“But I’m Not Violent!” (Part 1/2)
Author: Stef Miles
One of the most common responses I get when I start talking about nonviolence is actually pretty simple:
“But I’m not a violent person.”
And honestly, I get it.
Most of us aren't walking around looking for fights. We aren't carrying weapons or physically attacking people. Most ordinary people would be horrified at the thought of intentionally hurting another person. Certainly here in the UK, most of us live relatively peaceful lives on the surface. Compared with the brutality of the ancient world, or even many parts of our world today, it can be tempting to think that violence is something that belongs to other people.
The violent person, the criminal, the extremist or the abuser. I'm not one of those people.
But I wonder if we have made violence too small. Perhaps we've become so accustomed to thinking of violence as physical force that we fail to notice the many other ways we can use power against one another. I've increasingly come to understand violence as more than simply physically harming another person. Violence can involve the use of power, coercion, domination or control in ways that diminish another person's life, dignity or freedom. And when we start looking at violence this way, things become a little more uncomfortable.
Because violence can be physical, of course. But it can also be rhetorical, emotional/ relational and structural. And underneath all of these, I think there is something very similar going on. We are trying to secure ourselves through control, domination, accusation or exclusion rather than through the self-giving love revealed in Jesus.
I want to be clear that I'm talking here specifically about violence between human beings. Violence towards animals, the natural world and the earth is also deeply important, but that's a conversation for another time.
Physical Violence
Physical violence is probably the easiest one for us to recognise. It is the use of physical force to hurt, threaten, intimidate or control another person. But even here, I think Jesus takes us somewhere deeper than simply saying, “Don't hit people.” The invitation of Jesus is not merely to become people who don't physically hurt others. It is to become people whose whole posture towards others has been transformed. People who don't instinctively respond to fear with retaliation. People who don't see domination as the answer. People who don't believe that force is the only way to make things right. This is part of what I hear in the Sermon on the Mount:
“Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God.”
Jesus doesn't simply tell his followers to avoid violence. He calls us to become peacemakers. There is a positive vision here. We are being invited to embody something of the reconciling character of God. And I think this matters because physical violence is often the end of a much longer journey.
The human heart can move towards domination long before it ever gets to the point of physical harm.
Rhetorical Violence
Think about the way we use words. Words can be used to communicate, but they can also be used to overpower another person: Sarcasm, ridicule, humiliation, name-calling, aggressive speech, cutting remarks, public shaming. We might never lay a hand on someone, but we can still use our words to wound them or establish our superiority over them. Sometimes a harsh word is really an attempt to regain power when we feel powerless.
And then there is gossip. We tend to think of gossip as relatively harmless. Perhaps just a bit of conversation about someone who isn't there. But I think gossip can reveal something much deeper about us. There is something strangely satisfying about finding the problem person in a group and talking about them with someone else.
“Did you hear what they did? “
“Can you believe they said that?”
“I've always thought there was something a bit off about them.”
There can be a temporary sense of relief in it. We bond together over somebody else's failure. We feel a little more righteous because somebody else has become the one who is wrong. This is one of the places where René Girard has been incredibly helpful to me. Girard helps us see how human beings have a remarkable capacity to create solidarity through shared accusation. We find someone to blame. We project our anxiety, frustration and shame onto them. And somehow, for a moment, the group feels better. The scapegoat carries what the rest of us don't want to carry.
But the cross of Jesus exposes this mechanism. Jesus becomes the innocent victim and, in doing so, reveals what is happening underneath our claims to righteousness.
The cross doesn't simply show us that violence is bad. It unmasks the violence that can hide beneath our attempts to make ourselves righteous.
Emotional and Relational Violence
Then there is the kind of violence that happens inside relationships. This one can be much harder to see. Emotional violence can look like manipulation, guilt, passive aggression, emotional blackmail, withdrawal, control or constantly making another person responsible for our emotional state. Sometimes it is loud. Sometimes it is incredibly quiet.
The silent treatment can be violent. Constantly controlling another person's decisions can be violent. Using shame to get someone to behave the way we want can be violent.
And again, we might never think of ourselves as violent people. But perhaps the better question isn't simply; “have I ever physically harmed someone?” Perhaps the better questions are:
- How do I use power when I feel threatened?
- What do I do when someone doesn't give me what I want?
- How do I respond when I'm afraid?
- Who do I blame when something goes wrong?
This is where emotional violence connects again with Girard's understanding of scapegoating. We have this extraordinary ability to relieve our own inner tension by making somebody else responsible for it. Accusation can give us a strange sense of relief. If they are the problem, then perhaps I don't have to face what is happening inside me. And there is something deeply Christian about learning to recognise this in ourselves. This is one reason I find James Alison so helpful. Alison's work has helped me see how Jesus enters into the very place created by accusation and shame.
Jesus takes the place of the accused. He doesn't escape shame by returning it to somebody else. He doesn't retaliate. He doesn't create another scapegoat. Instead, he absorbs the violence of accusation and transforms it through forgiveness and self-giving love. The cross reveals a God who refuses to participate in the cycle. And this changes how we understand discipleship.
If Jesus has entered the place of shame and accusation, perhaps we don't need to spend our lives desperately trying to escape those things by finding somebody else to blame. In Christ, shame doesn't get the final word. And neither does violence.
Structural Violence
But violence isn't only something that happens between two individuals. It can also become embedded in the structures around us. Our societies have often been built through patterns of dominataionn, opppression and exclusion. Racism, colonialism, economic exploitation and systems that privilege some people while marginalising others can all become ways in which human beings are diminished. And the difficult thing about structural violence is that it isn't always obvious. There may not be a single person standing in front of us doing something violent. Sometimes it is simply the way things are. Which raises some uncomfortable questions.
- Whose voice gets heard?
- Whose experience gets taken seriously?
- Whose story has been forgotten?
- Who carries the cost of the way our society works?
Who has been pushed to the margins so that others can live more comfortably at the centre?
The prophets were constantly confronting this kind of thing. They weren't only concerned about individuals behaving badly. They spoke about the exploitation of the poor, the abuse of power and the treatment of the vulnerable. And when Jesus announces the kingdom of God, he repeatedly moves towards people who have been pushed to the edges; the forgotten, poor, excluded, the shamed and the outsider.
Following Jesus therefore means allowing him to challenge not only the way we treat the person immediately in front of us, but also the systems and assumptions that shape the world we inhabit. That doesn't mean we will always agree about exactly what justice requires. We won't! But I think it does mean that a genuinely nonviolent discipleship cannot be indifferent to injustice.
Nonviolence moves us towards truth-telling, repentance, reconciliation and restoration.
It asks us to become increasingly aware of the ways in which we may have inherited, participated in or simply failed to notice forms of violence around us.
End of Part 1