War and the Church

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/