God and Empire -- A Review

John Dominic Crossan, God and Empire: Jesus Against Rome, Then and Now. San Francisco: HarperSanFrancisco, 2007, 257 pages. I must begin this review by saying that this isn’t the book I expected it to be. That’s not to say it’s not an excellent book, because it is. But, this book has shattered my preconceptions about Dom Crossan as a scholar and as a Christian. Yes, Crossan is a liberal biblical scholar, deeply committed to the historical critical method, and committed to the quest for the historical Jesus. Yes, he is a leading member of the Jesus Seminar. Still, I must say that he comes across as a committed Christian deeply concerned about the church and its message of the Kingdom of God.

I must also confess that I expected it to be more directly a critique of the American Empire. Indeed, the American Empire figures in the early going, but ultimately it is the Roman Empire and the early church’s encounter with that Empire that frames the discussion. Crossan’s point in this book is this: Civilization is inherently imperialistic and violent. Civilization exists on the principle of the normalcy of violence, an ideology seen clearly in Rome’s self-understanding. At the heart of Roman ideology is its “imperial theology,” which holds the emperor to not only be divine but is the prince of peace. Peace is the gift of Rome to the world, but it is a peace built on the principle of victory. Peace comes with the acceptance of the inevitability of injustice.

In contrast to this normalcy of civilization’s violence is the possibility that violence is not humanity’s ultimate destiny. Both possibilities are present with in the biblical story – violence and nonviolence, sometimes on the same page. The choice is ours – the God of Violence or the God of Nonviolence. The choice is there present in both Old and New Testament – not just in the Old Testament. The Bible, he says, “is about the ambiguity of divine power” (p. 48). Crossan begins in earnest with chapter 2, a chapter in which he explores this ongoing debate within the Hebrew Bible between principles of violence and nonviolence, equality and inequality, justice and injustice. We explore the Creation stories – both in Genesis and in the Sumerian epics. In the biblical story we encounter as well Noah and Abraham, symbolic of two ways of God’s dealing with the persistent problem of evil – one is a resort to the violence of extermination (Noah) and the other to the nonviolence of conversion (Abraham). We explore the various dimensions of the Law – both Distributive and Retributive – the question is, which is truly representative of God’s voice – Crossan chooses distributive justice. Herod also figures in this story, setting up the encounter with Jesus.

Chapters 3 through 5 focus on the New Testament, beginning with Jesus and the Kingdom, moving on to Paul, and then ending with the apocalyptic theologies of the New Testament. Crossan places Jesus’ story in contrast to that of Caesar Augustus. The infancy narratives of Matthew and Luke offer a counterpoint to the Roman Imperial Theology that hails Caesar as Son of God, Savior, and Prince of Peace. The claim that Jesus is King of the Jews, of course, stands as a counterpoint to the claims of both Herod the Great and Herod Antipas. What we find in the story of Jesus is not just a religious story but a political one as well. Jesus wasn’t just an itinerant preacher, but was an alternative voice, making him a threat to Rome and its collaborators among the Jewish elite. Jesus, of course, wasn’t the only voice – John was also present, and Jesus was most assuredly baptized by John. But their visions were different – John preached an “imminent advent of an apocalyptic and avenging God” (p. 114-15) Jesus’ message was one of God’s nonviolent presence of God that invited collaboration between human and divine – bringing about the kingdom of God nonviolently. Because of the radicalness of this message, we must understand Jesus to be a fully political figure, and it is his politics ultimately that leads to his death.

Jesus’ ministry is understood in terms of incarnating God’s radical non-violence. Jesus is not, Crossan insists, to be understood as serving as a substitutionary atonement propitiating God’s wrath.

In Jesus, the radicality of God became incarnate, and the normalcy of civilization’s brutal violence (our sins, or better, Our Sin) executed him. Jesus’s execution asks us to face the truth that across human evolution, injustice has been created and maintained by violence while justice has been opposed and avoided by violence. That warning, if heeded can be salvation (pp. 140-41).

Jesus went to Jerusalem, leaving the relative safety of Galilee because that is where religion and violence had come together – it was the place he would demonstrate the alternative vision of the kingdom.

If Jesus is the foundation of the Christian vision, the question is did his followers understand that nonviolent vision – the incarnation of God’s radical non-violence? The answer is yes and no. Crossan finds in Paul an acceptance of this vision, at least the authentic Pauline texts, of equality, distributive justice, and non-violence. He deals briefly with homosexuality, noting that Paul’s views were typical of his day and that his use of nature in defending his views are typical as well. But over all, Paul is the apostle of radical egalitarianism, whose message contrasts the peace of God with the peace of Caesar. He offered a word of freedom to women, to slaves, and love is defined in terms of distributive justice. This vision becomes muted in the disputed letters and becomes non-existent in the Pseudo-Pauline texts. Paul, however, is reclaimed.

If Jesus and Paul offer a vision of radical nonviolence and egalitarianism, the opposite is found in John’s apocalypse. Here the choice is fully present – do we abide the God of violence or non-violence. Whereas the gospels show Jesus coming on a donkey, the apocalypse of John has him riding the white war horse, wreaking vengeance on humankind. For Crossan, the choice is marked and we must make our choice carefully. He points to the Hal Lindsey, the Left Behind books, and to a lesser extent the Chronicles of Narnia as examples of choices made for the God of redemptive violence.

Crossan has offered us an important picture of our present reality, with Rome standing in for all imperial systems. John’s apocalypse offers one response to that system – God’s violent destruction of it. The gospels and Paul offer a different vision. Indeed, empire stands at the heart of civilization and it is sustained by violence – now as well as then. The good news is that this normalcy of violence is not inevitable. Destruction need not be our destiny.

In the challenge of Christian faith, we are called to cooperate in establishing the Kingdom of God in a transformed earth. In the challenge of human evolution, we are called to Post-Civilization, to imagine it, to create it, and to enjoy it on a transfigured earth (p. 242).

We who live in the American Empire -- I expected more of a focus on American imperialism, but that was more implicit than explicit throughout -- should pay attention to this closely argued description of God’s alternative vision of reality. With war at hand and our seeming inability to overcome its hold on us, this is a useful reminder that our empire is no different than the one Jesus stood up against.

I’m not ready to take on all of his perspectives on the Christian faith, but like his friend Marcus Borg, he has demonstrated a keen insight into the biblical story and sees its relevance for today. I don’t know the fullness of his faith profession, but he has challenged my understanding and my commitment to the radicalness of Jesus’ life and message. This is a must-read book, a book that will surely challenge your faith and your politics. The choice is clear – the God of violence or the God of nonviolence. Our choice will determine our future as a species.