An Old Testament view of violence
What would it look like to actually obey the Law?
I think a lot about violence. As far as I can remember, I have always loved violent stories. I love stories where violence is tragic, from The Lord of the Rings to Hacksaw Ridge, and I love stories where violence is a gruesome distraction, from John Wick to Blood Meridian.
It may not be healthy, and I’m not defending it. I’m just trying to paint a picture of myself as a fairly normal warm-blooded male in a world that preaches an ethic of violence as necessity. I avoid the news, but when it reaches my ears it’s usually because the latest scrap was sufficiently bloody for everyone to indulge in that shameful glee we feel when someone sufficiently “evil” becomes our latest scapegoat so we can feel better about ourselves. School shooters, terrorists, or even that exuberance of shock and horror when there is a tragic accident and the bodies pile. It’s gross, but we secretly love it.
The Bible frequently speaks about violence as well, and its inverse—nonviolence. Since it’s the book I read more than any other, I’ll probably be thinking about violence for the rest of my life. As a follower of Jesus, I’m confronted with an ethic on violence that necessarily contradicts the world’s wisdom.
But as a thought experiment, I’m going to try to set that aside for a moment: if I chuck the New Testament and Jesus’ teachings out the window and stick strictly to the Old, what would my view of violence be?
Of course, we can’t really do that. It’s impossible to simply take off glasses that have been formed by reading and hearing the New Testament for a lifetime, or to strip our perspective of influence from people in our cultures and traditions. I can’t not hear the words of Jesus in certain Old Testament passages, and the Jesus of the New was always the God of the Old. But let’s pretend for a moment we can. Let’s set aside the New Testament and try to build an ethic of violence via the First Testament.1
In the beginning
There isn’t much violence in the opening picture of Eden. No murder, no manslaughter, no human death whatsoever. I don’t know about animals dying, but people weren’t even supposed to eat meat in the antediluvian period.2 So the opening picture of how it should look is no people killing people, no people killing animals, and, probably, not even any animals killing animals if Isaiah’s depictions of a restored Eden are accurate.3 It didn’t look like that for very long, though.4 We’ve got a poor track record.
No matter our image of Eden, we live in the real world where violence is an inevitability. We also know that God makes concessions and allowances. In the first such concession on violence, in which Noah and his descendants are told that animals may now be food for us, we also get a warning.
And for your lifeblood I will require a reckoning: from every beast I will require it and from man. From his fellow man I will require a reckoning for the life of man.
“Whoever sheds the blood of man,
by man shall his blood be shed,
for God made man in his own image.”— Genesis 9:5-65
Violence is serious stuff. “Vengeance is mine, and recompense,” says the Lord.6 Even when revenge makes sense to take, even when evil busts down our door, the death they earned for themselves7 is not ours to give—right?
We’re right down to the nitty gritty: when is violence justified? God allows, and sometimes even prescribes, that humans kill humans. This is the reality of the Old Testament. When reading it, we must always remember the distinction between descriptions and prescriptions of violence—most of the violence in the Bible is squarely the former—but it’s impossible to deny that sometimes, in the Old Testament at least, violence was an act obedient to God’s commands.
So allow me a hypothesis: shedding the blood of man must never be the product of our own logic, our own decision, our own understanding. It is only ever the decision of God, and a reluctant one at that. To obey God in shedding blood requires, as Kierkegaard said of Abraham’s binding of Isaac for death, a teleological suspension of the ethical via fundamentally paradoxical acts: a movement of faith most of us fail to approximate in any aspect of our walks with God, myself included—and possibly for the best when it comes to violence.
Kierkegaard’s humility when it comes to faith expressed as what it should be bears repeating: “my conduct would have ruined the entire story.”8 If I was tasked with prescribing an ethic of violence, I would fail. So have all who attempted it, from Augustine to John Howard Yoder. That’s ok,9 though—faith is forever dialectic and so violence must be too.
Israel takes revenge
Genesis 34 contains a series of terrible events. One of the daughters of Israel is raped, and the sons of Israel take matters into their own hands. Simeon and Levi trick the perpetrator and the men of his city in order to slaughter them and plunder “all their little ones and their wives,”10 which sounds to me a lot like a far more heinous crime. Really puts “an eye for an eye” in perspective; God mitigates bloodshed by commanding lex talionis later.11
The pillage of Simeon and Levi, although some Christians will defend it, was never about protecting the honor of their sister. It was revenge for their own shame, plain and simple. Relatable, yes—who doesn’t desire revenge in their anger? But all sorts of laws that would later come to their descendants from Sinai would condemn such an act, and even their earthly father condemns it:
Simeon and Levi are brothers;
weapons of violence are their swords.
Let my soul come not into their council;
O my glory, be not joined to their company.
For in their anger they killed men,
and in their willfulness they hamstrung oxen.
Cursed be their anger, for it is fierce,
and their wrath, for it is cruel!
I will divide them in Jacob
and scatter them in Israel.— Genesis 49:5-7
If we contrast the decimation by these brothers to a battle by their grandfather, Abram, some potential insights bubble to the surface. In Genesis 14, Lot and his family are captured by factious kings and Abram moves to the rescue, gathering up his fighting men and defeating them in battle. It’s too much to say Abram did right, but the text never says otherwise. In fact, there’s no mention of bloodshed and we even learn that God granted the victory to Abram.12 In other words, this wasn’t a victory Abram conceived of through cunning and deceit but through charging outnumbered toward his nephew’s captors and receiving the victory God gave.
One story involves a ragtag militia risking their necks to rescue a family in danger and the other is a premeditated honor-massacre. One is a reactionary fight against armed killers and the other is a deceitful trap to kill defenseless men and pillage their wives and children. We can’t let Abram off the hook just yet, but we can recognize a difference.
When violence is commanded
This is all well and good, but how much can we learn from biblical descriptions of violence, really? I’m sure we could learn more than the previous paragraphs divulged, but everybody’s thinking it: the real test is in what God commands of his people. There are two kinds of war that God provides instructions and rules for. We see both in Deuteronomy 20, but we’ll start with the easiest to swallow—and again, it can possibly even be lumped into that category of God’s concession or accommodation designed to reduce the amount of bloodshed his people partake in while accepting their faults. Regardless of the underlying God-logic, in the event of normal war for normal reasons, like getting attacked or just plain ol’ not getting along with your neighbor, there are some guidelines:
When you go out to war against your enemies, and see horses and chariots and an army larger than your own, you shall not be afraid of them, for the LORD your God is with you, who brought you up out of the land of Egypt. And when you draw near to the battle, the priest shall come forward and speak to the people and shall say to them, “Hear, O Israel, today you are drawing near for battle against your enemies: let not your heart faint. Do not fear or panic or be in dread of them, for the LORD your God is he who goes with you to fight for you against your enemies, to give you the victory.” Then the officers shall speak to the people, saying, “Is there any man who has built a new house and has not dedicated it? Let him go back to his house, lest he die in the battle and another man dedicate it. And is there any man who has planted a vineyard and has not enjoyed its fruit? Let him go back to his house, lest he die in the battle and another man enjoy its fruit. And is there any man who has betrothed a wife and has not taken her? Let him go back to his house, lest he die in the battle and another man take her.” And the officers shall speak further to the people, and say, “Is there any man who is fearful and fainthearted? Let him go back to his house, lest he make the heart of his fellows melt like his own.” And when the officers have finished speaking to the people, then commanders shall be appointed at the head of the people.
When you draw near to a city to fight against it, offer terms of peace to it. And if it responds to you peaceably and it opens to you, then all the people who are found in it shall do forced labor for you and shall serve you. But if it makes no peace with you, but makes war against you, then you shall besiege it. And when the LORD your God gives it into your hand, you shall put all its males to the sword, but the women and the little ones, the livestock, and everything else in the city, all its spoil, you shall take as plunder for yourselves. And you shall enjoy the spoil of your enemies, which the LORD your God has given you. Thus you shall do to all the cities that are very far from you, which are not cities of the nations here.
— Deuteronomy 20:1-15
Before we get too trigger-happy, I don’t think this passage supports “just war” theory. Let’s break it down:
It is by God’s might that victory is won, not Israel’s. This point is made over and over in the Old Testament, and Gideon versus the Midianites is the classic example.13 “Give us help from trouble: for vain is the help of man.”14
Both to double down on the above and to strip Israel of its warmongering ability, the officers, or shoterim,15 are to encourage the army to go back home. Don’t fight—God doesn’t need your help. If you can’t make the movements of faith against any human enemy, then stay where you can do more good. If we take this seriously, almost no one would go to war.
No matter the reason for the war, peace must be offered. The enemy might be the bad guys, but peace is more important than justice.
If, now that you are outnumbered and outgunned, you still find it necessary to enter battle, kill only those who can fight. Do not put families to death for their fathers’ sins.
Other laws surrounding war further restrict God’s people. In both categories of war in Deuteronomy 20, the land must not be destroyed and only trees that do not produce food may be cut down.16 It’s a far cry from the warfare of their enemies, who would sometimes sow the land of their defeated vassals with salt to make it infertile.17 And it’s a far cry from modern warfaring countries like the United States, who blasted millions of acres of Vietnamese farmland into smithereens to drive out some filthy communist peasants into urban areas—that’s one example, anyway.18 This protection of land is a direct product of the biblical land ethic. Israel never owned the land, and neither did their enemies. God did.19
Again, no matter the sort of war, additional onerous restrictions are clear. If Israel is to have a human king, they must not acquire horses—the engine of the most advanced weapon of war in the Ancient Near-East, the chariot—for themselves.20 In modern terms, no tanks or fighter jets or submarines for the military. Just regular joes with guns. And speaking of militaries, they weren’t even supposed have the wealth (read: taxes) necessary to build one.21
We’re left with a not exactly individualistic but certainly a small-scale and decidedly local vision of acceptable violence, with no room for a standing military. If the fighting men in the area deem it necessary, they may protect the land and people that belong to God. But it is not proactive or institutional,22 and it is not in accordance with anything ever said by anyone ever about strategic warfare. Remember—movements of faith.
That other kind of war: conquest
But in the cities of these peoples that the LORD your God is giving you for an inheritance, you shall save alive nothing that breathes, but you shall devote them to complete destruction, the Hittites and the Amorites, the Canaanites and the Perizzites, the Hivites and the Jebusites, as the LORD your God has commanded, that they may not teach you to do according to all their abominable practices that they have done for their gods, and so you sin against the LORD your God.
— Deuteronomy 20:16-18
The conquest of the promised land. The driving out of the nations. Complete annihilation, kharem.23
Except, they never completely annihilated them, and in the very same book there are laws surrounding how Israel is to live among their neighbors.24 In fact, there are very good reasons to suggest that, at least some of the time, the total annihilation language is hyperbole.25
There’s another aspect that’s often forgotten in the discussions on the holy war: who is targeted for kharem? Earlier in Deuteronomy, the kingdoms of Sihon the Amorite and Og of Bashan are devoted for destruction. 26 What’s significant about these opening moments in the conquest of the promised land is that the author makes it especially clear who these people are. Those who are devoted to destruction, or kharem, are those that “count as Rephaim”—those among the Emim, Amalekites, Amorites who were related to the infamous giant Nephilim of Genesis 6.27 At least some of the language, perhaps anytime it’s not hyperbole, regards a war against the rebellious angels, the sons of God who “judge unjustly and show partiality to the wicked.”28 This conclusion is further supported by the language surrounding the end of Joshua’s portion of the kharem campaign:
And Joshua came at that time and cut off the Anakim from the hill country, from Hebron, from Debir, from Anab, and from all the hill country of Judah, and from all the hill country of Israel. Joshua devoted them to destruction with their cities. There was none of the Anakim left in the land of the people of Israel. Only in Gaza, in Gath, and in Ashdod did some remain.
— Joshua 11:21-22
The job isn’t quite finished, and the period of the Judges is such a colossal mess that some of those “who count as Rephaim” are still lurkin’ when Saul and David come onto the scene. Remember that giant guy from Gath, Goliath?29
Anyway, I’ll stop there with my defense of this theory—if I continued, I’d be tempted to pull in the New Testament and that’s cheating.
Some final thoughts on facts about the conquest:
God did command it, but it was never up to Israel where or when. After God informed Abram of his plan to give him the land of Canaan, he waited another 430 years (while Israel was oppressed!) to drive the Canaanites out simply because their evil deeds were not great enough to warrant it yet.30 The war policy given to Israel was a far cry from the gloating lust for violence of their neighbors, such as Assyria or Babylon. And a far cry from modern warfaring countries like the United States, who launched a “holy war” only months after a tragic act of evil against them—that’s one example, anyway.
No matter how we understand the complete annihilation language, the people in Canaan got chances to switch sides. They had heard of Yahweh of Israel, and some, like Rahab,31 had the guts to worship the true God.
God waited for the Canaanites to earn their fate. And they really earned it. It was gnarly—cultic sexual abuse and even child sacrifice were the status quo. By virtually any standard ever, the land of Canaan was a land of violence in which women and children were chattel and men glorified murdering each other. As for the women and children, it’s unclear that they were even killed in the conquest along with the fighting men since the text has no problem admitting that they continued to exist after being completely destroyed.
I know everything said so far doesn’t address every concern, but it might suffice as a distillation of any other salient points I could have made. So let the Old Testament doctrines and descriptions simmer in the background as we look to the prophets, who looked back to Eden and forward to a different kind of Jerusalem. They criticize their kings for putting faith in such paltry foolishness as military alliances. They lament over the perverse violence committed by Israel’s leaders and they lament over the loss of the promised land at the hands of their enemies. And they hope.
they shall beat their swords into plowshares,
and their spears into pruning hooks;
nation shall not lift up sword against nation,
neither shall they learn war anymore;
but they shall sit every man under his vine and under his fig tree,
and no one shall make them afraid,— Micah 4:3-4
I don’t really know how to extract an ethic of violence from the Old Testament—sorry to lead you on.32 I know that the norm for any nation, past or present, is a far cry from anything the Old Testament actually taught. But where does that leave me, a gun-totin,’ freedom-lovin,’ individualistic pacifist from Tennessee?
Beats me. Where does it leave you?
This is neither comprehensive nor systematic. Instead of writing a book, I wrote a smattering. Someone did write a book, though, if you’re interested: Fight: A Christian Case for Nonviolence by Preston Sprinkle. It’s a decent read.
Gen 9:2-4.
Isa 11:6-9, 65:25.
Gen 6:11.
Bible quotations are in ESV.
Deut 32:35-36.
Deut 24:16, Prov 1:15-19, 11:8, 11:19, Jer 31:30, Ezek 18:4.
Søren Kierkegaard, Fear and Trembling, translated by Bruce H. Kirmmse (Liveright: New York, 2023), pg 42.
By “that’s ok” I don’t mean that the violence condoned or perpetrated by either of these men was acceptable; I mean that it’s inevitable that we don’t nail it down correctly and inevitabilities are ok, for what else can they be?
Gen 34:29.
Lev 24:17-22, Deut 19:21.
Gen 14:20.
Jdg 7.
Psa 60:11, KJV.
“Officers” is probably a fine translation but it gets muddied with our modern perspectives on warfare.
Deut 20:19-20.
Actually, the Israelites did that too. Abimelech, one of the most rotten judges of Israel, repeats the crimes of his ancestors Simeon and Levi by destroying Shechem—this time sowing it with salt (Jdg 9).
Didn’t you know “farming while communist” was a capital crime?
Lev 25:23-28.
Deut 17:16.
Deut 17:17. Boy, Solomon screwed that one up, didn’t he?
There is, actually, at least one significant exception to this: the story of Joseph, who used institutional, proactive force to save Egypt and the surrounding regions from famine (Gen 41:48, 47:13-26). I will add, however, that Joseph arrived at his position of authority through victimhood, paradoxically being pulled through tragedy by God and not his own efforts into a position in which he could teleologically suspend the ethical. We do not see an imitable path to power in Joseph.
E.g. Exod 22:21, 23:9, Lev 19:33-34, Deut 23:3-7, 23:20, 24:17-18, 27:19.
The two main elements to this argument, as I understand it, are 1) the simple fact that complete annihilation didn’t occur and it doesn’t seem to bother the biblical authors, and 2) comparisons with other ancient war literature from the region in which such hyperbole was typical and the Bible actually seems to tone it down significantly in contrast.
Deut 2-3.
Cf. Num 13:32-33.
Psa 82, cf. Deut 32:8-9.
1 Sam 17:4.
Gen 15:16, cf. Exod 12:40.
Josh 2.
I have written briefly about a Jew who did exactly this in Learning from our spiritual heritage: Means and ends.