Archive for the ‘essays’ Category

The Road

Tuesday, August 31st, 2010

by Jim Forest

Consider well the highway, the road by which you went.
– Jeremiah 31:21

One could spend long hours making a list of great human achievements, from the wheel to the great cathedrals to the discovery of DNA and the development of computers, and yet leave out one of the important attainments because it is too obvious, too ordinary and too ancient: the road.

The Ancient Appian Way south of RomeRoads are the circulatory system of the human race, and the original information highway. From times long before the written word, roads have linked house to house, town to town and city to city. Without roads there are no communities. Roads not only connect towns but give birth to them. They pass beneath all borders, checkpoints and barriers, connecting not only friend to friend but foe to foe. Far older than passports, the road is an invitation to cross frontiers, urging a start to dialogue and an end to enmity. Each road gives witness to the need we have to be in touch with other.

There was a time before roads when the world was pure wilderness, but even before Adam and Eve there would have been countless tracks and paths created by animals that moved in packs or herds, following their prey or migrating with the seasons. With the arrival of human beings, many of these pre-human pathways would have become roads for hunters, here and there providing ideal sites for encampments and villages.

Supreme collective endeavor that they are, roads reveal the cultures that made them. Roman roads tend to run straight as Roman laws, but in many cultures roads take many turns as they search out fords, avoid marshes, find higher ground, touch wells and pubs, and seek holy places.

Roads are life-giving. They provide the primary infrastructure of social life. Without them, there is no commerce. Without roads and the delivery systems they support, we would starve to death. Even more important than safeguarding weights and measures and punishing those who watered down the beer, it was the primary task of kings and queens to maintain and keep safe the highways.

Human history is the history of roads. Empires have been ranked according to the quality of their highways. Roman highways were so well built that even today, two millennia later, portions of them not only survive but remain in use.
Roads mark the way to safety. Paths tell the traveler how to get round a chasm or find a fording place in the river. They point the way through marshes and around quicksand.

If roads sometimes speed armies on the path of destruction, more often they guide pilgrims toward encounters with the sacred. They connect not only capitol cities and great cathedrals but remote churches that house the relics of saints. A saint’s relics have many times widened a road or even created a new one.

Roads not only take us toward each other but, when we need to be rescued from society, they lead us to solitude. The same road that leads to Rome is, in reverse and at its furthest reaches, a route to the desert.
Roads have a sacramental aspect: a road is a visible sign of a hidden unity. Roads are a map of human connectedness.
The road is a primary metaphor. In the Gospel Christ speaks of choosing the narrow path rather than the broad highway. Early Christians called themselves “followers of the way.”

The road has often been a place of religious breakthroughs: Two disciples walked with the risen Christ on the road to Emmaus, unaware of who he was. Later they took the same road back to Jerusalem where they related how Christ revealed himself to them in the breaking of the bread.

Paul – Christianity’s first great pilgrim – encountered Christ on the road to Damascus. Traversing the highways of the Roman Empire, Paul became one of history’s great men of the road.
Old roads still exist, in some cases quite visible and still in use, in some hidden under modern highways, in other cases grassy pathways once again, in places hardly more than faint indentations in the soil.

The old pilgrim road from Winchester to Canterbury is in turn all of these. A road as old as England, some parts are now rarely walked while other sections have become major motorways. Yet, in part thanks to a steady trickle of pilgrims still making their way to the church where St. Thomas Becket was murdered in 1170, the pilgrim path still exists from end to end. In 1904 Hillaire Belloc published his book The Old Road in which he managed to stitch together the road’s fragments into a continuous whole, which he himself walked in one of his many acts of pilgrimage.

One of the pilgrims of recent years, Shirley du Boulay, walked from Winchester to Canterbury in the early nineties and has left us one of the best contemporary memoirs of pilgrimage, The Road to Canterbury. Old roads, she writes, “are hallowed by time and the footsteps of men and animals. … We respond to old roads as to old buildings. Even their names – Watling Street, Ermine Street, the Fosse Way, the Maiden Way, Stane Street – echo in the imagination. I remember as a child being told, as we walked the Berkshire Downs, that we were on a Roman Road called Icknield Street. I remember too my pride thereafter in recognizing a long straight road as Roman…. A road does not just appear. It is the fruit of long years of trial and error. It is the supreme collective endeavor, a long experiment in which the individual can only be subsumed.”

It’s a special feeling walking an old road. The pilgrim may see no one else behind or ahead and yet be profoundly aware of not being alone. Hundreds of thousands of others have passed this way, generation after generation. At times the multi-generational river of travelers seems almost visible. If a file of medieval pilgrims were to appear before us on small horses, Chaucer himself among them, it would hardly be surprising.

Among those who walked or rode before us, not all were pilgrims heading toward a shrine. But many were, and even those on more prosaic errands may have traveled with the God-alert attitude of a pilgrim. Many were people aware that each step they took was an act of prayer. Roads that have been intensively used by people at prayer seem afterward to hold a rumor of prayer. The road itself becomes a thin place.

One of the celebrators of the road was the Oxford don, J.R.R. Tolkien, through whom an invented history of Middle Earth made its way into the modern world. Both The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings are celebrations of roads. For Tolkien it wasn’t roads in the plural but simply The Road, singular. However many intersections, however many forks along the way, however many rarely walked paths reach out from it, all the tracks human beings walk are connected and form a single system, like the body’s capillary system through which a single river of blood makes its way away from the heart to the remotest cell and back again.
Tolkien’s Bilbo sang the song of the road as he made his first step along a path that led at last to the edge of death in his encounter with a dragon. Bilbo’s heir, Frodo, sang it as he stepped out the door of his snug burrow on his way to overthrow a kingdom of evil, though at the time all he was aware of was his hope of delivering a magic ring to a place of safety: Rivendell.
The core text of Tolkien’s tales is Bilbo and Frodo’s song that celebrates stepping out the door into the unknown without the certainty that one will ever see one’s home again: The Road goes ever on and on / Down from the door where it began. / Now far ahead the Road has gone, / And I must follow, if I can, / Pursuing it with eager feet, / Until it joins some larger way / Where many paths and errands meet. / And whither then? I cannot say.

Jim Forest is international secretary of the Orthodox Peace Fellowship. This is a chapter in his book, The Road to Emmaus: Pilgrimage as a Way of Life (Orbis).
âť–
In Communion / Summer 2010 / issue 57

Corporatism or Commonweal?

Thursday, February 26th, 2009

by Archbishop Lazar Puhalo

This is the rule of the most perfect Christianity, its most exact definition, its highest point, namely, the seeking of the common good, for nothing can so make a person an imitator of Christ as caring for his neighbors.

St. John Chrysostom

The concept of the “common good” has fallen out of favor in recent years. Over the past two decades, it has become increasingly common to dismiss the notion that we all share an interest in the broader community, that society is more than simply a collection of individuals pursuing their individual material self-interest.

In Socrates’ Apology, he tells a story that illustrates the tension between corporatism and commonweal. Zeus, Socrates relates, decided to help mankind create a human society. He sent Hermes to distribute the necessary technical and managerial skill to certain people. The result was a society based on self-interest and expertise. Such a society was centrifugal and fragmented. As the philosopher John Ralston-Saul observed, Zeus had created a society based on the corporatist model, with economic and social structures based on professional self-interest. People were defined by what they did. In more contemporary terms, this would be the corporatism of consumer capitalism, also based on self-interest and self-centeredness: defining people by what and how much they consume.

Zeus sees his error and decides to remedy it by having Hermes distribute social reverence (aidos) and right-mindedness (diki) to each person. Social reverence signifies a sense of “community,” a shared awareness, a shared knowledge of selfconstraint and belonging. Right-mindedness relates to a sense of social justice, integrity, freedom, and social order: a shared sense of responsibility. This is what we refer to as “commonweal.” It defines people simply as “fellow human beings,” as members of a community that we call “humanity.”

Corporatism, a fundamental aspect of our modern consumerist economic system, is inimical to Christianity and a violation of God’s Law. (See, for example, Deuteronomy 24:19-21)

Corporatism reorganizes society with the reduction of the individual to the status of consumer. To consume is regarded as patriotic while to consume in excess raises’s one’s social status. This new economic world order presents us with intense moral and ethical contradictions, arguing that greed, self-gratification, and excess consumption are simply aspects of human nature. This argument, taken from the doctrines of Social Darwinism, is certainly questionable. As Linda McQuaig observed in her essay, “Lost in the Global Shopping Mall”:

The rapaciousness of certain business leaders has been much in the spotlight…. Even conservative pundits appear shaken by the astounding greed and dishonesty at the heart of … corporate culture. Still, some shrug it off as simple human nature, saying that we are inherently a competitive, acquisitive species, naturally inclined to push our own self-interest as far as we possibly can. But is this the whole picture? Is our society really nothing more than a loose collection of shoppers, graspers and self-absorbed swindlers? Perhaps we are in danger of becoming such a culture, but it is important to remember that culture itself is a learned set of rules.”

At this point we may examine the corporatization of morality and, to some extent, of the Christian Church.

The concept of commonweal the common good is fundamental to authentic Christianity. A clear and profound doctrine of commonweal permeates the Old Testament. It is made law in the book of Deuteronomy and constantly enjoined by the Holy Prophets.

Jesus Christ reaffirms this “law of commonweal” with his two great moral imperatives, (“love your neighbor as yourself” and “do unto others as you would have them do unto you”). Christ makes the love of neighbor  together with unconditional love of God the very foundation and essence of the Law and the Prophets. The fulfillment of such a moral imperative certainly requires a direct encounter and interaction with culture and society.

Unfortunately, this is an encounter that has been either abandoned, corporatized or reduced to outbursts of moralism by many Christian bodies.

Contrary to this trend, the Christian community must address society and interact in the shaping of our culture. However, this interaction must consist of something more than merely scolding politicians and demanding the law enforce on all citizens the sort of behavior we consider to be correct. We must avoid the inner contradictions of moralism and address the whole scope of true morality.

Morality or Moralism? How can Christians consider it to be an authentic expression of morality to oppose the killing of unborn children while ignoring the killing of children who are already born? Is it truly moral to protect the lives of unborn children but ignore or trivialize the fact that they will have to grow up in a world where, because of our own excess, they may not have sufficient food and many of the necessary natural resources will have been squandered and climate change will have made their lives precarious and uncertain? Is it actually moral to demand that governments enforce the sort of correct personal behavior that our own ideologies demand while turning consumer capitalism into a religious doctrine that cannot be subjected to critique and criticism?

One fatal flaw in the preaching of Christianity that has had negative effects in North America is the failure to distinguish between morality and moralism. From an authentic Christian point of view, true morality has to do not only with salvation but with every aspect of our inter-human relations; it is not simply a system of correct behavior.

True morality is not a system of law which, if obeyed, makes one a moral person. It is necessary to have such laws for the sake of society, but that has little to do with the change of a person’s heart and an inner transformation into the image of Christ’s love. Morality is not a form of bondage but a path of liberation. When we speak of “the law of God,” we are not speaking of an ordinary, worldly notion of “law.” God’s law is not given to repress us but to protect us.

If we are driving along a dangerous highway and the signs warn us to slow down because there is a dangerous curve in the road, that is a “law.” The speed limit is set by law. If we disregard that law and crash over a cliff because we are driving too fast, we do not claim that the government punished us by making us crash. On the contrary, the government tried to save us from serious injury or death by making that law.

This is precisely the meaning of the “law of God,” of our system of morality. God has revealed to us a manner of life that can keep us from much pain and suffering and from many disasters. He has called upon us to realize that his law is a law of love, and that we should obey it out of love and trust in him, not from fear of punishment. Moreover, such true morality constrains us to imitate God’s love in our dealings with the world. This is the essence of true morality.

We cannot equate morality with behavior that is acceptable to a given society, because often a society accepts behavior that we know is contrary not only to our salvation but is also inimical with the concept of commonweal. If we preach only a legal morality that does not encompass the moral imperatives of Jesus Christ then we are mere moralists. Moralism is cold, unforgiving, full of hatred, and spiritually destructive. It is self-centered, and it deforms the idea of morality for the advantage of one or another class in society to the detriment of others.

When we speak of true morality, we are not referring to simple obedience to a system of law but a free accord with a system of spiritual healing. The authentic Christian spiritual life really does provide us with the means for moral healing, but even among our own people, we see so many who never experience such healing. This is because they encounter only moralism: “Obey this law or God will do something bad to you.”

Moralism does not take into account what is necessary to actually heal a person and deliver them from the bondage of their inner suffering so they can lead a moral life; it thinks only about condemnation and punishment. But let us indicate how these ideas have a direct bearing on our subject.

Our modern consumerism inclines a society not only to excess but also to self-centeredness and indifference. One can opt to blame such attitudes on Satan, but when one does, let him remember that the power of Satan in our lives can be defeated only by means of unselfish love, by adopting a sincere sense of commonweal to love your neighbor as yourself in place of a desensitized self-interest. There is no such thing as Christian morality without an inner struggle toward unselfish love, self-constraint, and a sincere concern for the welfare not only of those around us but even for future generations.

Moralism condemns, usually with arrogant self-righteousness, while a spirit of true Christian morality seeks one’s own moral healing and the moral healing of those around us so they might be liberated from bondage. This is the concept of morality that can keep us alive spiritually in our consumerist and secular culture; this is the image of morality that will attract others to Christ and to authentic faith, a concept that can help form in us a truly Christian sense of commonweal.

The Corporatization of Morality: The corporatization of morality may be a product of radical individualism. It arises almost automatically when Christianity is transformed from a living faith into an ideology informed by such categories as liberal, conservative, leftist, right wing, and so forth. Morality then becomes corporatized into various categories of correct behavior, defined by an essentially political mindset of one or another religio-political ideology.

This narrows the concepts, so clearly stated in the Old Testament, down to horror at those things condemned with little regard for those things enjoined: social justice, non-condescending care for the poor and all those in need, and a powerful sense of mutual responsibility for the common good of the nation, of all the inhabitants of that nation.

In the Old Testament law, there are clearly ecological provisions for the care and nurturing of the land: a Sabbath for the agricultural land is just as much a part of the Law as a Sabbath for man (Leviticus 25:4-6). This care of the land, which must be cherished and nurtured, is surely as much a moral law as any in the Old Testament. Just as surely, it shows a deep concern for the common good of the whole population which must be fed from that land. This concern so obviously extends to future generations.

Organizing and spending large sums of money to protest and lobby against certain forms of personal behavior may be useful, but there is an inner contradiction that is inexcusable when the same organizers refuse to condemn corporate immorality or organize and finance lobbying about environmental issues that relate to the very survival of whole populations and the health, welfare, and survival of future generations. The destruction of the environment is every bit as immoral and kills just as many children as abortion. Any truly Christian concept of morality will encompass corporate and environmental immorality with the same fervor that it addresses personal morality.

We may have a “fallen human nature,” but it is clear that humankind is essentially good and, as the image and likeness of God, has an innate inclination toward virtue. We will all live in the new world order of consumer capitalism and secularism. We will all partake of the benefits of consumer capitalism and enjoy its positive aspect.

But as Christians, we will also have to face the moral challenges of its negative side. It is urgent for us, as moral human beings, to recognize that future generations will pay a terrible price for the excess and overindulgence of our era. We cannot separate spirituality from moral responsibility and here, consumerism poses yet another challenge.

Since consumerism thrives on over-consumption, not only must products not be durable, as we mentioned before, but they should not be reasonably “upgradable” either. Computers, for example, are discarded and replaced regularly. People are shocked to learn that, in our monastery print shop, we are still using a computer that we purchased in 1988, yet it is perfectly adequate for our typesetting needs. Let us look at the moral tragedy of this problem.

In Canada alone, 140,000 tons of computer equipment, cell phones, and other types of electronic equipment are discarded into waste disposal yards every year. That is the weight of about 28,000 fully-grown adult African elephants. This results in 4,750 tons of lead, 4.5 tons of cadmium, and 1.1 tons of mercury being leached into the water system and food chain every year.

These toxic heavy metals are already creating havoc on people’s health and causing a loss of drinking water reserves. Future generations will pay a devastating price for all this. Whether we care enough to do something about it or to resist this aspect of consumerism is a moral issue. It is also a barometer of our spirituality.

Yet we need not succumb to what JĂĽrgen Habermas calls “personality systems without any aspiration to subjective truth nor secure processes for communal interpretation.” This is why it is so important for us to consider the role authentic Christian morality can play in this unfolding drama of our present era. We cannot have such a role if we opt out of the political dialogue and refuse to engage culture and interact with the society around us in a creative and healing way.

Archbishop Lazar Puhalo is abbot of the Monastery of All Saints of North America in Deroche, British Columbia, Canada, and leads the Orthodox Peace Fellowship in Canada

âť–

Winter 2009 issue of In Communion / IC 52

Bookmark and Share

May Christians Kill?

Thursday, February 26th, 2009

By Fr. Philip LeMasters

Eastern Christianity does not view morality in fundamentally legal terms or within the context of abstract philosophy, but as part of the holistic vocation of humanity for theosis: participation by grace in the eternal life of the Holy Trinity. Hence, the Orthodox vision must be considered on its own terms, and not distorted by the imposition of Western categories. The question for the Orthodox is not, “What approach to warfare is most persuasive rationally or incumbent upon all Christians as a matter of moral law?” Instead, the East asks, “In light of the human vocation for growth in holiness and communion with God, how should Christians respond to the prospect of warfare?”

The prominence of petitions for peace in the Liturgy sheds light on the Orthodox response to war. Since the Church believes that the Liturgy is a participation in the worship of heaven, and grounds the knowledge of God in worship and mystical experience, it is fitting to place the issue of war and peace within the context of the liturgical life of Eastern Christianity, for it is in worship that the Church participates most fully in communion with the Holy Trinity.

In the Divine Liturgy of St. John Chrysostom, the first petitions of the Great Ektenia are for “the peace from above, and for the salvation of our souls” and “the peace of the whole world; for the good estate of the churches of God, and for the union of all.” At every Liturgy we pray for our parish, the clergy and laity, for government officials and all those in public service, for the place we live and for all towns and cities, for peaceful times, for travelers, the sick, the suffering, for captives and their salvation, and for our deliverance from all tribulation, wrath, danger, and need. “Help us; save us; have mercy on us, and keep us, O God, by Your grace,” we beg, finally commending “ourselves and each other, and all our life unto Christ our God.”

These are not simply decorative words. Neither are they prayers which refer merely to the inner tranquility of worshipers, nor to an entirely future Kingdom of Heaven. Instead, they embody an Orthodox vision of salvation and call upon the Lord to enable us to experience his heavenly peace right now in every dimension of life: personal, public, religious, temporal, and political. Whoever prays these prayers is asking already to participate in the Kingdom of God on earth, to find the healing and blessing of salvation in every dimension of one’s life indeed, in every aspect of God’s creation.

The entire Liturgy is an epiphany of God’s Kingdom on earth. The priest begins the service with a proclamation, “Blessed is the Kingdom of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit: now and ever and unto ages of ages,” which declares that the assembly is now participating in the worship of Heaven. The Church is raised to the life of the Kingdom as her members gather to glorify and commune with the Holy Trinity.

Because we believe in the Incarnation and the goodness of God’s physical creation, we pray for peace and salvation upon people in “real life” situations of peril and suffering, for deliverance from the kinds of calamities and hardships that beset our mortal bodies in this life.

The peace for which we pray includes every dimension of our existence before the Lord. God created us for communion with Himself in all aspects of our personhood: body, soul, and spirit. Christian salvation entails the resurrection of the complete, embodied self in the blessed communion of Heaven and the transformation of the entire creation in subjection to the Holy Trinity.

The peace for which we pray is our participation in that all-inclusive salvation. There is no true peace other than that found in the healing and transformation brought to human beings by the God-Man in whom our humanity is united with divinity. Since God intends to save us in every dimension of our existence, his healing concerns the full range of human life. Even as bread and wine become the means of our communion with the Lord, we are to offer every bit of ourselves and of this world to the Father in union with the sacrifice of the Son by the power of the Holy Spirit. We will then find life-giving communion with the Holy Trinity in everything we say and do; our life will become a eucharistic offering as we grow in holiness and union with God.

If the Liturgy is a participation in the eschatological peace of the Kingdom of God, it is fair to ask whether the members of the Church recognize and live out this vision of heavenly peace. An immediate note of realism comes to mind, as the members of the Church are sinners who have not manifested fully the new life of Christ. Nonetheless, the presence of the Holy Spirit enables the Church to embody a foretaste of the eschatological peace of the Kingdom of Heaven, and there is much in the history and ongoing life of the Church which witnesses to the saving peace of God here and now.

Though there is some ambiguity in the Church’s teaching on Christian participation in war, the Orthodox vision of peace prizes selfless love and forgiveness over violence, viewing war, in some situations, as a lesser evil with damaging spiritual consequences for all involved.

In contrast with Orthodoxy, it is easier to describe the traditional Western Christian justifications of war, which have included both the granting of plenary indulgences to those who fought in the crusades and the affirmation of a just-war theory. The former envisioned the killing of infidels as such a righteous act that the crusaders were released from all temporal punishments for their sins, including exemption from purgatory. The latter, which has been widely influential in Western culture, provides moral sanction to wars which meet certain philosophical criteria.

Orthodoxy has never embraced the crusade ethic. Orthodoxy has viewed war always as an evil, even if, as the theologian Olivier ClĂ©ment expressed it, “The Church has accepted warfare sorrowfully as a sometimes necessary evil, but without concealing that it is an evil which must be avoided or limited as much as possible.” Elsewhere he notes, “The only normative ideal is that of peace, and hence the Orthodox Church has never made rules on the subject of ius belli and of ius in bello.”

Canon 13 of St. Basil’s 92 Canonical Epistles states:

Our fathers did not consider killings committed in the course of wars to be classifiable as murders at all, on the score, it seems to me, of allowing a pardon to men fighting in defense of sobriety and piety. Perhaps, though, it might be advisable to refuse them communion for three years, on the ground that their hands are not clean.

Father John McGuckin observes that St. Basil refers to St. Athanasius as the father who wrote, in his “Letter to Amun,” that killing the enemy was legitimate in wartime. McGuckin argues, however, that St. Athanasius was advising Amun on the question of the sinfulness of nocturnal emissions. “In fact the original letter had nothing whatsoever to do with war… The military image is entirely incidental, and Athanasius in context merely uses it to illustrate his chief point in the letter,” which is to show that the moral significance of actions may not be discerned without reference to the contexts in which they occurred.

Against any simplistic readings of the letter as a blanket justification of killing in war, St. Basil places the issue in a specific context. As McGuckin writes on St. Basil in “War and Repentance,” “what he speaks about is the canonical regulation of war in which a Christian can engage and find canonical forgiveness for a canonically prohibited act…”

Killing in war had been forbidden completely in earlier canons, such as Canon 14 of Hippolytus in the fourth century, which states:

A Christian is not to become a soldier. A Christian must not become a soldier, unless he is compelled by a chief bearing the sword. He is not to burden himself with the sin of blood. But if he has shed blood, he is not to partake of the mysteries, unless he is purified by a punishment, tears, and wailing. He is not to come forward deceitfully but in the fear of God.

St. Basil distinguishes between outright murder and killing “for the defense of Christian borders from the ravages of pagan marauders.” By limiting fighting to such circumstances, he sought to “restrict the bloodshed to a necessary minimum.” In contrast to the lifelong exclusion from the sacraments imposed on murderers, St. Basil recommends three years of exclusion from the chalice, thus providing a public sign that the Gospel standard is violated by war.

The Christian soldier who has killed in war is to “undergo the cathartic experience of temporary return to the lifestyle of penance… Basil’s restriction of the time of penance to three years, seemingly harsh to us moderns, was actually a commonly recognized sign of merciful leniency in the ancient rule book of the early Church.” (It is not uncommon to meet veterans who are tormented for the rest of their lives by the horrors of war. I recall the father of a childhood friend who suffered from nightmares thirty years after the conclusion of his military service during World War II. Those who are trained to kill sometimes have difficulty returning to the mores of civilian life, not to mention the life of theosis.)

McGuckin concludes that this canon of St. Basil excludes the development of just war theory in Orthodoxy. Though particular wars may be necessary or unavoidable, they are never justified, as shedding the blood of other human beings is contradictory to the way of the Kingdom of God.

In his book, The Price of Prophecy, Fr. Alexander Webster agrees that a theory of justified war “has never been systematically elucidated in Orthodox moral theology.” He describes participation in such a war as “a lesser moral option than absolute pacifism, for those unwilling or unable to pay the full price of prophecy.” He suggests that Orthodox criteria for a just war include a “proper political ethos,” meaning that the nation going to war should follow “the natural-law ethic and have positive relations with the Orthodox community.” The war should also take place for the “defense of the People of God” from injustice, invasion, or oppression “by those hostile to the free exercise of the Orthodox faith.” A proper “spiritual intent” should also lead to “forgiveness and rehabilitation” of enemies as persons who bear the image of God, and not “mere revenge, self-righteousness, or conquest.” Webster states that

Whereas the pacifist seeks to emulate Jesus as the Good Shepherd who allowed Himself to be slain unjustly by and for sinners, the just warrior perceives a higher duty: to defend the relatively innocent from unjust aggression. If the Orthodox pacifist can never do anything evil even for a reasonably just end, the Orthodox warrior cannot preserve his personal holiness by allowing evil to triumph through his own inaction.

It is curious for Webster to suggest that the just warrior follows a “higher duty” than that of the pacifist, especially when the clear norm for the Church is the selfless, forgiving, nonresistant way of Christ. Likewise, the enumeration of moral categories for a justified war and the reference to governments which follow an ethic of natural law raise the question of whether this interpretation places questions of war and peace more within the context of human moral reasoning than in that of the journey to theosis. It is fair to ask whether Webster’s formulation gives sufficient attention to the spiritual vision of Orthodoxy, as opposed to the greater reliance on an ethics of human reason in Western Christianity.

Though Christlike response of “turning the other cheek” to assaults is the ideal, the Orthodox Church does not prescribe pacifism or nonviolence as an absolute requirement of the Christian life. The Church’s moral guidance serves the goal of theosis, of guiding the members of Christ’s Body to growth in holiness and union with the Trinity. The canons of the Church are applied pastorally in order to help particular people find salvation as they seek to be faithful in the given set of challenges and weaknesses which they face. The Church’s experience is that temporal authority and the use of force are necessary to restrain evil and promote good in our fallen world.

Though the witness of the early Church was largely, but not exclusively, pacifist, the Byzantine vision was of symphonia, or harmony, between God’s Kingdom and earthly realms. Hence, Christian emperors and armies fought wars and sustained a social order that sought to embody faithfulness to the Lord in all areas of life. Church and empire were to be united, in Webster’s words, “even as the divine and human natures of Christ are united in the One Person of the Incarnate Son of God.” In practice, however, that vision was never fully realized in Byzantium; human sinfulness corrupted its political and ecclesiastical leaders in many ways.

There have remained in Orthodoxy, however, indications of the ideal of peace. Monks and clergy, for example, may not bear arms and are forbidden to use deadly violence even in cases of self-defense. Canon V of St. Gregory of Nyssa “states that should a priest ‘fall into the defilement of murder even involuntarily (i.e., in self-defense), he will be deprived of the grace of the priesthood, which he will have profaned by this sacrilegious crime.’”

Those whose hands have shed blood are no longer the icons of Christ which priests are called to be, and are not suited to serve at the altar. As Webster writes in The Pacifist Option, “An Orthodox priest is supposed to be an exemplar for the Christian community, a man with a personal history free from all serious or grievous offenses including the taking of a human life for any reason.”

Even as the sacramental priesthood is a special vocation to which not all are called, the straightforward embodiment of Christlike, nonviolent love incumbent upon priests is not canonically required of all believers. In keeping with the practice of economia, the norm of nonresistant love may not be directly applicable to those whose vocations in our broken world require the defense of the innocent. These may grow in holiness by fighting as justly as possible, even as they mourn the harm done to themselves and others by their use of violence.

Whatever choices we make in our efforts to defend the innocent from attack and abuse, none are perfect. In a fallen world populated by sinful people, every Christian’s journey to the Kingdom will be marked by a measure of spiritual brokenness, and repentance is the only road to healing.

Particular countries and peoples have been so closely identified with the Orthodox faith that their defensive wars against Islamic invaders, though not Western-style crusades, have been described as “a difficult and painful defense of the Cross.” The appeal for “victory over their enemies” at the feast of the Exaltation of the Cross, and other instances of martial imagery in the liturgies, has at times been corrupted into a “national Messianism” in which a soldier who dies in battle is regarded as a martyr and the evil of war is forgotten.

It would be a mistake, however, to suggest that Orthodoxy has enthusiastically endorsed war. Even in cases of the defense of a Christian people from Islamic invasion, the spiritual gravity of warfare has not been forgotten. For example, St. Sergius of Radonezh in the fourteenth century gave his blessing to Grand Prince Dimitri to fight a defensive war against the Tatar Khan only after he received assurances that the prince had already exhausted every possible means of reconciliation.

Kutuzov’s strategy in response to Napoleon’s invasion was similar, abandoning Moscow to the French and merely harassing Napoleon’s forces during their withdrawal, having no other aim than to drive the invader back to the frontier.

Far from being examples of unbridled militarism, these are instances which reflect the reluctant acceptance of war at times as a necessary evil.

These notes of realism should not be allowed to obscure the Church’s insistence that “non-retribution, the avoidance of violence, the returning of good for evil … and the harmony of peoples” are a holistic “normative good which Christians must seek with God’s help,” in the words of Olivier ClĂ©ment.

Fr. Stanley Harakas observes that “the Eastern Patristic tradition rarely praised war, and to my knowledge, almost never called it ‘just’ or a moral good…. The peace ideal continued to remain normative and no theoretical efforts were made to make conduct of war into a positive norm.”

The evidence for widespread pacifism in the Church is strongest before St. Constantine, when the Empire was pagan and Christians, including converts within the army, were persecuted for refusing to participate in the worship of false gods. Even after the Christianization of the Empire, with the eventual requirement that only Christians could be in the army, there remained teachers of pacifism in the Church, such as Pope St. Damasus, Prudentius, and St. Paulinus of Nola. Webster remarks that St. Paulinus, in the fifth century, was the last Church Father who explicitly addressed the moral issue of war from a pacifist perspective. From then on, pacifist sensibilities would manifest themselves in other contexts, such as the requirement of clerical and monastic nonresistance.

The contrast between the canonical requirement of pacifism for the clergy and the acceptance of military service by the laity requires further comment. Webster notes that the identification of clergy with the nonviolent norm and the allowance of participation in war on the part of the laity implies a two-tier ethic with a higher and a lower class of Christians, which could be taken to imply that the clergy are necessarily holier than the laity.

More faithful to Orthodox ecclesiology would be the affirmation that the norm now embodied by the clergy will at some future point become normative for all Orthodox. Here we are dealing with a point of eschatological tension that will be resolved in the Kingdom of Heaven, when all will be pacifists, for violence and other evils will be destroyed. In the present, as Webster writes in The Pacifist Option, the clergy are “expected to demonstrate the attainment of an advanced spiritual and moral state to which all Orthodox Christians are [ultimately] called.”

The recognition of pacifism as an ultimate norm or goal for all Christians should not be surprising. In the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus Christ calls His followers to theosis, to growth in holiness and perfection in union with God. “Be perfect, therefore, as your heavenly Father is perfect.” (Matt. 5:48) This teaching is the conclusion of a section focusing on the love of enemies, which is immediately preceded by the Lord’s repudiation of resistance against evil. “Do not resist an evildoer. But if anyone strikes you on the right cheek, turn the other also.” (5:39)

These passages indicate that the repudiation of violence in self-defense is a sign of growth in holiness. Our Lord’s example of offering Himself on the cross for our salvation is the paradigmatic epiphany of the selfless love in which human beings are to participate as they come to share by grace in the life of the Trinity.

Fr. Philip LeMasters is professor of Religion and director of the Honors Program at McMurry University in Abilene, Texas. A priest of the Antiochian Orthodox Archdiocese, he serves at St. Luke Orthodox Church in Abilene. This is an abridged version of a chapter in his book, The Goodness of God’s Creation (Regina Orthodox Press). The Patristic texts cited here and many others, plus essays by a number of Orthodox theologians, can be found in For the Peace from Above: An Orthodox Resource Book on War, Peace and Nationalism, Hildo Bos and Jim Forest, editors, Syndesmos, 1999. The full text of the book is posted on the OPF web site: http://incommunion.org/articles/for-the-peace-from-above/first-page

âť–

Winter 2009 issue of In Communion / IC 52

Bookmark and Share

Rising out of the Fall

Wednesday, December 10th, 2008

By Alex Patico

Alex Patico speaking at the OPF conference

Between yesterday morning – October 18 – and now, three birds have flown into one or another of the windows of our house, two of them fatally. Maybe the strong northwest winds just blew them into the unfamiliar territory of Maryland, or maybe it’s related to global warming, but I take it as an omen – an omen in the sense of God nudging us to pay close attention to what is happening around us.

The arrival of a cold front let us know that summer is finally over, as did the maple tree at the end of our street. It’s always the first in our neighborhood to show autumn colors. There are no more summer flowers in our garden. Clearly it’s time to change our wardrobe.

But the change going on around us is not only meteorological. There is also social, political and psychological change in the offing. Here in the US, we’re nearing the end of the longest-ever political campaign, a campaign being closely followed all over the world. What has seemed at times like years of primary races, speeches, debates and TV ads is finally reaching its conclusion. Whoever is declared the winner (so far the polls show Obama has a commanding lead), we are surely entering a new era.

The near-collapse of the financial sector, two wars in progress and an ambiguous and befuddling situation in the Middle East – these and other indicators mean that Americans, and the rest of the world with us, must raise ourselves, like tornado or flood victims looking over what once was their quiet, orderly town, saying, “What now? Where to start?”

Along with the disturbing disorientation of destruction, though, comes an up-side. With every such enforced starting-over, every building-up-again-from-scratch, we have an opportunity to do it better. The home that in fact was never quite suited to its inhabitants can now be built to fit their own personalities and real needs. The landscaping that had grown up helter-skelter can be done more thoughtfully. Now that we’ve been knocked on our collective backside, we have the opportunity to create a better political, social and economic landscape than the one that seemed indestructible but in fact served all of us badly.

At War with the World: We may not be able immediately to construct , out of the rusted and twisted swords we have forged with such zeal and deployed at such great cost, some usable plowshares. But can we Americans not at least begin to institute an approach to national security that will restrain our vaunted military strength a bit with responsibility and humility? Can’t the widely-held perception of the United States as arrogant and bullying be replaced with an image of a superpower that actually deserves the name B one that preserves the peace, protects the weak and offers creative alternatives to violence?

Focus on the Family: As we approach the end of this first decade of a new century, can individualistic Americans leave the me-ism behind and realize how critical families really are? Will we eschew current cravings and start saving and sharing more, thereby paving the way a more sustainable long-term economic security? Will we find ways to unite on how to reduce abortions – whether through tuition in morals and a better appreciation of the consequences of promiscuity, or through more enlightened sex education as happens in countries like the Netherlands (which has the lowest abortion rate of any country keeping reliable records)? Will we act as though children really are precious, and provide them with stable home life, decent health care, quality education and assurance of protection from abuse?

Camels and Needles: Will this be the century in which we reexamine the prudence of trying to maximize growth and glorify ever more extravagant consumption? Can’t those who lead corporations recognize that a percentage-point raise in their compensation package often equals a poor family’s annual income at bare-survival levels? That their latest superfluous acquisition – replacement hardware for their yacht or an engraved elephant gun – may be a year’s nutrition for the child of one of their employees? Might we see a few more people eschewing the building up of what is vulnerable to moth and rust, and starting to accumulate no-expiration-date kinds of wealth, through service, caring and sacrifice?

Amnesty for the Environment: Will the earth, now groaning from insult and injury, be given a reprieve by its “noblest” species? If both presidential candidates had to at least pay lip service to renewable energy, lowered consumption and life-style change, dare we hope that this is a harbinger of something more than a momentary energy tee-totaling, maybe a true environmental sobriety?

Faith: We receive mixed signals from the culture that surrounds us. Atheist books fly off the shelves, but the growing communions are those that actually ask something of their flocks. Casual sex seems omnipresent and selfishness has long been a way of life for many, but a remarkable number of young people seem to be rediscovering selflessness. Many are searching for authenticity and rejecting the superficial. Might this become a trend that marks an upcoming generation? We can only act to ensure that, if those ready to live in a way that isn’t driven by selfishness knock on our doors, they are not turned away by a cold shoulder or cynicism or condescension as they make their costly pilgrimage. If they have the spirit of searching, they have already been blessed. Let us further bless them with Christian fellowship and God’s truth B in all its challenging, eye-opening, transformative profundity.

The Church: We who are Orthodox Christians are better known for hanging on to our ethnic roots than for responding to the desperate needs of those in need. Can we claim to love God if we are blind to our neighbor? St. John warns us that those who say they love God and are indifferent to their neighbors are liars. We have taken great care to preserve the Liturgy and truths and traditions that others churches sadly threw overboard – thank God for all that we have preserved! – but how well are be giving witness to Christ’s mercy and Christ’s peace? Is it not time for renewal for us as well?

The season is changing. Do we have the right clothes in our closets? It’s time for a change.

Alexander Patico coordinates activities of OPF in North America.  He has written previously for In Communion and authored a forthcoming book on U.S. Iran relations. At times he writes poetry. Alex is a member of the US Committee of the WCC’s Decade to Overcome Violence. He attends Holy Cross Antiochian Orthodox Church in Linthicum, MD.

âť–

Fall 2008 issue of In Communion / IC 51

Restoring the Diaconate of Women

Wednesday, December 10th, 2008

by Teva Regule

“Master and Lord, You do not reject women who offer themselves, and by divine counsel, to minister as is fitting to your holy houses, but you accept them in the order of ministers. Give the grace of your Holy Spirit to this servant of Yours also, who wishes to offer herself to you, and to accomplish the grace of the diaconate, as You gave the grace of Your diaconate to Phoebe, whom you called to the work of the ministry….”

These are the beginning words of the second prayer of ordination of the female deacon in the Byzantine rite.  The female diaconate is a part of our history.  For over one thousand years, the Orthodox Church ordained women to serve as deaconesses. As the Orthodox theologian, Dr. Kyriaki Karidoyanes FitzGerald, writes in Women Deacons in the Orthodox Church:

According to Byzantine liturgical texts, the ordination of the woman deacon occurred as any other ordination to major orders.  It took place during the celebration of the Eucharist and at the same point in the service that the male deacon was ordained.  She was ordained at the altar by the bishop, and later in the service, received Holy Communion at the altar with the other clergy. Depending upon the need, location and situation in history, the deaconess ministered primarily to the women in the community in much the same way that the male deacon ministered to men…. [The order] was gradually de-emphasized sometime after the twelfth century. It should be noted, however, that there does not exist any canon or Church regulation that opposes or suppresses the order.”

For over a century, various voices within the Church have called for the restoration of the female diaconate.  But what is the diaconate?  What is its function in the life of the Church? How has it evolved over time? What did the female deacon do? We know some of the roles of the historical deaconess. Lay women today are filling many of these functions. Is it still necessary to have an ordained ministry?  Is a permanent diaconate, especially a female diaconate, needed in the Church today?  What could this ministry look like in the 21st century?

The Diaconate in History: The Church’s ministry, modeled after Christ’s example, grew out of the needs of the community. In the early Church, when the Hellenists complained that their widows were being neglected in the daily distribution of food, the Apostles realized that they could not attend to both the word of God and serve “tables.” According to the account in Acts, they sought out “seven men of good standing, full of the Spirit and wisdom, whom we may appoint to this task.” This marked both the embryonic beginning of the office of the deacon.

The first place where we find the word “deacon” used as a title is in Romans. St. Paul writing to the Romans says, “I commend to you our sister Phoebe, a deacon (diakonon) of the church at Cenchreae…” The works of Origen and Chrysostom show that patristic tradition upholds Phoebe’s position as a deaconess.

In one of the letters from Pliny, Governor of Bithynia, to the Emperor Trajan (112 AD), Pliny asks for guidance on how to handle the Christian sect, writing that he had to place “two women called >deaconesses’ under torture.”

We have a general understanding of the functions of the male and female deacon from early church documents. Each was answerable to the bishop. The male deacons ministered to men while the female deacons ministered to women. Each also had a liturgical role, although there is disagreement as to their precise functions. This parallelism can be seen in the Apostolic Constitutions passage that outlines the character of the deacon:

Let the deacons be in all things unspotted, as the bishop himself is to be, only more active; …that they may minister to the infirm…. And let the deaconess be diligent in taking care of the women; but both of them ready to carry messages, to travel about, to minister, and to serve…

This reflects an earlier understanding of the functions of the office found in the Didascalia Apostolorum. The Didascalia contains sections on the character of the deaconess and her ministry of assisting in the baptism of women and instruction of women converts.

During the Byzantine period, the diaconal office in the east, especially that of women, flourished, as we see this in the many women deacon saints on the calendar, including Sts. Macrina, sister of Sts. Gregory and Basil (July 19), Nonna, wife of St. Gregory of Nazianzus (August 5), Olympias, friend and confidant of John Chrysostom (July 25), Xenia “the merciful” (Jan 24), and Irene of Chrysovalantou (July 28) We also have descriptions of the makeup of the clergy serving during the Liturgy at Hagia Sophia, including “forty deaconesses.”

During this time, the male diaconate in the East grew in prominence, holding high positions in church governance, including participating in the Ecumenical councils (e.g. Athanasius of Alexandria, a deacon, was secretary for his bishop at the Council of Nicaea in 325). They also served as emissaries and ambassadors of the episcopal seat in diplomatic matters and were administers of church-run homes for the poor and widows, orphanages, and hospitals.

The order of the female diaconate began to decline sometime after the twelfth century. There were fewer adult baptisms so female deacons were no longer needed at initiation. In addition, in late Byzantium the rise of influence of Levitical rules, especially regarding women, led to the perception that the shedding of blood made a woman Aunclean” and therefore, unable to enter the sanctuary or participate in the liturgical life of the Church, though this was in direct contradiction to the understanding of >uncleanness’ found in the Didascalia Apostolorum and the Apostolic Constitutions. Chapter 26 of the Didascalia admonishes Christians to abandon the rabbinical rules of ‘uncleanness’: “Are they devoid of the Holy Spirit? For through baptism they receive the Holy Spirit, who is ever with those that work righteousness, and does not depart from them by reason of natural issues and the intercourse of marriage, but is ever and always with those who possess Him…”

The Apostolic Constitutions extends this emphasis: “For neither the lawful mixture [intercourse], nor childbearing, nor the menstrual purgation, nor nocturnal pollution can defile the nature of a [person], or separate the Holy Spirit from him…. but only impiety towards God, transgression, and injustice towards one’s neighbor…”

With the rise of Islam and the subsequent fall of the Eastern part of the Roman empire to the Ottomans, the Church turned inward. It could no longer participate in many of the philanthropic aspects of its ministry. Moreover, many of the traditional duties of the male deacon were being assumed by the priest and by the growing number of those in the so-called “minor orders.” This led to the position of the diaconate being perceived as more of a “transitional” one along the way to being ordained a presbyter. Although the male deacon retained his role in the liturgical assembly, the office had devolved greatly. Unfortunately, this is what typically remains of the order in the East today.

Modern Renewal of the Office: In modern times, the diaconate has experienced a renewal and rejuvenation, most notably (and somewhat ironically) in the Western Christian churches. While this movement is due mostly to the needs of the local churches, it is instructive to us, as Orthodox Christians, to realize that the theological reasoning and justification for a re-institution of the order came from careful study of the Early Church, primarily its expression in the East.

Although the diaconate in the Eastern Orthodox Church has remained an active ministry since apostolic times, its scope and function have greatly diminished since the fall of Byzantium. The male diaconate generally functions solely in the liturgical realm and, oftentimes, is only a transitional stage on the way to ordination to the presbytery. The female diaconate has virtually disappeared.

There have been numerous attempts for over 150 years to reinstitute the female diaconate. As early as 1855, the sister of Czar Nicholas I tried to restore the office. Other prominent Russians also lobbied for its restoration, including Aleksandr Gumilevsky and Mother Catherine (Countess Efimovsky). In 1905-06, several bishops, archbishops, and metropolitans of the Russian Orthodox Church encouraged the effort. This issue was to be a major topic at the Council of the Russian Church beginning in 1917, but due to the political turmoil in Russia at the time, the council’s work was not suspended. (Other items on the agenda included adopting the use of the vernacular in the liturgical services and the reinstitution of the married episcopacy.)

Other efforts were made in Greece. On Pentecost Sunday in 1911, Archbishop (now Saint) Nektarios ordained a nun to the diaconate to serve the needs of the monastery. A few years later, Archbishop Chrysostomos of Athens appointed Amonastic ‘deaconesses,’ nuns in fact appointed to the subdiaconate.

More recently, the issue has been discussed at the international conferences for Orthodox women in Agapia, Romania in 1976 (at which its restoration was unanimously recommended), Sophia, Bulgaria in 1987, Rhodes, Greece in 1988), Crete in 1990, Damascus, Syria in 1996 and Istanbul in 1997.

In July of 2000, after over a year of careful review of the subject, a letter was sent to the Ecumenical Patriarch by more than a dozen members of the Orthodox community in Paris, among them Elisabeth Behr-Sigel, Fr. Boris Bobrinskoy, Olivier ClĂ©ment, and Nicolas Lossky. The letter notes that the Patriarch himself has stated that there is Ano obstacle in canon law [that] stands in the way of the ordination of women to the diaconate. This institution of the early Church deserves to be revitalized.” It also states that the order should Ainvolve more than a simple and archaeological reconstitution of the ancient ministry of the deaconesses … It is a question of its revitalization … in the context of the … present day.”

What would the deaconess do in the Church today? The question is generally preceded by the acknowledgment that the ancient deaconess assisted in the baptism of women, etc. It is oftentimes assumed that since we no longer have many adult baptisms (infant baptism being the norm) that we no longer need deaconesses. (Although a simplistic analogy, it is interesting that the same question is not asked of the male diaconate. i.e. Since we no longer need ‘table servers’ at the Eucharist, a function of the biblical diaconate, why do we need male deacons?) This issue has been discussed within Orthodox circles as well. According to the report of the Crete consultation (1990), a deacon or deaconess could

lead people in prayer, give spiritual counsel, distribute Holy Communion where possible. The renewal of the diaconate for both men and women would meet many of the needs of the Church in a changing world… catechetical work… pastoral relations… serving the same needs for monastic communities without a presbyter … reading prayers for special occasions, …performing social work … pastoral care … engaging in youth and college ministry … counseling … anointing the infirm …carrying out missionary work … ministering to the sick, … assisting the bishop or presbyter in the liturgical services….

The report concludes that a creative restoration of the diaconate for women, could lead in turn to the renewal in the diaconate for men as well.

The Liturgical Role of the Female Deacon: When discussing the reinstitution of the female diaconate, the question of her liturgical role, including her service within the altar area, often arises. It is my opinion, if this question were settled, we would currently have women deacons in the Orthodox Church.

According to the First Apology of Justin the Martyr (100-165 AD), the ministry of the deacon was expressed in the liturgical celebration of the gathered assembly gathered for the Eucharist,

reading the Gospel, leading the intercessions of the people, receiving the gifts of the people and ’setting the table’ for the meal, serving the Eucharistic meal…. [Moreover] the social service carried on by the deacons seems to be been rooted in the liturgical celebration.

As we have seen, the link between liturgy and service is crucial not only to the office of the diaconate, but to our understanding of what it means to gather as Church in worship. It is in our service to the other that we are united with them. Our service to the other brings them with us to worship. We are their visible representatives.

Although the liturgy enables us to encounter God in a variety of ways and at differing levels, allowing us to experience a “taste of the Kingdom,” we must always remember that we are not fully, as yet, in the eschaton (end times). We live in the here and now and are called to draw all closer to God. In my opinion, it is a distortion of the office to have the male deacon serve only during the liturgy, but not within the community, and conversely, to have a future female deacon serve within the community, but not during the liturgy.

As Dr. FitzGerald says in her book, Women Deacons in the Orthodox Church:

It is important to remember that in the past women deacons did have important responsibilities in the Eucharistic assembly as well as in the administration of baptism, in praying with and for those in need, and in bringing Holy Communion to those unable to attend the Eucharist. … Today, these expressions of ministry can certainly continue. At the same time, we also need to examine how women deacons can participate in the Eucharist and other liturgical services in a manner which is expressive of the living Tradition of the Church and which is not defined by cultural norms of another time.

Need? But do we really need a rejuvenated diaconate and, in particular, a restored female diaconate? To help answer this question, it is instructive to understand the responsibilities of a typical parish priest.

Fr. Alexander Garklavs outlined a number of functions expected of today’s parish priest in his presentation at the 2004 Pastoral Conference held at St. Tikhon’s Monastery in June 2004. In additional to all the liturgical duties of the priest (Sunday and any daily liturgical services, baptisms, weddings, funerals, etc.), he enumerates some of the priest’s responsibilities in parish life, including pastoral visitations, educational work, Bible study, adult study, youth work, teen work, working with choirs and choir directors, marriage preparation, marital counseling, visiting shut-ins, grief counseling, hospital visits, office work, preparing and printing bulletins and schedules, parish mailings, aspects of parish administration, etc.

In 1953, Archbishop Michael of the Greek Orthodox Church in North and South America realized that there is so much to do in each community that

the endeavors of these priests alone do not suffice. For should the priest wish to know, as he must, his spiritual children by name, their problems, and their spiritual and moral needs, this would certainly be beyond his physical and spiritual resources. These tremendous needs of the Greek Orthodox Church in America has urged us to make a fervent appeal such as this to our daughters-in-Christ… With the future welfare of our Church and membership at heart, we are considering the establishment in this country of an order of deaconess.

Clearly, a rejuvenated diaconate, a ministry that has service as its primary focus, is necessary in our Church today. No one person can fill all the duties necessary for the building up of the Body of Christ, the Church. As Paul says in 1 Corinthians, AEach of us has been given the manifestation of the Spirit for the common good.” The diaconate is not merely a Astepping stone” to higher orders. It is, as Dr. FitzGerald explains, Aa full and parallel order of ordained ministry to which both men and women are called by God.”

But is an ordained ministry necessary? It is an unfortunate effect of clericalism that lay participation in our churches varies widely. This is especially true of the participation of women. The range of women’s participation in the life of the Church can vary from diocese to diocese and even from parish to parish within each diocese. Still, many laywomen are already doing diaconal work in our parishes.

What does an Aordination” mean? To begin to answer these questions, it is important to remember that we are all called to ministry within the Body of Christ. Each of us is called to minister to others in our daily lives C we are all expected to teach others, especially those in our care. And yet, we set apart certain people to undertake certain care tasks on a professional basis. Unlike us, they must be trained in their profession and pass exams before we, as a society, confer a designation on them as Ateacher” or Amedical professional.” Likewise, throughout history the Church has Aset apart” those Aconsecrated for service.”

The female deacon in the 21st century… The Church is blessed to have a number of laywomen working in diaconal roles already, including pastoral assistants, chaplains, ecclesiarchs, and monastics. Through conversations and reflection, I have collected some of their experiences that I would like to share with just one with you. In this instance I was interviewing a woman serving as a hospital chaplain:

The first time I was scheduled to serve over night as an on-call chaplain, I received a page at 5 AM. I groggily called the Intensive Care Unit, and spoke to a nurse who requested that I visit an anxious, weeping patient who would be undergoing surgery later that morning. I was told that the patient, “Andrew” was Orthodox Jewish. The nurse said that Andrea had a tracheotomy, and therefore could not speak. I entered the small ICU, which was silent but for the beeping ventilator and monitors. I introduced myself to Andrew, a 50-year old man with a scraggly beard and dark eyes. I told him that I would be happy to sit with him in this time of anxiety, and pray with him if he desired. AI understand you are Jewish,” I said, thinking that I might try to locate his rabbi if he had specific religious needs. He shook his head, and began awkwardly attempting to cross himself in an Orthodox manner. “Oh!”, I said, “You’re Orthodox!” Apparently, he had been misunderstood. “Actually, so am I!” I said. His eyes registered surprise and joy, and he began crying calmer, gentler tears. He took a pad and wrote in large, shaky letters, “I am Orthodox. I am scared.” I put my hand on his shoulder and consoled him, and after a short conversation, via the notepad, about his surgery and his fears, I offered to pray for him. I taped an icon of the Resurrection on the wall across from his bed, and standing beside him, chanted the Trisagion prayers and a Psalm. Andrew became visibly calmer; a sense of peace came over his face. He left for surgery, trusting in God’s protection. I did not see Andrew again, but I believe that God led me to him on that early morning, to ease his fears and to refocus his heart on God’s loving presence in a time of suffering.

Consider how much more complete would this story have been if, having been ordained to the diaconate, the chaplain could have brought communion to this afflicted, ailing and frightened man?

It is my hope that the Church will not only restore the ordained female diaconate, but revitalize the office, encouraging women to serve within the community and the Liturgy B borrowing the words of Elisabeth Behr-Sigel of blessed memory B in the Acontext of the culture and present requirements of the day.”

* * *

Teva Regule has completed her Master of Divinity degree at Holy Cross Greek Orthodox School of Theology and is now pursuing a second level master’s degree in liturgical theology. She is managing editor of the St. Nina Quarterly (www.stnina.org). This is an abridged version of a paper presented at the Orthodox Peace Fellowship Conference held in Maryland in September. The full text, with footnotes, is on the OPF web site in the Resources section.

âť–

Fall 2008 issue of In Communion / IC 51

Post Traumatic Spiritual Disorder and the False History Syndrome

Monday, August 27th, 2007

on the use of history to deny reality and a call to healing and justice through awakening conscience in church and community

by Stephen Muse, Ph.D., B.C.E.T.S.

You shall know the truth and the truth shall set you free.
– Jesus of Nazareth

Take sides. Neutrality helps the oppressor, never the victim. Silence encourages the tormentor, never the tormented.”
–Elie Wiesel

“Those who do not know history are doomed to repeat it” is one of those shibboleths before which the mind suddenly retreats in docile acceptance as if it were unquestionable. The reality is that history is often written to make sure that people do not know what actually happened precisely so that we will repeat it. This is why the writing of history cannot be regarded as merely an academic exercise of citing objective facts, but rather as a type of moral and humanitarian enquiry. [1] Does the historian make crimes against humanity visible and support the struggle for justice and community building or does it serve some other purpose? History written by victors rather than the defeated tends to be a kind of “designer history” serving the interests of the dominant culture by defining normality, depriving certain persons of their voices and rendering crimes and exploitation against them invisible. In democracies, control of the people happens not at the point of a gun, but by manufactured consent through manipulation of history and the media [2] and through dependency on and obedience to the increasing efficiency of depersonalizing bureaucracies [3] at the expense of individual conscience.

The Holy Spirit supports persons in tolerating the discomfort of self-examination, to bear responsibility for wrong-doing, and seeking to make amends. In the same way it takes a critical mass within the community responsive to the Spirit and accountable to one another in order to “see” trauma; to be responsible now for the history of what happened then so as to learn from it and not repeat the mistakes. This is spiritual warfare on the communal level and is vitally important as that which goes on in the interior of each person, requiring on-going vigilance, continual repentance and sustained dialogue. Without it, a collective “false memory” is implanted and cultivated by being repeated and taught to a new generation of students, which influences and shapes the meaning of their present. To the extent that history avoids engaging the voices of the oppressed and those who read it fail to examine it with conscience as God’s call to justice now, as did Jesus and the prophets, such history impedes healing by inducing soul-numbing denial that blocks communal repentance as a nation just as it does for perpetrators who remain in denial on the individual level.

What I am calling “false history syndrome” signifies the misrepresentation or omission of the historical record for the purpose of avoiding critical re-examination that promotes justice. This avoidance is symptomatic of the collective psychic numbing of a larger problem which I am calling “Post Traumatic Spiritual Disorder” that afflicts nations and the faith communities institutionally most beholding to them. Communal acceptance of historical disinformation in the face of injuries that go unseen puts everyone at greater risk, including those whose wealth and power on the surface seems to protect them from it. What happens on the collective level to deny reality and impede justice very closely parallels what happens on an individual basis. Healing from trauma is important for the community as a whole because, as with individuals, it makes it less likely that victims will visit similar harm on others. The dissociative elements of not knowing, not seeing and not feeling our history accurately — personally and as a community of nations — and the cost we pay for it, is the theme of my reflections.

God’s world or mine?

Cain and Abel personify a classic spiritual struggle in which one part of humanity sacrifices another because of being unwilling to share living space. In the historical account provided in Genesis, it is the ground who cries out to God with the spilled blood of its voiceless victim and God who calls Cain to account as a result. History is tied to the earth in a way that evokes a response from God. This is often the case with severe brutality. It seems that “only God sees” what is too great a devastation for human witnesses to bear. Only one out of twelve of Jesus’s Apostles could bear the pressures involved in being with him to the bitter end.

Murder of one’s neighbor is a form of self-murder, of suicide, in so much as the Hebrew underlying Leviticus 19:18 “You must love your neighbor as yourself” means literally your neighbor as being your own self. This part of the story provides commentary on the history of tensions between indigenous hunter-gatherer communities who saw themselves as belonging to the earth as given to all by the “Great Spirit” and those who presumed to own and use the earth, justifying this privilege by referencing a Divine mandate, even when it entailed the destruction of whole peoples, an ingredient implicit to the history of colonialism such that it is argued “to be in any way an apologist for colonialism is to be an active proponent of genocide.” [4]

The history of the destruction of the spiritual descendants of Abel includes all those peoples deliberately and unknowingly sacrificed for colonialist expansion of the gold-seeking spiritual descendants of Cain. Their unheard cries and spilled blood reach God who walks upon the earth, searching out the lost and the oppressed. God is the Author of history written from the standpoint of victims who are the “least of these”, each of whom is ultimately revealed as being God’s own son or daughter. Seen through the history of Judaism and Christianity, these all have a part in the sacrifice of the Lamb, “slain from the foundation of the world” which both reveals and condemns injustice as well as opens the door to reconciling inimical communities at the cost of bearing witness to the Truth in his own blood which as remembered in the Divine Liturgy, “on behalf of all and for all”.

God, as both King and sacrificial Lamb, is always on the side of the oppressed. Both Mosaic and subsequent Ecclesiastical New Testament history are written from a liberation perspective. When Jesus stands up to read from the Isaiah scroll in his hometown of Nazareth, the people are at first enthralled by his articulate reading of the Scriptures. Religion as “history” and “ritual” ensuring the status quo is comfortable and familiar. But when the people begin to realize that Jesus is entering history as a threshold over which to pass into God’s liberating, community-making activity now, as a call to action sharing God’s heart, of experiencing the world through God’s eyes, and of loving the world with God’s love, then as they say in the deep South, he’s “gone from preachin’ to meddlin.” Meddlin’ can get you lynched.

Why? Because it threatens the power and the privilege of those who use history to avoid being responsible for current injustices; to avoid repentance and argue as did Cain after murdering his brother, “Am I my brother’s keeper?” (Gen 4:9) Why does the CIA routinely provide funding and philanthropy for prominent professors to do research and write essays that back U.S. policy? [5] It is ideological strategic warfare conducted in the intellectual arena. History is not neutral. It has a valence and serves either to awaken conscience or to put it to sleep and so reflects the struggle in every human heart on a daily basis. Healing and empowerment on the individual, personal level is connected to healing collectively and we can learn a great deal from examining this connection closely.

When believing becomes seeing

A woman who was raped developed PTSD symptoms months after her rape when she learned that her rapist had killed another rape victim. Why? Because she re-interpreted the history (memory) of her rape as having been “a life-threatening attack.” “The critical ingredient that makes an event traumatic is the subjective assessment by victims of how threatened and helpless they feel.” [6] History is meaning-making. When I believe it, it becomes so and as the mind goes, so goes the body. PTSD symptoms are always experienced here and now, even though the original events that precipitated them, occurred in the past. It is the new meaning evoked by the rewriting and subsequent believing of that history that creates destructive changes for the person in the present. History can create trauma where there was none and can heal it by the mere fact of reworking the meaning of the event through a retelling of it and engaging it in the present.

In this way, a man who was gently and tenderly sexually molested by his mother over a period of years on a weekly basis, found healing 40 years later as his story was told for the first time after he had been mandated to therapy for boundary violations in an otherwise successful military and industrial career. It had come to light unconsciously and destructively through his acting out the untold story in some compulsive behavior. He began to find healing and an emotionally available new life, by courageously revisiting the original scenes of the childhood victimization and reworking the meaning of the events that had shaped his beliefs at the time, incarnating the pain and thereby honoring the voiceless cry of the child-victim still alive and mute within his nervous system. Atonement with his dissociated visceral self occurred slowly as the man embraced and incarnated those unheard cries of pain, rage and sadness lying dormant in the ground of his own flesh. God heard his cries in the presence of another human being. It is never too late to redeem the ravages of the past, but this can only be done now by facing the truth of what has been denied, not merely intellectually but embodied and witnessed in community through dialogue with others. History is replete with the voices of victims crying out from the ground waiting to be heard.

This is why the telling of the history of God’s people, including all crimes against humanity such as slavery, holocaust and other forms of collective genocide, is so vital and must be retold and witnessed within the community who enter into it afresh as a kind of spiritual plumb line and call to action in the present. Where this does not occur, the seed of the original crime continues to produce the fruits of further destruction wherever it is planted and God’s word remains dormant until activated by personal encounter. “Doing” history is a form of spiritual warfare on the collective level as much as is mental prayer within the inner being of each person and each involves a relationship of dialogue. They are two dimensions of the same indissoluble link between the Spirit (ontological) and the flesh (existential) given the Divine gift of free choice: the true coin of the spiritual realm, e.g. “I set before you this day life and death. Blessing and curse, therefore choose life so that you and your descendants may live” (Deut. 30:19). It is only when the body confirms the truth of the words, that feelings appear and persons are set free. In the same way it is only when the body politic is willing to privilege and engage the voices of the oppressed that justice can emerge as the foundation for building authentic community.

There is both a personal and a larger sociopolitical context for “seeing” trauma. What if, like a person afraid of grief and shame, the culture as a whole isn’t ready and/or able to “see” the event and avoids the truth. What then? Sexual abuse of children was well documented during the second half of the 19th century in France. In 1859 French psychiatrist Briquet made the first connection between symptoms of “hysteria” (somatization and dissociation) and childhood histories of trauma. [7] Interestingly, as soon as this occurred people like Alfred Fournier objected that the memory was being falsified. At the time he called this “pseudologica phantastica” which meant that the traumatized children were falsely accusing their parents of incest; they were only imagining their injuries. Pseudologica phantastica represented societal resistance to seeing the victimization. It was just too painful and would require too much work to bring justice. So the answer was to blame the victim, even if it was France’s own children. Collectively, this is the same as avoiding repentance on the personal level. Maintaining the illusion of propriety and righteousness of the oppressors is valued over protecting the victims from abuse. This is a theme that repeats itself over and over in history and is no different in 2007 then it was in first century Palestine during Jesus’s time or 5000-6000 years earlier with Cain and Abel. It is a denial and abandonment of Christ wherever and whenever it occurs.

Post Traumatic Spiritual Disorder

On the individual personal level, the core issue in post traumatic stress is the inability of the soul to integrate the reality of particular experiences resulting in psychic numbing, hyperarousal, and repetitive intrusion of the trauma in the form of unintegrated images, behaviors, feelings, physiological states, and interpersonal relationships. The experience of helplessness at the core is a kind of biochemical fixative that stabilizes traumatic stress in the autonomic nervous system like a photograph that doesn’t change so long as the victims are voiceless and the community refuses to see any alternative. Shame and the attack on character resulting from helplessness in the face of victimization dismembers a person. Silence of the community in the face of victimization of a person or a people, in effect demoralizes or discourages them, by attacking at its root, their sense of belovedness, cutting them off from self, others and God in the depths of the heart which is frozen in mute helplessness. This dismemberment is the spiritual core of the injury evoking despair, the most dangerous of the so-called seven deadly sins, because it paralyzes freedom of choice; the place of personhood from which the active encouragers of hope, faith and love arise.

The strongest predictor of whether someone will develop PTSD is whether or not they dissociate during a trauma. Interestingly, the rate of total amnesia following traumatic experiences is three times as high for Hispanics and two times as high for African-Americans as for Caucasians. [8] Could this have anything to do with who has power and control in society; with who already feels helpless because of systemic cultural circumstances and historical fallout? Like the nurse in her tent who later discovers news of her near death, victims of aggression are tempted to dissociate in the context of a society for whom they remain invisible, exploited and constantly under threat.

Racial profiling and equating economic class with Divine blessing and/or failing to consider the impact of arbitrary privilege inherited by white citizens is a clear signal to people of color that they are more likely to be injured again; and if they are, that no one will respond because they are not visible. They do not matter except as a commodity for exploitation by the dominant group that has dehumanized them for the purpose of using them and because they are reminders of how suspect is some of the foundation upon which the privilege of a few is built. When there is a clear history of exploitation for centuries that does not figure prominently into current historical analysis, this in itself constitutes a factor engendering traumatic stress. In the same way as the victim of incest is injured again by the denial of her perpetrator when he is confronted, if there is no validation it is more difficult for the victim to persevere in her recovery from the damage of her past. She may regress and be thrown into doubt about her own experience. “Did it really happen? Was I at fault?” This is why public memory of every crime against humanity in any form is so vital to identify. It is invisibility that helps make such crimes possible in the first place, but it is a peculiar kind of invisibility — very public and yet hidden at the same time. Hitler’s so-called “final solution” to the Jewish “problem” was made possible because first having had their citizenship revoked without any public outcry, the Jews became invisible from a purely bureaucratic standpoint. That is, since the state did not recognize them legally as citizens they were not protected by law and could be imprisoned and exterminated without having broken any laws and hence, without remorse of conscience. [9] How do we explain public silence and passive compliance in the face of this and other atrocities?

healing and justice require a community:

As a pastoral psychotherapist for two-decades I have seen on a daily basis how fear of grief and loss affects our lives and the many ways each of us avoids the truth about ourselves. Even the late Sigmund Freud zealously defended a theory that emerged out of his own denial regarding the problem of sexual abuse of women because the Victorian society he lived in at the time wasn’t ready to hear it and his fear of rejection by his peers outweighed his desire to honor the truth. This human frailty underscores why as Judith Herman, MD in her classic volume Trauma and Recovery has pointed out, a community witness is needed.

The systematic study of psychological trauma depends on the support of a political movement. Indeed, whether such a study can be pursued or discussed in public is itself a political question. The study of war trauma becomes legitimate only in a context that challenges the sacrifice of young men in war. The study of trauma in sexual and domestic life becomes legitimate only in a context that challenges the subordination of women and children. Advances in the field occur only when they are supported by a political movement powerful enough to legitimate an alliance between investigators and patients and to counteract the ordinary social processes of silencing and denial. In the absence of strong political movements for human rights, the active process of bearing witness inevitably gives way to the active process of forgetting. Repression, dissociation, and denial are phenomena of social as well as individual consciousness.” [10]

In Freud’s case, under pressure of societal censure and rejection, he retracted his original theory that sexual abuse was the cause of “hysteria” in his women patients replacing it with the “Oedipal” theory that it was the children’s longing for the parents that created in their imagination memories of abuse by adults who should have protected them?\blaming the victim again. His psychoanalytic work unwittingly compromised his patients’ history by seeing it from the perspective of the abuser and more than a half century later, the leading U.S. textbook on Psychiatry (Kaplan, Friedman & Sadock, 1980) still appeared blind to women’s reality stating that “incest happens to fewer than 1 in one million women and the impact is not particularly damaging.” We now know the enormity of the problem as one out of three women report sexual assault in childhood [11] and the U.S. Justice Department estimates 250,000 children are sexually abused annually [12] while another 3 million children in the U.S. were reported abused and/or neglected [13]

What happens on an individual level happens on the collective as well. Denial affects churches and nations and it is much more difficult to get at because, as Dr. Herman points out, a critical mass of persons is needed who are able to tolerate seeing the problem as a problem. This is one of the essential points of James Loewen’s thesis in his book Lies My Teacher Told Me that systematically surveys history books used in American high schools. Ironically the U.S. spends billions of dollars to ban and police mind-altering drugs yet we let these mind-altering, character-deadening “history” books pass without any problem, even though they are soul-dulling patriotic propaganda that do not help our children dig deep enough to find facts that invite wrestling with the ambiguities and moral issues that could help build their character, test their values and inspire in them a thirst for justice and a willingness to make sacrifices for it.

History as a form of denial

Instead, in many instances the same social forces that silenced Sigmund Freud keep our communities naively celebrating as hero’s persons like Christopher Columbus by ignoring or downplaying certain facts. In Harvard historian Sam Eliot Morison’s 1954 book Christopher Columbus Mariner, to his credit he includes the observation: “The cruel policy initiated by Columbus and pursued by his successors resulted in complete genocide.” Yet, as contemporary historian Howard Zinn points out, the author’s concluding summary provides a different emphasis for his readers, directing them away from critical moral analysis.

Columbus had his faults and his defects, but they were largely the defects of the qualities that made him great?\his indomitable will, his superb faith in God and in his own mission as the Christ-bearer to lands beyond the seas, his stubborn persistence despite neglect, poverty, and discouragement. But there was no flaw, no dark side to this most outstanding and essential of all his qualities?\his seamanship. [14]

What is intended by the misdirection of saying there was “no dark side” to his seamanship while ignoring the glaring blasphemies and savage cruelty of his leadership recorded in his own published journals that evidence the malevolent dark side to him as a “Christ-bearer”? Like a movie director, the angle of the historian’s camera directs the reader’s attention. Jewels of truth are then placed in the setting of a summary that trumpets the glory of seamanship effectively denying weight to the enormous atrocities that point to the dark side of Columbus’s character and intentions which surely reflect the rapacious imperialism of European culture at the time, having betrayed Christ for Mammon and now like the prophet Jonah, finding itself in the belly of a Trojan horse version of Christianity foisted on the natives to their near utter destruction. Cultural genocide is only briefly alluded to with a whisper, thus leading the reader far a field from conscience and instead, toward a cheap religious-patriotic sentimentality that has no substance and purpose other than help readers find pleasure in contemplating an illusion that supports the mythical foundations of American culture. It is like focusing on a slave’s happiness in receiving an extra helping of potatoes from the kindly slave master who rewards him for his excellent blacksmith skills, all the while overlooking the great evil of slavery itself! Such a spin throws water on the coals of conscience that could have been ignited by critical examination of how these same colonialist policies are at work today keeping Americans blind and numb to our contemporary collective sins which include continued militarization of the world through second rate arms selling; misrepresenting the raison d’etre of continuing expansionist wars aimed at control of natural resources; and economic exploitation of labor throughout the third world, all the while trumpeting our support for democratization and human rights.

Facing injustice from the ground up:

While it is true as the late Rev. William Sloan Coffin observed, “All nations make decisions based on self-interest and then defend them in the name of morality” [15] the test of a Democracy is its capacity to engage in critical self-examination that supports justice. But, as with the cry of sexually abused children in 19th century France, when self-examination threatens to call to account the larger hidden power structures and entrenched privilege that have been operating outside our own laws without accountability to the people, intense resistance arises.

What does it take for the community to engage in humble, sustained self-questioning dialogue together rather than in mere mechanical polarized debates that serve as entertainment and diversion from such dialogue? The fight to arouse conscience and interest of the privileged members of a community is almost always brought about from the ground up by the oppressed themselves banding together, rather than by those in power. It took 400 years to find enough critical mass to begin to change the effects of racial discrimination in America and only then, a hundred years after a bloody civil war fought largely over this issue, and the victims themselves began to organize and resist continued oppression at a sacrificial price that won over the “silent” majority by activating their consciences.

Gaining the right to hold property and to vote in the American Democracy along with putting an end to the crime of woman abuse was begun by women themselves challenging religiously justified, legally protected and social entrenched male power and privilege permitting economic, political and sexual exploitation of women. The right of a man to beat his wife “as long as the stick was no thicker than his thumb” was protected by American and English law until the beginning of the twentieth century. There were no safe houses for women in the United States until the mid 1970’s. Assault was not considered a crime because it was “domestic” — a justification not so different from permitting a slave master to punish and dominate the slaves he “owned” in ways that society would not tolerate being done to a free white man, because they are seen as less than human.

It is our own heartlessness, self-indulgence, complacency and greed that permit us to write and passively accept innocuous superficial historical romances that do not stimulate critical examination and questioning for its meaning for us today. This has proved extremely difficult in the church which all too easily aligns with worldly power as well. A recent case in point is until the early 1990’s Americans denied the fact that as many as 10% of our clergy were sexually abusing their own parishioners, violating their professional and faith covenants and the church hierarchy was covering it up. Literature in the clinical arena began to show up coterminous with lawsuits in the public arena and more and more victims came forwards to be heard now that the community was listening and money was at stake.

Like Freud, once having denied the truth our hearts know, having sold ourselves to lesser gods than the Living One who is the Creator of all peoples, it becomes inevitable that we live in various forms of psychological denial and rigidity in order to keep our sins hidden. This means the truth of our hearts is betrayed. Jesus said, “The sheep will not answer to anyone but the Master’s voice.” Thus great effort is spent writing history imitating the master’s voice, using religious justifications so we have the appearance of righteousness, but without its substance, “religion without power” as Timothy writes. The Truth sets us free, but only if it we risk choosing to fight for it and live it.

Honoring voices from the wilderness:

For those with ears to hear, the voice of God cries out most clearly from the unknown depths and most loudly from the voiceless dispossessed. Jesus of Nazareth was born in a forgotten despised enclave of Galilee among the “people of the land” as they were called by the Jerusalem elite who owned 90% of the wealth of Israel at the time. Israelites were a subjugated people held in contempt by the Roman Empire which saw the Jews as a strange and insignificant people. The Jerusalem elite, in turn, saw the people of Galilee as “not worthy of being butchered,” [16] They considered their women “vermin”. The Apostle Luke was well aware of the irony of these tremendous discrepancies in political power and socio-economic status when he wrote

In the fifteenth year of the reign of Tiberius Caesar, Pontius Pilate being governor of Judea; and Herod being Tetrarch of Galilee, and his brother Philip tetrarch of the region of Ituraea and Trachonitis, and Lysanais Tetrarch of Abilene, in the high-priesthood of Annas and Caiphas the Word of God came to John, son of Zechariah, in the wilderness.

To whom will the word come alive again in our time? And who will risk loss of power and privilege by speaking and fighting for it? There are multiple justice issues related to America’s unconscious denial of the class elitism, virulent racism, economic exploitation and violence that continue to funnel people into our judicial and prison systems. America has more people incarcerated than any country in the world with a disproportionate number of African American, Indians and Hispanic (not to mention mentally ill whose numbers are increasing dramatically as funding for public mental health treatment is withdrawn), again evidencing the inequities that remain from our legacy of materialism, discrimination and cultural genocidal practices. Such injustice remains unobserved not only in our prisons, but in the backyards of forgotten crossroads in our country such as recently in White Clay, Nebraska where four liquor stores exist in an unincorporated “town” of eighteen people just outside the dry Lakota Pine Ridge Reservation, (which former President Bill Clinton described as a “third world country” in America’s heartland). Ten thousand cans of beer are sold in a single day to the impoverished Lakota people whose genetic make-up puts them more at risk for alcoholism than any people in the world. This slow genocide justified by American (white) law as “business” which is filling the pockets of a few people at the expense of an entire nation is not unlike the smallpox-infected blankets deceptively given out by British General Jeffrey Amherst which decimated the Indian people a couple centuries earlier. Same old story. Why does it get told over and over and not recognized for what it is? History again. Who is telling the story and for what purpose?

(T)he easy acceptance of atrocities as a deplorable but necessary price to pay for progress (Hiroshima and Vietnam, to save Western civilization; Kronstadt and Hungary, to save socialism; nuclear proliferation to save us all)?\ is still with us. One reason these atrocities are still with us is that we have learned to bury them in a mass of other facts, as radioactive wastes are buried in containers in the earth. We have learned to give them exactly the same proportion of attention that teachers and writers often give them in the most respectable of classrooms and textbooks. This learned sense of moral proportion, coming from the apparent objectivity of the scholar, is accepted more easily than when it comes from politicians at press conferences. It is therefore more deadly.” [17]

In the American context, what is particularly disturbing is that the “legal” basis for Western civilization’s treatment of the indigenous peoples (estimated to have been as many as 100 million in the Americas, prior to 1492), including the founding of the city of Columbus, Georgia where the author lives, which was created by the forced removal of Creek and Cherokee in the Trail of Tears, rests on the spurious and blasphemous religious law of a medieval Pope known as the “Doctrine of Discovery”. In practice, this law provided that wherever Christians went, as the “superior” religion (race? civilization?) they were entitled to claim it all — the land and its resources and even the people themselves as slaves. And this is exactly what happened, even when it meant contradicting our religious faith and our own laws and democratic process. President Andrew Jackson used executive privilege and authority of the Presidency, as others since him have done, to overrule the will of congress and throw the Cherokees off the land even though they had converted to Christianity in large numbers, clearly had “discovered” the land before the Europeans and even done due diligence to legally acquire it through use of American system of law and upheld by the Supreme court?\all to no avail. Why? Historian Richard White explains

The Cherokee are probably the most tragic instance of what could have succeeded in American Indian policy and didn’t. All these things that Americans would proudly see as the hallmarks of civilization are going to the West by Indian people. They did everything they were asked except one thing. What the Cherokees ultimately are, they may be Christian, they may be literate, they may have a government like ours, but ultimately they are Indian. And in the end, being Indian is what kills them. [18]

In other words, neither our own law, other people’s law or Divine law would be allowed to stop European economic expansion, even if it means cultural and biological genocide.

Being responsible for the painful truth

Some argue genocide is too strong a word. Nazi Germany’s clear intentions in World War II galvanized a horrified public momentarily shaken from complacency by photographs of crematoriums and mass graves of German citizens evidencing clear genocidal intent, but only after the fact. Drawing on the work of Raphael Lemkin who first coined the term “genocide” in 1944, Ward Churchill, scholar of the impact of federal schools on the destruction of Indian culture, suggests that “any policy undertaken with the intent of bringing about the dissolution and ultimate disappearance of a targeted human group as such” is genocide. [19] But it need not be so stark and clear. In fact the insidious nature of seemingly lesser forms are just as dangerous. Addressing the U.N. committee drafting international law to protect world citizens, Lemkin defined three forms of genocide: biological, physical and cultural.

Among the acts specified in the original draft are “the forced transfer of children … forced and systematic exile of individuals representing the culture of the group … prohibition of the use of the national language, or religious works, or the prohibition of new publications … systematic destruction of national or religious monuments or their diversion to alien uses … destruction or dispersion of objects of historical, artistic, or religious value and of objects used in religious worship. [20] Significantly, the chair of the U.N. committee was the delegate from the United States who orchestrated the elimination of the entire category of cultural genocide from the final document, presumably because it didn’t serve U.S. interests.

Does it matter that we fail to question the meaning of these actions in our city councils when they decide to declare Columbus Day a holiday or that we do not debate this history in our schools as more than an ancient artifact, but as a vital memory having meaning for all Americans now and a claim upon our future? As pastor Martin Niemoller observed in Nazi Germany in his time, we are all affected by the slowly creeping injustices that go unchallenged among us wherever we are. If we do not challenge genocidal activity as a community, then we are inviting it to continue until one day the monster eats us all, as is the case for every addiction which is always a symptom of some degree of denial and evasion of the truth that is part of the moral sickness of post traumatic spiritual disorder.

In Germany, they first came for the Communists,
and I didn’t speak up because I wasn’t a Communist;
Then they came for the Jews,
and I didn’t speak up because I wasn’t a Jew.
Then they came for the Trade Unionists,
and I didn’t speak up because I wasn’t a Trade Unionist.
Then they came for the Catholics,
and I didn’t speak up because I was a Protestant?

In a terrible twist on an old Biblical maxim, “The first shall be last,” perhaps the most “forgotten” of all Americans are the original inhabitants of the United States. They are part of America’s greatest blind spot because we, like Freud, are in denial about the real price they paid and continue to pay, for our profit. The truth is that Americans live on land we stole from the indigenous peoples, breaking the word of our own laws again and again as in the 1868 Treaty of Laramie, practicing cultural genocide and sending out a plethora of sentimental, one-sided propaganda in our children’s history books and from Hollywood over our television screens to continue falsifying the historical record. Such illusions served the myth of American rugged individualism to preserve and grow the so-called “American Dream” — itself a fantasy invented in the 1930’s after the Great Depression, probably as a kind of dangling carrot for people coping with the depression of the times. Pursuing the American Dream is a sloganizing metaphor that invites hard work in the hope of advancement, when in fact the large majority never will be able to succeed in this and it only helps fuel the coffers of the very elite rich who become even wealthier and more powerful at the expense of the rest. This is particularly appalling when it is observed that of the 400 richest men in America, only 31% gave to not-for-profits in the last year, suggesting clearly that wealth does not lead to philanthropy without the strings of control attached designed to the reinforce the power and increase the holdings of the wealthy. In reality the disparity between rich and poor continues to increase:

Between 1983 and 1998, the net worth of the top 1 percent grew by 42.2 percent, while the net worth of the bottom 40 percent dropped by 76.3 percent. In other words, the bottom 40 percent of the United States population lost three-fourths of their family wealth over the past twenty years. As of 1998, the top 1 percent of Americans owned 95 percent of the country’s assets, and the top 60 percent own 99.8 percent of the nation’s wealth. [21]

To the extent that some actually enjoy such a “dream” while most are striving to attain it without questioning what it continues to cost the world, we like Sigmund Freud, are likely to remain defensive about sustained self-examination, e.g. of our commitment to promote justice and human rights in the world, even while proclaiming to the world how we are experts in it.

According to my friend Jamie Moran, In the Iroquois tongue, a “warrior” is one who accepts responsibility for “protecting the Sacred Origins of existence.” Jesus was executed in accordance with religious and political law, not because he was a miracle worker, healer and sage, but because as a King, he threatened the entrenched religious, political and economic power-possessing beings seeking to preserve the status quo. Ultimately Jesus was fighting for truth in the heart and justice in the community regarding the Sacred Origins that gives life to all cultures and races and he did this at the price of his own. This is always the sacrificial stance of every great prophet, priest and king who stakes their life to the meaning of their word spoken in behalf of all the people. “Unless a seed is planted in the ground and dies, it dwells alone.” If we cannot see that protecting the Sacred Origins is exactly what is at stake in how we write and disseminate history then we are missing a critical hermeneutic that separates history as artifact and curio from history as the trail of blood, sweat and tears of such warriors who became martyrs (witnesses) in their efforts to secure freedom, not for the few, but for all human beings.

A call to Christian conscience and away from false religion

If it is only back then in the first century that Christ was betrayed, what is there to do now? If I have never owned slaves, am I responsible for my ancestors? Does a painting or an archeological “artifact” belong to a museum because it has possessed it since it was first stolen or was illegally removed by desecrating an ancient burial ground a half century earlier or two or three? Am I free of responsibility to others for my inheritance of the power and privileges handed on to me as an English-American male? What if as in the Divine Liturgy of the Orthodox Church, the Gospel is a kind of “icon of eternity”? In other words, the betrayal of Christ is something that is happening now, just as when Jesus was reading the scroll of Isaiah, he realized it was being fulfilled at that moment. The powers and principalities that threaten to devour us cannot be defeated by slogans or eliminated by rituals alone. These may help us suffer the disease or tolerate it, but the cure of the infection lies much deeper. Perhaps Christ saw it in the difference between the widow and her “penny” and the philanthropists whose large sums surely took the front page of the Jerusalem Times away from her … but not her headline in the Gospels. Jesus saw the spiritual poverty and injustice involved in uncommitted heart-numbing bourgeois complacency: “worldliness … is essentially the capacity to look past the unfair distribution of the world’s wealth in order to affirm one’s right to its spoils.” [22] But worldliness is not only America’s problem. Nicholas Berdyaev diagnosed it as a spiritual disease affecting Russia a century earlier, weakening it to the point that a terrible anti-Christian revolution took place that was far worse than the feckless Christian theocracy it replaced. [23] Unfortunately the virus is spreading fast around the globe. The same forces at work tempting Jesus 2000 years ago are at our doorsteps today, inviting us to choose where we stand.

On a global scale the shift of capital in to fewer and fewer hands has been even more pronounced. According to the 1999 United Nations Development Report, eighty countries have per capita incomes lower than they were a decade ago, and the assets of the world’s two hundred richest people total more than the combined assets of 41 percent of the world’s population — that’s more than the combined wealth of two billion people. [24]

What does it cost the world for so few people to enjoy such control? Not to recognize this and to continue with the illusion that the majority can “have it all” perpetuates the false-history syndrome.

Religious affluence easily suffers this same fate as well. When the Romans sacked Jerusalem in 70AD, they flooded the empire with so much gold recovered from the Temple that the gold market in Syria dropped by half its value. Ironically, it was the wealth taken from the Temple of Jerusalem which was later used to build the Coliseum where Christians were tortured and ripped to shreds by lions in front of spectators for their enjoyment. Such enjoyment is surely part of the collective psychic numbing and hyperarousal of the Roman populace, sick with post traumatic spiritual disorder. More than likely, they also suffered from false memory syndrome perpetrated by historians weaving myths about Roman superiority and the inferiority of the enslaved, exploited nations they colonized. “The stigmatization of poverty is closely connected with the psycho-social dynamics of stigmatization in general … since those who are stigmatized are imputed to be impoverished, that is, fundamentally defective as persons.”[25]

According to Jesus, the Kingdom of God is revealed not in great fanfare of the powerful, but invisibly and in unheralded actions of sacrificial love like the poor woman putting “all that she had” into the Temple Treasury for the benefit of all. Viewing the world through the heart of the Divine historian, this woman’s penny revealed her infinite riches in the Kingdom of God. She who had no worldly income and therefore little worldly value, in recognizing that everything belongs to God whose good pleasure is to give it away, she revealed herself as a spiritual child of Abel, beloved to God. Blessed are they whose love renders them empty as our Lord was empty, for they shall be filled with the bounty of the Lord’s table. She had not acquired the fear that so easily accrues to a heart so sated with unexamined privilege and possession that it leads to excusing oneself from the Divine invitation to the wedding feast of Grace. Wherever the “business” of making a profit is placed ahead of love for humankind and stewarding the Creation as belonging to God who gives it to the whole community, and not just for the welfare of a few, it serves as an excuse to betray the call to “love kindness and to do justice and to walk humbly with God” (Micah 6:8) by sharing communion with all others. Surely this is a destructive course.

Repentance and love for enemies includes all:

Having acknowledged these things I must also admit that like the first century individualists Annanias and Sapphira (Acts 5:1ff), I hold back a portion from the community for myself and my family out of fear disguised as common sense and reason. I struggle with the fact that I do not trust the heart of humanity or God enough to risk giving everything to “follow Christ”. To the extent that I have worked the fields of my vocation in this life, not to contribute to the family of humankind, but to overeat at the trough of the bottom line of “profits for the few at the expense of the many,” I will doubtless be hungry in the Kingdom of God. Why? Because I have learned to nourish my soul on food fit only for pigs, course nourishment indigestible by the soul which lives “not by bread alone, but by every Word that proceeds from the mouth of God” giving life to all the world.

I who have inherited the spoils my ancestors received by systematically cheating and killing the original inhabitants and exploiting millions from other continents, will suffer the fire of conscience of being forgiven by those same forgotten victims who have been robbed, lied too, enslaved and murdered. God will show me Grace only through their mercy in order to heal my heart of stone and give me a heart of flesh. I who have often lacked the will and desire to pay the price of entering into the Wedding Feast prepared by the Lord and the Widow and all others like her, shall be last. Nevertheless, I have hope that by the mercy and economy of God, even the likes of me shall receive a portion of the distribution made to the starving masses of us who in living, failed to realize that God is Love and it is not possible to enter heaven by betraying any part of earth and any one on earth. In the end, I will approach God and my ignored and despised “lesser” brothers and sisters as a beggar, crying out “Lord Jesus Christ have mercy on me a sinner!” believing and hoping not only in the Lord’s mercy and goodness, but asking forgiveness from Abel and all his descendants as well.

What are the implications of this hope and prayer now while I am yet alive? Metropolitan Anthony of Sourozh I am told, used to say that the only possible stance for an Orthodox Christian in the Church is one of repentance. As we chant in the Divine Liturgy, “We have found the true faith” it is not cause for feeling superior in any way, but rather for entering still more deeply where even Jesus himself feared to go, into the world’s Gethsemane, crying out to the Holy Spirit for strength where my own fails me. For unless God builds the person, the temple, the community or the country, those who build it build in vain.

* * *

endnotes :

1. “The historian’s distortion is more than technical, it is ideological: it is released into a world of contending interests, where any chosen emphasis supports (whether the historian means to or not) some kind of interest, whether economic or political or racial or national or sexual.” (Zinn, H. A People’s History of the U.S. (NY: HarperCollins 2003), p. 8.).

2. cf. Chomsky, N Necessary Illusions: Thought Control in Democratic Societies. (Boston: South End Press 1989); Chomsky, Media Control, Second Edition: The Spectacular Achievements of Propaganda. (New York: Open Media Series 2002); Herman, E. & Chomsky, N. Manufacturing Consent: The Political Economy of the Mass Media. (New York: Pantheon 2002)

3. Rubenstein, R.L. The Cunning of History: The Holocaust and the American Future. (NY: Harper & Row 1975)

4. Churchill, W. cited in Jacobs, D. (ed.) Unlearning the Language of Conquest. (Austin: University of Texas press 2005), p. 222.

5. Cf. Gibbs, D. “The Question of Whitewashing in American History and Social Science” in Jacobs, D. Unlearning the Language of Conquest. (Austin: University of Texas Press 2005)

6. Van der Kolk, McFarlane, Weisaeth, Traumatic Stress (NY:Guilford Press 1996) p. 6.

7. IBID, p. 49.

8. Elliot & Briere, “Posttraumatic stress associated with delayed recall of sexual abuse: A general population study.” (Journal of Traumatic Stress, 8, 1995) pp. 629-647.

9. cf. Rubenstein, R.L. The Cunning of History: The Holocaust and the American Future. (NY:Harper & Row 1975)

10. Herman, J. Trauma and Recovery. (NY:Basic Books 1992) p.9.

11. Russell, D. The Secret Trauma. (NY: Basic Books 1986)

12.McFarlane & van der Kolk, 1996. p. 38

13.(National Victim Center report, Crime and victimization in America: Statistical Overview. (Arlington, VA 1993)

14. Zinn, H. A People’s History of the U.S. (NY: HarperCollins Publishers 2003) p.8

15. cited in West, C. Democracy Matters: Winning the fight against imperialism. (NY:Penguin Press 2004) p. 155.

16. Kraybill, D. The Upside-Down Kingdom. (Pennsylvania: Herald Press 1978)

17. Zinn, H. 2003 p. 9

18.Trail of Tears National Historic Trail (Comprehensive Management and Use Plan, U.S. Dept of Interior, National Park Service)

19.cited by Gabbard, D. in Jacobs, D. op. cit. p 219.

20. IBID p.220)

21. Inchausti, R. Subversive Orthodoxy: Outlaws, revolutionaries, and other Christians in disguise. (Michigan: Brazos Press 2005) p. 85

22. Berdiaev, N. in Plekon, M. ed. Tradition Alive: On the church and the Christian life in our time, readings from the eastern church. (Maryland: Rowman & Littlefield Publishers, Inc. 2003).

23. Op. cit. p. 86

24 Op. cit. p 86

25. (Jones, J. “Confronting Poverty and Stigmatization: An Eastern Orthodox Perspective. (http://www.incommunion.org/artciles/resources/confrotning-poverty-and-stigmatization. 2006) P. 2.

* * *

Bibliography

Chomsky, N. (2002) Media Control, Second Edition: The Spectacular Achievements of

Propaganda. New York: Open Media Series.

Chomsky, N. (1989) Necessary Illusions: Thought Control in Democratic Societies. Boston: South End Press.

Elliot, M. & Briere, J. (1995) Posttraumatic stress associated with delayed recall of sexual abuse: A general population study. Journal of Traumatic Stress, 8, 629-647.

Gibbs, D. (2005) “The Question of Whitewashing in American History and Social Science” in Jacobs, D. (2005) Unlearning the Language of Conquest

Herman, E. & Chomsky, N. (2002) Manufacturing Consent: The Political Economy of the Mass Media. New York: Pantheon

Herman, J.(1992) Trauma and Recovery. New York: BasicBooks.

Inchausti, R. (2005) Subversive Orthodoxy: Outlaws, revolutionaries, and other Christians in disguise. Michigan: Brazos Press.

Jacobs, D. (ed.) (2005) Unlearning the Language of Conquest. Austin: University of Texas press.

Jones, John. D. (2006) “Confronting Poverty and Stigmatization: An Eastern Orthodox Perspective. http://www.incommunion.org/artciles/resources/confrotning-poverty-and-stigmatization. P 2.

Kaplan, H, Freedman, A. & Sadock, B. (Eds.) (1980) Comprehensive textbook on Psychiatry. Baltimore: Williams & Wilkins.

Kraybill, DB (1978) The Upside-Down Kingdom. Herald Press: Pennsylvania.

National Victim Center (1993) Crime and victimization in America: Statistical Overview. Arlington, VA

Plekon, M. (2003) Tradition Alive: On the church and the Christian life in our time, readings from the eastern church. Maryland: Rowman & Littlefield Publishers, Inc.

Rubenstein, R.L. (1975) The Cunning of History: The Holocaust and the American

Future. Harper & Row: New York.

Russell, D. (1986) The Secret Trauma. New York: Basic Books.

Van der Kolk, B., McFarlane, C. & Weisaeth, L. (1996). Traumatic Stress. Guilford Press: New York.

West, C. (2004). Democracy Matters: Winning the fight against imperialism. New York: Penguin Press.

Zinn, H. (2003) A People’s History of the U.S. New York: HarperCollins Publishers.

* * *

Correspondence to:

Stephen Muse, Ph.D., B.C.E.T.S.

Dir. of Pastoral Counselor Training and Clinical Services

D. Abbot & Elizabeth Turner Ministry Resource Center

of the Pastoral Institute, Inc.

2022 15th Ave. Columbus, GA 31901

smuse@pilink.org

A shortened version of this article first appeared in The Messenger: Journal of the Episcopal Vicariate of Great Britain and Ireland. Number 3. August 2007. pp. 3-14. Exarchate of the Ecumenical Patriarchate: Archdiocese of Orthodox Parishes of Russian Tradition in Western Europe

* * *

Nonviolence and Peace Traditions in Early & Eastern Christianity

Wednesday, December 29th, 2004

By Fr. John McGuckin

Fr. John McGuckin is professor of Church History at Union Theological Seminary and professor of Byzantine History at Columbia University, both in New York City. His essay is due to appear in 2005 as a chapter in The Church’s Witness to Peace, edited by Fr. K Kyriakose[1]. The text is placed here by permission of the author. Footnotes are indicated by brackets.

Ideals of Peace in a Violent World.

Christianity has had a very checkered history in terms of its peace tradition. It is often to images of Inquisition and Crusade that the popular imagination turns when considering the darker side of the church’s imposition of control over the personal and political worlds it has inhabited over long centuries. The figure of a pacific Jesus (the poet of the lilies of the fields, and the advocator of peaceful resistance to evil, who so inspired Tolstoy and Gandhi among others) is often contrasted with a church of more brutish disciples who, when occasion presented itself, turned willingly, and quickly enough, to tactics of oppression and coercion, policies which they themselves had lamented, as being against both divine and natural justice, when applied to them in the earlier centuries of the Roman persecutions.

The common version among Church Historians of this generic tale of a progressive sinking into the “brutal ways of the world,” also points to regular cycles of renewal and repentance, when Christians are said to reappropriate the “real” meaning of their past, and renounce violent resistance in the cause of a “truly Christian” non-resistance. This, of course, is usually a matter of occasional academic protest from the sidelines, or the wisdom of the aftermath, since in times of war the ranks of those who rush to defend the Christian defensibility of hostilities are rarely short of representatives, it would seem.

The key academic studies of the Early Church’s peace tradition, for example, had to wait until the 20th century. They appeared in two clusters, both of them the immediate aftermath of the great conflicts of 1914-18, and 1939-45, followed by a longer “tail” which was overshadowed by the Cold War’s generic fears of nuclear holocaust, and which produced a more thorough-going tenor of the “suspicion of war” in academic circles. Both the main-clusters of post-war re-assessments of Christian peace tradition in antiquity, witnessed a conflicted product in the tone of the literature. All lamented the fact and experience of war, from a Christian perspective, but some justified the concept of limited war engagement (usually Catholic scholars defending the then dominant Augustine-Aquinas theory of the Just War) while others were evidently more pacifist in tone (generally Protestant scholars calling for a “reform” of defective medievalist views). The more recent work, inspired by the public sight of several disastrously “failed” military interventions (such as Vietnam and Afghanistan) and the horrific record of genocidally-tinged conflict at the end of the 20th century (one of the bloodiest and nastiest on human record, though we still like to regard the ancients as less civilized than ourselves) have, again understandably, caused the Christian witness on war and violence to come under renewed scrutiny. Today the literature on war in early Christian tradition is extensive [2], and a synopsis of the primary sources has recently been collated in a useful ready-reference volume, with a good contextualizing discussion .[3]

While the common image of a militaristic Church is still, perhaps, prevalent in popular estimation, there are nevertheless, a multitude of pacific figures who feature in the Church’s exemplary stories of the lives of the saints.

One such hagiography was the narrative on Abba Moses the Ethiopian in the Tales of the Desert Fathers who, when warned in advance of the impending attack of marauding Blemmyes tribesmen in 5th century Lower Egypt, refused to leave his cell, and (though famed as a strong man of previously violent temper) stayed quietly in prayer waiting for the fatal assault of the invading brigands. This story of his election of pacific martyrdom was celebrated as most unusual; a heroic and highly individualist spiritual act of a master (and thus not normative). All the other monks of Scete in his time were either slaughtered because they were surprised, or else had much earlier fled before the face of the storm of invasion.

In terms of pacific saints, the Russian church celebrates the 11th century princes Boris and Gleb, the sons of Vladimir, the first Christian ruler of ancient Rus (Kiev) who, in order to avoid a civil war on the death of their father (when the third son, Svyatopolk, took up arms to assert his right to monarchical supremacy), are said to have adopted the role of “Passion-Bearers.” Refusing to bear arms for their own defense, and desiring to avoid bloodshed among their people, they followed the example of their new Lord, who suffered his own unjust Passion. The image and category of “passion-bearing martyr” is one that is dear to, almost distinctive of, the Russian church, so troubled has its history been.

Nevertheless, even this celebrated example contrasts, in many respects, with the witness of other Russian saint-heroes, such as the great warrior prince Alexander Nevsky and contrasts with the witness of many other ancient churches too (such as the Byzantine, Romanian, Serbian, Nubian, or Ethiopian) who had an equally fraught pilgrimage through history, but who proudly elevated and honored the icons and examples of warrior-saints who resisted the onslaught militarily, and died in the process.

In the Romanian Church one of the great heroic founders was the warrior prince Petru Rares who slaughtered the invading Turkish armies under the guidance of his spiritual father and confessor Saint Daniel the Hesychast. The saint commanded the prince to erect monasteries on the site of the great battles, to ensure mourning and prayer for the lost souls whose blood had been shed. This was an act that was seen as a necessary expiation of Petru’s “equally necessary” violence. Both he and his spiritual mentor were heavily burdened by their perceived duty of defending the borders of Christendom. To this day Romania’s most ancient and beautiful churches stand as mute witnesses to a bloody history where Islam and Christianity’s tectonic plates collided (as often they did in the history of the Christian East). The national perception in Romania of prince Vlad Dracul (the western bogeyman of Dracula) is diametrically opposed to the common perception of more or less everyone outside. Within the country Vlad himself is regarded as a national hero and a great Christian warrior who assumed the duty of defending the Faith against the military attempts of Islam forcibly to convert Europe.

Similarly, almost all the saints of Ethiopia are either monastic recluses or warriors. The saints of the (now lost) Church of Nubia [4] were also predominantly warriors. Likewise, the frescoes of saints on the walls of the ancient Stavronikita monastery on Mount Athos, on the Halkidiki peninsula, demonstrate serried ranks of martyr protectors dressed in full Roman battle gear, in attendance on the Christ in Majesty [5]. The monks were not particularly warlike themselves, but knew at first hand the terrors of living in the pirate-infested Mediterranean. Like the Nubians, a life entirely and permanently surrounded by hostile foes, gave the Athonite monks a very practical attitude to violence, pacific resistance, and the need for defense in varieties of forms.

The western church too has its share of noble saint-warriors. In medieval English literature the warrior saint was a highly romantic figure [6]. We can also think of the famed Crusading juggernaut Louis the Pious. These, however, are noticeably not, any longer, “popular saints” (as their counterparts remain in Eastern Christianity) though this may be laid to the door of a generic loss of interest in hagiography and the cultus of the saints in contemporary Western Christianity, as much to a sense of embarrassment that the ranks of saints included so many generals of armies.

Along with its warriors, the Western Church often appealed, for an example of pacific lifestyle, to the Christ-like image of Francis of Assisi, in preference perhaps to the more robust figure of Dominic and his inquisitional Order of Preachers, although one ought not to forget that the Franciscan order itself had from its early origins a foundational charge to evangelize Muslims in the Middle and Near East; its own form of potential “Inquisition” that never had the opportunity to flourish because of Ottoman power, but which was often felt as real enough and resented greatly by the Eastern rite Christians of those places.

This macro-picture of Church History as a sclerotic decline, where simple origins are progressively corrupted into oppressive structures as the church seizes an ever-larger foothold on the face of the earth, is so familiar, almost cliched, that it hardly needs further amplification.

It is perfectly exemplified in the general presumption that the Christian movement before the age of the Emperor Constantine the Great (4th century) was mainly pacific in philosophy, but afterwards began theologically to justify the use of coercive force, and so began the long slide into all manner of corruption of power, and abandonment of the primitive spirit of the gentle Jesus [7].

The theory is problematized to some degree by the issue of “conflicted contextualization” for the notable resistance of the earliest Christian movement (2nd through to early 4th centuries) to military service: whether this was predominantly pacifist in temperament; or was related to the military requirements to worship the pagan pantheon of gods; or was simply an aspect of the fear of an oppressed and persecuted group in the face of the state’s arm of power. In early canon law the military profession had the same status as a harlot when it came to the seeking of baptism: before admission to the church was countenanced an alternative career had to be sought.

After the Pax Constantina, that prohibition was relaxed as even the Christian emperors expected their fellow-Christians to take up their station in the army. Recent historical study has progressively argued that the advancement of Christians to political and military power should not be seen as a surprisingly miraculous event (as the legend of Constantine would have it be), but the result of more than a century of prior political and military infiltration of the higher offices of state by Christians bearing arms. The earliest materials (martyrial stories of how the poor resisted the Roman imperium) tend to come from the account of the churches of the local victims [8].

The full story (why, for example, Diocletian targeted Christians within his own court and army to initiate the Great persecution of the early 4th century) [9] is less to the front: but clearly the great revolution of the 4th century which saw an internationally ascendant Church, was not simply an altruistic “gift” of power to a pacific Christian movement, but more in the terms of an acknowledgment by Constantine that his own path to monarchy lay with the powerful international lobby of Christians. The question as to “who patronized who”: Constantine the Church, or the Church Constantine, remains one that is surely more evenly balanced than is commonly thought. The military and political involvement of Christians, therefore, (as distinct from the “Church” shall we say) is something that is not so simply “switched” at the 4th century watershed of Constantine’s “conversion.”

Nevertheless, the story that from primitive and “pure” beginnings the Christian movement degenerated into a more warlike compromise with state power, is a good story precisely because it is so cartoon-like in its crudity. It ought not to be forgotten, however, that it “is” a story, not a simple record of uncontested facts. It is a story, moreover, that took its origin as part of a whole dossier of similar stories meant to describe the movement of Christianity through history in terms of early promise, followed by rapid failure, succeeded by the age of reform and repristination of the primitive righteousness.

In short, the common view of Christianity’s peace tradition, as sketched out above, is clearly a product of Late-Medieval Reformation apologetics. That so much of this early-modern propaganda has survived to form a substrate of presupposition in post-modern thought about Christian history is a testimony to the power of the apologetic stories themselves, and (doubtless) to the widespread distrust of the motives of the late medieval church authorities in western Europe at the time of the Reformation.

The common view about Christianity’s peace tradition, however, is so hopelessly rooted in western, apologetic, and “retrospectivist” presuppositions (a thorough-going Protestant revision of the Catholic tradition on the morality of war and violence that had preceded it) that it is high time the issue should be considered afresh.

The common histories of Christianity, even to this day, seem to pretend that its eastern forms (the Syrians, Byzantines, Armenians, Copts, Nubians, Indians, Ethiopians, or Cappadocians) never existed, or at least were never important enough to merit mention; or that western Europe is a normal and normative vantage point for considering the story. But this narrow perspective skews the evidence at the outset.

Accordingly, the figures of Augustine of Hippo (the towering 5th century African theologian) and Thomas Aquinas (the greatest of the Latin medieval scholastic theologians) loom very large in the normative western-form of the telling of the tale. Both theologians were highly agentive in developing the western Church’s theory and principles of a “Just War.”

In the perspectives of the eastern Christian tradition, not only do these two monumental figures not feature but, needless to say, neither does their theory on the moral consideration of war and violence which has so dominated the western imagination. Eastern Christianity simply does not approach the issue from the perspective of “Just War,” and endorses no formal doctrine advocating the possibility of a “Just War.”

Its approach is ambivalent, more complex and nuanced. For that reason it has been largely overlooked in the annals of the history of Christianity, or even dismissed as self-contradictory. It is not self-contradictory, of course, having been proven by experience through centuries of political suffering and oppression. If it knows anything, the Eastern church knows how to endure, and hardly needs lessons on such a theme; but it is certainly not a linear theory of war and violence that it holds (as if war and violence could be imagined as susceptible of rational solution and packaging). Its presuppositions grow from a different soil than do modern and post-modern notions of political and moral principles.

Christianity was, and remains at heart, an apocalyptic religion, and it is no accident that its numerous biblical references to war and violent destruction are generally apocalyptic ciphers, symbols that stand for something else, references to the “Eschaton” (the image of how the world will be rolled up and assessed once universal justice is imposed by God on his recalcitrant and rebellious creation). Biblical descriptions of violence and war, in most of Christianity”s classical exposition of its biblical heritage, rather than being straightforward depictions of the life and values of “This-World-Order” are thus eschatological allegories. To confound the two orders [10] (taking war images of the apocalyptic dimension) for instances of how the world (here) ought to be managed [11] is a gross distortion of the ancient literature. This has become increasingly a problem since the medieval period when allegorist readings of scripture have been progressively substituted (especially in Protestantism) for wholesale historicist and literalist readings of the ancient texts. [12].

This is not to say that eastern Christianity itself has not been guilty of its own mis-readings of evidences, in various times of its history, or that it has no blood on its hands, for that would be to deny the brutal facts of a Church that has progressively been driven westwards, despite its own will, by a series of military disasters, for the last thousand years. But, Christian reflection in the eastern Church has, I would suggest, been more careful than the West, to remind itself of the apocalyptic and mysterious nature of the Church’s place within history and on the world-stage, and has stubbornly clung to a less congratulatory theory of the morality of War (despite its advocacy of “Christian imperium”), because it sensed that such a view was more in tune with the principles of the Gospels. What follows in this paper is largely a consideration of that peace tradition in the perspective of the eastern provinces of Christianity, the “patristic” foundation that went on to provide the underpinning of Byzantine canon law, and (after the fall of Byzantium), the system of law that still operates throughout the churches of the East.

In the decades following the First World War, Adolf Von Harnack was one of the first among modern patristic theologians to assemble a whole dossier of materials on the subject of the Church’s early traditions on war and violence. [13]. In his macro-thesis he favored the theory of the “fall from grace,” and argued that the Church progressively relaxed its earliest blanket hostility to bloodshed and the military profession in general. The relaxation of anti-war discipline, he saw as part and parcel of a wider “corruption” of early Christian ideals by “Hellenism.”

And yet, no Eastern Christian attitudes to war, either before or after the Pax Constantina, have ever borne much relation to classic Hellenistic and Roman war theory [14], being constantly informed and conditioned by biblical paradigms (reined in by Jesus’ strictures on the futility of violence) rather than by Hellenistic Kingship theory or tribal theories of national pride.

In the second part to his study (subtitled “The Christian Religion and the Military Profession”), Harnack went further to discuss the wide extent of biblical images of war and vengeance in the Christian foundational documents, suggesting that the imagery of “spiritual warfare” however removed it might be from the “real world” when it was originally coined, must take some responsibility for advocating the sanctification of war theories within the church in later ages [15].

For Harnack, and many others following in his wake, Constantine was the villain of the piece, and not less so his apologist the Christian bishop Eusebius of Caesarea. The latter finds no problem at all in comparing the deaths of the wicked as recounted in Old Testament narratives of holy war, with Constantine’s conquest and execution of his enemies in the Civil War of the early 4th century [16]. For Eusebius, writing in 336, the cessation of the war in 324 was a fulfilment of the Psalmic and Isaian prophecies of a golden age of peace [17].

Eusebius’ fulsome rhetoric has had a great deal of weight placed upon it by those who favor the “theory of fall,” even though on any sober consideration, to extrapolate a court-theologian such as Eusebius into a marker of general opinion in the Church of the early 4th century should have been more universally acknowledged to be a serious mistake. Eusebius’ more sober thoughts on the expansion of the Church (as exemplified by Constantine’s victory over persecuting emperors, and his clear favoritism for the Christians) was really an intellectual heritage from that great theological teacher whose disciple he prided himself on being — Origen of Alexandria.

It was certainly Origen who had put into his mind the juxtaposition of the ideas of the Pax Romana being the providentially favorable environment for the rapid internationalization of the Gospel. Origen himself, however, was pacifist in his attitudes to war and world powers, and was sternly against the notion of the Church advocating its transmission and spread by force of arms [18]. In his wider exegesis Eusebius shows himself consistently to be a follower of his teacher’s lead and the Old Testament paradigms of the “downfall of the wicked” are what are generally at play in both Origen and Eusebius when they highlight biblical examples of vindication, or military collapse.

Several scholars misinterpret Eusebius radically, therefore, when they read his laudation of Constantine as some kind of proleptic justification of the Church as an asserter of rightful violence. His Panegyric on Constantine should not be given such theoretical weight, just as a collection of wedding congratulatory speeches today would hardly be perused for a cutting edge analysis of the times. In applying biblical tropes and looking for fulfillments, Eusebius (certainly in the wider panoply if all his work is taken together not simply his court laudations) is looking to the past, not to the future; and is intent only on celebrating what for most in his generation must have truly seemed miraculous — that their oppressors had fallen, and that they themselves were now free from the fear of torture and death.

Origen and Eusebius may have set a tone of later interpretation that could readily grow into a vision of the Church as the inheritor of the biblical promises about the Davidic kingdom (that the boundaries of Byzantine Christian power were concomitant with the Kingdom of God on earth, and thus that all those who lay outside those boundaries were the enemies of God), but there were still innumerable dissidents even in the long-lasting Byzantine Christian politeia (especially the monks) who consistently refused to relax the apocalyptic dimension of their theology, and who resisted the notion that the Church and the Byzantine borders were one and the same thing [19].

The Canonical Epistles of Basil of Caesarea.

Basil of Caesarea was a younger contemporary of Eusebius, and in the following generation of the Church of the late 4th century, he emerged as one of the leading theorists of the Christian movement. His letters and instructions on the ascetic life, and his “Canons” [20] (ethical judgements as from a ruling bishop to his flock) on morality and practical issues became highly influential in the wider church because of his role as one of the major monastic theorists of Early Christianity. His canonical epistles were transmitted wherever monasticism went: and in the Eastern Church of antiquity (because monasticism was the substructure of the spread of the Christian movement), that more or less meant his canonical views became the standard paradigm of Eastern Christianity’s theoretical approach to the morality of war and violence, even though the writings were local [21] and occasional in origin. Basil’s 92 Canonical Epistles were adapted by various Ecumenical Councils of the Church that followed his time. His writing is appealed to in Canon 1 of the 4th Ecumenical Council of Chalcedon (451), in Canon 1 of the 7th Ecumenical Council of Nicaea (787), and is literally cited in Canon 2 of the 6th Ecumenical Council of Constantinople (681) which paraphrases much else from his canonical epistles. By such affirmations eventually the entire corpus of the Basilian Epistles entered the Pandects of Canon Law of the Byzantine Eastern Church, and they remain authoritative to this day.

Basil has several things to say about violence and war in his diocese. It was a border territory of the empire, and his administration had known several incursions by “barbarian” forces. Canon 13 of the 92 considers war:

“Our fathers did not consider killings committed in the course of wars to be classifiable as murders at all, on the score, it seems to me, of allowing a pardon to men fighting in defense of sobriety and piety. Perhaps, though, it might be advisable to refuse them communion for three years, on the ground that their hands are not clean.” [22]

The balance and sense of discretion is remarkable in this little comment, one that bears much weight in terms of Eastern Orthodox understandings of the morality of war. The “fathers” in question refers to Athanasius of Alexandria, the great Nicene Orthodox authority of the 4th century church. Athanasius’ defense of the Nicene creed, and the divine status of Christ, had won him immense prestige by the end of the 4th century, and as his works were being collated and disseminated (in his own lifetime his reputation had been highly conflicted, his person exiled numerous times, and his writings proscribed by imperial censors), Basil seems to wish to add a cautionary note: that not everything a “father” has to say is equally momentous, or universally authoritative. In his Letter to Amun Athanasius had apparently come out quite straightforwardly about the legitimacy of killing in time of war, saying:

“Although one is not supposed to kill, the killing of the enemy in time of war is both a lawful and praiseworthy thing. This is why we consider individuals who have distinguished themselves in war as being worthy of great honors, and indeed public monuments are set up to celebrate their achievements. It is evident, therefore, that at one particular time, and under one set of circumstances, an act is not permissible, but when time and circumstances are right, it is both allowed and condoned.” [23]

This saying was being circulated, and given authority as a “patristic witness” simply because it had come from Athanasius. In fact the original letter had nothing whatsoever to do with war. The very example of the “war-hero” is a sardonic reference ad hominem since the letter was addressed to an aged leader of the Egyptian monks who described themselves as Asketes, that is those who labored and “fought” for the virtuous life. The military image is entirely incidental, and Athanasius in context merely uses it to illustrate his chief point in the letter — which is to discuss the query Amun had sent on to him as Archbishop: “did nocturnal emissions count as sins for desert celibates ?” Athanasius replies to the effect that with human sexuality, as with all sorts of other things, the context of the activity determines what is moral, not some absolute standard which is superimposed on moral discussion from the outset. Many ancients, Christian and pagan, regarded sexual activity as inherently defiling and here Athanasius decidedly takes leave of them. His argument, therefore, is falsely attributed when (as is often the case) read out of context as an apparent justification of killing in time of war. He is not actually condoning the practice at all, merely using the rhetorical example of current opinion to show Amun that contextual variability is very important in making moral judgements.

In his turn Basil, wishes to make it abundantly clear for his Christian audience that such a reading, if applied to the Church’s tradition on war, is simplistic, and that is it is just plain wrong-headedness to conclude that the issue ceases to be problematic if one is able to dig up a justificatory “proof text” from scripture or patristic tradition (as some seem to have been doing with these words of Athanasius). And so, Basil sets out a nuanced corrective exegesis of what the Church’s canon law should really be in terms of fighting in time of hostilities. One of the ways he does this is to attribute this aphorism of Athanasius to indeterminate “fathers,” who can then be legitimately corrected by taking a stricter view than they appeared to allow. He also carefully sets his own context: what he speaks about is the canonical regulation of war in which a Christian can engage and be “amerced” [24]; all other armed conflicts are implicitly excluded as not being appropriate to Christian morality). Basil’s text on war needs, therefore, to be understood in terms of an “economic” reflection on the ancient canons that forbade the shedding of blood in blanket terms. This tension between the ideal standard (no bloodshed) and the complexities of the context in which a local church finds itself thrown in times of conflict and war, is witnessed in several other ancient laws, such as Canon 14 of Hippolytus (also from the 4th century) [25]. The reasons Basil gives for suggesting that killing in time of hostilities could be distinguished from voluntary murder pure and simple (for which the canonical penalty was a lifelong ban from admission to the churches and from the sacraments) is set out as the “defense of sobriety and piety.” This is code language for the defense of Christian borders from the ravages of pagan marauders. The difficulty Basil had to deal with was not war on the large-scale, but local tribal insurgents who were mounting attacks on Roman border towns, with extensive rapinage. In such circumstances Basil has little patience for those who do not feel they can fight because of religious scruples. His sentiment is more that a passive non-involvement betrays the Christian family (especially its weaker members who can not defend themselves but need others to help them) to the ravages of men without heart or conscience to restrain them. The implication of his argument, then, is that the provocation to fighting, that Christians ought at some stage to accept (to defend the honor and safety of the weak), will be inherently a limited and adequate response, mainly because the honor and tradition of the Christian faith (piety and sobriety) in the hearts and minds of the warriors, will restrict the bloodshed to a necessary minimum. His “economic” solution nevertheless makes it abundantly clear that the absolute standard of Christian morality turns away from war as an unmitigated evil. This is why we can note that the primary reason Basil gives that previous “fathers” had distinguished killing in time of war, from the case of simple murder, was “on the score of allowing a pardon.” There was no distinction made here in terms of the qualitative horror of the deed itself, rather in terms of the way in which the deed could be “cleansed” by the Church’s system of penance.

Is it logical to expect a Christian of his diocese to engage in the defense of the homeland, while simultaneously penalizing him if he spills blood in the process ? Well, one needs to contextualize the debarment from the sacrament in the generic 4th century practice of the reception of the Eucharist, which did not expect regular communication to begin with (ritual preparation was extensive and involved fasting and almsgiving and prayer), and where a sizeable majority of adult Christians in a given church would not have yet been initiated by means of baptism, and were thus not bound to keep all the canons of the Church. By his regulation and by the ritual exclusion of the illumined warrior from the sacrament (the returning “victor” presumably would have received many other public honors and the gratitude of the local folk ) Basil is making sure at least one public sign is given to the entire community that the Gospel standard has no place for war, violence and organized death. He is trying to sustain an eschatological balance: that war is not part of the Kingdom of God (signified in the Eucharistic ritual as arriving in the present) but is part of the bloody and greed-driven reality of world affairs which is the “Kingdom-Not-Arrived.” By moving in and out of Eucharistic reception Basil’s faithful Christian (returning from his duty with blood on his hands) is now in the modality of expressing his dedication to the values of peace and innocence, by means of the lamentation and repentance for life that has been taken, albeit the blood of the violent. Basil’s arrangement that the returning noble warrior’ should stand in the Church (not in the narthex where the other public sinners were allocated spaces) but refrain from communion, makes the statement that a truly honorable termination of war, for a Christian, has to be an honorable repentance.

Several commentators (not least many of the later western Church fathers) have regarded this as “fudge,” but it seems to me to express, in a finely tuned “economic” way, the tension in the basic Christian message that there is an unresolvable shortfall between the ideal and the real in an apocalyptically charged religion. What this Basilian canon does most effectively is to set a “No Entry” sign to any potential theory of Just War within Christian theology [26], and should set up a decided refusal of post-war church-sponsored self-congratulations for victory [27]. All violence, local, individual, or nationally-sanctioned is here stated to be an expression of hubris that is inconsistent with the values of the Kingdom of God, and while in many circumstances that violence may be “necessary” or “unavoidable” (Basil states the only legitimate reasons as the defense of the weak and innocent) it is never “justifiable.” Even for the best motives in the world, the shedding of blood remains a defilement, such that the true Christian, afterwards, would wish to undergo the kathartic experience of temporary return to the lifestyle of penance, that is “be penitent.” Basil’s restriction of the time of penance to three years (seemingly harsh to us moderns) was actually a commonly recognized sign of merciful leniency in the ancient rule book of the early Church [28].

Concluding Reflections

We might today regard such early attempts by Christians as quaintly naive. They are wired through the early penitential system, clearly, and have a fundamental “economic” character about them. By Economy the early church meant the art of doing what was possible when a higher ideal standard was not sustained. In the case of war Basil and the canonical tradition are tacitly saying that when the Kingdom ideals of peace and reconciliation collapse, especially in times of war when decisive and unusual action is required, and the ideals of reconciliation and forgiveness fall into chaos in the very heart of the Church itself [29], as members go off to fight, then the ideal must be reasserted as soon as possible — with limitations to the hostilities a primary concern, and a profound desire to mark the occasion retrospectively with a public “cleansing.” While the honor of the combatants is celebrated by Basil (even demanded as an act of protection for the weak), one essential aspect of that honor is also listed as being the public acceptance of the status of penitent shedder of blood. The clergy (as with other economic concessions of morality operative in the church’s canons) are the only ones not allowed benefit of necessity. In no case is violent action permitted to one who stands at the altar of God. Even if a cleric spills blood accidentally (such as in an involuntary manslaughter) such a person would be deposed from active presbyteral office. The sight of “warrior- bishops” in full military regalia, passing through the streets of Constantinople in the Fourth Crusade, left its mark on contemporary Greek sources as one of the greatest “shocks” to the system, and one of the incidentals that were taken by the Greeks as proof positive that Latin Christianity in the 13th century had a serious illness at its center.

More than naive, perhaps, might we regard such a morality of war as seriously “under-developed”? Can such an important issue really be dealt with by so few canons of the ancient eastern church, and even then, by regulations that are so evidently local and occasional in character ? Well, the charges of inconsistency (praising a noble warrior then subjecting him to penance) and muddle-headedness, were raised in early times, especially by Latin theologians who wanted to press the envelope and arrive at a more coherent and all-embracing theory of war: one that balanced the apparent biblical justifications of hostility on the part of the chosen people, with the need to limit the obvious blood-lust of our species. The Latin theory of Just War was one result. Considered primarily (as it was meant to be) as a theory of the limitation of hostilities in the ancient context (hand to hand fighting of massed armies whose very size limited the time of possible engagement to a matter of months at most), it too was an “economic” theory that had much merit. It’s usefulness became moot in the medieval period when armament manufacture took ancient warfare into a new age, and it has become utterly useless in the modern age of mechanized warfare, where it could not stop the fatal transition (on which modernized mechanical warfare depends — both that sponsored by states, and that sponsored by smaller groups which we call “terrorism”) to the centrally important role of the murder of non-combatants. Be that as it may, it is not the purpose of the present essay to offer a sustained critique on Just War theory — merely to raise up a mainline Christian tradition of the ancient East which has never believed in Just War — and to offer instead of an elegant theory, a poor threadbare suggestion of old saints: that War is never justified or justifiable, but is de facto a sign and witness of evil and sin.

When it falls across the threshold of the Church in an unavoidable way, it sometimes becomes our duty (so the old canons say) to take up arms; though when that is the case is to be determined in trepidation by the elect who understand the value of peace and reconciliation, not in self-glorifying battle cries from the voices of the bloodthirsty and foolish. But in no case is the shedding of blood, even against a manifestly wicked foe, ever a “Just Violence.” The eastern canons, for all their tentativeness, retain that primitive force of Christian experience on that front. It may be the “Violence of the Just” but in that case the hostility will necessarily be ended with the minimal expenditure of force, and be marked in retrospect by the last act of the “violent Just” which will be repentance that finally resolves the untenable paradox. Ambivalent and “occasional” such a theory of War might be: but if it had been followed with fidelity the Church’s hands might have been cleaner than they have been across many centuries; and it might yet do a service on the wider front in helping Western Christianity to dismantle its own “economic” structures of war theory which are so patently in need of radical re-thinking. Perhaps the place to begin, as is usually the case, is here and now: with “Christian America” at the dawn of a new millennium, in which we seem to have learned nothing at all from generations of bitter experience of hostility: except the hubris that international conflicts can be undertaken “safely” now that other super-powers are currently out of commission. Such is the wisdom of the most powerful nation on earth, currently in an illegal state of war [30] which it wishes to disguise even from itself, even as the American military deaths this month exceeded 1000, with a pervasive silence all that it has to offer in relation to all figures of the deaths of those who were not American troops. Such is the wisdom under a leadership that is itself apparently eager to line up for a “righteous struggle” with the “forces of evil,” which so many others in the world outside, have seen as more in the line of a determined dominance of Islamic sensibilities by Super-Power secularism of the crassest order. In such a strange new millennium, perhaps the wisdom of the need to be tentative, finds a new power and authority.


1 In: KK Kuriakose (ed). Non-Violence: Concepts and Practices Across Religions and Cultures. NY. 2005.

2 The chief sources in English are: RH Bainton. Christian Attitudes to War and Peace. A Historical Survey and Critical Re-Evaluation. Nashville. 1960; CJ Cadoux. The Early Christian Attitude to War. Oxford. 1919 (repr. NY. 1982); A von Harnack. Militia Christi: The Christian Religion and the Military in the First Three Centuries. (tr. DM Gracie. Philadelphia. 1980: original German edn. 1905; HA Deane. The Political and Social Ideas of St. Augustine. New York. 1963 (chs.5-6); J. Helgeland. Christians and Military Service: AD 173-337. PhD Diss. University of Chicago. 1973. (summarized in Idem. “Christians and the Roman Army. AD. 173- 337.” Church History. 43. June 1974. 149-161; JM Hornus. It is Not Lawful for me to Fight: Early Christian Attitudes to War, Violence and the State . (trs. A Kreider & O Coburn). Scottsdale, Pa. 1980; HT McElwain. Augustine’s Doctrine of War in Relation to Earlier Ecclesiastical Writers. Rome. 1972; TS Miller & J Nesbitt (eds). Peace and War in Byzantium. Essays in Honor of GT Dennis. CUA Press. Washington. 1995; EA Ryan. “The Rejection of Military Service by the Early Christians.” Theological Studies. 13. 1952. 1-32; WR. Stevenson. Christian Love and Just War: Moral Paradox and Political Life in St. Augustine and his Modern Interpreters. Macon. Ga. 1987.

3 LJ Swift. The Early Fathers on War and Military Service. (Message of the Fathers of the Church. Vol. 19). 1983. Wilmington. De.

4 Byzantine in foundation and structure, until its annihilation in the late 15th century.

5 See: M Chatzidakis. The Cretan Painter Theophanes: The Wall-Paintings of the Holy Monastery of Stavronikita. Thessaloniki. (published on Mount Athos). 1986.

6 Cf. JE Damon. Soldier Saints and Holy Warriors: Warfare and Sanctity in the Literature of Early England. (Ashgate press). Aldershot. 2003.

7 Helgeland (1973. p. 17.) illustrates how both Harnack and Cadoux’s works progress from this shared presupposition despite their different perspectives on the issue of pacifism as a general Christian ideal. (Cadoux regarded Harnack as having soft-pedalled the Church’s early peace witness).

8 The early martyrial acts are charged with the dramatic characterization of the martyr as the apocalyptic witness, and the condemning magistrate as eschatological servant of the Beast. The narratives often deliberately follow the literary paradigm of the Passion Story of the Gospels. The Martyrdom of Polycarp is one such example.

9 Or how it might well be the case that Christian soldiers had already taken the imperial throne by force of arms in the mid 3rd century (in the case of Philip the Arab).

10 What the ancient sources described as the “Two Ages” (This Age of turmoil that stands within the historical record and permits brutal oppression as the ultimate symbol of “the Beast,” that is evil personified, and the Other Age, which is the Transcendent “Kingdom of God” when peace will be established by the definitive ending of violent powers hostile to the good., and the comforting of the poor.

11 It is a major category mistake, therefore, for fundamentalist Christians to apply apocalyptically matrixed scriptural references to “war in the heavens spilling out on earth,” as authoritative “justifications” from the Bible for Christians to engage in violent conflict for political ends. The essence of biblical, apocalyptic, doctrine is that the Two Ages must never be conflated or confused. The “Next Age” cannot be ushered in by political victories gained in “This Age.” By this means Christianity, in its foundational vision, undercut the principles that continue to inspire Judaism and Islam with their (essentially) non-apocalyptic understandings of the spreading of the Kingdom of God on Earth in recognizable borders, and militarily if necessary.

12 As if, for example, the biblical narratives of the Pentateuch where God commands Moses and Joshua to slaughter the Canaanite inhabitants in the process of seizing the “Promised Land” were to be read literalistically — as both vindicating war for “righteous reasons,” and validating the forced appropriation of territories after conflict. Protestant fundamentalism would, of course, read the texts with that political slant (symbolically going further to adapt the text to justify Christianity’s use of violence in a just cause); whereas the ancient Church consistently reads the narrative as allegorically symbolic of the perennial quest to overcome evil tendencies by virtuous action. The Canaanites assume the symbolic status of personal vice, the Israelite armies, the status of the ethical struggle. While this allegorical symbolism still depends in large degree on a symbolic reading of violent images, it successfully defuses a wholesale biblical “sanction” for violence and war.

13 A. Harnack. Militia Christi. The Christian Religion and The Military in the First Three Centuries (Tr. D. McI. Gracie). Philadelphia. 1981.

14 Though Ambrose and Augustine take much of their views on the subject from Cicero.

15 He probably underestimated the extent to which the early Church was propelled, not by subservience to emperors, but more by the way in which the war theology of ancient Israel was passed on as an authoritative paradigm, simply by the force of ingesting so much of the Old Testament narratives in the structure of its prayers, liturgies, and doctrines. It is, nonetheless, worthy of note that formally, from early times, the war passages of the Old Testament were consistently preached as allegorical symbols of the battle to establish peaceful virtues in human hearts (not the advocating of conquest of specific territories). Harnack himself admitted (when considering the example of the Salvation Army, that this aspect of this thesis could limp badly.

16 Eusebius. Ecclesiastical History. 9.9. 5-8; Life of Constantine. 1.39.

17 Is.2.4; Ps.72.7-8.

18 See N McLynn. “Roman Empire,” pp. 185-187 in: J.A. McGuckin (ed). The Westminster Handbook to Origen of Alexandria. Louisville. Ky. 2004.

19 For a further elaboration of the argument see: J.A.McGuckin. The Legacy of the Thirteenth Apostle: Origins of the East- Christian Conceptions of Church-State Relation. St. Vladimir’s Theological Quarterly. 47. Nos. 3-4. 2003. 251-288.

20 The “Canonical Epistles of St. Basil,” otherwise known as the “92 canons.” They can be found in English translation in: The Pedalion or Rudder of the Orthodox Catholic Church: The Compilation of the Holy Canons by Saints Nicodemus and Agapius. Tr. D Cummings. (Orthodox Christian Educational Society). Chicago. 1957 (repr. NY. 1983). pp. 772-864.

21 Basil was the Bishop of Caesarea in Cappadocia, now a city (Kaisariye) of Eastern Turkey.

22 Basil. Ep. 188. 13; Pedalion. p. 801.

23 Athanasius Epistle 48. To Amun. full text in A Robertson (tr). St. Athanasius Select Works and Letters. Nicene and Post Nicene Fathers of the Church. Vol. 4. (1891). repr. Eerdmans. Grand Rapids. 1980. pp. 556-557.

24 That is find canonical forgiveness for the act of shedding blood: which is canonically prohibited. The background context of the canons which forbid the shedding of blood are important to Basil’s thought, and are presumed throughout. He takes it for granted that clergy are absolutely forbidden to shed blood: and even if they do so accidentally, will be prohibited from celebrating the Eucharistic mysteries afterwards. In this case, just as with the church’s canonical rules relating to the prohibition of second marriages, what began as a general rule, was relaxed in its application to wider society, although the clergy were required to sustain the original strict interpretation (see Apostolical Canons 66. Pedalion. pp. 113-116.) Today in Orthodoxy, marriage is described as a one-time occurrence: but if the marriage is broken a second (and even third) marriage can be contracted “as an economy” to human conditions and relational failures. The clergy, however, are not allowed to contract second marriages (even if the first wife has died). The economy is not permitted to them. Clergy in the Eastern tradition are still canonically forbidden from engaging in any violence, beyond the minimum necessary to defend their life (Apostolic Canon 66.)though they are censured if they do not vigorously defend a third party being attacked in their presence. For both things (use of excessive violence in self-defence, and refusal to use violence in defense of another, they are given the penalty of deposition from orders).

25 “A Christian should not volunteer to become a soldier, unless he is compelled to do this by someone in authority. He can have a sword, but he should not be commanded to shed blood. If it can be shown that he has shed blood he should stay away from the mysteries (sacraments) at least until he has been purified through tears and lamentation.” Canons of Hippolytus 14.74. Text in Swift (1983) p. 93. See also Apostolic Tradition 16.

26 As developed especially (out of Cicero) by Ambrose of Milan On Duties. 1. 176; and Augustine (Epistle 183.15; Against Faustus 22. 69-76; and see Swift:1983. pp. 110-149). But Ambrose (ibid. 1. 35.175) specifically commands his priests to have no involvement (inciting or approving) whatsoever in the practice of War or judicial punishments: “Interest in matters of war,” he says, “seems to me to be alien to our role as priests.”

27 Many churches have uneasily juggled this responsibility in times past. Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher famously denounced the Archbishop of Canterbury’s post-Falklands-war service in 80’s London (St. Paul’s cathedral), as ” far too wet,” while other critics in the country were hard on him for not stating at the outset that the Falklands invasion did not fulfill the requirements of a “Just War” in terms of classical western theory, and so should have been more severely denounced by the Church.

28 Ordinary murder was given a 20 year debarment from the church’s sacraments as well as all accruing civic penalties. Basil’s Canon 56. Pedalion. p. 827; manslaughter received a ten year debarment. Basil’s Canon 57. Pedalion. p. 828.

29 Note that they are not querying the collapse of peace ideals outside the church as they regard the spread of hubris and violence on the earth as a clear mark of all those dark forces hostile to the heavenly Kingdom. The advocacy of war that is not a direct response to a clear and present threat of aggression is thus permanently ruled out of the court of morality in this system.

30 The conflict in Iraq, an invasion not given sanction of international law through the medium United Nations, but initiated to overthrow the dictatorship of Saddam Hussein on the pretext that he was manufacturing weapons of mass destruction.

Fr. John McGuckin

Union Theological Seminary

3041 Broadway

Knox Hall #6W

New York, NY 10027

God Has Not Abandoned the World

Saturday, October 16th, 2004

Declaration on Environment Signed by Pope and Patriarch of Constantinople

Here is the text of the joint declaration signed 10 June 2002 by Patriarch Bartholomeos and Pope John Paul II on the shared Christian responsibility to safeguard the environment.

We are gathered here today in the spirit of peace for the good of all human beings and for the care of creation. At this moment in history, at the beginning of the third millennium, we are saddened to see the daily suffering of a great number of people from violence, starvation, poverty, and disease. We are also concerned about the negative consequences for humanity and for all creation resulting from the degradation of some basic natural resources such as water, air and land, brought about by an economic and technological progress which does not recognize and take into account its limits.

Almighty God envisioned a world of beauty and harmony, and He created it, making every part an expression of His freedom, wisdom and love (cf. Gen 1:1-25).

At the center of the whole of creation, He placed us, human beings, with our inalienable human dignity. Although we share many features with the rest of the living beings, Almighty God went further with us and gave us an immortal soul, the source of self-awareness and freedom, endowments that make us in His image and likeness (cf. Gen 1:26-31; 2:7). Marked with that resemblance, we have been placed by God in the world in order to cooperate with Him in realizing more and more fully the divine purpose for creation.

At the beginning of history, man and woman sinned by disobeying God and rejecting His design for creation. Among the results of this first sin was the destruction of the original harmony of creation. If we examine carefully the social and environmental crisis which the world community is facing, we must conclude that we are still betraying the mandate God has given us: to be stewards called to collaborate with God in watching over creation in holiness and wisdom.

God has not abandoned the world. It is His will that His design and our hope for it will be realized through our cooperation in restoring its original harmony. In our own time we are witnessing a growth of an ecological awareness which needs to be encouraged, so that it will lead to practical programs and initiatives. An awareness of the relationship between God and humankind brings a fuller sense of the importance of the relationship between human beings and the natural environment, which is God’s creation and which God entrusted to us to guard with wisdom and love (cf. Gen 1:28).

Respect for creation stems from respect for human life and dignity. It is on the basis of our recognition that the world is created by God that we can discern an objective moral order within which to articulate a code of environmental ethics. In this perspective, Christians and all other believers have a specific role to play in proclaiming moral values and in educating people in ecological awareness, which is none other than responsibility towards self, towards others, towards creation.

What is required is an act of repentance on our part and a renewed attempt to view ourselves, one another, and the world around us within the perspective of the divine design for creation. The problem is not simply economic and technological; it is moral and spiritual. A solution at the economic and technological level can be found only if we undergo, in the most radical way, an inner change of heart, which can lead to a change in lifestyle and of unsustainable patterns of consumption and production. A genuine conversion in Christ will enable us to change the way we think and act.

First, we must regain humility and recognize the limits of our powers, and most importantly, the limits of our knowledge and judgment. We have been making decisions, taking actions, and assigning values that are leading us away from the world as it should be, away from the design of God for creation, away from all that is essential for a healthy planet and a healthy commonwealth of people. A new approach and a new culture are needed, based on the centrality of the human person within creation and inspired by environmentally ethical behavior stemming from our triple relationship to God, to self, and to creation. Such an ethics fosters interdependence and stresses the principles of universal solidarity, social justice, and responsibility, in order to promote a true culture of life.

Secondly, we must frankly admit that humankind is entitled to something better than what we see around us. We and, much more, our children and future generations are entitled to a better world, a world free from degradation, violence and bloodshed, a world of generosity and love.

Thirdly, aware of the value of prayer, we must implore God the Creator to enlighten people everywhere regarding the duty to respect and carefully guard creation.

We therefore invite all men and women of good will to ponder the importance of the following ethical goals:

1. To think of the world’s children when we reflect on and evaluate our options for action.

2. To be open to study the true values based on the natural law that sustain every human culture.

3. To use science and technology in a full and constructive way, while recognizing that the findings of science have always to be evaluated in the light of the centrality of the human person, of the common good, and of the inner purpose of creation. Science may help us to correct the mistakes of the past, in order to enhance the spiritual and material well-being of the present and future generations. It is love for our children that will show us the path that we must follow into the future.

4. To be humble regarding the idea of ownership and to be open to the demands of solidarity. Our mortality and our weakness of judgment together warn us not to take irreversible actions with what we choose to regard as our property during our brief stay on this earth. We have not been entrusted with unlimited power over creation, we are only stewards of the common heritage.

5. To acknowledge the diversity of situations and responsibilities in the work for a better world environment. We do not expect every person and every institution to assume the same burden. Everyone has a part to play, but for the demands of justice and charity to be respected the most affluent societies must carry the greater burden, and from them is demanded a sacrifice greater than can be offered by the poor. Religions, governments, and institutions are faced by many different situations; but on the basis of the principle of subsidiarity all of them can take on some tasks, some part of the shared effort.

6. To promote a peaceful approach to disagreement about how to live on this earth, about how to share it and use it, about what to change and what to leave unchanged. It is not our desire to evade controversy about the environment, for we trust in the capacity of human reason and the path of dialogue to reach agreement. We commit ourselves to respect the views of all who disagree with us, seeking solutions through open exchange, without resorting to oppression and domination.

It is not too late. God’s world has incredible healing powers. Within a single generation, we could steer the earth toward our children’s future. Let that generation start now, with God’s help and blessing.

John Paul II

Bartholomeos I

10 June 2002

* * *

“Each of us is called to make the crucial distinction between what we want and what we need”

Patriarch of Constantinople’s Address on Environmental Ethics

Here is the address delivered in the Ducal Palace in Venice by Patriarch Bartholomeos prior to signing the joint declaration with John Paul on protection of the environment.

Beloved and learned participants,

As we come to the close of our Fourth Symposium on Religion, Science, and the Environment, we offer thanks to God for the fruitful proceedings as well as for your invaluable contribution. We recall the prophetic words of our predecessor, Ecumenical Patriarch Dimitrios I of blessed memory. In his historic encyclical letter of 1989, urging Christians to observe September 1st as a day of prayer for the protection of the environment, he emphasized the need for all of us to display a “eucharistic and ascetic spirit.”

Let us reflect on these two words “eucharistic” and “ascetic.” The implications of the first word are easy to appreciate. In calling for a “eucharistic spirit,” Patriarch Dimitrios was reminding us that the created world is not simply our possession but it is a gift — a gift from God the Creator, a healing gift, a gift of wonder and beauty — and that our proper response, on receiving such a gift, is to accept it with gratitude and thanksgiving. This is surely the distinctive characteristic of ourselves as human beings: humankind is not merely a logical or a political animal, but above all a eucharistic animal, capable of gratitude, and endowed with the power to bless God for the gift of creation. Other animals express their gratefulness simply by being themselves, by living in the world in their own instinctive manner; but we human beings possess self awareness, and so consciously and by deliberate choice we can thank God with eucharistic joy. Without such thanksgiving we ! are not truly human.

But what does Patriarch Dimitrios mean by the second word, “ascetic”? When we speak of asceticism, we think of such things as fasting, vigils, and rigorous practices. That is indeed part of what is involved; but askesis signifies much more than this. It means that, in relation to the environment, we are to display what the Philokalia and other spiritual texts of the Orthodox Church call enkrateia, “self-restraint.”

That is to say, we are to practice a voluntary self-limitation in our consumption of food and natural resources. Each of us is called to make the crucial distinction between what we want and what we need. Only through such self-denial, through our willingness sometimes to forgo and to say, “no” or “enough” will we rediscover our true human place in the universe.

The fundamental criterion for an environmental ethic is not individualistic or commercial. The acquisition of material goods cannot justify the self-centered desire to control the natural resources of the world. Greed and avarice render the world opaque, turning all things to dust and ashes. Generosity and unselfishness render the world transparent, turning all things into a sacrament of loving communion — communion between human beings with one another, communion between human beings and God.

This need for an ascetic spirit can be summed up in a single key word: sacrifice. This exactly is the missing dimension in our environmental ethos and ecological action.

We are all painfully aware of the fundamental obstacle that confronts us in our work for the environment. It is precisely this: how are we to move from theory to action, from words to deeds? We do not lack technical scientific information about the nature of the present ecological crisis. We know, not simply what needs to be done, but also how to do it. Yet, despite all this information, unfortunately little is actually done. It is a long journey from the head to the heart, and an even longer journey from the heart to the hands.

How shall we bridge this tragic gap between theory and practice, between ideas and actuality? There is only one way: through the missing dimension of sacrifice. We are thinking here of a sacrifice that is not cheap but costly: “I will not offer to the Lord my God that which costs me nothing” (2 Samuel 24:24). There will be an effective, transforming change in the environment if, and only if, we are prepared to make sacrifices that are radical, painful, and genuinely unselfish. If we sacrifice nothing, we shall achieve nothing. Needless to say, as regards both nations and individuals, so much more is demanded from the rich than from the poor. Nevertheless, all are asked to sacrifice something for the sake of their fellow humans.

Sacrifice is primarily a spiritual issue and less an economic one. In speaking about sacrifice, we are talking about an issue that is not technological but ethical. Indeed, environmental ethics is specifically a central theme of this present symposium. We often refer to an environmental crisis; but the real crisis lies not in the environment but in the human heart. The fundamental problem is to be found not outside but inside ourselves, not in the ecosystem but in the way we think.

The root cause of all our difficulties consists in human selfishness and human sin. What is asked of us is not greater technological skill but deeper repentance, metanoia, in the literal sense of the Greek word, which signifies “change of mind.” The root cause of our environmental sin lies in our self-centeredness and in the mistaken order of values, which we inherit and accept without any critical evaluation. We need a new way of thinking about our own selves, about our relationship with the world and with God. Without this revolutionary “change of mind,” all our conservation projects, however well-intentioned, will remain ultimately ineffective. For, we shall be dealing only with the symptoms, not with their cause. Lectures and international conferences may help to awaken our conscience, but what is truly required is a baptism of tears.

Speaking about sacrifice is unfashionable, and even unpopular in the modern world. But, if the idea of sacrifice is unpopular, this is primarily because many people have a false notion of what sacrifice actually means. They imagine that sacrifice involves loss or death; they see sacrifice as somber or gloomy. Perhaps this is because, throughout the centuries, religious concepts have been used to introduce distinctions between those who have and those who have not, as well as to justify avarice, abuse and arrogance.

But if we consider how sacrifice was understood in the Old Testament, we find that the Israelites had a totally different view of its significance. To them, sacrifice meant not loss but gain, not death but life. Sacrifice was costly, but it brought about not diminution but fulfillment; it was a change not for the worse but for the better. Above all, for the Israelites, sacrifice signified not primarily giving up but simply giving. In its basic essence, a sacrifice is a gift — a voluntary offering in worship by humanity to God.

Thus in the Old Testament, although sacrifice often involved the slaying of an animal, the whole point was not the taking but the giving of life; not the death of the animal but the offering of the animal’s life to God. Through this sacrificial offering, a bond was established between the human worshiper and God. The gift, once accepted by God, was consecrated, acting as a means of communion between Him and His people. For the Israelites, the fasts — and the sacrifices that went with them — were “seasons of joy and gladness, and cheerful festivals” (Zechariah 8:19).

An essential element of any sacrifice is that it should be willing and voluntary. That which is extracted from us by force and violence, against our will, is not a sacrifice. Only what we offer in freedom and in love is truly a sacrifice. There is no sacrifice without love. When we surrender something unwillingly, we suffer loss; but when we offer something voluntarily, out of love, we only gain.

When, on the fortieth day after Christ’s birth, His mother the Virgin Mary, accompanied by Joseph, came to the temple and offered her child to God, her act of sacrifice brought her not sorrow but joy; for, it was an act of love. She did not lose her child, but He became her own in a way that He could never otherwise have been.

Christ proclaimed this seemingly contradictory mystery when He taught: “Whosoever wishes to save his life must lose it” (Matt. 10:39 and 16:25). When we sacrifice our life and share our wealth, we gain life in abundance and enrich the entire world. Such is the experience of humankind over the ages: Kenosis means plerosis; voluntary self-emptying brings self-fulfillment.

All this we need to apply to our work for the environment. There can be no salvation for the world, no healing, no hope of a better future, without the missing dimension of sacrifice. Without a sacrifice that is costly and uncompromising, we shall never be able to act as priests of the creation in order to reverse the descending spiral of ecological degradation.

The path that lies before us, as we continue on our spiritual voyage of ecological exploration, is strikingly indicated in the ceremony of the Great Blessing of the Waters, performed in the Orthodox Church on January 6th, the Feast of Theophany, when we commemorate Christ’s Baptism in the Jordan River. The Great Blessing begins with a hymn of praise to God for the beauty and harmony of creation:

“Great art Thou, O Lord, and marvelous are Thy works: no words suffice to sing the praise of Thy wonders. … The sun sings Thy praises; the moon glorifies Thee; the stars supplicate before Thee; the light obeys Thee; the deeps are afraid at Thy presence; the fountains are Thy servants; Thou hast stretched out the heavens like a curtain; Thou hast established the earth upon the waters; Thou hast walled about the sea with sand; Thou hast poured forth the air that living things may breathe….”

Then, after this all-embracing cosmic doxology, there comes the culminating moment in the ceremony of blessing. The celebrant takes a Cross and plunges it into the vessel of water (if the service is being performed indoors in church) or into the river or the sea (if the service takes place out of doors).

The Cross is our guiding symbol in the supreme sacrifice to which we are all called. It sanctifies the waters and, through them, transforms the entire world. Who can forget the imposing symbol of the Cross in the splendid mosaic of the Basilica of Sant’ Apollinare in Classe? As we celebrated the Divine Liturgy in Ravenna, our attention was focused on the Cross, which stood at the center of our heavenly vision, at the center of the natural beauty that surrounded it, and at the center of our celebration of heaven on earth.

Such is the model of our ecological endeavors. Such is the foundation of any environmental ethic. The Cross must be plunged into the waters. The Cross must be at the very center of our vision. Without the Cross, without sacrifice, there can be no blessing and no cosmic transfiguration. Amen.