In my previous essay I sketched my view that self-defense is consistent with my faith, although the defense of self should prioritize protecting the integrity of the soul over the life of the body. A reasonable criticism of my view is that it seems inherently selfish: even though my primary concern is with acting righteously, this appears to be driven by a desire to protect my soul. Any concern about others, one might argue, derives from my worry that harming them might harm me. A critic could note that although I make a show of reconciling my faith with self-defense, I am merely doing what I have sometimes accused others of doing: painting over my selfishness and fear with a thin layer of theology. That, I must concede, is a fair point and I must further develop my philosophy of violence to address this. While it might seem odd, my philosophy of violence is built on love.
Being a philosopher, it is not surprising that I have been influenced by St. Augustine. While I differ with him on many points, I do agree that God is love. As it says in 1 John 4:8, “Whoever does not love does not know God, because God is love.” Because God is love, one must infer, He commands us to love each other. It would seem inconsistent for Him not to command this, and Leviticus 19:18 states, “Do not seek revenge or bear a grudge against anyone among your people, but love your neighbor as yourself. I am the Lord.” I have, as one might imagine, heard arguments that this command is limited to one’s own people and thus allows someone to hate those who are not their people and bear a grudge against them. Those who make such arguments contend that “their people” is narrowly defined, often by such factors as race and nationality. I have heard this specifically used to justify using cruelty and violence against migrants in the United States. However, God is clear in His view, for He tells us (Leviticus 19:34) that, “The foreigner residing among you must be treated as your native-born. Love them as yourself, for you were foreigners in Egypt. I am the LORD your God.” Not surprisingly, for God we are all our people and to act in good faith we must love our neighbor, no matter where they come from. Jesus is also clear that we should love each other. John 13:34 states, “A new command I give you: Love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one another.” And Matthew 22:39 states, “Love your neighbor as yourself.”
Jesus goes beyond merely commanding that we love our neighbors, he also famously asserts that we should love our enemies, saying in Matthew 5:43–44 that, “Ye have heard that it hath been said, thou shalt love thy neighbor, and hate thine enemy. But I say unto you, love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them which despitefully use you, and persecute you.” He even addresses how we should respond to an attack, and in Matthew 5:38-39 we see that, “You have heard that it was said, ‘Eye for eye, and tooth for tooth.’ But I tell you, do not resist an evil person. If anyone slaps you on the right cheek, turn to them the other cheek also.” But how do I fit all this into my philosophy of violence? As I am not a theologian or professor of religious studies specializing in Christianity, I must write as a mere theological amateur but, fortunately, also as a professional philosopher.
As noted above, I agree with Augustine that God is love. I also agree with God and Jesus that I should love my neighbor as myself and even love my enemies. While this is a nice thing to say, there is the question of how this view shapes my philosophy of violence. The easy and obvious answer is that my response to and my own acts of violence must conform with loving others as if they were myself. As others have noted over the centuries, the command does not require me to love my neighbor (or enemy) more than I love myself, just as much as I love myself. And, of course, I am commanded to love others as God and Jesus do—which requires a great deal of me.
In terms of loving my neighbor as myself in the context of self-defense, this means that I must regard them with the same love that I have for myself; my self-love cannot alone justify me using violence even in self-defense. This is because my love for them must equal my love for myself. It is tempting to think that this love would entail I could not use violence in self-defense, but a case can be made for this.
As I argued in my discussion of the soul, protecting the soul from unrighteousness is more important than protecting the body from harm. To act from love seems to require that I protect those I love from harm and if someone is attempting to do something unrighteous and thus putting their soul in danger, then I would be justified in using violence to stop them. For example, if someone is trying to murder me, then I could use violence to stop them from committing the sin of murder. Acting from love would also require me to use minimal violence against them, but I could be justified in killing them if that was the only way to prevent murder. This would also seem to extend to protecting others. If, for example, someone was trying to murder you, I could justly use violence to stop them to protect your life and their soul. For those who consider all killing equally wrong, killing to prevent killing would seem to be impermissible.
At this point, a reader might be thinking how a wicked person might exploit my view. A wicked person could, one might argue, try to justify using violence by claiming they are trying to protect souls from what they regard as sins. For example, a migrant hating racist might try to justify using violence against those protesting ICE because they are “sinning” by defying the will of our mad king. Obviously, people trying to exploit religion and morality to “justify” their wickedness is nothing new and my reply is that this is not a special flaw in my philosophy of violence.
It could also be objected that my view could be used in good faith to justify violence against people who are truly seen as committing sins to protect their souls. For example, there are those who profess to be Christians and claim they sincerely want to “save” trans people and gay people from “sin.” Such a person could argue that on my theory violence could be used to intimidate and coerce people into ceasing their “sin.” This is certainly a reasonable concern as almost any religious or moral system could be used in this manner. For example, a utilitarian who sees being transgender as harmful could make a utilitarian case for using force against trans people, or a deontologist could profess to believe in a moral rule that allows such violence.
In reply, I recognize that this is a legitimate concern and people can, in good faith, try to justify actions that even those who share their faith or moral theory would see as wrong. But I would also argue that using violence in such ways would not be acting from love, which I take as the guiding principle of my faith. This is because acting from love while using violence requires that I do the least harm to someone else and that I would be willing to endure such harm myself. It also requires, obviously enough, acting from love. We can, obviously enough, argue what it means to act from love, just as we can argue what it would mean to act from a moral principle. We will often be wrong, but we should do the best we can while reasoning and acting in good faith. But another limiting factor is that we are supposed to not merely love our neighbors as ourselves, but also to love each other as God and Jesus love us.
For those who believe that Jesus died for our sins, loving each other as Jesus loves us would require us to love others more than we love ourselves. This love would require us to make great sacrifices for others and would limit the violence we are allowed to do to one another. It would, most likely, forbid us from any acts of violence. This does make sense of Jesus’ command to turn the other cheek; that would require loving someone more than one loves themselves. Having and acting on such love would require incredible strength, and one might fairly argue that this expects too much of most of us. This might explain why there is the command to love our neighbor as ourselves (which is hard, but certainly within our power) and two others to love each other as God and Jesus have loved us (which would be incredibly difficult).
Returning to the “machete that wasn’t” incident, I acted as I did because I was trying to act from love. Love required that I take the risk of not using violence immediately and that I try to talk to the person. It also required me to stay with him, to protect him and others. Fear is the enemy of love, so I am fortunate to have mastery of my fear. I do understand that it is easy to be ruled by fear and anger and allow them to silence love, but there are ways to address this, and our good dead friend Aristotle has some advice about this. In the next essay, I will look at my philosophy of violence in the context of virtue theory. Stay safe.

In his book Naked Sun, Isaac Asimov creates the world of Solaria. What distinguishes this world from other human inhabited planets is that it has a strictly regulated population of 20,000 humans and 10,000 robots for each human. What is perhaps the strangest feature of this world is a reversal of what many consider a basic human need: the humans of Solaria are trained to despise in-person contact with other humans, though interaction with human-like robots is acceptable. Each human lives on a huge estate, though some live “with” a spouse. When the Solarians need to communicate, they make use of a holographic telepresence system. Interestingly, they have even developed terminology to distinguish between communicating in person (called “seeing”) and communication via telepresence (“viewing”). For some Solarians the fear of encountering another human in person is so strong that they would rather commit suicide than endure such contact.