I do not think there is another country in the world where the difference between aggressive and defensive war is so deeply felt as in Russia. Our greatest thinkers, Solovyoff and Dostoiévsky—both of them Christian champions in letters—always made this distinction when in support of war. (Of course, we are all pacifists in that we consider peace to be the great end.) In support of my remark let me quote Dostoiévsky. He, certainly, was not only one of our greatest writers, but, as a Christian pacifist, occupied perhaps the first and the most brilliant position in our country. Christianity permeates all his works, all his ideas.

Count Leo Tolstoy, on the other hand, even in his young days, had a tendency to paradox, which then showed itself chiefly in private conversation. But since the fatal period of his latter years, when he preferred to the rôle of a first-rate novelist that of a very poor philosophic preacher, he became a living paradox, and has certainly had a very pernicious influence over his weak-minded followers. For the greater the talent the greater (when misused) is its power for harm. But whilst Count Leo Tolstoy perpetually contradicted himself (and thereby naturally puzzled his own disciples), Dostoiévsky, on the contrary, was always faithful to his own teaching. His pictures of life are often terrible, but what makes their impressions less unendurable is the fact that many of them were not written in vain. For instance, his descriptions of prison life fortunately have served greatly to improve the position of prisoners, and in many other respects have benefited humanity.

I would scarcely recommend his works to people with very shaky nerves. Nevertheless, throughout all his philosophy what permeates chiefly, and appeals to, our mind and soul is his ardent faith in Divine justice and charity. I hope I may be pardoned for quoting here a portion of his ally in thought, the Metropolitan of Moscow, Philaret, who wrote the following verses to our immortal Pushkin:

 

Beauty in all God’s creation

Which mysterious Truth conceals,

Which our soul’s high aspiration

And our reasoning reveals.

 

Dostoiévsky manifested himself to the whole of Russia in such works of thrilling genius as “The Insulted and the Injured,” “Notes of the House of Death,” “The Brothers Karamazoff,” his “Siberian Diary,” and many others.

 

PROTECTION OF THE WEAK. 

When it was discovered that he had taken upon himself the crime of another, of course he was immediately allowed to recover his freedom and to return to European Russia. But surely thirteen years of prison life, though voluntarily endured, was a terrible ordeal, and long enough to break the spirit and undermine the religion of most people. But not so with him. No! Dostoiévsky continued to preach patience and love, but he understood these qualities in the following way.

Whilst pardoning injustice to oneself, still deeper is our duty to oppose with all our might and self-sacrifice cruel injury done to others. (See “The Insulted and the Injured.”) Thus, when defining the absolute duty of help to others, he showed himself armed with all the moral superiority that was naturally his own. Nevertheless, one of the most difficult problems for a psychologist is that of war—with all its inevitable sacrifices, miseries, and horrors. Dostoiévsky has given profound thought to that national calamity. He clearly sees the difference between wars—unjust wars and generous wars. He hated wars entered upon for egotistic, material interests; these met with his indignant opposition, whilst he admired and insisted upon wars for high ideals of justice and defence of the oppressed and unprotected.

Here are his very words: “Such wars corrupt and weaken, and deprave whole nations. On the other hand, noble wars, with the chief object of liberation and suppression of egotistic cruelty, the outcome of a sacred and noble protest, such wars only serve to purify the moral sir of accumulated miasmas; they cure the soul, dispel cowardice and sloth.”

A noble defensive war appeals indeed to the best feelings, as has been shown quite recently in Moscow. Young Russia has awakened. Her Russian blood cries aloud in her. Her best impulses crystallise in her national spirit. Here, for instance, is an interesting recent fact:

Formerly, the day of St. Tatiana (the 12th of our February) was the occasion of aimless and noisy gaiety amongst the Moscow University students, whilst this year it greatly altered and improved in its manifestations of national enthusiasm. The young students decided, on their own vivid impulse, that that special anniversary should be invested with the Russian national character. Dropping the cosmopolitan period of our history, and appealing now to the representatives of national self-devotion and duty, all the students were suddenly carried away to pay homage to our great and glorious hero, Skobeleff. They went “in corpore” to the Tverskaia (Plostchad) Place—to salute his monument, as the representative of the patriotic glory of Russia. 

 

GERMAN MILITARISM.

That monument attracts general admiration, and stands before the Palace of the late Grand Duke Sergius in Moscow. This incident has in reality more importance than people may be inclined to think. It shows the new impulse of a national heart, and we may be sure that amongst the young students are many who are now ardent to fight and die for their country, and thus try to imitate Skobeleff in devotion and patriotism, not in words, but in deeds.

Let me again quote Dostoiévsky himself in another passage. “Russia requires no expansion of territory. She stepped into the fight in the last century precisely on behalf of the injured, for the protection of faith, and of the progress of the world’s culture, against the pressure of German militarism.” We Russians, and, I believe, also England, unfortunately misunderstood Prussian Germany. We forgot that Prussia’s culture stood upon no moral basis, as was shown, for instance, in their use of aircraft for the wrecking of unprotected villages and towns, and the murder of innocent women and children, making a diabolic page in the history of the world.

In this connection Dostoiévsky relates a very interesting fact. Being at Dresden some forty years ago—1876—he met a German, who cynically and audaciously told him with utter self-conceit, “When we have done with the French we will attack you!” and this, as we now know, Germany had for years been preparing to do.

Had we listened to the forebodings and advice of our best representative we should have been able to attain our present object with less sacrifice—but, unfortunately, we were then deceived into a belief in German honour and good faith.

Dostoiévsky died before the present war, but could anything have happened to give stronger support to the views of our great author?”