I was a little late to hear about the assassination of UnitedHealthcare CEO Brian Thompson. In the days leading up to the 2024 election, I deleted the news apps from my phone and purposefully disengaged with social media, just as I had in 2016 and 2020. This time, being disconnected felt so good that I didn’t bother plugging in again.
So I was ignorant when a colleague caught me in the hall after a morning class in early December. “Aren’t you the Robin Hood guy?” she asked. Used to this question, I chuckled and said yes.
Then she asked me what I thought about Thompson’s murder in light of my research. It would be one in a long stream of comparisons between the assassin, alleged to be a man named Luigi Mangione, and the legendary outlaw. Reddit, especially, has latched onto the idea of Mangione, who is scheduled to appear in court Friday, as a “noble outlaw” figure. The comparison has not gone unnoticed, and articles exploring the idea have appeared in Politico, The Globe and Mail, and HuffPost.
I’ve spent most of my adult life studying the Robin Hood legend, including how the legend inspired writers ranging from John Keats to J. R. R. Tolkien. I even teach a class at my university entitled “Robin Hood Through the Ages.” While I love the Errol Flynn movie and Disney’s vulpine hero, it’s the medieval Robin Hood who is closest to my heart.
In contrast to the Robin Hood seen in 20th-century films, this Robin was quite a bit rougher. The medieval version of the outlaw was prone to extortion and bouts of violence. Take, for example, this excerpt from “The Gest of Robyn Hode,” the medieval ballad that serves as the basis for the iconic “archery contest” adapted so many times on screen:
“Therof no force,” than sayde Robyn;
“We shall do well inowe;
But loke ye do no husbonde harme,
That tilleth with his ploughe. …
“These bisshoppes and these archebishoppes,
Ye shall them bete and bynde;
The hye sherif of Notyingham,
Hym holde ye in your mynde.”
In Modern English, this scene reads,
“Therefore no force,” then Robin said.
“We shall do well enough.
But look to do no husbands harm
who till with their ploughs. …
“These bishops and archbishops,
you shall beat and bind.
The high Sheriff of Nottingham,
you should hold him in your mind.”
Here Robin makes his intentions clear: He is ordering his Merry Men to leave the working class alone and instead to enact violence against the powerful figures he believes to be corrupt. Make no mistake, this version of Robin Hood was popular with commoners, the overwhelming majority of whom identified as Christians. As a matter of fact, a level of popularity with the Everyman is one of the core elements of a folkloric outlaw hero, from mythical characters such as Robin Hood to real-life, valorized figures like the American gangster John Dillinger.
At least for a certain segment of the population, Luigi Mangione as the alleged insurance assassin represents the same kind of noble outlaw, a rebel who fights an unjust or corrupt authority. But outlaw heroes have always had a complicated and nuanced relationship with Christianity.
Despite his morally dubious actions, the medieval Robin Hood was often depicted as strongly Christian. Yet this Christianity is tinged (some of my students have even said “tainted”) by violence. Unlike the gentler and more straightforwardly benevolent modern versions, this Robin never does any “robbing from the rich and giving to the poor.” Rather, he is considered good because of his violence, because he directs that violence toward people who exploit the meek and the downtrodden.
Perhaps not coincidentally, these are the very same people whom Jesus identifies as “blessed” during the Sermon on the Mount. And while it is true that Christians should never embrace the violence of outlaw heroes, we can and should share in their rejection of exploitation of the weak and the vulnerable—the Prophets certainly do (Amos 5:7–15; Ezek. 23:22–29).
Even without the generosity to the poor that has since become Robin Hood’s trademark, this form of directed violence has always been popular with the lower and middle classes, even the strongly Christian audience of the Middle Ages. Yet there is a real tension between such a propensity for violence and the gospel message. Yes, the desire to dispense retribution to those who hurt the vulnerable has shades of God’s justice. There is some noble motive here. But outlaw justice and divine justice are not the same. God’s goodness has nothing to do with murder.
Perhaps the most important way in which the noble outlaw falls short of the gospel concerns the question of victory. Noted Robin Hood scholar Stephen Knight observes that by his very nature as a symbol of resistance, Robin never achieves a large-scale victory. He may emerge triumphant in some skirmishes and battles, but he never succeeds in changing the social landscape. The noble outlaw, by nature, must be a hero who endures, who resists—not one who overcomes.
That means the noble outlaw is essentially doomed to failure, which is a large part of the romance and beauty of this kind of hero. But this propensity to failure also sets Robin Hood’s story—let alone the insurance assassin’s—well apart from that of Christianity. Robin’s followers may be temporarily helped, but they never fully triumph. Through his death and resurrection, Jesus provides those who follow him with final victory over sin and death.
Christianity does more than resist: It transforms.
Perry Neil Harrison is a professor of English at Fort Hays State University. His research focuses on the Robin Hood legend through the centuries.
