Escape Routes: Contemporary Perspectives on Life after Punishment

Stephen Farrall, Richard Sparks, Shadd Maruna, Mike Hough

• Publisher: Routledge-Cavendish
• Year: 2010
• ISBN:
  9781136859588
• Edition: 1
• Topic: Derecho
• Subtopic: Teoría y práctica del derecho

Escape Routes: Contemporary Perspectives on Life After Punishment addresses the reasons why people stop offending, and the processes by which they are rehabilitated or resettled back into the community. Engaging with, and building upon, renewed criminological interest in this area, Escape Routes nevertheless broadens and enlivens the current debate. First, its scope goes beyond a narrowly-defined notion of crime and includes, for example, essays on religious redemption, the lives of ex-war criminals, and the relationship between ethnicity and desistance from crime. Second, contributors to this volume draw upon a number of areas of contemporary research, including urban studies, philosophy, history, religious studies, and ethics, as well as criminology. Examining new theoretical work in the study of desistance and exploring the experiences of a number of groups whose experiences of life after punishment do not usually attract much attention, Escape Routes provides new insights about the processes associated with reform, resettlement and forgiveness. Intended to drive our understanding of life after punishment forward, its rich array of theoretical and substantive papers will be of considerable interest to criminologists, lawyers, and sociologists.

Chapter 1
Applying redemption through film

Challenging the sacred-secular divide

Christopher Deacy

Introduction

The aim of this chapter is to explore the extent to which the language of redemption may be found to possess any viability outside the traditionally demarcated religious sphere and be appropriated in a secular context. As an applied theologian who works at the interface between theology and film, I was delighted to be invited to participate in the ESRC Life after Punishment conference that took place in Belfast in November 2006, where many of the same underlying questions which arise in theological circles concerning the remit of redemption came to the fore. How exclusive, autonomous and doctrinally specific is the concept of redemption? Do attempts by theologians to break down barriers between ‘redemption’ in theology and ‘redemption’ in film — assuming, of course, that any sort of clear line of demarcation can be drawn between the sacred and the secular in the first place — not overlook the possibility that theological themes are simply being ‘read into’ films, whose religious or theological underpinning may be no more than coincidental and, even, unintentional on the part of film-makers? How susceptible are theologians to the charge of misrepresentation? Although the term ‘redemption’ has undeniable theological connotations and, in Clive Marsh’s words, “forges an obvious link to theological discussion” (Marsh 1998: para 21), why should it automatically follow that a ‘religious’ reading of a film such as (to give an obvious and, as we shall see, much cited example) The Shawshank Redemption (1994) can simply fall into place? After all, does not religion only exist in concrete and particular forms, such that even within Christianity itself there are to be found a whole plethora of different types and varieties of ‘redemptions’, rather than any universal, objective and monolithic brand in relation to which a straightforward dialogue may accrue? As Marsh puts it, “unless it be claimed that scholars of religion … are somehow able to transcend the concreteness of religious particularity and the detail of human living, it is necessary to attend to the specifics of what religions … actually claim and promote” (Marsh 1998: para 11). With this in mind, if, as is believed to be the case among many criminologists, it is possible to develop a new, secular argument in favour of the ideal of redemption, such as in the context of the role of confession, repentance and forgiveness among habitual criminal offenders, then some attention needs to be paid to the appropriateness of the vocabulary that is being used in view of the origins of the term ‘redemption’ in a Christian context, where it is inextricably bound up with Christian thought, faith and practice.

What I will be suggesting, however, is that the way in which Christian theologians have sought to interpret redemption over the centuries has varied extensively, to the point that there are, in actuality, close and theologically defens ible parallels between some of the processes at work in secular fields, such as film and criminology, and a number of insights which have come to prominence in recent Christian theology. In particular, attention will be given to those models of redemption in Christianity that accord a prominent emphasis to the role of the human individual in the redemptive schema at the expense of any readings which stipulate the need for a direct encounter with God or the placating of any external, divine agencies in order for redemption to be accomplished. Revisiting some of my own work in the field of theology and film as a template, it will be argued here that a key analogy can be drawn between the Christian story of redemption and the meaning, function and telos of redemption as understood in secularity, with the result that fertile cross-disciplinary work between theology and criminology can be undertaken.

The specificity of redemption

At first sight, it would appear that there is a certain rigidity and specificity to what theologians mean when they invoke the language of ‘redemption’. Indeed, in the case of Christianity, there is a very clear and precise remit to what redemption entails, which shares precious little common ground with the use of the term in the context of criminology. Criminologists may appropriate the same language, but it would be foolish to overlook the fact that vast, and potentially irreconcilable, differences exist between the form of redemptive possibility that has the capacity to function in secularity and the nature of redemption within Christianity, where the process carries specific religious, historical, cultural and doctrinal connotations. To what extent is ‘redemption’ thus being ‘read into’ an academic discipline whose religious underpinning is far from readily apparent? To paraphrase Chris Arthur, who is writing in the context of misguided attempts within the study of religion to draw parallels between Maitreya — that is, “the name given by Buddhists to a figure they believe to be the future Buddha” — and the Judaeo-Christian understanding of Messiah: “just because one can draw out certain themes which may appear similar when laid side by side, this does not necessarily mean that they possess the same valency within that complex metallurgy of history, practice and belief which constitutes a religion” (Arthur 1997: 44). Whereas, for instance, in Christianity the messiah is the historical figure Jesus of Nazareth who lived and died in Palestine some 2000 years ago, in Buddhism buddhas “are a regular phenomenon, repeated over the vast aeons of time which are mapped by Buddhist cosmology, rather than a single never-to-be-repeated instance of one particular individual biography” (Arthur 1997: 48). If, then, Maitreya is to be construed as ‘the Buddhist messiah’, then, counsels Arthur, it is “important to recognize that he is a messiah who is not unique and who will not bring time to an end”, as is traditionally supposed in the Christian schema, but will act, rather, “as a punctuation mark in the great cycles of time” in which all beings are believed to be embroiled, “and from which, according to Buddhist soteriology, they ought to seek release in the form of nirvana” (Arthur 1997: 49). Ultimately, therefore, in attempting to outline how (and whether) the category of redemption can be appropriated in a modern context, we must guard against not only oversimplification but misrepresentation (cf. Arthur 1997: 46). From the very outset, we have to ensure that “our descriptive categories are sensitively malleable and open to the revision and nuance which their application to new subjects may suggest” (Arthur 1997: 44). Before even going down the path of seeking a criminologically coherent account of redemption, we must consider that — to put it starkly — if Christianity is what one source refers to as “the religion of redemption par excellence” (Ferm 1976: 640), criminology (or, in the context of my own research, film) may at best be merely bearing witness to ideas which have a basis in Christian thought, and in what is, at root, a ‘secular’ discipline (or medium).

As we see in the New Testament, there is an inextricable relationship between redemption and the Resurrection of Christ, inasmuch as the traditional expectation is that, in the words of Hebrews 9:15, Christ “is the mediator of a new covenant, so that those who are called may receive the promised eternal inheritance, since a death has occurred which redeems them from the[ir] transgressions”. The thinking here is that, since Christ has been raised from the dead, so the believer will be resurrected and judged at the end of history, and can expect heavenly reward if he or she has been redeemed through Christ’s atoning death on the Cross. Rather than a catch-all process, the Bible identifies a number of very specific phenomena from which Christ’s redemptive work is understood to be operative. For example, we learn from Hebrews 2:3 that what one is redeemed from is divine wrath, while redemption is from bondage to demonic powers or the Devil himself according to Galatians 4:8 and Colossians 1:13. Underlying all accounts is the understanding that, due to Original Sin, humankind is in a fallen and depraved condition, from which redemption is sought. According to St Paul in Romans 5, “Therefore as sin came into the world through one man and death through sin … so death spread to all men because all men sinned … death reigned from Adam to Moses … one man’s trespass led to condemnation for all men”. Despite the fact that future generations did not directly participate in the Fall — indeed, they were as yet unborn — Augustine believed that all human beings are corporately implicated in Adam’s transgression, and that it was through sexual desire, or ‘concupiscence’, that Adam’s sin and guilt is passed down through the generations. Christ’s role here is pivotal, as he is, in effect, performing the role of the ‘second Adam’, by reversing Adam’s original act of disobedience, thereby enabling those who believe in him to share in his salvific power.

Rather than a process which can be straightforwardly applied to the present day pursuit of criminology, there is thus much more to redemption in early Christianity than a mere matter of seeking the forgiveness and/or transformation of habitual criminal offenders. The non-negotiable starting-point is a recognition that the Divinely created design has been spoiled, whereupon redemption amounts to the restoration of the torn fabric of personal relationships between Creator and creation. In Ephesians 1, we learn that the specific medium of redemption is the blood of Christ, a position also adopted by Augustine in the early fifth century, as evinced in the following petition in his Confessions: “You know how weak I am and how inadequate is my knowledge: teach me and heal my frailty. Your only Son … has redeemed me with his blood. Save me from the scorn of my enemies, for the price of my redemption is always in my thoughts” (Augustine 1961: 251–52). Augustine may not actually refer in this passage to whom the price of redemption is to be paid, but the traditional assumption is that it is to be paid to the Devil — not a position that modern appropriators of the term redemption in criminology may be all that keen to adopt!

In the modern day, of course, we are used to encountering the term ‘redemption’ in supermarkets and high-street stores when we wish to take points off a customer loyalty card against the value of a product. If we wish to buy a book or a bottle of perfume for, say, £30, and have accrued £20 in points awarded for regularly patronizing the store or chain concerned, then, as a reward for loyalty, it may be possible to ‘redeem’ some or all of the points, thereby purchasing a £30 product for, say, a third of the price. Again, though, the language is quite distinct from its basis in theology where ‘redemption’ is bound up with release (see Luke 2:38), ransom (Mark 10:45) and the payment of a price to set free (or ‘redeem’) a prisoner or slave (1 Peter 1:18–21) (see Reed 2004: 226–27). In the Old Testament, also, the term is used 132 times, principally in the context of money payments for the recovery of property (Leviticus 25:25f.), for the firstborn (Numbers 3:44–51), and from slavery (Exodus 21:7–8). In such contexts, the word means ‘deliverance’, and the ‘redeemer’ was an adult male relative who would buy back, or ‘redeem’, servants, animals, land, prisoners of war, debts or even, as in the case of Ruth 2:20, the wife of a deceased relative (see Mitchell 2007: 189). As Mitchell indicates, God is seen as the ultimate redeemer/rescuer, whether from slavery in Egypt or Exile in Babylon, or, as expounded in the Psalms, from violence and oppression (see e.g. Ps. 72:12–14) (Mitchell 2007: 190). Such ideas can also be found in the New Testament, albeit less frequently. In Mitchell’s words, “several of the New Testament authors develop both themes found in the Hebrew Bible of God redeeming and rescuing his people and slaves having their freedom bought for them”, and he cites the examples of Paul in Galatians 3:13 that “Christ redeemed us from the curse of the law” and Galatians 4:1–7 which speaks of God sending his Son to redeem people from slavery to the “elemental spirits of the universe” so that they may become God’s children (Mitchell 2007: 190). There is nothing in such language that is generic or readily transferable to present debates in criminology or film. Rather, in Mitchell’s words:

In the New Testament redemption is not being used in a general sense, where God delivers his people from character deficiencies or general troubles. For the earliest Christians, and especially those used to hearing in synagogue worship about God’s redemption of his people or actually seeing slaves being bought and set free in the market-place, it was an easily understandable metaphor. In our current age, lacking such concrete examples and where slavery has become a far more furtive industry, it is no surprise that the word has lost its original vividness

(Mitchell 2007: 191)

Every indication is that redemption is anything but a universal process, but one which is actually unintelligible when cut loose from the categories of Christian doctrine. Some of the eagerness among theologians and criminologists to use the language of redemption needs therefore to be qualified, as in embracing and harnessing the term it is clear that no appeal is being made to Jesus’s death as expiation or satisfaction for the sins of humanity, as encapsulated in article 15 of the 39 articles of the Church of England, which attests that Christ “came to be the Lamb without spot, Who, by sacrifice of himself once made, should take away the sins of the world” (cited in Gibson 1902: 439). While an atonement theory of redemption has a widespread usage in the history of the Christian Church, the difficulty for the scholar is that it is very far from readily amenable to contemporary discourse in either criminology or theology, posing as it does serious ethical difficulties. For the criminologist who seeks the rehabilitation of habitual offenders, is it necessarily helpful to invoke language which, in its Pauline and Augustinian manifestations, categorizes humanity as depraved and corrupt, to the point that God requires the sacrifice of an innocent human being for his satisfaction — and the redemption of the human race — to be attained? The problem with such a rendering is that Christ only becomes Redeemer by taking on the sins that someone else — Adam — has committed, on behalf of the whole human race. In Paul Badham’s words, “It has been asked in what sense the death of an innocent person can take away the guilt of sinners, whose conscience should be still further troubled by the notion of an innocent suffering in their place” (Badham and Badham 1984: 58). Back in the second century, Origen held that by our sins we had sold our souls to the Devil, and that, in Alan Richardson’s words, “God had re-purchased man for himself by paying to the devil the ransom of Christ’s life” (Richardson 1986: 99). But, our modern legal system has moved on a long way from this, and, as Richardson puts it, never does it occur to Origen “that the Ransom Theory is unworthy of the Christian conception of God” (Richardson 1986: 100). It is doubtful that any criminologist would want to seek common ground with a theory which emphasizes that the shedding of the blood of an innocent victim has healing properties, not to mention what Reed refers to as “the supposed idealization of victimhood, victory through violent death, and traditional associations with the satisfaction of mal...

Table of contents

• Contents
• Contributors
• Introduction
• Chapter 1 Applying redemption through film
• Chapter 2 Steps towards desistance among male young adult recidivists
• Chapter 3 Youth justice?
• Chapter 4 Feminist research, state power and executed women
• Chapter 5 Paths of exclusion, inclusion and desistance
• Chapter 6 The reintegration of sexual offenders
• Chapter 7 All in the family
• Chapter 8 Inside-out: transitions from prison to everyday life
• Chapter 9 ‘I can’t make my own future’
• Chapter 10 Life after punishment for Nazi war criminals
• Index