Chapter Four - Domination and Political Theology - Section Ten

Violence in Liberation Theology

The practical implications of this theology lead directly to struggle against domination, and therein lies the tormenting problem of precisely how to wage struggle, or, more widely, the problem of orthopraxy or Îright action1. Liberation theologians are divided both theologically and practically over the question of violence. Involvement of some priests in guerilla warfare, coupled with their subsequent involvement in revolutionary regimes as in Nicaragua has provoked Western secular and religious authorities, such as Cardinal Ratzinger, to criticise liberation theology on the basis that it provides a rationale for revolutionary violence. But for every advocate of violence, usually highly contextually qualified, one can find an advocate of nonviolence. But, as Phillip Berryman reports, no liberation theologian has written a book on revolutionary violence. 3No liberation theologian has provided a theological rationale for killing. To the extent death is theologised, it is in reflections on martyrdom, the willingness to give one's life for others, not to take others1 lives2 (Berryman, 1987: 195). José Bonino puts the matter neatly in Revolutionary Theology Comes of Age: Certainly Christians in the struggle for liberation will witness to their faith ­ as well as to the ultimate goal of the revolution ­ by insisting on counting carefully the cost of violence, by fighting against all idolization of destruction and the destructive spirit of hate and revenge, by attempting to humanize the struggle, by keeping in mind that beyond victory there must be reconciliation and construction (Bonino, 1975: 128). Christians cannot retard the revolution because the demands of the struggle violate Christian conscientious objections to violence, objections which can lead to Christian complicity with the forces of reaction, the mouthing of pious platitudes, and morally contemptible isolationism in the face of appalling need requiring active Christian engagement. To be sure, there are many instances of costly and heroic Christian nonviolent engagement with liberation struggles, witness the Quakers and the work of many religious and lay groups throughout the so­called Third World. The tormenting questions of tactical praxis which confront all who attempt to act in the world for change lead to situational justifications for violence or nonviolence which mirror those advanced by Marxist theorists such as Vasquez (Vasquez, 1977; Fierro, 1977: 201 ­ 207). Paul Lehmann's justification of violence in The Transfiguration of Politics (1975: 259 ­ 270) is another approach to this issue which firmly advocates violence. Drawing on Fanon and Marcuse ­ he quotes Marcuse from Repressive Tolerance (Marcuse, 1969: 116 ­ 118) ­ Lehmann distinguishes between systemic violence, which is the routine violence of unjust, exploitative, domination­ridden systems in society, and revolutionary violence, which is the apocalyptic violence used by the oppressed in their struggle for liberation, which Lehmann interprets as a manifestation of a God­sanctioned desire to remake the world for good. What is happening with the outbreak of violence is the pressure upon the powers of this world of the God­man structure of the world in making room for the freedom and fulfilment of being human in the world (Lehmann, 1975: 266 ­ 267). For the latter theologians, as for activists everywhere, tactical and strategic considerations tend to govern whether or not to wage struggle violently or nonviolently. The final decision has to be a tactical one, mediated by profound ethical wrestlings. Preaching nonviolence from remote safety to people undergoing fearsome persecution is as contemptible as Christian pietistic withdrawal. For Moltmann, 3The problem of violent action versus nonviolence is a false problem. The only real issue is between justified violence and unjustified violence2 (in Fierro, 1977: 205 ­ 6). Though, while most Christians would be opposed to violence, reality is clearly laden with violence. Moltmann argues that the ethical standard for Christians would therefore be to abide by a principle of diminishing violence, to experiment increasingly with nonviolence and to expand its ambit for waging and resolving conflict. This can be interpreted as being part of the attitude Küng argued earlier Christians ought to bring to their political activities. An exegesis from the Gospels might indicate that Jesus and his radical demands for Îsuffering servanthood1 on the part of the believer leads to an absolute commitment to nonviolence (e g., Camara, 1969: 101 ­ 111; Douglass, 1968; Myers, 1988) being wholly within the ambit of a political or Liberation theology. Ched Myers argues that Jesus advocates absolute nonviolence: For Mark... the practice of domination is so deeply embedded in human history that no mere rebellion will do. Genuine revolution demands a radical break with all the accepted canons of power politics, with every expression of violence, exploitation, and dehumanization... The means of the old order cannot bring about the ends of the new. Anything less than a politics of militant, nonviolent resistance is counterrevolutionary, a recycling of the old world, Mark1s Jesus calls for a more radical (driving­to­the­roots) social transformation, a unity between means and ends (Myers, 1988: 438). While not overlooking significant exegetical difficulties I have with his reading of the Gospels, Paul Lehmann brings the issues of immanence and violence together in a powerful way, grounding Moltmann's more theological reflections: According to Jesus, violence is an apocalyptic happening that erupts whenever, in the dynamics of the world's formation for freedom over order and justice over law, the power of systemic violence has provoked the counterviolence of the concrete responsibility for setting right what is not right, for setting aside what is dehumanizing, and setting straight what is humanizing in the world. The apocalyptic character of violence means that violence is a sign of the imminent breaking in of the divine judgement upon an established order of power and life that has been weighed in the balance and found wanting (Lehmann, 1975: 266). To be sure, relations of domination are violent relations because people's personhoods and potentialities for freedom are circumscribed and limited, in many cases by acts of murder and torture, but more widely through the maintenance of social relations which limit people1s perceptions of themselves and what is possible. This view of violence and domination may set the boundaries of what constitutes violence too widely for useful analytical precision. A very broad definition of violence could lead to anything being described as violent, from fairly trivial acts such as discipline in a school or family, depicting women in demeaning ways in advertisements, through to torture and genocide. Feminists would argue that depicting women in demeaning ways is akin to the direct violence of rape. Torture and murder are obviously directly violent. The question here seems to turn on the degree of violence done by whom to whom, and for what purpose or to achieve what end. This problem arises in nonviolence theory, where Joan Bondurant draws attention to the issue of Îsymbolic violence1 in nonviolent action in which nonviolent actors can nevertheless do violence to their opponents in symbolic terms (Bondurant, 1971: 120 ­ 132). This complex matter will be examined in Section two of this thesis. In peace research, Johan Galtung has proposed a distinction between Îstructural1 and Îactual1 violence (Galtung, 1969). Actual violence is violence in which an actor doing the violence can be identified. Structural violence is violence in which there is no identifiable actor as such, but is violence done through routine social processes which limit some people1s access to valued social Îgoods1 such as food, education, housing, and health care. Galtung1s controversial conception of Îstructural1 and Îactual1 violence will be examined in Section two. For liberation theology, Îstructural violence1 is embedded in society1s structures which maintain gross disparities between rich and poor, and is often linked to Western models of development. Indeed, Gutierrez argues that the idea of Îliberation1 is more appropriate than Îdevelopment1 because the Îdevelopment1 of so­called developing countries has resulted in escalating dependency of those countries on the so­called developed countries: ... liberation expresses the aspirations of oppressed peoples and social classes, emphasizing the conflictual aspect of the economic, social and political process which puts them at odds with wealthy nations and oppressive classes. In contrast, the word development, and above all the policies characterized as developmentalist [desarrollista], appear somewhat aseptic, giving a false picture of a tragic and conflictual reality... the word liberation allows for another approach leading to the Biblical sources which inspire the presence and action of man in history. In the Bible, Christ is presented as the one who brings us liberation. Christ the Saviour liberates man from sin, which is the ultimate root of all disruption of friendship and of all injustice and oppression (Gutierrez, 1973: 36 ­ 37). The issue of violence versus nonviolence raises a wider concern for liberation theologians. While they emphasise concern for justice, their specific approaches to justice tends to be decidedly vague when compared with more developed Western conceptions of justice, especially with respect to how justice might be administered or routinely done in a sustainably transformed society (e.g., Sturm, 1982: 745). Rather, while emphasising exploitation and following an essentially Marxist analysis of what constitutes exploitation, liberation theology tends to one­sidedness insofar as the emphasis lies on solidarity and action with, and on behalf of the dominated. This necessarily leads to a contradiction between the evangelical obligation of love for all people, and action against institutions, practices, and individuals identified as causing misery. The way Gutierrez works through the contradiction is to stress reconciliation between dominator and dominated because both are oppressed, their potential for greater solidarity and humanity equally retarded or distorted. The misery of the dominated is obvious. The dominators are also denied their freedom because they must exploit their thralls, and in so doing, become dependent on them. Gutierrez, quoting Giulio Girardi, writes that: Universal love is that which in solidarity with the oppressed seeks also to liberate the oppressors from their own power, from their ambition, and from their selfishness: 3Love for those who live in a condition of objective sin demands that we struggle to liberate them from it. The liberation of the poor and the liberation of the rich are achieved simultaneously.2 One loves the oppressors by liberating them from their inhuman condition as oppressors, by liberating them from themselves (Gutierrez, 1973: 275 ­ 276). This does not entirely satisfy sympathetic commentators such as Douglas Sturm because the theology still lacks specific programmatic statements about precisely how the eschatological vision it strongly emphasises can be grounded when confronted by specific ethical or moral dilemmas as are raised when a country such as Nicaragua undergoes a revolution. Forces at least more sympathetic to Liberation theology1s visions of justice than the loathed former regime take over the apparatus of state. 3A task that has not yet been undertaken by political theology is to bring its orientation, insights, and principles to bear on cases of concrete ethical reasoning and to demonstrate how its mode of reflection complements or is an alternative to utilitarian or denotological perspectives2 (Sturm, 1982: 749 ­ 750). At present, Liberation theologians would probably argue that these issues are to be worked out in practice, through acute solidarity with the oppressed. The prophetic visions of the Kingdom to come, typified by descriptions of everlasting peace and justice, fraternity and reconciliation, contrast radically with both the violent and oppressive present and the apocalyptic visions of the violent transition from the Îhere­now1 to the Îyet­to­come1. Nor is it to be expected that the dominators will willingly relinquish their power and privilege once convinced of their sin. But what commentators such as Lehmann almost completely neglect is the healing power of reconciliation and repentance, the admittedly shocking power of forgiveness extended by the liberated to their former tormentors on which could be said to rest the foundations for precisely the kind of just and sustainable peace for which all have yearned. That such reconciliation and repentance occurs so infrequently indicates the audacious radicalism of the Christian call for liberation for all people. To neglect this aspect of the Gospel, as Bonino stressed above, is to produce as one­sided a critique of domination as produced by wholly secular theories of domination. At this point, almost all secular critical theorists are silent and theologically­informed critiques of domination step in to deepen the critique of domination by rounding it out to allow for a praxis of liberation proleptically rooted both in the struggle itself and its sought­after goal with the intrinsic corrective of reconciliation and forgiveness to reconcile dominator and dominated in mutual liberation.