The Shadow-gloom and Weight of the Sacred

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Last week, of course, Osama bin Laden was assassinated by the U.S. military upon the request of President Obama. Just as I will always remember where I was and what I was doing when I first heard of the terrorist attacks on 9/11, I will also always remember where I was and what I was doing when I heard of bin Laden's death. I suppose most Americans will vividly recall both of these events for at least a generation.I witnessed an interesting phenomenon during the days succeeding bin Laden's death: all of my friends (at least, those who commented on the matter) on Facebook commented that they were disappointed in the reactions that they were seeing on Facebook.

None of my Facebook friends made any comments celebrating Osama bin Laden's death, but many of them were making commentary in obvious response to other Facebook discussions of which I was not a part. Now, part of me felt a certain sense of pride in that none of my Facebook friends were celebrating the assassination, but I found my position interesting as I observed only one side of an argument. I consider myself myself an advocate of non-violence. I consider myself a pacifist, but I did become a little self-conscious after seeing only one side of the discussion concerning bin Laden's death. It's just that all of the comments propagating pacifism and love of our enemies, taken one right after another, just came off as so incredibly self-righteous that I wondered, Is that how I sound when I talk about non-violence? (No disrespect to my pacifist Facebook friends. You know I love you, pacifists! Also, I love you believers in redemptive violence...I'm still working on loving my enemies.)

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We disciples of Hauerwas--those of us who condemn violence and make statements concerning non-violence--I know we can be self-righteous about our stance, about our inclinations towards non-violence. After all, moving to this place (i.e., a belief in non-violence) cost us nothing. We simply began thinking in a different fashion. Being a pacifist on the campus of Duke University is about as inconvenient as being white on the campus of Duke university. For most of us, the local communities in which we live are not violent communities. We don't need to utilize violence to protect our autonomy, dignity, possessions, or family. Furthermore, we may not act violently towards a thief breaking into our house or car, but we're more than willing for the police to enact violence on our behalf. Our pacifism is convenient. We have not gone to Beirut, Afghanistan, Detroit, north St. Louis, or Golgotha and proclaimed peace. We simply assumed an academic position. (And, perhaps, we touted our position in a manner that is not as effective as we'd like.)

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I suppose I should say, not that I am a pacifist, but that all things being equal, I'm a pacifist. I belief in non-violence to resolve both my issues and the internal/external matters facing a nation-state. All things being equal. In the event I should see an adult man or woman attacking my daughter, then I suspect that in that moment of inequality I would not be much of a pacifist. And, for me at least, this raises the question: What is violence? If you were on Flight 93 (and you've already attempted to reason and make concessions with the terrorists who have overtaken control of the airplane), is it violence to attack the terrorists and prevent them from carrying out their plan? Or, to state it another way, is it pacifism to sit down in a seat and simply let the terrorists carry out their plan?

Generally, I'm a pacifist, but specific situations make me wonder, what is violence?

Or maybe this caveat, this loophole, of specificity inside a general belief in non-violence is lack of commitment. Perhaps, it is my own expression of American Exceptionalism. I think that it is--in some ways. I think that this caveat is fruitless, just as I think that our proclaiming non-violence in communities that are, by and large, non-violent is fruitless--a meager attempt to win an argument. Some people will be convicted by argument and some will not be convicted by argument. But if we're proclaiming non-violence on Facebook and living peaceful lives (or farming out our violence to local security forces) in the neighborhoods we choose because of the clean parks, safe streets, and good schools, well, then what exactly is the proclamation? What is the Kerygma?

Credit: Amira Elwakil-Lucman
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