WHEN I apprehended clearly the words "_Resist not evil_," my conception
of the doctrine of Jesus was entirely changed; and I was astounded, not
that I had failed to understand it before, but that I had misunderstood
it so strangely. I knew, as we all know, that the true significance of
the doctrine of Jesus was comprised in the injunction to love one's
neighbor. When we say, "_Turn the other cheek_," "_Love your enemies_,"
we express the very essence of Christianity. I knew all that from my
childhood; but why had I failed to understand aright these simple words?
Why had I always sought for some ulterior meaning? "_Resist not evil_"
means, never resist, never oppose violence; or, in other words, never do
anything contrary to the law of love. If any one takes advantage of this
disposition and affronts you, bear the affront, and do not, above all,
have recourse to violence. This Jesus said in words so clear and simple
that it would be impossible to express the idea more clearly. How was it
then, that believing or trying to believe these to be the words of God,
I still maintained the impossibility of obeying them? If my master says
to me, "Go; cut some wood," and I reply, "It is beyond my strength," I
say one of two things: either I do not believe what my master says, or I
do not wish to obey his commands. Should I then say of God's
commandment that I could not obey it without the aid of a supernatural
power? Should I say this without having made the slightest effort of my
own to obey? We are told that God descended to earth to save mankind;
that salvation was secured by the second person of the Trinity, who
suffered for men, thereby redeeming them from sin, and gave them the
Church as the shrine for the transmission of grace to all believers; but
aside from this, the Saviour gave to men a doctrine and the example of
his own life for their salvation. How, then, could I say that the rules
of life which Jesus has formulated so clearly and simply for every
one--how could I say that these rules were difficult to obey, that it
was impossible to obey them without the assistance of a supernatural
power? Jesus saw no such impossibility; he distinctly declared that
those who did not obey could not enter into the kingdom of God. Nowhere
did he say that obedience would be difficult; on the contrary, he said
in so many words, "_My yoke is easy and my burden is light_" (Matt. xi.
30). And John, the evangelist, says, "_His commandments are not
grievous_" (1 John v. 3). Since God declared the practice of his law to
be easy, and himself practised it in human form, as did also his
disciples, how dared I speak of the impossibility of obedience without
the aid of a supernatural power?
If one bent all his energies to overthrow any law, what could he say of
greater force than that the law was essentially impracticable, and that
the maker of the law knew it to be impracticable and unattainable
without the aid of a supernatural power? Yet that is exactly what I had
been thinking of the command, "_Resist not evil_." I endeavored to find
out how it was that I got the idea that Jesus' law was divine, but that
it could not be obeyed; and as I reviewed my past history, I perceived
that the idea had not been communicated to me in all its crudeness (it
would then have been revolting to me), but insensibly I had been imbued
with it from childhood, and all my after life had only confirmed me in
error.
From my childhood I had been taught that Jesus was God, and that his
doctrine was divine, but at the same time I was taught to respect as
sacred the institutions which protected me from violence and evil. I was
taught to resist evil, that it was humiliating to submit to evil, and
that resistance to it was praiseworthy. I was taught to judge, and to
inflict punishment. Then I was taught the soldier's trade, that is, to
resist evil by homicide; the army to which I belonged was called "The
Christophile Army," and it was sent forth with a Christian benediction.
From infancy to manhood I learned to venerate things that were in direct
contradiction to the law of Jesus,--to meet an aggressor with his own
weapons, to avenge myself by violence for all offences against my
person, my family, or my race. Not only was I not blamed for this; I
learned to regard it as not at all contrary to the law of Jesus. All
that surrounded me, my personal security and that of my family and my
property--depended then upon a law which Jesus reproved,--the law of "a
tooth for a tooth." My spiritual instructors taught me that the law of
Jesus was divine, but, because of human weakness, impossible of
practice, and that the grace of Jesus Christ alone could aid us to
follow its precepts. And this instruction agreed with what I received in
secular institutions and from the social organization about me. I was so
thoroughly possessed with this idea of the impracticability of the
divine doctrine, and it harmonized so well with my desires, that not
till the time of awakening did I realize its falsity. I did not see how
impossible it was to confess Jesus and his doctrine, "_Resist not
evil_," and at the same time deliberately assist in the organization of
property, of tribunals, of governments, of armies; to contribute to the
establishment of a polity entirely contrary to the doctrine of Jesus,
and at the same time pray to Jesus to help us to obey his commands, to
forgive our sins, and to aid us that we resist not evil. I did not see,
what is very clear to me now, how much more simple it would be to
organize a method of living conformable to the law of Jesus, and then to
pray for tribunals, and massacres, and wars, and all other things
indispensable to our happiness.
Thus I came to understand the source of error into which I had fallen. I
had confessed Jesus with my lips, but my heart was still far from him.
The command, "_Resist not evil_," is the central point of Jesus'
doctrine; it is not a mere verbal affirmation; it is a rule whose
practice is obligatory. It is verily the key to the whole mystery; but
the key must be thrust to the bottom of the lock. When we regard it as a
command impossible of performance, the value of the entire doctrine is
lost. Why should not a doctrine seem impracticable, when we have
suppressed its fundamental proposition? It is not strange that
unbelievers look upon it as totally absurd. When we declare that one may
be a Christian without observing the commandment, "_Resist not evil_,"
we simply leave out the connecting link which transmits the force of the
doctrine of Jesus into action.
Some time ago I was reading in Hebrew, the fifth chapter of Matthew with
a Jewish rabbi. At nearly every verse the rabbi said, "This is in the
Bible," or "This is in the Talmud," and he showed me in the Bible and in
the Talmud sentences very like the declarations of the Sermon on the
Mount. When we reached the words, "_Resist not evil_," the rabbi did not
say, "This is in the Talmud," but he asked me, with a smile, "Do the
Christians obey this command? Do they turn the other cheek?" I had
nothing to say in reply, especially as at that particular time,
Christians, far from turning the other cheek, were smiting the Jews upon
both cheeks. I asked him if there were anything similar in the Bible or
in the Talmud. "No," he replied, "there is nothing like it; but tell me,
do the Christians obey this law?" It was only another way of saying that
the presence in the Christian doctrine of a commandment which no one
observed, and which Christians themselves regarded as impracticable, is
simply an avowal of the foolishness and nullity of that law. I could say
nothing in reply to the rabbi.
Now that I understand the exact meaning of the doctrine, I see clearly
the strangely contradictory position in which I was placed. Having
recognized the divinity of Jesus and of his doctrine, and having at the
same time organized a life wholly contrary to that doctrine, what
remained for me but to look upon the doctrine as impracticable? In words
I had recognized the doctrine of Jesus as sacred; in actions, I had
professed a doctrine not at all Christian, and I had recognized and
reverenced the anti-Christian customs which hampered my life upon every
side. The persistent message of the Old Testament is that misfortunes
came upon the Hebrew people because they believed in false gods and
denied Jehovah. Samuel (I. viii.-xii.) accuses the people of adding to
their other apostasies the choice of a man, upon whom they depended for
deliverance instead of upon Jehovah, who was their true King. "Turn not
aside after _tohu_, after vain things," Samuel says to the people (I.
xii. 21); "turn not aside after vain things, which cannot profit nor
deliver; for they are _tohu_, are vain." "Fear Jehovah and serve him....
But if ye shall still do wickedly, ye shall be consumed, both ye and
your king" (I. xii. 24, 25). And so with me, faith in _tohu_, in vain
things, in empty idols, had concealed the truth from me. Across the
path which led to the truth, _tohu_, the idol of vain things, rose
before me, cutting off the light, and I had not the strength to beat it
down.
On a certain day, at this time, I was walking in Moscow towards the
Borovitzky Gate, where was stationed an old lame beggar, with a dirty
cloth wrapped about his head. I took out my purse to bestow an alms; but
at the same moment I saw a young soldier emerging from the Kremlin at a
rapid pace, head well up, red of face, wearing the State insignia of
military dignity. The beggar, on perceiving the soldier, arose in fear,
and ran with all his might towards the Alexander Garden. The soldier,
after a vain attempt to come up with the fugitive, stopped, shouting
forth an imprecation upon the poor wretch who had established himself
under the gateway contrary to regulations. I waited for the soldier.
When he approached me, I asked him if he knew how to read.
"Yes; why do you ask?"
"Have you read the New Testament?"
"Yes."
"And do you remember the words, 'If thine enemy hunger, feed him...'?"
I repeated the passage. He remembered it, and heard me to the end. I saw
that he was uneasy. Two passers-by stopped and listened. The soldier
seemed to be troubled that he should be condemned for doing his duty in
driving persons away from a place where they had been forbidden to
linger. He thought himself at fault, and sought for an excuse. Suddenly
his eye brightened; he looked at me over his shoulder, as if he were
about to move away.
"And the military regulation, do you know anything about that?" he
demanded.
"No," I said.
"In that case, you have nothing to say to me," he retorted, with a
triumphant wag of the head, and elevating his plume once more, he
marched away to his post. He was the only man that I ever met who had
solved, with an inflexible logic, the question which eternally
confronted me in social relations, and which rises continually before
every man who calls himself a Christian.