We assert that so long as our conscious intentions were not racist, then we are absolved from the racist effects of our actions.
This seems to be the preferred defense of biblical commentators. One way or another, they will declare that Jesus does not intend the racism that we hear. In my review of these commentaries, I find three versions of this argument.
The first notes that in the Greek, when Jesus uses the word “dog,” he is using the diminutive form (κυνάριον), in contrast to the standard (κύων) that Jesus uses to describe the dogs who lick at the poor man Lazarus’s sores (Luke 16:21). Thus, according to this argument, when he calls the Syrophoenician woman a dog, he is describing her not with contempt, but rather affection.9
The absurdity of this argument comes clear if we simply read his words again, replacing “dogs” with the diminutive, and more affectionate, “puppies”: It is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the [puppies.]
This is, of course, no less offensive, only more patronizing. And regardless, this reasoning still leaves the woman’s daughter to suffer and die.
The second line of argument emphasizes Jesus’s declaration, “Let the children be fed first.” From here, the commentators assert that Jesus’s intention is not to deny the Syrophoenicians needs; but rather, to defer them. Essentially, these commentators argue, he is simply telling the woman to wait her turn.10
There are two problems with this line of argument. The first is that the statement “Let the children be fed first,” appears only in Mark’s version of the story, not Matthew’s. For Matthew, at least, this detail is irrelevant. More fundamentally, this line of interpretation is uncomfortably reminiscent of the court’s decision in Plessy v. Ferguson. It would be akin to telling those who had to go to the back of bus that they were not being denied, only deferred. After all, in the end, the bus is still going to the same destination. And once again, his reasoning leaves the woman’s daughter to suffer.
The final version of this argument is a favorite of White interpreters with liberationist aspirations. I regret to say, I have preached it myself on one occasion. This argument states that by denying the woman in a racist fashion, Jesus provides her the opportunity to speak for, and claim, her own justice. Thus, he empowers her.11
This argument requires such contorted mental gymnastics that it is remarkable it does not cause aneurysms. Imagine a potential employer who tells an applicant, “We’re not hiring you because you’re Black.” When the applicant protests, the employer says, “You’re hired. I just wanted to give you the chance to speak up for yourself.” One can only hope that a civil rights lawsuit would follow.
Another defensive mechanism DiAngelo identifies is focusing on the messenger, rather than the message.12 That is, we invalidate criticism based on the method of its delivery rather than its content, colloquially: tone-policing. A particular favorite is the assertion that criticism must be delivered privately, or it is invalid.13 DiAngelo notes the absurdity of this rule, in that the racist behavior being critiqued is frequently public. Thus, the public space is preserved for racism, and antiracism is regulated to private spaces (where it is generally ignored anyway).
In reading the story of the Syrophoenician woman, I was surprised to notice how I engaged in that kind of tone-policing within my own mind. Through decades of reading this exchange, I had always imagined it as a private encounter. The witness of Mark’s account is unclear, though his statement “yet [Jesus] could not escape notice” at least suggests there might have been others present. Matthew, on the other hand, is very clear about the fact that the Syrophoenician woman had an audience.
By imagining the scene as a private one, I effectively moved the woman’s criticism to a venue I deemed more appropriate, and thus, allowed Jesus to save face (at least in my sight), which is to be expected: the defenses of White fragility operate even in the absence of external criticism, sabotaging the healthy parts of our own minds, so we cannot see for ourselves the structures of White supremacy that shape our lives.
Here, in all these various interpretations of the passage, we see the defensive reactions of DiAngelo’s White Fragility deployed to protect Jesus against the charge of racism. This is not particularly surprising. As DiAngelo notes, White fragility is endemic in our society.
What is surprising is to watch how Jesus reacts. Let us consider the scene again, from the beginning. Jesus delivers a racist rebuke: “It is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs” (Matt. 15:26). The woman responds with a bit of rhetorical brilliance—a pointed quip, a comic reversal of his words: “Yes, Lord, yet even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their masters’ table” (Matt. 15:27). Perhaps she speaks meekly, using the language of his own racism in an effort to ingratiate herself to him, thus subverting the rules of an oppressive system for her own need. Or perhaps she tosses his words back to him in a witty and sarcastic rebuke. We can’t really know. Regardless, the fundamental content of her retort is: Jesus is wrong. Specifically, his prejudice has led him to a false and unjust conclusion.
And now we encounter a startling and graceful surprise. In contrast to his later day interpreters, Jesus offers no defense; no explanation, no gas-lighting, no appeal to intent, no evasion or disengagement, no tone policing. He does not recenter himself. Instead, he simply states: “For saying that, you may go—the demon has left your daughter” (Mark 7:29).
A short phrase, but there is so much in that statement.
“For saying that . . .” that is, he amplifies her voice. He acknowledges, for anyone who is listening, that the woman’s critique was valid and her witness has proved it. This healing he will perform is not a matter of mercy, but one of justice. She was right and he was wrong. By contrast, White fragility moves to recenter our own voices. And if we do happen to engage in antiracist action, we frame it as a kind of largess of character, rather than simply a matter of paying what is owed.
“. . . [Y ]ou may go . . .” that is, he asks nothing further of her: neither thanks, nor recognition, nor absolution, nor even reconciliation. Whereas, White fragility demands that should we do right, we must be thanked, and acknowledged, and forgiven, and told we are friends again and that all is well.
“The demon has left your daughter.” Finally, he amends his behavior, and delivers her justice. (Mark’s account is kind enough to confirm for us that the girl was, in fact, healed.) He makes amends and focuses on what must be done. White fragility, by contrast, will focus on intention, sentiment, and statement, rather than change, action, and restitution.
At one point in her work, DiAngelo recounts posing a question to people of color:
“What would it be like if you could simply give [White people] feedback, have us graciously receive it, reflect, and work to change the behavior?”14 “It would be revolutionary,”15 a man of color replied with a sigh. Mark 7:29 shows us what that revolution could look like in practice.
We might ask ourselves—and I do—why the Evangelists would include this very unflattering story of the Messiah whom they loved, and his racism. We might wonder why they reported this singular and unique story of Jesus losing an argument.
