As mentioned in the first essay of this series, what set me on the path of considering my philosophy of violence was the “machete that wasn’t” episode. When the person charged at me in the woods, my mind saw a machete. The metal blade was clear and distinct, though it turned out to be just a stick.
Initially, I was literally afraid for my life: I felt the fear that I was about to be hacked by a machete. Though armed, my response was to disengage and rely on my speed as a runner. When he caught me, I turned to face him and used my best weapon: I spoke to him and the situation was resolved peacefully. As this is about my faith and violence, if I had engaged the person with violence, a case could be made that it would have an acceptable action. As I sincerely believed he had a machete and he was, in fact, charging me, I would seem to have been justified in self-defense. Even when it turned out that it was just a large stick, self-defense would also seem to have been warranted. Yet, I decided to talk rather than fight. One reason for this takes us back to my grad school days.
As a graduate student at The Ohio State University, I read far too much Descartes and became a Cartesian dualist. On this view, I am an immaterial mind that has a material body. While being an immaterial mind does not entail that there must be an afterlife in which one is subject to the consequences of sins and good deeds, it does provide a metaphysical foundation for this. As a philosopher, I am aware of the arguments against Cartesian dualism and against the possibility of existing after the death of the body. I teach some of these in my classes, such as David Hume’s view of the immortality of the soul and the classic mind-body problem. But if one considers the problem of the external world (the challenge of proving that the experienced world is really real for real), believing that I am a ghostly mind seems reasonable. Or at least no more absurd than believing in other minds and an external reality. So, although I am probably wrong, I do believe that I am a Cartesian mind connected, in an unexplained manner, to a body. And, during that incident, it seemed that my body was in danger. As might be guessed, Cartesian dualism fits in with my faith and through that lens I would say I am a soul.
On the face of it, what justifies violence in self defense is that one is protecting their life against a wrongful threat. If I were a metaphysical materialist and believed that I am a purely physical entity, then it would make good sense to use force to protect what would presumably be my most valuable possession, which is my biological life. After all, death would be the end of me. One could even do a bit of a word game here and note that if I am my body, it is my self and self-defense would be protecting my body.
But if I am an immaterial mind that I think can exist after the death of my body, then harm to my body would not be my greatest concern. Rather, harm to my mind (soul) would be of far greater worry and I should thus prioritize protecting my soul over protecting my body. To go back to the word game, my self would be an immaterial mind that is beyond the reach of such things as machetes.
Socrates, in the Apology, said that “The difficulty, my friends, is not in avoiding death, but in avoiding unrighteousness; for that runs faster than death.” To steal a bit from his sentiment towards death and unrighteousness, while I might postpone death, it is inevitable. But I have some control over my actions and can decide whether to act in an unrighteous manner. And acting in an unrighteous manner to preserve my life at the expense of my soul would be a mistake, as it is said in Mark 8:36:”For what shall it profit a man, if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul?” Thus, my faith (and my morality) requires that I carefully consider whether any act of self-defense is righteous or not because I believe that it is better to die than become wicked. This is thus one of the reasons why I put my body at risk rather than immediately engaging in what would probably be justified self-defense. While I do not have the right to impose my faith on others, those who profess to be Christians should take a similar approach to violence and should thus be reluctant to use violence against others. They should be more afraid of endangering their soul with evil than being afraid for their lives. As such, a Christian should engage in self-defense with great caution and should certainly not lie about killing in self-defense when they committed murder. It is, I think, completely fair to ask someone who publicly professes faith to publicly reconcile their professed faith with their acts of violence. For example, the right angelized ICE agent Ross as a Christian after he killed Renee Good and hence it is fair to ask them about faith and killing. As noted in another essay, professing to be a Christian ironically makes the killing even worse.
I also put myself at risk because of another aspect of my faith, which is that God is love and commands us to love. That is the subject of the next essay in the series.