Why I am a pacifist...in email-essay form...

A friend recently asked me to speak more about pacifism and my prediliction towards it. Though I could lay out some points, that's borning and impersonal. Instead, I thought I would post this email I wrote about a year ago to my professor-friend from college. He had asked me to read Coetzee's novel, "Disgrace," and my response to the text was one promoting non-violence. He prompted me to speak more on the subject, given that he had disagreements. The email ended up essay-length, but I've shortened it slightly and modified it for varying reasons. Here it is...

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You are right to say that I am not attracted to pacifism because it is politically correct or trendy in bohemian circles. In fact, the pacifism with which I sympathize is neither. Non-violence as a practice is, in fact, a political nightmare. To assume that nation-states would ascribe to such a philosophy is ludicrous. And non-violent practice is hardly trendy anywhere, even in the hippie circles of Southeast Portland. For most, opposition of the Iraq war (or the death penalty, or nuclear power) is still founded on rational, political principles -- this current war had little just cause, was poorly executed, contained no exit strategy, etc. In case of the death penalty, very often it is issues of racism that fuel its opposition, not the loss of life of the inmates. Practical non-violence opposes these things, but not because the mechanisms of war or capital punishment contain some kinks. Pacifism opposes the mechanisms themselves.

You suggested I should revisit the United States’ decision to enter WWII. This war, what many would consider the only “just war” we’ve fought in the 20th century, is often used as a response to opposers of war (all war). If we are going to applaud America for its decision to enter and to end WWII, I can only reflect on the hundreds of thousands of Jews, Roma, etc., who were killed in mass the 6 years prior to Pearl Harbor. Reports of such a holocaust made the last page of the New York Times. And what of the hundreds of thousands of civilian lives lost in the bombings of Nagasaki and Hiroshima? Have we forgotten these atrocities? Of course, we responded out of self-preservation…I would expect nothing more. This is the job of nations.

What would the world look like without our declaration of war? I can only imagine. But if we are going to ask this question, we have no choice but to ask, “What does the world look like because of our declaration of war?” WWI, the War to End All Wars, served to jumpstart the blood shed during the 20th century -- over one hundred million lives lost (that’s 8 zeros) in violent conflict, more than any other century combined. WWII brought us international terrorism, bio-chemical weapons, and the nuclear bomb (all three have only prompted more armed conflict throughout the decades, including most recently IraqX2, Afghanistan, and North Korea). Peace resulting from war is only a temporary stalemate. History bears this out. To me, history does a fine job of validating and verifying that war rarely, if ever, contributes to a just and lasting peace.

What of the colonized, the American Indians slaughtered by European invaders, the indigenous peoples of Africa, India, and the Pacific trampled upon and enslaved by outside enemies? Do they not have the right to respond to this violence with violence? I have no right to answer, as I sit in my comfortable desk in a comfortable corner of the world where I am more likely to colonize than to be colonized. But I will say this: Rwandans, in violent retaliation of French colonization, destroyed not their French oppressors but one another. More than a million Rwandans died in 1994; their French colonizers remain alive and well. The Hutus’ held to a perverted sense of justice (destroy the Tutsi) prompted by colonialist preference of the more “Aryan-looking” people, the Tutsi. In this case, violence beget violence; no justice was served.

Can we envision a human experience without violence? Impossible. You say so yourself. We encounter violence daily, the swatting of a fly, the anger of a spouse, the birth of a child. In many ways, it is the experience of pain and suffering that makes us more fully human, that brings us into fuller awareness of ourselves and of God. Jesus (whom I wish to emulate) understood this. According to him, we are to be “born anew,” implying we must experience pain (violence) in order to experience wholeness. We must die to our old selves. We must taste death in order to experience life. This is a paradox, a coupling of opposites used to convey Truth (Reality). Jesus was no stranger to pain being a part of the human experience. And, considering the time and place into which he was born (living under the oppressive regime of the Roman empire), Jesus undoubtedly was no stranger to destructive acts of violence. We must remember that his crucifixion was a legal, just punishment under both Roman and Jewish law.

I don’t mean to use this word violence abstractly or arbitrarily. Violence, by its most common definition, is defined as the use of aggressive force to bring about the destruction of another, usually through physical acts, but also through other means, as well. I am primarily concerned here with acts of violence against other human beings, though very often, the destruction of the Earth is intimately related to human aggression.

I do not bring up the examples of war and genocide to make the argument that pacifism is somehow the solution to rid the world of violence. Rather, pacifism is a way to orient ourselves in a world that is filled with violence. It operates under the assumption that violence is an inevitable (if not overwhelming) force in the world, and that we, as people of faith, wish to respond differently. Pacifism does not eliminate pain or suffering from our experience. In many ways, to act non-violently (turn the other cheek, walk the second mile) is to experience pain, but a constructive pain, much like the pain of consensual intercourse or birth. The ego and the body may suffer, but the spirit remains whole. Essentially, to react to violence with non-violent means is to refuse to hate; it is this hate which poisons the soul.

I am not proposing that we do away with the prison system, that the police force serves no purpose in society, that UN peacekeepers should enter war-torn countries carrying flags rather than guns. Nor am I saying that there is no need for restraint or punishment of violent offenders. I am not prescribing a universal ethic here, because I do not believe we can live peace-promoting lifestyles without the presence of community (Peck would argue this, also). Communities, particularly the Church, are bound to a history, a story that has been unfolding for centuries. Pacifism is nothing new; it was the foundational ethic of the early Church. Pacifists must have memories of the past and hopes for the future in order to live non-violently, peacefully. Pacifism is of no importance to one who has no association with a common story and lives under the assumption that this present world is all there is and all there ever will be. Ultimately, pacifism is an ethic of the Church, and a messy ethic at that. But, nonetheless, it is an ethic upheld by a common story rooted (ideally) in the life and teachings of Jesus, and it is an ethic lived with the knowledge that the Kingdom of God is now, here. We no longer wait for this Kingdom…we live it. And I believe living it involves promoting peace in the face of violence.

If violence and destruction are synonymous, couldn’t non-violence and love, as Peck and Fromm, define it, also be? To practice nonviolence is to extend oneself for the growth of another, to desire the maturity and wholeness of another human being, unconditionally. To practice nonviolence, to love, is to believe that all persons, even the most vile and destructive, are subject to grace. It is, as you say, to leave the work of God up to God. It is to believe we are all capable of great violence and we are all in need of forgiveness, grace, reconciliation, and love. Think about it -- to act nonviolent, to place our faith in peace rather than destruction, allows us to be free from fear! After the ex-pats and diplomats are gone from Afghanistan and Iraq, who remain? The pacifists. There is nothing left to fear, not even death. If I am going to place my faith in anything, it is the transforming work of non-violence and reconciliation I have seen at work in Northern Uganda, Rwanda, Iraq, Palestine, Northern Ireland, Cambodia, Guatemala, Columbia, the projects of our US cities, etc.

At this point in my life, I have no use for an impractical nonviolent ethic. As a member of a l’Arche community, I am called to live peaceably on a daily basis, through my thoughts and words and actions. Marilyn, who suffers from an anxiety disorder and occasional lashes out at me and other assistants, desperately needs to live in a place that promotes peaceful conflict resolution. I must respond to Marilyn’s violence non-violently for both of our sakes. This includes swallowing my pride and enduring her anger, until she comes to the realization that I am not the cause of her anger but a presence of peace and unconditional forgiveness. This does not mean we let Marilyn run wild but we take steps to ensure her safety and the safety of others, so that everyone’s personhood is respected. In fact, Marilyn established the steps we as assistants would take in order to deescalate her anxiety. It’s been a long struggle for her, but she has come a long way. The peace of l’Arche has been transformative in her life. She would be the first to say this.

I remember us talking about things we would die for. Is life even worth living if we have nothing to die for? What if I chose to die for my enemy? Could you respect my life and my faith to respond without violence? I guess I should be appreciative that the “last thing on your mind would be non-violence,” but does this not betray my life, my experience, that in which I have placed my faith? These are hard, uncomfortable questions, I know. But please know that I do not take any of this pacifism “stuff” lightly. I am young, I am idealistic, but I am also living in a world ravaged by war and obsessed with death. As I said, I do not seek nonviolent means because its sexy or any easy fix to the world’s ills. I seek it because I have faith in it, because I am bound to a story that has been defined by it, because the story of Jesus fascinates me and gives me hope. Whether or not you agree with me, or think I’m raving mad, or choose to agree to disagree, I do hope that this essay-like response has shed a bit more light on why I find pacifism to be compelling. And I hope (and expect) that you will continue to hold me to the consistency of my position on this and other subjects.

Truly,

Heather