Three Visions of Power
Armipotence, Amipotence, Omnipotence
“It is we, after all, who have the most to fear from the consequences of our own armipotence.”
— Eclectic Magazine, May 24/1, 1845
“As much as anything, these men were driven by the illusion of armipotence.”
— R. L. O’Connell, Of Arms & Men, vii.110, 1998
— Eclectic Magazine, May 24/1, 1845
“As much as anything, these men were driven by the illusion of armipotence.”
— R. L. O’Connell, Of Arms & Men, vii.110, 1998
Consider the term armipotence. It means “mighty in arms,” a fusion of the Latin arma (weapons) and potentia (power). Historically used in English literature from the 17th century onward, armipotence was often applied to war gods or rulers who wielded immense military strength. Though the word has fallen into disuse, the idea it represents remains culturally dominant—and deeply misleading.
The illusion of armipotence is the belief that true power lies in the ability to overpower. It appears wherever people equate strength with control, confuse dominance with dignity, or see vulnerability as weakness.
Armipotence isn’t just a military concept—it’s a mindset. A way of being in the world that prioritizes coercion over cooperation, force over listening, and invulnerability over mutuality. It shapes how leaders govern, how institutions function, how relationships unfold, and how individuals present themselves.
In politics, we see it in the glorification of strongmen who suppress dissent and wield fear as a weapon. In business, it manifests as cutthroat competition and executive cultures that reward aggression. In personal life, it shows up in emotional stonewalling, domestic control, and the refusal to apologize or admit pain. Even in parenting and education, the illusion lingers—in the belief that authority must never be questioned and that order requires domination. We see it in cultures that exalt the “self-made” individual, imagined as untouched by dependence, impervious to doubt.
But armipotence is an illusion because it misunderstands the nature of human strength—and of human experience itself. Our lives unfold, moment by moment, through a web of relationships and influences. We are shaped not only by other people in our immediate environment, to be sure, but also by many other factors: our historical situations, our bodies, the air we breathe and the food we eat, the cultural values of our society, the technologies we inherit or create, and the more-than-human world of plants and animals. These are not mere background conditions; they are participants in our becoming. In process-relational terms, experience begins in prehension—a felt connection with the world—and proceeds through response. The divine, if present at all, is not an aloof commander but a lure within this very web, inviting us toward richer forms of connection, creativity, and care.
By contrast, the illusion of armipotence treats relationship as threat, softness as failure, and openness as liability. It teaches us to clench rather than open, to win rather than relate, to endure rather than grow. In doing so, it isolates. It renders the human heart defensive, brittle, and alone.
True strength—lasting, generative strength—is not the power to overpower. It is the courage to be touched, the patience to listen, the capacity to adapt, and the wisdom to love. It is resilience rooted in connection, not domination. The illusion of armipotence must be named and outgrown if we are to live in communities that are just, whole, and humane.
Two Visions of Divine Power
When applied to God, the contrast between armipotence and amipotence reveals two radically different visions of the divine.
Armipotence, as a theological idea, imagines God as the ultimate wielder of coercive power—an all-controlling, all-conquering force.
This is the God of the clenched fist: the divine monarch who rules by decree, protects through domination, and enforces order through might. Such a God may inspire awe, but often at the cost of intimacy. In times of trauma, suffering, or moral failure, the armipotent God can seem distant, complicit, or cruel—why didn’t this God intervene? Why allow evil to persist?
By contrast, amipotence—a term coined by theologian Thomas Jay Oord—reimagines divine power not as the capacity to override, but as the unwavering power to love. Amipotence blends ami- (from the Latin amare, “to love”) with potence (power), yielding a vision of divine strength grounded in relationship, care, and mutuality. The amipotent God does not control all things, but lovingly participates in all things—empowering, luring, and sustaining life without coercion. This is the God of the open hand.
In open and relational theology, amipotence is not weakness; it is fierce, faithful, enduring love. It is the kind of power that works through consent, not force—through creative transformation, not domination. This God suffers with the suffering, rejoices with the joyful, and invites each creature toward its own flourishing. Divine power, in this view, is always relational: it works from within, not from above.
Theologically and ethically, the shift from armipotence to amipotence is more than semantic. It is a reorientation of our deepest intuitions about strength, agency, and what it means to be divine—or to live well. It suggests that the most sacred power is not the ability to crush but the capacity to care. Not the power to compel, but the power to connect.
If armipotence builds empires, amipotence builds communities. If armipotence commands obedience, amipotence inspires trust. If armipotence fears vulnerability, amipotence enters into it willingly. The cross, from this view, is not a failure of divine power—it is its fullest revelation.
Omnipotence
For many, the word omnipotence evokes the idea of an all-powerful God—one who can do anything, anytime, anywhere. Traditionally, this has meant total control: the power to intervene, to prevent suffering, to override free will, and to dictate outcomes. But what if omnipotence is not a fixed metaphysical trait, but an existential projection—a human imagination of what ultimate power must look like, shaped by cultural experience, social conditioning, and personal longing?
Seen this way, omnipotence is not a single, settled concept but a lens we place over the idea of divine power. And there are at least two lenses—two existential visions—through which omnipotence can be interpreted: armipotence and amipotence.
Omnipotence through the lens of Armipotence
Omnipotence through the lens of armipotence imagines God as the supreme commander, the cosmic king whose power consists in unilateral control. This God can act independently of the world, impose outcomes, override freedom, and protect the chosen. For those who crave certainty and security in an unpredictable world, this kind of omnipotence can be emotionally compelling. It promises order, punishment of evil, and the guarantee that someone is in charge.
But it also raises anguished questions: Why does an all-controlling God allow children to starve or wars to rage? Why do the innocent suffer? If God has the power to stop evil and chooses not to, what does that say about divine goodness?
Omnipotence through the lens of Amipotence
By contrast, omnipotence through the lens of amipotence, reframes divine power as relational, loving, and persuasive. Here, God’s power is not the ability to control everything, but the ability to love without limit, to call all things toward wholeness, and to be present in every moment as a source of creative transformation. This God works through consent, not coercion; through invitation, not imposition.
In this view, omnipotence means that God’s love is everywhere, in all things, at all times—not that God controls every outcome. It is an omnipresence of care, a universal availability of divine companionship and healing possibility. The power is not in overriding others, but in remaining faithful even when rejected, responsive even when ignored, luring even in the depths of despair. The cross, again, becomes emblematic—not of failed power, but of a different kind of power altogether.
So what is truly “all-powerful”?
The ability to dominate—or the capacity to love relentlessly? The force that compels—or the presence that remains?
In the end, the question of omnipotence may not be about the scope of power, but its nature. Is the deepest strength the ability to do anything—or the willingness to be with everything, to love through everything?
Our answer to that question shapes everything: our image of God, our ethics, our politics, and even our own sense of what it means to live with power in a wounded world.
The illusion of armipotence is the belief that true power lies in the ability to overpower. It appears wherever people equate strength with control, confuse dominance with dignity, or see vulnerability as weakness.
Armipotence isn’t just a military concept—it’s a mindset. A way of being in the world that prioritizes coercion over cooperation, force over listening, and invulnerability over mutuality. It shapes how leaders govern, how institutions function, how relationships unfold, and how individuals present themselves.
In politics, we see it in the glorification of strongmen who suppress dissent and wield fear as a weapon. In business, it manifests as cutthroat competition and executive cultures that reward aggression. In personal life, it shows up in emotional stonewalling, domestic control, and the refusal to apologize or admit pain. Even in parenting and education, the illusion lingers—in the belief that authority must never be questioned and that order requires domination. We see it in cultures that exalt the “self-made” individual, imagined as untouched by dependence, impervious to doubt.
But armipotence is an illusion because it misunderstands the nature of human strength—and of human experience itself. Our lives unfold, moment by moment, through a web of relationships and influences. We are shaped not only by other people in our immediate environment, to be sure, but also by many other factors: our historical situations, our bodies, the air we breathe and the food we eat, the cultural values of our society, the technologies we inherit or create, and the more-than-human world of plants and animals. These are not mere background conditions; they are participants in our becoming. In process-relational terms, experience begins in prehension—a felt connection with the world—and proceeds through response. The divine, if present at all, is not an aloof commander but a lure within this very web, inviting us toward richer forms of connection, creativity, and care.
By contrast, the illusion of armipotence treats relationship as threat, softness as failure, and openness as liability. It teaches us to clench rather than open, to win rather than relate, to endure rather than grow. In doing so, it isolates. It renders the human heart defensive, brittle, and alone.
True strength—lasting, generative strength—is not the power to overpower. It is the courage to be touched, the patience to listen, the capacity to adapt, and the wisdom to love. It is resilience rooted in connection, not domination. The illusion of armipotence must be named and outgrown if we are to live in communities that are just, whole, and humane.
Two Visions of Divine Power
When applied to God, the contrast between armipotence and amipotence reveals two radically different visions of the divine.
Armipotence, as a theological idea, imagines God as the ultimate wielder of coercive power—an all-controlling, all-conquering force.
This is the God of the clenched fist: the divine monarch who rules by decree, protects through domination, and enforces order through might. Such a God may inspire awe, but often at the cost of intimacy. In times of trauma, suffering, or moral failure, the armipotent God can seem distant, complicit, or cruel—why didn’t this God intervene? Why allow evil to persist?
By contrast, amipotence—a term coined by theologian Thomas Jay Oord—reimagines divine power not as the capacity to override, but as the unwavering power to love. Amipotence blends ami- (from the Latin amare, “to love”) with potence (power), yielding a vision of divine strength grounded in relationship, care, and mutuality. The amipotent God does not control all things, but lovingly participates in all things—empowering, luring, and sustaining life without coercion. This is the God of the open hand.
In open and relational theology, amipotence is not weakness; it is fierce, faithful, enduring love. It is the kind of power that works through consent, not force—through creative transformation, not domination. This God suffers with the suffering, rejoices with the joyful, and invites each creature toward its own flourishing. Divine power, in this view, is always relational: it works from within, not from above.
Theologically and ethically, the shift from armipotence to amipotence is more than semantic. It is a reorientation of our deepest intuitions about strength, agency, and what it means to be divine—or to live well. It suggests that the most sacred power is not the ability to crush but the capacity to care. Not the power to compel, but the power to connect.
If armipotence builds empires, amipotence builds communities. If armipotence commands obedience, amipotence inspires trust. If armipotence fears vulnerability, amipotence enters into it willingly. The cross, from this view, is not a failure of divine power—it is its fullest revelation.
Omnipotence
For many, the word omnipotence evokes the idea of an all-powerful God—one who can do anything, anytime, anywhere. Traditionally, this has meant total control: the power to intervene, to prevent suffering, to override free will, and to dictate outcomes. But what if omnipotence is not a fixed metaphysical trait, but an existential projection—a human imagination of what ultimate power must look like, shaped by cultural experience, social conditioning, and personal longing?
Seen this way, omnipotence is not a single, settled concept but a lens we place over the idea of divine power. And there are at least two lenses—two existential visions—through which omnipotence can be interpreted: armipotence and amipotence.
Omnipotence through the lens of Armipotence
Omnipotence through the lens of armipotence imagines God as the supreme commander, the cosmic king whose power consists in unilateral control. This God can act independently of the world, impose outcomes, override freedom, and protect the chosen. For those who crave certainty and security in an unpredictable world, this kind of omnipotence can be emotionally compelling. It promises order, punishment of evil, and the guarantee that someone is in charge.
But it also raises anguished questions: Why does an all-controlling God allow children to starve or wars to rage? Why do the innocent suffer? If God has the power to stop evil and chooses not to, what does that say about divine goodness?
Omnipotence through the lens of Amipotence
By contrast, omnipotence through the lens of amipotence, reframes divine power as relational, loving, and persuasive. Here, God’s power is not the ability to control everything, but the ability to love without limit, to call all things toward wholeness, and to be present in every moment as a source of creative transformation. This God works through consent, not coercion; through invitation, not imposition.
In this view, omnipotence means that God’s love is everywhere, in all things, at all times—not that God controls every outcome. It is an omnipresence of care, a universal availability of divine companionship and healing possibility. The power is not in overriding others, but in remaining faithful even when rejected, responsive even when ignored, luring even in the depths of despair. The cross, again, becomes emblematic—not of failed power, but of a different kind of power altogether.
So what is truly “all-powerful”?
The ability to dominate—or the capacity to love relentlessly? The force that compels—or the presence that remains?
In the end, the question of omnipotence may not be about the scope of power, but its nature. Is the deepest strength the ability to do anything—or the willingness to be with everything, to love through everything?
Our answer to that question shapes everything: our image of God, our ethics, our politics, and even our own sense of what it means to live with power in a wounded world.
Summary
Armipotence—a term meaning "mighty in arms"—as both a historical and existential illusion that equates true power with the ability to dominate, control, and overpower. Though the term has largely fallen out of use, the mindset it represents remains deeply embedded in political systems, corporate structures, personal relationships, and cultural ideals of strength. By contrast amipotence, a term coined by Thomas Jay Oord, reimagines power as the capacity to love without coercion, to dwell in empathy, and, as Pope Leo IV puts it, to "walk alongside others" in shared destiny.
In human life armipotence emphasizes authoritarian leadership, emotional detachment, and competitive individualism, while amipotence emphasizes relational strength, vulnerability, cooperation, and creative transformation. In relation to God these two lenses offer contrasting visions of divine omnipotence: one as unilateral control (armipotence), the other as loving persuasion (amipotence). Omnipotence can be existentially interpreted through these two lenses. When seen through the lens of amipotence, omnipotence means that the deepest form of power—divine or human—is not domination, but the enduring presence of love.