The Man of Violence - a Christian archetype?

And the women sang as they were merry and said, "Saul has struck his thousands, and David his ten thousands." (1 Samuel 18:7 LSB)

Long ago, a man rode to a troubled city in North Africa. The city’s name was Silene, and its trouble was a vile and gluttonous dragon. Every day, the dragon demanded two sheep from the village to slake its hunger, even as its presence poisoned the land. When there were no more sheep to give, a child was chosen by lot each day instead to feed the wicked beast. On this particular day, the King of Silene’s only child, his daughter, had been chosen. Beg and plead as he might, the people of Silene would not allow the King to buy her freedom. And so, dressed as a bride and accompanied by her father, the Princess was led to where the dragon would claim his prize.

The man in question was an officer in the Roman army — some say a Centurion, others a member of the Praetorian Guard itself. Whatever his rank, the man served his Emperor well, but his heart belonged to a King even higher than the Caesar: the King of Kings, Jesus Christ. The man’s name was George.

And George would slay the dragon.

The Vexation of Verisimilitude

Christian fiction has, I think it’s fair to say, an image problem. Yes, we hold the keys to the Grandpappy of Fantasy, The Lord of the Rings; but we’re also responsible for things like The Kirk Cameron Movie (for there is only one) wherein a Hallmark plot is body-snatched by a screed; the God’s Not Dead series (thanks, Kevin Sorbo); and, for those who prefer paper to celluloid, the Amish Romance novel, which is, let’s face it, romantasy for prudes.

Heck, I liked Cameron’s Fireproof. It’s not a bad movie. But it and the vast bulk of modern Christian fiction have created the perception in the general public that Christian stuff is made for Christians, as a sort of parallel economy of storytelling. You can’t touch a Christian book, the feeling goes, without being preached at.

Now, this is not an issue unique to Christian fiction. I can remember my eyes just about rolling back through my skull and out my ears when the second book in Paolini’s Inheritance Cycle featured elves who happily went on r/atheism-level rants about their disdain for superstition and religion. It was deeply satisfying when, in the third book, it was revealed that the Dwarves, at least, worshipped very real gods, if only to stick it to those knife-eared New Atheists. And James Cameron’s Avatar films are blatant anti-Western propaganda (someday I’ll put pen to paper on my Two Camerons Theory). But, because of where we stand as a post-Christian culture, these sorts of things are generally excused by the public. Fish ignorant of water and all that.

The frustrating thing is that the Christian publishing industry, across all media, seems perfectly content with this. Gospel-First, Story-Second is the default setting. And anything which threatens that equilibrium, anything which offends the senses of Dana Carvey’s Church Lady, must be done away with in favor of something squeaky-clean and utterly unappealing to the average red-blooded, uninitiated man or woman who might (gasp) judge a book by its cover and pick up something at Barnes & Noble for a few hours of pleasant reading.

“Okay, EJ, when are you going to get to the plopping point?” I hear you ask. “I was promised swords and foreskin bride-prices.” Yes, settle down, Peanut Gallery, I’m getting to that presently.

I believe that a not-insignificant part of the issue is that this Gospel-First, Story-Second approach leads to the removal of parts of life which are unpleasant results of the Fall but are no less legitimate tools in the storytelling utility belt. Things like violence. Yes. Let’s talk Violence.

David with the Head of Goliath by Caravaggio

The Value of Violence

Why don’t we start with the Ur-Example (for, after all, he did hail from Ur of the Chaldeans). Abraham (née Abram) had a nephew named Lot. Lot is not particularly well-known for good decision-making, but he did choose the most fertile land to settle when Abraham gave him the choice. And when the overlords of that region decided to put down a revolt, they carried off Lot, his people, and his property as spoils of war.

What did Abraham do as a result? Pray about it and sit back to hope God would sort things out?

No.

He belted on his sword, rallied his frankly impressive number of able-bodied servants, and gave chase, striking the overlords and rescuing his family in a daring raid. God was with him, the raid was successful, and Abraham refused any spoil but what his men had already taken and gave tribute to Melchizedek, the wise and saintly King of the city that would one day be named Jerusalem.

And what of David? (I told you we’d get to the foreskin bride-prices). Here is a lad who has tended sheep all his life, fighting off wolves and lions and bears, oh my, and who enters the historical narrative as a major force by slaying a giant. He then goes on to double the challenge of King Saul’s price for marrying his daughter Michal, giving the King two hundred Philistine foreskins (think counting coup but far more painful for the recipients) and, once he is crowned King, proceeds to wage successful war against all of Israel’s enemies throughout his life.

In fact, while God tells David “You shall not build a house for My name because you are a man of war and have shed blood,” (1 Chronicles 28:3), the Bible also tells us “Yahweh has sought out for Himself a man after His own heart, and Yahweh has appointed him as a ruler over His people…” (1 Samuel 13:14), and from that ruler’s line came the Messiah Himself. How could a man after God’s own heart have so much blood on his hands?

Well, gentle reader, I’ll tell you. God uses the violent purposes of men for good ends. Sometimes it’s turning evil into good (see the story of Joseph MacJacob in Genesis), and sometimes it’s using the strength of good to punish evil (see 1 Samuel 14 where Saul refuses to wipe out the Amalekites and has his dynasty taken away from him). God sometimes appoints men to positions of violence to enact His will (the book of Amos is an excellent primer on this whole concept, and an easy read). The book of Romans as well points out that the sword is given to governments by God to punish evil. Swords have only one use. God intends violence on evildoers.

So Christianity is not, in fact, a stranger to violence. Even if you’re a “New Testament-Only Christian,” I ask you this: how does God describe the sort of equipment the Christian ought to bear in the world? As armor and a sword. The shield of Faith and the belt of Truth, the helmet of Salvation and the breastplate of Righteousness, the sword of the Spirit. The “full armor of God,” to quote Ephesians 6. What we do in the world is called spiritual warfare, so why is Christian publishing so averse to violence?

It was not always so. Tolkien’s Aragorn was a wandering Ranger, a warrior against the darkness that everyday folk only dreamt of in their nightmares, before becoming Elessar, the King who held healing for Good and war against Evil equally in his hands. C. S. Lewis took things a step further, having Saint Nicolaus himself distribute swords, bows, and daggers to children to save Aslan’s kingdom from a wicked witch. Even John Bunyan’s Pilgrim’s Progress, the popular originator of the parable-disguised-as-story genre, had Christian doing battle against Apollyon, blocking the demon’s fiery darts with his shield and bearing a sword to defend himself with.

And what does secular fiction give us? John Wick. A man who, when his dog is killed, embarks on a crusade that leads to the dismantling of an entire criminal empire. I don’t know anyone who doesn’t enjoy John Wick on some level — whether they like it for its thematic Trueness or its excellent cinematography — we all agree that if you shoot puppies you deserve to get Wick’d. Or take Jack Reacher. An observant titan doling out righteous fury regardless of the legality of his punishments. Alan Ritchson’s portrayal of the character is a runaway success on Amazon Prime Video. That bugbear of publishing, the Modern Audience, craves hard justice. Even if they won’t admit it.

The Virtue of Veracity

So, what’s the point?

The point, gentle reader, is this: Christian fiction could be a much broader category than is currently perceived and marketed.

Sandy Petersen is a game designer. If you’ve played TTRPGs you’re probably aware of Call of Cthulhu. He made that. If you’ve played video games you’re probably aware of Doom. He helped make that. Sandy Petersen is a Mormon, and while I’m not going to get into the whole Mormon-vs-Mainline debate here, I think it’s fair to say that no one exemplifies the Ned Flanders perception of Christianity quite like Mormons, except perhaps those who took Ferrell’s Church Lady as an instruction manual rather than a critique. And yet Petersen is in part responsible for the franchise which spawned the phrase “Rip and tear, until it is done.”

To paraphrase a comment by Petersen on how a Christian could inflict such gore as Doom offers on anyone, “We’ve been at war with demons for millennia. It’s only a matter of time before someone takes the fight to them by kicking down the door with a shotgun.” This is, of course, not his exact words, but I hope he will forgive my attempt to capture the spirit of what he said.

My own book, Redlanders, features a protagonist heavily inspired by King David. I shopped it around to various secular publishers. “Too New Testament,” they said, in more words. I shopped it around to various Christian publishers. “Too Old Testament,” they said, in more words. One Christian publisher was kind enough to provide their criteria for publication; that list would have disqualified the Chronicles of Narnia three times over. So I self-pubbed it on Amazon, throwing myself properly into the hellscape of Indie Publishing.

But sometimes violence is necessary in a fallen world.

Saul was dispossessed for failing to annihilate the enemies of Israel. David’s Messianic line was instituted because he had no such compunctions and yet loved the Lord. Violence is never a wholesome choice, but it is sometimes the choice God ordains. An oft-reposted meme is the tale of Gary Plauché, a grieved father who shot and killed his son’s rapist on live television and received nothing more than community service from his judge. I have two sons. To quote Plauché in the immediate, camera-captured aftermath, I’d “do it too.”

Christian fiction, as it stands, is too concerned with remaining wholesome. The protagonist must never take up one of those pointy things, despite Jesus warning His Apostles that they ought to sell their cloak and buy a sword (personally, I prefer polearms, but who am I to question my Creator?). While any Christian author ought to be careful that the violence they inflict on the page is either to demonstrate the wickedness or righteousness of its perpetrator, we cannot shy away from the fact that the reader has an innate sense of justice, and that they recognize on some level that even if the court denies Justice, she still cries out in the street.

The Gospel-First, Story-Second approach has neutered Christian storytelling and has relegated its preaching to the choir. The Gospel is, indeed, Good News. But it needs to be new to be News, and you’re not going to get that message in front of people who haven’t heard it before by sticking to your own cloister. The Man of Violence (not to be confused with the Violent Man) is a useful tool in the storyteller’s arsenal.

Sir George slew a dragon. He saw wickedness, girded his loins, and confronted it by the means of his profession. You don’t have to be Christian to cheer him on. Anyone who would rather see Silene in the power of the child-devouring dragon over the princess-rescuing Sir George is sick in the head. The Christian (and thereby Western) tradition is replete with warriors who took up the sword and shield to defend innocents and even the guilty from those who would do them harm by way of violence. This trope speaks to us on an instinctual level.

Christian publishing ought to take heed, plunder Egypt, and direct the reader however subtly to the Good, True, and Beautiful. Even if the GTB means cutting off the heads of serpents now and then. We should not write violence for its own sake. But we should acknowledge violence as a tool in God’s box, and be unafraid to use it properly in our stories.

E.J. Free’s novel, Redlanders, can be found at: https://www.amazon.com/Redlanders