Tag: Enuma Elish

The snakey problem of political polarisation and violence

Babylon’s creation story the Enuma Elish is the story of how the powerful warrior God Marduk took up weapons against his mother Tiamat, a giant cosmic creature of the deep waters — but not the waters that bring life (the Apsu) — she’s often identified as a serpent or dragon, and many of her monstrous offspring are also dragons or serpents. Tiamat becomes a bit of a violent tyrant, so Marduk, her son, goes to war with her and chops her in two; and from her body parts he forms the heavens and the earth.

There are snakes, sea monsters, and serpents all through the story of the Bible. People in my congregation are concocting drinking games for the number of times I bring them up in sermons, but I bring them up for a reason. There’s a reason, for example, that Jesus calls the religious leaders of his day who end up conspiring with the Babylon of his day (see Revelation) to crucify him a “brood of vipers” — snake children, and where he also just straight up says “your father is the devil” who lies and murders by his nature.

There are sea monsters — tannin in Hebrew — sanitised out of our translation of Genesis 1 (the great creatures of the deep); and foreign powers like Egypt and Babylon are described as serpenty (nacash in Hebrew) sea monsters (tannin) who are “leviathan” as God describes their violent dominion and his promise to rescue people from their oppressive coils.

Violence and lies are the tools the serpenty empire use to create and legitimise violent and dishonest empires that believe we create through destruction; including the destruction of human bodies made to bear the divine image. Babylon’s practice was not simply to sacrifice children but also to make young men from conquered royal families into eunuchs (Daniel, the prophet, is given to the chief of the eunuchs so it is likely he was dismembered as a picture of Babylonian power — as the prophets promised in both Isaiah 39:7 and 2 Kings 20:18). Eunuchs represented many other things in a royal court and functioned in particular ways, but when Babylon’s creation myth is pitted against the creation story of the Bible and God’s divine image being represented in humans “male and female he created them”; the visibility of this contrast is part of the picture behind Isaiah’s words. Babylon’s story legitimised Babylon’s violent empire; and kings — like Nebuchadnezzar (the living image of God in Babylonian cultic practice) who ruled like Marduk (and propagated his story to draw the links more closely).

The pentecostal theologian Walter Wink traced this story through to the way the modern world approaches power and violence and called it “The Myth of Redemptive Violence“. Here are a couple of paragraphs from his essay, which engages with the Enuma Elish (the Babylonian creation story).

“The belief that violence ”saves” is so successful because it doesn’t seem to be mythic in the least. Violence simply appears to be the nature of things. It’s what works. It seems inevitable, the last and, often, the first resort in conflicts. If a god is what you turn to
when all else fails, violence certainly functions as a god. What people overlook, then, is the religious character of violence. It demands from its devotees an absolute obedience unto-death. This Myth of Redemptive Violence is the real myth of the modern world. It, and not Judaism or Christianity or Islam, is the dominant religion in our society today.”

He looks at our cartoons (Popeye) — but, you know, Reacher or the Marvel movies, or whatever, and maps them onto the Babylonian vision of the world.

The Biblical story is radically different to Babylon’s; creation does not come through violence but as a generous act of generative love. Where Marduk kills his mum and makes the heavens from her ribs, God puts the earthling (Adam’s name means earth) to sleep (a kind of death) and forms life in a way that does not destroy but generates more life — as the two become one again to ‘be fruitful and multiply’. In Genesis’ account of the creation of Babylon — the tower of Babel story — a king (Nimrod, introduced a chapter earlier) leads a people to build a great tower to the heavens to “make a name for themselves” using bricks. Nebuchadnezzar famously inscribed every brick in his building projects (built by enslaved workers from the conquered nations) with his name, and the Enuma Elish tells the story of the construction of the city of Babylon as a ‘tower’; a gateway between heaven and earth so the gods could enslave their (too noisy) human workers who worked for their pleasure. Pretty self-serving story if you’re the walking image of God who likes to destroy your enemies and build big things for your name… Marduk is also pictured, often with a pet snakey-dragon. It’s not a coincidence that the Old Testament describes empires like his as snakey or beastly (or that Revelation does the same when looking at Rome’s beastly human kingdom that serves the dragon, Satan.

After his retelling of the Babylonian account of power, violence and creativity and redemption coming through destruction, Wink says:

The implications are clear: human beings are created from the blood of a murdered god. Our very origin is violence. Killing is in our genes. Humanity is not the originator of evil, but merely finds evil already present and perpetuates it. Our origins are divine, to be sure, since we are made from a god, but from the blood of an assassinated god. We are the outcome of deicide.

All of this is to say — a few years ago now (Feb 2021) I wrote a piece for Eternity News urging Christians in particular to avoid violent rhetoric in how we talk about politics; because, violence begets violence —and the sort of script we bring to the public square represents the kind of kingdom we belong to; the creation story that shapes us.

The story was pulled because I (with receipts) named names and was threatened with defamation, and because my contribution contributed to the very polarisation I was calling out. After some reflection at the time, I did republish it here.

The people I named were people from the so-called “Christian right” who want a muscular, militant Christianity and use “culture war” language and even laugh about the idea of political violence being “not yet” necessary. A few years later some “Christian” domestic terrorists shot some police officers here in Queensland.

The table turned a bit when this same violent language was used to justify the shooting of a politically conservative Christian voice on a university campus; suddenly many of those voices were against the violent rhetoric of “the left” – whoever “they are” if “they” are my political opponent “they” are the problem.

I don’t think I was wrong to ‘target’ the right, so to speak, and not talk about the left — I am more concerned (because I am concerned about the witness of the Gospel) with the fusion of the Gospel with the political right as I see it in Christian Nationalism and especially the U.S “Secretary for War” posting instagram reels of himself praying the Lord’s Prayer to vision of the army dropping bombs on its enemy, or quoting Isaiah to claim the U.S army is sent by God “here I am send me” — and by Trump claiming to do more for Christians than anyone ever — I am more concerned about this than I am about the godless political left and the destruction it wreaks simply because that is not destruction worked in Jesus’ name (carrying God’s name in vain), but a picture of something else. Also, I do think the modern western left is inevitably motivated by Christian values around the dignity and worth of various people and groups (whether that’s women, queer people, racial minorities etc), and that this lens gets applied to lots of conflicts and power struggles in helpful ways (and unhelpful ways), just as I think conservatives are often trying to conserve good and true things.

I have seen, this week — at least one of the figures I named in that piece (who I then sat down with for breakfast) — blaming Helen Haines — the victim of this week’s politically motivated terror attack on the political positions this leader took around Covid vaccines and abortion; justifying “violence” (or at least explaining it).

He wrote:

“Sadly Helen Haines may lose her life if not her legs.. It’s also sad that she backed the rules that locked you out while your grandmother died alone. She treated medical autonomy as optional and supported abortion on demand plus voluntary assisted dying.

Then a man deliberately drove a car at her. Now she is in intensive care and the political class suddenly remembered that violence is bad, while still defending the ideas that treated some lives as optional.”

He was so enamored by this line of reasoning that after two sentences (in the same post) about the perpetrator, he returned to his attack on Haines.

“Helen Haines publicly supported Victoria’s abortion laws, some of the worst in the world. She backed assisted suicide for the elderly and the sick. During COVID she pushed the vaccine rollout against peoples will, treated dissent as a threat, and accepted a system that kept families from the dying. For years that class of politicians told ordinary Australians their rights were optional: you could not see your dying parent, your body was not fully yours, unborn lives could be discarded, and the frail could be offered an early exit.”

And then evokes the spectre of the scary “they”… before suggesting that Haines belongs in the same place as the man who attempted to kill her with his car.

“They normalised the idea that some lives and some freedoms do not matter when the ends suit them. Then they act shocked when an unstable man applies a version of the same logic to a politician.

Disclaimer: The attacker is fully responsible for his crime. Nothing justifies running someone down. But the years of state coercion and disposable lives created the climate in which this kind of madness becomes more thinkable.”

Condemn the violence. Jail the perpetrator. AND get rid of the policies that taught people certain rights and certain people were optional. Helen should not be in hospital. No. At worst, jail.”

One must question what this sort of rhetoric — the overwhelming emphasis on Haine’s political positions (which do not otherwise seem to be on the table in terms of the motivation for the attack) rather than on her attacker — is designed to do; it creates an enemy, it legitimise a kind of force used against a political enemy (prison is a kind of violence at one level). This is bad people doing bad things to bad people, in a way that tacitly justifies bad things happening to the bad person — just not that bad thing, and preferably at the hands of the state (and preferably a state where we Christians take back control). While it seeks to uphold the value of the life of the unborn and the elderly, it does so by buying into a kind of Babylonian vision of one’s political enemy.

His tune changed a day later when it turned out the perpetrator held “leftist” political positions on Gaza and the climate. Whatever the story is, this kind of political actor uses it to sow division and enmity.

“Helen Haines was mowed down by a left-wing anti-Israel activist. Albanese’s response? Blame the right and everyone who has ever criticised him. Australia has suffered two horrifying terror-related attacks in the past year. Neither had anything to do with the right.”

This conveniently ignores both Desi Freeman and the Wieambilla shootings — terror-related attacks only count when “the other” is doing the violence. This is also not to say that the attack on Haines was not politically motivated (though I’d say most attacks are also perpetrated by deeply unwell individuals and blaming an ideaology is pretty politically convenient, especially when the vast majority of people on the left, or right — or Christians or Muslims — do not commit violent acts of terror).

He writes:

“The accused is Brendan Nugent. Years of environmental activism. Then he took a dark turn after 7 October 2023 into intense anti-Israel, pro-Palestine posting. Calls to “turn down the temperature.” Warnings about political discourse. Fingers pointed at the right.

Meanwhile the same people who spent years demonising ordinary Australians for opposing mass immigration, gender ideology, or open borders stay silent when the violence comes from the left or from Islamism.”

There are aspects of the way these sentences are written that sound like this is AI slop confected to create outrage; but this particular author has been prodigious in his output prior to the AI revolution.

It’s “not us”… it’s “them…” the woman you put here with me; but never me. Their violence and oppression. Never mine.

Now. I think it’s true that “the left” also blame “the right”.

And, part of what prompted me to stick my head back up above the fray on this one is I just read two of my online lefty friends suggesting the conservative church views its ultimate test of strength being around excluding queer people, to which another friend said the conservative church is “all about having power and influence” through politicking, not the Spirit, “principally” focused on controlling people’s genitals based on primitive readings of a small number of passages. I don’t think that fairly represents the motives of those who would conserve a teaching the church has held for centuries in the light of modern pressures (the serpent works by saying “did God really say” afterall), and yet I am sympathetic to the desire to question our use of power and our exclusionary practices that go beyond what God says (he did not say “don’t touch”), and in the next post served up to me by my Babylonian outrage algorithm built by the slave masters of the extractive surveillance capitalist machine that wants to harvest my attention was a conservative friend and colleague calling for Christian nationalism as another conservative Christian friend pinged the Attorney General for being all about toning down the rhetoric now when leftist political voices happily justify violence and celebrated the death of Charlie Kirk.

Friends. Our moral compasses have been “enshittified” to the point we cannot, it seems, recognise the way the game we are playing has been framed so that we can’t help but serve the serpent.

Probably me included. Probably even this post with its implicit “hey, I was right all those years ago” bid for your attention.

Part of the problem here is that the polarisation itself serves the serpent. We actually ‘are’ our brother’s keeper — especially within the church, but then we exist to be a blessing to the nations as we invite people to life at God’s table as his redeemed and restored image bearing children through his image-bearing son who brings heaven and earth together on God’s terms.

Adam and Eve actually did have a responsibility to one another in a generative partnership of fruitful multiplication through their oneness — and their conflict and blame game is a sign that has been twisted by the serpent and his lies (just as Eve’s misrepresentation of God’s instructions before she was introduced into the story is a picture of a failure on behalf of Adam — perhaps he had given her a well-meaning and protective extra rule to ‘conserve’ something that ended up being destructive).

Neither the political right or the political left in Australia have the monopoly or moral high ground here; in fact, I would contend that both sides of the political machine in Australia are deeply influenced by our Christian heritage and story about the dignity of humans — and when they contend for the good (or even for things we might see as bad) their motives are in part a function of the image of God in them (common grace) and this legacy, but both sides are also corrupted by the values of Babylon and its gods; the powers and principalities; the way of the serpent; in modern form. And this manifests in violence, the destruction of humans in the name of ‘progress’ and in lies.

And we play our part in this game when we don’t see the serpent at work “out there” but also “in here” — in our desire to create an “other” and dominate them (like Cain); or to blame (like Adam) as we seek power and control.

I contend the problem goes deeper; and that modern politics, is at heart as much Babylonian — even the Christian version — fuelled by the myth of redemptive violence, and, as such, is “snakey” — and that this is inevitably part of a political discourse that buys into and propagates the myth of redemptive violence rather than a generative vision that sees all humans — even ones political opponents; even the eunuch — as made in God’s image and invited to God’s table (Isaiah 56 contains a powerful picture of the inclusion of those physically scarred by the violent empire, and the story of the Eunuch in Acts is a beautiful fulfilment of this picture).

I contend, also, that the serpent loves it when human voices are tricked and divided in ways that produce animosity (think Cain and Abel) so that we turn on one another and seek to blame (think Adam and Eve in the garden). I contend, further, that he delights in pulling us from God’s word and towards violence not only through revisionist twisting of God’s word (that one might be inclined to see amongst “progressives” or “the left” or whatever — and also in the way Trump and Hegseth have created an image of Christianity that looks more at home with Marduk), but also in the ‘conservative’ creation of rules that misrepresent God’s loving generous hospitality (God actually did not say “don’t touch the fruit or you will die” — that was a man made rule that equally misrepresented his character).

The rush by Christian thought leaders — progressive or conservative — to heap blame on the “other side” without reflecting on our own participation in a serpenty, violent, deceptive Babylonian culture demonstrates that we have already lost something of the essence of the kingdom of the serpent-crushing lion who is also the lamb who was slain. We play Babylonian games; we win Babylonian prizes… but the game (and the media and cultural landscape we play it in) is rigged so that seems like the only way to play.

Wink says, of the myth of redemptive violence…

“Its presence everywhere is not the result of a conspiracy of Babylonian priests secretly buying up the mass media with Iraqi oil money, but a function of values endlessly reinforced by the Domination System. By making violence pleasurable, fascinating, and entertaining, the Powers are able to delude people into compliance with a system that is cheating them of their very lives.
Once children have been indoctrinated into the expectations of a dominator society, they may never outgrow the need to locate all evil outside themselves. Even as adults they tend to scapegoat others for all that is wrong in the world. They continue to depend on group identification and the upholding of social norms for a sense of well-being.”

A proper Christian conservatism will seek to conserve the aspects of our politics and culture shaped by the Christian story; not just that each human (born or otherwise) is created with inherent dignity and the vocation to be a representation of the sacred, generative, life giving nature of God, but that forgiveness, redemption and restoration of that created purpose — liberation from Babylon whether for victim (like the eunuchs) or perpetrator (like Namaan the general, or the centurion at the cross) is found as a gift of God through the crucified king who gives us life by his Spirit… They (we) will seek to not erect rules or traditions that give a miserly picture of God or keep people oppressed by the powers of Babylon; or worse — start to act Babylonian (like the Pharisees who were ‘children of the snake) because we actually like money and power.

While, a proper Christian progressivism will be driven by the moral vision of a kingdom where oppression and the dominion of violent political empires is removed and where we don’t live by the Babylonian creation myth or the ‘end’ it creates for humanity, but by the vision at the start and end of the Christian story; a world where heaven and earth are joined together by the living word of God; the lamb who was slain. They will call us to see how we have found ourselves in captivity to Babylon and the way that captivity captures and oppresses as it grants power to those who have it, and uses it against the excluded; but will lose that distinctive voice when they (we) lose site of the God who creates and commands people to be distinct and holy (separated from Babylon), and instead twist his word like the serpent…

A flourishing people of God will recognise that division itself; and a failure to listen to these impulses because we demonise the ‘other’ and turn towards them with fear and loathing that leads to violence actually impacts ‘both sides’ and our ability to flourish as the people of God who are “fruitfully multiplying” and spreading his serpent-free kingdom; shalom; the ‘garden’ where the serpent is kept out…

The blame lies with the serpent; and his insidious serpenty twisting of the lives of individual humans and the empires we build and those who build them.

We don’t fight serpents with the sword, or via “redemptive violence” but by generous, sacrificial, hospitality of the other because we recognise the divine image imprinted on them and want to invite them to follow the shepherd king through the valley of the shadow of death, out of Babylon, and into the house of our heavenly father, forever.

I contend that if your response to a horrible tragedy that reveals just how deeply polarised we are — and how limited our answers seem to be to the crisis (and frankly, we’ve got it pretty good here in Australia thanks to compulsory voting and various other controls) — such that we turn to motherhood statements and blaming the other to score points in a culture war — then maybe we should be looking to alternative visions for how to play the game; and the one who calls us to love our neighbour, and our enemies, and then shows us what that looks like in the face of a violent empire not by taking up the sword and building a kingdom from their dismembered bodies; but by taking up his cross and giving his body to give life to the world absorbing that violence; a gift his people are meant to remember as we feast on him at his table; and that this is how the serpent is defeated and we are called to be witnesses (martyrs) to this king with our own testimony — our words and our lives of love for the other.

We are shaped by the life-creating death of a God; but it’s Jesus, not Tiamat.

Being Human — Chapter Nine — What’s the story: mourning glory?

This is an adaptation of the ninth talk from a 2022 sermon series — you can listen to it as a podcast here, or watch it on video. It’s not unhelpful to think of this series as a ‘book’ preached chapter by chapter. And, a note — there are lots of pull quotes from various sources in these posts that were presented as slides in the sermons, but not read out in the recordings.

Content warning — we are going to be talking about violence; and I am going to touch on the way that violence is gendered, especially around family violence, and I do not want that to take people by surprise.

If I asked you to describe the stories you have been consuming lately in a sentence, how would you do it?

Here are a few of mine:

An elite soldier’s unit and family are killed as a result of a deep state conspiracy involving the military and big pharma, so he goes on a rampage, killing everyone involved.

Or…

A retired military police officer hitchhikes around the U.S. and manages to stumble into a deadly conspiracy; he uses his investigative skills and capacity for violence to solve it.

Or… and this one was a favourite… A folk-singing spy with PTSD, whose father works for the CIA, is sent undercover in an engineering firm so he can prevent the election of a pro-nuclear Iranian presidential candidate, or failing that, assassinate him; he sings his way through his trauma and questions about the cost of participating in violence.

At the time of preaching this series, Amazon had just launched the new Rings of Power Tolkien epic, which is fascinating because Tolkien thought very carefully about stories and their power — and about technology and the way it changes us.

In a letter about Middle Earth he explains that magic in his world — especially the destructive magic of Mordor — was a picture of the machine in ours.

“He will rebel against the laws of the Creator — especially against mortality. Both of these will lead to the desire for Power, for making the will more quickly effective — and so to the Machine (or magic).”

— Tolkien

The machine is operating through:

“… all use of external plans or devices instead of development of the inherent inner powers or talents — or even the use of these talents with the corrupted motive of dominating: bulldozing the real world, or coercing other wills.”

He sees this as the operations of “the enemy” — who he calls the “Lord of Magic and machines.” He says:

“The enemy in successive forms is always ‘naturally’ concerned with sheer Domination, and so the Lord of magic and machines.”

This created stuff warps us — like the One Ring warped Gollum — and anyone who wields it, and perhaps like swords and weapons shaped those who wield them; coming with a cost — the sort that get explored through the violent battle for Middle Earth.

The thing about stories is that they are powerful; they shape our understanding of the world — they shape our imaginations and desires, just like images — stories are part of what Charles Taylor, and Jamie Smith (who was the guy who wrote You Are What You Love), call the social imaginary — the background to our beliefs; the stuff that shapes our imagination.

“A social imaginary is not how we think about the world, but how we imagine the world before we ever think about it… it is made up of, and embedded in, stories, narratives, myths and icons.”

— James K.A. Smith

It is not just architecture and images that shape us — stories do as well. They help us make sense of the world; stories are what help us figure out what data we receive as “truth,” and what we do not.

“These visions capture our hearts and imaginations by ‘lining’ our imagination, as it were, providing us with frameworks of ‘meaning’ by which we make sense of our world and our calling in it.”

You could argue that telling stories — whether it is history, or fiction, or the myths — the big stories we live by — is part of being made in the image of the God who has structured history, and his word, as a story; that one of the things that separates us from other living creatures is that we tell stories — you do not see koalas building libraries.

Stories also shape the way we live — they teach us how we should live. There is a philosopher, Alisdair MacIntyre, who reckons the modern world has become a bureaucratic machine, where asking “how should I live?” gets reframed as “what is the most efficient way to make things happen.” He reckons the way out of the machine is to recognise the place of story in our lives, and in cultivating virtue; and that we can only know how we ought to live in this world if we can understand ourselves living in a story — knowing our origins, our beginning, our setting, and our destination — and who we need to be to get there.

“I can only answer the question ‘what am I to do?’ If I can answer the prior question: ‘Of what story or stories do I find myself a part?’”
— Alisdair MacIntyre, After Virtue

The “machine” means we often treat “non-fiction” — facts — as more important than stories, but this is making the mistake of treating us more like robots than humans; we live and breathe stories.

We spent some time previously unpacking Israel’s origin story — the creation story in Genesis — and imagining how it shaped the life of God’s people, not only living as God’s priestly image-bearing people in the Eden-like promised land, looking after the temple —

but imagining how that story might have shaped Israel to live differently in Babylon, where life was defined by an altogether different story — we dug into it a bit — the Enuma Elish — the story of the gods of Babylon creating the world through violence, from the bodies of dead and defeated gods.

Last week we talked about the powers and principalities that the New Testament describes operating to keep us captive; these spiritual powers are the animating forces behind the systems that make us less than human as we get swept up in them so that we are imprinted by them to represent those powers; to live, so to speak, as characters in their stories (Ephesians 6:11-12). In Babylon the powers operated through an idolatrous regime that celebrated violence.

Walter Wink was a Pentecostal theologian — he wrote a book called The Powers That Be about these systems that we can observe in the world. He was probably less inclined to see spiritual beings pulling the strings behind these observations, and more inclined to see collective human rebellion against God — but he talks about how the same story that animated Babylon, through its creation story — the idea that killing is in our genes; that to be human is to fight against evil, to destroy enemies, with violence — animates the empires of the modern West. He says of the way this story permeates our imaginary:

“The implications are clear: human beings are created from the blood of a murdered god. Our very origin story is violence. Killing is in our genes.”

— Walter Wink

It is this story, that he calls the myth of redemptive violence — the idea that whatever the problems we face, at the end of the day victory will take violence — heroic standing up against the forces of evil and triumphing, throwing them back into the abyss while wielding a sword.

“This Myth of Redemptive Violence is the real myth of the modern world. It, and not Judaism or Christianity or Islam, is the dominant religion in our society today.”

— Walter Wink

It is this story, not the Gospel, that shapes the politics of a post-Christendom world; and is the dominant religious story in our world; it is behind how we “imagine” the world before fleshing it out.

“By making violence pleasurable, fascinating and entertaining, the Powers are able to delude people into compliance with a system that is cheating them of their very lives.”

It is the myth you will find making violence entertaining — in The Terminal List, and Reacher — and even in Rings of Power — deluding people into compliance with a deadly and dehumanising system. Our stories are a little more complex — all these stories are critiquing violent conspiracies and evil, even embodied in a deep state — but they are offering violent solutions, even if, like in Patriot and Middle Earth, the stories leave us asking questions about the cost of wielding the sword. These powers — idol machines — do not just use one story, but this myth of redemptive violence is built into our world, and it is destructive.

Wink reckons there is more going on under the hood in our entertainment, the stories we consume, than we realise. He says in this story politics becomes ultimate; the state and its armed forces are responsible for throwing chaos into the abyss, and those who buy the story will offer themselves up for holy war.

“Salvation is politics: the masses identify with the god of order against the god of chaos, and offer themselves up for the Holy War that imposes order and rule on the peoples round about. Peace through war; security through strength: these are the core convictions that arise from this ancient historical religion, and they form the solid bedrock on which the domination system is found in every society.”

This myth props up what the former U.S. President Dwight Eisenhower called the military-industrial complex as he left office in 1961. We talked about this back in our Revelation series.

He was worried about the rapid development of an arms industry as a product of the Cold War. He said American factories once made ploughs, but they had learned to make swords, in a permanent industry of vast proportions designed to supply the armed forces.

“American makers of plowshares could, with time and as required, make swords as well… We have been compelled to create a permanent armaments industry of vast proportions…”

— Dwight Eisenhower, Farewell Address, 1961

He reckoned people had to be really careful about the way people making money from this industry would chase power and influence, because it had the potential to change the economic, political, and spiritual makeup of the country.

“We must guard against the acquisition of unwarranted influence, whether sought or unsought, by the military industrial complex.”

And this seems a world away from us, here in a small church in a city across the world, but the degrees of separation might be smaller than you think. Our military industrial complex is a lot smaller than the U.S. We look at their gun culture as an idol, while consuming the same stories that justify those cultural norms — the same stories that prop up this idea that nations solve problems with violence — and these stories also prop up the idea that individuals should use violence to solve problems, and especially that men should; they shape how we understand masculinity.

Did you notice that the three shows I started out talking about all have violent men as heroes? There is a certain view of the world that sees masculinity as being about male power — the capacity for violence — so they can be protectors, and so women can swoon over such masculine men.

It is not just our entertainment — so much of our Christian content, the books we read, the stuff we listen to or watch, comes from the U.S. And the church in the U.S. has shown itself, in the last few years, to be marching in lockstep with the dominion system. This same myth of redemptive violence is used to justify grabbing hold of political power to win a culture war, or any sort of conflict against your enemies.

There is a writer in the States, Kristin Kobes Du Mez, who wrote this book Jesus and John Wayne, exploring how this same myth has embedded itself in the church.

We are products of our culture; of what we consume, she says:

“The products Christians consume shape the faith they inhabit.”

She traces the way that the modern church has developed a sort of “militant masculinity” — idolising power and the capacity for violence, militant heroes like the western star John Wayne.

“For many evangelicals, these militant heroes would come to define not only Christian manhood but Christianity itself… Wayne modelled masculine strength, aggression, and redemptive violence… Little separated Jesus from John Wayne. Jesus had become a Warrior Leader, an Ultimate Fighter.”

This is a picture of our “social imaginary” preconditioning us to read the Gospel stories in a particular way that is more Babylonian than Biblical.

She has the receipts — she quotes a guy named Doug Wilson, who, thanks to the Internet, enjoys a pretty wide readership in Australia. In one of his books, Wilson says it is essential for boys to play with swords and guns; to meet a deep need to have something to defend, something to represent in battle. You might have heard stories like this; that there is this inbuilt capacity for violence that is necessary in case you have to save someone.

“… it is absolutely essential for boys to play with wooden swords and plastic guns. Boys have a deep need to have something to defend, something to represent in battle.”

— Doug Wilson

Note: since preaching this series in 2022, Wilson’s infamy and influence has increased and in a recent “no quarter November” he was selling branded flamethrowers.

For Wilson, to beat our weapons into pruning hooks too soon — to not be part of the military-industrial complex and buying the myth of redemptive violence — that will leave us fighting the dragon with a pruning hook.

“And to beat the spears into pruning hooks prematurely, before the war is over, will leave you fighting the dragon with a pruning hook.”

— Doug Wilson

Like Eisenhower, he has this passage from Isaiah in mind — where God will bring restoration and a transformed world, replacing war, violence, with peace, so that instead of making weapons people will make farming tools, pruning hooks and ploughshares.

“He will judge between the nations and will settle disputes for many peoples. They will beat their swords into plowshares and their spears into pruning hooks. Nation will not take up sword against nation, nor will they train for war anymore.”

— Isaiah 2:4

Folks like Wilson do not think that day of the Lord has come yet. For them we should still be armed and dangerous, with the weapons of the world.

Du Mez also points out just how angry Wilson got at the idea women might be warriors, for a bunch of reasons including that they are not as good at the “important work of violence.” Now, you have probably got your own thoughts about women becoming soldiers, but that is not the point. When you make the enemy someone who can be stabbed, you rob women of their place in the battle against the powers.

“… they were a sexual distraction to male soldiers, they could get pregnant, they distorted ‘covenantal lines of authority,’ and they were not as good as men in ‘the important work of violence.’”

When Eve is created as Adam’s helper (Genesis 2:18), it is the word ezer; a word with military connotations — more like ally — that is used of God throughout the Bible. Ultimately this myth of redemptive violence, that wants men wielding swords and fighting people, is the myth of redemptive patriarchy; a myth of redemptive male violence.

It is a myth built on the cursed pattern of relationships in Genesis 3 where “he” rules over “her” — not where they rule together and she is an ally in the cause. And we do have a problem with the myth of redemptive patriarchy and male entitlement through power here in Australia. It is expressed in the rate of family violence perpetrated by men in our country, and the soaring numbers of sexual assaults perpetrated by boys in our schools. This does not come from nowhere; it is supported by narratives that paint heroism as using power to make the world what you think it should be. Domination, rather than the sort of dominion we were made for, is built into our lives at a societal level, and an individual level.

I am not sure these folks going on about taking up the sword, with a vision of masculinity that sees an inherent capacity for violence, have read their Bibles, where our enemy is not flesh and blood, but the devil, and his schemes, these powers, spiritual forces (Ephesians 6:11-12) — a real gun is not going to be much more useful than a toy one at this point.

And the “armour of God” we use in this fight — it is not armour geared towards violence; the sword in this war is the word of God; get your kids to play with it. And the way of life that prepares us for this fight is not playing with guns, it is prayer (Ephesians 6:17-18).

Plus, even though our enemy is the dragon-serpent — if we take up the sword and respond with violence, the story of the Bible seems to be that we defeat ourselves and choose his side — and the victory over the dragon comes through non-violent redemptive sacrifice.

Satan enters the scene as some sort of legged serpent, a dragon (Genesis 3). And then, when Cain is angry at Abel, God says sin is crouching at the door — like some personified wild animal, a power, desiring to have him (Genesis 4:7). And when he gives in to that power, he gets violent; he kills his brother (Genesis 4:8). This is a thread we traced through Genesis; to Nimrod, the violent killer who built Babylon and Assyria (Genesis 10:9-12).

The temptation Satan offers through the powers is the same one he offers Jesus in the wilderness — as we saw in Matthew — the temptation to grab hold of the kingdoms of the world with power (Matthew 4:8-9); to play the Babylon game; to run a domination system, or enjoy its rewards. To bow down to the dragon and serve his kingdom, embracing his way of death. And Jesus does not grasp. We do not actually fight the dragon — we are not the hero. Jesus does. Jesus is. And he tells us his kingdom features peacemakers (Matthew 5:9), that his people will reject violence, and turn the other cheek (Matthew 5:39), and love our enemies (Matthew 5:44), and he tells his disciples to put away their swords, because those who draw the sword will die by the sword (Matthew 26:52).

The whole point of his life was to model something different to a life under the powers, the power of Satan — the violent dominion systems, because he came to model the kingdom of God, and invite us to join him in it. Even if Revelation depicts him defeating the dragon, his victory is won at the cross, through the blood of the lamb (Revelation 12:9, 11). He confounds the beastly myth of redemptive violence and provides an altogether different story for us to live by, just like Genesis did for Israel. And he calls us to put away our swords, deny ourselves, and take up our cross — following him (Matthew 16:24). Jesus invites us to life not under the powers — the power of Satan — the violent dominion systems, but in the kingdom of God. He invites us to life in a different story — the story told in the Old Testament from start to finish — from Moses to the Prophets — Jesus says he is what holds the story together (Luke 24:26-27). He says the Law, the Psalms, and the Prophets — the whole Old Testament — are written about him; that he has come to fulfil them (Luke 24:44), and that this fulfilment is not found in wielding a sword, but suffering and death on a cross, by being crucified by those who wield swords, so that he might bring forgiveness of sins and new life by the Spirit (Luke 24:46-47). His death and resurrection are the climax of history, and of the integrated collection of books in the Old Testament.

The whole story of the Bible is a story that invites us to be truly human by resisting violence and domination and the powers, and finding life in God’s kingdom.

In this story we are not the hero. We cannot save ourselves or fix the world, and the military industrial state cannot throw back the forces of chaos, because they are often aligned with the forces of chaos, even as God appoints them as the sword. Heroism in this story is not about the sword; the sword is deadly. It does not just kill our enemies as we swing it, it destroys us with every blow; violence disintegrates us, taking us further away from the life of love we were created for, that Jesus embodies.

The way of life that comes with the story of Jesus is to take up our cross. It is the life Paul describes in Philippians 2 (Philippians 2:5). A life shaped by Jesus and his story, because his story is now our story, and it provides the pattern for all our relationships. And I want to suggest that life in this story is going to involve two commitments that change how we engage in the world in ways that make us truly human — first, a commitment to being better readers of stories, and second, committing ourselves to living in God’s story, the story of Jesus, and so embracing non-violence as we embody the story of Jesus.

This will mean becoming better readers of the Bible — the sword we are meant to wield — and participants in its ongoing story, so it shapes our lives and actions (Ephesians 6:17). I reckon, often, we are not great readers of the Bible, and part of the key to reading the Bible well, especially in narrative bits, is not just to see Jesus as the fulfilment of the story, but to ask “am I seeing behaviour that is like Jesus in this story, or like the pattern of the dragon, or cursed relationships?”

The Bible is full of descriptions of violence, but that violence normally gets destructive and out of hand rather than being redemptive. So we will celebrate David slaying his giant — explicitly without a sword (1 Samuel 17:50) — but not notice how violence becomes embedded in his family system and basically destroys everything as his sons go to war with him, and each other (2 Samuel 12:10). And somehow we will say Christian men need swords or guns or violence (or flamethrowers). The story of the Bible exposes the problem with our hearts, and with the idea that we can turn to violence to solve our problems.

Being better readers of stories might also mean reading better stories. Karen Swallow Prior, who I mentioned last chapter, is a professor of literature. She has written a book called On Reading Well, about how the stories we choose to engage with can be paths to cultivating virtue, because stories do actually teach us how we should live. She reckons stories work better than facts, or other forms of education that focus on techniques, because they let us imagine different experiences so we can explore new ways to live.

“Literature replicates the world of the concrete, where the experiential learning necessary for virtue occurs. Such experiential learning does not come through technique.”

We see characters reacting to situations in ways that are concrete where ideas might be abstract. So the sorts of stories we watch, and the sort of characters that shape our imagination — that matters. As we judge the characters we encounter that shapes our own character.

“… the act of judging the character of a character shapes the reader’s own character. Through the imagination, readers identify with the character, learning about human nature and their own nature through their reactions to the vicarious experience.”

But this will also mean being more sensitive to the formative power of stories around us — not just the myth of redemptive violence, but visions of the good life built on grasping and consuming and being the hero of our own story — so we can spot the powers and disarm them, and expose them to rob them of their power over us and others; and that we might even choose stories that cultivate virtue in us.

And maybe we need more Inklings — more Tolkiens and Lewises telling stories — whether in books, or TV, or video games, or just to our kids at night — that subvert the powerful myths of our world, that offer escape, and even what Tolkien called “the eucatastrophe” — the unexpected happy ending.

“The eucatastrophic tale is the true form of fairy-tale… the consolation of fairy-stories, the joy of the happy ending: or more correctly of the good catastrophe, the sudden joyous ‘turn.’”

— Tolkien, On Fairy Stories

Tolkien believed our hearts desire this eucatastrophic moment because we are created to experience the unexpected happy ending caught up in Jesus’ life, death, and resurrection.

“The Gospels contain a fairy-story, or a story of a larger kind which embraces all the essence of fairy-stories. They contain many marvels… among the marvels is the greatest and most complete conceivable Eucatastrophe.”

So that is the first bit. The second bit is a commitment not just to believing the story of Jesus is true, but to living in it — which will mean letting it provide the shape of our life. That will mean rejecting the myths offered by our world, by the powers, including the myth of redemptive violence, and arming ourselves instead with the sword that is God’s word by taking up our cross and following Jesus. This is harder than it sounds, but it is also less abstract than it sounds, because it is exactly what Paul is describing in Philippians 2. This is, in MacIntyre’s words, the story that teaches us “what we are to do” in any moment. The death and resurrection of Jesus are the culmination of the story of the Bible — the story that reveals the truly human life to us, both the way to life and a way of life.

The theologian Michael Gorman has been mega-helpful to me with this stuff, and he reckons Philippians 2’s retelling of the Gospel is both the central organising story of Paul’s life, and of our life as Christians. He says in the cross and resurrection Paul sees God revealing that faithful and holy opposition to evil — redemption — is not found through inflicting violence, but through absorbing violence and death, turning the other cheek.

“Covenant fidelity, justification, holiness and opposition to evil are not achieved by the infliction of violence and death but by the absorption of violence and death.”

I want to be careful here, because I am not saying that if you are being abused by the sort of person who believes that violence is a legitimate answer you should stay subject to that relationship, or the violence. What I am saying is that responding with violence, taking up the sword, produces a vicious cycle, and to forgive and relinquish that right to take up the sword and destroy your enemy is to embrace the way of Jesus. Wielding the sword, turning to violence, will always shape us, and it will shape us to believe and participate in a story that is counter to the Gospel. This also does not mean we do not let those whom God has given the sword — the government — pursue justice.

But this is where we go wrong when we think the idea for raising masculine men is teaching boys to play with guns and swords, encouraging them to kill the giants or dragons in their lives, to be the hero, and teaching girls to look for a violent protector, rather than teaching them to fight evil not by repaying evil with evil, but by embracing life in God’s story.

In this story the dragon loses as God’s power is displayed in the weakness of the cross, in Jesus’ refusal to grasp power the way Satan tempts us to, and as the full weight of the violent dominion system is brought against Jesus, God is liberating humans — his violent enemies — by forgiving us instead of crushing us and destroying our rebellion.

“The normal human temptation to squash enemies, to eliminate the impure other, is not the response of God in Christ. Instead, God reaches out to reconcile: people to God, and people to people.”

This is not the myth of redemptive violence but the story of redemptive love and grace. Our normal human impulse to squash our enemies is not the way God works. God works, through Jesus, to reach out and bring reconciliation; between us and him, and between us and each other.

This experience of love as the story of the Gospel becomes our story shapes how we live as disciples of Jesus; as we take up our cross, not because we have to throw the forces of chaos back into the abyss, but because we recognise that this is how Jesus did it, this is how he resisted the powers. He did not grasp, or embrace violence, but gave his life, suffering death on a cross (Philippians 2:6-8).

Gorman says these verses are showing us what true humanity looks like, in contrast to Adam, and what true divinity looks like, as we seek to bear God’s image in the world. He says to be truly human is to be Christlike, which is to be Godlike — and for Paul, and for Gorman, this means to be crosslike in our life in the world.

“The incarnation and cross manifest, and the exaltation recognises, Christ’s true humanity, in contrast to Adam, as well as his true divinity. Therefore, to be truly human is to be Christlike, which is to be Godlike.”

The Gospel is a story that does not just restore our relationships from a pattern of sin, to a pattern of godlikeness, it transforms the way we see masculinity, or femininity — our humanity — it reshapes all our relationships, and how we understand life imitating our hero as we are transformed into his image. It calls us from violence and into communion and love and a life of reconciliation and peacemaking.

He says the church is a community that inhabits the life of God by inhabiting God’s story, as God inhabits us by his Spirit and transforms us into people who reveal his character in our lives. Our life story, in relationships pursuing the way of Jesus, embody and proclaim the story we are part of. The participation in this story and retelling of this story shapes us because it becomes the story that shapes our actions in the world.

“The church inhabits this triune, cruciform God, who in turn inhabits the church. Thus the church’s life story embodies and thereby proclaims the narrative identity and gracious saving power of the triune God.”

God is inviting you into his life, and into his story — to leave the stories of the powers behind, the violent ways of death and destruction, and find life together with him, and so to become truly human. Will you keep living as people shaped by his story as we dwell in it together?