Archpriest Valentin Sventsitsky (+1931)
§ I
What priest, especially a
military chaplain, has not encountered the question:
“In the Gospel it is said, ‘Thou
shalt not kill,’ ‘all they that take the sword shall perish with the sword,’
‘love your enemies’—and yet you, Father, pray for the ‘granting of victory’ and
bless killing and war?”
And what priest himself has not
been troubled by these questions?
In Filaret’s Catechism it
is said:
“Question. Is
every taking of life an unlawful killing?
Answer. It is
not an unlawful killing when life is taken in the discharge of one’s duty, as,
for example:
1. When a
criminal is punished with death in accordance with justice.
2. When an enemy
is killed in war for the sovereign and the fatherland.” [1]
And not another word!
In spiritual writers you may read
laudatory articles about heroes who die on the field of battle. But “praise” in
itself is not proof. And no matter how many such praises may be written, the
question of the Christian attitude toward war remains, in substance,
unresolved. The great philosopher of the Russian land, Vladimir Solovyov, wrote
about the meaning of war; but how many ordinary members of the
intelligentsia—not to mention people of little education—have read his moral
philosophy (The Justification of the Good) or Three Conversations?
In general, the question of the
Christian attitude toward war is passed over in silence. It is regarded
as a “delicate” subject.
At best, people are prepared to
“forgive” priests for making a “compromise” out of human weakness when they
bless war: “A wife... children...” At worst, they suspect them of deliberate
deception.
Those who refuse military service
“on religious grounds” arouse general sympathy: people are prepared to regard
them as more consistent Christians.
The commandment “Thou shalt not
kill” is so categorical that every attempt to reconcile it with the
permissibility of war for Christians seems like insincere sophistry aimed at
justifying an evil known in advance to be such.
And yet there can be no doubt
that the Orthodox Church is profoundly right in its attitude toward war.
Christianity does not reject war in
principle.
Not every war is an evil
from the Christian point of view.
There can be a war which it is
not merely a “compromise” for the Church to bless, but a direct duty of the
Christian Church.
§ II
Everything that is most living
and most imbued with spirit can be turned into the dead letter of the law.
“Love your enemies, bless them
that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them which
despitefully use you, and persecute you” (Matt. 5:44).
These words set the pagan world
aflame. For they were not merely a “commandment,” but also an expression of
Divine love for mankind.
Thus spoke He Who voluntarily
took upon Himself all the sins of the world. Thus spoke His disciples, for whom
this love was not an abstract “rule,” but a living reality.
In our own day, even here a dead
dogmatism has become possible, transforming the life-giving spirit into the
deadening letter of an abstract dogma.
Leo Tolstoy is one of the most
dangerous enemies of the Christian Church.
For two reasons:
First, he is absolutely sincere
in his errors.
Second, his most anti-Christian
errors in the theoretical and moral spheres are interwoven with genuinely
Christian writings. As a result, the truth captivates the heart, while together
with the truth, unprepared people eagerly absorb Tolstoy’s false, “simplified”
Gospel, which empties the soul and tears believers away from the Christian
Church.
What, then, is the result?
It is this.
Tolstoy’s disciples do not
possess Tolstoy’s soul. He could not transmit to them his heart, his
conscience, his genius. He transmitted to them a teaching. This teaching
rejects the Divinity of Christ and the Church with her Mysteries, attempting to
replace everything with the commandment of love and non-resistance to
evil.
But the living feeling of love
encounters, on the path of its growth, insurmountable obstacles in our evil and
sinful nature and in the evil and sinful environment around us, which
constitutes a kind of “collective evil” accumulated over the centuries.
These obstacles can be overcome
only through the conciliar efforts of the Church. This is why anyone who
separates himself from the Church blocks for himself the path even to the
commandment of love, understood not as an abstract rule but as an attained state
of spirit, which the Apostle defines by the words “the bond of
perfectness.” Deprived of the nourishment of grace that comes from the
ecclesial organism through the Mysteries, a man is left alone with his
individual powers in the struggle against the evil of the world and of fallen
nature. As a result, his life becomes stagnant. And all appeals to “love”
inevitably degenerate into a senseless “teaching.”
There is an enormous difference
between doing something because you love a person and doing something
because you must love a person.
In the first case there is a
living feeling; in the second, a “rule,” a “duty,” a “dogma.”
A living feeling of love never
errs. It is always true. Its “inner logic” can serve as a test for theoretical
reasoning.
A “rule” based upon reason can
easily prove false, because a single logical error at the beginning is enough
to lead one, in the final conclusions, in a direction completely opposite to
the truth.
Nowhere is this more obvious than
in the reasoning of the “Tolstoyans” about war.
Not loving people in a Christian
manner, but merely accepting a teaching about such love, they resolved the
question of war according to the letter of the law, according to a dead dogma.
And although, outwardly, by seemingly rejecting war in principle and refusing
military service “on religious grounds,” they appear to fulfil the commandment
to love one’s enemies, in spirit—in the inner, living meaning of
Christianity—they distort it just as much as the “wax” figures in museums
distort the living image of a human being.
How, then, should a Christian
regard war, resolving this question according to conscience and the spirit
rather than according to a dead dogma?
§ III
War is a great calamity.
And all those who argue that it
is impossible for Christians to take part in war are fond of speaking about its
horrors.
It comes down to this:
Those who justify war do not
understand how terrible it is—if they did understand, they would not justify
it. And so every effort is made to awaken the “hardened heart” with accounts of
violence, cruelty, and a “sea of human blood”...
It is difficult to measure human
suffering. And indeed, I would not presume to decide for whom the “horrors of
war” are more painful—Garshin, who goes to war “to kill,” [2] or some sectarian
who throws down his rifle and refuses military service “on religious grounds.”
But in any case, one point must
be firmly established:
— The fundamental question of
whether war is permissible or impermissible for the Christian conscience has no
connection whatsoever with differing assessments of its “horrors.” Everyone
acknowledges these horrors—and therefore there is no need to dwell upon them.
For if war is permissible, it is
certainly not because it causes “nothing but pleasure.” And if it is
impermissible, it is certainly not because people perceive how terrible it is.
The question of war is decided on
an entirely different plane.
§ IV
The fundamental error of those
who reject war lies in their treating as equivalent two words that are by no
means identical:
War and killing.
Substituting for the word “war”
what they suppose to be the equivalent word “killing,” they declare, on the
basis of the precise wording of the Gospel, that every war is sinful, because
killing is a sin.
But one must consider why
killing is a sin. Then it will become clear that “killing” and “war” are far
from being one and the same thing.
The commandment “Thou shalt not
kill” was given in the Old Testament. And alongside this commandment, in the
very same Old Testament, there are enumerated a great many crimes for which the
“death penalty” is prescribed! It is perfectly clear that by the killing
forbidden by God was meant such killing as was an expression of man’s evil
will—of his “lack of love” for his neighbor. Christ, by broadening the
concept of “neighbor” so as to include even “enemies,” naturally broadened the
content of the commandment “Thou shalt not kill” as well. Yet He broadened it
still on the basis of the principle of love. From the Christian point of
view also, killing remained sinful solely insofar as it constitutes a violation
of the all-embracing commandment of love for one’s neighbors.
In the vast majority of
cases, killing is indeed a violation of the commandment of love, and therefore
we have become accustomed to generalizing this commandment to such an extent
that it has acquired an absolute character. We say: “Every killing is a
sin.”
But if we make an error
concerning the content of the commandment “Thou shalt not kill” when we
give it such an unconditional character, we compound that error all the
more when we include within the scope of this commandment war as
well—that is, a concept essentially different from that of “killing.” In
killing, the aim is always presumed to be “the destruction of a human
person.”
In war, the aim is victory,
while the taking of life is by no means always an indispensable means of
attaining that aim.
For example, if the enemy is
offered terms of surrender, accepts the demands presented to him, and
surrenders, no “killing” will take place, because “victory” will already have
been achieved.
It is therefore clear that in
war, as an action that does not have precisely the killing of a human
being as its aim, the question of such killing must be transferred from an
absolute plane to a relative one. If “killing” is a sin because it violates the
commandment of love, then all the more is only that war sinful which
violates this supreme principle of love. In other words: not every war is a
sin, but only that war which pursues an evil aim, for the moral significance of
war is determined by that for the sake of which victory is sought.
§ V
The second error, closely
connected with the first, consists in setting war in opposition to “love for
one’s enemies,” while overlooking the fact that war may sometimes be the
inevitable and only possible manifestation of active love.
This question was given a classic
treatment by Vladimir Solovyov in The Justification of the Good.
Read the following passage:
“The meaning of
war is not exhausted by its negative definition as an evil and a calamity;
there is also something positive in it—not in the sense that war is in itself
normal, but only in the sense that, under given conditions, it may be genuinely
necessary. ...For example, although everyone would agree that throwing children
out of a window onto the pavement is in itself a godless, inhuman, and
unnatural act, nevertheless, if during a fire there is no other means of
getting the unfortunate children out of the burning house, then this terrible
act becomes not only permissible but obligatory. Obviously, the rule of
throwing children out of a window in extreme cases is not an independent
principle on the same level as the moral principle of saving those who are
perishing; on the contrary, this latter moral requirement remains here as well
the sole motive for action. There is no departure here from the moral
norm, but only its direct application by a means which, though abnormal and
dangerous, nevertheless, by force of actual necessity, proves to be the only
possible one under the given conditions. Does not war likewise depend
upon such a necessity, by virtue of which this mode of action, abnormal in
itself, becomes permissible and even obligatory under certain circumstances?”
[3]
In other words, according to
Solovyov, the “dangerous” means of actively expressing one’s love in this case
consisted in throwing the children down onto the pavement, at the risk of
killing them. The “killing” here was not an act of “evil will.” At its foundation
lay love, the desire to save. In the same way, when an entire people
must be rescued from the flames, a situation may arise in which it becomes
necessary to employ measures dictated by love, but entailing unavoidable
sacrifices, without which, under the given conditions, it is impossible to
do.
“To kill people in war,” just
like “throwing children onto the pavement” (so long as there is no other means
of saving them), is not an “independent principle of morality”; on the
contrary, here too the demands of love remain the “sole motive.”
Thus, here as well, the moral
content of “evil killing” and of war waged for the sake of saving one’s neighbors
is entirely different. Therefore, the commandment “Thou shalt not kill” cannot
simply be extended to war, which is by no means always contrary to the
commandment to love one’s enemies.
§ VI
And finally, the third and
perhaps most fateful error of those who condemn war in principle consists in
reducing the question of war to the following choice:
— Either “kill” (those who go to
war).
— Or “do not kill” (those who
refuse military service).
In reality, however, such a
choice by no means exhausts the question. There may be wars in which a
Christian is faced with an entirely different question, namely:
Whom to kill?
There may be a situation in which
one is forced to choose between two inevitable killings. So to speak, to choose
the lesser of two evils.
And then the Christian who goes
to war says, as it were:
— If this is inevitable, then let
the criminal be killed rather than the innocent man.
While the one who refuses to go
to war chooses otherwise:
— Let the innocent man be killed,
and let the criminal live.
Indeed, imagine the following
example: a regiment of soldiers is defending peaceful inhabitants from
advancing Bolsheviks.
Both the civilians and the
soldiers defending them know perfectly well that, in the event of a Bolshevik
victory, almost the entire population will be destroyed. Past experience makes
this supposition an absolutely certain fact. After Bolshevik invasions, women
were found violated and mutilated, old men and children shot. Under such
conditions, tell me in all conscience: can a refusal to continue fighting be
called a refusal to kill? Would a regiment of soldiers who threw down their
rifles on the basis of the commandment “Thou shalt not kill” really have killed
no one? Would not the soldiers who refused to defend completely innocent
people, thereby abandoning them to Bolshevik vengeance, have become
participants in those killings which would have been carried out by other
hands?
One must arm oneself with all the
bad faith of fanatical reasoning in order to answer this question in the
negative. And one must completely extinguish in one’s heart the living feeling
of love and replace it with an utterly soulless dogma in order, under such
conditions, to throw down one’s weapon and imagine that precisely such a
“refusal of military service” is dictated by Christian love!
The opponents of war will ask:
— What then? Fight? Kill?
Yes, fight, and if victory cannot
otherwise be attained—kill. Because the choice is unavoidable. The choice is
not between “kill” and “do not kill,” but between “kill” the Bolsheviks who are
attacking criminally and “kill” the entirely innocent civilians who will be
shot by Bolshevik rifles.
In the moral sense, the
accomplice who allows a crime to be committed is even more guilty of killing by
another’s hands than the one who does it at his own risk. For both commit the
killing, but the first risks his own life in doing so and assumes full responsibility
for what he has done, while the other “washes his hands” and, by avoiding a
deadly confrontation, avoids moral responsibility as well.
They say:
— We must love our enemies. How
then can I kill someone whom I love? If I love him, he is no longer an enemy.
If he is not an enemy, he cannot be killed.
Yes! We must love our enemies!
But where is it said that we need not love peaceful, completely innocent
inhabitants? And if you love them too, then the question of the enemy falls
away. You must defend the defenseless with weapons not because you must “hate”
the evildoer, but because you have no other means of defending the victim, whom
you love in a Christian manner, from the evildoer, whom you also love in a
Christian manner. You know that killing is inevitable—and it is only for this
reason that you make a choice.
To wash one’s hands and say, “I
love both equally,” is to fall into a dogmatism bordering on the most hopeless
Pharisaical hypocrisy. In the first place, such equal love is in practice
impossible; but even if it were possible, there remains, besides love, the
sense of justice—and this too would compel one to choose in favor of the
innocent victim.
One cannot simply brush the
question aside and say:
— I know one thing: Thou shalt
not kill! This is God’s commandment. Let the evildoer kill—I shall not break
the commandment.
No, you will break it! For no
matter how much you justify yourself with the “formal excuse” that you did not
pull the trigger of the rifle and therefore did not kill, it will remain
unalterably true before the conscience, “in substance,” that anyone who had the
opportunity to protect someone from a murderer and failed to do so is himself a
participant in the killing.
What kind of justification is it
to say that you “love your enemies” and therefore could not kill the evildoer,
when you were able to permit the killing of an innocent victim? Together with
the evildoer, you killed that victim: one pulled the trigger, while the other,
having had the opportunity to kill the criminal, did not prevent him from
committing the crime.
It is impossible to appeal to the
will of God and seek in it a justification for one’s complicity by inaction!
One cannot say:
— I shall fulfil the commandment
“Thou shalt not kill”—that is my duty—and after that, let God’s will be done!
For it is not apart from the will
of God that life itself creates such circumstances in which Christians are
forced to make this terrible choice between two inevitable killings. It is not
apart from the will of God that criminal invasions are permitted, and certainly
it is not apart from the will of God that Christians raise their sword in defense
of innocent people, just as it is not apart from the will of God that some
refuse “military service.” Thus, “the will of God” does not remove from us
moral responsibility for one or another answer to the question: “What should
one do in this particular case?”
To refuse protection on purely
formal grounds and, instead of obeying the voice of love that urges one to take
up arms, to obey the dead letter that commands one to throw them down—and then
to appeal to the “will of God”—is to preach moral suicide.
Thus, when a choice between two
killings is inevitable, the question comes down to whom one is to regard in the
particular conflict as the evildoer and whom as the innocent victim. In other
words, the question is transferred to an entirely different plane. It is no
longer a matter of whether war is permissible or impermissible in principle,
but of which particular war is permissible. Here the Christian is faced not
with an evaluation of war itself, but of the aims which it pursues. Hence, it
is clear that Christianity permits war for the sake of aims that coincide with
Christian ideals. In an unjust war, what is “unchristian” is not war itself,
but the injustice for the sake of which it is waged. And conversely, war is
blessed by the Church only to the extent that its ultimate aim can itself be
blessed.
Let us sum up.
An analysis of the essence of war
leads us to the conclusion that, from the Christian point of view, war is not
only permissible, but may at times be morally obligatory.
It is permissible because it does
not exclude the possibility of genuinely Christian love for one’s enemies. And
it is obligatory because at times it may be the only possible form in which
active love can be expressed. This is so in those cases where war presents a
choice not between the shedding and the non-shedding of blood, but between two
inevitable killings, of which one is the killing of the evildoer and the other
the killing of the innocent victim.
§ VII
In the Gospel there is one
passage that is difficult to interpret, which is often cited by opponents of
war and which is not fully covered by our reasoning about war and killing.
It is the moment in the Garden of
Gethsemane when Peter cut off the servant’s ear and Christ commanded the
Apostle to put his sword back into its place, saying: “Put up again thy sword
into his place: for all they that take the sword shall perish with the sword”
(Matt. 26:52).
For it would seem that this was
precisely a matter of defense—and, moreover, the defense of the Most Innocent
of the innocent. Perhaps, then, what is given here is an absolute condemnation
of every form of “military action” in principle?
After all, the Apostle wished to defend,
not to “kill.”
But here too, just as with the
commandment “Thou shalt not kill,” people fail to see behind the letter the
spiritual essence of Christ’s words: they read, but do not understand.
First of all, let us recall this
event as it is related in all the Gospels. In the Gospel according to Matthew
it is told as follows:
“...Behold,
Judas, one of the twelve, came, and with him a great multitude with swords and
staves, from the chief priests and elders of the people. Now he that betrayed
Him gave them a sign, saying, Whomsoever I shall kiss, that same is He: hold
Him fast. And forthwith he came to Jesus, and said, Hail, Master; and kissed
Him. And Jesus said unto him, Friend, wherefore art thou come? Then came they,
and laid hands on Jesus, and took Him. And, behold, one of them which were with
Jesus stretched out his hand, and drew his sword, and struck a servant of the
high priest’s, and smote off his ear. Then said Jesus unto him, Put up again
thy sword into his place: for all they that take the sword shall perish with
the sword. Thinkest thou that I cannot now pray to My Father, and He shall
presently give Me more than twelve legions of angels? But how then shall the
scriptures be fulfilled, that thus it must be?” (Matt. 26:47–54).
From the Gospel according to
Mark:
“And he that
betrayed Him had given them a token, saying, Whomsoever I shall kiss, that same
is He; take Him, and lead Him away safely. And as soon as he was come, he goeth
straightway to Him, and saith, Master, Master; and kissed Him. And they laid
their hands on Him, and took Him. And one of them that stood by drew a sword,
and smote a servant of the high priest, and cut off his ear. And Jesus answered
and said unto them, Are ye come out, as against a thief, with swords and with
staves to take Me? I was daily with you in the temple teaching, and ye took Me
not: but the scriptures must be fulfilled” (Mark 14:44–49).
In the Gospel according to Luke:
“...For I say
unto you, that this that is written must yet be accomplished in Me, And He was
reckoned among the transgressors: for the things concerning Me have an end. And
they said, Lord, behold, here are two swords. And He said unto them, It is
enough.... And while He yet spake, behold a multitude, and he that was called
Judas, one of the twelve, went before them, and drew near unto Jesus to kiss
Him. For he had given them this token: Whomsoever I shall kiss, that same is
He. But Jesus said unto him, Judas, betrayest thou the Son of Man with a kiss?
When they which were about Him saw what would follow, they said unto Him, Lord,
shall we smite with the sword? And one of them smote the servant of the high
priest, and cut off his right ear. And Jesus answered and said, Suffer ye thus
far. And He touched his ear, and healed him” (Luke 22:37–38, 47–51).
In the Gospel according to John:
“Then asked He
them again, Whom seek ye? And they said, Jesus of Nazareth. Jesus answered, I
have told you that I am He: if therefore ye seek Me, let these go their way:
that the saying might be fulfilled, which He spake, Of them which Thou gavest
Me have I lost none. Then Simon Peter having a sword drew it, and smote the
high priest’s servant, and cut off his right ear. The servant’s name was
Malchus. Then said Jesus unto Peter, Put up thy sword into the sheath: the cup
which My Father hath given Me, shall I not drink it? Then the band and the
captain and officers of the Jews took Jesus, and bound Him” (John 18:7–12).
Let us not wrench individual
phrases out of the events described and turn them into mechanical and soulless
“rules.” Let us try, step by step, to bring to life before us what took
place in all its inner significance. The Lord came with His disciples into the
Garden of Gethsemane. He knew that that night He would be betrayed to
crucifixion and death. He had told His disciples this as well.
The thought flashed through the
disciples’ minds, “humanly speaking”: “We must defend ourselves.”
They said:
— Lord! Behold, here are two
swords.
Christ answered:
— It is enough.
He did not tell them that the
swords were unnecessary. On the contrary, in the words “It is enough”
there seems to sound a kind of assent. But assent to what? To “defense”?
The subsequent events do not confirm this. Defense was rejected! Then for what
purpose were two swords “enough”?
The disciples, exhausted by the
anxiety of the night, fall asleep. Christ prays. This is His prayer before
Golgotha. His soul is exceeding sorrowful, even unto death. He prays until His
sweat becomes as drops of blood. What is His prayer about? That the cup might
pass from Him? Was the Son of God “afraid” of suffering? Oh, no! He prayed for mankind,
for the earth, that its redemption might not be accomplished through the
crucifixion of God.
“Nevertheless not My will, but
Thine, be done.”
After these words, a sword for
“defense” is plainly unnecessary.
And yet it is still needed for
something. Otherwise, it would not have been said that two swords were
“enough.” And now a multitude appears in the garden. Many are armed. It is a
“search,” a “manhunt” for Christ and His disciples.
Judas is at their head. The
soldiers are afraid of making a mistake, and therefore the traitorous disciple
has been instructed to give them a sign. That sign is a kiss. So that the
Teacher, like a “robber,” would not flee, but would think that, if a disciple
greeted Him with a kiss, there was nothing to fear.
But the whole situation plainly
reveals the intentions of the armed crowd. And Christ’s words, “Judas,
betrayest thou the Son of Man with a kiss?” removed the last doubt.
The Apostle Peter is ready for
self-defense. And when the soldiers attempt to “lay hands” on Jesus Christ, he
draws his sword and cuts off the ear of the servant Malchus.
And suddenly come the unexpected
words:
— Put up again thy sword into his
place: for all they that take the sword shall perish with the sword.
If the “sword” must not interfere
with “the Scripture,” if it must necessarily be fulfilled, then why had
the Apostles been allowed to provide themselves with weapons, and why had it
been said that two swords were enough?
Obviously, these swords were
needed not for defense, but in order to reveal some mystery in Christ’s
teaching which the disciples had not yet understood.
If the meaning of the event were
simply a prohibition against “killing,” then that had already long before been
stated in the commandment “Thou shalt not kill.”
What, then, was newly revealed
through this “sword” of the Apostle Peter?
§ VIII
Before the armed crowd stood the
Son of God—the Incarnate Truth and Righteousness. Men wished to destroy
this Truth and this Righteousness by force.
The Apostle Peter doubted
in the power of Righteousness and raised the sword in its defense.
Christ commanded him to put the
sword back into its sheath not because it was “forbidden” or “permitted” to
kill. What was taking place had nothing whatsoever to do with killing or
with the “problem” of war. The issue was a conflict between Divine Righteousness
and satanic force. And Christ solemnly bore witness that Divine
Righteousness would conquer the power of darkness.
Therefore—put thy sword back into
its place.
To whom, then, do the words
apply: “All they that take the sword shall perish with the sword”? To Peter?
The point is precisely that they are addressed directly to the armed men.
You, Peter, put thy sword back
into its place, because all who have raised the sword against Righteousness
will perish by their own weapon.
Christ’s thought may be
expressed thus:
— You, Apostle Peter, wish to
defend Me, the Son of God, the supreme Righteousness and Truth incarnate in the
world. Do not do this. It is unnecessary, for all who raise the sword against
this Righteousness will perish.
That this is precisely how
Christ’s words concerning “perishing” are to be understood becomes especially
clear from the words that immediately follow: “Thinkest thou that I cannot now
pray to My Father, and He shall presently give Me more than twelve legions of
angels?”
In other words:
— I could destroy My enemies by
force of arms, but they will perish of themselves, because they have raised the
sword against Righteousness.
Therefore: “Put up thy sword.”
We would understand the event in
Gethsemane only halfway if we failed to grasp the connection between the
“sword” of the Apostle Peter and Christ’s following words: “But how then shall
the scriptures be fulfilled, that thus it must be?”
What precisely must “be
fulfilled”?
Only the crucifixion of the Son
of God? No, His victory also over those who raise the sword. That
absolute Righteousness which the Apostle wished to defend in the person of
Jesus Christ is realized in the historical process in the Church of Christ.
“How then shall the scriptures be fulfilled?” meant:
— How otherwise shall the Son of
God redeem the world, how otherwise shall He establish His Church, how
otherwise shall the promise be fulfilled that the gates of hell shall not
prevail against it?
Thus, in the Garden of Gethsemane
the question was not being decided of war, of killing, or of defending by force
of arms unfortunate victims whom evildoers are themselves tormenting with
weapons.
The question being decided was the
destiny of the world: the conflict of Divine Righteousness with brute
force, and the fact that Divine Righteousness, having become in the world the
Church of Christ, will be victorious, while those who raise the sword against
it will perish by their own weapon.
But what has this to do with
defending, by force of arms, an infant from the robber’s sword raised against
him? What has this to do with defending, by force of arms, my daughters who are
threatened with dishonor?
If the Church in the world has no
need of the sword for her final triumph, it does not follow from this that one
or another manifestation of evil in the form of injury or cruelty inflicted
upon a human being must be accepted by me without “resistance.” When you
are smitten on one cheek, you must turn the other. But when a defenseless child
is being struck, and I am able by force to defend him, I am obliged to
do so, and not to expose him to further blows.
As Vladimir Solovyov very
correctly observes: “To permit an injury against oneself means to sacrifice
oneself, and this is an act of self-sacrifice; to permit the injury of others
means to sacrifice others, and this can in no way be called self-sacrifice” (The
Justification of the Good). [4]
But the main point is that the
Saviour’s words “put up thy sword” had an entirely different purpose.
If what had been at issue in the
Garden of Gethsemane were the fate of the man Jesus of Nazareth, His being
killed by evildoers, then swords would have been necessary for His defense. But
the issue concerned Divine Righteousness incarnate in Christ and realized in
the Church, the collision of two opposing forces—Good and Evil—and the destiny
of that conflict.
And therefore: “Put up thy
sword...”
Legions are unnecessary! In
fulfilment of the Scriptures, it must be shown to mankind that Righteousness
crucified will become the invincible Church.
Herein lies the religious meaning
of the event in Gethsemane. It does not lie at all in the Tolstoyan rule: if
before your very eyes your daughter is being violated and you have no means of
saving her except by killing the assailant, then lay your weapon aside, because
“all they that take the sword shall perish with the sword”!
What a distortion both of
religious thought and of religious feeling!
§ IX
Thus, in the Garden of Gethsemane
the ultimate destiny of the world was being revealed. The Righteousness
embodied in the world—the Church of Christ—was invincible, armed with but one
weapon: the Cross, the symbol of Golgotha.
But the historical path is long.
By no means does the whole world become the Church “all at once.” There is a
world-historical process, a gradual unfolding of God’s righteousness in the
world. In this process, outside the Church, a multitude of the most diverse
forces are at work—both evil and good. The Church condemns some of them and
blesses others, depending upon the role they play in the historical process.
However difficult it may have
been for the Apostles, humanly speaking, to recognize their persecutors, the
representatives of pagan authority, as a “holy power,” historically they did so
under inspiration from above, guided not by human reason or feeling, but by
those providential realities disclosed to them through their spiritual insight.
Authority is organized force
resting upon definite norms, upon law, which constitutes the minimum of
morality.
This organized force is a
necessary condition for the existence of a people not yet organized by the
Church in spirit and truth. Therefore, it is from God.
But the authority of the state is
impossible without armed defense. Therefore, when the Apostles blessed
authority as a holy power in the historical process, they thereby also blessed
the military force which serves as its foundation.
If there were no authority
organized by law, human society would turn into savage anarchy; and if there
were no “army,” men would arm themselves as bands of brigands. This would mean
ruin for the world and, consequently, for the work of the Church as well.
This is why, according to the
Apostle, the representatives of authority do not bear the sword in vain. [5]
Temporary abuse of this sword does not alter the positive significance of
authority in the historical process. In principle, authority remains “from
God,” because in general it serves, as it were, as an antechamber to that
inward unity which is given by the Church. If the state cannot form men into a
living organism—for a living organism requires not a mechanical union of men,
but their inward, spiritual, mystical union, which is realized in the Church—if
the state cannot fulfil this higher task, it can nevertheless unite men for a
common cultural life and secure the further development of society.
By acknowledging every authority
as being from God, the Apostles thereby acknowledged as being from God also the
armed force which constitutes the foundation of state existence. Potentially,
they acknowledged war as well, as an inevitable historical fact.
The Church has no need of
“weapons”: “Put up thy sword into the sheath.” But the Church is a perfect
organism, whereas the state is an organization of external order. It organizes
men by coercive force. The world as a whole has not yet grown to the point of
ecclesial organization. The world lieth in wickedness. In a certain sense, it
is a diseased organism. And sometimes a malignant tumor cannot be dealt with
without the use of a sharp knife.
The state has no other means of
defending its existence except by force of arms.
And if the organization of the
state is recognized as a good within the historical process, then the military
force which secures its existence must likewise be recognized as a relative
good.
War, too, must be recognized as a
good, depending upon the historical causes that give rise to it and upon the
aims of the state which it pursues.
Thus, here too, outside the
Church, the moral meaning of war is determined by the ultimate aim for the sake
of which one state struggles against another.
Thus, from the analysis of the
commandment “Thou shalt not kill” and of the concept of “war” there follows a
positive answer to the question: is war permissible from the Christian point of
view?
The moral evaluation of war
cannot be absolute in character. War may be either good or evil, depending upon
the aims it pursues. The individual Christian conscience should not be troubled
by the question of war in principle. In principle, war is permissible.* But the
conscience should be deeply troubled by the question: for the sake of what is
the war being waged? For if not every war is evil, neither is every war good. A
Christian can accept only that war whose aims can be blessed by the Church.
From the analysis of the events
in the Garden of Gethsemane there follows the needlessness of arming the Church
with the sword, because the absolute Righteousness and Truth incarnate in the
God-Man and realized in the historical process in the Church possess within
themselves all the power necessary for their ultimate triumph. In the same way,
those who raise the sword against her bear within themselves the pledge of
their own destruction.
And finally, from the analysis of
the Christian attitude toward authority there follows a positive attitude
toward war insofar as it is genuinely necessary within the historical process.
§ X
Many people confuse love with a
saccharine smile. To give a sick man whose only hope of salvation lies in the
amputation of his leg some sweetened water instead of a “cruel operation”—that
is not love!
Or do you suppose that there was
no love in the heart of the Son of God when He drove the traders out of the
temple with a scourge? [6] Or when, in blazing wrath, He uttered these terrible
words: “Woe unto you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites!... Ye fools and
blind!... Ye serpents, ye generation of vipers, how can ye escape the damnation
of hell?” [7]
Yes, the green fields of Galilee
were reflected in the eyes of Christ. But the dread Golgotha was also imprinted
in them. Yes, He did not break the bruised reed. But He also cursed the barren
fig tree and proclaimed that the axe was already laid unto the root of the dead
tree! [8]
In the Son of God there was
Divine love, but there was no feeble sentimentality!
Pobedonostsev once wrote to
Tolstoy that they understood Christ differently.
For Pobedonostsev, He was a Man
filled with strength.
For Tolstoy—a weakling.
I am not among the admirers of
Pobedonostsev. I believe that the Church will take a long time to recover from
the grievous legacy he left behind him as Chief Procurator. [9]
But here Pobedonostsev was right!
The advocates of “non-resistance”
removed from Christ His Divine strength. They replaced His preaching,
which burns like fire, with sentimental words about “non-resistance to evil,”
and reduced the great deed—the salvation of the world on Golgotha—to the
simple murder of a good man because he preached chastity and vegetarianism!
Having cast away the soul, they
breathed an entirely different spirit into dead schemes.
Christ embraces the whole world.
He loves everyone... He calls everyone to Himself. He stretches out His hand to
all, as to the drowning Peter. But He casts away evil and throws the dead, dry
wood into the fire.
In His hands is a sharp axe. Yet
He carefully guards the world that is growing, that is striving
toward perfection. And He does not trample underfoot the weak ears of
grain—still less does He cover over such violence with a sweet smile filled
with conscious or unconscious falsehood.
That Christ who is portrayed as a
“Tolstoyan,” refusing “military service,” “not eating meat,” crucified and
then, like all dead men, even very good ones, rotting away—that is not our
Christ, not the Christian Christ, not the Orthodox Christ!
Our Christ is a Man of strength.
His words burn with the fire of
indignation when He rebukes. They scorch the conscience when He speaks of sins.
They raise us to life when He approves us.
Our Christ is the conqueror of
the world. He is not a slave of corruption, albeit an honest vegetarian, as the
Tolstoyans suppose. Our Christ is the Son of God, risen from the dead and
victorious over death, Who redeemed the world by His sufferings and gave us the
promise of the general resurrection.
He commanded us to love people
with active love. A terrible choice will not deter us, and if in a
dreadful hour this active love tells us, “Take up the sword—there is no other
way to save thy neighbor,” we shall take it up without trembling!
We confess that the Lord
established the Church—and the gates of hell shall not prevail against her. We
know that the Cross is the invincible weapon of righteousness. We know that
those who use violence and raise the sword against her will perish.
But if the history of the world
brings us into an inevitable conflict with those who use violence against the
people, we shall raise our sword against them, and before it we shall bear the
Life-giving Cross of the Lord!
We know how to have compassion on
the unfortunate. We are ready to “forgive our debtors.” We are ready to forgive
personal offences. We are ready to give our last shirt even to one who demands
more than his due. But when we see a child being wronged or a woman being
dishonored; when evildoers take the last shirt not from us, but from our
neighbor; when the defenseless, the weak, and the unfortunate are subjected to
violence, and there is no other means of saving them except by raising the
sword—we shall raise it not in our own name, but in the name of that active
love which Christ commanded us.
For us Christ is not a “mortal
creature,” but the risen God-Man. And His teaching is not a dead collection of
“rules.” It is not a tear-off calendar with a rule for each day.
We confess the living Christ.
We abide in living communion with Him in the Church. And we believe not in dead
letters, but in the living meaning of His words.
* The Russian text reads “impermissible” (недопустима),
evidently a misprint for “permissible” (допустима), as indicated by the context
and by the author’s explicit conclusions elsewhere in the work.
Notes
1. Filaret (Drozdov), Metropolitan. The Longer Christian
Catechism of the Orthodox Catholic Eastern Church. Part 3. On the Sixth
Commandment.
2. Vsevolod Mikhailovich Garshin (1855–1888)—prose writer; in
1877 he volunteered for the Russo-Turkish War and was wounded. Sventsitsky
especially highly valued his short story The Red Flower (1883).
3. Solovyov, V. The Justification of the Good. Moscow,
1996, p. 340.
4. Ibid., p. 383.
5. Rom. 13:4.
6. John 2:15.
7. Matt. 23:13, 17, 33.
8. Matt. 12:20; 21:19; 3:10.
9. Konstantin Petrovich Pobedonostsev (1827–1907)—Chief
Procurator of the Holy Synod (1880–1905); a principled opponent of the free
expression of the people’s will in the Church and the state. Sventsitsky
believed that through Pobedonostsev the government had “cleared almost all the
higher pastoral positions not only of Christians, but simply of decent people”
(Sventsitsky, V., Collected Works, vol. 2, Moscow, 2010, p. 281).
Russian source: https://azbyka.ru/otechnik/Valentin_Sventsitskij/vojna-i-tserkov/
