The cross of Christ and the Myth of Redemptive Violence

“Do you know why humans like violence? Because violence feels good”
(Spoken by character of Alan Turing in The Imitation Game)

This is continuing a series about anger, violence and war from a Christian perspective. Last time I looked at Christ’s apparent violence and rage in the incident of the ‘cleansing of the temple’. Now, post-Easter, I’d like to look at what’s been called the ‘Myth of Redemptive Violence’ and how it relates to the cross of Christ.

‘The Myth of Redemptive Violence’ is a phrase coined by theologian-activist Walter Wink, who argues that it’s the predominant myth of our culture and possibly of most cultures throughout history. Put simply, it’s the idea that violence or brute force is the primary means by which good wins, evil is dealt with and positive change is accomplished.

The myth is played out in every cartoon and in story after story – Star Wars, Indiana Jones, Asterix and Tom & Jerry cartoons, Western films, superhero comics… Good has to prevail over evil by force, by fighting, by violent struggle which ends in the physical punishment and often death of the villains of the piece.

And the good side is completely justified in using violence against the bad because the bad are so bad, and their destruction is necessary to bring peace and stability. The baddies are entirely responsible for things being wrong, and things cannot be right again until they are removed – usually killed.

Roots of violence

Wink traces the roots of this myth to the Babylonian creation story, a primal myth in which original disorder has to be conquered through acts of violence to bring order. But I think it goes even deeper, back into our evolutionary origins, the violent competitive struggle for survival, from which the Babylonian myth itself derives.

Violence is part of the human animal. The instinct to fight is one of our primal survival responses – a defensive reaction to feeling threatened or frightened. And plenty else can trigger our desire to lash out and hurt – frustration, feeling thwarted or challenged or trapped, jealousy and betrayal, hunger, hurt, humiliation, wounded self-image. And the evolutionary instincts to hunt and to dominate, to compete and conquer also easily lead to violence.

I’m not saying that it’s wrong to have angry, frightened or even violent impulses, by the way – we can’t help it, though we can help what we do with them. (Nor am I saying that it’s necessarily totally wrong ever to fight under any circumstances – but I’ll come back to that in another post.)

So there are violent impulses hardwired deep into all of us, in the most primitive part of our psyches, somewhere around the same place as our sex drives. For the most part we who see ourselves as ‘civilised’ know that these violent impulses aren’t ones we should act on directly. Nonetheless the instincts don’t go away and often we just find more socially (even religiously) acceptable ways to exercise them.

Punishing the baddies – or the scapegoats

And these violent instincts are also coupled with another deep psychological impulse to put all of our unacceptable ‘bad’ onto others as scapegoats, and rid ourselves of it by punishing them for it. And this is where religion comes in and sanctions ‘redemptive’ or purgative violence against those it brands evildoers, heathens or heretics. And there we have the root of Crusades, Jihad and all manner of ‘Holy War’; of witch-hunts and the burning of heretics.

But we can’t blame this all on others; it’s in us too. Almost all of us instinctively love it when the ‘baddies’ get their comeuppance at the end of the story, however brutally or violently. There’s something deeply and horribly satisfying about the evil Nazis melting at the end of Raiders of the Lost Ark. We feel they richly deserve it, and in their terrible (but just) destruction the world is cleansed and put right again. It’s satisfying, but not I think truly Christian or Christlike.

However, following Franciscan Richard Rohr, I’d say that this violent myth has historically infiltrated the church and Christian theology, and has long influenced our understanding of sin, atonement and judgement; even perhaps of evangelism.

The ‘Christian’ myth of redemptive violence

So according to the Christianised version, God’s good creation is spoiled by bad beings and bad people who are to blame for all the ills of the world. To restore rightness and goodness, these bad ones must be violently punished, removed, even killed.

But the ‘Christian’ version goes further. Badness has so infiltrated everything and everyone that all merit death, and not just death but also endless punishment after death; terrible eternal torture in hell. This is apparently what divine justice requires.

And we’re told the only solution to this is the violent sacrificial death of the perfect victim, God’s only son Jesus, who effectively takes on the role of the innocent scapegoat for the rest of us. This violent act alone satisfies the requirements of righteousness – and of an apparently violent, vengeful, even bloodthirsty God – and means that goodness and peace can be restored. But all those who aren’t covered by Jesus’ blood sacrifice will have to be eternally, violently punished.

This, in many ways, is the ‘gospel’ many of us have been taught, if not usually expressed quite so starkly. It’s not a gospel I’ve ever felt comfortable with; it doesn’t feel very much like good news, or a story of divine love and mercy.

Telling a better story

Now I don’t deny all of this tale. I do believe that in some sense the goodness of God’s creation has been spoiled and that all of us are subject to corruption. I’m still that much an evangelical. 😉

Nonetheless, I do reject the idea that only by violent and bloody punishment can this situation be dealt with. I can’t help feeling that there must be better ways of understanding the Christian story, shorn of its false association with the Myth of Redemptive Violence. Jesus, I’m convinced, did not buy into this myth, nor do I think he understood his own death in these terms.

Rather Jesus represented the way of non-violence and even anti-violence. He represented the way of love – not of force or brute power. He opposed the Myth of Redemptive Violence and turned it on its head. In his death, he was not satisfying the demands of a vengeful God for a violent sacrifice to restore order. Rather he was taking upon himself all the violence of the world system, of us, in order that it and we might be healed, redeemed, saved from the otherwise endless cycle of violence and revenge.

Violence breeds violence, and violent punishment is not the solution to violent crime. But in Jesus’ death something new and never-before-seen happens. The violence of humanity and of the world that Jesus takes upon himself does not – miraculously – breed more violence. Rather, his utter innocence and purity somehow overcome and disarm all the violence, meaning that there can be redemption at last for our broken and violent world and for our broken and violent hearts.

So Jesus’ death is not an act of blood sacrifice to appease an angry God. It is an act of self-sacrifice to topple the violent and destructive powers that rule us – including the power of the Myth of Redemptive Violence. Jesus’ death is the ultimate act of love, a love which alone can defeat death and destruction and the darkness within every one of us.

Next time – is it okay to be angry?

Further reading (and listening)

Advertisements

About TheEvangelicalLiberal

Aka Harvey Edser. I'm a web editor, worship leader, wannabe writer, very amateur composer and highly unqualified armchair theologian. My heroes include C.S. Lewis and Homer Simpson.
This entry was posted in Good Friday, Psychology and tagged , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

12 Responses to The cross of Christ and the Myth of Redemptive Violence

  1. abideinhim2 says:

    Great post ! Thank you.
    Love the teaching of Greg Boyd on this subject also.

    Like

  2. jesuswithoutbaggage says:

    Great job, Evan!

    I agree with you thoughts on violence and your rejection of violence to counter violence. I especially appreciate your conclusion that “Jesus’ death is not an act of blood sacrifice to appease an angry God…Jesus’ death is the ultimate act of love, a love which alone can defeat death and destruction and the darkness within every one of us.” The doctrine of substitutionary atonement is one of the most distorted and misguided beliefs ever devised.

    My understanding of Jesus’ teaching is that his followers should love all people as the Father does, and that this specifically does not include violence against others. The state will always rely on violence, but the community of believers should approach violence in the opposite way–by responding in love rather than with violence.

    Like

    • Thanks Tim! Yes, and I think this is where Christianity doesn’t really work as a ‘state religion’. Because as you say, the state will always rely on violence to some extent.

      There’s a bit of me that wonders if I’m being ridiculously idealistic though. In the not-ideal real world that we live in, maybe there are times when we’ll have to do or be part of things that seem to go against our principles of ‘no involvement in violence, ever’. I’m not sure – I’m still trying to work this one out, and I might come back to it in later posts.

      On penal substitution, I have such mixed feelings on this doctrine. I think that the classic way that most evangelicals have understood it is pretty unhealthy and unhelpful. But I’m not quite ready to ditch the whole notion of substitutionary sacrifice completely, as it does seem to be one of the key ways that early Christians understood the cross, and I think there are more helpful ways to view it. For me, the substitionary element is simply that Jesus did for us what we couldn’t do for ourselves, and bore for us what we couldn’t bear for ourselves. But it’s certainly not about appeasing a wrathful God (at least, I hope not!).

      Like

      • jesuswithoutbaggage says:

        Evan, I agree that there is no ‘final answer’ to the question of our responsibility to the state, but the reason Christians were killed by Rome, even though they were model citizens, is that they declared ‘Jesus is Lord’ with the clear implication that ‘Caesar is not.’ Their final loyalty was to Jesus–not to the state.

        I am a good citizen. I vote after careful consideration of the candidates; I don’t cheat on my taxes even though I disapprove of some the uses of my taxes; I don’t hate my country and I wish for it to become better and more just. But when the draft was in effect for the Vietnam War, I refused to serve. Fortunately, I was granted status as a conscientious objector, but had I been drafted I would not have served. Neither would I have fled to Canada but would have submitted to jail if required. And if I was forced to the battlefield I would have allowed myself to be killed by the ‘enemy’ rather than shooting them.

        This is my answer to the state–Jesus is Lord. Each person must determine what that means and the consequences of stating it, but the state and the Kingdom of the Lord are never the same thing, even though some American believers seem confused on that issue. Serving the nation is NOT the same as serving our Lord.

        Like

        • Tim, I think that’s a very good way of putting it. We will of course all have different understandings of what it means to say ‘Jesus is Lord’, and will draw the line differently in where our ideals must take us, but our ultimate allegiance is to Jesus not to our country or government.

          Like

  3. This is very interesting. I think you’ve taken all those big, weighty arguments (that bore me to tears) and expressed them fairly succinctly. I think that my ideas on the matter are along these lines. Sin begets sin, sin begets death; it is its own self-fulfilling cycle. God stands outside that cycle. He’s not part of it because He is love. Jesus is the ‘bridge’ that allows us the opportunity to escape the cycle of sin and death. I can’t put it into words, so I’ll be interested in reading what you have to say next!

    Like

    • Thanks! I like your way of expressing it, and that’s something I need to think about a bit more. I find ideas of ‘sin’ quite problematic, but I do agree that in some sense we are all sinners who live in a world messed up by destructive cycles of sin, and Jesus somehow makes a way out of these cycles, bringing us into the wholeness and goodness of God.

      Liked by 1 person

      • jesuswithoutbaggage says:

        I think a big problem of thinking and talking about sin is that we tend to think of sin as violating God’s religious rules. God gives us rules–lots of them; we break the rules; therefore we are guilty failures because we have broken God’s rules.

        Instead, I see ‘sin’ as the sorry state of pain, alienation, loneliness, low self-esteem, fear, brokenness, and emotional scarring in which we find ourselves. It is the human condition. The remedy to this is to realize how much the Father loves us and cares for us; then in response to the Father’s love we can begin to love and respect ourselves, so that we are in a position to see others as the Father sees them, genuinely love and care for them, and begin to dispel that fear and alienation through loving reconciliation.

        Sin, then is pain. And we contribute to sin only by hurting ourselves or other people.

        Like

        • Yes, I very much agree that viewing sin as breaking God’s rules is not the most helpful approach! And I like your way of putting it that sin is essentially the human condition, of alienation and brokenness, and that in some sense love and acceptance (or grace) is the answer.

          Where I’d slightly differ is in equating sin exactly with pain (which is also one of the places where I differ from the good Chas). I think that sin and pain are closely linked. But I’d make a distinction that there can be ‘good’ or necessary pain, even creative pain, as well as destructive and harmful pain. This is a difficult road to negotiate of course, as we can then start to justify hurting people, saying we’re doing them good. But nonetheless I think that pain in itself is neither necessarily good nor bad, though it’s clearly not pleasant.

          Like

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s