The Online Library of Liberty

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• Foreword
• Chronological Table
• List of Abbreviations and Explanations
• The Early Christian Attitude to War: Introduction
• Part I: The Teaching of Jesus
• Part II: Forms of the Early Christian Disapproval of War
• Part III: Forms of the Early Christian Acceptance of War
• Part IV: Summary and Conclusion

PART II

FORMS OF THE EARLY CHRISTIAN DISAPPROVAL OF WAR

The Condemnation of War in the abstract.1 —The conditions under which the books of the New Testament were written were not such as to give occasion for Christian utterances on the wrongfulness of war. The few New Testament passages expressing disapprobation of ‘wars’ and ‘battles’2 probably refer in every case, not to military conflicts, but to strife and dissension in the more general sense. Reflection is, however, cast on the incessant wars of men in ‘The Vision of Isaiah’ : the prophet ascends to the firmament, “and there I saw Sammael and his hosts, and there was great fighting therein, and the angles of Satan were envying one another. And as above, so on the earth also; for the likeness of that which is in the firmament is here on the earth. And I said unto the angel who was with me : ‘What is this war, and what is this envying?’ And he said unto me : ‘So has it been since this world was made until now, and this war will continue till He whom thou shalt see will come and destroy him’.”1 Aristeides attributed the prevalence of war—chiefly among the Greeks—to the erroneous views of men as to the nature of their gods, whom they pictured as waging war : “for if their gods did such things, why should they themselves not do them? thus from this pursuit of error it has fallen to men’s lot to have continual wars and massacres and bitter captivity.”2 He specially mentions Ares and Herakles as discredited by their warlike character.3 Justinus said that it was the evil angels and their offspring the demons who “sowed murders, wars, adulteries, excesses, and every wickedness, among men.”4 Tatianus equated war and murder, and said that the demons excited war by means of oracles. “Thou wishest to make war,” he says to the gentile, “and thou takest Apollon (as thy) counselor in murder” (). He refers to Apollon as the one “who raises up seditions and battles” and “makes announcements about victory in war.”5 Athenagoras instances the usages of unjust war—the slaughter of myriads of men, the razing of cities, the burning of houses with their inhabitants, the devastation of land, and the destruction of entire populations—as samples of the worst sins, such as could not be adequately punished by any amount of suffering in this life.6 He also says that Christians cannot endure to see a man put to death, even justly.7 In the apocryphal Acts of John, the apostle tells the Ephesians that military conquerors, along with kings, princes, tyrants, and boasters, will depart hence naked, and suffer eternal pains.1

Clemens of Alexandria casts aspersions on the multifarious preparation necessary for war, as contrasted with peace and love, and on the type of music patronized by “those who are practised in war and who have despised the divine fear.”2 He likens the Christian poor to “an army without weapons, without war, without bloodshed, without anger, without defilement.”3 In the Pseudo-Justinian ‘Address to the Greeks,’ the readers are exhorted: “Be instructed by the Divine Word, and learn (about) the incorruptible King, and know His heroes, who never inflict slaughter on (the) peoples.”4 Tertullianus says that when Peter cut off Malchus’ ear, Jesus “cursed the works of the sword for ever after.”5 He criticizes the gentiles’ greed of gold in hiring themselves out for military service.6 He objects to the literal interpretation of Psalm xlv. 3 f as applied to Christ: ‘Gird the sword upon (thy) thigh. . . extend and prosper and reign, on account of truth and gentleness and justice’: “Who shall produce these (results) with the sword,” he asks, “and not rather those that are contrary to gentleness and justice, (namely), deceit and harshness and injustice, (which are) of course the proper business of battles?”7 “Is the laurel of triumph,” he asks elsewhere, “made up of leaves or of corpses? is it decorated with ribbons, or tombs? is it besmeared with ointments, or with the tears of wives and mothers, perhaps those of some men even (who are) Christians—for Christ (is) among the barbarians as well?”1 Hippolutos, in his commentary on Daniel, explains the wild beasts that lived under the tree in Nebuchadnezzar’s dream as “the warriors and armies, which adhered to the king, carrying out what was commanded (them), being ready like wild beasts for making war and destroying, and for rending men like wild beasts.”2 One of the features of the Roman Empire, when viewed by this writer as the Fourth Beast and as a Satanic imitation of the Christian Church, was its preparation for war, and its collection of the noblest men from all countries as its warriors.3 The Bardesanic ‘Book of the Laws of the Countries’ mentions the law of the Seres (a mysterious Eastern people) forbidding to kill, and the frequency with which kings seize countries which do not belong to them, and abolish their laws.4 Origenes spoke depreciatively of the military and juridical professions as being prized by ignorant and blind seekers for wealth and glory.5

Cyprianus declaims about the “wars scattered everywhere with the bloody horror of camps. The world, “he says, “is wet with mutual blood(shed): and homicide is a crime when individuals commit it, (but) it is called a virtue, when it is carried on publicly. Not the reason of innocence, but the magnitude of savagery, demands impunity for crimes.” He censures also the vanity and deceitful pomp of the military office.1 “What use is it,” asks Commodianus, “to know about the vices of kings and their wars?”2 Gregorios censures certain Christians for seizing the property of others in compensation for what they had lost in a raid made by the barbarians: just as the latter, he says, had “inflicted the (havoc) of war” on these Christians, they were acting similarly towards others.3 The Didaskalia forbids the receipt of monetary help for the church from “any of the magistrates of the Roman Empire, who are polluted by war.”4 The Pseudo-Justinian Cohortatio censures the god Zeus as being in Homer’s words “disposer of the wars of men.”5 In the Clementine Homilies, Peter asks, if God loves war, who wishes for peace?,6 speaks obscurely of a female prophecy, who, “when she conceives and brings forth temporary kings, stirs up wars, which shed much blood,”7 and points his hearers to the continual wars going on even in their day owing to the existence of many kings8 ; Zacchaeus depicts the heretic Simon as ‘standing like a general, guarded by the crowd’9 ; and Clemens tells the Greeks that the lusts of the flesh must be sins, because they beget wars, murders, and confusion.10 Similarly in the Recognitions, Peter pleads that a decision by truth and worth is better than a decision by force of arms,11 and says: “Wars and contests are born from sins; but where sin is not committed, there is peace to the soul,”1 “hence” (i.e. from idolworship) “the madness of wars blazed out”2 ; and Niceta remarks that implacable wars arise from lust.3 Methodios says that the nations, intoxicated by the devil, sharpen their passions for murderous battles,4 and speaks of the bloody wars of the past.5

The treatise of Arnobius abounds in allusions to the moral iniquity of war. Contrasting Christ with the rulers of the Roman Empire, he asks: “Did he, claiming royal power for himself, occupy the whole world with fierce legions, and, (of) nations at peace from the beginning, destroy and remove some, and compel others to put their necks beneath his yoke and obey him?”6 “What use is it to the world that there should be. . . generals of the greatest experience in warfare, skilled in the capture of cities, (and) soldiers immoveable and invincible in cavalry battles or in a fight on foot?”7 Arnobius roundly denies that it was any part of the divine purpose that men’s souls, “forgetting that they are from one source, one parent and head, should tear up and break down the rights of kinship, overturn their cities, devastate lands in enmity, make slaves of freemen, violate maidens and other men’s wives, hate one another, envy the joys and good fortune of others, in a word all curse, carp at, and rend one another with the biting of savage teeth.”8 He rejects with indignation the pagan idea that divine beings could patronize, or take pleasure or interest in, human wars. Speaking of Mars, for instance, he says:” If he is the one who allays the madness of war, why do wars never cease for a day? But if he is the author of them, we shall therefore say that a god, for the indulgence of his own pleasure, brings the whole world into collision, sows causes of dissension and strife among nations separated by distance of lands, brings together from different (quarters) so many thousands of mortals and speedily heaps the fields with corpses, makes blood flow in torrents, destroys the stablest empires, levels cities with the ground, takes away liberty from the freeborn and imposes (on them) the state of slavery, rejoices in civil broils, in the fratricidal death of brothers who die together and in the parricidal horror of mortal conflict between sons and fathers.”1

Lactantius also, in his ‘Divine Institutes,’ again and again alludes to the prevalence of war as one of the great blots on the history and morals of humanity. I quote three only of the numerous passages. Speaking of the Romans, he says: “They despise indeed the excellence of the athlete, because there is no harm in it; but royal excellence, because it is wont to do harm extensively, they so admire that they think that brave and warlike generals are placed in the assembly of the gods, and that there is no other way to immortality than by leading armies, devastating foreign (countries), destroying cities, overthrowing towns, (and) either slaughtering or enslaving free peoples. Truly, the more men they have afflicted, despoiled, (and) slain, the more noble and renowned do they think themselves; and, captured by the appearance of empty glory, they give the name of excellence to their crimes. Now I would rather that they should make gods for themselves from the slaughter of wild beasts than that they should approve of an immortality so bloody. If any one has slain a single man, he is regarded as contaminated and wicked, nor do they think it right that he should be admitted to this earthly dwelling of the gods. But he who has slaughtered endless thousands of men, deluged the fields with blood, (and) infected rivers (with it), is admitted not only to a temple, but even to heaven.”1 “They believe that the gods love whatever they themselves desire, whatever it is for the sake of which acts of theft and homicide and brigandage rage every day, for the sake of which wars throughout the whole world overturn peoples and cities.”2 In criticizing the definition of virtue as that which puts first the advantages of one’s country, he points out that this means the extension of the national boundaries by means of aggressive wars on neighbouring states, and so on: “all which things are certainly not virtues, but the overthrowing of virtues. For, in the first place, the connection of human society is taken away; innocence is taken away; abstention from (what is) another’s is taken away; in fact, justice itself is taken away; for justice cannot bear the cutting asunder of the human race, and, wherever arms glitter, she must be put to flight and banished. . . . For how can he be just, who injures, hates, despoils, kills? And those who strive to be of advantage to their country do all these things.”3 Eusebios ascribed the incessant occurrence of furious wars in pre-Christian times, not only to the multiplicity of rulers before the establishment of the Roman Empire, but also to the instigation of the demons who tyrannized over the nations that worshipped them.1 He refers to Ares as “the demon who is the bane of mortals and the lover of war”2 and remarks that “the din of strife, and battles, and wars, are the concern of Athena, but not peace or the things of peace.”3

This collection of passages will suffice to show how strong and deep was the early Christian revulsion from and disapproval of war, both on account of the dissension it represented and of the infliction of bloodshed and suffering which it involved. The quotations show further how closely warfare and murder were connected in Christian thought by their possession of a common element—homicide; and the connection gives a fresh significance for the subject before us to the extreme Christian sensitiveness in regard to the sin of murder—a sensitiveness attested by the frequency with which warnings, prohibitions, and condemnations in regard to this particular sin were uttered and the severity with which the Church dealt with the commission of it by any of her own members. The strong disapprobation felt by Christians for war was due to its close relationship with the deadly sin that sufficed to keep the man guilty of it permanently outside the Christian community.4

The Essential Peacefulness of Christianity.—The natural counterpart of the Christian disapproval of war was the conception of peace as being of the very stuff and substance of the Christian life. Peace, of course, meant a number of different things to the early Christian. It meant reconciliation between himself and God; it meant the stilling of turbulent passions and evil desires in his own heart; it meant the harmony and concord that normally reigned within the Christian community; it meant (to Paul, for instance, in writing ‘Ephesians’) the reconciliation of Jew and gentile; it meant immunity from annoyance and persecution at the hands of pagans; it meant also freedom from the distractions, toils, and dangers of actual war. Little purpose would be served by attempting an analysis of all occurrences of the word ‘peace’ in early Christian literature according to the particular shade of meaning in each case, with the object of dissolving out the exact amount said about peace as the antithesis and correlative of war. The result would be little more than a general impression of the Christian inclination towards, and approval of, peace. That fact in itself is not without significance: for, while there are many places in which peace is mentioned without any apparent reference to the military calling—for instance, where Peter, shortly before baptizing the centurion Cornelius, gave him the pith of the Christian gospel as “the word which God sent to the sons of Israel, giving the good news of peace through Jesus Christ”1 —yet the close and repeated identification of Christianity with peace even in a vague sense (e.g., in the opening and closing salutations of letters, and in phrases like ‘the God of Peace’) has an important bearing on the Christian attitude to war, particularly in view of the many direct and explicit allusions we find to peace in the military sense. It will be sufficient for our present purpose to quote only a few of the more explicit passages. Paul, for instance, tells the Romans: “If possible, as far as lies in your power, be at peace with all men”2 : similarly, the author of Hebrews: “Pursue peace with all (men).”3 The evangelist ‘Matthew’ quotes the words of Jesus: “Happy are the peace-makers”4 and Luke tells us that at the birth of Jesus the host of angels sang: “Glory in the highest to God and on earth peace among men whom He favours,”5 and represents Zacharias as praying God “to guide our feet into (the) way of peace.”6 In the liturgical prayer at the end of the epistle of Clemens of Rome occurs a petition for world-wide peace among men generally: “Give concord and peace to us and to all who inhabit the earth, as Thou gavest to our fathers.”7 Then he prays specially for the rulers: “Give them, Lord, health, peace, concord, stability, that they may administer without offence the government given to them by Thee. . . . Do Thou, Lord, direct their counsel. . . in order that they, administering piously with peace and gentleness the authority given them by Thee, may find favour with Thee.”1 Ignatius exclaims: “Nothing is better than peace, by which all war of those in heaven and those on earth is abolished.”2 A Christian Elder quoted by Eirenaios said that King Solomon “announced to the nations that peace would come and prefigured the reign of Christ.”3 Justinus told the Emperors that the Christians were the best allies and helpers they had in promoting peace,4 on the ground that their belief in future punishment and in the omniscience of God provided a stronger deterrent from wrongdoing than any laws could do.

The Christian Church appropriated to itself that old prophecy, found both in Isaiah and Micah, of the abolition of war in the Messianic age. “And many peoples shall go and say, Come ye, and let us go up to the mountain of the Lord, to the house of the God of Jacob; and He will teach us of His ways, and we will walk in His paths: for out of Zion shall go forth the law, and the word of the Lord from Jerusalem. And He shall judge among the nations, and convict many peoples; and they shall beat their swords into ploughshares, and their spears into pruning-knives; nation shall not lift sword against nation, neither shall they learn war any more.”5 This prophecy is quoted, in whole or in part, by a succession of Christian writers, who all urge that it is being fulfilled in the extension of Christianity, the adherents of which are peace-loving people, who do not make war. Thus Justinus quotes it in his Apology, and goes on: “And that this has happened, ye can be persuaded. For from Jerusalem twelve men went out into the world, and these (were) unlearned, unable to speak; but by (the) power of God they told every race of men that they had been sent by Christ to teach all (men) the word of God. And we, who were formerly slayers of one another, not only do not make war upon our enemies, but, for the sake of neither lying nor deceiving those who examine us, gladly die confessing Christ.”1 He quotes it again in his Dialogue with Truphon the Jew, and insists in opposition to the Jewish interpretation that it is already being fulfilled: “and we,” he goes on, “who had been filled with war and mutual slaughter and every wickedness, have each one—all the world over—changed the instruments of war, the swords into ploughs and the spears into farming instruments, and we cultivate piety, righteousness, love for men, faith, (and) the hope which is from the Father Himself through the Crucified One.”2 Eirenaios quotes it, and comments upon it as follows: “If therefore another law and word, issuing from Jerusalem, has thus made peace among those nations which received it, and through them convinced many a people of folly, it seems clear that the prophets were speaking of someone else (besides Jesus). But if the law of liberty, that is, the Word of God, being proclaimed to the whole earth by the Apostles who went out from Jerusalem, effected a change to such an extent that (the nations) themselves wrought their swords and lances of war into ploughs and changed them into sickles, which He gave for reaping corn, (that is), into instruments of peace, and if they now know not how to fight, but, (when they are) struck, offer the other cheek also, (then) the prophets did not say this of anyone else, but of him who did it. Now this is our Lord,” etc.1 Tertullianus quotes it, and asks: “Who else therefore are understood than ourselves, who, taught by the new law, observe those things, the old law—the abolition of which the very action (of changing swords into ploughs, etc.) proves was to come—being obliterated? For the old law vindicated itself by the vengeance of the sword, and plucked out eye for eye, and requited injury with punishment; but the new law pointed to clemency, and changed the former savagery of swords and lances into tranquillity, and refashioned the former infliction of war upon rivals and foes of the law into the peaceful acts of ploughing and cultivating the earth. And so. . . the observance of the new law and of spiritual circumcision has shone forth in acts of peaceful obedience.”2 He quotes it again clause by clause in his treatise against Markion, inserting comments as he goes along: “‘And they shall beat their swords into ploughs, and their spears into sickles,’ that is, they shall change the dispositions of injurious minds and hostile tongues and every (sort of) wickedness and blasphemy into the pursuits of modesty and peace. ‘And nation shall not take sword against nation,’ namely, (the sword) of dissension. ‘And they shall not learn to make war any more,’ that is, to give effect to hostile feelings: so that here too thou mayest learn that Christ is promised not (as one who is) powerful in war, but (as) a bringer of peace;” and he goes on to insist that it is Christ who must be referred to1 He adverts to the prophecy again a little later: “And then ‘they beat their swords into ploughs. . . ,’ that is, minds (that were) once wild and savage they change into feelings (that are) upright and productive of good fruit.”2 Origenes quotes it: “To those who ask us whence we have come or whom we have (for) a leader, we say that we have come in accordance with the counsels of Jesus to cut down our warlike and arrogant swords of argument into ploughshares, and we convert into sickles the spears we formerly used in fighting. For we no longer take ‘sword against a nation,’ nor do we learn ‘any more to make war,’ having become sons of peace for the sake of Jesus, who is our leader, instead of (following) the ancestral (customs) in which we were strangers to the covenants.”3 It is quoted in the Pseudo-Cyprianic treatise ‘Against the Jews’ and in the ‘Dialogus de Recta Fidei’ as a reference to the state of affairs inaugurated by Christ.4 Lastly, Eusebios quotes it—after referring to the multiplicity of rulers in pre-Christian times and the consequent frequency of wars and universality of military training—as prophesying the change that was actually introduced at the advent of Christ. True, he conceives the fulfilment to lie—in part at least—in the unification of all governments in that of Augustus and the resultant cessation of conflicts; but he goes on to point out that, while the demons goaded men into furious wars with one another, “at the same time, by our Saviour’s most pious and most peaceful teaching, the destruction of polytheistic error began to be accomplished, and the dissensions of the nations immediately began to find rest from former evils. Which (fact),” he concludes, “I regard as a very great proof of our Saviour’s divine and irresistible power.”1

Resuming our account of the various laudatory allusions of Christian authors to peace, we find Athenagoras saying to the Emperors: “By your sagacity the whole inhabited world enjoys profound peace.”2 Clemens of Alexandria says of the Christians: “We are being educated, not in war, but in peace”; “We, the peaceful race” are more temperate than “the warlike races”; among musical instruments, “man is in reality a pacific instrument,” the others exciting military and amorous passions; “but we have made use of one instrument, the peaceful word only, wherewith we honour God.”3 Tertullianus, defending the Christian meetings, asks: “To whose danger did we ever meet together? What we are when we are separated, that we are when we are gathered together: what we are as individuals, that we are as a body, hurting no one, troubling no one”4 : he calls the Christian “the son of peace.”5 The devil, says Hippolutos, “knows that the prayer of the saints produces peace for the world.”6 The Pseudo-Melitonian Apologist prescribed the knowledge and fear of the one God as the only means by which a kingdom could be peaceably governed.7 The Bardesanic ‘Book of the Laws of the Countries’ foretold the coming of universal peace as a result of the dissemination of new teaching and by a gift from God.1 In the Pseudo-Justinian ‘Address to the Greeks,’ the Word of God is invoked as: “O trumpet of peace to the soul that is at war!”2 Commodianus says to the Christian: “Make thyself a peace-maker to all men.”3 Cyprianus commends patience as that which “guards the peace.”4 Arnobius tells the pagans: “It would not be difficult to prove that, after Christ was heard of in the world, those wars, which ye say were brought about on account of (the gods’) hatred for our religion, not only did not increase, but were even greatly diminished by the repression of furious passions. For since we—so large a force of men—have received (it) from his teachings and laws, that evil ought not to be repaid with evil, that it is better to endure a wrong than to inflict (it), to shed one’s own (blood) rather than stain one’s hands and conscience with the blood of another, the ungrateful world has long been receiving a benefit from Christ, through whom the madness of savagery has been softened, and has begun to withhold its hostile hands from the blood of a kindred creature. But if absolutely all who understand that they are men by virtue, not of the form of their bodies, but of the power of their reason, were willing to lend an ear for a little while to his healthful and peaceful decrees, and would not, swollen with pride and arrogance, trust to their own senses rather than to his admonitions, the whole world would long ago have turned the uses of iron to milder works and be living in the softest tranquillity, and would have come together in healthy concord without breaking the sanctions of treaties.”1 The martyr Lucianus told the judge at Nicomedia that one of the laws given by Christ to Christians was that they should “be keen on peace.”2

It might of course be urged that these expressions or at least the bulk of them voiced the sentiments of a community that bore no political responsibility and had been disciplined by no political experience. “The opinions of the Christians of the first three centuries,” says Lecky, “were usually formed without any regard to the necessities of civil or political life; but when the Church obtained an ascendancy, it was found necessary speedily to modify them.”3 It must of course be frankly admitted that the passages we have quoted do not explicitly handle the ultimate problems with which the philosophy of war and penal justice has to deal: but it is quite another question whether the policy of conduct dictated by what many might consider this blind attachment to peace and this blind horror of war did not involve a better solution of those problems than had yet been given to the world. The modifications of which Lecky speaks were due to other causes than the enlargement of the Church’s vision and experience. The grave relaxation of her early moral purity had a good deal to do with it: and, as we shall see later, the early Church was not without at least one competent thinker who was fully equal to giving a good account of the peace-loving views of himself and his brethren in face of the objections raised by the practical pagan critic.

The Christian Treatment of Enemies and Wrongdoers.—A very interesting sidelight is cast on the attitude of the early Christians to war by the serious view they took of those precepts of the Master enjoining love for all, including enemies, and forbidding retaliation upon the wrongdoer, and the close and literal way in which they endeavoured to obey them. This view and this obedience of those first followers of Jesus are the best commentary we can have upon the problematic teaching in question, and the best answer we can give to those who argue that it was not meant to be practised save in a perfect society, or that it refers only to the inner disposition of the heart and not to the outward actions, or that it concerns only the personal and private and not the social and political relationships of life. The Christian emphasis on the duty of love may be thought by some to have little bearing on the question of war, inasmuch as it is possible to argue that one can fight without bitterness and kill in battle without hatred. Whatever may be thought on that particular point, the important fact for us to notice just now is, not only that the early Christians considered themselves bound by these precepts of love and non-resistance in an extremely close and literal way, but that they did actually interpret them as ruling out the indictment of wrongdoers in the law-courts and participation in the acts of war. And when we consider that these same simple-minded Christians of the first generations did more for the moral purification of the world in which they lived than perhaps has ever been done before or since, their principles will appear to be not quite so foolish as they are often thought to be.

We proceed to quote the main utterances of the early Christian writers on this subject. The Apostle Paul writes to the Thessalonians: “May the Lord make you to increase and abound in love towards one another and towards all.1 . . . See (to it) that no one renders to any evil in return for evil, but always pursue what is good towards one another and towards all.”2 To the Galatians: “As then we have opportunity, let us work that which is good towards all.”3 To the Corinthians: “What (business) is it of mine to judge outsiders?. . . outsiders God will judge.”4 To the Romans: “Render to no one evil for evil. . . . If possible, as far as lies in your power, be at peace with all men. Do not avenge yourselves, beloved, but leave room for the wrath (of God); for it is written: ‘Vengeance is mine, I will repay, saith the Lord.’ But if thine enemy hunger, feed him; if he thirst, give him drink; for by doing this thou wilt heap coals of fire on his head. Be not conquered by evil, but conquer evil with (what is) good. . . . Owe no man anything, except mutual love: for he who loves his neighbour has fulfilled the Law. For the (commandment): ‘Thou shalt not commit adultery,’ ‘Thou shalt not kill,’ ‘Thou shalt not steal,’ ‘Thou shalt not covet,’ and whatever other commandment there is, is summed up in this saying: ‘Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself.’ Love does not work evil on a neighbour: love therefore is the fulfilment of the Law.”5 To the Philippians: “Let your forbearance be known to all men.”6 A practical instance of the way in which Paul ‘conquered evil with what is good’ appears in his treatment of Onesimos, the slave who had robbed his Christian master and then run away from him: Paul, who came across him at Rome, called him ‘My child, whom I have begotten in my bonds,’ and gained by love so great and good an influence over him as to be able to send him back with a letter of apology and commendation to his offended master.1 In the Pastorals we read: “The servant of God ought not to fight, but to be mild to all, a (skilled) teacher, patient of evil (), gently admonishing his opponents—God may possibly give them repentance (leading) to a knowledge of truth, and they may return to soberness out of the snare of the devil”2 ; “Remind them. . . to be ready for every good work, to rail at no one, to be uncontentious, forbearing, displaying all gentleness towards all men.”3 In the Epistle of James: “With it (the tongue) we bless the Lord and Father, and with it we curse men who are made in the likeness of God. Out of the same mouth issues blessing and cursing. My brothers, this ought not to be so.”4 In the Epistle of Peter: “Honour all men.5 . . . For unto this were ye called, because Christ suffered for you, leaving you an example in order that ye might follow in his footsteps:. . . who, when he was reviled, did not revile in return, when he suffered, did not threaten, but entrusted himself to Him who judges righteously.6 . . . Finally, (let) all (be). . . humble, not rendering evil in return for evil or reviling in return for reviling, but on the contrary blessing (those who revile you): for unto this were ye called, in order that ye might inherit a blessing.1 . . . For it is better, if the Will of God wills (it so), to suffer for doing right rather than for doing wrong: because Christ also suffered once for sins, the righteous for the unrighteous, in order that he might bring us to God.”2 We do not need to quote over again the passages in the Gospels bearing upon this aspect of Christian conduct, as they have already been fully considered in our examination of the teaching of Jesus; but it is important to bear in mind the immense significance which those passages would have for the evangelists who embodied them in their Gospels and for the contemporary generation of Christians. Echoes of them are heard in other Christian writings of the time. Thus the Didache says: “This is the way of life: first, thou shalt love the God who made thee, secondly, thy neighbour as thyself: and all things whatsoever thou wouldest not should happen to thee, do not thou to another. The teaching of these words is this: Bless those who curse you, and pray for your enemies, and fast on behalf of those who persecute you: for what thanks (will be due to you), if ye love (only) those who love you? do not the gentiles also do the same? But love ye those who hate you, and ye shall not have an enemy. . . . If anyone give thee a blow upon the right cheek, turn the other also to him, and thou shalt be perfect: if anyone impress thee (to go) one mile, go two with him: if anyone take away thy cloak, give him thy tunic also: if anyone take from thee what is thine, do not demand it back.3 . . . Thou shalt not plan any evil against thy neighbour. Thou shalt not hate any man; but some thou shalt reprove, on some thou shalt have mercy, for some thou shalt pray, and some thou shalt love above thine own soul.1 . . . Thou shalt not become liable to anger—for anger leads to murder—nor jealous nor contentious nor passionate, for from all these things murders are born.”2 “Every word,” says the Epistle of Barnabas, “which issues from you through your mouth in faith and love, shall be a means of conversion and hope to many.”3

An eloquent practical example of the true and typical Christian policy towards sinful and wayward paganism, is that beautiful story told by Clemens of Alexandria about the aged apostle John. The story has every appearance of being historically true, at least in substance; but, even if fictitious, it must still be ‘in character,’ and therefore have value as evidence for the approved Christian method of grappling with heathen immorality. The story is briefly as follows. John, while visiting the Christians in some city—perhaps Smyrna—saw in the church a handsome heathen youth, and feeling attracted to him, entrusted him, in the presence of Christian witnesses, to the bishop’s care. The bishop took the youth home, taught, and baptized him; and then, thinking him secure, neglected him. When thus prematurely freed from restraint, bad companions got hold of him, and by degrees corrupted and enticed him into evil ways and finally into the commission of some great crime. He then took to the mountains with them as a brigand-chief, and committed acts of bloodshed and cruelty. Some time after, John visited the same city again, and, learning on enquiry what had happened, called for a horse and guide, and at length found his way unarmed into the young captain’s presence. The latter fled away in shame; but the apostle pursued him with entreaties: “Why, my child, dost thou flee from me, thine own father, unarmed (and) aged (as I am)? Have mercy on me, my child; fear not. Thou still hast hope of life. I will give account to Christ for thee. If need be, I will willingly endure thy death (for thee), as the Lord endured it for us. I will give my life for thine. Stand; believe; Christ has sent me.” The youth halted, looked downwards, cast away his weapons, trembled, and wept. When the apostle approached, the youth embraced him, and poured forth confessions and lamentations. John assured him of the Saviour’s pardon, and, falling on his knees, and kissing the right hand which the youth had concealed in shame, prevailed upon him to suffer himself to be led back to the church. There the apostle spent time with him in intercessory prayer, prolonged fasting, and multiplied counsels, and did not depart until he had restored him to the church, ‘a trophy of visible resurrection.’1

Ignatius writes to the Ephesians: “And on behalf of the rest of men, pray unceasingly. For there is in them a hope of repentance, that they may attain to God. Allow them therefore to become disciples even through your works. Towards their anger (be) ye gentle; towards their boasting (be) ye meek; against their railing (oppose) ye your prayers; against their error (be) ye steadfast in the faith: against their savagery (be) ye mild, not being eager to imitate them. Let us be found their brothers in forbearance: and let us be eager to be imitators of the Lord, (to see) who can be most wronged, who (most) deprived, who (most) despised, in order that no plant of the devil be found in you, but in all chastity and temperance ye may remain in Jesus Christ as regards both flesh and spirit.”1 He says to the Trallians of their bishop: “His gentleness is a power: I believe even the godless respect him.”2 “I need gentleness,” he tells them, “by which the Ruler of this age is brought to nought.”3 He exhorts his friend Polukarpos, the bishop of Smyrna: “Forbear all men in love, as indeed thou dost.”4 Polukarpos himself tells the Philippians that God will raise us from the dead if we “do His will and walk in His commandments. . . not rendering evil in return for evil, or reviling in return for reviling, or fisticuff in return for fisticuff, or curse in return for curse.”5 “Pray also,” he says, “for kings and authorities and rulers and for those who persecute and hate you and for the enemies of the cross, that your fruit may be manifest among all, that ye may be perfect in Him.”6 Aristeides says of the Christians: “They appeal to those who wrong them and make them friendly to themselves; they are eager to do good to their enemies; they are mild and conciliatory.”7 Diognetos is told that the Christians “love all (men), and are persecuted by all;. . . they are reviled, and they bless; they are insulted, and are respectful.”8 Hermas includes in his enumeration of Christian duties those of “withstanding no one,. . . bearing insult, being longsuffering, having no remembrance of wrongs.”1 The author of the so-called second Epistle of Clemens reproves his readers for not being true to these principles: “For the gentiles, hearing from our mouth the words of God, are impressed by their beauty and greatness: then, learning that our works are not worthy of the things we say, they turn to railing, saying that it is some deceitful tale. For when they hear from us that God says: ‘No thanks (will be due) to you, if ye love (only) those who love you; but thanks (will be due) to you, if ye love your enemies and those that hate you’—when they hear this, they are impressed by the overplus of goodness: but when they see that we do not love, not only those who hate (us), but even those who love (us), they laugh at us, and the Name is blasphemed.”2

“We,” says Justinus, “who hated and slew one another, and because of (differences in) customs would not share a common hearth with those who were not of our tribe, now, after the appearance of Christ, have become sociable, and pray for our enemies, and try to persuade those who hate (us) unjustly, in order that they, living according to the good suggestions of Christ, may share our hope of obtaining the same (reward) from the God who is Master of all.3 . . . And as to loving all (men), he has taught as follows: ‘If ye love (only) those who love you, what new thing do ye do? for even fornicators do this. But I say to you: Pray for your enemies and love those who hate you and bless those who curse you and pray for those who act spitefully towards you.’4 . . . And as to putting up with evil and being serviceable to all and without anger; this is what he says: ‘To him that smiteth thy cheek, offer the other (cheek) as well, and do not stop (the man) that takes away thy tunic or thy cloak. But whoever is angry is liable to the fire. Every one who impresses thee (to go) a mile, follow (for) two (miles). Let your good works shine before men, that seeing (them) they may worship your Father in heaven.’ For (we) must not resist: nor has (God) wished us to be imitators of the wicked, but has bidden (us) by patience and gentleness lead all (men) from (the) shame and lust of the evil (things). And this we are able to show in the case of many who were (formerly) on your side. They changed from (being) violent and tyrannical, conquered either (through) having followed the constancy of (their Christian) neighbours’ life, or (through) having noticed the strange patience of fellow-travellers when they were overreached, or (through) having experienced (it in the case) of those with whom they had dealings.”1

“We have learnt,” says Athenagoras, “not only not to strike back and not to go to law with those who plunder and rob us, but with some, if they buffet us on the side of the head, to offer the other side of the head to them for a blow, and with others, if they take away our tunic, to give them also our cloak.2 . . . What then are those teachings in which we are brought up?” He then quotes the familiar words of Mt v. 44 f, and asks what logician ever loved and blessed and prayed for his enemies, instead of plotting some evil against them: but among the Christians, he says, there are those who “do not rehearse speeches, but display good deeds, (viz.) not hitting back when they are struck, and not going to law when they are robbed, giving to those that ask, and loving their neighbours as themselves.”1 He speaks of the Christians later as those “to whom it is not lawful, when they are struck, not to offer themselves (for more blows), nor, when defamed, not to bless: for it is not enough to be just—and justice is to return like for like —but it is incumbent (upon us) to be good and patient of evil.”2 Speratus, the martyr of Scilli, told the proconsul: “We have never spoken evil (of others), but when ill-treated we have given thanks—because we pay heed to our Emperor” (i.e. Christ). 3 Theophilos wrote: “In regard to our being well-disposed, not only to those of our own tribe, as some think (but also to our enemies), Isaiah the prophet said: ‘Say to those that hate and loathe you, Ye are our brothers, in order that the name of the Lord may be glorified and it may be seen in their gladness.’ And the Gospel says: ‘Love your enemies, and pray for those who treat you spitefully. For if ye love (only) those that love you, what reward have ye? even the robbers and the taxgatherers do this’.”4

Eirenaios refers on several occasions to this teaching. One of the passages we have already had before us.5 Elsewhere he quotes Jesus’ prayer, ‘Father, forgive them . . . ’ as an instance of obedience to his own command to love and pray for enemies. He argues from the prayer that the sufferings of Jesus could not have been in appearance only, as the Docetic errorists maintained: if they were, then his precepts in the Sermon on the Mount would be misleading, and “we shall be even above the Master, while we suffer and endure things which the Master did not suffer and endure.”1 The Lord bade us, he says later, “love not neighbours only, but even enemies, and be not only good givers and sharers, but even givers of free gifts to those who take away what is ours. ‘For to him that takes away (thy) tunic from thee,’ he says, ‘give to him thy cloak also; and from him who takes away what is thine, demand (it) not back; and as ye wish that men should do to you, do ye to them’: so that we may not grieve as if we did not want to be defrauded, but rejoice as if we gave willingly, rather conferring a favour on neighbours, than bowing to necessity. ‘And if any one,’ he says, ‘impress thee (to go) a mile, go two more with him,’ so that thou mayest not follow as a slave, but mayest go in front like a free man, showing thyself ready in all things and useful to (thy) neighbour; not regarding their badness, but practising thy goodness, conforming thyself to the Father, ‘who makes His sun rise on bad and good, and rains on just and unjust’.”2 Eirenaios in another work remarks that the Law will no longer say “‘Eye for eye, and tooth for tooth’ to him who regards no one as his enemy, but all as his neighbours: for this reason he can never stretch out his hand for vengeance.”3 Apollonius told the Roman Senate that Christ “taught (us) to allay (our) anger,. . . to increase (our) love (for others) (), . . . not to turn to (the) punishment () of those who wrong (us). . . .”1

Clemens of Alexandria alludes several times to the teaching of Mt v. 44 f, Lk vi. 27 f,2 and says further that the Gnostic, by which he means the thorough-going Christian, “never bears a grudge (), nor is vexed () with anyone, even though he be worthy of hatred for what he does: for he reveres the Maker, and loves the one who shares in life, pitying and praying for him because of his ignorance.”3 Those who pray that the wrongs they suffer should be visited upon the wrongdoers, Clemens considers as better than those who wish to retaliate personally by process of law; but he says that they “are not yet passionless, if they do not become entirely forgetful of wrong and pray even for their enemies according to the Lord’s teaching.” After some further words about forgiveness, he goes on to say that the Gnostic “not only thinks it right that the good (man) should leave to others the judgment of those who have done him wrong, but he wishes the righteous man to ask from those judges forgiveness of sins for those who have trespassed against him; and rightly so.”4 “Above all,” he says elsewhere, “Christians are not allowed to correct by violence sinful wrongdoings. For (it is) not those who abstain from evil by compulsion, but those (who abstain) by choice, (that) God crowns. For it is not possible for a man to be good steadily except by his own choice.”5

Tertullianus adverts to the command to love enemies and not to retaliate, and reassures the pagans that, although the numbers of the Christians would make it easy for them to avenge the wrongs they suffer, this principle puts an actual revolt out of the question: “For what war,” he asks, “should we not be fit (and) eager, even though unequal in numbers, (we) who are so willing to be slaughtered—if according to that discipline (of ours) it was not more lawful to be slain than to slay?”1 “The Christian does not hurt even his enemy.”2 In his treatise on patience, he quotes the words about turning the other cheek, rejoicing when cursed, leaving vengeance to God, not judging, etc., and insists on the duty of obeying them in all cases. “It is absolutely forbidden to repay evil with evil.”3 It is true that Tertullianus smirches somewhat the beauty of the Christian principle of the endurance of wrongs, by inviting the injured one to take pleasure in the disappointment which his patience causes to the wrongdoer. The spirit of retaliation is kept, and ‘coals of fire’ selected as the most poignant means of giving effect to it. But his failure to catch the real spirit of Christian love renders his testimony to what was the normal Christian policy all the more unimpeachable. He calls the Christian the son of peace, for whom it will be unfitting even to go to law, and who does not avenge his wrongs.4 The Bardesanic ‘Book of the Laws of the Countries’ compares those who take it upon themselves to inflict vengeance, to lions and leopards.5

Origenes has several important allusions to this aspect of Christian teaching. I select three only for quotation. He points out that God united the warring nations of the earth under the rule of Augustus, in order that by the suppression of war the spread of the gospel might be facilitated: for “how,” he asks, “would it have been possible for this peaceful teaching, which does not allow (its adherents) even to defend themselves against1 (their) enemies, to prevail, unless at the coming of Jesus the (affairs) of the world had everywhere changed into a milder (state)?”2 Later he says: “If a revolt had been the cause of the Christians combining, and if they had derived the(ir) origin from the Jews, to whom it was allowed () to take arms on behalf of the(ir) families and to destroy (their) enemies, the Lawgiver of (the) Christians would not have altogether forbidden (the) destruction of man, teaching that the deed of daring (on the part) of his own disciples against a man, however unrighteous he be, is never right—for he did not deem it becoming to his own divine legislation to allow the destruction of any man whatever” () 3 Later still, in dealing with the difference between the Mosaic and Christian dispensations, he says: “It would not be possible for the ancient Jews to keep their civil economy unchanged, if, let us suppose, they obeyed the constitution (laid down) according to the gospel. For it would not be possible for Christians to make use, according to the Law of Moses, of (the) destruction of (their) enemies or of those who had acted contrary to the Law and were judged worthy of destruction by fire or stoning. . . . Again, if thou wert to take away from the Jews of that time, who had a civil economy and a land of their own, the (right) to go out against the(ir) enemies and serve as soldiers on behalf of their ancestral (institutions) and to destroy or otherwise punish the adulterers or murderers or (men) who had done something of that kind, nothing would be left but for them to be wholly and utterly destroyed, the(ir) enemies setting upon the nation, when they were weakened and prevented by their own law from defending themselves against the(ir) enemies.”1 These statements of Origenes are important for several reasons—for the clear indication they give that in the middle of the third century the ‘hard sayings’ of the Sermon on the Mount were still adhered to as the proper policy for Christians, for the direct bearing which those sayings were felt to have on the question of war, and for the frank recognition which Origenes accords to the place of sub-Christian ethical standards in the world’s development.

Cyprianus lays it down that “when an injury has been received, one has to remit and forgive it,” “requital for wrongs is not to be given,” “enemies are to be loved,” “when an injury has been received, patience is to be kept and vengeance left to God.”2 He was horror-struck at the torture that went on in the law-courts: “there at hand is the spear and the sword and the executioner, the hook that tears, the rack that stretches, the fire that burns, more punishments for the one body of man than (it has) limbs!”1 “None of us,” he says, “offers resistance when he is seized, or avenges himself for your unjust violence, although our people are numerous and plentiful. . . it is not lawful for us to hate, and so we please God more when we render no requital for injury. . . we repay your hatred with kindness,” and so on.2 In his treatise on patience, he takes occasion to quote Mt v. 43–48 in full.3 When a plague broke out and the pagans fled, he urged the Christians not to attend to their co-religionists only, saying “that he might be made perfect, who did something more than the taxgatherer and the gentile, who, conquering evil with good and practising something like the divine clemency, loved his enemies also, who prayed for the safety of his persecutors, as the Lord advises and exhorts.” Cyprianus drove this lesson home, we are told, with arguments drawn from Mt v. 44–48.4 Commodianus utters the brief precept: “Do not hurt.”5 The Didaskalia lays it down: “Those who injure you, injure not in return, but endure (it), since Scripture says: ‘Say not: I will injure my enemy since he has injured me; but bear it, that the Lord may help thee, and exact vengeance from him who has injured thee.’ For again it says in the Gospel: ‘Love those who hate you and pray for those who curse you, and ye shall have no enemy’.”6 “Be prepared therefore to incur a loss, and try hard to keep the peace; for if thou incurrest any loss in secular affairs for the sake of peace, there shall accrue a gain with God to thee as to one who fears God and lives according to His commandment.”1 In the Clementine Homilies Peter disclaims all wish to destroy the heretic Simon, saying that he was not sent to destroy men, but that he wished to befriend and convert him; and he touches on the Christian custom of praying for enemies in obedience to Jesus’ example: and Clemens rehearses to his father the teaching of Mt v. 39-41.2

Lactantius refers to the Christians as “those who are ignorant of wars, who preserve concord with all, who are friends even to their enemies, who love all men as brothers, who know how to curb anger and soften with quiet moderation every madness of the mind.3 . . . This we believe to be to our advantage, that we should love you and confer all things upon you who hate (us).”4 Since the just man, he says, “inflicts injury on none, nor desires the property of others, nor defends his own if it is violently carried off, since he knows also (how) to bear with moderation an injury inflicted on him, because he is endowed with virtue, it is necessary that the just man should be subject to the unjust, and the wise man treated with insults by the fool,” etc.5 “God has commanded that enmities are never to be contracted by us, (but) are always to be removed, so that we may soothe those who are our enemies by reminding them of (their) relationship (to us).”6 The just man, once again, must return only blessings for curses: “let him also take careful heed lest at any time he makes an enemy by his own fault; and if there should be anyone so impudent as to inflict an injury on a good and just man, let him (i.e. the just man) bear it kindly and temperately, and not take upon himself his own vindication, but reserve (it) for the judgment of God.” After more to the same effect, Lactantius proceeds: “Thus it comes about that the just man is an object of contempt to all: and because it will be thought that he cannot defend himself, he will be considered slothful and inactive. But he who avenges himself on (his) enemy—he is judged to be brave (and) energetic: all reverence him, (all) respect him.”1 A little later comes the famous passage, in which he deals with the divine command about homicide, and interprets it as prohibiting both capital charges and military service: “And so in (regard to) this commandment of God no exception at all ought to be made (to the rule) that it is always wrong to kill a man, whom God has wished to be a sacrosanct creature.” Of this application of the teaching we must speak later.2

Probably one of the first things that will strike a modern reader on surveying this remarkable body of evidence is the apparent absence of any treatment of the question of the defence of others as a special phase of the general question concerning the treatment of wrongdoers. The silence of Christian authors on this particular point is certainly remarkable. Tertullianus even takes it for granted that, if a man will not avenge his own wrongs, á fortiori he will not avenge those of others3 —a sentiment pointedly at variance with the spirit of modern Christianity; which is at times disposed to accept (as an ideal at all events, if not always as a practicable policy) absolute non-resistance in regard to one’s own wrongs, but which indignantly repudiates such a line of action when the wrongs of others—particularly those weaker than oneself—are in question. It is on the validity of this distinction that the whole case of the possibility of a Christian war is felt by many to rest. The point is so important that we may be pardoned for devoting a few lines to it, even though it carries us a little beyond the strictly historical treatment of the subject. In the first place, it needs to be borne in mind that the question is not the general one, whether or no the Christian should try to prevent others being wronged. That question admits of only one answer. The life of a Christian is a constant and effective check upon sin; and he is therefore at all times, in a general though in a very real way, defending others. The question is, Which is the right method for him to use—the gentle moral appeal or violent physical coercion? Whatever method he may choose, that method is not of course bound to succeed in any particular case, for circumstances may at any time be too strong for him: possibility of failure, therefore, is not to be reckoned a fatal objection to a policy of defence, for it tells in some measure against all policies. And be it remembered that the restraining power of gentleness is largely diminished, if not entirely destroyed, if the user of it attempts to combine it with the use of coercion and penalty.1 We are therefore driven to make our choice between two policies of conduct, which to all intents and purposes are mutually exclusive.1 Now in the use of violence and injury for the defence of others, the Christian sees a policy which he is forbidden, exhypothesi, to use in his own defence—and that for a reason as valid in the case of others’ sufferings as in that of his own, viz. the absolute prohibition of injury2 —and which is furthermore a less effective policy than that of bringing the force of his own Christian spirit to bear on the wrongdoer, as the Salvationist, for instance, often does with the violent drunkard. If the objection be raised that few people possess this powerful Christian spirit capable of restraining others, I reply that we are discussing the conduct of those alone who, because or in so far as they are faithful Christians, do possess it. Again, when the wrongs of innocent sufferers are brought in in order to undermine obedience to the Sermon on the Mount, a fictitious distinction always has to be made between wrongs inflicted on others in one’s very presence and the possibly far more horrible wrongs that go on out of one’s sight. “Pity for a horse o’erdriven” easily evaporates when once the poor animal has turned the corner. Many a man would feel it a duty to use his fists to defend a woman from being knocked about under his own eyes, but would not by any means feel called upon to use either his fists or his powers of persuasion on behalf of the poor wife being beaten in her home a few streets off or on the other side of the town. Still less would he admit it as a general principle that he must not rest as long as there is any injustice going on in the world, which he might feel disposed to rectify by the use of violence if it were happening close at hand: and though he may allow himself to be swayed by this particular plea in a political crisis, it is obvious that it could never be taken and is never taken as a general guide for conduct. Unfortunately, we have to recognize the fact that countless acts of cruelty and injustice are going on every day, all around us, near and far; and the practical demands of Christian usefulness forbid the sensitive man to allow his spirit to be crushed by the awful thought that he cannot yet put a stop to these things. The sentiment which bids a man stick at nothing in order to check outrageous wrongdoing is entitled to genuine respect, for it is closely akin to Christian love; but it is misleading when it comes into conflict with a considered Christian policy for combating sin, for, as we have seen, it operates only within the compass of a man’s vision and in certain occasionally and arbitrarily selected areas beyond, and, when erected into a general principle of conduct, immediately breaks down. The rejection of this sentiment does not mean the rejection of the Christian duty “to ride abroad redressing human wrong”: it means the adoption, not only of gentler, but of more effective, tactics, calling—as the Christian persecutions show—for their full measure of danger and self-sacrifice; it means too a refusal to stultify those tactics under the impulse of a rush of feeling which so soon fails to justify itself as a guide to conduct.

The early Christians therefore were not guilty, either of selfish cowardice or of an error of judgment, in interpreting the Master’s words as ruling out the forcible defence of one another against the manifold wrongs which pagan hatred and cruelty and lust brought upon them. It was clear indeed that the Master had so interpreted his words himself. He did nothing to avenge John the Baptist or the slaughtered Galilaeans; and when he forbade the use of the sword in Gethsemane, the occasion was one on which it had been drawn in a righteous cause and for the defence of an unarmed and innocent man. The way in which the Christians endured the injuries inflicted upon them in persecution had the effect—so Christian authors continually tell us—of evoking pagan admiration and sympathy, and even adding considerably to the number of converts. By the time the victory over the persecutors was won. Christian ethics had largely lost their early purity; but we see enough to be able to say that that victory was in no small measure due to the power of the Christian spirit operating against tremendous odds without the use of any sort of violent resistance. It took time of course to win the victory, and during that time countless acts of unthinkable cruelty and horror were endured: but would anyone seriously argue that that suffering would have been diminished, or better results achieved for the world at large or for the sufferers themselves, if from the first Christian men had acted on the principle that, while ready themselves to submit meekly, it was their duty to defend others if need be by force and bloodshed? When Plinius tortured the two Bithynian deaconesses, and when Sabina was threatened at Smyrna with being sentenced to the brothel, no Christian knight came forward to prevent the wrong by force of arms or perish in the attempt. Sabina said simply, in answer to the threat: “The holy God will see about that.” There must have been innumerable instances of Christians deliberately abstaining from the defence of one another. Such conduct, amazing as it may seem to us, does not argue callousness, still less cowardice, for cowards could never have endured torture with the constancy normally shown by the Christian martyrs. It simply means a strenuous adherence to the Master’s teaching—an adherence based indeed on a simple sense of obedience to him, but issuing, as posterity can see, in the exertion of an immense positive moral power, and involving, in a situation from which conflict and suffering in some measure were inseparable, probably a less severe conflict and a smaller amount of suffering than any other course of conduct consistent with faithfulness to the Christian religion would have involved.

The Christians’ Experience of Evil in the Character of Soldiers.—Before we enter upon an examination of the course actually pursued by Christians in regard to service in the Roman legions, there is one more introductory study we shall have to undertake, viz. that of the unfavourable criticisms passed by Christians on the seamy side of the military character as they knew it in practical life, and the harsh treatment they received at the hands of soldiers with whom they came into conflict. The reader will of course understand that what we are here concerned with constitutes only one side of the picture; the other side, showing us instances of kind treatment and so on on the part of soldiers, will come to light at a later stage of our enquiry. At the same time, the aspect now before us was a very real and a very painful one, and is not without a fairly direct bearing on the early Christian attitude to war.

The main fact in the situation was that the soldier, being charged with ordinary police duties as well as with military functions in the narrower sense, was the normal agent of governments in giving effect to their measures of persecution. While the illegality of Christianity did not become a part of the imperial policy until 64 a.d., numerous acts of persecution were committed before that date. John the Baptist had been beheaded in prison by one of Antipas’ guards.1 Jesus himself had been mocked, spat upon, scourged, and crucified by soldiers.2 James, the son of Zebedee, was executed by one of Agrippa’s soldiers.3 Peter was guarded in chains by others, and escaped a like fate only by a miraculous deliverance.4 Paul endured long confinement in the hands of the military; and, when the ship in which he and other prisoners were being taken to Rome was wrecked, the soldiers advised that they should all be killed to prevent any of them escaping.5 Both Paul, and Peter were eventually martyred at Rome, doubtless by the hands of soldiers. In 64 a.d. Nero’s act in persecuting the Christians in order to divert from himself the suspicion of having set Rome on fire, inaugurated what proved to be the official policy of the Empire until the time of Constantinus. That policy was that the profession of Christianity was regarded as in itself a crime against society—like piracy, brigandage, theft, and arson—and as such was punishable with death by virtue of the ordinary administrative powers of the Roman Governor. Refusal to participate in the widely practised worship of the Emperor or to recognize any other of the pagan gods, strong disapproval of idolatry and all other manifestations of pagan religion, dissent and aloofness from many of the social customs of paganism, secret meetings, nocturnal celebration of ‘love-feasts,’ disturbance caused to family life by conversions—all these had resulted in making the Christians profoundly unpopular, and brought upon them the suspicion of being guilty of detested crimes, such as cannibalism and incest, and the stigma of being regarded as thoroughly disloyal and dangerous members of society. Such was the basis upon which the imperial policy rested. As individual Emperors varied in their attitude to Christianity (some even going so far as to grant it a de facto toleration), as the popular hatred would flame out and die down at different times and in different places, and lastly as the provincial governors had large discretionary powers and would differ widely in their personal views, the imperial policy of stern repression was not carried out consistently or uniformly. There would be extensive regions and lengthy intervals in which it would lie dormant. Here and there, now and then, it would break forth in varying degrees of severity: and whenever it did so, the task of carrying out the state’s decrees devolved upon the soldiers, as the policemen of the Empire. More than that, it is easy to see that, inasmuch as the conduct of official proceedings against the Christians rested in the hands of the military, they must often have borne the main responsibility for the occurrence of persecution.1 We come across many traces of their activities in this direction. Thus Ignatius of Antioch wrote to his friends at Rome: “From Syria as far as Rome I am fighting with beasts, by land and sea, night and day, having been bound to ten leopards, that is (to say), a squad of soldiers, who become worse even when they are treated well. By the wrongs they do me, I am becoming more of a disciple.”2 The arrest and burning of Polukarpos at Smyrna were evidently carried out by the military.3 When Karpos was burnt at Pergamum, it was a soldier’s hand that lit the faggots.4 In the dreadful persecution at Lugdunum (Lyons) in 177–8 a.d., we are told that “all the wrath of populace and governor and soldiers fell in exceeding measure” upon certain of the martyrs, whose appalling sufferings cast a sinister light upon the character of their tormentors.5 Clemens and Origenes group soldiers with kings, rulers, etc., as one of the parties regularly implicated in the futile persecution of Christianity.1 Tertullianus numbers them as strangers and therefore enemies of the truth, their motive being the desire for gain.2 Christians seem to have been exposed to as much danger from the interference of the military as from the hatred of the mob.3 It seems to have been not unusual for imperilled or imprisoned Christians or their friends to secure better treatment or even release or immunity by secretly bribing an influential soldier, justifying their action by saying that they were rendering to Caesar the things that were Caesar’s: Tertullianus disapproved of the practice.4 The apocryphal Acts of Thomas (225–250 a.d.), tell how the Apostle, being sentenced to death, was struck by four soldiers and slain.5 When Pionios was burnt at Smyrna in the persecution of Decius (250 a.d.), a soldier nailed him to the stake.6 The sufferings of Dionusios of Alexandria in the same persecution were due to his treatment by the military.7 In the persecution of Valerianus (258–9 a.d.) the same story is told: the arrest, custody, and execution of Cyprianus at Carthago were carried out by the proconsul’s soldiers8 : the martyracts of Marianus and Jacobus, who suffered in Numidia, tell us that in the region of the martyrdom “the attacks of persecution swelled up, like waves of the world, with the blind madness and military offices of the gentiles,” that “the madness of the bloody and blinded governor sought for all the beloved of God by means of bands of soldiers with hostile and aggressive minds,” that the martyrs were guarded by “a violent band of centurions,” and that they were “assailed with numerous and hard tortures by a soldier on guard, the executioner of the just and pious, a centurion and the magistrates of Cirta being present also to help his cruelty.”1 Fructuosus, who suffered death in Spain, was hurried to prison by the soldiers.2 In the interval of comparative peace between 259 and 303 a.d., the bigotry of certain pagan soldiers was more than once the cause of death to Christians in the army.3 The great persecution begun by Diocletianus and his colleagues in 303 a.d. and continued in some parts of the Empire until 313 a.d. opened with the sack of the great church at Nicomedia by military and other officials, and the complete destruction of the building by the Praetorian Guards, who “came in battle array with axes and other instruments of iron.”4 In the account given by Eusebios of the sufferings of the Christians, particularly in the East, soldiers appear at every turn of the story, as the perpetrators either of the diabolical and indescribable torments inflicted on both sexes5 or of the numerous other afflictions and annoyances incidental to the persecution. 1 In Phrygia, for instance, they committed to the flames the whole population of a small town which happened to be entirely Christian.2

Besides these allusions to the iniquities of persecution and besides the expressions of horror at the barbarities of war in general, we come across other references to the evil characters and evil deeds of soldiers. The Didaskalia forbids the acceptance of money for the church “from soldiers who behave unrighteously or from those who kill men or from executioners3 or from any (of the) magistrate(s) of the Roman Empire who are stained in wars and have shed innocent blood without judgment, who pervert judgments,” etc.4 Lactantius alludes to the calamities caused by the multiplication of armies under Diocletianus and his colleagues,5 to the misdeeds of the Praetorians at Rome in slaying certain judges and making Maxentius Emperor,6 to the terrible ravages committed by the troops of Galerius in his retreat from Rome,7 and to the rapacity of the soldiers of Maximinus Daza in the East.8 Eusebios gives us similar information in regard to the last-named ruler,9 and tells us of the massacre committed in Rome by the guards of Maxentius.10

Let us repeat that the grim indictment of the military character constituted by this long story of cruelty and outrage forms only one side of the picture, and obviously does not of itself imply any view as to the abstract rightfulness or otherwise of bearing arms: on the contrary, its sharpest charges belong to a time when there were certainly many Christian soldiers. Nevertheless, our study of the Christian view of war would be incomplete without the inclusion of this aspect of the case on the debit side of the account, an aspect which is more or less closely connected with the central question to which we have just alluded. It is to an examination of the view taken by the early Christians of that question that we have now to turn.

The Christian Refusal to participate in War.—The evidence as to the actual refusal of the early Christians to bear arms cannot be properly appreciated, or even fully stated, without a consideration of the parallel evidence touching the extent to which they were willing to serve as soldiers. The material of the present section will therefore be found to a certain extent to interlace with that of the corresponding section in our next part. For the sake, however, of simplicity of arrangement, it will be best to marshal the facts as we have them, first on one side, and then on the other, and to postpone our final generalizations until we have given full consideration to both.

It will probably be agreed by all that the substance of the last four sections creates at least a strong prima facie presumption that the persons who expressed themselves in the way explained in those sections would decline on principle to render military service. This presumption becomes very much stronger when we are reminded that there was practically nothing in the conditions of the time which would put such pressure on any early Christian as to compel him either to be a soldier against his will or to suffer the consequences of refusing to do so. We should expect therefore to find these Christians, at all events during the first few generations, refusing to serve as soldiers. With that expectation the little information that we possess is in almost entire harmony.1 Apart from Cornelius and the one or two soldiers who may have been baptized with him by Peter at Caesarea (?40 a.d.) and the gaoler baptized by Paul at Philippi (circ a.d. 49),2 we have no direct or reliable evidence for the existence of a single Christian soldier until after 170 a.d.

Partly in justification, partly in amplification, of this negative statement, a few words must be said in regard to one or two incidents and epochs within the period indicated. Thus it is stated that Sergius Paulus, the proconsul of Cyprus, ‘believed’ as a result of the teaching of Paul on his first mission journey3 (47 a.d.). If this meant that Sergius Paulus became a Christian in the ordinary sense, he would have to be reckoned as another Christian soldier, for the proconsul of Cyprus was a military, as well as a civil, official: but the adherence of a man of proconsular rank to the Christian faith at this early date would be a very extra-ordinary occurrence; no other event of the same significance occurs till nearly the end of the century; no mention is made of the baptism of Sergius Paulus; and when it is said that he ‘believed,’ what is probably meant is that he listened sympathetically to what the apostles said and expressed agreement with some of their most earnest utterances.1 In writing from Rome to his friends at Philippi (60 a.d.), Paul says: “My bonds became manifest in Christ in the whole praetorium and to (or among) all the rest.”2 Various opinions have been held as to the exact meaning of ‘praetorium’ here3 ; but, even if it means the camp of the Praetorian Guards, the passage would not imply that some of the guards became Christians, but only that it became known to all of them that Paul was in custody because he was a Christian, and not for any political offence.

A more positive piece of information consists in the fact that, shortly before the siege of Jerusalem by the Romans (70 a.d.), the Christians of that city, in obedience to “a certain oracular response given by revelation to approved men there,”4 left Jerusalem, and settled at Pella in Peraea beyond the Jordan, thus taking no part in the national struggle against Rome. We are too much in the dark as to the details to be able to ascertain the motive that really prompted this step. How far was it due to a disapproval of the national policy of the Jews? how far to a sense of a final break with Mosaism? how far to a simple desire for personal safety? how far to a recollection of the Master’s words, “Flee to the mountains”? or how far, possibly, to a feeling that the use of the sword was forbidden them? None of these reasons can be either definitely affirmed or definitely denied. The one last suggested is by no means impossible or unnatural. It is in keeping with what we know of the facts of the case. At all events the flame of Jewish patriotism was extinct in the hearts of these Jerusalemite Christians. Their policy on this occasion formed a contrast to that of a certain section of the Essenes, who, despite the fact that they were not usually over-patriotic and that they abjured the use of arms on principle, yet joined with their fellow-countrymen in the revolt against Rome.1

The letter written about 112 a.d. by Plinius, proconsul of Bithynia, to the Emperor Trajanus concerning the Christians, does not refer either to their willingness or unwillingness to serve in the legions, and there would therefore be no occasion to mention it in this connection, were it not for the attempt which has been made to represent its silence as implying that the Christians of that time had no objection to bearing arms. Thus, Professor Bethune-Baker says: “Pliny’s letter shows that there was no complaint against the Christians then with regard to their view of war”; and in this judgment he is followed by the Venerable Archdeacon of Ely.2 But inasmuch as there was nothing in the circumstances of the time to bring about a collision between the imperial government and the Christians on the subject of military service, and very probably nothing even to bring the views of the latter to the governor’s notice at all, the silence of the letter is perfectly compatible with the supposition that the Christians would not serve; and the attempt to deduce the opposite conclusion from it can only be described as entirely unwarranted. While we are speaking of the reign of Trajanus, it may be mentioned that in the Acts of Phokas, who is said to have been put to death in Pontus under this Emperor, the martyr-bishop baptizes a number of soldiers at their own request.1 But the acts as a whole are of very questionable authority as history2 ; and least of all could an ornamental detail like this be accepted on such slender grounds.

The idea has also been entertained that there is evidence for the existence of Christian soldiers in the time of the Emperor Hadrianus (117–138 a.d.). The late Dr. J. Bass Mullinger of Cambridge says: “Aringhi (Antiq. Christianae, i. 430) gives an epitaph of a soldier of the time of Hadrian, and (ii. 170) that of a soldier in the praetorian guard; Boldetti (Osservazioni sopra I cimiteri, & c., p. 432), one of a VETERANUS EX PROTERIORIBUS (?“protectorioribus”), and also (p. 415) one “Pyrrho militi,” and (p. 416) that of one who is described as “felicissimus miles.” Marangoni (Act. S. Vict. p. 102) gives us that of a centurion, and Ruinart (Act. Mart. i. 50) that of two brothers, Getulius and Amantius, who were military tribunes under Hadrian.”3 The first of these inscriptions, (which occurs, by the bye, on p. 525, not on p. 430, of Aringhi’s first volume), reads as follows: “Tempore Hadriani Imperatoris: Marius adolescens dux militum, qui satis vixit dum vitam pro Ch(rist)o cum sanguine consunsit, in pace tandem quievit. Benemerentes cum lacrimis et metuposuerunt.” It is, I am informed on competent authority, unquestionably a forgery. As regards the second inscription from Aringhi, there is not only no evidence of its pre-Constantinian date, but none even of its Christian origin. As regards the three inscriptions given by Boldetti, there is no evidence that any one of them is as early as the second century. That given by Marangoni is probably post-Constantinian, as it contains the nomen Flavius in the contracted form Fl.1 As for Getulius and Amantius, their existence rests on the witness of the highly-coloured Acts of Symphorosa.2 The names of Symphorosa and her seven sons are those of real martyrs: but that apparently is all that can be affirmed in support of the historicity of the story. Lightfoot, after a full discussion, decides that “the story condemns itself both in its framework and in its details,” and that “there is no sufficient ground for assigning their martyrdom to the reign of Hadrian.”3

It has already been remarked that the sentiments expressed by Christian authors in regard to the iniquity of war, the essentially peaceful character of Christianity, the fulfilment of the great ploughshare prophecy in the birth and growth of the Church, the duty of loving enemies, and so on, all point to the refusal to bear arms as their logical implicate in practice. What has already been said, therefore, on these various points has a certain place in the consideration of the concrete topic now before us. While this is so, it would be merely tedious to reiterate all the evidence previously adduced: but there are certain pieces of that evidence which are more direct and explicit than others, and which therefore deserve to be either repeated or referred to here.

First in order among these are one or two passages in Justinus. What view, we may ask, in regard to military service must have been taken by the man who said: “We who hated and slew one another, and because of (differences in) customs would not share a common hearth with those who were not of our tribe, now, after the appearance of Christ, have become sociable, and pray for our enemies, and try to persuade those who hate (us) unjustly, in order that they, living according to the good suggestions of Christ, may share our hope of obtaining the same (reward) from the God who is Master of all”?1 “We, who had been filled with war and mutual slaughter and every wickedness, have each one—all the world over—changed the instruments of war, the swords into ploughs and the spears into farming implements, and we cultivate piety, righteousness, love for men, faith, (and) the hope which is from the Father Himself through the Crucified One.”2 Hefele3 maintains that the language of Justinus in his (first) Apology, ch. xiv, does not necessarily imply a general disapproval of the profession of the warrior; and Professor Bethune-Baker, referring to ch. xi (where Justinus denies that the Christians are looking for a human kingdom) and xiv ff, remarks that he “expresses no definite view on the subject of war. . . . What he says. . . really only amounts to a general repudiation of warlike aims or methods on behalf of Christians. Had he regarded war as actually incompatible with Christian sentiment he would probably have taken this opportunity of disposing absolutely of the suspicion to which the Christians were exposed by their Master’s use of earthly metaphors to shadow forth eternal spiritual relations.”1 This reasoning is, in my opinion, faulty. Justinus said all that was necessary in order to controvert the suspicion in question, and also, I would add, quite enough to show where he stood on the subject of military service: he would needlessly have prejudiced the Emperor against his main plea, viz. for toleration, had he gone out of his way to say that, if ever the attempt were made to compel Christians to serve in the legions, they would refuse to obey the Emperor’s order. It is worth while to notice, though Justinus does not mention the point in connection with war, that he regarded the Christians as making a positive contribution to the maintenance of peace by their very Christianity, and he commends them to the Emperor’s favour on this ground.2

Tatianus, as we have seen, condemned war as murderous,3 and, as Harnack says, “was undoubtedly opposed to the military calling.” He wrote: “I do not want to be a king: I do not wish to be rich: I decline military command: I hate fornication.”4

What again must have been the attitude of Athenagoras, who declared that the Christians could not endure to see a man put to death, even justly, considering that to do so was practically equivalent to killing him, and that for this reason they could not attend the gladiatorial games?1

The heathen philosopher Celsus in the ‘True Discourse’ which he wrote against the Christians about 178 a.d. (the approximate date of Athenagoras’ ‘Legatio’ also), not only exhorts the Christians to take part in civil government, but “urges us” (so Origenes said later, quoting Celsus’ words) “to help the Emperor with all (our) strength, and to labour with him (in maintaining) justice, and to fight for him and serve as soldiers with him, if he require (it), and to share military command (with him).” Celsus argued that, if all did as the Christian, nothing would prevent the Emperor being left alone and deserted and earthly affairs getting into the hands of the most lawless and savage barbarians, so that the glory neither of Christianity nor of true wisdom would be left among men.2 “It is quite obvious from this,” Harnack says, “that Christians were charged with a disinclination to serve in the army, and the charge was undoubtedly well founded.”3

The first reliable evidence for the presence of Christians in any number in the Roman army belongs, as we shall see later, to the reign of Marcus Aurelius (161–180 a.d.), more precisely to about the year 174 a.d. This epoch is therefore an important landmark in the history of the subject, and we may pause here for a moment to summarize one or two aspects of the situation. It is only in this period that the question of service or abstention becomes one of real and practical significance to Christian people. Up to that time the conditions had constituted no challenge for anyone. “It is not therefore surprising,” says Harnack, “that until about the time of the Antonines, in particular Marcus Aurelius, a question of military service (Soldatenfrage) did not exist in the churches: the baptized Christian did not become a soldier; and those who were caught by the Christian faith in the camp had to see how they could come to terms with their military profession.”1 The same scholar gives a useful enumeration of the various features of military life, which could not have failed to thrust themselves on the Christian’s notice as presenting, to say the least, great ethical difficulty. The shedding of blood on the battlefield, the use of torture in the law-courts, the passing of death-sentences by officers and the execution of them by common soldiers, the unconditional military oath, the all-pervading worship of the Emperor, the sacrifices in which all were expected in some way to participate, the average behaviour of soldiers in peace-time, and other idolatrous and offensive customs—all these would constitute in combination an exceedingly powerful deterrent against any Christian joining the army on his own initiative.2

As a transition from this point to the full material furnished by Tertullianus, we may recall in passing the phrase in the Pseudo-Justinian ‘Address to the Greeks,’ exhorting them thus: “Learn (about) the incorruptible King, and know his heroes who never inflict slaughter on (the) peoples,”1 the passage in Eirenaios, in which he applies the ploughshare prophecy to the Christians and says that they “now know not how to fig