Sacred Victims and the Architects of Fear

by Tobias S. Haller

René Girard has, over the years, developed a philosophical explanation for the origins of violence. Stated briefly, his premise is that tension arises in a society or culture as a result of the “mimetic desire” of members to have or be what other members have or are, and the society displaces its tension onto a sacrificial victim who is violently destroyed or exiled, which releases the tension and renews the group's solidarity.

I am not a Girardian, nor do I wish to become part of the cottage industry his work has generated. I find Girard both assumes too much and says too little; and many of his observations are as much truism as truth. It is, I should think, painfully obvious that societies ease their tensions (whether caused by mimetic desire or not) by affixing blame for their anxiety to some individual or group, domestic or foreign, whose destruction or exile will (they believe) bring peace. I don't think Girard deserves any special credit for having observed this pattern in literature and human history. A 1963 episode of the television show The Outer Limits (“The Architects of Fear”) said as much, as anxious scientists transformed a willing volunteer into an alien enemy whose arrival would unify a fractious world.

This pattern has emerged recently in a surprising way, in the uneasy alliance formed by the American Anglican Council in the wake of General Convention's approval of the election of Gene Robinson, and its recognition of same-sex relationships within the life of the church. The dis-ease in this alliance results from the fact that some who ardently oppose the ordination of women as well as the ordination of gays (lesbians, we must assume, are already excluded in their world view), now find in their company a tiny but visible minority of women priests. Bishop Robert Duncan, the paterfamilias of this uneasy coalition, has noted this as a matter of some concern for the future success of his movement, whose cohesion depends not on any particular virtue within its members, but rather upon their collective opposition to what they regard as vice in others. Thus unity is to be achieved in the new-found friendship spawned by animosity: the enemy of my enemy is now, if not a strange bedfellow, at least a very close friend.

The other factor I cannot help but note is the vocabulary of fear and the need for safety expressed by these anxious ideologues. They feel wounded by the mere presence of those with whom they disagree, and institute protective measures against being welcomed by the bishop of the diocese in which they hold a meeting. Paul Zahl, a leading spokesman for this point of view, has harped on the theme of safety repeatedly.

But why fear? Why safety? It would never occur to me to use such a vocabulary in an ecclesiastical context. And were I, as a gay priest, to do so, it might well be warranted as a legitimate reaction to the murderous language of bigotry that comes so easily to the lips of Fred Phelps or Archbishop Peter Akinola and his colleagues. I very much doubt that Bishop Duncan or Dr. Zahl have ever had to pass a gauntlet of pickets assuring them of their everlasting damnation, been told they should not even exist, or that the best way to deal with them is to kill them.

I'm not talking about those who simply hold the intellectual belief that homosexuality is morally wrong. I think it is quite possible to hold that position without being homophobic. I'm talking about those who use the language of fear and the need for safety, and if that is not precisely homophobia, then what is it?

So what are they afraid of? When one suggests, however cautiously, the politically incorrect word homophobia they rise in a chorus of lament that all discussion has been cut off by this labeling – as if there were any dialogue to cut off, or other labels had not already been sufficiently plastered about. So let me clarify: I'm not talking about those who simply hold the intellectual belief that homosexuality is morally wrong. I think it is quite possible to hold that position without being homophobic. I'm talking about those who use the language of fear and the need for safety, and if that is not precisely homophobia, then what is it?

Social workers have long noted sources in childhood for irrational fears that develop later in life. Those insecure in their sexual identity may also attach their culture's loathing to their own repressed urges. Such cultural notions can also imbue fears in people with perfectly happy childhoods and no homosexual inclinations whatsoever. The source of homophobia may never be entirely clear. Perhaps Girard's mimesis may even play a role in this.

But whatever the foundation, this is the architecture of fear, and it is not a happy place to live. I do not know to what extent the current crisis may be nourished by such fears, whatever their source. But it is fear and the need for safety that effectively cut off any chance for real dialogue – quite literally when it is impossible to “sit at the same table” or worship in the same church.

What can we do to assure those plagued by such fears that they “have nothing to fear but fear itself,” that “perfect love casts out fear,” and that there is no safer place than in the company of those who honor and worship the Sacred Victim who gave himself for the life of the world? If we cannot raze the architecture of fear and build the abode of peace, then Christ died for nothing.

Tobias S. Haller BSG, is vicar of St. James Episcopal Church (Fordham) in the Bronx, N.Y. He may be reached by email at bsg@earthlink.net .