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New Blog Series – Cross and Khôra: Deconstruction and Christianity in the Work of John D. Caputo (Postmodern Ethics Book 1)

In looking at the first half of Caputo’s opening essay, we are introduced to the idea of a cross that goes beyond substitutionary atonement.  He writes:

But, as E. P. Sanders has shown, even in St. Paul, where the sacrificial interpretation of the death of Jesus is accepted, it is not his central idea. What is much more important to Paul is that we who die with Jesus on the cross, that is, we who die to the flesh and to sin, to our narcissism and several lusts (like the lust for power), are lifted up into a new life, a life of grace, at one with the life and body of Christ, with all the freedom of God’s children. It is not a question of paying off a debt but of gaining access to a new life. Not a question of economy, but of the gift, of grace (charis), a central concept of Paul’s that is not widely used outside the Pauline texts. Moreover, the atonement story about Jesus’s death is held in check by the Synoptic stories of Jesus’s life and of the kingdom whose coming Jesus calls for… In the story of the prodigal son, the father does not sit down and calculate just how much suffering his errant son should endure in order to compensate for the injury done to his paternity. Indeed, the idea that seeing his son suffer would in some way constitute a payback to the father would clearly be abhorrent to the sort of father portrayed in this story. It would be abhorrent to any father or mother worthy of the parental name, which it is why it is unworthy of the name of God—a human, all-too-human way to think about God.  Zlomislic, Marko; DeRoo, Neal. Cross and Khôra: Deconstruction and Christianity in the Work of John D. Caputo (Postmodern Ethics Book 1) (p. 23). Pickwick Publications, an Imprint of Wipf and Stock Publishers. Kindle Edition.

One thing critical scholars like Ehrman have noted is a pre cross/resurrection strand of Jesus material that go against the cross/resurrection bias and so are probably historical.  Jesus begins his mission by calling for repentance, and for God to forgive in the Lord’s prayer, not that a price is owed.  The story of the rich young ruler says salvation comes foe selling your belongings and giving to the poor like the apostles left their families and lives, and the story of the sheep and goats says salvation comes from caring for the destitute.  Similarly, the forgiving Jesus inspiring the soldier to repent like the forgiving Stephen as a catalyst for Paul’s vision, points to a salvation beyond cross/resurrection atonement theology

The life and death of Jesus is an emblem of what St. Paul—who enjoyed taunting and scandalizing Greek metaphysics with this image of Christ crucified—calls the “weakness of God” (1 Cor 1:25). Let us take our lead from the old tradition that the death of Jesus was a prophetic death—the death of a man who told the truth to the powers that be, who defied temple authority and disregarded the authority of Rome, and who was made to pay for his defiance. He suffered the fate of the prophets, which is to fall victim to the powers of the world. He suffered the humiliating and torturous death of a common criminal and thereby revealed the solidarity of God with unjust suffering, with the victims of evil and injustice—for that is what he was in truth, what the world had made of him. He came into the world but the world knew him not.  Zlomislic, Marko; DeRoo, Neal. Cross and Khôra: Deconstruction and Christianity in the Work of John D. Caputo (Postmodern Ethics Book 1) (pp. 25-26). Pickwick Publications, an Imprint of Wipf and Stock Publishers. Kindle Edition.

As I said in the previous post on the death of Socrates and the impaled just man in the Republic, there is something in seeing excess violence that will awaken the law written on our hearts, such as really seeing LGBTQ rights being trampled by the traditional definition od marriage which is an occasion to deconstruct the definition and reconstruct it in a more inclusive way.  Or, watching a documentary on animal injustice may make you rethink your omnivore status.

 In and under the name of God, before God, we are unconditionally laid claim to; but God is not a superforce that moves mountains, steers tsunamis away from inhabited shores, shrinks cancerous tumors, or favors one team or another in the World Series or World Cup soccer, all of which are magical and idolatrous ideas of God. Moving mountains is an icon of faith which has become an idol of metaphysical theology. The God of the New Testament is thought in terms of love not power, as William Placher argues, and accordingly the sense of God’s power must be ordered to the preeminence of God’s love. The power of God in the New Testament is not to be conceived like the pagan Zeus wielding bolts of thunder at anyone who incurs his wrath … If, in Christianity, Jesus is the revelation of God, the eikon of the Father, then the God revealed by Jesus is revealed in powerlessness, in suffering and vulnerability, as a father or mother weeping over his or her suffering children.  Zlomislic, Marko; DeRoo, Neal. Cross and Khôra: Deconstruction and Christianity in the Work of John D. Caputo (Postmodern Ethics Book 1) (p. 28). Pickwick Publications, an Imprint of Wipf and Stock Publishers. Kindle Edition.

The forgiving Christ on the cross or forgiving Stephen being stoned are God personified, like the Picasso is Art incarnate, or the Eagle circling is nature incarnate, to use imagery Heidegger attributes to Aristotle. Caputo seems to want to distance the bible authors from the Greeks, so as a small criticism is I would like to bring the Greeks back to the table such as with the prayerful death of Socrates and the impaled just man of the republic.  When Aristotle talks in the Rhetoric about a slave’s remorse for bad behavior as appeasing a master’s wrath, this remorse as figurative atonement is present elsewhere in ancient Greek literature/thought.  The core idea is present in broader ancient Greek thought, but the specific framing of a slave’s remorse (or confession/regret) as a figurative atonement that appeases a master’s wrath is most explicitly and systematically articulated in Aristotle’s Rhetoric (Book 2, Chapter 3), and scholars treat it as illustrative of classical Greek views on anger (orgē).

Aristotle explains ways to calm anger: it arises from perceived belittlement (oligōria), so it subsides when the offender shows the slight was unintentional or has been “paid for.” Specifically, he states that anger lessens “toward those who admit [they were wrong] and show regret [homologousi kai metamelomenois] … for it is as though they have paid the penalty [hoionei diken] for the pain they caused.” He then illustrates this with the master-slave dynamic: masters punish slaves who talk back or deny wrongdoing (which seems like shameless contempt, provoking more anger), but “we leave off being angry at those who confess that they are being justly punished.” Humbling oneself (tapeinoumenoi), begging, or pleading works similarly because it signals inferiority and fear, not belittlement.

Here, the slave’s remorse/confession functions as figurative atonement: it is not (primarily like with Jesus) a deep moral transformation or plea for personal forgiveness in the modern sense, but a social act that restores hierarchy, acknowledges the master’s superiority, and thereby satisfies the anger tied to status. David Konstan (in his analysis of this passage and classical emotions) emphasizes that Aristotle’s view is status- and power-oriented: inferiors (like slaves) do not properly feel or express anger toward superiors; instead, their admission of fault prevents the superior from perceiving contempt. This fits Aristotle’s larger framework in the Rhetoric where anger is a response to voluntary slight, and appeasement comes from reasserting (or not challenging) relative power.

This precise slave-remorse-as-atonement illustration appears to be Aristotle’s own rhetorical example, drawn from observed social practice rather than a direct quotation from earlier literature. Extensive searches of ancient Greek texts and scholarship turn up no identical parallel (i.e., a literary scene or philosophical discussion explicitly linking a slave’s metameleia/regret specifically to figurative penalty-payment that calms a master’s wrath in those terms). However, related ideas of remorse, confession, humility, or supplication as mechanisms to appease anger/superior wrath do appear more broadly in Greek literature and thought, often tied to honor, hierarchy, and social relations:

In short, Aristotle codifies and theorizes a social dynamic that was likely familiar in everyday Greek master-slave relations (confession averts harsher punishment by affirming hierarchy), framing remorse explicitly as figurative atonement in a rhetorical handbook. It is not a standalone literary trope repeated verbatim elsewhere, but it exemplifies a characteristically Greek understanding of emotions as embedded in status and power rather than individualized guilt/forgiveness. The closest “elsewhere” instances are general practices of humility or supplication to appease superiors, or remorse displays in non-slave contexts—consistent with Aristotle’s worldview but without his precise slave-master + atonement language. Konstan’s chapter in Ancient Forgiveness (2012) or his related work provides the most rigorous analysis of this classical paradigm.

And so, with the master/servant dynamic, the Bible consistently portrays God as Master (or Lord) and humans—particularly His people—as servants (or slaves), using this hierarchy as a central metaphor for the relationship between Creator and creation.

In both the Old and New Testaments, God is frequently called “Lord” (Hebrew Adonai or Yahweh; Greek Kyrios, meaning “master” or “owner”), and believers are described as His servants or slaves (Hebrew ebed; Greek doulos, often translated “servant” or “bondservant” but literally “slave”). This is not presented as oppressive but as a willing, loving submission to a good and sovereign Master. Examples include Old Testament roots: Israelites are repeatedly called God’s servants (e.g., in the laws about Hebrew servants in Exodus 21, which echo voluntary loyalty to God). The prophets and psalms reinforce this dynamic of obedience and dependence.

Jesus teaches “No one can serve two masters” (Matthew 6:24), applying it to God versus money or sin. Paul, Peter, James, Jude, and John all open their letters identifying as “slaves of Christ” or “servants of God” (e.g., Romans 1:1; Titus 1:1; James 1:1; 2 Peter 1:1). Romans 6:16–22 explicitly contrasts being “slaves to sin” (leading to death) versus “slaves to God” (leading to righteousness and eternal life). Ephesians 6:5–9 and Colossians 4:1 address earthly slaves and masters while reminding both that they ultimately serve the same heavenly Master, underscoring universal accountability.

This master-servant (or slave) framework highlights God’s ownership, authority, and care—believers are “bought with a price” (1 Corinthians 6:19–20) and called to live as “servants of God” even while free in other respects (1 Peter 2:16).

God directly asserts this hierarchy in the Book of Job, most famously in the speech from the whirlwind (Job 38–41). “Where were you when I laid the earth’s foundation?” (Job 38:4)—is the opening of God’s rhetorical questions that emphasize His role as sovereign Creator and Master over the universe, in contrast to Job’s limited human perspective.  God continues by asking who determined the earth’s measurements, stretched its lines, set its foundations, and caused the “morning stars” (angels) to sing for joy (Job 38:4–7). The entire passage humbles Job by underscoring the vast gap in power, knowledge, and authority: God created and sustains everything; Job (as a creature) cannot question or comprehend the full scope of divine justice or providence. This is a classic biblical assertion of the master-servant dynamic—God does not explain Himself on equal terms but calls for submission and trust. Job responds in repentance: “I spoke of things I did not understand… I retract my words and repent in dust and ashes” (Job 42:3, 6), acknowledging the hierarchy.

Regarding figurative atonement of repentance rather than sacrificial payment appeasing the master’s wrath, the Bible repeatedly states that God desires a contrite (broken, repentant) heart rather than mere external sacrifice or ritual. This is not a minor theme but a core prophetic emphasis on inner humility and relationship over empty religious performance. 

For example, Psalm 51:17 (David’s prayer after his sin with Bathsheba): “My sacrifice, O God, is a broken spirit; a broken and contrite heart you, God, will not despise.” David explicitly says God takes no delight in animal sacrifices alone (v. 16); what pleases Him is genuine remorse and humility.  Hosea 6:6: “For I desire mercy, not sacrifice, and acknowledgment of God rather than burnt offerings.” God criticizes Israel for going through religious motions without love, steadfast loyalty (chesed), or true knowledge of Him. Similar ideas appear in other prophets (e.g., Micah 6:6–8 prioritizes justice, mercy, and walking humbly with God over offerings) and are quoted by Jesus in the Gospels (Matthew 9:13; 12:7) to rebuke hypocritical ritualism. This is a point Caputo and Barth make.

The Bible frames God as the ultimate Master who values heartfelt repentance, submission, and relational acknowledgment far above formal sacrifices or outward displays—precisely because a “contrite heart” restores the proper master-servant bond. This is presented as good news: God does not despise the humble but receives them (Psalm 51:17; Isaiah 57:15; 66:2). The overall biblical picture is consistent with the hierarchy we referenced from Job and the earlier Aristotelian parallel—remorse or contrition functions as the relational “atonement” that pleases the Master. And it’s more ethical that way. If a moral atheist was never able to come to belief despite sincere effort, and is lost, while a serial killer of children repents on his death bed and is saved, then God is Evil.