Given the horrific violence that populates our news channels, I thought we might take a moment to consider our use of violence in literature. When I was young, I loved war movies and I played war games any chance I could get. I devoured Tolkien and Burroughs. I used to shoot little plastic army men with my BB gun and I even tried my hand at a few live BB gun battles, which never turned out very well. When Star Wars came out, every stick I found became a light saber.

Was I an unusually violent child? I don’t think so. I can count the number of fights I experienced on one six-fingered hand. (Did you catch the Princess Bride reference there?) And I never started any of them. Still, I worry about the violence in the books I write and read.

Considering the popularity of films, TV shows, books, and magazines, devoted to violence of all kinds and the increasing interest in MMA, boxing, and other martial arts, we seem strangely attracted to violence. The old philosopher Thomas Hobbes argued that we are violent by nature and that we need the coercive power of the state to make us peaceful.

A century later Jean Jacques Rousseau argued that we are peaceful by nature, but the creation of private property, class divisions, and state power corrupted us. This is the old nature verse nurture debate. Azar Gat has developed an elegant solution to this debate. He argued that “Aggression . . .is a tactical skill that is both innate and optional. It is a major option and is very close to the surface and easily triggered.” (War in Human Civilization, 39-40)

The key point there, I think, is that it is optional. Humans needed to be aggressive to survive. Aggression can be triggered by fear, competition, cruelty, thrill seeking, and blood lust. But it can also be turned off by compassion, abhorrence of violence, and spiritual beliefs in the sanctity of life. Basically, we can choose to reject violence as an option in human interactions.

I had a friend who fought in the Korean War and he once told me that he didn’t understand why people wanted to go paintballing. He said, “I’ve done the real thing, and it’s not a game.” The photo album he showed me proved that he had done the real thing. I have pondered on what this wise soldier said and wondered why I still enjoy a good war movie or adventure book.

I’ve decided that those stories strike some primal emotional and physiological chord that overpowers the better angles of my nature that tell me that violence is seldom a good thing and it is usually the innocent who suffer the most. I also think that we are drawn to stories that plumb the depths of human cruelty and compassion.

We need to experience stories about people who overcame even the most trying and dangerous times. When we do, we wonder if we could muster the courage and inner strength to face such obstacles. Like all stories, stories with violence serve the purpose of preparing us for a life filled with uncertainty and forces we cannot control. Or maybe, it is simple escapism as some have argued.

What do you think? Why do you enjoy a good thriller or action novel? How do you respond to the violence in stories?

Cheers,

James