Martyrdom - something to die for?

The Greek word marturion of course means "witness" or "testimony". Already in the NT we see the possibility of this idea being linked to the shedding of blood - a testimony unto death. Jesus himself of course did exactly this. The gospel accounts - especially John - make much of the sham trial at which Jesus was convicted as a kind of ironic antitype of the real eschatological trial at which he was mightily vindicated. The truth about Jesus' "kingdom of God" and all his teaching about his Father and himself and the state of the world under sin were all revealed by his death and resurrection.

The life of the follower of Jesus is thus always already a life lived in preparation of the possibility of such a trial. The hatred of the world for Jesus is shared by his followers. They already lay down their lives, and take up their crosses and follow him. They die to the world... Baptism is a symbol of this offering of the old self over to death which is what every Christian does as a testimony to the truth of Jesus Christ. Every Christian, we might say, is already a martyr. That there are some who suffer to the point of pain and death is a glorious sign for us of the reality of this.

Martyrdom is a radically unsettling idea for the secular individual. The world characterised by avoidance of pain and the pursuit of pleasure, even in its most honourable forms, has little place for the possibility of martyrdoms. The old rhetoric of martyrdom applied to the war-dead now seems rather hollow given that these lives were given to dubious causes and by questionable means. A life in which the possibility of martyrdom has been accepted is not a life that appears to be lived to its greatest possibility. It is perhaps freely determined, but it is given away too cheaply; it has too little regard for the ties of family and friends; it is too committed to a notion of 'truth' which has fallen into disrepair. It is too unassertive and too tragic. It tries to make meaningful that which we have decided already is meaningless - suffering. The martyr is committed to another way of understanding the world - a "superior realm of signification" (Castelli) - an understanding which is not merely an idea for the martyr, but in the act of offering of the body to its own destruction becomes a material reality. At this moment, the testimony of the martyr to the other-worldly reality intersects with the material world and displaces the complancy of the materialist. It makes the lovers of comfort uncomfortable.

Martyrdom is not a cult of death, for the Christian martyr loves life. The death of the martyr is not a resignation to fate, but truly has a tragic, mournful aspect: for it points to the value of life. You cannot consider laying down one’s life for your friends a sacrifice of any significance if you hold life cheap. Charles Taylor notes that there is a “powerful sense of loss” at the heart of Christian martyrdom, because life is hallowed by it in its fullness. Jesus came to give abundant life (John 10:10), after all – an intensification of life. This is important – the structure of resurrection belief is an affirmation of the goodness of the created order, pointing not its eradication by the coming new order but its transformation. Liberation theologian Boff writes: “The resurrection of the martyr Jesus Christ has, among others, this theological significance: who loses his life in this way receives it in fullness. To the martyr is reserved full participation in the meaning of life, that is, enthronement in its immortal kingdom.”

Martyrdom exposes the death of Adam for the hollow sham that it is. The martyr who dies the death of Christ by faith shows that death has lost its sting. He or she does not embrace oblivion or rush headlong into nothingness; rather, it is an entry into an endless end (Karl Rahner).

The martyr is an imitator of Christ par excellence. The early martyrologies dramatized martyrdoms as repetitions of the passion of Christ.
Of Sanctus, the martyr of Lyons, it is written by Eusebius: ‘And his body was a witness of his sufferings, being one complete wound and bruise, drawn out of shape, and altogether unlike a human form. Christ, suffering in him, manifested his glory, delivering him from his adversary, and making him an example for the others, showing that nothing is fearful where the love of the Father is, and nothing painful where there is the glory of Christ.’

Of Blandina: ‘Blandina was suspended on a stake, and exposed to be devoured by the wild beasts who should attack her. And because she appeared as if hanging on a cross, and because of her earnest prayers, she inspired the combatants with great zeal. For they looked on her in her conflict, and beheld with their outward eyes, in the form of their sister, him who was crucified for them, that he might persuade those who believe on him, that every one who suffers for the glory of Christ has fellowship always with the living God.’

The gesture of the suicide bomber is not at all the same, though an attempt to use the same word is made. The self-destruction of the suicide bomber is a radical denial of the goodness of life. By his or her gesture, he or she says like the martyr “I testify to another reality, superior to this one.” However, this other reality is not of the nature of an affirmation of this one, but its denial. By choosing death, he says to the enemy: “you have made my life not worth living: let me return the favour”. He cannot find any corrupt judicial process, or false testimony, or unjust law to take his life, so he does the job himself. He aims to produce fear; and by and large succeeds, because secularism has no good alternative. His gesture does not call for those outside his tribe to be included in it, but rather points to the ongoing exclusion of most people from it. His death does not expose state-sanctioned violence for what it is; but rather perpetuates it. Where the true martyr may actually absorb spilt blood and by the beauty of his or her gesture reveal to a culture the futility of its persecutions, the suicide bomber only invites a conversation in blood. He proclaims his own victimization and makes a victim of himself at his own hand, which

Martyrdom is a political gesture. It is a witness to citizenship in another kingdom, to service of another Lord. The earliest martyrs instantly recognized – or were forced to recognize – that theirs was a choice between two forms of worship, two forms of citizenship. When the aged Polycarp was commanded to sacrifice to the genius of Caesar and to revile Christ, he replied to his persecutor:
Fourscore and six years have I been His servant, and He hath done me no wrong. How then can I blaspheme my King who saved me?
For Polycarp there was no choice: the two Kings were rivals. Only one was worthy of his allegiance. Polycarp’s “he hath done me no wrong” seems a little subdued, admittedly. But, has Caesar saved him? His reasoning is the simple logic of the servant.

The early martyr narratives emphasis the possibility of escape for each martyr – just as Jesus was at all times in the gospel narratives shown as going to the cross freely, though he could have escaped. The voluntary act of choosing for martyrdom shows that Caesar’s coercive power has not succeeded. The martyr is a revolutionary in that way, for the political power that would exercise itself through killing the body is shown to be no power at all.

But while martyrdom unsettles the secular self, the rhetoric of martyrdom itself is not unproblematic. The Christian church has made martyrs as well. It is a fact of history that those who have martyred readily make martyrs of others, (apparently) unconscious of how self-defeating it is. The celebration of martyrs can appear to link sacrifice and violence inextricably. The glory of martyrdom requires a culture that punishes heterodoxy violently; and it reflects a culture that makes violent death meaningful.

The martyr is first of all a witness, then a performer of a dramatic action, which is in turn witnessed. It is a witness that compels further witness. It “requires an audience, retelling, interpretation, and world– and meaning-making activity. Suffering violence is in and of itself not enough” (Castelli, p. 33). Interestingly, baptism is a kind of proto-martyrdom, with the act of testimony to Christ and renunciation of the world, the flesh and the devil. The plunging into the water symbolises a death and then a rising to new life. In 1 Tim 6:12ff Paul explicitly compares the "good confession" of Jesus under Pilate with the confession of Timothy made at his baptism.