In Violence, Hospitality, and the Cross: Reappropriating the Atonement Tradition, Hans Boersma puts forward a convincing argument about the relationship between atonement and violence. It’s one of the most refreshing books I’ve read lately, given that it mixes a strong commitment to Evangelical views of Scripture with a sensitivity to the complex problems raised by postmodern thinkers.

The metaphor that guides his inquiry into the various other metaphors for atonement is hospitality, as that which Jesus’ outstretched arms on the cross signifies. From the beginning – and developing throughout history – God’s purpose has been that of restoring broken fellowship with humanity.

One of the features of the argument to which I warmed was its thoroughly historicized character. Boersma shows an awareness of the historical embodiment of God’s actions which goes against what he identifies as the ahistorical tendencies in late Calvinism, with it’s focus on the eternal decrees of God.

This also aligns Boersma with N. T. Wright and the New Perspective (both on Paul and on Judaism). In order to understand the work of Christ on the cross, it must not be viewed exclusively in light of some eternal logic (i.e. sin requires punishment), but as having a place in the historical development of a plan, of a salvation history. The jury is still out about the New Perspective, as far as I’m concerned (but it’s really not my field), but what does make good sense to me is the historical realism promoted by Boersma.

The very same realism provides him with the gist of his argument on violence. After first distinguishing violence from immorality – there is violence which is justified (his argument about this in the first chapter is well worth a look, although I suspect an exaggerated reliance on an utilitarian logic of means justifying ends) – Boersma then goes on to argue that given the present creaturely existence with its inherent determinations and limitations hospitality cannot exist without violence. Contra Derrida’s notion of a ‘utopian understanding of hospitality structured around a messianicity that rejects any conditionality, any determinacy, and any horizon of expectation’ (49), Boersma argues that hospitality must include a minimal violence in order to be hospitable at all – given current conditions. ‘To insist on “pure hospitality” in an impure world would mean to give it over to the forces of inhospitality and violence.’ (93). How so? A community of unconditional hospitality and utter non-violence would be unable to forge the sort of relationships which are God’s ultimate purpose. Some have to be excluded from such a community (heretics, false prophets etc.) Boersma can argue this because he has widened violence (beyond Denny Weaver’s and Walter Wink’s concept of purely physical violence) to include non-physical violence. Jesus himself exhibits both physical (his cleansing of the Temple) and non-physical (his berating attitude to the Pharisees) violence.

But this means that the violence with which God is indeed complicit (we cannot simply dismiss those OT parts) cannot be justified by some eternal logic – that would make violence itself eternal – but only eschatologically! Now this is not a case of ‘I couldn’t figure it out, so I’ll just pass it to eschatology’. But there is a problem – and I am not sure Boersma addresses it: how can we envisage an eschatology of pure and non-violent hospitality together with an eternally existing hell? God’s acts of exclusion and violence are real enough. They are designed and intended with the purpose of restoring relationship. Boersma puts it emphatically: ‘God is love, not wrath!’ (49) His wrath unfolds (sometimes after long delays) when his love is frustrated – and acts to restore that love. But it is central to Boersma’s argument that violence and wrath are related to the creaturely limitations, which God himself assumes – in order to work with humanity. What justifies divine violence is that it is part of a plan, a plan to restore unconditioned and non-violent hospitality. That will only be achieved perfectly in the eschaton. So the Christian faith in a non-violent eschatology shows that violence is only temporary and not ontological. And here’s the rub: if we want to keep this logic untainted, we have to remove all traces of violence from eschatology (since then they would not be serving any ulterior purpose and would thus appear unjustifiable). Thus, the logic of Boersma’s position requires that hell not be an eternal reality – or else violence is something inescapable rather than a necessary means to a glorious end.

Anyway, that’s my take on it so far. But I haven’t thought it through all the way – that’s the whole idea of putting it on a blog rather than in a published paper.