A LIBRARY OF SOCIAL SCIENCE ESSAY
Sacrificial “Linguistic Subterfuge,” and the Times We’re In
by Kelly Denton-Borhaug
Professor Kelly Denton-Borhaug writes about the sacrificial dynamic that lies at the heart of warfare. We urge you to read excerpts of her exciting essay below, and the complete publication here. She invites our readers to join her—and us—in the project of awakening from the nightmare of history.
Denton-Borhaug: “I suggest that thinkers and writers involved in the Library of Social Science would be well served by our attempts to bring together as many diverse analyses of sacrificial dynamics as possible, to reach many different audiences with a far-reaching and comprehensive investigation.”

Denton-Borhaug: “In our time, it seems that the only words we have to speak about the wounds of war are steeped in sacrifice. Our forgetful era is characterized by seemingly unaware repetitions of what poet Wilfred Owen described as ‘the Old Lie.’ We should stop and think about the spectacle of these sacrificial rationalizations that mostly are met with a resounding lack of critical appraisal. Is there really nothing more to be said after hearing for the millionth time, ‘it is sweet to die (or be wounded) for one’s country?’”

About the Author
Leah Greenfield Rev. Kelly Denton-Borhaug, Ph.D., is Associate Professor of Religious Studies at Moravian College in Bethlehem, PA.

By the Author,
Kelly Denton-Borhaug

US War-Culture, Sacrifice and Salvation

Publisher: Equinox
Author: Kelly Denton-Borhaug
Format: Paperback
Published: Dec 15, 2010
ISBN-10: 1845537114
Language: English
Pages: 298

The military-industrial complex in the U.S. has grown exponentially in recent decades, yet the realities of war remain invisible to most Americans. U.S. War-culture, Sacrifice and Salvation explores how formulations of Christian redemption have been manipulated to create a world and a time of necessary sacrifice.


I have been thinking about the courageous question Elizabeth Samet, Professor of English Literature at West Point U.S. Military Academy, recently dared to pose for an article in Foreign Policy: “Can an American Soldier Ever Die in Vain?” According to Samet, we are living in a time of “linguistic subterfuge” with respect to our ways of war in the United States.  As she writes, “… whenever people describe violence with abstraction or indirection, there’s a reason.”

Samet describes our language of war as immersed in a kind of sentimentality that makes every war story a tale of redemption. She lists examples: “the empty profusion of yellow ribbons and lapel-pin flags… the organized celebration of American heroes and patriotic values… celebrity public service announcements, beer commercials about military homecomings… the National Football League’s ‘Salute to Service’ campaign.”

As readers of the Library of Social Science know, Samet is onto something important here. And refusal to face the futility of war has all the consequences she describes: the dehumanization of military service members, increasing inability to engage in an honest accounting with respect to our own violence, and unwillingness to engage a sober evaluation regarding the next war on the horizon.

Perhaps the best way to describe the time we live in is to consider the latest memorial to the National Mall in Washington DC. This memorial project passed every hoop without a blip, and was approved unanimously in congress. Money appeared almost magically to support it, and few if any questions or criticisms have been raised about the message it conveys.

Called “The American Veterans Disabled for Life Memorial in Washington,” and dedicated to veterans whose war-time experiences have left them with life-changing injuries, this latest memorial project has been in the planning and implementation for sixteen years. Its dedication day was Oct. 5. And the news and human interest stories about it that converged in the media illuminate our analysis about the times in which we live.

One of the veterans whose picture will appear in the memorial’s structures is Army Lt. Dawn Halfaker, who lost her right arm in an explosion while serving in Iraq. Now, ten years later, she serves as the Chair of the Wounded Warriors Project. In an interview with the Associated Press, Halfaker was asked why the memorial is important: “I think it will bring it home for visitors. I think it will give people a better understanding of how somebody's life is forever changed and really help them understand the sacrifice a little bit more.”

Others involved with the project have described its purpose with the same sacrificial language, such as Arthur Wilson, another disabled veteran from the Vietnam era, and co-founder of the foundation tasked with building the memorial: “Who could take issue with honoring those who have given a life sacrifice?”

Yet another young veteran of the U.S. recent wars, whose photograph in the memorial structure portrays him at his Purple Heart ceremony in a wheelchair, had this to say, when interviewed about his experience: “It’s a blessing to be wounded in the name of my country.”

In our time, it seems that the only words we have to speak about the wounds of war are steeped in sacrifice. Our forgetful era is characterized by seemingly unaware repetitions of what poet Wilfred Owen described as “the Old Lie.” We should stop and think about the spectacle of these sacrificial rationalizations that mostly are met with a resounding lack of any critical appraisal. Is there really nothing more to be said after hearing for the millionth time, “it is sweet to die (or be wounded) for one’s country?” Such sacrificial language has the impact of creating a deafening silence.

Daring to raise questions or invoke strong analysis makes one a heretic in the sacred world of war and war-culture. Thus the deafening silence and lack of any further questions, once the disabled veterans have described their experience with the terminology of sacrificial blessing.

One of Richard Koenigsberg’s recent essays in the Library of Social Science Newsletter, “As the Soldier Dies, so the Nation Comes Alive,” returned to the analysis of Carolyn Marvin. He recalled Marvin’s use of the notion of taboo drawn from her study of the famous sociologist of religion, Emile Durkheim.

She writes, “We use the term taboo to describe the tension between the violent mechanism that sustains enduring groups and the reluctance of group members to acknowledge their responsibility for enacting it. To protect themselves from recognizing the source of group unity, citizens render totem violence and its symbols sacred, that is, unknowable.” Marvin helps us to understand how the reference to the sacred promotes a system of concealment through which people hide the realities of violent sacrificial dynamics from themselves.

But the sacred not only is “unknowable,” it also demands unquestioning obedience. Everyone must fall into line. And by and large, this precisely is what we do. In fact, citizens participate in all kinds of disciplining measures to ensure that no deeper questions will be raised, no deeper analysis attempted. To do so would be to engage in a kind of heresy.

Of course, most people think of “heresy” as belonging to arcane religious systems and demands. But this heresy operates in a different way. We find it in many examples of contemporary popular, political and military culture. Marvin’s analysis may be complemented by investigations that come from a wide variety of disciplines.

I suggest that thinkers and writers involved in The Library of Social Science would be well served by our attempts to bring together as many diverse analyses of sacrificial dynamics as possible, to reach many different audiences with a far-reaching and comprehensive investigation.

I additionally have argued that particularly in nations such as the United States, where Christian traditions, speech and rituals have played such a dominant role, Christian sacrificial exchange notions, especially those related to understandings about the death of Jesus as “the ultimate sacrifice for the salvation of the world,” further electrify and sacralize the dynamics of our sacrificial war-culture (see U.S. War-culture, Sacrifice and Salvation).

I hope the Christian sacrificial exchange metaphor above jumps out at readers of this Newsletter. In my own work, I have tried to address these theological constructions and critique them. Over time, I have discovered all too well that for many Christians, raising questions about the sacrificial interpretation of Jesus’ death raises hackles! Nevertheless, my conclusion is that Christian soteriological habits contribute to the presence of a sacred canopy over the ethos, institutions and practices of war in the United States.

Asking why we describe the death of soldiers as an “ultimate sacrifice,” creates an uncomfortable cognitive dissonance. This discomfort is mirrored in Christian settings, when we ask whether describing Jesus’ death as “the ultimate sacrifice” is a good idea. The seamless pattern of logic behind both linguistic constructions merges and is mutually reinforcing.

Before anything else, we have to develop eyes to see past the distortion and subterfuge, and recognize our reality. This first task belongs to the process of illuminating what had been formerly concealed, mystified or masked. In the case of the recent memorialization on the National Mall, for instance, we can shine light on the sacrificial discourse that has shaped and surrounded this process of memorialization.

We further may explore the ways sacrificial discourse functions to silence deeper or contradictory analyses, so that one central meaning is consolidated to interpret the vastness of injury from our recent wars. Recall veteran Wilson’s words: “Who could take issue with honoring those who have given a life sacrifice?” Seeing this phenomenon, that formerly was buried in our consciousness, is the first all-important step.

I am trying to imagine how our practices and institutions of war might be different if they did not operate within the omnipotent and omniscient sacrificial sacred canopy that currently shrouds them. If war was not religious, returning to Samet’s excellent question, would we finally arrive at the conclusion that indeed, “all war is futile”?

Released from the constraints of heresy for daring to challenge a transcendentalized but all-too-human institution, war, what changes would emerge as possible in our imaginations? For now, I am still in the process of trying to imagine language to respond to the question, “If we didn’t describe the deaths of soldiers as ‘an ultimate sacrifice,’ what would we say?”