Yet one cannot escape violence by speaking of spiritual warfare in euphemistic terms. If we are to avoid physical conflict, it is not because it is too dread and grievous and aggressive. Rather, it is because we are called to something more dreadful, more grievous, and demanding more aggression. Spiritual warfare has
more gravity and direr consequences than physical conflict,
not less. Physical warfare might distract us from what is more serious still. We are, after all, meant not to fear those who can destroy the body (what insignificant threat, that), but rather those who can destroy the soul and send both body and soul to everlasting torment. No, “spiritual warfare” is not a euphemism for some ideological show and tell; if anything, the war we know from worldly testament is the euphemism, for it is child’s play compared to the real thing. To act as though violence is too distasteful for Christians is to rob us of a necessary gumption to bring violence to where it must needs be introduced.
And so I must object to characterizations from this theology professor such as this:
“To embrace a "war on terror" is a rejection of the fundamental Christian conviction that the world has been saved, is being saved, and will be saved not through violence and warring, but through long-suffering, self-emptying love. We claim that the world has been saved not through over-weening militarism, not through more drone assassinations, not through bullets sprayed into a kitchen full of women preparing for an afternoon communal meal.”
This is wrong, and unbiblical, and harmful to the testimony of the Gospel, albeit couched in appealing phrases. For none of us want assassinations and the sort of butchery recent shootings have visited upon us. But the Gospel is about deliverance through an act of violence and about the power which accompanies that testimony. I trust that the man who wrote this is sincere and means well, but he is more influenced by a cultural misappropriation of peace-making than a biblical view. For contemporary culture hears “Prince of Peace” and thinks of a hippy champion; Jesus’ audience, I believe, would have thought more of Caesar Augustus, who ushered in the
Pax Romana. Making peace is often to stand firm and boldly, and to even advance against those disrupters of the peace. This rejection of the myth of redemptive violence is unbiblical and philosophically unsound to boot. It is to neuter the Lion of Judah in preference for the Lamb of God…all the while ignoring that even the Lamb testifies to the redemption that comes through violence. The world has not been saved by bullets, true—but by the overpowering majesty of the Warrior God, who is jealous and vengeful on account of His people, Who is Love Incarnate and fights to redeem His Beloved from the grave. That He does this through suffering does not belie the reality of the contest, for suffering is only part of the story. More intrinsic to God’s Nature than suffering is Love and Victory; it is the latter two aspects which give suffering its flesh. As that verse quoted from Revelation says, “The one who conquers will have this heritage, and I will be his God and he will be My son.” Conquering is the divine heritage; might is linked to right beyond all eternity. We are made in God’s image, which is His Son, and we are made co-heirs with Him. We need not take up guns and drones if we do not want to, perhaps, but we must take up the Sword of the Spirit and embrace its potency in this present redeeming battle between all that is evil and all that is good.
