1. The Pacifist Theory condemns every form of violence, as contrary to the ethical law of love and human brotherhood. It was in harmony with this idea that the Fathers of the Church in the early centuries condemned all recourse to arms as unjust, and that many Christians refused to render service in the imperial armies. Abandoned by the Church after its alliance with the Roman Empire under Constantine, the doctrine was never quite lost from sight. It was adopted by the Mennonites in Holland and by the Quakers in England.
We may pause here to consider the attitude of the early Friends towards war. Accepting the teaching of Christ as a gospel of pure love, they held that war was unchristian, and this alike in its origin and in its results. George Fox had been called out of “that nature whence wars arise,” and “lived in the virtue of that life and power that took away the occasion of all wars.” Barclay too applied the peaceable ethic of Christ without flinching to the whole of life. Friends did not indeed deny that force was needed in the community, as in the family, to restrain ill-doers, to protect the weak, and to preserve that ordered peace upon which freedom itself and the power to work out man’s nature depends. For the community includes many persons who have not come, as Barclay would say, to the pure dispensation of the gospel, but are still “in the mixture,” and for these the restraint of force is needed in the spirit of love. As their consciences become enlightened to understand the teaching of Christ more fully, such restraint will be needed less and less, even to vanishing point. The use of force in maintaining civil order is however marked off from the sphere of war by this distinction, that the former is regulated by justice and law, and the latter by uncertain motives, often greed or offended dignity. That war too might be governed by justice was a desire that sometimes found expression on the part of the earlier Friends. Edward Borough in 1656 charged the soldiers in Ireland to use their swords justly, and even wrote to the army at Dunkirk in 1659 that it should avenge the blood of the guiltless.
War in a just cause Barclay held to be not altogether unlawful to a magistrate whose conscience was not fully enlightened. Penington said that “the present estate of things”, in which the earthly spirit prevails, might require the use of the sword, and a blessing would attend its right use; but, he added, there is a better state. There were indeed occasions in the great struggle for liberty which was waging in England at the time of the rise of Friends, when they were asked to give active help to the parliamentary forces, and when some of the best amongst them hesitated as to their duty. But Fox and others stood firm: no carnal weapons were to be borne: Friends were not to join the militia; the testimony of the society against all war was clear and emphatic. Several of its early leaders —Dewsbury, Hubberthorne, Nayler and others—had come out from the ranks of the army to serve the Prince of Peace, in the Kingdom which is “righteousness and peace and joy in the Holy Ghost.”
But whilst it was the clear duty of the Friend in his personal conduct and on his own behalf to deny all war, the position was less easy for those who held places of responsibility in the community on behalf of their fellows. Such offices were held by early members of the society in America. The sturdy Quaker governors of Rhode Island thought it their duty to the people who had elected them that they should assent to preparations for the military defence of the colony. John Archdale, governor of the Carolinas, held a commission which nominally appointed him Admiral and Commander-in-Chief. The Assembly passed a Militia Act during his term of office, under which all Quakers were excused from service who, in the judgment of the governor, refused to bear arms on a conscientious principle of religion. These Friend governors did not, as it appears, engage in war, nor were they, on the other hand, subjected to disownment by their own body. They seem to have taken the view that, although all war was evil, a defensive war might on occasion be a necessary accompaniment of civil government, when that government was exercised on behalf of a mixed population only partly enlightened; and that in the public office they held they did right to connive at it. A citizen cannot act merely for himself: he has a share in the state and in its responsibilities; he may have to countenance methods of government not ideally right, though he must never be content with them, nor cease to labour for their removal.
The question as it presented itself in the home country was somewhat different, for there the authority which public officers derived from the king was apt to overshadow their responsibility to their fellow-citizens. But in either land it was one of great moment, and it had a fateful influence upon the history of the society. Could Friends with their pure and high ideals take part in government? Some of the early Quakers thought that they could; Christians, said Penn, should keep the helm and guide the vessel to its port, not steal out of the stern of the world, and leave it without a pilot. The later society, led mainly by English Friends, came in effect to the decision that they could not take such part; no doubt the customary oath of office was an especial hindrance; and in consequence they withdrew for a century and a half into private life. It would be out of place here to do more than allude to the emergence of English Friends from this position in the course of the nineteenth century, and to their gradual entrance in considerable numbers into magisterial, civic and parliamentary life. [Note: R. H. Fox, Dr. John Fothergil. and His Friends, 294.]
It may be noted that John Bright based his opposition to the several wars of his time upon the circumstances of each; he resigned from Gladstone’s Cabinet in 1882, because the bombardment of Alexandria was in his judgment an act of unjustifiable war. This might nevertheless be consistent with a strong personal conviction that all war was wrong. See M. E. Hirst, in Fds.Quart. Exam., Jan. 1916. Upon the attitude of the early Friends to war and the facts quoted above, see W. C. Braithwaite, The Beginnings of Quakerism; George Fox’s Journal, ed. Camb.; E. Burrough, Works; Barclay, Apology, Prop. XV.; I. Penington, Works, i. 323. For the question as it emerged on the outbreak of the European War see W. Littleboy, The Day of our Visitation, Appendix. [Note: R. H. Fox, Dr. John Fothergill and His Friends, 296.]
At a Conference held by Quakers at Llandudno in September 1914, the question was asked: Has Christ nothing but implicit condemnation for men who offer their own lives in order to stop a tyrant’s cruelty to others? The answer was: All self-sacrifice for a worthy end is good and noble and Christlike, and we cannot believe that Christ would ever condemn it as such, or that it is His will that in the presence of tyranny and cruelty we should stand aside and do nothing. But the answer of those who have lived nearest to Him in spirit, like many of the first Christians and of the early Quakers, would seem to be that His followers must have patience even with tyranny and cruelty, and seek to “wear it out” by long suffering. In James Nayler’s words, they “take their kingdom with entreaty and not with contention, and keep it by lowliness of mind.” The early Quakers, though they never used force, were vigorous in their protests against injustice to themselves and others. The recognition gradually won by the Christians and the Quakers, without any use of violence, seems to show that such patience is not in vain, if it is not mere indolence or cowardice, but is inspired by the faith that there is in all human hearts, even in the most apparently cruel, something that can be won at length by long-suffering love. [Note: E. G., in Friends and the War, 143.]
2. In support of this view, it is argued (1) that it has never had a fair trial; and (2) when it has been tried it has worked well. (1) As regards the trial of non-resistance, it is held that we are Christians only to our own shame, and to our Master’s dishonour — Christiani ad contumeliam Christi: that whether it is possible or not to place society on a strict basis of Christian principle we cannot say, for that very few have ever really tried: that discussion as to the feasibility of a Christian socialistic state in which Christ’s five great commandments — Be not angry — Do not commit adultery — Take no oaths — Resist not evi l— Make no war — were obeyed, must for the present at least be merely conjectural and speculative, for very few have ever attempted to put them into practice: and that those who have, like St. Francis of Assisi, or Laurence Oliphant, or the Moravians, or the Poor Men of Lyons, or the American Shakers, have generally been laughed down by the rest of Christendom, as either foolish fanatics or mad.
The precept “Love your enemies” (Mat_5:44; Luk_6:27). does not seem to be generally recognized in this way as a practical guide amid the stress and strain of daily life. It is not even generally appealed to as a standard for approving or condemning the ordinary behaviour of men. It is not effectively sanctioned by public opinion and sentiment. If we inquire why this is so, there appear to be two answers, vaguely and confusedly underlying the position of common sense. The first is that any sustained effort to pursue the ideal under the actual conditions of human life is so impossible that it is useless to attempt it. The second is that if we did succeed in loving our enemies and in acting as if we loved them, the result would be disastrous; the good would be exposed without defence to the forces of evil and life would no longer be worth living. For one or both of these reasons it seems to be tacitly assumed that in practice we are justified in setting aside the precept “Love your enemies,” and in substituting for it the precept “Love your friends and hate your enemies.” At the same time it is generally granted that under conditions different from ours the rule of love would be universally applicable. But this concession turns out on examination to mean very little. For the state of things contemplated under which we might be reasonably expected to love our enemies seems to be one under which our enemies would be prepared to love us or might easily be induced to love us, and this almost amounts to saying that we can only be reasonably required to love our enemies when there are no enemies for us to love. In fact, in common with the rest of Western Europe, we have too long made the geographical expression “Christendom” coextensive with Christianity. Thus we have equated Christian ideals with the current standards of European civilization, and called on Christ to supply religious sanction for what is really the code of Mrs. Grundy.
Many people dismiss the whole question of non-resistance with the remark that it is simply impossible to practise it in such a world as this. If Christianity really requires it, they would say, then so much the worse for Christianity. What would happen if we were to dismiss all our police, disband our Army and do away with the Navy? Evil men and evil nations would have it all their own way. But, of course, no sane man advocates anything of the kind. Morality is a growth, and you must have first the blade, then the ear, and only after long waiting the full corn in the ear. To advocate the immediate abolition of the Army and Navy is simply to begin at the wrong end. The spirit must first be created. Public action will follow after, and not precede, private and individual action (duelling goes out of fashion before war), and even private and individual action is of little value till a certain level of public opinion has been gained. The first step in every reform is the creation of a suitable atmosphere. Does that atmosphere, as regards the powerlessness of force, the duty of non-resistance, and the value of gentleness and love, as yet exist? There are a few, a very few, earnest Christians feeling after a practicable doctrine of non-resistance. Tolstoi’s influence has not been without effect. The leaven of the Friends is always at work. But speaking broadly, the Church has not yet begun to realize what is really the question of the day, namely, How to practise the teaching of the Sermon on the Mount. And this war is its punishment for that failure. [Note: G. K. A. Bell, The War and the Kingdom of God, 87.]
If persons in sympathy With the Society of Friends had been in a position to conduct the entire foreign policy of this country, and, a fortiori, that of more countries than one, since the foundation of that Society, it is quite possible that war might have been put an end to, and the several countries been much more prosperous and successful than they have been in fact. [Note: B. Bosanquet, Some Suggestions in Ethics, 142.]
(2) It is claimed that where the rule “Resist not evil” has been obeyed—obeyed literally and entirely—it has met with success. To a very large extent the community of the primitive Church acted out the precept of non-resistance. Its gentleness made it great. The law of love, patient, forbearing, unprotesting love, manifested amidst persecution, cruelty, deprivation of rights and liberties, wrongs inflicted upon themselves and their fellows; this law gave to the small community a power which shook to its foundations the mighty edifice of Roman imperialism. It is the secret of the most amazing conquest in history. On the one side a few empty-handed Christians, on the other a colossal world power bending all its mighty energies to crush them. Today the wild beasts, the axe, the flame; tomorrow the Emperor a convert and the Roman eagles bearing the cross.
Again, it is undeniable, and we are coming to see it, that the object of punishment is not vengeance but reformation. The warden of Sing Sing prison inaugurated a new era not long since when he went unarmed into a room filled with prisoners, sent out all the guards, and talked with the prisoners, man to man, regarding various phases of their life together. In treating them as men and not as dogs he enlisted all of their own best impulses, and already we are told that the results are apparent in the temper of the men and their attitude toward the obligations that are laid upon them. If this is true in dealing with hardened criminals, it is infinitely more true in the common relationships of human life, wherein by far the greater portion of our differences grow out of our ignorance of each other’s life and our failure to understand each other’s needs and desires.
Moreover, there are modern examples of the success of nonresistance.
At the beginning of the Boer War the houses of Joshua Rowntree and other Quakers in Scarborough were seriously damaged by a patriotic mob. The following letter, drafted by Joshua Rowntree, was addressed to the inhabitants of Scarborough, and signed by seven members of the Rowntree family, and by Mr. William Smith, whose property had also suffered. It is dated March 21, 1900 :
“FELLOW-TOWNSMEN, — It is our desire that the sores arising from the recent visit of Mr. Cronwright Schreiner to Scarborough may speedily be healed. As one contribution to this end, we wish to state that it is not our intention to make any claim against the Borough Fund for property damaged or destroyed during the riot which occurred on the night of the “Reception” given by one of our number. The loss of property, though not light to some of us, is as nothing compared with the peril to which some of those dearer to us than life were that night exposed, or with the loss of free speech won for us by brave men and women of old. We respectfully submit to our fellow-townsmen of all creeds and parties, that the wrecking of buildings, and especially midnight assaults on the homes of women, children, and aged persons, are acts of cruel lawlessness which nothing can justify. Inquiries made seem to show that the violence was chiefly the result of the delusion that the visitor to our town, a colonial fellow-subject of British blood, who had come to lecture on ‘The Conditions of a Durable Peace in South Africa,’ was a Boer, whose life might fairly be taken, and that it was encouraged by some who are supposed to know better. Edmund Burke’s entreaty to his fellows, ‘so to be patriots as not to forget to be gentlemen’ seems still to be needed.
“We are all at one in desiring the honour and greatness of our country; we are intensely anxious for the good name of the British Empire amongst the nations of the earth. But we hold that the fostering of prejudice and enmity, even against our foes; is in the long run hurtful to ourselves, and that injustice to strangers never leads to justice to our own people. Our convictions on some great questions are, we know, different from those of the majority of our fellow-countrymen; but for these convictions we must render our account, not to men but to God. If we are wrong, resort to lynch law will not set us right, while it inflicts serious injury on the whole community.
“We desire to acknowledge, with sincere thanks, many expressions of support and sympathy from both strangers and friends. History often has to reverse the popular verdicts of the day, and we believe it will reverse the verdict of violence which has been given against us.”
This letter aroused sympathy and respect from all parts of the country, and from greatly varying types of men. Sir Edward Grey, speaking at Nottingham a few days after its issue, said: “It is full of deep and noble feeling.” The late Mr. Alfred Lyttelton, afterwards Colonial Secretary, said of it to Lord Loreburn: “That was real Christianity, and must do a great deal of good.” The Manchester Guardian’s comment was: “There are few things more cutting than the Quaker’s practice of dismissing those who offend against him with no severer punishment than an accurate and moderate statement of what they have done.” Mr. Cronwright Schreiner wrote of the letter: “The Rowntree letter was a splendid one. These are the acts that score in the long run. I believe it to be eternally true that one does more good for a cause by suffering for it than by making others suffer for it.” [Note: S. E. Robson, Joshua Rowntree, 114.]
In connection with the missionary society working among the tribes on the Congo, in which I am deeply interested, one of the missionaries resolved that he would teach a literal obedience to these words of our Lord, lest any evasion of them might lessen their authority over the hearts and lives of His people. His hearers were greatly interested and excited, and were not slow in putting the missionary to the test. On one memorable day they gathered around his house, and began asking for the articles which excited their cupidity, and which he had brought at such cost from home. In an hour or two his house was literally stripped, and his wife and he betook themselves to prayer, for, of course, it is impossible for Europeans to live in that climate without many accessories which are needless for the natives. But, in the evening, under the shadow of the night, one after another stole back, bringing the article which he had taken away, and confessing that it was impossible to retain it in his possession, because of the burden which had come upon his heart. [Note: F. B. Meyer, The Directory of the Devout Life, 17.]
During the last ten years many travellers in Persia have fallen into the hands of brigands. Miss Bird told how “Dr. Carr fell into the hands of a robber band, who carried him, his servants, and his caravan off to one of their mountain haunts, and took everything—clothes, money, goods, and animals—from him, only allowing him to have his sun hat and some old clothes of their own. After keeping him two days, almost without food, he and his party were released and had to tramp about eighteen miles to a village. While he was with these brigands, they constantly expressed their regret that it had been his kismet to fall into their hands. He returned their treatment by doctoring them and telling them of the true way of salvation. The man who told us of it said, “It was wonderful, the doctor never swore once, though we took all his things.” [Note: Mary Bird in Persia, 54.]
