Moving Beyond Violence (An essay - just one more voice in the conversation.)

          About ten years ago, while preparing for a mission trip to Malawi, I learned of a very interesting local custom.  When two Malawians meet and grasp right hands to shake, they will often place their left hands on their own right wrists.  This subtle gesture delivers a soul-bearing message: I am not armed.

          Intrigued, I watched carefully to see how often Malawians added that vulnerable touch to a handshake.  It does not happen every time, of course.  And while aware that neither the presence nor the absence of the gesture guarantees anything, I greeted many people with that handshake in appreciation for its tangible witness to untold generations of wisdom.

          The ancient wisdom behind that handshake acknowledges at least two things.  First, it not only concedes that we live in a violent world, it confesses the undeniable truth that the most dangerous animal on the planet is humankind itself.  Fear of fellow human beings affects us the way gravity affects water.  We do not necessarily see it at work, but it pulls ceaselessly at all of our fluid emotions, and even at our reason.  It gathers these formidable resources at the lowest point possible within any given circumstance, and once pooled and stagnant, emotion and reason belong to fear.  When driven by fear, our decisions, individual and corporate, become fearsome and selfish themselves.

          Second, through that quick, silent gesture, ancient wisdom makes a loud and lasting proclamation:  In a culture of fear, there can be no truly human connection or cooperation, and there can be no reliable security for anyone.  When we conclude that we must expect the worst from our neighbors, we will mirror that distorted expectation.  We will project onto our neighbors our most acute fears, and we will meet distortion with distortion.  In surrendering ourselves to the least human instincts and urges within us, we mistake our worst for our best, and we have been vanquished by fear.

          The irony at play here is a thing of archetypal myth.  Through the simplest means, a more primitive people, who live on the Dark Continent, enlighten the more sophisticated and well-educated cultures of the earth with a fundamental truth: Humankind cannot achieve genuine peace and healthy community through violent means.  Governed as we are in the West by the grand illusions of wealth, celebrity, youth and deadly force, this truth comes as a threat.  It demands too much self-exposure and uncertainty, too much change.

          Admittedly, Malawi itself is hardly free of violence.  I simply find it profoundly compelling that they have a cultural symbol requiring, human touch in a face-to-face encounter, that says, “But we know better.”

          Yes, this point of view has implications for the issue of gun-control.  That matter, however, remains a constitutional/legal debate driven by intense fears.  That polarizing argument distracts us from more substantive conversations regarding the fundamental issues – our culture's suicidal love of violence and our worship of violent heroes.  Until we name our deepest fears and face our collective and individual shadows,¹ the gun control struggle will remain a holy war between competing anxieties.  As such, it will never offer anything more than the temporary and uneasy truce of contentious legislation, whether permissive or restrictive.

          Besides, in order to dominate, human beings “arm” ourselves with far more than guns.  As a southerner, I have witnessed the practice of a bloodless, first-tier violence called “being nice.”  Skillfully wielded, this pleasant condescension is a poisoned cup capable of genocide.

          The cynic in me throws his hands up saying that over 500 millennia of brutal human history make the idea of a truly peaceful world a utopian fantasy which leads at best to disappointment, and at worst to irresponsible denial.

          The man of faith in me, however, resonates with Father Gabriel, the Jesuit priest in the movie “The Mission.”  When confronted by mercenary-turned-missionary, Rodrigo Mendoza, with the idea of meeting Spain’s violent challenge to their mission with violence of their own, Father Gabriel sighs and says, “If might is right, then love has no place in the world.  It may be so, it may be so.  But I don't have the strength to live in a world like that, Rodrigo.”²

          If we as human beings carry, or more accurately, if we are carried by the image of God within us, and I believe that we are, then I must affirm the place of Love in this world.  If Love creates us, Love can heal and transform us, but Love does not force healing on us.  Love will not overcome violence violently.

          Violence and its causes are too complex ever to “go away.”  But the more we touch ourselves on the wrist when we shake hands, that is to say, the more we remind ourselves that we do, indeed, know better, the more we will find constructive new ways to channel the energies in ourselves and in our cultures that we so lazily surrender to violence.

          Herein lies the paradox.  Moving beyond violence has nothing to do with letting go of the natural energies and passions from which violence arises.  It has to do with allowing those resources of fierce loyalty and courage to lead us toward a fearlessly loving embrace of the holy gifts of self, neighbor, and earth.   To move beyond violence, we must cooperate with Love’s ongoing work of transformation.  Even now, Love is acting to redeem the powerful human vigor we so often engage as fearful violence, into something that more faithfully reflects the God from whose heart if flows.

          My first move is to acknowledge my own fascination with violence.  I have a persistent tendency, even a visceral desire to be “entertained” by violence.  And I often imagine myself prevailing violently over someone else.  Something in me wants to defeat some foe by means of superior aggression and force.  All of this shadow-boxing forces me to face a number of vital questions.  What does this tendency in me reveal to me?

          Is there some matter of justice that needs my attention?  If so, who or what needs a courageous presence and a passionate voice?  And how do I offer myself lovingly, compassionately – and effectively?

          Or is something within me calling me to embark on a “hero's quest?”  That is, do I need to accept some needling spiritual/psychological invitation to delve deep into my own strengths and vulnerabilities?  And when I discover and face them, angels and demons alike, I may harness their Love-wrought vitality so that they redeem my past, refresh my present, and reveal direction for my future.

          Then again, do these violent fantasies just indicate defeat?  Have I given up on the transforming power of gratitude, compassion, and kindness – the transforming power of the Vocational Love we call agape?

          The questions are not easy to face.  The answers may prove to be even more difficult.  But if I truly have faith in Love, I cannot afford to ignore them.  Perhaps the first step toward new awareness is a handshake away.

¹For an introduction to the psychological concept of the shadow, see: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Shadow_%28psychology%29 .  For a more in-depth, but very accessible discussion of the shadow, see: Owning Your Own Shadow by Robert A. Johnson (Harper Collins, 1991).

²From “The Mission,” 1986.  Original story/screenplay by Robert Bolt.  Directed by Roland Joffe.  Producers: Fernando Ghia and David Puttnam.  Production Companies: Warner Brothers., Goldcrest Films International, Kingsmere Productions Ltd., and Enigma Productions.