Violence and Colliding Myths
Violence is close to two myths we live by: the myth of redemptive violence and the myth of redemptive suffering.
A myth is a story that speaks the truth about our human condition, so this is not about two falsehoods, but two views of the truth about redemption.
The myth of redemptive violence is the idea that sometimes violence against evil or injustice redeems the good or just. It is the principle behind spanking children and disabling (through violence) an evil-doer. Violence like spanking and fighting happen when cannot think of anything more effective. Good thinking and good preparation normally give us a large repertoire of responses to bad behavior, making most violence unnecessary. Hence violence is primarily redemptive as a last resort. When we run out of options to stop bad or evil behavior, assertive, surprising, or overwhelming violence can stop it. It’s not the best option, but we’re human. We don’t always know a better way, and inaction is often worse than violence.
The myth of redemptive suffering is the idea that deep within everyone is a conscience that knows when we have truly done wrong, and the visible suffering of the wronged will eventually cause the perpetrator to stop. In much of Western culture it is the foundational myth of the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ. Christians assert that his suffering redeemed the world. The fundamental meaning of the cross is that it draws humankind back to its true and good self, correcting what is wrong by lifting up love at its best. It is what Martin Luther King, Jr., Gandhi, and Jesus taught: that by receiving the violence of the unjust or evil-doer, we reach out to what Quakers call “that of God within” and by challenging conscience the perpetrator changes. It is a radical principle, requiring an extraordinary level of courage and a willingness to sacrifice one’s body or life for this redemptive principle.
The myth of redemptive violence is the more obvious myth we live by. We see it from Hollywood constantly. At the end of almost all television crime shows and Hollywood shoot-‘em-up movies is the violent destruction of the evil-doer by the heroic good guy or gal. When the hero finally gets to annihilate the evil-doer, we feel redemption. The blow to the jaw the bad guy gets is the great “Yes!” of justice. War is also mostly about redemptive violence. Even though soldiers suffer at times, it is preceded by the soldier’s attempt to inflict suffering on the enemy. Unfortunately, violence almost always creates the seed-bed for resentment and an underground plan for “redemptive” violence from the opposite perspective. The myth of redemptive violence is not very effective in the long run.
We don’t see much of the myth of redemptive suffering, not in America at least. The last phase of our history when we saw it consistently was during the civil rights movement. When Martin Luther King, Jr., championed nonviolence it was primarily effective because protestors were willing to suffer, not inflict suffering. It required a level of courage and a belief in the redemptive nature of suffering that was transformative to both those who supported injustice and violence and those who suffered from injustice and violence. Though we don’t see much of it first-hand anymore, we are witness to it all over the world in events like the Arab Spring where people assemble and in receiving the blows of the powerful, redeem the power of the people (and in many cases even befriend the powerful). The myth of redemptive suffering is slow, painful and, in the long run, very effective.
The myth of redemptive violence pulls violent people together against perpetrators in such a way that the two opposing communities become wrapped up in enemy-thinking. It works against reconciliation, depending on a great shift to grace when victory is won by one side or the other. The winner of violent conflict is the one who feels redeemed, and peace will then be sustained if the winner treats the loser like a friend—which is very hard to do, both because it’s such a dramatic shift in thinking and because the loser seethes inside.
The myth of redemptive suffering encourages dialog instead of spontaneous combustion. Dialog is encouraged, even demanded of the perpetrator. When an officer walks unarmed into a hostage situation and talks the perpetrator into disarming and surrendering, that is based upon the myth redemptive suffering. It is the willingness to die, rather than kill, and the courage it takes to go that far is part of what makes the perpetrator succumb to his or her own conscience. That officer also has to have a community supportive of such courage, a community that is willing to let the officer die just as the hostages might. And, of course, behind the negotiations is the threat of violence, which is why violence can be redemptive—it can sometimes stop further violence by the perpetrator.
I am not writing against the myth of redemptive violence. I am suggesting that the myth of redemptive suffering is the more powerful myth, the more effective strategy, the one we need to live by as first priority, and that the myth of redemptive violence need to be a last resort.
The longer we live by the myth of redemptive violence as first priority, the more often we will see Newtown, Connecticuts.
We need to lift up the myth of redemptive suffering. It might mean rating some violent video games and movies XXX. We might stop the purchase and ownership of individual assault weapons and maiming bullets. We need to think differently. We need to learn alternatives to spanking our children. We need to curb our violent language. We need an incredible change in our self-discipline, and a place to begin is to admit that we prioritize the wrong myth.
In America, because we use violence used too freely and too quickly, it is not redemptive. I believe there is a time for violence—but it is far down the road. It is an option when we cannot come up with another option. And the smarter we get, the further down the road that option is.
The place to begin is to find the courage to embrace suffering for a purpose, much like the athlete does with rigorous training. If we must arm ourselves, let us arm ourselves with the courage to be disciplined and unafraid, especially in the face of evil.