Russian Orthodoxy and the Russo-Japanese War 9781474253758, 9781474253789, 9781474253772

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Russian Orthodoxy and the Russo-Japanese War

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Russian Orthodoxy and the Russo-Japanese War Betsy C. Perabo

BLOOMSBURY ACADEMIC Bloomsbury Publishing Plc 50 Bedford Square, London, WC1B 3DP, UK 1385 Broadway, New York, NY 10018, USA BLOOMSBURY, BLOOMSBURY ACADEMIC and the Diana logo are trademarks of Bloomsbury Publishing Plc First published 2017 Paperback edition first published 2019 © Betsy C. Perabo, 2017 Betsy C. Perabo has asserted her right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as Author of this work. For legal purposes the Acknowledgements on p. vii constitute an extension of this copyright page. Cover image © Mary Evans Picture Library / Alamy Stock Photo All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage or retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publishers. Bloomsbury Publishing Plc does not have any control over, or responsibility for, any third-party websites referred to or in this book. All internet addresses given in this book were correct at the time of going to press. The author and publisher regret any inconvenience caused if addresses have changed or sites have ceased to exist, but can accept no responsibility for any such changes. A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Names: Perabo, Betsy C., author. Title: Russian orthodoxy and the Russo-Japanese War / Betsy C. Perabo. Description: London ; New York : Bloomsbury Academic, an imprint of Bloomsbury Publishing Plc, 2017. | Includes bibliographical references and index. Identifiers: LCCN 2017003366 | ISBN 9781474253758 (hardback) | ISBN 9781474253765 (ePub) | ISBN 9781474253772 (PDF) Subjects: LCSH: Russo-Japanese War, 1904–1905–Religious aspects. | Russo-Japanese War, 1904–1905–Moral and ethical aspects. | War–Religious aspects–Russkaëiìa pravoslavnaëiìa ëtìserkov§–History–20th century. | War–Religious aspects–Buddhism–History–20th century. | Nikolaæi, Archbishop of Japan, 1836–1912–Political and social views. | Russkaëiìa pravoslavnaëiìa ëtìserkov§–Japan–History–20th century. | Christianity and other religions–History–20th century. | Buddhism–Relations–Christianity–History–20th century. | BISAC: HISTORY / Europe / Russia & the Former Soviet Union. | RELIGION / Christianity / Orthodox. | RELIGION / Religion, Politics & State. Classification: LCC DS517.9 .P47 2017 | DDC 952.03/1–dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2017003366 ISBN: HB: 978-1-4742-5375-8 PB: 978-1-3501-0175-3 ePDF: 978-1-4742-5377-2 ePub: 978-1-4742-5376-5 Typeset by Typeset by Newgen Knowledge Works Pvt Ltd., Chennai, India To find out more about our authors and books visit www.bloomsbury.com and sign up for our newsletters.

Contents List of Illustrations Acknowledgments

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10

Introduction Christianity, Politics, and War: Historical Foundations Russia as a Christian Nation: Orthodoxy and Empire The Bountiful Harvest: The Russian Orthodox Mission in Japan The Christ-Loving Military: War in the Russian Orthodox Tradition The Prewar Era: The Army of God and the Army of the Buddha The War Begins: Prayers and Patriotism Spring 1904: Priests and Battlefields Summer 1904: Religion, War, and the Civilized World Fall 1904: A Just and Holy War 1905: “The Scourging Hand of a Loving Father” Conclusion

Notes Index

vi vii 1 15 33 45 65 81 87 101 119 135 151 169 181 217

Illustrations 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10.

Pavel Nakai and Nikolai of Japan, 1890 Port Arthur Icon of the Triumph of the Theotokos A priest blesses a soldier departing for the Far East Tsar Nicholas II blesses his troops during the Russo-Japanese War Blessing of a Russian regiment leaving for the Far East, 1904 “The Brave Priest Leading a Charge at the Battle of the Yalu— A Russian Popular Picture” “Russian Field Funeral at Port Arthur, Manchuria, 1905” “Prayer at Night in the Russian Quarters in Mukden” “The Russian navy in Far East seas. Orthodox ceremony on board of flagship, June 1905” Holy Resurrection Cathedral, Tokyo, 2016

62 81 90 97 108 116 149 156 157 174

Acknowledgments In my Fall 2008 course on Religion and War at Western Illinois University, my students and I read and discussed Brian Daizen Victoria’s Zen at War (Rowman & Littlefield, 2006). His brief treatment of the Russo-Japanese War provided the inspiration for this book. I am thankful to the students in that course, as well as to those in several iterations since, for serving as critics of and contributors to my developing theories about the relationship between religion and war. Many scholars in the fields of Christian ethics and Russian and Orthodox studies have assisted me throughout the course of this project, and I am grateful to each one of them. I was fortunate to have the opportunity to present work at conferences of the American Academy of Religion, the Society of Christian Ethics, the Association for the Study of Eastern Christian History and Culture, and the Association for Slavic, East European, and Eurasian Studies; the feedback from participants has been very helpful. The 2014 National Endowment for the Humanities Summer Seminar on “The Late Ottoman and Late Russian Empires: Citizenship, Belonging, and Difference,” directed by Dina Khoury and Sergei Glebov, provided me with time to research at the Library of Congress as well as an enthusiastic cohort of colleagues in both Russian and Ottoman studies. The Summer Research Lab at the University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign provided an excellent environment for my work in the summers of 2010 and 2015, and I am thankful to its organizers and participants, as well as to the library staff at the Slavic Reference Service. Librarians Joe Lenkhart and Jan Adamczyk were especially helpful during my time there. I am grateful to them and all of their excellent colleagues in the International and Area Studies Library. In addition, I am extremely grateful to Greg Baldi, Jesse Murray, and Fr. John Bartholomew for their extensive comments on portions of the book. Fr. Bartholomew also generously shared the fruits of his many years of research on Nikolai of Japan. At various points in the process of conceptualizing, researching, writing, and editing the book, I received valuable help and guidance from Doreen Bartholomew, Krista Bowers Sharpe, Jesse Couenhoven, Margaret Farley, Barb Harroun, Scott Kenworthy, Erich Lippman, Predrag Matejic, Febe Pamonag, Aristotle Papanikolaou, Ida Perabo, Susan Perabo, Lee Ann Pingel,

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Howard Rhodes, Christopher Stroop, and Mark Totten, as well as my editor at Bloomsbury, Emma Goode, and anonymous reviewers. Portions of this book were completed during a sabbatical year from Western Illinois University. I am grateful to the university for providing this support, and also to my colleagues in the Department of Philosophy and Religious Studies for their comments on the project over the years. I also thank my friends and family, especially my parents, Fred and Ida Perabo, and Susan Perabo, Sha’an Chilson, Brady, and Chase. Their support has been invaluable.

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Introduction

Citizens of Paradise In October 1904, a memorial service was held in Tokyo to honor Japanese soldiers who had been killed in action during the Russo-Japanese War. The war would claim more than 80,000 Japanese lives, and the Japanese capital was likely the site of many funerals each week.1 But this October service was unique: its leader was a native of Russia, an Orthodox Christian bishop who had lived most of his life in Japan. When the war broke out in early 1904, the bishop, Nikolai, had said that he would stop leading the public prayers of the Japanese Orthodox Church so as to avoid praying for the success of the Japanese emperor and military in their fight against his own nation and thus being seen as a traitor or a hypocrite. But when he discovered the service was being planned, he recorded in his diary that he “considered it necessary to participate.” He wrote, A week ago the Japanese [Orthodox] announced a memorial service (panikhida) for those killed in the war, and today performed it after the liturgy. I considered it necessary to participate in it. Robed in a mantle, and having gone up onto the ambo2 accompanied by the priests, I said, “We perform a panikhida for those killed in the war (senshi-shya). They are your blood (doo-boono) brothers, and my spiritual children (shinshi). Thus, you with brotherly love, and I with the love of a father, carry warm supplications to God that He will impute to them their strivings and death, undertaken by them in fulfillment of their duties to their Fatherland and State, as martyrs’ holy deeds and reward them with the Kingdom of Heaven.3

Nikolai does not include the full text of the service in his diary, but it would likely have contained the plea: “Restore to me the homeland of my heart’s desire, making me once more a citizen of Paradise.”4 In the Orthodox vision of death, or “repose,” the departed soul ends his citizenship in an earthly state and takes his place as a citizen in the kingdom of heaven. In Nikolai’s eyes, citizenship in

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the heavenly kingdom is granted to these soldiers after they have provided good service to their own earthly kingdom. That this service involves fighting against his own beloved country—whose losses pain him and whose rare victories give him joy—appears to be irrelevant.

Christians and the Language of War Nikolai’s reflections on a short war fought more than a century ago may seem to have little relevance for the modern day. They are difficult to translate into the language of the just war tradition, which Western Christians, especially English-speaking Protestants and Roman Catholics, almost invariably use as the framework for moral conversations about war.5 The Christian just war tradition lays out two major sets of criteria to determine whether a particular war should be considered just. Jus ad bellum criteria address whether it is right to go to war at all, raising the following questions: Is there a just cause? Is war declared by a legitimate authority? Is it waged with a righteous and lawful intention? Is war a proportional response to the injustice experienced, undertaken as a last resort? Is there a reasonable hope of success? Jus in bello criteria focus on the justice of the means used to conduct the war: whether the appropriate people are targeted and whether the means themselves are proportionate in particular circumstances.6 Though an ardent and vocal pacifist minority exists within the Christian community, the West’s consensus has been that the just war tradition provides a satisfactory comprehensive framework for thinking about war and is, in fact, the only reasonable, modern way of doing so.7 However, the writings of Nikolai of Japan and other Christian responses to and characterizations of the Russo-Japanese War discussed in this book highlight the limitations of the just war tradition in encompassing Christian conversations about war. These sources point toward connections between holiness and war that are different from those found in the Western just war tradition and that are in certain respects deeper. Do the Russian Orthodox writings fit instead into what might be called a holy war tradition, then? Not exactly; but analysis of that tradition can provide a useful basis for analysis of the Russo-Japanese War. Holy wars may be defined as “conflicts that have a strong ideological, motivational, social, or other connection with one major religious tradition or another,” according to James Turner Johnson, a leading historian of Christianity and warfare.8 Based on analysis of earlier works, he suggests that there are three central concerns

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associated with the holy war idea. First, the war should “have a transcendent authority, either given directly from God or mediated through the religious institutions in some way.”9 Second, it should have “a purpose directly associated with religion, either its defense or its propagation or the establishment of a social order in accord with religious requirements.”10 Finally, the war should be “waged by people who are in some sense set apart, whether cultically or morally or simply by membership in the religious community, from those against whom the war is waged.”11 These criteria indicate that there is some similarity between the just war and holy war models in the West; indeed, Johnson argues that the holy war is a “subcategory” within the “broader and more continuous” just war tradition.12 This is to be expected given Christian understandings of the relation between justice and holiness. In holy war traditions, sovereigns are to be obeyed because they are put in place by God, but they are also usually depicted as noble and just. The cause of protecting Christians or expanding Christendom’s reach is fulfilling Christ’s command to make disciples of all of the nations while also creating a better world by improving the lives of those who are or will become Christian. Soldiers who go into battle convinced of the importance of “laying down one’s life for one’s friend” (John 15:13) may be soliciting God’s favor or securing their place in heaven, but they are also virtuous in that they are expressing their love of Christ and their fellow soldiers and citizens. Though the “holy war idea” described by Johnson helps expand the moral language of war beyond the parameters of the just war tradition, the categories of just war and holy war do not fully encompass Christian conversations about war. Christianity is useful not only as a means of assessing whether it is right— with regard to justice or holiness—to go to war, or of prescribing how soldiers should behave during wartime; it also serves as both a lens through which war is viewed and an overarching interpretive framework, providing an architecture for rituals intended to give comfort or motivate action and presenting a vision of death and the afterlife that may reassure or inspire soldiers and those who love them. As the historical material in this book will demonstrate, participants in the Russo-Japanese War seldom thought about the major just war or holy war categories described here in isolation from the rest of their religious lives and activities. In conducting the memorial service described earlier, Nikolai of Japan was not making a case for either just war or holy war; he was living out his understanding of the Christian faith. The same was true for many other Russian Orthodox political, military, and religious leaders, as well as ordinary soldiers and citizens.

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Historical and Theoretical Frameworks for Analyzing the Russo-Japanese War This book is a work of both Russian history and Christian ethics, and its intended audience includes those who study Russia and Orthodoxy as well as Western Christian political theologians and just war theorists. My intention is to put these thinkers and their fields of study into conversation with one another by analyzing Russian Orthodox perspectives on the Russo-Japanese War. Western Christian discourse on political theology and war all too often has an American or Anglo-American focus, ignoring literature written about countries outside the United States and Western Europe or in languages other than English.13 Russia in particular is a neglected region: Russian “area studies”—which covers fields such as history and religion—is often treated as a discipline unto itself, separate from American and Western European history. In addition, Western Christian theologians often see Eastern Orthodoxy as a foreign form of Christianity that Roman Catholics and Protestants must leave to the Orthodox experts.14 The title of Johnson’s book on holy war, The Holy War Idea in the Western and Islamic Traditions, highlights its disjunctive comparison of “the West” and “Islam,” which leaves out the Christian “East.”15 Within political theology, Orthodoxy has the reputation of being especially inscrutable: Western scholars note Orthodoxy’s lack of a systematically developed just war theory as well as its tradition of mystical union between church and state, using this as a rationale for failing to address the faith in any substantial way. This may stem in part from the legacy of Orientalism, the practice of studying other cultures through a Western lens with the assumption that they are mysterious and, often, innately inferior.16 Theologians who are intrepid in their other scholarly explorations have been hesitant to tread into this field. As will become evident in the following chapters, conversations within Russian Orthodoxy regarding war and the state are just as complex as those found in the West. In some cases the conversations overlap and share terminology, though in others they do not. This book demonstrates how the Russian Orthodox tradition both supplements and challenges the Christian moral language of war used in the Western just war tradition. The book begins with four chapters that recast materials familiar to some scholars of Russian history or Christian ethics to lay the groundwork for the historical analysis of the Russo-Japanese War that follows in the second part of the book.

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Chapter 1 provides an overview of the structure of the Christian church and an introduction to political theology. The Christian study of war is in many respects and in most cases a subdiscipline of political theology. For the purpose of this book, I define political theology as “theology that relates specifically to the origin, foundation, maintenance, and functioning of one or more political entity (e.g., state, nation, or empire).”17 It is a discipline that provides Christians with knowledge about God’s role, standing, and relevance in the political sphere. Here, the most relevant questions of political theology are: How should Christians understand and relate to their own nation and to the idea of nations in general? Why does one’s own nation exist? Why do other nations exist? In certain respects, these questions relate to what political scientists call the “transnational” dimension of political theology, the fact that it must be understood in light of the existence of multiple political entities.18 How, for example, does a Christian deal with the existence of multiple authorities in the world, one of which his or her own allegiance and one or more of which may have ties to Christianity? The study of war is a subdiscipline of political theology, then, because Christians who seek to make decisions about war must first determine the appropriate attitude toward their own state and then consider their views of other states or political entities. Conversations about what is now called political theology have been around since the time of Jesus, who told his followers to render unto Caesar what is Caesar’s, and Paul, who ordered Christians to be subject to the governing authorities.19 These conversations have occurred under many different rubrics throughout Christian history, but the term “political theology” itself became popular only in the twentieth century,20 and has had a renaissance in recent decades.21 Chapter 1 focuses on the origins of Christian just war theory and political theology by describing the history of the church and its three main branches— Orthodoxy, Protestantism, and Roman Catholicism—in relation to politics. The chapter discusses how each of the three branches conceptualize the church and the state, drawing on primary sources as well as modern-day Orthodox historians and theologians such as Gilbert Dagron, Timothy Ware, Aristotle Papanikolaou, Hilarion Alfayev, and John Meyendorff. It then focuses on the writings of Eusebius, a figure influential for all three branches of Christianity (though with greater importance for the Orthodox), and Augustine, whose influence is felt primarily in the West. In the Eastern tradition, Eusebius lays the foundation for the tradition of symphonia, church–state harmony, that develops

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under the sixth-century emperor Justinian. These early thinkers, then, address questions regarding the origin and mission of the state and whether it is legitimate for Christians to use military power. Chapters 2 through 4 shift focus to examine the historical roots of the three major elements of the just war and holy war traditions as they appear in Russia. Understanding these roots is necessary to provide historical context for the Russo-Japanese War, which is characterized by Orthodox believers as both a just war and a holy war. For this purpose, it is helpful to supplement Johnson’s three characteristics of a holy war—religious authority, cause, and participants—with George T. Dennis’s analysis of the Byzantine understanding of holy war. Dennis follows Johnson on the first two elements but suggests that the third relates to the spiritual reward received by the participants.22 Here I combine the concepts of the two authors and suggest that there are three elements of holy war: 

 

war is fought for or under the leadership of a transcendent or religious authority war is fought for a religious cause or purpose religion influences or motivates the conduct of the individual soldier and shapes the military as an institution.

These three criteria can be roughly mapped onto three just war criteria as well: legitimate authority, just cause, and certain aspects of jus in bello, as discussed later in the book. With regard to these criteria, three central ideas appear in Russian Orthodox thought on the Russo-Japanese War. The first is that Russia is led into war by a legitimate and holy authority—that is, an authority whom God has put in place. Chapter  2 provides an overview of the history of Russian Orthodox conceptions of the relationship between church and state and then explores the religious views of the Russian nation during the late imperial period, from the late nineteenth century through the start of the war, utilizing primary sources as well as analyses by historians and theologians Paul Valliere, John Shelton Curtiss, and John Strickland. In the late imperial period, the Orthodox Church and the Russian government supported and legitimized one another in a variety of ways, and Tsar Nicholas II is hailed as the “Supreme Defender” of the Orthodox Church. Religious leaders at that time emphasized his links to Constantine, as well as his subjects’ obligations to sacrifice their lives for him. These events lay the groundwork for the distinct religious standing of both the Russian homeland and the tsar himself during the Russo-Japanese War. His legal authority to declare war stems from his standing as a political leader; but in addition, the

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prayers and statements of the Russian Orthodox Church repeatedly attest to the idea that the tsar is authorized to lead Russia into the war and does so with God’s sanction and blessing. The second feature shared by the just war and holy war traditions relates to concerns about the justice or holiness of the war’s cause or purpose. Like other nations involved in developing the international law of war during the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, Russia claimed that it fought wars in support of a just cause. But the Russo-Japanese War also had—at least for some—an additional cause or purpose related to holiness. To put this in context, it is necessary to understand Russia’s views of mission, because the religious cause or purpose relates to the particular nature of this war. As discussed earlier here, Russia was in some respects a “Christian nation.” Japan, with its complex blend of Buddhism and Shinto, was not.23 The RussoJapanese War, then, might be called—to use a term I have coined—an “interreligious war”: a war between countries or groups in which different religious traditions predominate. The term is not intended to imply that religious differences caused the war (in this particular case, control of territory in Manchuria and Korea was the central issue) but simply that religious differences existed. This book, then, treats the Russo-Japanese War as a case study in interreligious war, an example of how citizens of nations and empires in which Christianity is the dominant religion describe and justify wars against nations that are not Christian. Interreligious war is a descriptive term, not a normative one; its use does not denote justice or injustice, much less holiness or the lack of it, on either side. It includes wars that some participants have seen as holy wars based on the perceived cause: wars against oppressive rulers of another faith; wars to take back religiously significant territory or to secure access to important pilgrimage sites; wars to establish or solidify the faith’s dominance in a particular region; and wars specifically intended to weaken or wipe out another religion. However, the category also includes wars fought to control territory for economic or political reasons, wars of self-defense, or wars fought to protect vulnerable populations regardless of religious belief. Interreligious wars may be perceived as “holy wars” by one side, by both sides, or by neither side. Many interreligious wars have occurred, involving a variety of traditions.24 In this particular case, the intertwining of Russian nationalism and Orthodox Christianity was connected to the belief that Russia had the capacity to Christianize both its own empire and, eventually, the countries beyond its borders, including Japan. Russia’s attitude toward people of non-Christian

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backgrounds has varied over time. Chapter 3 considers the treatment of people of other faiths within and outside the empire, drawing on the work of Paul Werth, Robert Geraci, and Michael Khodorkovsky. From the middle of the nineteenth century, Russian Orthodox leaders were engaged in a debate about the best methods and practices for missionary work among the religious minorities within the Russian empire, and this appears to have influenced perspectives on how mission work should be conducted abroad. For the half century before the war, the language used by Russian Orthodox leaders to describe Japan was not martial but agricultural:  rather than suggesting that Russia should fight a war against Japan to ensure the spread of Christianity, Russians anticipated that the country would be fertile ground for missionary efforts. The chapter then discusses the founding of the Japanese Orthodox Church and its development through the first years of the twentieth century. The specter of their predecessors’ failure during Japan’s first “Christian century” (1549–1650) cast a shadow over the efforts by Christian missionaries in Japan, and in his writings, Nikolai of Japan talks about the perils of integrating religion and politics, which he sees as a central cause of these failures. Other Orthodox leaders take a different view, repeatedly affirming that Russia is authorized to fight the war not only in selfdefense but also because it has a special mission, a holy cause, a religious form of manifest destiny, to spread Orthodoxy eastward. The conflicting perspectives of Nikolai and Orthodox leaders who see the war as a mission highlights another distinctive aspect of the war:  the diverse perspectives on the Japanese. An important element of the description and justification of any war, interreligious or intrareligious, is the description of the group of individuals that collectively becomes known as the enemy once war is declared. This process of describing the enemy may begin years, decades, or even centuries before the war starts and is shaped by the individuals on one side who have contact with or imagine a relationship to a particular group of people. Both the history of the relationship between the two countries and, in an interreligious war, the relationship between the two faiths informs the process. Clausewitz’s contention that war is a continuation of politics by other means highlights this fact: just as war itself cannot be understood in isolation from the history of relations between two or more countries, religious interpretations of a given war cannot be understood in isolation from the religious lenses used over many years to evaluate another people, country, or faith.25 Furthermore, at least some of the individuals on one side of the war expect the relationship to this other group to continue after the end of the war. As the Japanese General Nogi stated to Russia’s General Stoesell when the latter

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surrendered to him at Port Arthur in January 1905, “yesterday’s enemy is tomorrow’s friend.”26 The wartime question of “who is the enemy?” is thus transformed into a three-part question about the leaders and residents of another nation, who may also be adherents to a different faith: Who were these people before they were our enemies? Who are they during the war? And who will they be after the war ends? It may be that a state of perpetual war is anticipated—that the two countries and/or the two faiths are perceived as eternally hostile to one another. But if this is not the case, what relationship with our enemies is likely to develop? To borrow the words of the Orthodox liturgy, do we expect them ever to be fellow citizens of paradise? The third element of a holy war is that war is fought by a military that is both holy and just—to use Orthodox terminology, a “Christ-loving military.” The history of Russian Orthodox perspectives on the relationship between Christianity and warfare is sketched out in Chapter 4. Noting the absence of a formal and systematic just war theory in Orthodoxy, the chapter surveys the ways in which the Orthodox Church has motivated and honored the military within its liturgical texts, iconography, and hagiography, focusing in particular on the concept of the Christ-loving military. The church reveres a number of military saints, for example, and there is a memorial service for Orthodox warriors each year in which the congregation is to pray for “all who have laid down their life in battle for the Faith and the Fatherland.” This section examines liturgies related to war and the military in the Service Book used by the Russian Orthodox Church during the early twentieth century. The chapter also examines the history of the concept of the “Christ-loving warrior,” including its appearance in one of the central works of the period immediately prior to the Russo-Japanese War, Vladimir Solov’ev’s Three Conversations about War, Progress, and the End of History (1900). Russian-language sources from the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, including an article from Archbishop Innocent of Kherson that focuses specifically on the concept of the Christloving military, also address these issues. The notion that Russia is fighting with a Christ-loving military dominates the rhetoric of the Russo-Japanese War. Religious leaders use the term repeatedly to indicate the valor of the military as well as its close ties to the church and to stress the soldiers’ willingness to “lay down their lives for their friends,” whether in the narrow sense (for their fellow soldiers) or a broader sense (for their countrymen and/or for their “neighbors” in other countries). The military as an institution is even compared to the body of Christ, whose many members all serve one higher purpose.

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Moreover, there is a broad consensus that soldiers’ experiences of the war— and the experiences of their families and their society as a whole—should be structured by Christian rituals and ideas. When they are called to war, the Church should reassure Christians that it sanctions and blesses their actions. Prayer services and other ceremonies marking their departure should integrate religious symbols, such as crosses, prosphora, and personal icons, and such symbols should be identified as having the ability to protect them and/or ensure the success of the campaign. National icons should play a role in inspiring and protecting the troops, and soldiers and their families should solicit the assistance of God and of the saints. The experience of death must also be understood in the Christian context: the repeated references to sacrificing one’s life attest to this relationship. Even military defeat should be interpreted in religious terms. Though most Russian Orthodox Christians will apply this principle only to Russia, Nikolai of Japan applies it to Japan: Christianity may be utilized to generate loyalty toward a state and its military in any country.

The History of the Russo-Japanese War Following these context-setting chapters, the book moves to the war itself. This section of the book, Chapters 5 through 10, follows a chronological structure, starting with the events leading up to the war in 1903 and early 1904 and concluding with responses to the peace treaty signed in October 1905. The book traces the many wartime developments related to Orthodoxy that occurred within Russia, at the front, and in Japan. These manifestations of Orthodoxy in wartime are described in a variety of sources juxtaposed against one another. The chapters are arranged chronologically, so none is focused exclusively on a single issue or theme, and individuals such as Nikolai of Japan, Mitrofan Srebrianskii, and Feodor Shikutz, as well as several other Orthodox leaders, reappear in multiple chapters. Each chapter does, however, highlight a few central themes. Chapter  5 describes the predictions and prophesies related to the war in 1903 and early 1904. By this time, religious interpretations of the anticipated war between Russia and Japan had already appeared in both countries. In Russia, reports of a vision of the Virgin Mary eventually led to the creation of an icon expected to protect the country’s forces in Port Arthur. Some Orthodox Christians argued that the conquest of Japan was part of God’s plan to expand Christianity eastward; in this effort, the tsar would be supported by Serafim of Sarov, the Theotokos, and other supernatural forces. In Japan, some Buddhists

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sought to cast the war as one between “the army of God” and “the army of the Buddha.” Both Russia and Japan were striving to prove their worthiness to be seen as part of the community of civilized nations. Chapter 6 provides an overview of the ways in which the tsar, the Holy Synod, and other Christian leaders characterized the war in religious terms, asked for God’s assistance in defeating the Japanese, and utilized Christianity as a means to inspire soldiers to fight the “godless” enemy. It also introduces an alternative perspective from Nikolai of Japan, who agrees to remain in Japan to serve his church even after the Russian diplomatic corps has departed, and discusses Christian reporting about Muslim support for the war. Chapter  7 describes developments in the winter and spring of 1904, as Russians made pilgrimages, revered icons, and performed prayers in support of the tsar and the military. Russian Orthodox clergy led religious ceremonies to send troops off to the front. Orthodox leaders such as Nikolai and John of Kronstadt reflected on issues related to political theology, including the relationship between the emperor and the state, the religious significance of Russia’s defeats, and the appropriate attitude toward Buddhism. Japan worked to characterize Russia’s religious activities, including the actions of a priest at the Battle of Yalu River—who they claimed had led a charge by Russian troops and thus brought religion to the battlefield—as reflective of the fact that Russia was not truly part of “Western civilization.” In the spring and summer of 1904, Japan contrasted Russia’s “uncivilized” statements regarding religion and war to Japan’s more civilized approach. Chapter 8 discusses the May 1904 Congress of Japanese Religionists, an interfaith gathering for supporters of the war. Russia sought to demonstrate its membership in the Western family of nations in a different way, by emphasizing its adherence to the international laws of war and linking this adherence to its Christian status. Christian pacifist Leo Tolstoy decried the war as uncivilized, calling it a “religious fraud” and arguing that no true Christian could engage in warfare. Other Orthodox leaders, priests, and citizens continued to support the war through their use of icons and religious rituals. The Orthodox priest Mitrofan Srebrianskii described his experiences of everyday life at the front, far removed from the religious rhetoric of some of his peers at home. Chapter 9 features arguments from a number of different figures who suggest that Christians are fighting a war that is both just and holy. Orthodox thinker L.  A. Tikhomirov engaged in a defense of Russia’s war, drawing on the work of John of Kronstadt. Mitrofan Srebrianskii prayed at the front and, in sermons, reminded soldiers of the compatibility of faith and military service. Nikolai

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performed a memorial service for Japanese Christian soldiers, emphasizing their status as martyrs. In addition, Nikolai expressed distress over Russia’s losses, which he saw as the punishment of God. The chaplain described encounters with Buddhists, and the soldier Feodor Shikutz described ordinary religious life at the front. Both Nikolai and Mitrofan discuss the celebration of Christmas, which falls shortly after the defeat of Port Arthur. Chapter  10 describes Russia’s major defeats at the Battles of Mukden and Tsushima, which prompt Orthodox Christians to characterize the war as a form of divine punishment. Nikolai of Japan describes the losses as the result of “the scourging hand of a loving father.” Japan continued to decry Russia’s religious zealotry with regard to its attitude toward Japan and Japanese Buddhism and then hailed legal moves toward religious toleration in Russia as progress. Shikutz, as a prisoner of war, was ministered to by Japanese Orthodox Christians, who stressed the familial relationship between Christians in Russia and Japan. Nikolai emphasized this positive relationship as well, praising God for the survival of the Japanese Orthodox Church, which he refers to as a “little ship.” The book’s conclusion analyzes the views of Nikolai of Japan, whose perspective is both cohesive and distinctive, and briefly discusses the relevance of Orthodox perspectives on the Russo-Japanese War to current Russian Orthodox perspectives on war. In particular, it focuses on post-Soviet discussions of the Christ-loving military and a speech by Russian Orthodox Patriarch Kirill in May 2016, in which he suggested that the war on terrorism is a holy war.

Sources and Translations Primary source material for the book was drawn from Russian Orthodox theological and missionary journals during the period of the war, as well as several published diaries and letters from participants and observers of the conflict. A survey of two Russian theological journals, Tserkovnyia Viedomosti [Church Register], the Holy Synod’s official journal, and Missionerskoe Obozrenie [Missionary Review], the leading journal of the Russian Orthodox missionary movement during the late imperial period, provides a broad overview of the experiences of participants and the perspectives of religious officials. Other theological and missionary journals also cover useful material, including Khristianskoe Chtenie [Christian Reader], Pravoslavni Blagovestnik [Orthodox Evangelist], Vestnik Voennogo Dukhovenstvo [Military Clergy Herald], and the journal of the Kazan Theological Academy, Pravoslavni Sobesednik [Orthodox

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Companion]. Though the authors in church publications may represent only a small, elite segment of the Russian Orthodox Church—figures such as Father John of Kronstadt, as well as bishops from Russia’s major cities—these periodicals discuss practices that touched the “common soldier,” including, for example, the distribution of icons to various regiments and inspirational speeches to departing troops. Three published diaries provide a more in-depth view of Orthodox Russians’ perspectives on the war. The diary of Nikolai of Japan describes his everyday interactions with his Japanese parishioners and others in Japan, where he lives for the entire duration of the war. By that time a bishop, as well as the formal leader of the Japanese Orthodox Church, Nikolai has a unique perspective on the conflict. No other Russian Orthodox leader spent a substantial amount of time in Japan during the war, and Nikolai also had a long and deep relationship with the Orthodox mission in Japan and with Japanese Christians. The discovery of his diary long after his death and the publication of a complete Russian edition in 2004 have greatly added to scholars’ understanding of the Japanese Orthodox Church.27 Diaries by the field chaplain Mitrofan Srebrianskii and the soldier Fyodor Shikutz provide a sense of how Orthodoxy was experienced on the battlefield. Neither the chaplain nor the soldier casts the war as a whole in religious terms; both focus more on their own immediate situation and that of the other men in the field. Nevertheless, their writings reflect an active faith in God and an underlying belief that God sanctions and blesses the work of the Russian military. The book also utilizes other writings from individuals directly involved in or affected by the war, including the letters of another chaplain, Georgii Shavelskii, the correspondence of Admiral Stepan Makarov, an article by the renowned novelist and pacifist Leo Tolstoy, the postwar analysis of military psychologist Konstantin Druzhinin, and brief entries from Tsar Nicholas II’s diary. Except where noted, translations of Russian-language materials are my own. Transliterations of Russian names, places, and other words follow a modified form of the Library of Congress system, unless they are widely known in English (e.g., Leo Tolstoy). Japanese names are given in the form in which they appear in the original source. In addition to Russian sources, the book covers articles from an Englishlanguage newspaper published in Yokohama, the Japan Mail, which was widely read in the international missionary community. During the war, the Japanese engaged in diplomatic efforts abroad and sought to depict the war as a strictly political undertaking, unrelated to religion. Political leaders, religious leaders, and other writers within Japan did so as well. The Mail (published as the Japan

14

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Daily Mail Monday through Saturday, with some articles republished in the Japan Weekly Mail each weekend) covered these conversations.28 The Mail also ran a “Monthly Summary of the Japanese Religious Press,” which contained summaries and partial translations of articles from the periodicals produced by the different religious groups, including both Buddhists and Christians.29 The paper was clearly friendly to Christians and continued its practice of reporting on Western Christian missions in a neutral and often positive manner throughout 1904 and 1905, sometimes touching on their views of the war. It also covers the activities and writings of the Japanese Orthodox Church. In addition, the paper provides its English-language audience with information about Russia’s religious approaches to the war, including what Russia says about the Japanese “heathen” and what arguments Russians make about themselves and their faith’s relationship to the war. Though I have attempted to draw upon a wide range of sources, it is important to note that several hundred thousand Russian soldiers served in the war, and their spiritual needs were ministered to by thousands of clergy both at home and in the field. There are many more stories that might be told. In addition, archival research might unearth materials describing the views of diplomats and other governmental officials. Nevertheless, the materials presented here give an indication of the complex and diverse religious perspectives throughout the war.

Dates In the text, dates are given according to the Julian calendar used in Russia at the time of the Russo-Japanese War, which was then thirteen days behind the Gregorian calendar commonly used in the West. So, for example, the war began on February 8, 1904, according to the Gregorian calendar, but January 26, 1904, according to the Julian calendar. In the notes, publication dates are given as they appear in the original source, according to the calendar in use in that particular region:  Russian sources according to the Julian calendar and English-language sources such as the Japan Mail according to the Gregorian calendar.

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1

Christianity, Politics, and War: Historical Foundations

Christianity and Ethical Decision Making Every Christian engages in the process of ethical decision making to one degree or another, using a variety of means and criteria. As they analyze questions related to war and political theology, Christians consider what Jesus said, what Jesus did, and what they believe Jesus would do or would tell them to do. They seek guidance from God through prayer, sometimes calling upon the saints as well. They study Christian scriptures, reading and drawing on materials from both the Old and New Testaments. They look at the history of Christians who have participated in war:  what they said before the war, what they experienced during it, what they came to believe about it afterward. They seek advice from religious authorities close to them and guidance from Christian institutions. Some Christians simply accept the judgment of someone in authority—a priest, minister, or other religious official, for example. Others may weigh these resources against one another and come to their own decision, but they make that decision within the context of a community, most often a congregation that itself has a history of dealing with the political world and with questions of war. These smaller groups of Christians are typically part of a network, such as a denomination or sect, which falls under one of the three broad categories within Christianity:  Protestantism, Roman Catholicism, or Orthodoxy. These three groups themselves have long histories of relating to the state and of considering its origin and mission. Questions about the Russo-Japanese War, then, are addressed within the context of Orthodox Christianity. This chapter provides an overview of the structure of the Christian church and the foundations of these three groups’ differing perceptions of the church itself and of church–state relations, focusing on the distinctive perspective of Orthodoxy. These issues may seem far afield from the questions of war and

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politics central to this book but are important for laying the groundwork for different Christian perspectives on how the church grows, spreads, and interacts with political bodies such as empires or nations. It then discusses the writings of Eusebius (260/65–339/340), whose description and justification of the role of the emperor and his relationship to the church lays the foundation for the Orthodox tradition of symphonia, church–state harmony, that develops under the sixth-century emperor Justinian. Augustine (354–430) provides a broader picture of the relationship between church and state and also addresses specific questions about the appropriate Christian stance on war. While his work had little direct influence among Eastern Christians, his ideas about the earthly kingdom and the heavenly kingdom, as well as his views on religious coercion, have parallels in some Russian Orthodox views of the Russo-Japanese War.

Political Theology and War: An Intertwined History Christians have engaged in discussions of military service since at least the second century, using the resources from their nascent tradition, in particular, the gospels and letters that were still in the process of canonization.1 Both ancient and contemporary scholars have noted the difficulty of extracting a position on military service from the documents that became the New Testament. In supporting their position, pacifists refer to certain classic themes and texts, arguing that Jesus preaches a consistent message of peace, calls for nonresistance to evildoers, and states, according to one account of his arrest, that those who take the sword will die by the sword.2 Supporters of Christian soldiering have their own classic texts: John the Baptist’s statement to soldiers that to prepare for the coming of Christ, they need only to avoid committing extortion and to be content with their wages; Jesus’s praise for the faith of a centurion who asks him to heal his slave; and Paul’s declaration regarding submission to the government.3 In this latter text, Paul states, “Let every person be subject to the governing authorities; for there is no authority except from God, and those authorities that exist have been instituted by God. Therefore whoever resists authority resists what God has appointed” (Romans 13:1–2).4 He continues by explaining that the government, as God’s servant, executes wrath on the wrongdoers. In facing the seeming ambiguity of these texts, early Christian writers and Christian soldiers themselves developed a variety of positions on military participation. During the pre-Constantinian era, several influential Christian writers expressed strongly pacifist views, condemning Christians who participated in

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the military. However, these condemnations were often tempered by support for the military’s activities more generally, which included both policing and defensive war. Origen, for example, argues that Christians must never be soldiers, but he suggests that, like the priests of Roman religion, they should “fight as priests and worshippers of God while others fight as soldiers.” In doing so, he says, “we help emperors more than those who are supposedly doing the fighting.”5 Despite the objections of some theologians, it is clear that Christians did serve in the military, probably starting by the end of the second century. By the late third century, Christian soldiers were enough of a presence in the Roman military to require specific targeting during the empire’s persecution of Christians, and accounts of a number of military martyrs indicate that at least some of these soldiers took seriously the issues raised by the pacifist thinkers, particularly their concerns about idolatry.6 Prior to the era of Constantine, then, political theology dealt with Christian attitudes to a non-Christian state. Christians worked to determine their attitude to a government and a military in which Christians were a minority, perhaps a very small one, and in which they had to reflect upon the possibility that allegiance to the state or military might conflict with allegiance to God. That is, they considered at what point allegiance to the state required idolatry or became a form of idolatry. This question would later be answered differently by Orthodox, Protestant, and Roman Catholic Christians.

Orthodoxy and Divided Christianity It is impossible to provide an objective account of the historical divisions within Christianity—the movements, developments, rebellions, and reforms that have led to the formation of different Christian institutions and groups. It is not simply that some facts are lacking but that the facts that are known lend themselves to many different interpretations and take on more or less significance depending upon the narrative framework of the storyteller. Here I will sketch in very rough form the stories told by Roman Catholics, Protestants, and Orthodox Christians. In the West, the form of Christianity practiced by Russians is often referred to as Eastern Orthodoxy, but the Orthodox themselves do not use the term “Eastern.” Russians practice what they call Pravoslavie. This word is the translation of the Greek word “Orthodox,” which contains two roots:  ortho, “correct,” and dox, “belief.” The root dox also connotes glorification or worship, so that the word Orthodox means both “right worship” as well as “right belief.”7 In Russian,

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pravo, meaning “true” or “right,” maps well onto ortho. The root slav emphasizes the “worship” or “glorification” element of dox; it does not elsewhere mean “belief.” It also carries echoes of the ethnic term “Slavic.” The terms Eastern Orthodoxy and Pravoslavie highlight the different conceptions of the ways in which Christianity is divided. There are Christians in the East and Christians in the West; and, in the eyes of most believers, there are correct and incorrect ways of being Christian: correct and incorrect beliefs and correct and incorrect practices. On certain historical points, there is consensus among the various Christian groups. For example, all believe that the earliest Christian communities, described in the mid- to late first century in the book of Acts and the New Testament epistles, were organized and led by presbyters (sometimes called priests), elders, and deacons. All acknowledge that the office of bishop existed by the late first century, with multiple bishops overseeing communities of Christians in different regions. One point of contention, however, relates to the ways in which the early offices should be understood, with some believing the church’s entire administrative structure was predetermined, in part by Jesus’s instructions to Peter, and others believing it developed organically in response to the situation at the time. The Roman Catholic Church contends that Christ invested the authority of the church in the apostle Peter, based on Jesus’s statement in Matthew 16:18 that Peter is the rock on which he will build his church. On that basis, in Catholic thinking, Peter became the first bishop of Rome. Peter’s successors in Rome, at first also called bishops but later known as popes, are believed to have inherited the “keys” given to Peter by Christ, and thus have a unique and singular authority to guide the Christians of the world. Emphasis is placed on apostolic succession, the handing down of authority from Jesus to Peter and from Peter to generations of church leaders thereafter. When Roman Catholics speak of divisions in the church, they use the language of error or heresy: those who refuse to recognize the authority of the sole head of the church as Christ established it are not (at least in pre-twentieth-century Catholic theology) truly part of the Church.8 Protestants tell a different story, wherein division is linked to reformation rather than to heresy or error. For them, the most significant divisions begin during the Reformation, with protests against the corrupted authority of the Roman Catholic Church. Within the Protestant story are also many different stories, resulting from disagreements among the fifteenth-century reformers such as Luther and Calvin, as well as later divisions among the dozens and then

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hundreds of Protestant denominations in the centuries to follow, each claiming its version as the best and truest form of Christianity. Essentially, though, whereas Catholicism associates division with rebellion against true Christ-given authority, Protestantism associates it with reform against a corrupted centralized church. Orthodox stories of divisions typically take a third approach. Division is seen as part of the natural process of the growth of the church. The Roman Catholic position on the status of the pope is criticized by many Orthodox theologians, who, like their Protestant counterparts, believe that Christ’s instructions to Peter did not create a single head of the church. In 1868, Nikolai of Japan presents one such critique of the Catholic view of authority. He notes that the Catholic missionaries in Japan use the Chinese version of the gospels and place in the largest letters “the well-known text, serving as the cornerstone of the papacy—where Jesus Christ tells the apostle Peter about the creation of the church on the rock of this faith.” This text, he says, is treated as “the gospel of gospels.”9 The Catholic missionary, he says, is so focused on the pope that “he becomes something like the fourth face of the holy Trinity.”10 Orthodox and Protestant thinkers have made a variety of arguments that undermine the primacy of the papacy. In his discussion of the organizational structures of the early church, the Orthodox bishop and historian Timothy Ware emphasizes dispersion rather than centralization. Ware states that when the earliest Christians followed Christ’s instructions to make disciples of all the nations (Mt 28:19), they established Christian communities in many cities. The Empire, he notes, was “particularly in its eastern part, an empire of cities. This determined the administrative structure of the primitive church. The basic unit was the community in each city, governed by its own bishop; to assist the bishop there were presbyters or priests, and deacons.”11 Ware’s highlighting of the role of cities as a determinant of church administration indicates his views of the early interrelationship between political structures and church structures.12 In addition, the division in the church—the formation of various bishop-led communities—is not problematic. It is not a mistake in the system that was established but a valuable part of that system. The office of the bishop was recognized by the early second century. In 107, Ignatius of Antioch states that “The bishop in each Church presides in the place of God,”13 and the third-century theologian Cyprian of Carthage emphasizes that the unified church “spreads far and wide into a multitude of churches as its fertility increases.”14 This unity is promoted through the convening of church councils, whose role is gradually expanded from the first century onward.15 By

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the mid-third century, it was common practice for local councils to meet in the provincial capital. They met under the presidency of the bishop of the capital, who was given the title Metropolitan. As the third century proceeded, councils widened in scope and began to include bishops not from one but from several civil provinces. These larger gatherings tended to assemble in the chief cities of the Empire, such as Alexandria or Antioch; and so it came about that the bishops of certain great cities began to acquire an importance above the provincial Metropolitans.16

At this point, however, the status of the bishops in these “chief cities” had not yet been formalized. The larger administrative structures of the church would be put in place only after Constantine’s victory at Milvian Bridge. (The organic language Ware uses in this passage is instructive; these changes “came about” because gatherings “tended to assemble” in particular places, and this led to certain bishops acquiring a greater authority.) The Orthodox model, then, suggests that the unified Christian church can grow by dividing into regional churches spread across the world.

The Constantinian Shift: Politics, Mission, and War Christian conversations about war undergo a radical shift after the victory of Constantine at Milvian Bridge in 312 and the subsequent conversion of the Roman Empire to Christianity later in that century. After Constantine, the Roman army moves from being an institution mistrusted by Christian theologians, though sometimes populated by Christian soldiers, to an institution effusively endorsed by Christian leaders and one in which only Christians were trusted to serve.17 The impact of the shift is sometimes overstated, in that some Christians did serve in the military prior to this time. Nevertheless, it was only at this point in history that conversations about just war started to occur in the context of a Christian community as the possibility of a Christian state became a reality. Within Western Christianity, the North African bishop Augustine of Hippo (354–430) is often credited as the founder of both political theology and Christian just war theory. However, in Eastern Christianity, up until the nineteenth century, Augustine had little influence on Orthodox political thought.18 There, Eusebius, and particularly his Life of Constantine, which provides a religious narrative of Constantine’s military actions and victories, had a more

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important role. Its influence on the Orthodox tradition of political theology was pervasive and long-lasting.

Constantine and Eusebius: The Christian Church and the Christian State In 312, Constantine gained power due to a military victory attributed to Christ, and it was at Constantine’s initiative that the institutional structure of the church was formalized in the following decades. Constantine’s victory also led to the transformation of Christian attitudes toward government, and the first great exemplar of this new thinking was his biographer, Eusebius. Eusebius (ca. 260– 340) had multiple agendas, “at a period when nothing—neither new Rome, nor the Christianisation of the empire, nor Christian orthodoxy—was definitively settled.”19 Several scholars of Orthodoxy have highlighted Eusebius’s centrality to the Orthodox tradition: historian Gilbert Dagron argues that Eusebius was one of the first to “have constructed a veritable ‘political theology,’ ”20 and theologian Aristotle Papanikolaou identifies Eusebius’s works as the start of a “distinctively ‘Orthodox’ political theology.”21 Eusebius’s theology originates in or coincides with his “history” of Constantine’s acquisition of imperial power and rule. It is difficult to determine how accurately Eusebius reported events, but in any case his Life of Constantine provides one portrait of the evolving church–state relationship and its relationship to military victories.22 This section discusses Eusebius’s treatment of Constantine and then considers how his works joining the two realms of church and empire laid the groundwork for the concept of symphonia that is discussed in what follows.23 Eusebius describes Constantine’s military victory and subsequent control of the empire as directly related to actions he took in response to a vision from God. As he begins the Life, he notes that in response to Constantine’s obedience, “God forthwith rewarded him, by making him ruler and sovereign, and victorious to such a degree that he alone of all rulers pursued a continual course of conquest, unsubdued and invincible” (I.VI).24 God himself appointed Constantine to his position of power from the very start (I.XXIV), but Constantine plays a role in his own success. Eusebius notes that he is considering where to seek “divine assistance” before the Battle of Milvian Bridge. It is at this point that Eusebius highlights Constantine’s consideration of the power of various gods:  “He

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considered, therefore, on what God he might rely for protection and assistance” (I.XXVII). Other gods seem unreliable, so he chooses to call on the Christian God. He prays, and a most marvelous sign appeared to him from heaven.25 He said that about noon, when the day was already beginning to decline, he saw with his own eyes the trophy of a cross of light in the heavens, above the sun, and bearing the inscription, CONQUER BY THIS. At this sight he himself was struck with amazement, and his whole army also, which followed him on this expedition, and witnessed the miracle . . . [That night] in his sleep the Christ of God appeared to him with the same sign which he had seen in the heavens, and commanded him to make a likeness of that sign which he had seen in the heavens, and to use it as a safeguard in all engagements with his enemies. (I.XXIX)

The signs are made and carried by the soldiers, Eusebius reports, and Maxentius’s forces are defeated. Eusebius states that God is directly involved in the battle, just as he was with Moses and the Israelites. The cooperation between God and Constantine does not cease once the victory is won but continues as Constantine serves God, and God rewards him with other victories.26 Eusebius points out that Constantine acknowledges God as the source of his success: “[N]ow that, through the powerful aid of God his Saviour, all nations owed their subjection to the emperor’s authority, he openly proclaimed to all the name of Him to whose bounty he owed all his blessings, and declared that He, and not himself, was the author of his past victories” (II.XXIII). According to Eusebius, Constantine was also concerned with ensuring that his soldiers acknowledged God as their king and the source of their strength, and he prescribed a prayer for them that begins, “We acknowledge thee the only God: we own thee, as our King and implore thy succor. By thy favor have we gotten the victory[,] through thee are we mightier than our enemies. We render thanks for thy past benefits, and trust thee for future blessings” (IV.XX). Constantine also ordered that the sign of the cross be engraved on their shields (IV.XXI). The emperor himself is integrated into a soldier’s oath, as reported by Vegetius in the late fourth century: They [the soldiers] swore by God, by Christ, by the Holy Spirit and by the majesty of the emperor who, immediately after God, ought to be venerated and adored by the human race . . . [L]oyal devotion and unwavering submission are owed to the emperor, as to a physically present god. In fact, it is God whom a civilian or a soldier serves when he faithfully cherishes he who reigns at God’s instigation.27

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The military, then, is influenced by this transition with regard to its view of both God and the emperor.

Priest, Bishop, and Apostle: The Religious Roles of the Emperor Constantine’s victory came to represent God’s blessing and stamp of approval. The victorious emperor gained religious authority and himself became a kind of religious official, whose status, in a kind of circularity, strengthened his own command authority and that of future emperors. Different religious titles and roles were granted to, attributed to, or claimed by Constantine, including “priest,” “bishop,” “apostle,” and “divine king.” All of this fed into and benefitted from the close relationship that developed between the church and the empire in the Constantinian and post-Constantinian eras. Constantine himself seemed to claim the role of bishop by attending synods (I.XLIV) and, on at least one occasion, told a gathering of bishops, “You are bishops whose jurisdiction is within the Church: I also am a bishop, ordained by God to overlook whatever is external to the Church” (IV.XXIV). In addition, in the Orthodox tradition, Constantine is called “Equal to the Apostles.” The precise origins of this term (in Greek, isapostolos; in Russian, ravnoapostolni) are uncertain. The concept that a follower of Christ beyond the twelve original disciples might identify himself or herself as an apostle had certainly arisen earlier in Christian history, with Paul claiming the title in, for example, the first chapter of his epistle to the Galatians. At some period of time between Paul and Constantine, the church began to designate other individuals as “equal to the apostles.”28 The title would continue to be assigned to important figures in later generations, including Russia’s Prince Vladimir. Eusebius’s identification of Constantine as “equal to the apostles” appears to be related both to Constantine’s mystical connection to God and to his work in spreading Christianity. Eusebius stresses the fact that Constantine received an immediate revelation from God before the battle and notes that the Savior appeared to him in dreams hundreds of times. Constantine’s establishment of Christianity in the Roman Empire may have been viewed as apostolic in the sense that, like the apostles, he worked to spread Christianity throughout a large region, just as the apostles did in their travels. By the early fifth century, then, Constantine was referred to as “the equal of the apostles, the basis and pride of all the sovereigns” because he had united

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Christians, silenced heretics, and emulated Paul—whose call, like Constantine’s, was from Christ and not from human beings.29 The church saw the dangers of placing him in this role; “ferocious polemic” regarding this topic led to an attack on this as a perceived form of “caesaropapism.”30 This ongoing debate regarding the religious status of the emperor indicates the complexity of the origin of the “Christian nation” or “Christian state” concept and its relationship to the notion of a legitimately or religiously sanctioned authority who is permitted to lead a state into war or other conflicts. One demonstration of the tenuous church–state relationship, suggesting that the emperor’s actions were subject to evaluation by religious authorities, occurs in the late fourth century. Bishop Ambrose of Milan condemned Emperor Theodosius for the Massacre of Thessalonica, during which (according to the church historian Theodoret) Theodosius “gratified his vindictive desire for vengeance by unsheathing the sword most unjustly and tyrannically against all, slaying the innocent and guilty alike,” in an attack that killed 7,000 people. In response, Ambrose barred Theodosius from entering the church, emphasizing his humanity rather than his high stature:  “Your subjects, O Emperor, are of the same nature as yourself . . . for there is one Lord and Ruler of all, and He is the maker of all creatures, whether princes or people.”31 Theodosius capitulated to Ambrose’s demand that he prove his repentance by changing his unjust policy; death sentences thereafter would only be executed after careful consideration. This capitulation signals the church’s influence on the state, which is here revealed to be, at its foundations, a part of the church. This may temper the notion that the emperor is automatically a priest, bishop, or apostle and that he has the right to use force without restraint by the church.

The Emperor as God’s Icon or Representative Though Constantine assumed or was credited with a variety of religious roles, he and later Byzantine emperors were not viewed as actual gods themselves in the sense that other ancient rulers might have been. However, their religious standing went beyond their assumption of the role of priest, bishop, or even apostle. Constantine established—or rather, reinstituted from the Davidic tradition—the idea of a God-ordained monarch. The emperor was “no ordinary ruler, but God’s representative on earth. If Byzantium was an icon of the heavenly Jerusalem, then the earthly monarchy of the Emperor was an image, or icon, of the monarchy of God in heaven.”32 Constantine and later emperors were both analogues

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and icons of God, as they represented God reaching down to earth and being present in the earthly kingdom.33 For Eusebius, then, the Christianized empire was the “image” of the heavenly kingdom.34 The religious and political roles were intertwined, as the emperor’s throne is placed to the right of the altar at Hagia Sophia. Eusebius thus laid the groundwork for the concept of symphonia, which is made explicit in the writings of the Emperor Justinian in the sixth century.

Ecumenical Councils and the Centers of the Church: Unity and Multiplicity Ecumenical councils began in the fourth century, when Constantine convened the Council of Nicaea, which dealt with administrative as well as theological issues. This council and several subsequent ones discussed the structure of the institutional church. In Nicaea’s Canon VI, three great centers of the church were named—Rome, Alexandria, and Antioch—and the see of Jerusalem was identified as having the next place in honor.35 Around the time of this Council, in 324, Constantine decided to move the capital from what he called “Old Rome” to “New Rome,” that is, the city of Byzantium, which he renamed Constantinople. In addition to the economic and political motivations for this move, it was also partly justified by the idea that Rome had been stained by its association with paganism; at Constantinople’s inauguration as capital in 330, Constantine ruled that no pagan rites should ever be performed there.36 Constantinople thus became not only the capital of the empire but also an important religious center, and the second ecumenical council was held there in 381. Its status was noted in Canon III of the Council: “The Bishop of Constantinople shall have the prerogatives of honour after the Bishop of Rome, because Constantinople is the New Rome.”37 Rome did not officially recognize this canon until the Lateran Council of 1215.38 Canon 28 of the Chalcedon Council in 451 reaffirmed Constantinople’s Canon III. The Council put in place the formalized structure of the church: The system later known among Orthodox as the Pentarchy was now complete, whereby five great sees in the Church were held in particular honor and a settled order of precedence was established among these in order of rank, Rome, Constantinople, Alexandria, Antioch, Jerusalem. All five claimed Apostolic foundation . . . The bishop in each of these cities received the title Patriarch . . .

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Russian Orthodoxy and the Russo-Japanese War The five Patriarchates between them divided into spheres of jurisdiction the whole known world [apart from Cyprus, which remained independent].39

However, despite this ecclesiastical structure, all bishops, including the patriarchs, are equal in the sense that they “share equally in the apostolic succession.”40 Within this system, the bishop of Rome has a “primacy of honor” due to Rome’s association with Peter and Paul, its former status as capital of the empire, and its consistent purity during the early history of the Church.41 However, he is simply “first among equals.”42 Orthodox ecclesiology, then, rests on both the unity of the church and the multiplicity of authoritative individuals, that is, bishops, each of whom shares equally in the church’s mission and has an equal capacity to teach and perform the sacraments. This ecclesiastical structure, based on multiple autocephalous (self-governing) branches, has been important for Orthodox views of the state. The Russian church moved toward autocephaly in the mid-fifteenth century and canonized its own Russian saints shortly thereafter; the church developed in tandem with the state, as is discussed in Chapter 2.43 Before moving into a discussion of Russia, however, I will highlight a few elements in the writings of Augustine that have been foundational for Christian understandings of war and church–state relations.

The Beginning of a Western Tradition: Augustine and the Christian Use of Force In 410, Augustine began writing his treatise on the relationship between church and state, City of God. Like Augustine’s other works, it was written in Latin rather than the Greek commonly used throughout the Byzantine Empire. Augustine’s writings were not widely read within the Orthodox tradition, and in fact most of his works were not translated into Russian until the nineteenth century. Augustine is discussed here, then, not to indicate his influence on Orthodoxy but to demonstrate the types of conversations that occurred in the era when Eusebian views of political theology and war were being implemented and to give a preview of similar ideas that arise among Russians in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. The treatment is both introductory and selective, focusing on Augustine’s views of death, of the Christian mission, and of the ways in which the use of force relates to both of these things. Though the City of God raises issues important for

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the study of war and political theology, there is no single work that elaborates Augustine’s views on war, and there are longstanding debates about how to interpret his attitude toward the state.44 What follows, then, is not a definitive account of Augustine but an overview of some of these critical themes and issues. Augustine’s work is Constantinian in the strict sense, given that he wrote in the century after the military victory that led to Constantine’s triumph, followed by the empire’s legitimization of and support for Christianity. But it is a chastened Constantinianism, at least in places; the empire’s defeats and failings were all too evident to Christians in that era, who were sometimes blamed for them. City of God, for example, was written after the sack of Rome in 410, and one of its purposes was to defend Christianity against the charge that it was at fault for Rome’s decline. Written over the course of the next decade and a half, City of God also attempts to explain the value of Christianity to the non-Christian Romans and “to reassure Christians that God had indeed been working and would continue to work in human history.”45 Augustine suggests that the rulers of the Roman Empire have power that is limited in its reach and scope: it is necessary to preserve order and ensure peace of a certain type, but Christians should not make the mistake of thinking that this constitutes the highest form of peace or justice. Augustine’s massive corpus contains several works that have come to be central for Christian just war thinkers, both those in the medieval era and those writing today. This section discusses several works that have been discussed extensively by political theologians and just war theorists—Letter 189 to Boniface, the Reply to Faustus the Manichean, and the City of God—as well as one other letter to Boniface, 185, which addresses the issue of religious coercion. To take the simplest argument first:  Augustine clearly supports Christian participation in war under certain circumstances. His Letter 189 to Boniface responds to the count’s concerns regarding his own military service by assuring Boniface that he can serve honorably, following the examples of biblical figures such as David and the centurion praised by Jesus. Everyone has his proper gift, as Paul says:  “Some, then, in praying for you, fight against your invisible enemies; you, in fighting for them, contend against the barbarians, their visible enemies.”46 The strength of his body is a gift of God, to be used in the service of God, with good intentions. The soldier should be a peacemaker: “war is waged in order that peace may be obtained. Therefore, even in waging war, cherish the spirit of a peacemaker, that, by conquering those whom you attack, you may lead them back to the advantages of peace.”47 Augustine states that this is to be done out of “necessity,” not in response to one’s own will. This is one indication

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that matters are more complex than they may first appear; Augustine is making assumptions about the context in which something might come to be necessary. Augustine’s argument here may seem reasonable to the modern-day thinker, but other elements of his views on war, the soldier, and the state rest on presuppositions that Christians today might find problematic. In particular, in article 74 of his “Reply to Faustus the Manichean,” he states, What is the evil in war? Is it the death of some who will soon die in any case, that others may live in peaceful subjection? This is mere cowardly dislike, not any religious feeling. The real evils in war are love of violence, revengeful cruelty, fierce and implacable enmity, wild resistance, and the lust of power, and such like; and it is generally to punish these things, when force is required to inflict the punishment, that, in obedience to God or some lawful authority, good men undertake wars, when they find themselves in such a position as regards the conduct of human affairs, that right conduct requires them to act, or to make others act in this way.48

In the wars fought by Moses, he says, Moses showed “not ferocity but obedience” to God. This provides a model for a just or justified war: one fought “in obedience to God or some lawful authority” that is intended to punish the “real evils in war” enumerated earlier. “Good men” may undertake such wars, and Augustine specifies that they may act or “make others act” when they find themselves in this position. Again, the existence of the state provides a crucial context for their decision: the people making the deliberation “find themselves in such a position as regards the conduct of human affairs, that right conduct requires them to act.” Augustine’s writings highlight the fact that views of death may deeply affect Christian perspectives on war. This will be evident in Russian conversations about the Christ-loving military that are discussed in Chapter 4, despite the fact that Augustine has little to no influence on these specific conversations. Augustine’s views of war depend on his views of the state, which are described in City of God.49 Augustine’s central argument is that there are two cities:  the “earthly city” or “city of Man” and the “heavenly city” or City of God. Augustine describes the two cities in Book XIV of City of God: [T]wo cities have been formed by two loves: the earthly by the love of self, even to the contempt of God; the heavenly by the love of God, even to the contempt of self. The former, in a word, glories in itself, the latter in the Lord. For the one seeks glory from men; but the greatest glory of the other is God, the witness of conscience . . . In the one, the princes and the nations it subdues are ruled by the

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love of ruling; in the other, the princes and the subjects serve one another in love, the latter obeying, while the former take thought for all. The one delights in its own strength, represented in the persons of its rulers; the other says to its God, “I will love Thee, O Lord, my strength.” (XIV.28)50

Essentially, those who glory in God rather than the love of self constitute a “heavenly city,” which is ordered on and characterized by this love of God. Those who belong to the City of God never truly belong to the world but are sojourners in it; they love one another and are united in their service to God. Those who glory in the love of self are part of the earthly city, and though this city pursues peace and justice of a certain form, it is characterized by efforts of domination and control. These categories may be seen in a variety of ways. For example, one might read them as “historical,” describing actual societies and groups of individuals that have existed, or one might read them as “hypothetical,” being conceptual categories that describe the way we should view and order our loves and obligations.51 The basic concept has been a powerful one: the “doctrine of the two,” as Oliver O’Donovan puts it, was retained in Christian theology through Luther and up to the present day.52 Augustine set the theological stage for conversations about the extent to which Christians should be “at home” in the world, that is, attached to worldly institutions such as government. Regardless of the specific interpretation of Augustine’s concept, he makes clear that Christians need to be aware that the political world has value of a certain kind but that they have and must maintain a certain distance from it. In a very different context from Augustine’s, Russian thinkers such as Nikolai of Japan will wrestle with the challenges of both valuing the world and preserving this distance.

“The Shortlived Fires of the Furnace”: Religious Coercion and Violence The era after Constantine gave rise to numerous examinations of the relationship between Christian mission and coercion and the state’s role in both. In another letter to Boniface, Augustine notes that the persecution of heretics is a “righteous persecution, which the Church of Christ inflicts upon the impious.”53 The church “persecutes her enemies and arrests them, until they become weary in their vain opinions.”54 Augustine has seen this strategy work;

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those who are persecuted do eventually recognize and embrace the truth of Christianity, he says. Given the effectiveness of this method, Christians should not limit their efforts to spread the truth out of a distaste for coercion: “What then is the function of brotherly love? Does it, because it fears the shortlived fires of the furnace for a few, therefore abandon all to the eternal fires of hell? . . . For it ardently desires that all should live, but it more especially labors that not all should die.”55 Augustine identifies the roots of his argument not only in the Hebrew Scriptures—citing, for example, Proverbs 23:14 (“You shall beat him with the rod, and shall deliver his soul from hell”)—but also in the experiences of Paul, whom Christ dashed to earth and blinded. He says that when the Donatists cry, “Towards whom did Christ use violence? Whom did he compel?” they should be reminded of Paul’s example: “Let them recognize in his case Christ first compelling, and afterwards teaching; first striking, and afterwards consoling.”56 Christ strikes Paul blind but then heals him, creating the greatest of the apostles. Here Augustine is talking about the heretic—the wayward Christian, not the unbeliever; his focus is on saving individual souls through coercion rather than using war to save an entire community. In other letters, he expresses interest in serving the larger community, though the mechanism of compulsion is the death penalty rather than war. In Letter 93, Augustine compares Christian rulers to King Nebuchadnezzar, who after his conversion penalized blasphemers; he states, “For originally my opinion was, that no one should be coerced into the unity of Christ, that we must act only by words, fight only by arguments, and prevail by force of reason, lest we should have those whom we knew as avowed heretics feigning themselves to be Catholics. But this opinion of mine was overcome.”57 In both letters to Boniface, Augustine is insisting that the Christian not be squeamish about harming others to serve God, the wider community, and sometimes the good of the coerced individual. This aversion to violence is “mere cowardly dislike” in the case of war or rooted in fear, specifically fear of “the shortlived fires of the furnace for a few.” These three features of Augustinian theology—support for Christian participation in war, the concept of the two cities, and a limited endorsement of violent coercion in matters related to belief—retained influence in Western Christianity through the medieval era, with the first two continuing to be important to Christian arguments with regard to the state up to the present day. As noted, Augustine himself is not influential in the East, but these three ideas will have parallels in the Russian Orthodox tradition.

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Justinian and Symphonia Two centuries after Eusebius, the concept of symphonia between the church and empire is elucidated by Justinian I (527–65), who “gave classical expression to this understanding of harmony, or symphonia, between the emperor and the bishop, having in view both the patriarch of Constantinople and the pope of Rome.”58 That is, as noted earlier, this emperor recognizes the religious authority of multiple “bishops” in different regions of the empire. For Justinian—as for Paul in Romans 13—political authority comes from God. Furthermore, he states that within the imperium the emperor guides human affairs; in the sacerdotum, the clergy are in charge of spiritual matters: “for if the priesthood is in every way free from blame and possesses access to God, and if the emperors administer equitably and judiciously the state entrusted to their care, general harmony (symphonia tes agathe) will result and whatever is beneficial will be bestowed upon the human race.”59 Orthodox theologian John Meyendorff states, “The ‘harmony’ itself mentioned in the text is not a harmony between two powers or between two distinct societies, the Church and the State; rather, it is meant to represent the internal cohesion of one single human society, for whose orderly welfare on earth the emperor alone is responsible.”60 The church is not a separate society, but “[t]he Empire and the Church are one single body of the faithful administered by a twofold, God-given hierarchy.”61 For Justinian, the concept of symphonia develops alongside efforts to impose religious uniformity by annihilating or limiting the rights of dissident groups.62 Justinian also sought to solidify recognition of the authority of the church councils, whose doctrines were continually challenged despite their widespread recognition. These issues related to dealing with dissenters within Christianity as well as non-Christians will be important in later Orthodoxy theology, especially in Russia.

The Charism of the Emperor and the Future of Church, State, and War in Russia This developing notion of symphonia involves both a unification of roles (emperor as priest, bishop, and apostle) and a distinction of roles (emperor working in tandem with religious authority, each with separate spheres of responsibility). Eusebius may be seen as positing “a division of labor . . . in which the emperor

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functions as a sort of priest in relation to the manifestation of the Word in the wider society of the empire.”63 This division of labor, at least in some interpretations, suggests the emperor had a particular charism, a religiously dictated status or gift of the Holy Spirit.64 In Roman and Byzantine Christian society, then, God had a strong relationship to the emperor and to the political sphere. In the East, Justinian’s model of symphonia gave the secular authorities both legitimacy and an aura of holiness. This model would go on to influence Russia, although Papanikolaou argues that the influence was indirect. There was no passing on of a “tradition of thought on ‘political theology’ ” because, he says, “questions related to political theology were never central within the Byzantine Empire.”65 As a result, “Justinian’s notion of symphonia was a guiding principle within the Russian Empire, but . . . Russians were left to apply the principle of symphonia in [their] own history without any recourse to a body of work from the Byzantine Empire that could help guide them.”66 He continues, The basic frame of the Russian Empire did resemble the Byzantine Empire: an Orthodox Christian emperor and an Orthodox patriarch attempting to work in harmony for the good of the Orthodoxy Christian society. How the church and the state were to relate to each other in the course of the history of the Russian Empire was not self-evident and always in flux.67

The origins of this relationship, and its influence on late imperial views of war, are discussed in the next chapter. The Russian emperor, or tsar, would come to be seen as a legitimate and holy authority who could declare war on behalf of a Christian state; and this in turn would make mission a just and holy cause for war, with the sovereign’s soldiers obliged to fight on his behalf as a moral and Christ-loving military.

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Russia as a Christian Nation: Orthodoxy and Empire

The Origins of Russian Orthodoxy Between the fifth and the eleventh centuries, tensions increased between the bishop of Rome, who had come to be called the pope, and Christian leaders in the East. This was one cause of the Great Schism between the Roman Catholics, who acknowledged the bishop of Rome as the sole leader of the church, and those who followed the eastern patriarchs and saw the bishop of Rome as a legitimate but not unique authority.1 After the schism in 1054, the Eastern churches maintained their ties to one another, under the guidance and leadership of the patriarch of Constantinople. Christianity had begun to spread beyond Byzantium, and by the middle of the tenth century, a missionary church had developed among the Slavs, which centuries later would become the largest and most influential branch of Orthodoxy, the Russian Orthodox Church. This chapter provides an overview of the history of Russian Orthodox conceptions of the relationship between church and state and then explores the religious status of Russia during the late imperial period, from the late nineteenth century to the first few years of the twentieth century. Scholars of Western Christianity may be unaware of the fact that in certain respects, the story of Russia’s “Christian nationhood” is similar to that of the United States.2 The American debate is often couched in exceptionalist terms: the US is not merely a Christian nation, it is the Christian nation, the only Christian nation, or at least the most truly Christian nation. It holds the place that is held by Zion in the story of the Jews:  the center of the story of God’s work on earth. Russia has also claimed the title of the Christian nation. Centuries before the first contact between European Christians and Native Americans in the New World, Russians identified their own empire as Holy Rus′. They believed their empire

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was the divinely ordained successor of Rome and Constantinople and identified themselves as the defenders of the one true form of Christianity: Orthodoxy. This vision of Russia was influential in the late imperial period, when the Orthodox Church and the Russian government supported and legitimized one another in a variety of ways. In particular, it points toward the status of the tsar as both a legitimate and a holy authority whose responsibility may include the expansion of Christianity through support of missionary activity and, perhaps, through the use of force. The account of Russia’s history that follows will highlight the militaristic and coercive elements of its process of Christianization.

The Mission to the Slavs and the Rise of Vladimir, the New Constantine Even as the Byzantine Empire declined, the Church continued to expand. In the ninth century, Photius, the Patriarch of Constantinople, sent two brothers from Thessalonica as missionaries to the Slavs: Constantine (who took the name Cyril when he became a monk; 826–69) and Methodius (?815–85). Though these ninth-century evangelistic efforts failed, Christianity made its way into Russia via Byzantium, Bulgaria, and Scandinavia; by 945, there was a church at Kiev. Princess Olga became Christian in 955; thirty years later, her grandson did so as well. Vladimir (r. 980–1010) solidified ties with Byzantium by marrying Anna, the sister of the Byzantine Emperor. His baptism was reportedly held at a ceremony at the Dnieper River in Kiev in 988, and its 900-year anniversary was marked with great pomp in 1888, as will be discussed in what follows.3 The Russian Primary Chronicle, compiled in the eleventh and early twelfth centuries, records the traditional story—likely a blend of fact and fiction—of Vladimir’s baptism. Having received emissaries from the Bulgars, the Jews, the Greeks, and the Germans, the story says, Vladimir sought to identify the best religion for his people.4 His emissaries were impressed by the rituals of the Greeks when they visited Hagia Sophia in Constantinople. A year later, Vladimir was engaged in a siege of the Greek town of Kherson and made a vow that if a particular strategy—the cutting off of water pipes—were successful, he would be baptized. The residents subsequently surrendered. Vladimir then sent a message to the Emperors Basil and Constantine warning that unless they gave him their sister, Anna, as his wife, he would attack their city. The emperors said that they could not marry Anna to a pagan, and so Vladimir agreed to accept baptism.

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Anna expressed distress at the prospect, even suggesting death would be better, but her brothers said, “Through your agency God turns the land of Rus′ to repentance, and you will relieve Greece from the danger of grievous war.”5 Anna agreed and went to Kherson, where Vladimir was baptized at the Church of St. Basil. The Chronicle reports that Vladimir was then instructed in the teachings of the church. He left Kherson for Kiev and commanded the destruction of the idols to other gods; one was dragged through the streets and thrown into the Dnieper. He then proclaimed that the city’s residents should accept baptism or “risk the Prince’s displeasure,” and a “countless multitude” did so.6 The story continues, [H]e ordained that wooden churches should be built and established where pagan idols had previously stood . . . He began to found churches and to assign priests throughout the cities, and to invite the people to accept baptism in all the cities and towns. He took the children of the best families, and sent them for instruction in book learning. The mothers of these children wept bitterly over them, for they were not yet strong in faith, but mourned as for the dead.7

Forced Christianization of children through what seems to be a form of kidnapping was thus lauded as virtuous. Vladimir then set out to Christianize the region: “priests, relics, sacred vessels, and icons were imported; mass baptisms were held in the rivers; Church courts were set up, and ecclesiastical tithes instituted.”8 A  half century later, Metropolitan Hilarion emphasized that the Russian people were the successors to the ancient Israelites in that they were a national community that had become the bearers of the true faith.9 In 1049, Hilarion stated that “he [Constantine] with his mother Helen brought the Cross of Jerusalem, glorified it widely and consolidated the belief. And you [the Grand Prince Vladimir] with your grandmother St. Olga brought the Cross from the new JerusalemConstantinople, installed it all over the country and consolidated the belief.”10 It is likely that the transformation of Russia into a Christian society occurred more gradually than this account suggests. Nevertheless, some Christian leaders heralded Vladimir as a successor to Constantine and Russia as a successor to Rome and Constantinople—which themselves were successors to God’s chosen land of ancient Israel. Vladimir, like Constantine, is given the title “equal to the apostles.”11 He takes the initiative in inviting missionaries to his land, and his own decision to become baptized is tied in with both the acquisition of political power and a

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military victory. Tasked with a “divine mission,” Vladimir used “the charism of rulership bestowed upon him by God to cause the gospel to be preached in his heathen land. . . . His power was political and spiritual at the same time.”12

Russian Orthodoxy after the Fall of the Ottoman Empire After Vladimir’s baptism, Christianity spread throughout the region, though the sacking of Kievan Rus′ in 1237 by Mongol invaders somewhat diminished Christianity’s growth.13 The Mongols did tolerate Orthodoxy while in control from 1237–1448.14 Though the church continued to be under the authority of the Patriarch of Constantinople, Moscow’s significance began to increase during the Mongol period.15 The Greeks, in turn, asserted their authority, particularly emphasizing the importance of their emperor. In 1389, Patriarch Antonius of Constantinople wrote to Grand Prince Vasilii to complain that the Metropolitan was not mentioning the Byzantine emperor’s name in the liturgy. He wrote: The holy Emperor holds a high place in the Church. He is not like other rulers— the local princes and potentates. The Emperor in the beginning established and confirmed the true faith for all the world. The Emperors called the Ecumenical Councils. They also confirmed by their laws the observance of what the godly and holy canons declare to be the true dogmas and the orthodoxy of Church life . . . [I]t is not possible for a Christian to have the Church and not the Emperor. For the Church and the Empire are in close union . . . and it is not possible to separate the one from the other.16

As the Mongol rule came to an end, so did Constantinople’s control over the Russian church, which was essentially independent after 1440. Claims that the Russian leaders were heirs to Constantine appeared once more.17 After the collapse of the Byzantine Empire in 1453, Russians emphasized the deep connections between the church and the state, with the rhetoric applied both to the state itself and to its leaders. The Pskovian monk Filofei (1460–1542) described the Muscovite state as the “Third Rome,” suggesting that it was destined to take the mantle from Constantinople.18 Metropolitan Zossima of Moscow said Ivan III was “the child of God, shining in Orthodoxy, the truly believing and Christ-loving Grand Prince Ivan Vasilevich, Sovereign and Autocrat of all Rus′, the new Emperor Constantine over Constantine’s new city, Moscow, and over all the Russian land.”19

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Ivan IV (“the Terrible”) told clerics in 1551 he was “the guardian of the purity of the church and of Orthodoxy.”20 In 1547, he had asked for the patriarch of Constantinople to approve of his use of the title of “tsar,” which the patriarch did—but when he added that all future tsars should have Constantinople’s approval, this idea was rejected.21 Ivan IV contended that the Russian Orthodox church was truly apostolic, in the strictest sense: in 1582, he responded to an emissary of Pope Gregory XIII by noting: “We received our Christian faith from the early Church at the time when Andrew, the brother of the Apostle Peter, visited these lands on his way to Rome . . . We received the Christian faith here in Muscovy at the same time you received it in Italy and we have preserved it intact.”22 Regardless of its historical accuracy, the claim indicates the tsar’s desire to identify the empire as Christian. The Russian tsar was also involved with the establishment of the patriarchate in 1589.23 In that year, Patriarch Ieremei came to Russia, met with Russian bishops, and named three candidates for the patriarchate; Tsar Feodor Ivanovich then chose the first Russian patriarch. According to Russian sources, at the time Patriarch Ieremei acknowledged that Moscow was the “third Rome” and “surpassed [Rome and Constantinople] in piety”; he also told Tsar Feodor, “you alone on earth are called a Christian tsar everywhere and among all Christians.”24 Despite reforms undertaken by the seventeenth-century Patriarch Nikon, the patriarchate suffered a substantial blow in the eighteenth century. Upon the death of the patriarch, Tsar Peter I (1682–1725) abolished the patriarchate and established the Holy Synod in its place in 1721.25 The head of the Holy Synod, the oberprocurator (chief procurator), was an appointed government official who reported to the tsar. State control of the church was pervasive; priests had to cooperate with police to the point of revealing “any incriminating information obtained in confession.”26 At the same time, the state worked to ensure that the church thrived: Orthodoxy had “a monopoly on religious proselytism,” and governors enforced Orthodoxy in its efforts to fight heretical movements; the state also provided material support.27 Thus, despite the weakening of the church relative to the state, the idea of Russia as a Christian nation did not disappear. When Catherine became empress in 1762 after her husband was deposed and killed, Metropolitan Sechenov stated, “God hath placed the crown on thy head” and attributed this to her sinlessness.28 Catherine’s piety and respect for the clergy won her favor with the church, despite the fact that she took away its landed wealth.29

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The monarch’s relationship to the church is reflected in an anathema used against Old Believers from the mid-eighteenth century. Each year until 1869, the following statement was made in all Orthodox churches: To those who do not believe that the Orthodox monarchs have been raised to the throne by virtue of a special grace of God—and that, at the moment the sacred oil is laid upon them, the gifts of the Holy Ghost are infused into them anent [with regard to] the accomplishment of their exalted mission; and to those who dare to rise and rebel against them . . . Anathema! Anathema! Anathema!30

Throughout the late imperial period, the official standing of Orthodoxy was strong. The royal family was Orthodox; only Orthodox could proselytize, and conversion away from the Orthodox church was illegal; Orthodox were not allowed to marry non-Christians, and those who married non-Orthodox Christians had to raise their children Orthodox; Orthodox clergy were exempted from military service, but no other clergy were.31 Russia was not merely a Christian nation but an Orthodox one.

Russia’s Religious Diversity: The Non-Orthodox Population Despite the preeminence of Orthodoxy, the image of Russia as a Christian nation, specially blessed by God to preserve the inheritance of Jerusalem, Rome, and Constantinople, was challenged by the presence of peoples of other faiths. This section discusses their standing in the empire and how their existence affected Russia’s Christian nation ideal; efforts to convert and integrate the nonChristian populations will be discussed in the next chapter. A number of different terms for minorities came into use as the Russian state and church navigated their relationship to these groups of people living in the empire and articulated what distinguished them from the majority: Separateness or foreignness was defined in Russian through language, territory, kinship, or religion . . . inozemets (lit. “a person of a different land”) referred to either foreigners from western Europe or the natives of Siberia . . .Two other terms, inorodets (lit. “of a different kin” [or birth]) and inoverets (lit. “of a different faith”) came into usage in the seventeenth century and were reserved for the non-Christian peoples residing in the newly conquered territories in the east and south.32

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Another Russian word, iazychnik, was used for the biblical term “gentile” and during the late imperial period was used to mean pagan or heathen, depending on the context. While these terms today are generally considered insulting and disrespectful, at the time, iazychnik was somewhat neutral, in the sense that “non-Christian” might be used today.33 Thus non-Russians, non-Orthodox, non-Christians, and those from foreign lands were all set apart but in different ways. This definition of different types of otherness affected and was affected by Russian and/or Orthodox definitions of what it meant to be Russian and Orthodox. The largest non-Orthodox Christian group in Russia during the modern era was the Muslims, a population that surged following the defeat of Kazan in 1552.34 The Russians ruled over peoples of other non-Orthodox faiths as well. In 1776, Prince Mikhail Shcherbatov attempted to classify the “peoples of the empire” and placed them in six categories related to their tax obligations, military service obligations, and religious affiliation: 1. Russians and all non-Christians [inovertsy] who pay the soul-tax and provide recruits 2. Russians and non-Christians who pay taxes but do not provide recruits 3. Christians other than Russian orthodox 4. All kinds of Cossacks and other military settlers 5. Bashkirs and other wild peoples who practice Islam 6. Kalmyks and other nomadic idol-worshippers.35 Despite the preeminence of the Orthodox faith, the non-Christians and nonOrthodox were allowed to practice their religion with some support from the state,. There was a degree of what was called veroterpimost’, or religious toleration (vero—“belief ”; terpimost′—“tolerance” or “patience”). Prior to 1905 this prevented forced conversion, but “rarely implied absolute freedom of worship or ‘freedom of conscience’ (svoboda sovesti) and was not based on any notion of civil or human rights.”36 Religious minorities “were in effect second-class subjects of the empire.”37 As of 1900, there were 49,082 Russian Orthodox Churches in the empire, and 104,446 members of the “secular clergy” (nonmonastics) who served 83.7 million Orthodox inhabitants.38 The Orthodox constituted 69.3  percent of the empire’s population, according to the 1897 census. The empire also included 2.2 million Old Believers (1.8 percent of the population), 11.5 million Catholics (9.2 percent), 3.8 million Protestants (3 percent); 13.9 million Muslims (11.1 percent), and 5.2  million Jews (4.2  percent).39 Like the Orthodox, adherents of

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other faiths were subject to the emperor. As the Code of Laws stated, “To the Emperor of All the Russians belongs the supreme autocratic authority. To submit to his authority, not only from fear, but also from conviction, God himself commands.”40 Despite the religious diversity in the empire, then, both Russian law and—according to that very law—God himself gave the Christian emperor his authority. Russia’s Christian empire was not wholly Christian in population but ruled by a Christian who was put in place by God.

Russian Orthodoxy and Nationalism in the Nineteenth Century The relationship between the Russian state and the church was set out in articles 62–64 of the Fundamental Laws. These articles reiterate the standing of the faith and the emperor:41 The foremost and dominant faith in the Russian Empire is the Christian Orthodox Catholic Eastern Confession. The Emperor possessing the throne of All Russia may not profess any faith but Orthodoxy. The Emperor, as Christian Sovereign, is supreme defender and preserver of the dogmas of the ruling faith, and protector of the orthodoxy of belief and the decorum in the holy Church.42

At the time of the war with Japan, then, Russia was a Christian nation of a particular kind. Eusebius’s characterization of Constantine, the Byzantine legacy of symphonia, the passing of the Constantinian torch to Vladimir and then to later emperors, the depiction of Moscow as the third Rome, and the persistence of the Orthodox-state links in the synodal period: all of these developments established the groundwork for Russia’s self-understanding as a Christian nation during the nineteenth century.43 In The Making of Holy Russia:  The Orthodox Church and Russian Nationalism before the Revolution, John Strickland argues that this sense of Russia as a Christian nation is visible through the end of the imperial period. Strickland identifies two central ideals important to the concept: a “national faith” and an “apostle-like” ruler.44 Both of these, he argues, are rooted in nostalgia for the earlier days of Holy Rus’, a sentiment that is tapped into during important symbolic events, such as the 900-year celebration of Vladimir’s baptism in 1888 and the coronation of Nicholas II in 1896. Other events, however, such as the excommunication of Leo Tolstoy, reflect the complexity of this sentiment.

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The celebration of the anniversary of Grand Prince Vladimir’s baptism was held in 1888 on the banks of the Dnieper River in Kiev. Vladimir’s status as “Equal to the Apostles” meant that he had supported Russia’s “missionary destiny,” according to church leaders such as Archbishop Nikanor (Brovkovich) of Kherson and Metropolitan Platon (Gorodetskii) of Kiev.45 Following the 1887 all-Russian Missionary Congress in Moscow, Nikanor, writing in the inaugural issues of Tserkovnyia Viedomosti, compared Holy Rus′ to ancient Israel. Patriotism was a “natural and holy duty” for Russians, just as it was for the Israelites, who were also surrounded by people with “alien faiths.”46 Nikanor highlighted the roles of King David and St. Vladimir, suggesting that they were responsible not only for protection of the faith but also for “apostlelike propagation of that faith.”47 At the time of the festival, Nikanor stated that Russia was “the new Israel”; in 988, he argued, “God’s chosen people had finally been reconstituted as a Christian national community.” He asked, “Who is the new Israel at present? Among a host of heterodox peoples, it is the Orthodox Christian Russian people.”48 Church historian Ivan Malyshevskii, who was commissioned to write a saint’s life of Vladimir, also emphasized this theme; there were 350,000 copies of the work produced. Approximately 20,000 pilgrims traveled to the site of the baptism commemoration.49 The Oberprocurator of the Holy Synod, Konstantine Pobedonostsev, attended with other Synod officials and marched at the head of the laity in a procession. During the festival, Pobedonostsev suggested that God seemed to have favored Russian expansion of territory; he called Vladimir “the faithful prince” and praised the peaceful means he used to lead people to faith.50 He called the tsar “the Supreme Defender on earth of the Orthodox Church,” and the crowd sang “O God Save the Tsar.”51 Another event that highlighted the deep connections of church and state was the 1896 coronation of Nicholas II, the tsar who would rule during the RussoJapanese War. Russian law in the late imperial period dictated the process of coronation: The Emperor, before the performance of this sacred ceremony, according to the custom of the ancient Christian Sovereigns and of his God-hallowed ancestors, shall pronounce in the hearing of his loyal subjects the creed of the Orthodox Catholic faith, and then, after donning his robes, upon placing the crown upon his head, and upon taking the scepter and the orb, he shall, with a genuflection, call upon the King of Kings, using the established prayer.52

Throughout the medieval and modern periods, the coronation marked the relationship between the church and the state.53 The cantata written by

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Tchaikovsky for Alexander III’s coronation in 1883 included the line “Two Romes have fallen and the third still stands—But a fourth shall never be.”54 Nicholas II’s coronation was hailed in Vera I Razum [Faith and Reason] as “culmination of a nation-specific, providential plan centered on the apostle-like principle of Constantine.”55 The coverage of the coronation—held on the day of Pentecost—stressed the tsar’s protection of the national faith and his connection to the Holy Spirit. In his coronation address, Nicholas “appealed to the Russian people to pray that God might enter into him and ‘pour out upon us the gift of His Holy Spirit.’ ”56 The coronation thus emphasized the charism of the emperor as a conduit of the Holy Spirit. An American commentator noted, “With the chrism [sic] conferred upon him he has received what is called ‘the seal of the gift of the Holy Ghost,’ being thus endowed with a kind of divine grace and a supernatural sacramental character.”57 This notion that the Russian nation had direct contact with God is also manifested in the rhetoric surrounding the canonization of St. Seraphim of Sarov in 1903.58 The canonization of Seraphim emphasized the notion that the Russian nation had direct access to the Mother of God; the saint’s life story said that “he stands for Russia in heaven.”59 According to a priest-monk named Alexander, “Being a true son of the Orthodox Church and with all of his heart striving for the heavenly fatherland, St. Seraphim in his time was a true son of his earthly fatherland, an ardent patriot, and with all of his soul loved Orthodox Rus′.”60 This idea that Seraphim had attachments to both the “heavenly fatherland” and his own “earthly fatherland,” Russia, would prove important during the Russo-Japanese War. Despite the rhetoric in discussions of the baptism ceremony and the coronation, there was some resistance to Christian nationalism in the nineteenth century, a time in which, Papanikolaou suggests, “for the first time in its history, the basic framework of the Orthodox Christian political theology—Orthodox Christian emperor and Orthodox Christian church working in relation toward the maintenance of an Orthodox Christian society—would come under question.”61 Evidence of these challenges appears in the more than 200 pages of sermons relating to Tolstoy’s excommunication in 1901. Tolstoy was attacked for his positions on a number of issues. Countering Tolstoy’s support of Christian pacifism, Archbishop Nikanor of Kherson emphasizes the military obligations of Russians to the tsar, which are rooted in their political and religious obligations. Nikanor states, “Patriotism is the most natural and holy obligation. Patriotism is love for the Fatherland, loyalty to it, and fealty even unto death.”62 He continues,

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Who of all mortals on earth can be more sacred than the Anointed of God, the God-chosen Tsar? What is more inviolable than his life, with which is so closely linked the life of the whole Fatherland? What is more obligatory than the oath, established and blessed by God, of loyalty to the Tsar, even unto death, unto the shedding of his blood by each of his most loyal subjects? When shedding our blood for the Tsar, we shed it for all that is for us on earth most holy, dear, and beloved—for our faith and sacred things, for our churches and the tombs of our ancestors . . .. And the Tsar is the highest, the most holy symbol of all that is dear and beloved and sacred for our hearts in our land.63

These criticisms of Tolstoy’s pacifist arguments would continue during the Russo-Japanese War. According to Nikanor’s sermon, the tsar is the most sacred “of all mortals on earth,” given that he is chosen and anointed by God. The coronation ceremony confirms this idea: he is a Christian sovereign in the tradition of other Christian sovereigns, possessing a charism of the Holy Spirit—emphasized by the fact that the coronation is held on Pentecost—to lead the Russian people. Like Constantine and Vladimir, who were “Equal to the Apostles,” the tsar had the authority to spread the gospel by utilizing his God-given powers. Nikanor’s critique of Tolstoy makes clear that at least some religious leaders of that era anticipated that this spreading of the gospel might occur through military means. Nikanor’s attitude foreshadows the attitudes some Russian Orthodox would take with regard to the Russo-Japanese War. A tsar who was anointed by God, in a land particularly blessed by God, would command an army that had, it seemed, the capacity to bring Christianity into other, non-Christian lands. However, this very idea of a seamless relationship between emperor and church was already under question. In addition, some of the goals expressed by Nikanor—the defense of what is holy, the promotion of “faith and sacred things”—were also being pursued through peaceful means by missionaries within the empire and abroad. These missionaries would work in Japan to bring non-Christians to Christ without the use of force—and, as the next chapter shows, this work bore substantial fruit in the half century prior to the Russo-Japanese War.

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The Bountiful Harvest: The Russian Orthodox Mission in Japan

In Matthew 28:19, Jesus instructs his followers to go and “make disciples of all the nations.” That concept of mission as a dedicated effort to spread the gospel to strangers in distant lands is central to Christian self-understanding. Russia’s own embrace of Christianity was the result of this “great commission,” and a millennium after that conversion, it would heed that call itself. The intertwining of Russian Orthodoxy and Russian nationalism in the nineteenth century was accompanied by the notion that Holy Rus′ was destined to spread Christianity throughout its own empire and eastward into Asian nations. This chapter will explore its efforts, both in Japan and elsewhere, to fulfill this destiny through peaceful means. In the 1860s, Russians were engaged in a debate about the best methods and practices for missionary work among the religious minorities within their own empire. Russia’s conquest of territories in the south had led to its acquisition of a large Muslim population, and there were also pockets of non-Christians and non-Orthodox Christians in other regions. The first part of this chapter focuses on what were called “external missions,” or those directed toward people of other faiths within the empire. Orthodox leaders’ conversations about these external missions reveal the variety of missionary perspectives on the non-Orthodox— some were seen as misled, pliable children, others as firmly convicted enemies of the faith—and how the missionaries viewed themselves. Perhaps more importantly, those involved in external missions had contact with citizens who were not Orthodox but who nevertheless displayed loyalty to the Russian emperor. Paul Werth’s reference to Islam, Buddhism, and other religious traditions as the “tsar’s foreign faiths” indicates that their connection to the tsar coexisted with their “foreignness.” Just as these external missions gave rise to conversations about the nonOrthodox populations within the empire, the “foreign missions” to the

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non-Orthodox outside of the empire were also accompanied by analysis of the objects of missionary efforts.1 Were these people susceptible to the missionaries’ efforts or hostile toward them? Could they become trusted allies, or would there always be danger of rebellion or conflict? The wariness toward the “foreign faiths” at home—especially given the fact that the incorporation of Muslims into the empire followed centuries of intermittent warfare—may have laid the groundwork for thinking about Japan as simultaneously an enemy and an object of mission during the Russo-Japanese War. The experiences of the Russian Orthodox Mission in Japan, particularly its leader, Nikolai of Japan, also helped to shape Christian perspectives on that war, and this chapter explores the mission’s founding and development during the late 1800s.

The Religious Landscape of Imperial Russia During the nineteenth century, Orthodoxy was formally identified as “the ruling and predominant faith.” This identification in the 1832 Law Digest “merely gave explicit formulation to what had long been the case”: From the formal “baptism of Rus′” under [P]rince Vladimir in 988 until the collapse of the Romanov regime in 1917, Orthodoxy was a core attribute of Russian politics, society, and culture. . . . Christianization was slow, but eventually almost all eastern Slavs were brought into the Orthodox fold. Even after extensive imperial expansion into non-Orthodox regions in the sixteenth to nineteenth centuries, a commanding majority of Russia’s population were Orthodox Christians.2

However, many Russian subjects belonged to other religious traditions. Werth defines the “tsar’s foreign faiths” as “the non-Orthodox confessions that occupied a prominent place in the religious landscape of the Russian empire” and says that “Russia’s religious diversity was undoubtedly one of its most striking features.”3 The diversification had started in earnest with the incorporation of Muslims after the 1552 conquest of Kazan and continued in the eighteenth century with the addition of Lutherans, Catholics, Jews, and Uniates as the result of other territorial gains. It persisted throughout the nineteenth century, so that by the time of the 1897 census, almost one third of the empire’s population belonged to these faiths. Moreover, they were largely concentrated in “geopolitically sensitive border regions,” and this “rendered their effective governance critical for state security and relations with neighboring states.”4

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From an early period, the existence of these other faiths was accompanied by a concern about the obligation to spread the gospel. In 1719, the political theorist Ivan Poshoshov criticized Orthodox Christians on this point, noting that compared to the Roman Catholic Church, the Orthodox Church had done a poor job of gaining converts: “These peoples have been the subjects of the Russian Empire for two hundred years, but they did not become Christians, and their souls perish because of our negligence.” The Catholics, he noted, were sending missionaries across the world, to China, India, and America. He bemoans the fact that despite the rightness of the Orthodox faith and the proximity of what he calls “our inovertsy” (literally, “those of another belief ”), the Orthodox have failed to convert them.5 Poshoshov was correct to say that conversion was not always the first priority for the Russian state. Russia’s strategy was not to uniformly suppress or persecute the other religions but to control them. Werth describes the “multiconfessional establishment” of religion in Russia that began with the creation of the Holy Synod in 1721 and continued through the nineteenth century.6 Orthodoxy had “an elevated place in the country’s hierarchy of religions,” and possessed “exclusive privileges and material support.” However, recognizing the preeminence of one faith did not preclude the establishment of others, and in due course most of Russia’s non-Orthodox religions became state institutions to one degree or another. By the mid-nineteenth century the majority of Russian subjects were under the authority of religious bodies that had been created or legitimized by state powers and were regulated by imperial statute.7

Religious leaders from a variety of traditions even received salaries from the state. Thus, these traditions were “handmaidens of the state” just as Orthodoxy was.8 The Russian leaders “devised a policy of toleration to make faiths such as Islam the basic building blocks of the empire. They sought to transform religious authority in each community into an instrument of imperial rule.”9 It is clear that the minority faiths did retain some degree of autonomy or at least coherence; they were not simply objects of persecution or harassment. As noted, the “foreign faiths” included Catholicism and numerous forms of Protestant Christianity, as well as Judaism. Here, however, I will treat the two faiths that are most relevant for understanding views of the Russo-Japanese War: Islam and Buddhism. Islam was a religion that Russians sometimes viewed as a threat to their sovereignty and associated with military power. In contrast, Buddhism, the religion of many Japanese, was in Russia a small and relatively

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powerless tradition. Both of these traditions generated enough theological concern to prompt the creation of divisions at the Kazan Theological Academy to target their adherents. Though the government addresses the issues of these faiths in a variety of ways (some of which will be discussed in what follows), this academy—and especially one of its leaders, Nikolai Il′minskii—was at the center of conversations about people of other faiths.

The Anti-Islam and Anti-Buddhist Divisions at Kazan Theological Academy In the latter half of the nineteenth century, in the city of Kazan, about 450 miles due east of Moscow, Nikolai Il′minskii and other scholars and students at the Kazan Theological Academy deliberated over how to relate to the Muslim Tatars. One of the debates related to what to do about their language and culture. Should people who served among them speak the same language as the missionized? How much should they learn about the religion and culture? Some church figures were uncomfortable with the idea that the missionaries would become too familiar with the religion of the missionized population— that they would come to see it as a system or be able to articulate some of its foundational principles. Originally a seminary, Kazan had first become a theological academy (dukhovnye akademii) in 1798, sharing that status with the empire’s three other theological academies, in Moscow, Kiev, and St. Petersburg. Each theological academy had responsibility for seminaries in a particular geographic area, with Kazan serving the eastern part of the empire. Though Kazan was put under the control of the Moscow academy only two decades later, this setup proved to be unworkable, in part because Moscow was “either unable or unwilling to address the ethnic-religious diversity of eastern Russia,” refusing to offer instruction in Tatar or other languages of the inhabitants.10 Once reestablished as a theological academy in 1842, Kazan developed a curriculum uniquely suited to its location. The Holy Synod called for the establishment of “special chairs [kafedry] for instruction in the languages used by the pagan [iazycheskie] peoples in the Siberian and other dioceses of the Kazan district.”11 In 1844, four languages were identified: Tatar (native to the region), which several seminaries were already teaching; Arabic (due to its importance in Islam); Mongolian (used in many Buddhist texts); and Kalmyk (the language of a small Buddhist group in the empire). Kazan Theological Academy students

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initially had to take these languages at Kazan University, but once the first academy class had graduated, in 1846, two graduates were hired: a Mongolist, Aleksei A.  Bobrovnikov, and a Turkologist-Arabist, Nikolai Il′minskii, who would become one of the academy’s most influential faculty members. Il′minskii learned Tatar and Arabic quickly, and after he began teaching at the academy, he moved to the Tatar quarter in Kazan, across town from the academy, and studied Arabic with medresse students. Il′minskii was also involved in efforts to translate theological works into Tatar.12 In 1854–55, perhaps partly as a response to Russia’s involvement in the Crimean War, the academy’s work was expanded to cover not only language but also other subjects related to mission. Four “missionary divisions” were established to specifically address and argue against the following four traditions: Islam, Buddhism, certain forms of animism, and Old Belief.13 In these divisions’ courses, the students would study the “foreign faiths” themselves. For example, in the anti-Islam division, students were to learn “the story of Muhammad in all its detail, the Muhammadan faith according to its [own] sources.”14 As an indication of the academic seriousness of this venture, the Synod sent Il′minskii to Egypt, Syria, and Turkey for two years in order to prepare the curriculum.15 Some members of the Orthodox leadership were uncomfortable with the new missionary divisions. Archbishop Afanasii (Sokolov), though claiming to be an advocate of the missions, could barely stand to see students’ descriptions of nonOrthodox beliefs on their exams and insisted their discussions of Islam be as short as possible, “without the detailed analysis that may offend the Orthodox ear.” In 1861, one of Il′minskii’s students was taking a public exam on the Quran, which was to conclude with a refutation of it; however, during the initial part of the exam, while the student was still describing Muslims’ views of Muhammad, “Bishop Afanasii lost his patience and ended the proceedings abruptly.”16 According to historian P. V. Znamenskii, the period from 1856 to 1858 was “the heyday of anti-Islamic studies.”17 However, at various points in the 1850s and 1860s, Il′minskii’s methods were criticized to the point that he was sometimes accused of propagating Islam, and he eventually left the theological academy for good in 1870. He engaged in similar work for the Ministry of Education, however, and from 1872 to 1891 was director of the Kazan Teachers’ Seminary, formerly the School for Baptized Tatars. Despite his troubled relationship with the Orthodox hierarchy at Kazan, Il′minskii developed a system for shoring up the convictions of Tatar converts to Christianity through a long-term strategy. (Il′minskii was principally concerned with retaining those who had already converted to Christianity, the so-called

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novokreshchenie, or “newly baptized,” rather than converting Muslims.) He believed polemical approaches were inefficient; combatting Islam required a “comprehensive pedagogy.”18 Il′minskii and his colleagues began in the 1850s to develop a system to provide this type of pedagogy. Over the next several decades, the system would receive support from the Holy Synod, the Ministry of Education, and some Orthodox clergy, and from the 1880s, “the ‘Il′minskii system’ (instruction in the native vernacular, translations in Cyrillic print, and teachers and Orthodox clergy from the same ethnic group) [was] a key component of imperial Russian policy on national minorities in a large portion of the empire’s cultural borderlands.”19 The system went hand in hand with Il′minskii’s view on the inorodtsy. In its most literal sense, the term refers to those “of other birth” and most often referred to ethnic minorities within Russia; but its definition is quite complex and has been subject to much debate.20 Il′minskii saw the inorodtsy as innocent and pure and somehow fundamentally more Russian than the bourgeois and aristocratic classes, whom he associated with the West. It was fine for them to preserve their distinctive culture rather than becoming Russian; if they were not Russian themselves, they were, in Il′minskii’s phrasing “our inorodtsy.”21 Geraci speculates that the missionaries who didn’t want the inorodtsy to give up their original ethnic identity “were like parents who wanted to keep their children from growing up,” and suggests this sort of language “saturated the rhetoric of the missionaries and pedagogues.”22 Perspectives on the inorodtsy as childlike were supplemented by the tendency of most Russians to see the eastern part of Russia as “simply backward and uncivilized compared with the west . . . and thus as posing no cultural or political threat.”23 The larger religions, especially Islam, were seen as a much greater concern than the perpetuation of smaller cultures, and Il′minskii argued that their continued existence was far less of a concern than the strengthening of the Muslim Tatars—who constituted a religious threat as well as, potentially, a military one.

Buddhism in Russia: Orthodox Missionary Work among the Buriats and Kalmyks In addition to its anti-Islam division, Kazan also had a smaller anti-Buddhist division. As is indicated in the 1897 census, Buddhism was much less of a force than Islam, as it had fewer than a half million adherents in the empire. In addition,

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Buddhist leaders were at times supported by the Russian government in order to control shamanistic populations. The government was also concerned with preventing control of Russian Buddhism by clergy in other nations.24 The Buddhists were concentrated in two regions, Buriatia and Kalmykia. The Buriats were located in southeastern Siberia, along the Mongolian border. They had been forced to pay tribute to the Russian government since the seventeenth century. The first Orthodox mission among the Buriats was in 1680, and a monastery was built in Selenginsk in 1682.25 Tibetan clergy (called lamas) and medicine men continued to migrate to the territory until 1727, though restrictions were placed on immigration in the 1730s.26 However, the lamas who were already there not only were allowed to lead the Buddhist population but could proselytize among—and even persecute—the shamanists in the region.27 Support for this policy of permitting the “Lamaists’” (Buddhists’) “mission to the shamanists” was continued through the early nineteenth century. In 1832, the Department of Spiritual Affairs of Foreign Confessions of the Ministry of the Interior was formed to provide oversight for non-Orthodox religious organizations. In 1849, the Lamaists had as many as 123,916 followers, with thirty-four monasteries and 4,546 clergy (291 on state salaries, others supported by local communities). An 1853 decree by the Minister of the Interior, “On the Lamaist Clergy in Eastern Siberia” said that “the Russian government should not seek to undermine the Lamaist clergy per se, but to cut their contacts with clergy in Mongolia and Tibet, which were under Chinese control.”28 Through the early 1860s, then, the government permitted and even supported Buddhist institutions in Buriatia, although the slow pace of Christianization was seen as unfortunate. An attempt to remedy the situation occurred in 1865, when a state-sponsored missionary society was founded with Empress Maria Alexandrovna as patron.29 The purpose of the society (later part of the Orthodox Missionary Society) was to “spread the Orthodox faith among the pagans and other non-Christians of the Russian empire and even outside of it” to places such as Central Asia and China.30 Among the Buriats, there was an increase in conversions to Christianity by the early 1870s. When Duke Aleksei Alexandrovich made a tour of Eastern Siberia in 1873, mass baptisms were staged, though those baptized apparently continued to worship their old gods and, after the 1905 religious toleration act, returned to Lamaism or shamanism.31 Another Buddhist group, the Kalmyks, was politically independent in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries and, as a result, missionaries did not focus on this region until the 1820s. In the 1840s, the Holy Synod wrote a

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memorandum stating that the Kalmyks were difficult to convert due in part to their “religious fanaticism.”32 Because the Kalmyks were not in a frontier region, there was less government concern about national security, though the government did provide financial incentives for conversion.33 A Planning Committee on the Spread of Christianity among the Lamaist Kalmyks, formed in 1866, suggested that converts needed continuous supervision. In both cases, then, efforts to convert Buddhists within Russia were ongoing and were seen as a means both of asserting political control and of expanding the reach of Christianity. The mixed results of these efforts were evident throughout the late nineteenth century.

The Opening of Japan and the Work of Christian Missions At the same time as Russian Orthodox leaders worked to strengthen Christianity among non-Russians within the empire, missionaries traveled beyond the empire to attempt to convert Buddhists and adherents of other Asian religions in the Far East. In 1861, the same year in which a bishop in Kazan refused to listen to Nikolai Il′minskii’s student describe the Islamic view of Muhammad’s life, a twenty-four-year-old Orthodox priest, Father Nikolai, arrived in Japan with the first wave of Christian missionaries from around the world and immersed himself in an extensive study of Japanese language, culture, and religion. Nikolai’s work in Japan was made possible by the United States’ efforts to open the country to the rest of the world after centuries of seclusion. This was an effort prompted in part by America’s own ideals of “manifest destiny.” In 1852, US President Millard Fillmore sent a letter to the Emperor of Japan through Commodore Matthew Perry that proposed to establish friendly relations between the two countries in order to facilitate trade. Anticipating Japanese concerns, Fillmore noted that “The Constitution and laws of the United States forbid all interference with the religious or political concerns of other nations.”34 Despite Fillmore’s statement, American diplomatic engagement with Japan was informed by “the conviction that the United States had a Godgiven duty to share its ideas and institutions.”35 The connection between the religious and political mission was evident almost immediately, if only in a minor way:  Congregationalist minister S.  Wells Williams, who had served as a missionary in China, was one of Perry’s interpreters.36 More significantly, Townsend Harris, the first United States Consul General to Japan, wrote in his journal that he would be “both proud and happy if [he could] be the humble means of once

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more opening Japan to the blessed rule of Christianity.”37 Harris, who arrived in Japan in 1856, read Episcopal services in his home in a voice he hoped would be loud enough to be overheard by those outside, saying this was “the first blow . . . struck against the cruel persecution of Christianity by the Japanese.”38 Japan’s history with Christianity had been a vexed one. The Jesuit missionary Frances Xavier brought Christianity to Japan in 1549, and by 1582, there were an estimated 150,000 Japanese converts due to the support of Japanese officials and warlords who saw its pragmatic value. However, concerns about foreign control led Toyotomi Hideyoshi to force out the missionaries in 1587. Persecution of Christians, including the crucifixion of twenty-six Christians in Nagasaki, followed, and Christianity was banned in 1614. After a 1637 peasant uprising was led by a Christian, the shogunate closed Japan:  trade with most Western countries was prohibited, and the death penalty was put in place for practicing Christianity.39 Japan remained largely closed to foreign influence throughout the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. The awareness of this history permeated Western efforts to advocate for religious freedom in Japan and to spread Christianity once the country had been reopened to the West. Japan, not without reason, associated Christianity with the West’s desire to control Japan and intervene in its affairs and was skeptical of Western claims to the contrary. Harris argued that freedom of conscience had led to “peace and happiness” in the Western countries and added that, while the sixteenth-century Portuguese Christians had come to Japan with “trade, conquest, and proselytization” in mind, “at the present day no nation desired to propagate its religious faith by force of arms.”40 After Perry’s arrival, Japan agreed to conclude a treaty with the United States, and later treaties were established with Holland, Russia, Britain, and France. These “treaties with five powers”—also called “unequal treaties”—opened five ports and two cities to foreigners and granted them certain rights.41 One right at issue was the right of foreigners to practice their religion freely. Harris failed to convince the Japanese to lift the ban on Christianity but did win the right for Americans to practice it in the treaty ports. Religion was also an issue in the treaty negotiations with the Russians, with Russia seeking to include a clause allowing for religious freedom. Japanese officials contended that since Christianity was legally prohibited in Japan, Russians should not propagate Christianity “even if approached by Japanese people.”42 The Russians agreed to respect Japanese law, and so no specific provision against the dissemination of Christianity was included; the treaty also permitted Russians the freedom to practice their own religion.43

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Despite the laws in place against Christianity, the first American Protestant missionaries arrived almost immediately after the treaty between the United States and Japan took effect, in late 1859. The missionaries were officially there to serve the American community, but they began forms of Christian outreach to the Japanese while working as teachers and medical professionals. Throughout the 1860s, they and missionaries from other countries walked a tenuous line. The Japanese themselves were prohibited from practicing Christianity, and in 1868, the Meiji government reasserted the ban by posting official notices about the prohibition and offering rewards to potential informants. In that same year, it also imprisoned and exiled a group of Catholics and executed some of their leaders. However, the foreign powers objected and insisted that the Japanese allow religious tolerance if they wanted the unequal treaties revised; in response, Japan began to release the imprisoned Christians in 1872 and remove the notice boards in 1873.44 Technically, missionaries were forbidden to travel inland, though enforcement was not strict.45

The Russian Orthodox Mission in Japan The prohibitions on Christianity also affected Russian efforts to spread Orthodox Christianity in Japan. These efforts were led by the young priest, born Ivan Dimitrevich Kasatkin, who had been tonsured as Father Nikolai in 1860.46 Nikolai, who graduated from Smolensk Seminary and then St. Petersburg Theological Academy, had been appointed to serve as priest at the newly opened Russian consulate in the Japanese port city of Hakodate.47 He left Russia in the summer of 1860 and traveled through Siberia but was forced to stop for the winter in Nikolayevsk-na-Amurye. There he met, apparently on a regular basis, with Archbishop Innokenti (Veniaminov), an Orthodox missionary with experience in Alaska, who also happened to be stranded there for the winter.48 Nikolai arrived in Japan on July 2, 1861.49 The Russian consulate there, headed by I. A. Goshkevich, had built a church to serve its employees and the sailors of the Russian fleet.50 Officially it was named the Cathedral of the Resurrection, but the residents of the city, unfamiliar with the sound of its bells, named it “the cathedral of Bombom (Gangandera).” The cathedral’s interior used elements from both Russian and Japanese traditions: it displayed a Byzantine-style iconostasis, but straw tatami mats covered the floor as in a Buddhist temple.51 In

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fact, the fifteen Russians who arrived in 1858 had used two Buddhist temples as their temporary quarters.52 Both his seminary education and his meetings with Veniaminov apparently played a part in inspiring Nikolai to utilize his position to bring Christianity to the Japanese, and his training in Japanese religion and culture came in part from Japanese Buddhists. While he was at Smolensk Seminary, Nikolai’s instructor Ivan Solov’ev—whose former classmate served at the Russian Orthodox Mission in Peking—had discussed Orthodox evangelism in Asia.53 Veniaminov, on a visit to Hakodate in 1861, had told Nikolai to stop reading the European books in the consulate’s library and instead to focus on familiarizing himself with Japanese language and culture.54 Nikolai set out both to learn Japanese and to study the country’s classical literature. The physician Kensai Kimura, an expert on the Chinese and Japanese classics, was Nikolai’s tutor in the early 1860s. Kimura’s son stated that his father had tutored Nikolai on the Chinese classics and said his mother remembered that Nikolai “would sometimes argue with my father during the lessons” but that his father “used to praise and respect Nikolai.”55 While in Hakodate, Nikolai became friends with Buddhist priest Joukyou Horikawa, pastor of the Gangjou-ji Buddhist temple.56 After he moved to Tokyo in the early 1870s, he was friendly with another Buddhist, a temple abbot, and reportedly “discussed the comparative doctrines of Christianity and Buddhism with learned priests and monks.”57 (Nikolai also spoke English and conversed with Anglican-Episcopal clergy from the US and Britain.58) Despite these friendly relationships with some Japanese citizens, other Japanese, including some members of the samurai class, were concerned about Russia’s Christianity and the influence of the West. Kazuma Yamamoto (Takuma Sawabe) was said to have accosted Nikolai around 1867 and threatened to kill him.59 Later he converted to Christianity and was eventually ordained as a priest, known as Pavel Sawabe. In the late 1860s, as Nikolai was becoming familiar with Japanese language, history, and culture, Russia was moving toward the institutionalization of missionary efforts. The Japanese mission received a charter from the Holy Synod in April 1870, at the same time Nikolai became an Archimandrite.60 In 1869, Nikolai published a number of articles on Japanese history and culture and began to analyze the prospects for Christianity in Japan.61 From his earliest years in Japan, Nikolai compared Japan to Russia, noting that both states were “young, full of fresh strength and hope,” and that given their proximity they should develop a cooperative relationship.62

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Nikolai on the Future of Christianity in Japan One of the fullest portraits of Japan that Nikolai provides during these years appears in his report to the head of the Asiatic Department of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, P.  N. Stremoukhov in 1869.63 The report touches on several issues related to Nikolai’s views of war, religion, and the state. In the report, Nikolai used his knowledge of Japanese history to provide an assessment of what kind of people the Japanese were and, consequently, how they would respond to Christian missionary efforts. Nikolai begins his report to the director by emphasizing Japan’s receptivity to Christianity. Based on his study of Japanese history, religion, and “the spirit of the Japanese people,” he says, “[t]he more I become acquainted with the country, the more I am convinced that the time is near when the word of the Gospels will loudly ring out . . . from end to end of the empire” (99). He rejects the stereotypes of the East—that its government is despotic, that the people are passive, stupefied, mindless slaves—and describes, on the one hand, the recent changes in government, and, on the other, the intelligence and liveliness of the people. He is impressed that the Japanese people are readers—books such as historical novels are available on the streets—and, after their long isolation, they seek out knowledge of the rest of the world. He writes, “How clearly they see their backwardness, and how sincerely and energetically they try to improve the situation! How everyone wants to see, to know, to study what is European!” (05). The report gives an overview of the major Japanese religions, noting that the Japanese “justly reject atheism or indifference to matters of faith” (106). Nikolai suggests that atheism in Japan is the result of the insufficiency of the religions found there and goes on to discuss Shinto, Buddhism, and Confucianism (which may be categorized either as a school of philosophy or as a religion). He notes that Shinto cosmology supports the idea of the Mikado as a god and that Shintoists are also obliged to revere their ancestors like gods.64 This religion, Nikolai says, is linked to the Japanese government; in particular, Shinto is concerned with “the establishment of a national soul, for the development of civil good will and the assurance of the power of Japan throughout the centuries” (117–18). Nikolai sees this as a religion for the simple people. When Buddhism—which he calls “the best of the iazychnikh [heathen or non-Christian] religions”—arrived in Japan and was able to adapt to Japanese customs, it was well received. Buddhism, he notes, arose in India as a rejection of the brahmin caste and, as a result, the Buddha is a “prophet of spiritual equality

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and love in the heathen world” (118). He describes Buddhism’s moral guidelines and its principles of rebirth and enlightenment. However, he does not hesitate to criticize certain aspects of Buddhism, in one case comparing Buddhists to Jesuits because they believe it is appropriate to deceive people in order to attract them to one’s religion. Nikolai also discusses with approval the teachings of Confucius: “reading it, unwittingly, you . . . are surprised at the depth of the wisdom” (128). Confucius’s teachings are not “religious,” yet, Nikolai says, “[h]e simply touched the depth of the soul of the poor conditions of his fatherland” and tried to remind those who lived there of a time when China was healthy (128). Calling him a “great man,” Nikolai says that Confucius depicted the true spiritual ideals of China, but says “he did not give his fatherland a system of thought . . . in contrast, he held always to the most firm, practical soil” (128). Further describing the practicality of this philosophy, Nikolai writes, “Does Confucius give an answer to the various theoretical questions that exist in the human heart, like the understanding of morality? Does he study the origins of the world and humanity? . . . Not at all” (130). He quotes Confucius as saying, “We do not know even about earthly things; what is the use of talking about the heavens?” (130). He credits Confucius with raising the Japanese above Shinto and Buddhism and with developing a “critical spirit” in them, but he notes that “having destroyed the former religious beliefs/ traditions, Confucius at that time did not give them anything in its place” (131). This, in Nikolai’s thinking, makes the followers of Confucius more receptive to European thought. After his overview of Japanese religion, Nikolai turns to a discussion of the Japanese inclination to accept Christianity. In the course of this discussion, he highlights the problems associated with Roman Catholic efforts in Japan. In his overview of Japan’s “Christian century,” he describes the Catholic approach to conversion, which involved using illusions to convince people that miracles had occurred—a practice that attracted the uneducated but led to the skepticism of the educated (133). Nikolai is aware not only of the misdeeds of Catholics in Japan—their use of fake “miracles” as well as their political intrigues—but also of the Spanish Catholic state’s destructive activities in Mexico, Peru, and elsewhere among the Indians, where, he says, they try to turn the conquered into “unhappy slaves” (134). The Spaniards there were supposed to be “the missionaries of the religion of love and peace,” but instead, they were warriors who acted “in the name of the Christ.” In Japan, the Catholics became involved in politics, and this, Nikolai argues, is what led to the expulsion of Christianity from Japan. Consequently, Christianity came

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to be understood as something that “incited the people against the government” (138). The Japanese since that time had been under the impression that “Catholicism of the sixteenth century” was equivalent to Christianity (138). As a result, as foreigners arrived in the 1850s, Japan was concerned about hostility from them. Now, Nikolai’s report says, these concerns are diminishing. He is optimistic not only about the potential receptivity of the Japanese people to Christianity but also about the government’s evolving attitude toward it. The Japanese government at this time, he says, forbids the practice of Christianity but overlooks actual Christian activity; Japanese Christians in Yokohama were able to pray openly alongside foreign Christians at Easter that year. It is already moving from suspecting foreigners to respecting them, and beginning to recognize that Christianity is neither witchcraft nor an instrument for foreign countries to undermine the Japanese government, but rather “a pure spiritual doctrine, the foundation of governmental flourishing, in a word, the only true religion on earth” (147). He states, “Where is the previous hatred for Christians . . . as toward enemies or traitors to the fatherland? There is almost none of it” (142). As the Japanese study European history, law, and government more deeply, he argues, they will encounter Christianity everywhere (148). In an anecdote that speaks both to the resilience of the Christian message and to its relevance for the Japanese military, Nikolai describes coming back into contact with a young man who had studied with him in the past. Nikolai had been concerned that the man, Kangeta, would have forgotten his lessons, but this fear turned out to be unjustified. When he met Kangeta in Hakodate, the man was a field adjutant, and, Nikolai writes, his first words were, “ ‘Up to twenty-five of our officers wish to study the faith; I passed on to them all that I could’ ” (154). The young Japanese, amid the demands of military life, had remembered several lessons about Christianity and told them to his fellow soldiers, generating interest in the faith. Orthodoxy’s early ties to the military are noteworthy, though Nikolai does not highlight them in the report. In concluding his essay, Nikolai stresses the need for missionaries. The missionaries, he says, must be educated people; otherwise the Japanese will not respect them. Nikolai here highlights what Orthodoxy’s task in Japan must be. It must distinguish itself from Roman Catholicism by avoiding conversion efforts that involve deception and by rejecting the earlier Roman Catholic image of a martial religion that will fight the Japanese militarily or inspire its people to turn against their government. Additionally, with regard to Japanese religions, it must recognize the virtues of Buddhism and the wisdom of Confucianism; it should

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also take advantage of Confucianism’s critical spirit but should provide a “system of thought” that it lacks.

Christianity in Meiji-Era Japan Nikolai’s predictions regarding the Japanese government’s acceptance of Christianity proved to be true. The 1870s saw increased toleration, and church rolls reflected this. According to reports from 1873, once “active evangelism could legally commence,” there were more than 4,000 Orthodox in Japan.65 The growth was reflected in other religious organizations as well: “only 16 Japanese belonged to Protestant churches in 1872, [but] rosters listed 5,634 by 1882.”66 In the early 1870s, due to the Japanese government’s vacillations with regard to Christianity, the Orthodox church performed baptisms in secret, but by 1874, Nikolai had converted his Russian language school into the Men’s Seminary and begun a catechetical institute, and, in 1875, he ordained Pavel Sawabe as priest and Ioann Sakai as deacon. As the mission had begun to settle into its work, a booklet, About the propagation of the Orthodox Christian faith by Russian evangelists in Japan, was published in Moscow in 1874, describing the mission’s plans and making an appeal for funding.67 Nikolai returned to Russia in 1879, traveling via North America, and spent the end of 1879 and early 1880 in Moscow and St. Petersburg.68 During this visit, he was ordained with the title Bishop of Tokyo and All Japan and would also be known as Bishop of Reval (Tallinn, Estonia); he would be addressed with the title of Vladyka.69 His promotion to bishop enabled him to conduct ordinations, and he ordained forty-four Japanese priests between 1881 and 1912.70 During his time in Russia, he met such leading intellectuals as Vladimir Solov’ev and Fyodor Dostoevsky. Solov’ev, who was twenty-seven at the time, expressed the desire to work in Japan as a missionary, but Nikolai advised him to continue his work as a “lay religious writer.”71 Nikolai’s attitude toward the diversity of nations and peoples is reflected in the remarks he makes after this trip around the world in 1879–1880, in what was to be his last trip back to Russia. Upon returning to Japan, he delivers an address that discusses the concrete differences between peoples but also their common moral core, stating, I have traveled around the world twice and have seen various countries. There are white-skinned and black-skinned people, developed people and not so

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Russian Orthodoxy and the Russo-Japanese War developed people, the clothed and the almost bare. God created different climates, different clothing, different foods and customs. It is natural that the countries and governments are different. It is clear that we should not try to make them the same, and it should remain the way it is till the end of the world. That is God’s will. Although their outward appearances are different, all men are one; where they live does not matter. All men are the same in that they all possess a conscience, know what is good and what is bad, and they all have the potential for faith. Is this not a sign that all men are the children of God?72

He continues by noting the “Orthodox duty” to “spread Orthodoxy throughout Japan and eventually the entire world.”73 This sense of a common morality alongside the positive (though tempered) evaluations of diverse religious expressions in Japan is evident in Nikolai’s writings throughout the Meiji era. Though Nikolai rejected the “absurdity” of creating a “hybrid” of Christianity and Buddhism, he acknowledged that the two had similar moral teachings. In a conversation with the wife of an admiral, he states, “There is indeed some resemblance to our religion in Buddhism’s moral teaching; and what pagan religion does not have it? The moral teaching of pagans is drawn from the conscience, which they have not lost.’ ”74 This sense of a common moral ground contributes to Nikolai’s belief that the Japanese have the capacity to accept Christianity, a belief that Kennosuke Nakamura notes is also evident throughout his diaries. Nakamura writes, “St. Nikolai’s diaries reveal that he did not despise Japanese pagan folk beliefs, but regarded them as evidence of a fertile natural ‘spiritual soil’ which he could cultivate. He was convinced that non-Christian Japanese people—although ‘heathens’—experienced deep religious feelings, and that Christianity could become deeply rooted in them.”75 Nakamura describes Nikolai’s account of his visit to a Buddhist temple in Kurume, on Kyushu, during the feast celebrating the Buddha’s birthday: “The local faithful were pouring sweet green tea on a little statue of the baby Sakyamuni, and at the same time using the tea to clean their faces and eyes. It is similar to the use of holy water in Russia. The human desire for sanctification is strong indeed.”76 Like Russians, Nikolai noted, Japanese have feast days, visit their ancestors’ graves, and engage in other religious activities. Nakamura states, “On many occasions during his life in Japan, Vladyka walked in proximity to Buddhist temples, where he often encountered throngs of worshippers and pilgrims. He was always sympathetic toward people who were seeking spiritual fulfillment.”77 By 1884, Japan had become so tolerant of Christianity that Fukuzawa Yukichi, a well-known liberal educator, suggested that Japan adopt it as its national

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religion.78 Although there seem to have been no serious efforts to make this change, the matter was discussed by Nikolai and Admiral Stefan Makarov, his friend and a supporter of the Orthodox Mission in Japan. In his article, “Orthodoxy in Japan” (1889), Makarov discusses his experiences visiting an Orthodox Church in Japan and considers the prospects of Orthodoxy there. He notes that in the Japanese Orthodox churches, the believers pray for the long life and prosperity of the emperor and that the church leaders instruct their congregations to submit to the authorities, “because there is no authority except from God.”79 (He here quotes Romans 13 without citing it.) He also reflects upon which faith is best for the state interests of Japan. Makarov suggests that Catholicism cannot be accepted (in part due to the fact that Latin is “entirely foreign”). The Protestants have a greater chance of success, but, he says, “to accept Protestantism would mean to always reject the help that religion can show to the state.”80 Though he notes that Orthodoxy would strengthen Japan, he says that Russia does not wish to interfere in Japan’s internal affairs and, in fact, from a political perspective, it does not matter to Russians whether Japan accepts Orthodoxy or not: “For us it would be pleasant . . . to have a neighbor of the same faith, but it is not our affair to draw her into this.”81 Nikolai dismisses the possibility that Japan might become a Christian nation and choose the Catholic faith, though he says he expects to see the triumph of Christianity in the long run, under God’s direction.82 The positive developments in the 1870s and 1880s paved the way for full religious toleration in 1890, with the enactment of the Meiji Constitution. Article XXVIII of the Meiji Constitution states, “Japanese subjects shall, within limits not prejudicial to peace and order, and not antagonistic to their duties as subjects, enjoy freedom of religious belief.”83 It did not require the separation of church and state. However, the Japanese government claimed that Shinto was not a religion but rather “a public expression of Japanese ethnic identity and loyalty to the throne that all imperial subjects would observe, regardless of their private religious beliefs.”84 Scholars, in contrast, clearly identified Shinto—which involved worship of various gods—as a religion:  “in their view, the fiction of Shinto’s non-religious nature had been formulated by bureaucrats” to avoid controversy over the rites related to the emperor.85 Nikolai’s longstanding efforts to build an Orthodox cathedral in Tokyo culminated at almost the same time as the constitutional amendment, and the Holy Resurrection Cathedral was dedicated in 1891. Thus while Christianity would not become the official religion of Japan, its secure standing was assured in law and symbolized by the Cathedral, with its distinctive Orthodox architecture.

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Figure 1 Pavel Nakai and Nikolai of Japan, 1890. For many years, Nakai worked daily with Nikolai on the translation of Russian Orthodox liturgical materials into Japanese; this work together continued throughout the Russo-Japanese War. (Wikimedia commons.)

Christianity during the Sino-Japanese War (1894–1895) Although the Constitution permitted Japanese subjects to practice Christianity, the question of Christians’ loyalty to the state continued, and during the SinoJapanese War of 1894–1895, Christians had to make special efforts to demonstrate their loyalty to Japan.86 As the Constitution indicates, the Japanese government’s toleration of religion was contingent on the adherent’s loyalty to the state. Russian Orthodoxy, like other religions, was called upon to support

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the emperor and government—as it was within Russia. This approach toward government was seen in other religious traditions as well. Just as the Church of England’s Book of Common Prayer included a prayer for the English rulers, the prayer book of the Japanese Anglican/Episcopal Church, the Nippon Seikokai, “contained a prayer for the ruler and the ruled that asked for the emperor and government officials to be heeded.”87 In his diary entry from June 22, 1895, Nikolai reports a conversation (passed along to him by the catechist Pavel Sato) between a Japanese Christian soldier and a non-Christian doctor. The soldier, who had just returned from the field, was telling stories to a group of people, and a doctor suggested that he should cast off his “Russian” faith. To this the soldier answered that the faith he followed was not “Russian”: “My faith began not in Russia, but in Judaea, and it is not from people, but from God; therefore whatever Russia does, I do not discard my faith and do not have reason to cast it off.” If this is the way you think about things, the soldier said, you should stop being a doctor, because the profession originates in Germany; you should stop using writing, because China is our enemy.88 Throughout the late nineteenth century, then, Russian Orthodoxy, along with Catholicism and Protestantism, continued to gain converts in Japan. However, despite Christianity’s successes, only a small portion of the population converted. By 1900, the total number of Christians was approximately 430,000 in a population of 44.8 million; Buddhism, with 35.7 million followers, outnumbered Christianity by a factor of 80 to 1.89 There were also 6.7 million Shintoists. Among the 430,000 Christians were 96,000 Protestants, 55,000 Catholics, and 26,000 Orthodox. There were 376 ordained Japanese Orthodox priests by 1900.90 Despite their small numbers, the earliest Japanese Christians were of a high social status; 30 percent were from the samurai class.91 In addition, the successes were great enough that over the course of the late nineteenth century, Japan itself began to send missionaries abroad, a move that was supported by Westerners who saw in Japan the capacity to bring “civilization” to Asia.

Conclusion As the leader of the Russian Orthodox Mission, Nikolai had an evolving view of Buddhism and Christianity in Japan. Though Nikolai was critical of Buddhism and of Japanese resistance to Christianity, he did not suggest that this resistance should be overcome by war. Furthermore, the need for Christians to be loyal to the Japanese state—and for the church as an

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institution to support their loyalty—was evident from the very beginning of Nikolai’s time there. He did not appear to see this as problematic or even as any kind of a compromise. Through his own efforts to immerse himself in Japanese language and culture, to find and train Japanese clergy, to translate sacred texts into Japanese with the aid of Confucian scholar Pavel Nakai, Nikolai built a church from the ground up. Certainly he had the financial and moral support of Admiral Makarov and other Russians, but much of the work was done by the Japanese themselves. The success was gradual, but over the four decades preceding the war, Nikolai and the Orthodox Church gained a foothold in Japan. In the late nineteenth century, then, Russian notions of mission as an interaction with the generally peaceful and sometimes receptive inorodtsy at home laid the groundwork for establishing the Russian Orthodox Mission in Japan and set the precedent for a peaceful conversion of that Asian country. War did not seem to be a strategy that was considered in order to follow Christ’s command to “make disciples of the nations.” Overcoming resistance to the spread of the gospel through persuasion, translation, and hard work seemed to be the only option, at least in Nikolai’s mind.

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The Christ-Loving Military: War in the Russian Orthodox Tradition

Preserve beneath the shelter of thy loving kindness from every calamity our most God-fearing Ruler. Guard him in his ways by the holy Angels, and let no enemy by any means prevail against him, nor any son of iniquity aim to offend him . . . The Devout Governing Councils, and Commanders of the Army, Chiefs of Cities, and the Christ-loving Army and the Navy . . .may the Lord God remember in his kingdom always, now, and ever, and unto ages of ages. —The Divine Liturgy of the Russian Orthodox Church1

Service to the Heavenly Fatherland In the late nineteenth century, Russians affirmed Orthodoxy’s link to the imperial government by celebrating the 900th anniversary of Vladimir’s baptism in 1888 and the lavish coronation of Nicholas II in 1896. In the same period, the Orthodox Mission deepened its roots in Japan, with the completion of the Holy Resurrection Cathedral in 1891 after an intense period of fundraising and construction. As part of these efforts, Nikolai had called upon his old friend Admiral Stepan Makarov to use his standing as a war hero when soliciting funds. In 1889, noting that Makarov had provided excellent service to “the earthly kingdom,” he urged him to expand his allegiance: “you have shown that you can serve the earthly fatherland,” Nikolai writes, “so serve with similar zeal the heavenly fatherland.”2 Other contributors to the cathedral included the admiral and diplomat Evfimii Putyatin. During a childhood illness, Putyatin reportedly promised to enter a monastery if he regained his health. Upon his recovery, however, his father, who served in the Russian fleet, said to him, “The [war]ship:  this is a manly

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monastery”—which prompted Evfimii’s later enlistment in the navy.3 He was the first to construct a mobile church for the Russian fleet and collected more than 23,000 rubles for the Russian mission in Japan.4 During the Russo-Japanese War, some political and religious leaders intensified this rhetoric, emphasizing the links between the church and the military. Drawing on liturgical references to the “Christ-loving military”—more dramatically translated, a “Christ-loving cadre of warriors” or “a Christ-loving host”—they cast Russian soldiers as heroes for Christ as they worked to protect Orthodoxy and expand its reign into pagan lands.5 Through the use of voinstvo, a term with biblical resonance—a “host” that was like the “heavenly host” and the warriors of biblical times—Russian Orthodox leaders suggested that force might be used in order to facilitate the spread of Christianity. In doing so, they drew on a centuries-old Russian Orthodox tradition that held up the soldier-martyrs of the ancient world, canonized princes who went to war, and honored warriors in religious services—even, in one case, dedicating an entire liturgy to a military victory. This tradition shares some commonalities with the Christian just war traditions found in Europe and the Americas but with a distinctive emphasis on treating soldiering as a Christian calling—perhaps the most Christian of callings—at all levels, from soldier to commander to tsar. In this chapter, then, I examine the analysis of war within Russian Orthodoxy as it appears in a variety of sources in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. These conversations tend to focus on the notion of the “Christ-loving soldier” or “warrior” (voin) and “the Christ-loving military” (voinstvo) rather than sketching out a more general just war theory, but the arguments overlap to a certain extent with those found in the Western traditions of both just war and holy war. After providing an overview of earlier Russian Orthodox views of war, I will examine the use of this concept in a 1900 work by theologian Vladimir Solov’ev, as well as in works of Russian religious publications directed toward missionaries and military chaplains. This focus on the virtue of the warrior and his love for Christ, as well as the concept of a military force united by its religious affiliation, will feature heavily in discussions of the Russo-Japanese War.

Russian Orthodoxy and the Absence of a Just War Tradition Despite Russian Orthodoxy’s consistent support of the state and the military, there is no developed Christian just war tradition in Russia. Historian Paul

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Robinson summarizes the situation as follows:  “Certainly just war theory as understood in the West contains no specifically Russian input, while in Russia philosophers and theologians have never developed a systematic just war tradition of their own.”6 Only between 1860 and 1940 does systematic thinking about war appear within a religious context, and Robinson identifies only three Russian thinkers from this period who addressed the issue: Leo Tolstoy, Vladimir Solov’ev, and Ivan Il′in, an émigré who began writing on it in 1914. He states that the major works of these authors “constitute practically the entire canon of written Russian ideas on the justification or non-justification of violence outside of the Soviet era.”7 If we look at the just war tradition as it is often construed today, this is correct; there do not appear to be any major works or what might legitimately be called a canon of just war writings. Nevertheless, in late-nineteenth- and early-twentieth-century Russia, there are many Orthodox Christians who discuss the relationship between Christianity and war, using religion to justify participation in war and to set rules for the Christian’s participation in war. Furthermore, these discussions draw on earlier Russian Orthodox doctrines and practices regarding the military and war. So there are, in fact, Orthodox conversations about war, though whether they constitute a tradition or canon is subject to debate.

Distinctive Features of the Justifiable War Tradition in Orthodoxy: Saints and Liturgy Alexander F. C. Webster, an American theologian who is an archpriest in the Russian Orthodox Church Outside of Russia, suggests that despite the lack of systematic treatments of “just war,” the “justifiable war” tradition “enjoys an unbroken continuity from its origins in Old Testament Israel—precursor of the Church—through two millennia of Orthodox moral reflection and praxis as an aretaic (or virtue) tradition.”8 While he acknowledges that there has been a pacifist movement within Orthodoxy in recent years, he notes that several elements of Orthodox thought support the justifiable war tradition. The scriptural arguments he provides are similar to those found in the Western tradition, as described in Chapter  1; the church fathers’ support for war is discussed both in Chapter 1 and in the analysis of the Eusebian influence on Orthodox political theology in Chapter 2. This chapter focuses on Russian Orthodoxy’s more distinctive elements that pertain to war and to soldiering:  the treatment of

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warrior-saints in iconography and the inclusion of soldiers and political and military leaders in Russian Orthodox liturgy. The Orthodox tradition as a whole venerates saints, who are held up as examples for the faithful. There are a number of categories of military saints, including soldiers in the army of ancient Rome who were forced to choose between idolatry and execution, religious leaders who bless or exhort military commanders, and warrior princes.9 Of the many saints in these categories, St. George and St. Sergius are among the most important for Russian Orthodox Christians. St. George (ca. 270–303) was a Christian warrior reported to have served with honor in the Roman army. According to legend, the Emperor Diocletion promoted him to the rank of general in the late third century, but George was later killed for refusing to sacrifice to the Roman gods.10 Future generations of soldiers in many countries would call upon him as an intercessor and protector, with the most famous story originating in the early medieval period. In that story, pagans in Libya worshipped a dragon and sacrificed their children to him. St. George captures the dragon, impaling it while shouting “In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit”; he then “kills it in front of the king and his court, on the condition the entire pagan city convert to the true faith.”11 George also appeared in other, more mundane stories. One describes George protecting a soldier, named for him, fighting in the Byzantine army in 913.12 The prayer by the soldier’s father is as follows: To thee, Great Martyr Saint George, we entrust our only son, whom we called by thy name out of love for thee! Be to him a guide on the way, a guardian in battle, and return him to us safe and sound, so that, having been blessed by thee according to our faith, we may by many good works ever glorify thy solicitude and care for us.13

George, then, is viewed as a virtuous soldier and protector. Other soldier-martyrs also appear in iconography, sometimes in more violent poses; St. Demetrios of Thessalonike, for example, “is often depicted in icons astride a horse while lancing an enemy soldier lying prostrate near his horse.”14 Support for the military is found not only in the soldier-saints but also religious leaders who serve as advisors to the governments, such as the monk and abbot Sergius of Radonezh (ca. 1314–1392). After the death of their parents, Sergius and his brother built a chapel dedicated to the Holy Trinity in Radonezh. Sergius took monastic vows at the age of twenty-three and led a

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community in what was initially an isolated and poor area. In later years, he served as a diplomatic emissary representing the prince of Moscow. In 1380, according to his biographer, he responded to a request for a blessing from Prince Dmitri, who was facing an invasion by Muslim Tatars, by saying, “Go forth against the heathens; and upheld by the strong arm of God, conquer . . . Be in no doubt, lord; go forward with faith and confront the enemy’s ferocity; and fear not, for God will be on your side.”15 A record of Sergius’s actions is preserved in “The Vigil Service to St. Sergius of Radonezh,” which states, “by thy prayer thou didst arm the Prince such that he conquered the barbarians, those who boasted that they would destroy thy Fatherland.”16 After his death in 1392, a stone church was built to house his relics, and in future centuries, Russia’s princes and military leaders would join hundreds of thousands of others in making pilgrimages to the Holy Trinity–Saint Sergius Lavra, or monastery, in order to pray for victory.17

The Military and the State in the Orthodox Liturgical Tradition While the saints of the past are held up as examples for the Orthodox warriors, the practice of honoring the military within the liturgy allows common soldiers to gain a sense of their own status within the Christian tradition. Orthodox services such as the Divine Liturgy and the All-Night Vigil make references to the Christ-loving military as well as to Orthodox rulers. The Great Litany of the AllNight Vigil service—in the form that existed by the late nineteenth century and is still used today—calls for the priest to pray for “the peace of the whole world” and “for the welfare of God’s holy Churches,” and then goes on to pray for specific church leaders. It continues with a prayer for the “Ruler of the Land” and all the authorities, asking God to “aid them and subdue under their feet every foe and adversary.”18 Later in the service, the prayer expands to cover the ruler’s “might, victory, maintenance, peace, health, [and] salvation,” and again asks that “the Lord our God will abundantly aid and prosper him in all things, and subdue under his feet every foe and adversary.” After prayers for the religious leaders and all “brethren in Christ,” the liturgy continues, “Furthermore we pray for all his Christ-loving Army and Navy.”19 The Divine Liturgy also makes reference to the “Christ-loving Military,” as noted in the passage cited at the start of this chapter, and emphasizes the responsibilities of rulers to defend Orthodoxy and their Orthodox subjects.

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A particularly powerful statement in this regard appears in the Divine Liturgy of St. Basil, in which the priest states: Have in remembrance, O Lord, our most God-fearing and Christ-loving Ruler . . . to whom thou hast given the right to reign in the earth. Crown him with the armour of truth, with the panoply of contentment. Overshadow his hand in the day of battle. Strengthen his arm, exalt his right hand; make mighty his kingdom; subdue under him barbarous nations which seek wars; grant unto him peace profound and inviolate; inspire his heart with good deeds toward the Church, and toward all thy people; that through his serenity we may lead a quiet and tranquil life, in all godliness and soberness.20

It continues, “Have in remembrance, O Lord, all Rulers and Authorities, as also our brethren who are in their Council; and all their Army and Navy. In their goodness, preserve thou the good, and through thine own goodness make thou the evil good.”21 This support for the ruler and the Christ-loving military is also evident in special liturgies and prayers. In the Book of Needs, which contains special prayers and rites for Orthodox clergy dealing with a variety of situations, there is a “Molieben [prayer] to the Lord God Sung in Time of War Against Adversaries Fighting Against Us.”22 In this prayer, Mary as “All-hymned Theotokos” is asked to “make firm the habitation of the Orthodox” and grant their leaders “victory from Heaven.” After references to military victories of the Old Testament, God is asked to “let the nations who have fallen against Thine inheritance and defiled Thy Holy Church . . .be assailed by Thy tempests.” The priest prays, Rise up to our help and set to naught the evil counsels purposed against us by the evil ones. Judge them that affront us and defeat them that war against us, and turn their impious boldness into fear and flight . . . But grant unto our godfearing armies that hope in Thee great boldness and courage to drive onward and overtake them, and to defeat them in Thy Name.23

Special blessings for weapons have also been used in some circumstances, up to the present day.24 Orthodox warriors are also honored in a special memorial service (panikhida), the “Office for Orthodox Warriors, who have died in battle for the Faith and the Fatherland” each year on August 29. This is the feast of the beheading of St. John the Baptizer, “as established in 1769 at the time of Russia’s war with the Turks and the Poles.”25 In the service, the congregation prays for “the repose, tranquility and blessed memory of the ever-memorable servants of God, the Orthodox Warriors who have valiantly contended: and for all who have laid down their life in battle

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for the Faith and the Fatherland.”26 This phrase “those who have laid down their life in battle for the Faith and the Fatherland” is repeated several times.27 Canticle V asks for the Lord’s bounty upon those who “have suffered for thy Holy Church and the Fatherland.”28 There is no indication that the soldiers are doing anything sinful; instead, they are praised for their service.29 In addition to the regular incorporation of the military into these liturgies, in at least one case, the Russian Orthodox church also developed a liturgy related to a specific battle: Peter I commissioned a service in honor of the 1709 victory at the Battle of Poltava.30 In this “first significant foray of a ruler into the sphere of liturgy,” the tsar “signaled that the Poltava victory was not something ephemeral and ultimately this-worldly but an event in cosmic and permanent liturgical time.”31 Prior to this time, petitions were added “to litanies and post-liturgy moleben services” in wartime, and traitors were anathemized (“because they rose up in rebellion against the Orthodox ruler and because of their destruction of icons and churches”).32 The Poltava service contains allusions to both scripture and Orthodox hymns. Russia is depicted as the new Israel, and its deliverance is attributed to its obedience to God’s commands and Sweden’s defeat to its impiety.33 The service uses texts from Exodus and Leviticus (including “the Lord has ransomed thee from the hand of thine enemies . . . I will raise her that was oppressed, and receive her that was rejected”) and draws a parallel between Peter I and both the Apostle Peter and Jesus Christ; it also links Charles XII of Sweden to Satan and the Antichrist.34 Liturgy, then, provides a framework for understanding the church’s relationship to the state and military and also allows ordinary Orthodox Christians to experience that relationship as they participate in worship services.

Three Conversations on War: Solov’ev The turn of the twentieth century also saw one of the most important treatments of the relationship between Orthodoxy and war. One of the most influential figures in early-twentieth-century Russian Orthodox theology is Vladimir Solov’ev, whose work is wide ranging and complex.35 Solov’ev’s most direct treatment of Christianity and war appears in the work Three Conversations on War, Progress, and the End of History. Here the analysis will be limited to two sections of this particular work: one that focuses specifically on the Christ-loving warrior and the other that provides context for understanding views on the Russo-Japanese War.36

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Vladimir Solov’ev’s Three Conversations identifies several Christian positions on war. In a sense, his work provides a preview of the perspectives found in the Russo-Japanese War—perhaps because Solov’ev influenced these views or perhaps because he was attuned to the kind of thinking that was prevalent among his contemporaries. Three Conversations, published in 1900, is written in the format of a conversation among five people: the General, the Politician, the Prince (a Tolstoyan pacifist), a Lady (the hostess), and a man called Mr. Z. One of Mr. Z’s central points is that there is such a thing as a good war and such a thing as a bad peace, but it is clear that Solov’ev had a more complex view of war than this. Neither the story nor the book as a whole appears to have a straightforward meaning beyond the rejection of a naive pacifism; the genre of the conversation itself militates against a simple moral, and in fact it is one of the most genuinely multivocal works on war that has come out of any branch of Christianity.37 Though the work is not particularly balanced—the strict pacifist position is criticized severely—it represents a variety of perspectives that will be evident during the war that begins only four years after its publication. (As wide ranging as they are, Solov’ev’s Conversations do not formally include what would seem to be a critical conversation partner, the clergy.) Three Conversations begins with a question raised by the General about whether it is appropriate to think of what he calls a “Christ-loving Russian military,” noting that this is a common phrase that has been in use for quite some time. The General—against the arguments of the Prince, who suggests that Christians must reject war entirely, and the Politician, who believes war is on its way out but is still sometimes necessary—insists that it is indeed appropriate. The General suggests that until recently, every military man “had a clear conscience” and believed he was serving in a noble and even holy profession. Princes who were also warriors were canonized as saints. The decline of this view creates an impossible situation for him: in order to train soldiers, to prepare them to kill and be killed, “it is absolutely necessary to be perfectly sure that war is something holy.”38 In response to the Prince’s statement that it is only in the “wild” and “coarse” times of the past that people believed Christianity permitted people to kill evildoers, the General tells a long story to demonstrate that this is false. The General is absolutely certain that during one incident in the Russo-Turkish War, he killed not only with the blessing of God but at God’s command. During this war, he led troops into an Armenian village that had been destroyed by the Bashi-Bazouks, Turkish irregulars, where Armenians had been tortured, mutilated, and burned to death. He then has the opportunity to intercept the group before its attack on

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a neighboring village. The General tells his subordinate that God has ordered him to wipe out the Bashi-Bazouks, and his attack is successful. He does not permit them to surrender even when they throw down their arms and dismount; his men “chopped them up.”39 The General rejoices at their success: “The work was finished. And in my soul it was Easter Sunday.”40 His remaining troops then gather to give a makeshift Christian burial for their dead comrades: The gorge was black beneath us, but in the sky the light cloudlets were of many colors, as if the regiments of God were gathering. The bright festival in my soul remained. A sort of calm and incomprehensible happiness possessed me, as if all earthly impurity had been washed away, as if earthly burdens had slipped from me. It was like I was in heaven. I felt God, and only God. And as Odarchenko called out the names of the newly departed warriors who had sacrificed their lives on the field of battle for faith and Tsar and fatherland, I felt that . . . they were indeed a Christ-loving military, and that war, as it was, so it is, and as it will be to the end of the world, is a great, honorable and holy work.41

He later states that he is sorry he did not die at that moment: “My conscience is so clear about this affair that I sometimes am sorry from the depths of my heart that I did not die at the moment when I gave the order for the last volley. I have not the slightest doubt that I should have gone straight with my thirtyseven Cossacks to the Almighty.”42 The General’s attitude toward the religion of his enemies is intriguing. The Prince objects to the fact that he does not give the enemy a proper burial, and the general is outraged at the idea that he should “give Christian burial to these jackals who were neither Christian nor Muslim, but the devil knows what?”43 The group considers the question of whether these people might have repented of their evil deeds, and when the Prince suggests that the truly repentant can be found among those of other nations and other faiths, the General is offended: “When have I made distinctions among nations (narodnosti) and religions? Are Armenians my countrymen and coreligionists? Or have I referred to the faith and nationality of the devil’s spawn that I annihilated with shells?”44 The General, then, makes the argument that God commissioned him to destroy evildoers in this particular situation, but this was not a battle by Christians against another religion. The innocent third party—the person or group whose defense makes the war justifiable—may be of any faith.45 It is also clear from the general’s statements that his fighting had nothing to do with converting the Armenians. The story, then, presents the idea of a Christ-loving military as one

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that engages in righteous defense of an innocent population or in retribution against an unrighteous aggressor. Another perspective on the righteousness of war is laid out by Mr. Z, who seems to base his views on reason rather than emotion or personal experience. In response to the Prince’s comment that war and the military are unconditional evils, Mr. Z states that he is convinced that it is possible to have a “good war” and also possible to have a “bad peace.” He justifies his position here primarily on the need to defend innocent people. In the Third Conversation, his concerns about the Prince’s dangerous naiveté—his belief that only persuasion is needed to stop evil—lead him to read to the group a manuscript he received from a monk called “A Short Tale of the Antichrist.” The manuscript—an interesting device in the hands of a character who is fictional in the first place—indicates that even Mr. Z’s attitude toward war is more complex than “it is possible to have a good war.” It also indicates some of Solov’ev’s ideas and concerns regarding Japan and Asia in general. Like the work as a whole, it is very strange and not straightforward. “A Short Tale of the Antichrist” predicts the end of history as we know it as the movement of “Pan-Mongolism” originates in Japan and unites Eastern Asia at a time when Europe is struggling with the Muslim world.46 The Japanese and Chinese conquer a large part of the world, including Europe, and control it for fifty years, but eventually a “united states of Europe” forces them out, and out of this emerges a great leader, a “superman,” who sees himself as a replacement for Christ. He gains political control of the entire world and has a final confrontation with the pope and the leaders of the Protestant and Orthodox churches, who unite against him. The “manuscript” ends with these leaders in exile, but then Mr. Z describes the end of the story: the Jews, who have proclaimed the Emperor their messiah, rise against him when they discover that he is not circumcised. An army of one million Jews retakes Jerusalem, and Christ returns. As the General notes, events culminate in a meeting of two armies, just where their conversation began. Mr. Z’s take on interreligious war is different from the General’s in that he imagines a cosmology that involves people of various faiths engaged in global battles:  aggressive Japanese, righteous fighting Jews, and true Christians on the sidelines.47 It is similar, though, in that the enemy is not another religion— the Japanese and the Muslims are not demonized, and the Jews are heroes—but the Antichrist himself. Solov’ev, then, despite not putting forth a systematic just war theory, clearly acknowledges the relationship between religion and war and testifies to the importance of the concept of the Christ-loving military at that time.

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The Christ-Loving Military in the Late Imperial Period: Archbishop Innocent of Kherson During the era of the Russo-Japanese War, the phrases “Christ-loving soldier” and “Christ-loving military” are repeatedly invoked outside of the liturgical and literary contexts mentioned earlier. These usages coincided with continued references to the compatibility of the Orthodox and the military. An 1894 article in Pravitelstvennyi Vestnik states, “Faith for long has served . . . as the chief motive force for the most outstanding [martial] exploits.” Orthodoxy, in particular, has helped create good warriors: “The Orthodox Church strengthens and imbues in each soldier limitless loyalty and love of Throne and Fatherland, [and] full obedience to his superiors . . . it likewise teaches him not to fear death, and promises to each one who honorably performs his duty a reward in Heaven.”48 The value of communal rituals relating to religion was noted as well. In 1884, a Grand Duke in St. Petersburg “required all officers to receive the Eucharist, together with their men, during the Lenten season. ‘The commanders,’ said the Grand Duke, ‘should constantly implant in their subordinates the conviction that only he who esteems the holy faith and observes the church rules can be a good and loyal servant of Sovereign and Fatherland.’ ”49 Russians participated in the suppression of the Boxer Rebellion of 1895 and, at that time, Archbishop Iustin of Kherson “told a detachment of embarking soldiers that it was a blessed work to defend fellow Christians from the heathen, and to die courageously for Tsar and fatherland.” He stated, “Truly, for such brave heroes the door of the Heavenly Kingdom is open, and eternal blessed rest awaits all Christ-loving warriors killed on the field of battle.”50 During the celebration of the seventy-fifth anniversary of the Nikolaevsk General Staff Academy,51 Protohierarch Georgii Shavelski began his talk by addressing those assembled as “Christ-loving soldiers!” The talk went on to praise the work of the academy’s graduates, and quoted Jesus’s statement that “by their fruits you will know them” as a means of evaluating the institution.52 The brief speech did not go into depth on the idea of the Christ-loving military, but seemed to assume the audience already understood its importance. A comprehensive treatment of the term, and of Russian Orthodox views on war in general, appears in the journal for army and navy chaplains, Vestnik Voennogo Dukhovenstvo (Herald of the Military Chaplaincy) in 1907. The journal publishes a two-part article discussing the concept of the Christ-loving military, taken from the writings of Innocent [Innokenty] Archbishop of Kherson (1800–1857), who ministered to soldiers during the Crimean War. As a work

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written in the mid-nineteenth century but published after the Russo-Japanese War, it bridges the late imperial period and appears to reflect a continuous sense of an Orthodox tradition on war in this era. Archbishop Innocent first notes that despite the high value of peace and the high costs of war, war continues to exist and is carried out “not only by the heathen and Muslim peoples, for whom war is sanctified in their very religion,” but also by Christians, who are advocates of peace and love.53 Christianity expresses the hope that one day all people—in the words of the prophet Isaiah—will exchange their swords for ploughshares. The superiority of the Christian narodi (peoples or populations) is obvious, he says:  they are “distinguished by their knowledge, their art, and various other fruits of civilization” and have the fate of all non-Christian peoples in their hands. Nevertheless, the Christian potential to transform the world has gone unrealized. Not even one human society has been “fully constructed on the spirit of the Gospels” (107). Thus war continues to exist, and, Innocent says, as long as this is the case, the Church will bless the weapons of the righteous. The Church condemns the pridefulness of war, its emphasis on worldly gains, and its mercenary nature. Still, he says, the Church prays for those who fight, when they come to battle through no will of their own (nevolno), obliged by necessity, protecting either the integrity and holiness of the faith of Christ, that is, the very spiritual way of life itself, or the freedom of conscience and true rights of humanity from oppression by brute force. Only rightness of motive, purity of intentions and uprightness of action from the point of view of Christianity may necessitate defense by the sword of one’s own or another’s rights against a coarse and inhumane violation of them. (108)

He adds that Christians have the opportunity to care for others during wartime, citing the services of the “sisters of mercy” who provide nursing care, but also says that the warriors themselves have certain Christian obligations. As they strike “the enemies of faith, tsar, and fatherland, they undertake to avoid spilling blood in vain, or inflicting destruction without a goal and purpose”; in addition, they are to “be gentle toward the peaceful residents [of the enemy’s territory] and generous toward the defeated themselves” (108). And even as they cause fear in their enemies, they are a friend to their tsar, their countrymen, and their families. In making these statements, Innocent is describing obligations of the Christloving warriors in both the ad bellum and in bello categories. They go to war with a just cause, either the protection of the Church itself or the defense of human

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rights. In going to war, they must have good motives (or reasons: this may refer to a type of “just cause”) and pure intentions, and their actions must be ethical. During wartime, they must undertake not to “inflict destruction without a goal” or “spill blood in vain” (proportionality) and must be “gentle toward the peaceful inhabitants” of a country (noncombatant immunity/discrimination) as well as generous toward their defeated enemies (goal of lasting peace). Furthermore, he stresses that generating fear in the enemies of the fatherland makes them not only protectors of kings but also protectors of the people, including their own families. Innocent does not cite anyone outside of the Bible in making these points; there is no reference to Augustine, Aquinas, or other thinkers. But he makes very similar points to those found in the Western tradition; the general principles overlap. Furthermore, he does not seem to be making a novel argument here; that is, the manner of writing suggests that he expects his audience to already agree with his points. So while there may not have been an explicit just war tradition in Russia, Innocent’s writing indicates that it was at least implicit in Orthodoxy in the early twentieth century. The Christ-loving military is not simply a group of Russian soldiers blindly adhering to the tsar’s commands but a group of individuals who are abiding by important Christian principles as they go to war and as they fight. Innocent, like many Western writers before him, notes that Christians may be concerned about the compatibility of Christianity with the title or vocation of the warrior and that this may even lead to spiritual despair; but, he says, these concerns are unfounded. Citing John the Baptist’s comments to the soldiers who came to him, Innocent states that the warrior who follows John’s guidance and who bears his burdens as a soldier with patience “may be sure that his labor and accomplishments necessary for the earthly fatherland will not go unnoticed in the heavenly fatherland” (110). Moreover, this willingness to abandon all the goods of the world—one’s wife, one’s children, even life itself—fits well with the Christian ideal of perfection, which is to love God more than the things of the world. The calling of the warrior is the most Christian of callings; soldiers today are like ancient Christian martyrs who were willing to sacrifice their lives. In analyzing the proper behavior of the warrior, Innocent cites the words of Paul’s second letter to Timothy, which states, “And in the case of an athlete, no one is crowned without competing according to the rules” (II Timothy 2:5). He says that competing according to the rules means “to bear the work one must do without grumbling, to fulfill the work of your calling, and to be inspired above all not so much by the expectation of an earthly reward and temporal

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distinction as by the hope of a heavenly crown. To compete according to the rules means to be able to repel not only the enemies of the visible fatherland, but also the invisible enemies of one’s salvation . . . it means, during all the most grave situations in life to preserve in one’s heart faith (vera) in the heavenly Tsar and faithfulness (vernost′) to the earthly Tsar, obedience to superiors and love toward everyone” (111). At the center of Innocent’s essay is a description of the Christ-loving soldier, and he addresses the question of why this term is used in the Church’s prayers so consistently, when other terms, such as “brave” or “victorious,” are also applicable. He states that everything that can be said in praise of the soldier is comprised in this one term, the Christ-loving soldier. All warriors, he says, may be praised for their adherence to their oaths, their bravery in facing danger and death, their generosity toward the defeated and compassion to the wounded; but the Christ-loving warrior has all of these excellent qualities to a greater extent than other warriors. The Christ-loving soldier not only bears his sufferings but rejoices in them, knowing he is called by God to serve; in fact, for the Christloving warrior, “death for fatherland and faith is welcome as a gift of God” (113). He states that this is true even when their efforts fail and there is no glory to the homeland. “Christ-loving warrior” is also, in a sense, an aspirational designation:  soldiers must therefore try to be in life what the Church calls them; they must love Christ above all and show their love not just with words but with their actions. Soldiers who follow these requirements and truly love Christ will be beloved of Christ, and in this case, “they, not ceasing to be warriors of the earthly tsar, are also made warriors of the Tsar of heaven” (114). Put in a slightly different way, he says, “your fighting under the sign of the earthly tsar serves not as a barrier, but as the highest means toward entering at some point into the legion of the Tsar of heaven” (114). Innocent uses the centurion Cornelius, described in Acts, as the example of a Christ-loving soldier and then discusses the power of God’s blessing in helping armies defeat the enemy. He describes a “heavenly light” that may come from the icon of the Savior and true cross, mentioning in particular the use of the icon of the Mother of God of Smolensk at the battle of Borodino in 1812 (116). In his discussion of death in war, Innocent again discusses the notion of “competing according to the rules.” Christians should not expose themselves to dangerous situations unnecessarily, for, he says, “the life of a warrior belongs not to him, but to the fatherland” (117). They must also fight and die “not in the heathen manner but in the Christian manner,” striving not for their own success

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but acting out of duty toward tsar and fatherland, and, more importantly, toward God and the Church (117). Innocent concludes by exhorting Christians to pray for the soldiers every day and discussing the difficulties soldiers face in battle, for example, the challenge of avoiding feelings of hatred toward the enemy while they are fighting them, at a point which may be the moment of their death. He concludes, “[t]he Russian Orthodox Christ-loving warriors always were reliable protectors of faith, Tsar, and Fatherland; they are in the current troubled time, and they will be always, as long as they preserve love toward church and homeland in their soul” (119).

Conclusion Despite the lack of a systematic just war tradition, then, Russian Orthodox liturgy and iconography support the idea of a virtuous, Christ-loving, and God-supported military serving a virtuous state or empire. This liturgical/ ecclesiastical and iconographical support is related to the views of Russia as a Christian nation. During the Russo-Japanese War, the concept of the Christ-loving military will be related to the idea that Christians in general and Christian states in particular are called upon to spread their faith, making, in Jesus’s words, disciples of the nations. For some individuals in the Russo-Japanese War, especially those on the home front, all three elements of the holy war idea—a just and holy authority, declaring war for a just and holy cause, which will be supported by a Christ-loving military—would coalesce into an unqualified and specifically religious support for the war, a Christian project intended to carry Orthodoxy eastward. For those on the front and for Nikolai of Japan, the relationship between these elements would be less straightforward. The chapters that follow describe the evolution of these multiple perspectives on the war.

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The Prewar Era: The Army of God and the Army of the Buddha

Figure 2 Port Arthur Icon of the Triumph of the Theotokos. (Wikimedia commons.)

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The Legend of the Port Arthur Icon The war that began between Japan and Russia on January 26, 1904, was anticipated by both politicians and prophets. In December 1903, a Russian veteran of the Crimean War reported having a vision of the Virgin Mary “standing upon two discarded and broken swords on the shore of a bay, with her back turned to the water.” With angels around her and Christ on a throne above her, Mary (taking on the traditional Orthodox manifestation of the Theotokos, or God-Bearer) told the overwhelmed veteran, Russia will soon be involved in a very difficult war on the shores of a far sea; many a woe is awaiting her. Paint an icon showing my appearance as it is now and send the icon to Port Arthur. If the icon is in that city, Orthodoxy will triumph over paganism and Russian warriors will attain my help, my patronage, and their victory.1

The icon that was produced in response to this vision did not reach its destination before the town fell to the Japanese, but the legend was told and retold within Russia.2 By late 1903, politicians and military leaders had been having their own visions of war for several years. In a March 1900 report, the military commander Alexei Kuropatkin, who would go on to lead the Russian army in the Far East, wrote, “The twentieth century will witness the great struggle in Asia between Christians [and] non-Christians. For the good of humanity, we must ally ourselves with England against the Orient’s heathen tribes.”3 After Japan’s defeat of China in the Sino-Japanese War in 1895, Russia had allied with France and Germany to prevent Japan from controlling the southern part of the Liaoning providence, including the warm-water port at Port Arthur.4 It had then intensified its involvement in Asia with a defensive alliance with China in 1896. Though Russia agreed to protect China from other nations, its support was inconsistent: it encroached on Chinese territory and appeared to desire control in both Manchuria and Korea (as did other Western powers and Japan).5 In 1898, it pressed China to permit Russia’s lease of Port Arthur, which was to be linked to Russia by rail. Its continued presence in Manchuria was of concern to both China and Japan. Kuropatkin thought that it was best to “focus on defense rather than conquest” in the Far East; he did not anticipate that the Russians would be enthusiastic about a war there.6 In late 1903, he submitted a memorandum to the tsar, in which he first expresses his confidence in the people, saying, “The Russian people are powerful, and their faith in Divine Providence, as well as

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their devotion to the Tsar and country, is unshaken. We may trust, therefore, that if Russia is destined to undergo the trial of war at the beginning of the twentieth century, she will come out of it with victory and glory.” However, he writes, victory will come at a high cost. In earlier years, when invasions occurred, Russia “fought for our very existence,” in defense of the country, and “died for faith, Tsar, and Fatherland.” He contrasts this to what will occur if war occurs in the Far East. The Russians will still fight, with great devotion to the tsar, and sacrifice their lives, “but they will have no intelligent comprehension of the objects for which the war is waged. For that reason there will be no such exaltation of spirit, no such outburst of patriotism, as that which accompanied the wars that we fought either in self-defence or for objects dear to the hearts of people.”7 Other events within Russian Orthodoxy also served to provide a framework for the coming war with Japan. In July 1903, Tsar Nicholas II attended a canonization ceremony for Serafim of Sarov, and shortly thereafter he began to take aggressive measures in the Far East.8 The tsar hung a portrait of Serafim in his office and expressed belief in Serafim’s power to unite him with his people; and, in addition, “Serafim’s canonization reassured the emperor that the burdens he had carried ever since the sacrament of his coronation anointment continued to be eased by God’s divine support. Serafim became a kind of guardian saint for those who would protect the empire’s eastern edge.”9 Nicholas II’s vision of an Orthodox Asia found support in a somewhat unlikely quarter: that of a Buriat Mongol convert to Christianity, Petr A. Badmaev, who attended Irkutsk Theological Seminary. Badmaev’s pamphlet on Russia and China, published in July 1900, argued that the people of Asia—especially in Mongolia, Tibet, and China—saw Russian autocrats as paternal figures and called the tsar “the White Tsar-knight”; he wrote, “[o]f course, Russia’s monarchs vigorously promoted Orthodoxy, but not by force.”10

The Army of God and the Army of the Buddha The Japanese quickly became aware of how Russia cast the complex relationship between the two countries with regard to religion. Shortly before the RussoJapanese War began, Buddhist priest Inoue Enryo suggested that the tension between Russia and Japan was related to a conflict between Buddhism and Russian Christianity: In Russia state and religion are one, and there is no religious freedom. Thus, religion is used as a chain to unify the people. Therefore when they [the Russian

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Russian Orthodoxy and the Russo-Japanese War people] see Orientals, they are told that the latter are the bitter enemies of their religion. It is for this reason that on the one hand this is a war of politics and on the other hand it is a war of religion . . If theirs is the army of God, then ours is the army of the Buddha.11

Russia, he said, was the “enemy of the Buddha,” and Buddhists should fight against Russia to repay their debt to the Buddha. “It goes without saying,” he wrote, “that this is a war to protect the state and sustain our fellow countrymen. Beyond that, however, it is the conduct of a bodhisattva seeking to save untold millions of living souls throughout China and Korea from the jaws of death.”12 The “golden-hued peoples,” he argued, were “one family,” united by both race and religion: “[t]herefore, putting Russians to death in order to save our family members is not only our duty as citizens, but as fellow Buddhists.”13 Enryo’s position was not a novel one. Despite Buddhism’s reputation as a peaceful religion, many Buddhist cultures have engaged in warfare, justifying it for a variety of reasons.14 In 1896, the famed Buddhist scholar D. T. Suzuki, who would later emigrate to the United States, argued that it was appropriate for soldiers to fight in wars if they are doing so “only to preserve the existence of one’s country and prevent it from being encroached upon by unruly heathens.” He contended that “if a lawless country comes and obstructs our commerce, or tramples on our rights, this is something that would truly interrupt the progress of humanity.”15

Civilization and the Spirit of the Crusaders For both countries, these discussions were carried out amidst the ongoing debate about which nations should be considered “civilized.” The Japanese saw the Russians as “unruly heathens”; the Russians viewed the Japanese in the same way. And, on occasion, Westerners lumped the two countries together. In 1904, American journalist Murat Halstead introduced his book on the Russo-Japanese War by stating, This Oriental drama is on a stage far removed from the scenes of the higher civilizations; and the belligerents are the two empires, that in their existing forms are the most ancient. No others so absolutely mingle the Church and State . . . [O]n both sides will be found the spirit of the Crusaders . . . perishing to redeem the Holy Sepulchre from sacrilege.16

For Halstead, the war was a manifestation of the lack of civilization within these two countries, a lack clearly tied to their peculiar and antiquated approach

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toward religion. Even before the war, then, both sides staked a claim to righteousness. Defeating the “pagans” or the “unruly heathens,” or—in Russia’s case— responding to the call of the backward “Orientals” was a cause that justified the war, if not the only one. Not all Russians anticipated that the war would entail conflict between Orthodox Christianity and Buddhism or between a civilized and an uncivilized nation. Political developments following a 1902 agreement between Japan and Great Britain made war seem likely, and Nikolai of Japan—who had then lived there for more than forty years—was asked in 1903 whether Japanese Orthodox Christians should participate in a war against Russia. He answered that Christians, along with all people, should fulfill their duty to their homeland. In the event war began, Orthodox Japanese should relate to Russia as an enemy, but “to fight with enemies does not mean to hate them, but only to defend one’s Fatherland.”17 In fact, Russians at home were, prior to the outbreak of the war, sometimes sympathetic or even attracted to Japan. While many modern Russians stressed their country’s ties to Europe, Asia was also a part of its past: For a brief period at the turn of the century, the Orient exerted a peculiar fascination on the Russian imagination. Tiring of the endless debates as to whether their nation’s true destiny lay with the West or in going back to its Slavic heritage, some pressed for a third course: Russia must return to its Asian roots.18

Japanese culture—reflected in the trend of Japonisme—was especially attractive. Japanese operettas were popular in the late 1890s, with one even making an appearance in Chekhov’s famous short story, “The Lady with the Lap Dog.”19 At the turn of the twentieth century, Russia was “culturally in thrall” to Japan: “A Japanese dance troupe performed in St. Petersburg in 1901. An exhibition of Japanese woodcut prints held in St. Petersburg in 1903 was followed by another successful exhibition in 1905, the latter taking place during the Russo-Japanese War itself.”20 The Russian Orthodox mission to Japan and Japanese conversions to Christianity were discussed in Russian periodicals in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. In fact, the Russian periodical Niva—which contained both news reporting and cultural features in the style of Life magazine— carried articles on Japan and featured a long illustrated article on Buddhism during the war itself, which covered both Chinese and Japanese Buddhism.21 Though Kuropatkin and others had expressed concern about a “yellow peril,” this attitude was rare among educated Russians during the prewar period.22

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On the eve of war, then, despite both racial and religious tensions between the two countries, there was also a sense of affinity. Both backward in the eyes of some Western observers, Russia and Japan were striving to prove their worthiness to be seen as part of Europe and the broader community of civilized nations. At the same time, in Russia, the Orthodox religiosity that served as an undercurrent for matters of state cast the relationship between the two in a different light. If God had indeed granted Russia a distinctive role in world affairs, the conquest of Japan could be a natural continuation of the divinely intended expansion of Christianity under the guidance of the tsar, who would himself be aided by Serafim of Sarov, the Theotokos, and other supernatural forces.

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The War Begins: Prayers and Patriotism

“With Unwavering Faith in the Help of the Most High”: Russia’s Prayers for War Russia’s vision of itself as a Christian empire with a Christ-loving military became evident immediately at the start of the Russo-Japanese War. Nicholas II and the Holy Synod characterized the war in religious terms, and the tsar and many other Christians prayed and participated in other rituals asking for God’s assistance in defeating the Japanese. Articles in the major theological and missionary journals expanded on the statements by the tsar and the synod, providing Christian justifications of the war, asserting God’s providence with regard to Russia, and sometimes explicitly stating that God intended for Russia to defeat the “heathen” and spread Orthodoxy in Japan. The articles also emphasize that love of the Russian homeland is sacred and depict war itself as an avenue to spiritual growth. This chapter describes the many ways in which Orthodox leaders in Russia supported the country’s efforts at the start of the war and engaged in religious activities intended to display their patriotism and loyalty to their native land. Though this is the dominant attitude of the Orthodox on the war, the writings of Nikolai of Japan indicate another approach; Nikolai is also patriotic and loyal to Russia but expects and encourages a similar patriotism toward Japan on the part of his Japanese Orthodox congregants. At the very start of the war, both Nicholas II and the Holy Synod called for God’s assistance in defeating the Japanese. The war began on January 26, 1904, after negotiations regarding Russia’s continued presence in Manchuria foundered, and Japan launched a surprise attack on Port Arthur – the same port it had won after its defeat of China in 1895 and immediately lost due to coordinated pressure from Russia, France, and Germany. In a proclamation issued the following day, Nicholas II reports that despite Russian efforts to preserve peace in

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the Far East, Japan has attacked Port Arthur and that Russia has responded to the attack. Using the royal “we,” he states, “We with unwavering faith in the help of the Most High and in the firm hope in the unanimous readiness of all of Our true subjects to stand together with Us in defense of the Fatherland, call upon the blessings of God for Our valiant troops of the army and navy.”1 On January 28, the Holy Synod calls for prayers on Russia’s behalf and on behalf of the Russian soldiers who are in the Far East sacrificing “for faith, Tsar, and Fatherland.” In an address to the tsar, the Synod says: Once again the enemies have taken up arms against the Russian land and the Russian Empire, and, by the will of God, a time of trial begins for Your people and Your state, All-Merciful Sovereign. Remembering the bygone times and the strong battles in which the mercy of the Lord saved us from [our] enemies, the Russian church believes, with great trust, that God will not abandon us now and will strengthen Your power, and give us victory and deliverance. And may Your spirit, Most-Merciful Sovereign, be strengthened by the belief in the Lord of peace and war and the faithfulness of all the sons of Russia who with reverence bow down before the inscrutable fates of God regarding Russia and who are ready to lay down their lives for Faith, Tsar, and Fatherland. Without ceasing, we also, with the whole church, pray that the King of Kings may show mercy to Your Russian land, may give it victory over its enemies, may hasten the end of the battle and may bless our land.2

The document is signed by six church leaders, including the Metropolitans of St. Petersburg Antonii (Vadkovskii) and Moscow (Vladimir). Another Metropolitan, Antonii (Khrapovitski), notes in a prayer for victory on January 30, 1904, that the “heathen” have “already spilled Russian Christian blood” and also refers to the Christ-loving, Orthodox military.3 At the end of the prayer, Antonii asks for prayers both for the soldiers themselves and also for Russia’s enemies, so that they might be convinced of the truth of Christianity.4 Other religious leaders invoke the saints: a priest, P. Sokolov, mentions the importance of Sergius of Radonezh and Serafim of Sarov and says, “We will pray to the saints” to protect “our brothers, Russian troops far away, in a foreign land, many thousands of versts from us.”5 He adds, “We did not seek and did not wish for war. Our peace-loving Tsar used all means to try to avoid it.”6 Forced into a war by the heathen, Russia— regardless of how strong she is—must rely on God’s help, he says, and he ends with a prayer asking for God to give Russia’s warriors strength. A series of statements of support by Russian Orthodox leaders follows immediately after the attack and the statements by the tsar and Synod. In March, the

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leading missionary journal, Missionerskoe Obozrenie, carries a section containing “Patriotic and prayerful wishes on the occasion of the start of military action in the Far East.” This issue includes a number of statements of support for the war from religious leaders, including the Metropolitans of both St. Petersburg and Moscow.7

Religion and Public Support for the War The war received support from the public as well as from church authorities. Nicholas II writes in the January 30 entry of his diary that after breakfast, a large crowd of students with flags came to the Winter Palace and sang hymns.8 The Orthodox Church would support or sponsor many more formal gatherings that involved the general population. Tserkovnyia Viedomosti reports on a gathering held in Novgorod Cathedral on January 29, where the tsar’s manifesto was read and a moleben was held for the granting of victory to the Russian army. The article notes that the cathedral was full and a crowd stood outside as well and notes the “deeply prayerful mood.”9 The leader of the service, Archbishop Guri (Okhotin), in addition to reading the tsar’s manifesto, noted the crafty nature of the Japanese “heathen” and added, “We pray now that God gives our Most Pious Sovereign victory over the enemy, and crowns the weapons of his Christ-loving military with full success.”10 The author quotes the book of Joel, which describes God’s actions on behalf of the Israelites, and notes, in particular, Joel 2:19, which says “never again will I make you an object of scorn to the nations.” (Joel 2 also describes God drowning Israel’s enemies, but the author does not include this passage.11) Tserkovnyia Viedomosti includes many other stories of church leaders holding prayers at this time. Clergy delivered sermons expressing the hope and confidence that God would grant victory to the Russians in their battle with the Japanese, emphasizing the link between the tsar, Holy Rus′, and the Orthodox faith.12 Makarius, bishop of Tomsk, led another service that accompanied the reading of the Tsar’s manifesto, in which he raised the specter of “panmongolism” on the part of the Japanese; and Ioann, bishop of Permsk, emphasized God’s blessing on the troops and the need for all Russians to sacrifice to support the tsar, the war, and the “Christ-loving warriors.”13 Groups within the theological academy and seminary system also expressed support. The Kazan journal Pravoslavnyi Sobesednik reports on the response to

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Nicholas II’s manifesto of January 27 at the Kazan Theological Academy. Later, the professors and students there performed a prayer before the Kazan icon of the Mother of God, brought from the Kazan Monastery. The prayer was led by the Academy’s rector, Alexei, who criticized the “conceited heathen” for starting the war against peace-loving Russia and noted the “feeling of grateful patriotism; all are ready to cry and pray, and lay down their life for faith, Tsar, and Fatherland.” He also called upon Russians to confess their sins and asked for aid from the Miracle-Working Image of the Kazan Mother of God. The students sent a telegram to the tsar, describing their love for the church, tsar, and Russia, as well as their prayers for “the giving of victory to our Christ-loving military.”14 On February 12, Bishop Stefan of Sumsk led a prayer in the Kharkiv cathedral for the soldiers departing to the Far East and gave a speech that placed the war in historical context, suggesting that in the Japanese, “we see the usual primordial enemies of the cross of Christ,” who have been trying to destroy the Church since it first appeared. “This spite toward our fatherland, as the preserver of the true Orthodox faith, as the support of the Church of Christ,” he writes, is leading to “a battle of life and death.” The military, he says, is prepared to “bring both its blood and its life to the altar of the fatherland!” He notes that Russia in no way has threatened “their fatherland” (a rare usage of this term with reference to Japan).15 As non-Christians, the Japanese may be brave, but they can expect only

Figure 3 A priest blesses a soldier departing for the Far East. (Niva, February 8, 1905).

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earthly satisfaction. The Christian warrior, in contrast, knows he is fighting for the honor and glory of the fatherland and also takes comfort in the knowledge of eternal life. The bishop talks about the importance of confronting the possibility of death, which facilitates the bravery that is necessary for victory. The Christian soldier, he says, also “reaches the heights of Christian perfection,” demonstrating “the highest degree of Christian love for his neighbors.” He continues, “But you go into battle not only for your neighbors but for the cross of the Lord itself, for the Orthodox faith of our forefathers,” because the enemy is atheist.16 Shortly after the start of the war, Alexei Kuropatkin, who had formerly been the Minister of War, was appointed Land Commander, Manchuria, and before departing St. Petersburg for Harbin, he made a formal visit to the Troitsko-Sergei Lavra on February 29.17 As noted earlier, the Lavra, or monastery, had been the home of St. Sergius of Radonezh and held an important place in Russian history. The report in Missionerskoe Obozrenie describes this visit in detail.18 The general, having come from St. Petersburg to Moscow, was met by a large crowd, and people along the route were cheering him. As his special train departed, the crowd at the platform waved their caps and shouted “hurrah”; from the train car, Kuropatkin responded with a bow. At 10:30 a.m., he arrived at the Troitsko Posad, where he was greeted by a delegation. The article states, Upon the arrival of the general at the Troitsko cathedral a travelers’ prayer [naputstvenni moleben] was performed. Father Nikon blessed Kuropatkin with an ancient icon [skladen]19 painted on the boards of the coffin [grobovoi doske] of the Venerable Sergei, which had accompanied Russian soldiers in all their campaigns. Here the monks presented the general with the icon [obraz] of the venerable Sergei. Upon the tolling of the bells, Adj. General Kuropatkin went into the Metropolitan’s palace, where the gonfaloniers of the Sergeiv Lavra carried a banner with the image of Dmitri Donsk, blessed by the venerable Sergei; on the opposite side of the banner was the image of St. Aleksei. The rector of the Theological Academy carried the Pokrov icon. After tea, Kuropatkin returned to the train amid enthusiastic cries.20

Kuropatkin returned to Moscow in the afternoon, where he met with government and military officials and was given a small icon with the image of St. George the Victor. Kuropatkin gave a speech in which he stated that Russia had already survived many trials and each time had been victorious; though the enemy should not be underestimated, Russia could be certain of victory. The prayers of Moscow and of Russia as a whole would strengthen the military, he said, and he accepted both the prayers and the icons on behalf of all the troops.

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He concluded by leading the crowd in a cheer in honor of the tsar and departed to the sound of the crowd’s cheers and the playing of the national anthem.

Christianity and the War: An Early Analysis The formal statements and prayer services by the tsar, the Synod, and religious leaders are supplemented by theologians’ writings in the missionary journals. An analysis of the religious significance and value of the war, expanding on the ideas of the speeches and focusing more on the concept of Russian nationalism and pride, is found in a February 1904 issue of Missionerskoe Obozrenie. A report titled “Regarding the War with Japan” stated, “Yesterday we heard about the break in diplomatic relations; today, about the surprise attack without a declaration of war, a bloody and frightening act of the crafty Asiatic heathen, with their barbarous ethics.”21 The author wastes no time in disparaging the Japanese, as other Christian leaders have. The Missionerskoe Obozrenie author continues by linking God to the war and criticizing pacifists such as Leo Tolstoy for their antimilitaristic attitudes and their failure to be loyal to their homeland. Tolstoy, who believed that Christianity was a fundamentally pacifist religion, had long encountered hostility from the Orthodox Church, and this intensified during the war. Asserting that the war was sent by Providence, the author states, “Well then, you Yasnopoliansk22 advocate of antimilitarism, cosmopolitanism, and egotistic non-resistance to evil, how do you feel now with your philosophy, when the noble love of peace of our most humane of monarchs, the Tsar-Father, is flouted and insulted?”23 The author contrasts the disloyalty of Tolstoy and other internationalists to what he characterizes as a deep loyalty on the part of the general population, and he describes their support for the war in religious terms. When Russians received the news about the Japanese attack, he says, “the courtyard of the Winter Palace was filled with people brimming with selfless desire to bring everything to the altar of the insulted fatherland, up to and including their own life.”24 The author is also critical of those who say that attachment to one’s country is morally wrong or even evil. Responding to a newspaper article that calls the concept of “the fatherland” a hateful superstition that must be destroyed, he says, “to finish off what God created is not so simple.” Cosmopolitanism may become possible in the fiftieth century, but for now, “for the vast majority of people, fatherland is still dear, and even dearer than their own person.”

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The author presents a vision of war that is both beautiful and chaotic, something that is the means of transcending one’s own individuality.25 Though he does not spend a substantial amount of time on the nature of the Japanese enemies, other than referring to them as heathen, the religious aspect of the war is clearly important. The country is blessed by God, the war is ordained by God, and its opponents are both anti-Russian and anti-Christian. This attitude is also evident in the field. At the very start of the war, in January, an unnamed missionary—whose story is reported by A.  Platonov—hears of a soldier who does not want to accept the military calling and take the military oath. He points out that it is surprising to find such people in “our Christloving military.” He describes a meeting with the battalion, in a room that fills up quickly with soldiers who are excited to see an argument between the pacifist recruit and the missionary. The recruit cites the passage from Exodus 20:13 that says “do not kill”; the missionary (after asking God for help in this “battle” with the recruit) counters with his “missionary attack” by talking about Moses’s actions, which leads the recruit to fall silent and then ask to talk instead about the New Testament. The missionary refuses, and forces the recruit to acknowledge that there can be no contradiction within the Bible, and that therefore God does permit killing in wartime. He then moves on to the New Testament, quoting Luke 3:14 and Romans 13 in support of the idea that Christians may be soldiers and are required to render service to the governing authorities. The crowd, he writes, becomes more and more lively as the argument progresses, and the missionary challenges the recruit again: does he truly believe that one could simply “turn the other cheek” after being attacked by Japan? This argument silences the soldier. Two months later, in March, the soldier reports that he is convinced of the missionary’s points and says that he is ready to take the oath. The commander credits the priest with adding another soldier to the army, saying that the soldier is now “his child.” The missionary corrects the commander, saying “not only my child, but my brother,” and before the entire group gives him a kiss of peace, which brings many to tears.26

“Love of Country Is Natural and Holy”: Guiding the Church at the Start of the War Almost 5,000 miles from Moscow, on Sunday, January 25, as the Japanese were preparing to attack Port Arthur, Nikolai sat in a room in Tokyo’s Holy Resurrection Cathedral waiting to meet with leaders from his congregation.

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After the day’s service, they had convened a meeting to consider whether to ask him to remain in Japan for the duration of the war. Concerns for his safety were raised; Japanese nationalists were aware of the mission’s symbolic significance, and even before the start of the war, there were threats against Nikolai and the mission. His diary records that at this time he faced harassment from radical Japanese nationalists, though he stresses that this is only “the dregs of society” (January 22). In January 1904, he reports hearing about plans to kill him and destroy the mission (entry for January 8–16). On January 22, he notes that three police officers will protect the mission at night. They are concerned that if there is a mob, they will have to run to a nearby police station to get more officers, so they make plans to install a phone at the mission. Hostility toward the church was also evident in the Japanese press. The Nikon newspaper reported that the Orthodox Church had always prayed for Japan’s destruction: “It has always been a central agency of spies in service of Russia. The Japanese hate the cupola of the Russian church which towers above the whole city, as if to block the view of the emperor’s temple; they hate the church bells, which each Sunday morning disturb the peaceful sleep of the residents.”27 This hostility toward the Orthodox Church and toward Russia extended to the Japanese Christians who were members. These Christians—known to Nikolai by hybridized names such as Vasily Yamada, Pavel Nakai, and Olga Yamakawa— were suspected of being spies. In fact, these Japanese were supportive of Japan’s war efforts, and this dedication to their homeland’s cause had Nikolai’s full theological approval, as will be discussed in what follows. The January 25 meeting lasted for several hours, according to Nikolai’s diary. In the end, the congregational leaders informed him that all forty-five of them had voted he should remain in Japan; they seem to have spent most of their time discussing how to guarantee his security and that of the church. Nikolai responded with a statement of his own, which the church then adapted and promulgated a few days later. He begins his statement by saying, “Your wish that I stay gives me joy, since this demonstrates your concern for the Church. Your wish fully coincides with mine, and I think that it is in agreement with the will of God.” He says that it would be easier for him to return “to the Fatherland,” but that morning, he found his conscience “reproached him for thoughts of leaving” and dictated that he should remain with his “young church” and continue to do his work. Nikolai notes that he will remain loyal to his own country and says that as a consequence, he will not participate in the public prayers of the church while the two countries are at war. He states,

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If I continue to do this even now, then all may say about me, “He is a traitor to his country.” Or, alternatively, “He is a hypocrite: aloud he prays for the granting of victory to the Japanese Emperor, but in his soul he wishes quite the opposite.” So, you will perform the Service alone and pray sincerely for your Emperor, his victory, and so on. Love of country is natural and holy. The Savior himself out of love for his earthly country cried about the unhappy lot of Jerusalem.28 So, when the war begins, perform church services on granting victory to your military; if victory is achieved, perform services of thanksgiving; at the ordinary services always diligently pray for your fatherland,29 as befits good Christian patriots. I, when possible, will go into the church for the All-Night Vigil and liturgy and perform my own personal prayers, as my heart prompts me to; in any case, the first place in these prayers, as always, will belong to the Japanese Orthodox church.30

Nikolai concludes by jokingly stating that a proposal put forth by the church workers to provide Russian interpreters to the military—part of their effort to display the patriotism of the Orthodox Christians—would certainly be rejected, since everyone was suspected of being spies anyway. Everyone laughed, he said. The Japanese Orthodox Church posts a letter several days later (January 30) that picks up some of the language used in the statement to the church. Nikolai begins by stating that God has permitted the conflict between Japan and Russia and that it will lead to some good end, because the will of God is good. It continues: So, brothers and sisters, fulfill all duties that are demanded from you in these circumstances. Pray to God that He grants victory to your imperial troops, thank God for the victories that are given, contribute to military needs; however, when you go into battle, not sparing your own life, fight not out of hatred toward your enemy but out of love for your fellow countrymen, remembering the words of the Savior, “there is no greater love than to lay down one’s life for a friend” (John 15:13). In a word, do all that love for your Fatherland [otechestvo] demands. Love for the Fatherland is a holy feeling. The Savior sanctified this feeling by His example: out of love for this His earthly Fatherland He wept over the unhappy lot of Jerusalem (Luke 19:41). But besides an earthly Fatherland we also have a Heavenly Fatherland. To it belong people without distinction of nationality (narodnosti), because all people are equally children of the Heavenly Father and brothers to one another. This Fatherland of ours is the church, of which we are equally members, and in which the children of the Heavenly Father truly form one family. Therefore I do not separate from you, brothers and sisters, and I stay in your family, as in my own family. And together we will fulfill our duty related to the Heavenly Fatherland.

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In mid-February 1904, the Japan Mail publishes a statement by Nikolai in English about his decision to remain in Japan. (It is unclear whether this is a translation of one of the earlier statements or a separate statement.) Nikolai says that he will not participate in the “public prayers” of the church. He states, “Until now I prayed for victory and the peace of the Japanese Emperor, but now in case of war I cannot pray, as a Russian subject, that our native country should be conquered by an enemy. I have as you also have an obligation to my country, therefore I am glad to see that you realise your obligation to your country.” He states, “When the Japanese army has conquered the Russian forces you must offer to God a prayer of thankfulness. This is the obligation laid on the Greek Christian in their native country. Our Lord Jesus Christ teaches us patriotism and loyalty, Christ himself shed tears for Jerusalem. That was because of his patriotism. And you must follow in your Master’s steps.”31 Beyond arguing that patriotism is an obligation for both Japanese and Russian Christians, Nikolai’s statement also highlights ideas about Christianity and national attachments. The term “Greek Christian” is here used to describe Japanese Orthodox Christians, and this choice illustrates the way at least some Japanese perceived the church and its members. It is not clear whether Nikolai himself would have used that term when speaking in English, but it is used consistently within the Mail. The Mail takes care to distinguish the Orthodox Church in Japan from the Russian Orthodox Church as it exists in Russia. From the beginning of the war, the Mail reports on the Russian Orthodox Mission in Japan (ROMJ), which it refers to as the “Greek Church,” frequently and sympathetically. The term “Greek Church” was apparently in widespread usage among the English-speaking community in Japan, from before the start of the war. A review of Otis Cary’s A History of Christianity in Japan, a work originally published in 1909, sheds some light on the usage. A reviewer, noting that Cary used the term “Greek” when referring to the ROMJ, said that “Cary was quite aware that the Orthodox mission in Japan was of Russian origin, but in the context of general Protestant knowledge of Eastern Orthodoxy at the time, he felt that the term Greek Orthodox would serve better to denote the whole.”32 Nikolai himself is also treated sympathetically in the press. At the very beginning of the war, the Mail’s “Notes on Current Events” section publishes an article by “Pawel Petrovich” that refers to the meeting of the “Greek Church” on January 25 and notes the unanimous decision of the church in favor of Nikolai remaining in Japan during the war. The article adds, It might be mentioned that recently an English gentleman sent a letter of sympathy to the mission with regard to the strained relations between Russia and

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Japan, in which occurred the following sentence:  “if war should break out between the two countries, which if not in the same sense yet in a very real sense are both alike your own and both alike deeply loved by you, the sadness of it is emphasized.”33

The sympathy extends to the Japanese members of the Church; the article mentions that “the school of the Greek Church is showing its patriotism” by providing 50,000 copies of a Russian-Japanese “conversation manual” to be distributed to the army. The author adds, “It is fashionable in some quarters to say that adherence to the tenets of the Greek Church involves weakening of home ties, and the students and faculty of the school think the present a good opportunity to refute that calumny.”34 The “Greek Church,” then, is patriotic and supports patriotism from a theological perspective. Nikolai has argued that love of country is both natural and holy, and the Mail accepts his argument that this is an appropriate Christian perspective. However, the Japanese are almost immediately aware of Russia’s religious responses to the war. On February 13, 1904, in the story “Tsar Appeals to Heaven,” the paper notes, “The Tsar is about to proceed to Moscow to submit his case and the Empire’s fate to the Almighty before the altar of the Troitzko monastery, as

Figure 4 Tsar Nicholas II (center, on horse) blesses his troops during the RussoJapanese War (undated). The blessing of the troops of the Nowo Tscherkakysch Regiment occurred in Peterhof. (Alamy.)

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his forefathers have done before drawing the sword.”35 The February 20, 1904, issue, which includes the Russian declaration of war, notes that the Russians are asking for God’s protection. At this point in the war, the stories that report on Russia’s religious responses are brief and depict them as benign; later reporting becomes more critical and emphasizes the more “civilized” nature of Japan’s response to the war and its views of religion.

Christian Reporting on Russian Muslims’ Support for the War As the Japanese Christian minority considered their responsibility to pray for their homeland, religious minorities in Russia (and Orthodox Christians in other countries) dealt with similar issues. Missionerskoe Obozrenie provides coverage of patriotic statements of support from other Christian groups, including Catholics, Old Believers, and Protestants. In addition, the Bulgarian Orthodox Church says the church supports Russia in part because Russia represents the Eastern Orthodox faith shared by the Bulgarians and fights against heathenism. Russia’s success, the Church says, “will ensure the spread of Christianity among the heathen.”36 While both its editorial and news coverage in early 1904 emphasize the war’s Christian nature, Missionerskoe Obozrenie also includes a detailed description of a February 8 public demonstration of support on the part of the Tbilisi Muslims, who prayed under the leadership of their sheik and mufti about the victory of Russia over Japan and then marched, shouting “hurrah,” with a military band carrying Russian national flags toward Yerevan Square. People along the route stood on their balconies to cheer the procession, and the band played the national anthem on the arrival at the square, which was full of people. The procession continued to the palace, where Prince G. S. Golitsyn, the governor of Transcaucasia (who was himself Orthodox), along with his wife, came out to the balcony and greeted the crowd, expressing appreciation for the Muslims’ loyalty to Russia. The procession made additional stops at the home of the governor, the sheik-ul-islam, and the mufti, who told the crowd to pray to Allah for the victory of the Russian soldiers.37 Following the article, Missionerskoe Obozrenie published a statement by the Muslim clergy in Moscow, led by “Kh. R.  Agevim” (identified as a “Muslim bishop” or “akhunom”). Muslims were called upon to pray for their homeland every Friday, and, on every Muslim holiday, to direct prayers toward “the Great

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Padishakha, the Sovereign Emperor” and the Russian troops (voinstvo). The khan referred to the moral obligation to come to defense of “our great homeland,” stating, We, Russian Muslims, over the course of many years have shown our loyalty to the Tsar, and now, in this troubled time, are in solidarity with our Christian countrymen [sootechestvenniki, lit. “co-fatherlanders”] to punish the perfidious heathen-enemies, who like robbers attacked the Russian fleet without a declaration of war. Let none of you be troubled that the majority of your comrades at arms are Christian. Do not forget that our common enemies are heathen. Those who are sons of one and the same fatherland are brothers to one another, regardless of religious conviction. Do not believe the false rumors: not only is friendship between Muslims and Christians not forbidden by the Holy Quran, but in our holy traditions there are even decrees in which this friendship is sanctified by the words of the great prophet Mohammad.38

The Khan points out that Mohammad’s first followers took refuge from the heathen in Yemen, a Christian country. As a result, Mohammad decreed that Christians must consider themselves “blizhki [close or related] to Muslims, since both believe in one and the same true God and honor the divine books.” Now, when their homeland needs them, Muslims have a moral obligation to respond to the call of duty. The fact that a leading Christian periodical is reporting on Muslim support for the war and quoting, without comment, its analysis of the relationship between Christians and Muslims with respect to the war against the heathens reflects Russia’s long history of religious diversity. As noted in Chapter 3, Muslims had been a part of the Russian empire for centuries and had been permitted to exercise a degree of religious freedom. This was in part to facilitate just this kind of support for the Russian government. Elsewhere, of course, the Christians and Muslims called one another heathens and infidels; but in Russia, in 1904, they joined forces as political and religious compatriots who fought together against the Japanese heathen.

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Spring 1904: Priests and Battlefields

The religious enthusiasm for the war continued throughout the late winter and spring of 1904. Across the empire, prayer ceremonies were held for troops departing for the front and in honor of those already there. Service members, from the common soldiers to the commanders, made pilgrimages to be blessed by saints, and their families did so on their behalf. Theological journals reported extensively on military activities, often emphasizing the religious elements of Russia’s participation and expectations of God’s assistance. Orthodox leaders such as Nikolai of Japan and John of Kronstadt reflected on issues related to political theology, including the relationship between the emperor and the state, the religious significance of Russia’s defeat, and the appropriate attitude toward Buddhism. At the same time, Japan worked to characterize Russia’s religious activities, including the actions of a priest at the Battle of Yalu River, as reflective of the fact that Russia was not truly part of Western civilization. The monastery in Sarov, Russia, where the recently canonized St. Serafim had lived, almost immediately became a magnet for visitors. In late February, Tserkovnyia Viedomosti noted, “The Sarov monastery in recent times attracted many pilgrims from the military ranks, who are being dispatched to the Far East.” Officers from many different cities—Tambov, Moscow, Smolensk, and Kursk are some of those mentioned—visited Sarov to ask for Serafim’s blessing. The pilgrimage site was also popular among the families of soldiers stationed in the Far East, who “consider it their duty from time to time to visit the holy monastery, to ask for the protection of their relatives.”1 Orthodox Christians from across Russia expressed their support for those in the region of conflict by praying for their residents and sometimes sending contributions or gifts. The parishioners of Novgorod Mikhail-Archangelsk Prussian Church sent an icon of the holy Archistratigos Mikhail, to mark the start of military activity—what it referred to as a “military baptism”—in the

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city of Vladivostok. The icon was inscribed with a quote from the book of Joshua, which states, “As Commander of the army I have now come” (Joshua 5:14). In response, a telegram dated March 1904 was sent on behalf of the Vladivostok garrison, thanking the Novogord supporters for their gift and their sensitivity.2

The Orthodox in Japan: Suspicion and Sympathy The start of the war also brought expressions of sympathy and concern for Nikolai of Japan, though for different reasons. Japanese responses to Orthodoxy in the early part of the war varied; while some were hostile, Nikolai and the Orthodoxy community found support from the Japanese government and from a number of individuals. Nikolai reports in his diary that the mission was well protected by the Japanese police throughout the war; attacks that are anticipated at the start of the war never occur, and the mission comes through the war unscathed. Nikolai mentions on February 8 that he has been given advice even on how to leave the church at the end of the liturgy due to fears of “heathen” attacks, though he says himself the advice is overly cautious. The support of Japanese outside the Orthodox community is reflected in Nikolai’s ongoing correspondence with a doctor who contacts him for the first time very early in the war. On February 24, he writes that Dr.  Yasutaro Yashoshima, who is employed at a hospital in Surugadai, sent him a bouquet of flowers. Nikolai states, “A touching gift. The doctor found my situation sad and wished to comfort me.”3 In response, he sends the doctor a copy of the New Testament as well as his open letter to the Japanese Christians. However, a week later, Dr.  Yashoshima sends back the New Testament with a note that thanks the bishop but says that he, Yashoshima, already has a Buddhist prayer book. Nikolai writes, “It is clear that this is a person who is good, gentle, poetic, but with a heart firmly closed off to the teachings of Christ. I  have known many such people.” Dr. Yashoshima continues to express support for Nikolai during the war, sending gifts of food several times throughout the spring and summer. On receiving a package of food from him, Nikolai notes the compassion Yashoshima has shown for his loneliness and separation from all other Russians during the war and writes, “I don’t know what to give back to him; as an inveterate Buddhist, he does not take Christian books, and I don’t have anything else to give as gifts.” Yashoshima visits Nikolai in person for the first time on September 3, bringing a bouquet and a box of grapes; Nikolai writes, “I was able for the first

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time to see this fantastically good and sympathetic person.” Other than the two brief references to Yashoshima’s Buddhism included here, Nikolai says nothing about his religion. Nikolai appears to be immune from criticism in the Japanese press. In one of its sections titled “Monthly Summary of Religious Press,” published in March 1904, the Mail includes a laudatory comment from the newspaper Kiristokyo Sekai (The Christian World), which states that the paper “highly approves of the attitude to Bishop Nicolai and the leading Greek Christians in the present situation. It considers that Christians of other denominations would do well to imitate the Greek Christians in refusing to mix up politics with religion.”4 Not all of the Japanese are as supportive, however. Throughout his diary, Nikolai reports on the difficulties the Japanese Orthodox face during the war because of their association with Russia. This varies from region to region, with some priests writing that their parishioners are suspected of spying and face harassment and others saying that the war has had little effect. One Orthodox Christian in Nakamura-hara whose son was at war countered an attack by a nonChristian neighbor by giving him a speech saying that “faith is faith, it is a matter of the soul and God . . . but fatherland is fatherland, and Christian faith not only does not interfere with service to the Fatherland, but makes this service more heartfelt” (March 19). On March 30, 1904, Nikolai notes that some Buddhists had invited Christians to pray with them for the success of the Japanese in the war, and the Christians refused because this would involve participating in a non-Christian prayer; however, this is misunderstood as sympathy for the Russians. Nikolai describes the start of the disorder: “the heathen (iazychniki) put together a Buddhist religious service for the success of the Japanese and the war and invited the Christians to join them; they refused—‘We cannot pray to inanimate fruits’—but the heathen took this as sympathy in the war for the Russian side.” They are able to resolve the misunderstanding quickly, Nikolai writes:  “Vasilii Yamada on Saturday evening returned from Kuyama and said that there everything had calmed down and the Christians, it seemed, had nothing more to fear from the heathen.” At the same time Nikolai is developing a clear public position on the war— guiding his congregants, making public statements, interacting with those outside the mission such as Dr. Yoshoshima—his diary reflects his internal struggle. He grapples with his own personal distress over Russia’s defeats, as well as the religious significance of the war. As he mentions repeatedly, he feels as if he has no one to talk to. Grieving in isolation is hard at the beginning of the war and becomes worse as the war progresses.

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He mentions on several occasions that his Japanese friends and colleagues do their best to avoid upsetting him. This obligation falls primarily on them, as the Japanese almost immediately win an advantage over the Russians and sustain it throughout the war. The attack on Port Arthur leads to the sinking of two Russian ships, the Enisei and the Boyarin.5 On February 7, he notes that he sees the Japanese around him, already flush with success—“happy, smiling, celebrating”—but adds, “around me, out of a sense of delicacy, they try when possible not to show that celebration on their faces.” He mourns Russian defeats but reminds himself that he must restore equanimity in his soul and that “I am here not as a servant of Russia, but a servant of Christ” (February 16). Even at this early stage, he has begun to anticipate Russia’s defeats, and his expressions of grief point out his country’s failings; he says his “poor Fatherland” deserves the abuse it receives, because it has been foolish, because it has bad leaders, and because it lacks honesty and piety. “Why do you not attract God’s love and protection, but incite God’s fury and anger?” he asks. He expresses the wish that the harms it has suffered “be a correcting rod in the hands of the Heavenly Father” (February 16).

The Sovereign and the Church To those in Japan who are suspicious of Orthodoxy and the Japanese Orthodox Christians, Nikolai repeatedly points out that there is no political connection between the Russian empire or its leader and the Japanese Orthodox Church. His position is described in detail in a formal letter to the Japanese Orthodox Christians, which he reproduces in the diary on February 29. In the letter, after expressing gratitude for the love and support he has felt from the Christians in Japan, he notes that many have expressed distress over the sadness of the war. He responds that “however sad the war is in itself, in relation to the Orthodox Church it will be beneficial, in that it will correct the misunderstandings about the relationship of Japanese Orthodox Christians to Russia.” He goes on in his letter to explain and correct the errors that have been made. The central misunderstanding, he says, relates to the idea that all Orthodox are dependent on the Russian emperor, because the emperor is the head of the church. (Here he uses the term imperator, emperor; this term is also used for the emperor of Japan. Elsewhere in the diary he uses the Russian term tsar, which

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also means king; he appears to use the two terms interchangeably.6) This, he says, is utterly false: the only head of the church is Jesus Christ. He states, The Russian emperor is in no way the head of the church . . . Nowhere and at no time has the church taken [the Russian emperor’s] authority in doctrine nor considered or called him its head . . . For you [Japanese Christians] the Russian emperor does not have even a hint of religious authority; he does not stand between you and your emperor in any way and does not disturb in the slightest your loyalty toward your Fatherland. As your brother in faith, the Russian Emperor of course only wishes that you be good Christians fulfilling all Christian obligations, including observance of your faith and loyalty to your homeland and your emperor. (February 29, 1904)

Nikolai here is not quoting the tsar but saying what he assumes his position must be:  the Russian head of state, as a good Orthodox Christian, would wish for the Orthodox Japanese Christians to fulfill their duties to their own empire. The letter continues by noting that the Japanese Orthodox Christians have always been well aware of this and are now acting in accordance with this knowledge: The war with Russia has begun, and the Orthodox pray with their hearts to grant victory to their imperial military, with spirit send their soldiers to the war, fully convinced that they will be heroically protecting their Fatherland against the enemy; the soldiers go with enthusiasm, having asked for blessings and prayers from their priests . . . all Orthodox Christians in all Japan with joy contribute, as much as they can, to the military needs of the Fatherland or for the support to the families of the soldiers.

It is “clear as day,” Nikolai writes, that Orthodoxy strengthens rather than interferes with “patriotic service to the Fatherland.” It is important here that Nikolai presents this as not only his own theology but simply the standard teachings of Orthodoxy and the theology that is “of course” also held by the Russian emperor. It is unlikely that Tsar Nicholas II would ever have articulated such a sentiment—he gives no indication of this in his diary, and certainly many of Nikolai’s contemporaries in Russia looked at the situation quite differently. Nikolai does not acknowledge this fact, either in his public statements or in the entries in his diary. Nikolai’s argument apparently carries the day among some of the Japanese press. On February 26, 1904, Nikolai writes about an article that dismissed

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concerns that the Orthodox church was a danger to the state. The author, Anezaki, noted that in this Church, each Christian is true to his or her Fatherland but said it was time for the Japanese church to become independent of Russia.7 On February 29, the same day he discusses his letter, he notes that Pavel Nakai, who has worked with him daily for many years to translate Orthodox texts, composed a prayer asking God to give victory to the Japanese troops. The priests at the cathedral performed it after the liturgy. Nikolai notes, “Pavel Nakai composed the prayer and read it to me; it was composed of temperate and decent expressions; the prayer was borrowed from the Slavonic prayer book.” He adds, “At the time of the prayer I stood at the altar and prayed for the granting of victory to my own Emperor.”

Prayers of Russians at Home In the city of Omsk, Russia, prayers for a Russian victory occurred in a much more dramatic and public manner. On April 2, Bishop Mikhail of Omsk performed a prayer service outside in a field, between the city and the train station, for troops about to be dispatched to the Far East, including a cavalry regiment, a supply battalion, two regiments of Siberian Cossacks, and a Siberian artillery brigade. At 11:00 a.m., the bishop arrived and was met by a military commander, and a military choir performed “Kol′ Slaven” [lit., “How Glorious”]. More than a dozen clergy members participated in the service, including ten priests and five deacons as well as the bishop. At the end of the prayer service, Mikhail turned and made a speech to the troops, whom he addressed as “Christ-loving warriors!” Assuring them that the church blessed them, he told them to “bravely go forth for faith, Tsar, and Fatherland.” Having repented of their sins at Easter, he said, they would be ready to enter the battle with “the fear of God and a clean conscience,” which they need because at any minute, “God may call you from this sinful earth to His just judgment.” They must “go boldly and bravely against the spiteful enemy, who does not honor the true God.”8 He continued, “The Patronage of the Mother of God will overshadow you and in your ranks the angels of God will fight invisibly on your behalf.” The church will pray for the troops and will always remember those who lay down their life in battle. As a sign of these unending prayers and as a blessing, he said, “Take, beloved brothers, these holy icons of the Precious Mother of God and the holy saints; may they preserve you with their prayerful

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intercession. God be with you!” He and the other clergy then went around to asperge the soldiers with holy water; the soldiers sang “Spasi, Gospodi” [Save Us, Lord]. Different icons were given to different regiments: To the Omsk regiment the icon of the Mother of God Quick to Hearken; one Cossack company received the icon of St. Nikolai, and the other, the Iversk icon of the Mother of God; and the artillery received the icon of the Venerable Sergei. The main commander accepted the blessing of the archpastor (archflamen), and kneeling, kissed the holy icons with reverence, bowing before them to the ground.9

Because of the enemy’s failure to honor God, the saints would preserve Russian troops, and the angels would fight on their behalf. Bishop Makarius of Tomsk addresses another group of departing soldiers, stating:  “Christ is risen, Christ-loving warriors! You go to the battlefield, in order to defeat the enemy or die for your friends. The Tsar-Father calls you; your mother [mat′-rodnaya] Rus′ sends you; the holy church blesses you . . . It is glorious to defeat the enemy; but it is glorious also to lay down your life for faith, for Tsar, and for fatherland.”10 The first victory, defeat of the enemy, is an earthly victory, he says; the second is glorified both on earth and in heaven, where the soldiers will live among the martyrs. Makarius stresses the connection between death in battle and martyrdom: “The blood of the warrior, spilled in battle, is martyr’s blood. The warrior, spilling his blood in time of battle, carries his blood to God as a sacrifice. God accepts the holy sacrifice.” The soldiers are told to keep themselves pure, so that their sacrifice will be pleasing to God. As they go into battle, they should take both material weapons and the spiritual weapons of faith, hope, and love. Faith, he said, has helped believers in battle before; the walls of Jericho fell by faith, and it moves mountains. With “the cross in the hands of the priest and hope in the spirit,” Russia will be victorious. Finally, love for God, the Tsar, and the homeland draws these men to the battlefield; it is both glorious and sweet to die for the homeland. “There is no good deed greater than love,” he says, “and no greater love than that which lays down life for one’s friends.”11 The warriors take with them the cross, which Jesus himself showed to Constantine and his warriors, leading them to victory.12 They also rely on prayer, remembering the company of Christians in ancient times who successfully prayed for rain when their warriors were close to dying of thirst. Makarius reminds the troops that they must also treat the peaceful residents of the country, particularly children and “weak women,” with kindness. He cites what he calls an “ancient popular saying”:  “Do not

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Figure 5 Blessing of a Russian regiment leaving for the Far East, 1904 (Alamy).

fight those who are lying down” (i.e., “don’t hit a man when he’s down”).13 The Christ-loving soldier, then, is inspired by his faith and willing to give his life for God and country, but he also behaves in a manner appropriate to his calling. These types of messages were passed down to children as well; on May 1 and 2, in Bugalminsk, a prayer service was performed for students and their parents about granting victory to the Russian warriors. After the moleben and panakhida, it was explained to the children and their parents that each loyal subject should contribute to the needs of the war and pray in a heartfelt way about the granting of victory to the Russian military. The article noted that some of the participants were inorodtsi, including some baptized Tartars.14

Japan and Civilization In Japan, Russia’s assertions that its empire was Christian and its military Christloving appeared not as a threat but as the superstitious cry of a backward nation. The Japanese followed Russian religious rhetoric on the war closely, and some Japanese leaders realized that it could play to Japan’s advantage. Motivated at

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least in part by national self-consciousness of the Western gaze, the desire to appear civilized, the desire to be Western and to win Western support, Japan started its public relations battle before the war had barely begun. Japan’s diplomatic missions involved sending emissaries to the United States and Europe, but the battle also occurred at home, in Japan itself. Questions about civilization often arose in the analysis of Russia’s linkage of religion and the war. Stories in the Mail highlighted Japan’s comparative advantage with regard to its civilized nature and its relationship to the West. Sometimes Japan’s own level of civilization was emphasized; at other times the emphasis was on Russia’s lack of civilization, with the latter often connected to its failure to permit religious freedom. Frequently the point was made that Japan, although it is not a Christian nation, is more Christian than Russia in important ways. Many Japanese leaders and citizens throughout the country stressed that from their perspective, the war was not a religious one. It was, instead, a modern war, carried out fully in accord with recently developed conventions on the international law of war and for rational reasons unrelated to religion. The Mail’s March 12, 1904, “Monthly Summary of the Religious Press,” quotes the Kiristokyo Sekai: Japan must resolve that from beginning to end this war shall be carried on in a civilized way . . . Japan has always to remember that the principal reason of the friendliness shown toward her by England and America is the fact that it is fully recognized in these two countries that Japan has adopted all that is best in Western Civilization. In the present war Japan must realize that she has a mission, which is to show to the Orientals with whom she is brought into close contact what the civilization which she has so recently adopted actually is.15

The Japanese article adds that some may say that “the Russians are Christians and we are not. In name this is so, but if actions and principles be considered, the Russians are not Christians, while the Japanese nation, though professing no Christianity, acts in a Christian way.”16 The Japanese were supported in their arguments along these lines by some American Protestants, who expanded on the Japanese critique of Russian Christianity. The American minister J.  H. DeForest, a missionary who is also a veteran of the Civil War, publishes an article in Japanese in Sendai’s Kahoku Shimpo in February, which is then republished in the Mail on March 19, 1904. The article, titled “Why Americans Sympathize with Japan,” focuses first on the

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nature of Russian Christianity and the relationship between church and state in Russia. DeForest writes: Russia, in accordance with despotic principles, employs religion to strengthen the chains of tyranny and ignorance. The people of the United States stand for religious liberty and believe that true religion is one of the best safeguards of the home, of society, and of the State. Russia is called a Christian country. Doubtless there are a great many noble, earnest, self-sacrificing Christians among her people. Her Emperor is one, a devout believer in God, the Father of all men, and a lover of the righteousness that is taught in Christ. Bishop Nicolai, whose long unselfish work in Japan shows his Christian character, is another noble gentleman and scholar. There are not a few such in Russia, and if we think only of them we may well say that Russia is a Christian country . . . But in reality the Russian Government uses Christianity as an aid to despotism and ignorance.17

DeForest points out that true religious liberty does not exist in Russia; Jews and Protestant Christians, among others, suffer “repression and open persecution.” Christianity is the state religion and, though there are some educated clergy, “the majority of priests are ignorant and superstitious and can be of no use except in an ignorant and despotic environment.” Such Christians allow for religion to be used as “a kind of anaesthetic to keep the people from waking up.” The United States is an entirely different sort of Christian nation, he says; Christians are educated, help the poor, and grant religious liberty to Jews, Muslims, and Buddhists. (He notes with approval Article 28 of the Japanese Constitution, which permits a degree of religious freedom.) He concludes, Russian Christianity on the whole is a sham and disgrace to the Christian name. It consists too much in useless ceremonies and empty form. It fosters ignorance and superstition. It is the servant of despotism instead of being the moral and spiritual power to elevate the people. If this be Christianity, the less the civilized world has of it the better, for it is in reality the enemy of human progress.

If Russia wins the war, “precious liberties would be lost in the East”; in contrast, “If Japan wins, the light of political and religious liberty will flood the whole East and will aid the salvation of China and also the final reformation of Russia.”18 Nikolai read the Mail regularly and was attentive to these kinds of articles. His March 4 diary entry includes a summary of this article, quoting in English the phrases “domestic cattle” (in reference to the treatment of the Russian

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people by the despotic government); “employs religion to strengthen the chains of tyranny and ignorance” and “shame and disgrace to the Christian name.” Noting that the article was also published in Japanese and then was made into a separate brochure, he says that it is impossible to imagine a nastier scolding of Russia.

A Complicated Grief: Easter 1904 and the Death of Admiral Makarov Two months into the war, Russians celebrated Orthodox Easter, on March 28, 1904. Although Nikolai declared earlier in the year that he would not participate in the public services of the Japanese Orthodox Church, he writes that it is sad not to perform the liturgy even on an ordinary Sunday and that “on Easter this would be unbearably sad.” So Nikolai performed the service with three priests, Frs. Tsiba, Yukava, and Midzuno, before an almost full Cathedral. Two Episcopal missionaries, the Reverends Jeffreys and R. S. Sweet, attended the service, and police and gendarmes accompanied him during the procession around the Cathedral. During the day, churches from around the country sent telegrams, one of which used the first part of the traditional Easter greeting, “Christ is risen.” Wanting to respond in the traditional manner, “He is risen indeed,” Nikolai wrote out the message in English transliteration, but the telegraph clerks told him “Russian telegrams” were not acceptable and returned his money. In Port Arthur, an attack from the Japanese was expected, so protective measures were taken. The commander of the Navy, Admiral Makarov, who reviewed the security measures personally every night, led the great Easter vigil on a patrol boat. Easter matins were performed in a detachment church. The church was full of people praying, including five generals. The author notes that only the blinds drawn in the church and the fog surrounding it and covering the town reminded the participants of the possibility of an attack by the enemy. Easter Sunday went peacefully; the town was festive, and the troops were all in good spirits.19 Just after Easter, however, the Russian navy suffered an enormous loss at Port Arthur. On the night of March 30/31, the battleship Petropavlovsk struck a Japanese mine or mines not far from the port and sank almost immediately. Makarov was killed along with almost 700 of his officers and men. According to one report, “Petropavlovsk sank within two minutes; some observers say they

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saw the admiral kneeling in prayer on the bridge as the ship went down. . . . The destroyers sent to search the site of the disaster found fifty-eight survivors from Petropavlovsk; over 680 officers and men had been lost with the ship, among them most of Makarov’s staff and the famous war artist Vasilii Vereshchagin. Of Admiral Stepan Osipovich Makarov himself, the searchers found only his overcoat.”20 Though a religious man, Makarov did not incorporate anything about Christianity into his final instructions to his men. They concluded instead with other inspirational statements, namely “The fleet in which the personnel retains its sangfroid will fire accurately and therefore infallibly defeat the enemy, even under disadvantageous tactical conditions,” and “Victory will be to the man that fights well without paying attention to his own losses and remembers that those of the enemy are still greater.”21 Makarov’s death and the sinking of the Petropavlovsk set off a national chorus of mourning. Even the famously terse and unemotional Tsar Nicholas II wrote in his diary on March 31, “For the entire day I was unable to keep myself together because of this terrible misfortune . . . May God’s will be done in everything, but we must pray for God’s mercy to us sinners.”22 The generalized concern and sorrow Nikolai feels over Russia’s losses are intensified and made personal with Makarov’s death. He apparently hears about his death on April 2, which is when he records it in his diary. He states, “What sadness . . . the beauty and strength of the Russian fleet—Makarov—fallen! Russia paid for its ignorance and pride: she considered the Japanese an uneducated and weak people, and did not prepare herself for the war as needed.” Just six weeks earlier, he had noted Makarov’s appointment as fleet commander, saying that there could be no better appointment. Nikolai writes on April 3, 1904, that he suffered all day from sorrow over Makarov’s death and the deaths of those who died with him, and he dwells on the admiral’s death in the weeks and months to come. His suffering is all the more difficult, he says, because he is trying to keep it to himself: “[A]round me everyone is filled with joy, although they also try not to look me in the eye.” He notes that the two first met when he stayed in Makarov’s father’s house in Nikolayevsk on the way to Japan forty-three years earlier, in 1861. At that time, Makarov was only twelve years old. Over the years, Makarov continued to stay in touch with Nikolai, and he became a strong supporter of the construction of the Holy Resurrection Cathedral. The death of his longtime friend amid the terrible losses to his country is debilitating to Nikolai; he is miserable and can find no way to soothe himself. He writes,

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God, what is this apathy that sometimes descends! Nothing helps—not church services, nor reflection, nor efforts of the will. I would go somewhere, rest in peace and silence for a day or two; but this is impossible. There is nowhere to go. I would unburden my heart in conversation, but there is no one to talk to; what is sadness for me is joy to those around me—and it is a legitimate joy, for who does not rejoice in the success and glory of the fatherland?

The following day he notes, “My grief is complicated . . . My beloved Japanese rejoice, but no matter how I love them, at this time I am not with them.” He says that praying about Makarov helps somewhat; “the sadness about him softened, so that upon leaving the church I could occupy myself with work” (April 5). But his preoccupation with the war does not end. He says that although he is not in the war, he “lives” it: “You can never separate from thoughts of it—not when you are occupied, nor when you have free time; at night, in dreams, there is suffering. This must be, and is, what is called patriotism” (April 22). It is not the Japanese that cause this problem; again, he says, “everyone around me is so delicate—not a word about the war, and . . . the Japanese victories; and faces so serene as if in the soul there is no joy or triumph, which is just as natural given their constant victories as my sadness given our constant defeats” (April 22). On April 3, he notes Makarov’s enthusiastic support in raising funds for the Cathedral in Japan, and for this, he says, prayers will forever be raised about him in the Cathedral. The irony of the fact that the Japanese who will perform these prayers are now celebrating his death does not appear to strike him. Prayer services for Makarov and his men are performed across Russia. On April 5, at the Zhytomyr cathedral, Bishop Antonii of Volynsk uses his death and those of his comrades as a springboard for discussing the value of the Russian warrior’s service to his homeland. After some general comments about funerals and the importance of not storing your treasures on earth, he states that the fact that these sailors died “not at the hands of the enemies but directly at the hands of God”—presumably because they were drowned in the sea—gives them a special glory. Antonii continues by quoting Job 1:21, noting that though the Lord “taketh away” these young men, their loss draws together the Russian people and strengthens their feelings of brotherhood. But, the bishop asks, can this kind of thing be said to the families of the dead? This would be difficult if we were not talking about the Russian people, who recognize the importance of service to the divine will and of the defense of faith, tsar, and fatherland. The mother who loses her son will be comforted by the fact that “she carried into the world a Christ-loving warrior and a true servant of the Russian tsar.”23 He describes how these soldiers will be

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perceived by young family members in the distant future:  upon seeing an unfamiliar picture in a family album, a youth will be shown the letters the soldier sent shortly before his death and the old newspaper that writes about the prayers for him and his comrades. He will be told of the heroic service of a loved one who wanted to protect Russia and assured that “now he stands with the heavenly tsar.”24 In his eulogy for Makarov, Father Ioann Sergiev, also known as Father John of Kronstadt, also highlights the importance of service to “faith, Tsar, and fatherland.”25 He describes the status of those who “die in the faith when fulfilling their holy duty”; no one can avoid death, so it is best to die in this way. He also emphasizes the significance of the fact that they died near Easter.26 In another sermon printed in this same May 6 issue, Father John tells the story of the persecution of Christians, and especially St. George, under the emperor Diocletian, and goes further, asserting that if Russia will repent, reject atheism, follow God’s commands, and otherwise behave in an appropriate Christian manner, God “will easily subdue our enemies . . . and, as in past years, bless our weapons. We will not call the righteous anger of God against us.”27 John of Kronstadt elsewhere emphasizes the religious standing of the tsar, which is reinforced by the practice of anointing the king or leader. This practice was established by God himself, the “tsar of all earthly tsars,” or to translate it another way, the “king of all earthly kings.” (In Russian, King David is “Tsar David.”28) He adds, “There is one God in heaven, there is one Tsar in native [korennoi] Russia, just as there is one Orthodox faith, and there is one holy, catholic, and apostolic church.”29 Though some Russians may have expressed interest in a republic or constitutional government, he says, the Russian people cannot be without a tsar.

The Priest on the Battlefield The emotional impact of the destruction of Makarov’s ship at Port Arthur was compounded by another defeat shortly thereafter at the Battle of Yalu River (April 17–19). In the battle, 2,700 Russians were killed, wounded, or taken prisoner; Japanese casualties were substantially lower, though they included 1,036 killed or wounded.30 The following week, Nikolai describes his Japanese colleagues’ plans for a thanksgiving prayer (most likely for this victory): The first thing that I saw in the morning was a notice posted in the corridor, that after the liturgy there ‘will be a thanksgiving prayer on the occasion of the

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victories of the imperial troops,’ and at the Cathedral the same announcement was on the blackboard . . . After the liturgy the priests performed the prayers. I stood at the altar, praying with grief in my soul about the harm to my poor Fatherland, for which people thank God. (April 25)

In some respects, the Battle of the Yalu River was especially shocking to the Russians (and the world at large) because it marked the first major victory of an Asian country over a European one in modern times.31 The fact that Japan could defeat a European power was surprising to many observers. Emblematic of the discussion over religion and civilization was the treatment and reporting of an incident at the Battle of the Yalu River regarding the actions of a priest, Stephen Scherbakovskii, who served with the Eleventh Siberian Regiment. Scherbakovskii, who was wounded in the battle, told his story to war correspondent Douglas Story from his hospital bed. He and the regiment had been completely surrounded and had to find a way to escape. Story writes, The [priest], long-haired and bearded, and in full canonicals, wearing the highpeaked mitre of his priestly rank, raised the holy cross and marched down the avenue of death. Behind him came the assistants and the sub-priests, and then a long line of the 11th Siberian [R]ifles, chanting “Gospodi Pomilui” (Lord have mercy). Never has battle witnessed a stranger procession, rarely more tragic.32

The historian Richard Connaughton notes that at the time the priest rose up, the majority of the regiment’s “twenty-six officers and 900 men had been killed or wounded.”33 The rest were in an open valley with little protection from the Japanese. Story continues, “The priest, shot through his lungs, stumbled and fell, but his sub-priest raised him, and, totteringly now, with the cross of Christ all blood-bespattered, the strange vanguard staggered out to safety.”34 These Western reports of the event fall mostly in line with those in the Russian press. Tserkovnyia Viedomosti honors the priest for his heroism, stating that the journal had received a “laconic” telegram from the government regarding a heroic feat by a chaplain. The telegram stated, “At the front of the regiment went the field chaplain with a cross, wounded by two bullets.” To this the article’s author added, “Already wounded, and twice wounded with bullets, the pastor went at the head of his flock . . . Went, unarmed, holding in his hands the first and greatest of all weapons of the world—the holy cross!” In the article, the priest, identified as Stepan Vasilevich Scherbakovskii, 29, describes his experience, saying that in the early morning hours of April 18, he realized that the battle would be desperate, and, he said, “I decided to fulfill

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Figure  6 “The Brave Priest Leading a Charge at the Battle of the Yalu—A Russian Popular Picture.” In a depiction of the same event portrayed on this book’s cover, Fr. Stephan Scherbakovskii holds up a cross in the midst of the battle. (The American Monthly Review of Reviews 31 [January–June 1905.])

my duty and give an example through my death.” At 4:00 a.m. he silently joined his company. The company moved into the battle. I blessed the soldiers and threw myself forward, a banner with a cross in hand. Alongside me went my tserkovnik Iosif Perch.35 We were bombarded with bullets and fragments. I didn’t feel the first wound, and from the second, in the shoulder, I fell, losing consciousness.36

His assistant—whom he called a hero—took him from the field. The article notes that his regiment was located in the center of the battle but nevertheless cheered on their priest. It praises the priest for his faith and his ability to “so bravely stand up against enemies” with a cross in hand.37 The article goes on to talk about heroic priests in wartime throughout Christian history. The event was widely reported in the foreign press. In a New  York Times report on May 11, 1904, Scherbakovskii was featured in an article titled “Russian Priest’s Heroism:  Father Takerbackoffsky Tells of Their Part in Yalu Battle.” It reports that “Takerbackoffsky” was “the priest who led the charge of the Eleventh Regiment at the battle of Kiu-Lien-Cheng.”

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The Japan Mail has yet a different perspective on the incident, however, and this is picked up by others later in the war. In its reporting on the episode, the Japan Mail author describes “an attempt made to pervert the present war into a religious contest.” The article continues, The Russians marched to the attack in the Yalu battle with priests at their head holding up the cross to encourage them, and one of these priests was shot. Therefore it is by the Russians that the idea has been introduced of Cross against Crescent. They are the true Yellow Peril, as we have often said. They it is who in this twentieth century thrust their religion into the forefront of their fights and seek once more to awaken the terrible prejudices that plunged medieval Europe in everlasting disgrace.”38

In a speech given in Sapporo on July 16, 1904, the Rev. John Batchelor discussed this event; the Japan Weekly Mail carried a translation of the speech, which appeared in its August 6 issue. Batchelor criticizes the priest, even going so far as to suggest that he deserved to be smited by God for his participation on the battlefield: It is said that at the battle of the Yalu a Russian priest headed the Russian Army holding a cross on high! But this in no way proves this to be a religious war. It was a mistake, and a very bad one on the part of that Priest. The cross had no business there. The Christian cross is not a sign of war and death, but of peace and life. That Priest, I  verily believe, was killed not on account of a shot well aimed by one of your soldiers, but in the dispensation of Providence it was a punishment from God. That poor Priest should not have been there in the forefront of the battle. His place was behind among the sick, the wounded, and the dying.”39

In fact, Scherbakovskii was not killed in the battle, though he did suffer from psychological wounds.40 Images of the battle also reflect this disjuncture of perspectives. A painting by M. L. Maimon (1860–1924), “Attack at Turenchen, April 18,” depicts the priest at the front of the regiment, holding a cross in the air but leaning on two other men, both of whom are playing a trumpet or some kind of brass instrument. Other musicians follow, and there is a determined-looking soldier holding a sword that is out but lowered. There are several injured men in the picture, but because of others with weapons in the background, it is impossible to determine whether they are in retreat.41 In contrast, other images—including the one featured on the cover of this book, whose origin is unknown—the priest stands at the center, uninjured, and looking triumphant

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amidst the field of fallen Japanese warriors. (Scherbakovskii was twenty-nine years old at the time of the battle, so it is unlikely that he had a white beard as depicted here.) The Japanese press and Batchelor appear to have skewed the facts of the story to make a point about Russia’s inappropriate use of religion in time of war. Nevertheless, the Russians do seem to have taken pride in the priest who was willing to hold up the cross, or a banner with the cross, as a means of defending or protecting the soldiers under fire.

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Summer 1904: Religion, War, and the Civilized World

In the spring and summer of 1904, the Japanese criticized Russia’s statements regarding religion and war and suggested that Japan was taking a more civilized approach; religion was rejected as an appropriate cause of war, but Japanese believers of all faiths supported it as just. Russia sought to demonstrate its membership in the Western family of nations by emphasizing its adherence to the international laws of war and linking this adherence to its Christian status. Even as Christian pacifist Leo Tolstoy decried the war as a “religious fraud,” arguing that no true Christian would engage in warfare, other Orthodox leaders, priests, and citizens continued to support the war. Far removed from his peers at home, the Orthodox priest Mitrofan Srebrianskii performed religious services at the front and supported the Christian soldiers there. Like the Japanese, the chaplain appeared uninterested in making a religious case for the war; but unlike Tolstoy, he did not question the Russians’ right to fight it.

The Congress of Japanese Religionists In the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, consciousness of the world’s religious diversity and increased support for religious freedom and toleration became a defining feature of the West. One of the most famous efforts to highlight this feature was the World Parliament of Religions, held in Chicago in 1893, which brought together sixty representatives of ten religions. For several weeks, presenters from the traditions—Hinduism, Buddhism, Jainism, Zoroastrianism, Taoism, Confucianism, Shintoism, Judaism, Christianity, and Islam—met downtown, at what is now the Art Institute of Chicago, to explain their own faith traditions and hear about those of others.1 The event was hailed as a hallmark of progressivism and American openness to religious diversity; an organizer of

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the event stated, “[T]his day the sun of a new era of religious peace and progress rises over the world.”2 Japan thus had a model to follow as it worked to demonstrate that its war with Russia had not been caused by and would not lead to religious tensions. At the Congress of Japanese Religionists, convened on the afternoon of May 3, 1904, Japanese representatives of different faiths came together to counter the belief that the Russo-Japanese War was “a war between ‘heathenism’ and Christianity.”3 The Congress’s approximately 1,500 participants, including “Shintoists, Buddhists, Catholic and Protestant Christians, Japanese and foreigners of both sexes prominent in their several religious communions,” had tea and cake, listened to a piano and violin duet, and sang the Japanese national anthem before listening to speeches by representatives of all of Japan’s major religious traditions. The preface to the proceedings of the Congress begins with a conscious nod to its English-speaking audience. Because of the Congress’s “unique import,” the author says, “no apology is needed for presenting a report of its proceedings for the benefit of the English-speaking and English-reading world. Never before has such [a] gathering of men of supposedly antagonistic faiths been held in this island empire, and it would be hard to forecast its far-reaching influence on the development of her national life and international relations” (Preface). The proceedings tie the Congress directly to the 1893 World Parliament, noting that the late Dr. John Henry Barrows, who was “prominently connected” with the Parliament, had visited Japan in 1897. At that time “a small gathering of Buddhists, Shintoists, and Christians was convened in Tokyo with a view doubtless of giving some practical effect to the ideals set up by that other great gathering across the sea” (Preface). Though the 1897 gathering yielded few results, the Congress of Japanese Religionists generated more widespread interest; the author describes it as “an event of no ordinary moment in the history of religion and civilization” (2). Having established the Congress’s role in linking Japan to the West, the proceedings go on to describe the Congress, discuss its formal purpose, and provide some of the speeches given by the participants (1). The proceedings note that since the start of the war, Russia has tried to paint the Japanese as a danger to the West, a “yellow peril.” Russia also “did not scruple to stir up religious prejudice by applying the term ‘heathen’ to their foes, saying that as they were heathen and themselves Christians, this was a war between ‘heathenism’ and Christianity, or in other words a religious war.” Though the author acknowledges that some Japanese have also tried to use religion as a spur to encourage the Japanese to fight the Russians, he says that both groups are wrong. Japan’s duty is to “be governed by such principles as are worthy of an enlightened nation” (7).

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Rev. Shindo Kuroda, a Buddhist priest, convenes the meeting and states that though some think “the Russians are a white race holding to the Christian religion . . . [and] the Japanese are a yellow race and their religion is Buddhism,” it is important to let the world know “that we religionists in this country view this war in a broad and impartial spirit, and that this moreover is the attitude of the Japanese nation as a whole” (12). He defends the “pure” motives of the conveners, denying rumors that the Japanese government had convened the conference. The Congress adopts the following resolution: The war now being waged between Japan and Russia has for its object, on the part of Japan, the security of the empire and the permanent peace of the East. It is carried on in the interests of justice, humanity and the civilization of the world. With differences between races or religions it has nothing whatever to do. We therefore, meeting together without distinction of race or religion, agree that we will endeavor to publish to the world, each in a manner accordant with the methods observed in the religious body to which he belongs, the real purpose of the present war as now described. We also express a most earnest desire for the speedy accomplishment of an honorable peace. (14–15)

Addresses follow from representatives of several faiths, including a Christian minister, Rev. Kodo Kozaki. He says that the foreign press has called this “a war between the civilizations of the 16th and the 20th centuries, in which Russia represents the former and Japan the latter . . . Russia stands for despotic government, Japan for popular freedom and constitutional government.” Religious liberty, he says, does not exist in Russia, but in Japan there is “a height of religious liberty practically found in no other country of the world, with the exception of course of those two countries which have reached the highest summit of civilization yet known—England and America—and so we must say that Japan represents 20th century civilization” (26).4 Kozaki’s is just one of many statements by Japanese religionists that reject the idea that religion is related to war and attempt to establish that Japan is the more civilized nation. The racial concerns of the West are also addressed directly:  the Buddhist Rev. Seiran Ouchi suggests that “the Russians are a yellow race with a white skin,” adding “we Japanese are a white race with a yellow skin, and Europeans need not be afraid of us” (39). Furthermore, he says, “under the cover of a yellow skin, we are doing the work of the white races” (40). The Mail reported on plans for the meeting and afterwards provided short excerpts from the speeches.5 This issue also contains an interview with Count

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Katsura that William Imbrie mentions at the Congress; the Count, using language almost identical to that from the Congress’s statement, says, with differences of race or religion [the war] has nothing to do; and it is carried on in the interests of justice, humanity, and the commerce and civilization of the world. In saying this I am not speaking as an individual only; I am speaking as Prime Minister also; and more than that I am expressing the mind of His Majesty the Emperor.6

A similar meeting in Sapporo on July 16, 1904, drew more than 2,000 people. The declaration of the conference was: “Therefore we representatives of those who profess various Creeds here with one accord assembled and with perfect unanimity protest for the truth, viz., that this war has nothing to do with either Religion or Race; and we heartily pray that peace and happiness may be speedily restored.”7

Russia, Religion, and the International Laws of War Though Russia did not engage in these types of measures to demonstrate the empire’s lack of hostility toward other religions, the instructions it gave to its military reflect its desire to be considered “civilized.” Throughout the late imperial period, the Russian empire was deeply involved in the codification of the international law of war, starting with its participation in the First Geneva Convention of 1864.8 It hosted the conference that led to the St. Petersburg Declaration of 1868, which banned explosive bullets, and also convened the First Hague Conference in 1899. One of Russia’s representatives was Feodor Martens (1845–1909), chair of international law at St. Petersburg University and advisor to Russia’s Ministry of Foreign Affairs. Martens, who would become famous for writing the preamble to the Hague Convention on the laws of war, known as the “Martens Declaration,” specifically argued that international law could expand beyond Christians. International law, he stated, “can be recognized and observed independent of a country’s dominant religious convictions, so long as the relevant people or its ruling classes share the views of the rational ends of human existence and the purpose of the state, views that have been developed by the age-old culture of civilized European nations.” All laws “have the same source—the idea of truth and justice, which are innate [prisushchaia] to human nature.”9 In line with that principle, the Russian government had invited Siam, Persia, China, and Japan, as well as the European powers, to the 1899 Hague Conference.10 Japan and Russia would both become signatories to the Hague Conventions.11

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These three protocols that stemmed from the Hague Conference were distributed to the Russian troops during the war and, in July 1904, the tsar ratified the “Instructions to the Russian Army Respecting the Usages and Customs of Continental War.” Under an order of the war ministry, also in July 1904, the Russian military published a guidebook that summarized the laws and customs of war in question-and-answer form. In addition to addressing many of the principles in the Geneva, Hague, and St. Petersburg conventions regarding the laws of war, the Instructions also addressed the issue of religion. Under “Instructions to Non-commissioned officers and soldiers,” it states that they are to “respect foreign religions and temples”;12 they are also instructed to “treat prisoners with humanity. Do not rail at their faith.”13 The Instructions also characterize respectful and honorable behavior as a Christian duty: [D]o not injure the peaceable inhabitants of the enemy country; do not take away nor injure their goods, and restrain your comrades from doing these things. Cruelties toward the inhabitants only increase the number of our enemies. Remember that the military man is the soldier of Christ and of the Czar; this is why he should conduct himself like a Christian soldier.14

These practices developed as the result of Russia’s participation in international regimes related to the law of war but were congruent with and indeed supported by Christian principles. There is also a reference to the use of particularly cruel or indiscriminate weapons on the part of the Japanese in an article titled “Conquer in this!”—a reference to Constantine’s use of the cross in the battle at Milvian Bridge. This report in Missionerskoe Obozrenie discusses the inhumanity—in what seems to be a literal sense—of the weapons the Japanese have used. It states, “The heathen-Japanese have used against us a whole arsenal of devilish inventions . . . The weapons of the Antichrist.”15 As examples of Japanese “shamelessness” in their choice of weaponry, the author identifies underwater mines that destroy whole battleships, the “Arizama” weapons (possibly a reference to the Arisakatype guns), fireships, and “lyddite, asphyxiating and poisonous projectiles.”16

“To Love One’s Enemies . . . Means Not to Kill Them”: Tolstoy and the War For the supporters of the international law regime, particular weapons were inhumane or devilish; for Christian pacifists, inhumanity and evil were part and parcel

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of all forms of war. This attitude was reflected in the works of the most renowned Russian pacifist of that time, the novelist and activist Leo Tolstoy. Though praised by many outside Russia, Tolstoy was criticized within his home country. He was excommunicated from the Orthodox Church in 1903, and, as Chapter 4 discusses, his analogue in Solov’ev’s Three Conversations, the Prince, is scorned for his naïve pacifism. Despite his standing outside Orthodoxy, Tolstoy drew inspiration from both Christianity and other traditions. As would be expected, he took a straightforward position in opposition to the war, but he also addressed the war’s interreligious nature. In a 1904 article, Tolstoy calls for Russia and Japan to put down their weapons in accordance with the dictates of both Buddhism and Christianity.17 The article appeared originally in English. However, it is clear that the title, “Bethink Yourselves!” is an antiquated translation of “Vidumivaite!”; a better translation, based on the gospel text from which it is taken, is “Repent!” Tolstoy begins his article by stating, Men who are separated from each other by thousands of miles, hundreds of thousands of such men (on the one hand—Buddhists, whose law forbids the killing, not only of men, but of animals; on the other hand—Christians, professing the law of brotherhood and love) like wild beasts on land and on sea are seeking out each other, in order to kill, torture, and mutilate each other in the most cruel way.18

He says it is understandable that this could be supported by poor uneducated Japanese, “taught that Buddhism consists not in compassion to all that lives, but in sacrifices to idols” and also by “a similar poor illiterate fellow from the neighborhood of Toula or Nijni Novgorod, who has been taught that Christianity consists in worshipping Christ, the Madonna, Saints, and their ikons” (3). But he is distressed that those who are “enlightened” on both sides could support the war. Tolstoy rails against the role of religion in inspiring and promoting the war. He notes that both the Tsar and the Emperor call for the slaughter of those in the other nation: All over Russia, from the Palace to the remotest village, the pastors of churches, calling themselves Christians, appeal to that God who has enjoined love to one’s enemies—to the God of Love Himself—to help the work of the devil to further the slaughter of men . . . Those who remain at home are gladdened by news of the murder of men, and when they learn that many Japanese have been killed they thank some one whom they call God. (8)

The ordinary Russian soldiers have been “[s]tupefied by prayers, sermons, exhortations, by processions, pictures, and newspapers,” and, as a result, “with hearts

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of agony, but with artificial sprightliness, go where they, risking their own lives, will commit the most dreadful act of killing men whom they do not know and who have done them no harm” (8).19 He criticizes the use of icons as part of this effort and also criticizes the tsar, who has advocated the slaughter of Japanese and asked for God’s blessing on this terrible crime. In his article, Tolstoy implicitly relates war and missionary efforts, stating: To love one’s enemies—the Japanese, the Chinese, those yellow people toward whom benighted men are now endeavoring to excite our hatred—to love them means not to kill them . . . To love the yellow people, whom we call our foes, means . . . not to teach them the art of deceiving and killing others, but to teach them justice, unselfishness, compassion, love—and that not by words, but by the example of our own good life. (27)

That is, the Japanese need to be “taught” about Christianity, but the way to do it is by providing an example of love and compassion as opposed to violence. Tolstoy ends his article by noting his distress over the sinking of the Petropavlovsk. He is upset not about Admiral Makarov and the other officers—they “knew what they were doing” and were there voluntarily—but about the others who died, those unfortunate men drawn from all parts of Russia, who, by the help of religious fraud, and under fear of punishment, have been torn from an honest, reasonable, useful, laborious family life, driven to the other end of the world, placed on a cruel, senseless machine for slaughter, and torn to bits, drowned along with this stupid machine in a distant sea.  (30)

The “religious fraud” he mentions is supported by the missionary papers. He states that the St. Petersburg Viedomosti had put out calls for prayers in honor of those “who have laid down their lives for the sacred Fatherland” and noted that Russians should not doubt “that the Fatherland will give us new sons, equally virtuous, for the further struggle, and will find in them an inexhaustible store of strength for a worthy completion of the work” (33). The confusion experienced by those who are called to war to provide this “inexhaustible” supply of bodies is expressed in a letter he receives from a neighbor who has been called to the Far East. The man is devastated to leave his family and sees himself as a “sacrifice to the God of vengeance and horror” (42). The confusion is also evident in another letter from a “simple seaman” who asks him for advice: “[P]lease write to me whether it is agreeable to God or not that our commanders compel us to kill . . . In church here a prayer is being read, the priest mentions the Christloving army. Is it true or not that God loves war?” (45). The letters, assuming

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they are genuine, attest to the debates and concerns that occur among Christians in the military’s rank and file. The Japanese are aware of Tolstoy’s article, and one writer, in an article titled “A Good Samaritan,” comments on it. The author retells the parable of the Good Samaritan in which an unfortunate traveller is attacked by robbers and then neglected by a missionary who is either frightened or believes “taking the sword” from the robbers is wrong. A “common villager” who is willing to attack the robbers comes to his rescue. In the same manner, he says, Japan must rescue “our neighboring countries, China and Korea, from the abuse of the Northern savages. It is our duty to check the aggrandizement of Russia, the most inhuman savages . . . This we are born to do, and nobody but we—the Good Samaritan.”20 In Japan, Bishop Nikolai shows little engagement with the debates in Russia regarding the virtues of the war, but in his diaries, on August 29, 1904, he does discuss Tolstoy’s article on the war: “our Count Leo Tolstoy . . . [who] is indignant about the current war, abuses Russia. Utopia.” Nikolai’s brief critique asserts that Tolstoy “wants to base all levels of life on religion, but he takes out the foundation of religion.” He implies that Tolstoy is pantheistic and says it is as impossible to build a religion on pantheism as it is to build a home on the ridge of an ocean. He does not engage the pacifist position at all, other than (perhaps) in his one-word sentence, “Utopia.”

The Devastations of the War and the Anger of God In Japan, Nikolai’s interpretations of the war change as he becomes attuned to Russia’s failures and the devastations suffered by its troops. The psychological impact of the loss at Yalu was felt by many Russians, and the barrage of bad news continued throughout the summer and fall of 1904. Russia lost thousands of men in a series of battles in Manchuria in May and June, in some cases suffering three times as many casualties as the Japanese. On June 15, Nikolai says that each issue of the paper brings a new blow and asks God to give him the strength to carry out his work. On July 18, he begins to elaborate on the reasons he believes God has for allowing these Russian losses: The Japanese are killing us, all nations hate us, Lord God, evidently Your anger is pouring out on us. And how could it be otherwise? Why would you love us and show us generosity? Through the centuries our nobility has become depraved through serfdom and has been corrupted to the core. Simple people for centuries

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were oppressed by this condition of serfdom and made unfaithful and rude . . . The military class and the officials lived through bribery and embezzling from the state, and now at all levels of service generally, there is unscrupulous embezzling in every place possible. The upper class is a collection of apes—imitators and adorers now of France, now England, now Germany and all others abroad; the clergy, oppressed by poverty, is barely preserving the catechism: can it really develop Christian ideals and illuminate them? . . . And despite all this we have the highest opinions of ourselves:  we alone are true Christians, only we have genuine enlightenment . . . No, it is not without reason that these misfortunes come crashing down on Russia—she alone has brought them on herself.

He concludes by asking God to rebuild his poor Fatherland. The Russian losses continue. The Battle of the Yellow Sea (July 28) ended in a stalemate, but a Russian admiral was killed; the Battle of Ulsan is a defeat for the Russian Navy. After the Battle of Liaoyang, August 11–22, General Kuropatkin retreated. Though the number of casualties is high on both sides, Russia’s failure to achieve her goal of defending their ground against the Japanese led the Russian minister of war to call the battle a defeat for Russia.21 In all, 3,611 Russians were killed and 14,301 wounded.22 Port Arthur came under siege, a condition that lasted until the beginning of 1905. An intimate portrait of the devastations of the Battle of Liaoyang is provided by a church worker who was in the city during the battle. Gregorii Zagoruiko described the rainy night of August 18, when he was staying at a church near the Liaoyang train station, with sounds of battle in the distance.23 At 11:00 p.m. he was awakened by an official and asked if he would allow wounded soldiers to stay in the church overnight, because there was no space for them anywhere else. Zagoruiko helped to bring in the wounded and settle them in throughout all the empty spaces of the church. Doctors, nurses, and orderlies cared for the patients throughout the night. The scene was hectic at first, with many cries and groans from the wounded; Zagoruiko writes, “And Christ there and then invisibly blessed His sufferers, because his all-holy name was pronounced with the most passionate faith and love by mouths that were clotted with blood,” then “[l]ittle by little everything began to calm down and gradually quieted.” Candles illuminated “the emaciated, pale faces of the living and the dead.”24 He continues, “Here it is—the Christ-loving Orthodox military, blessed by God, laying down on the battlefield both their body and spirit for the holy faith, for Tsar and fatherland! Here are the heroes of the glorious Liaoyang battle! Some of them had already departed for their heavenly ‘home.’ ”25 In the midst of the dying

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calling out barely audible prayers for God’s forgiveness and mercy, he says, there was a moment when everything went silent, and it was as if an angel had flown down from the heights to place a wreath of glory on the dying. At 9 a.m., the wounded who remained alive left on the first train out of the city.

Protestant Criticisms of the Orthodox Mission in Japan As the war intensifies, the standing of the Russian Orthodox Mission in Japan comes into question in some Protestant circles. In June 1904, the “Monthly Summary of the Religious Press” reports again on the difficult situation of the “Greek Church.” Some other Christians have suggested that the Church should sever connections with Russia and that Nikolai should cede control of it to the Japanese Orthodox Christians; however, it is reported that the Greek Church “resents interference on the part of outsiders . . . and sees no reason whatever why the Japanese Christians should sever their connection with a man so disinterested, devoted, and single-minded as Bishop Nicolai.”26 The Mail reports allegations that some Protestants have been trying to make religious capital out of the present situation to the detriment of the Greek Church Christians. It is stated that an evangelist connected with a Protestant Episcopalian Church in Shimosa, in order to attract an audience, placed the following words after a preaching notice [in Japanese]: We do not belong to the Russian Nicolai Sect, but to the Church Established by England, our Ally.27

The official periodical of the Russian Orthodox Mission in Japan, Seikyo Shimpo, defends the Church, noting that “the Greek Christians as a body are altogether above suspicions of the faintest shadow of treachery to their country.”28 Nikolai notes these criticisms and suggests that the Protestant missionaries are trying to capitalize on the war to degrade Russia and Russian Orthodoxy. On his sixty-ninth birthday (August 1), he says in his diary that the Protestant missionaries—he names Imbrie and Batchelor in particular—seem especially joyful about Japan’s victories. The Japanese are proud, but they are more “humane” than the Protestants: “The Japanese are only proud and celebrate their current victories”; in contrast, the English and the American “Reverends” [he puts “Reverend” in English and marks the plural with a Cyrillic character] are more antagonistic.

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Chaplains in the Field Even as the Russians faced defeat after defeat in the summer of 1904, Russian troops continued to arrive in the Far East, and one regiment was accompanied by another priest, Father Mitrofan Srebrianskii (1870–1948). Mitrofan, who had been born into a family of priests, began serving as a military chaplain in 1894 and joined the 51st Dragoon Chernigov Regiment in 1896, later accompanying it into Manchuria.29 His 350-page diary, which was serialized in a Russian journal, presents a detailed portrait of daily life in the field, covering almost every day from his departure for the Far East in June 1904 through the end of the war in 1905.30 As one might expect from a diary, the document does not treat any issue systematically. However, he touches on several issues that relate to religious understandings of war. His diary is permeated with a religious sensibility—he frequently asks God’s help and refers to the services he performs and the conversations he has with the men. He also expresses awareness of the different religious practices and beliefs of the Asian populations. He does not, however, talk about the war as a war of religion. He seems focused on caring for the troops— celebrating holidays, organizing worship services, caring for the sick, praying over the dead—and less on the overall motives for the war. The diary begins with an account of his month-long train trip to the front. On June 11, 1904, he writes of the difficulties of leaving everything you know but notes the comfort of his firm belief in the holy principles of “faith, tsar, and the dear Fatherland.” His train leaves the Moscow station at 5:30 a.m., and many people have gathered to see him and others off. Several other priests are present, and prayers for the travelers are performed. One of the priests, Fr. Grigorii, discusses the need for those departing to keep up their spirits and says, furthermore, that they should “even rejoice, that we are worthy of such a destiny.” This moving experience, he says, demonstrates how important the comforts of religion are. Mitrofan’s first task, which he discusses the next day, is to set up a pokhodnaya khramina (literally, “mobile little church,” probably a small portable shrine), possibly in his train quarters. He writes, “[A]s is suitable for truly Russian people and Christians, my first task was to adorn my mobile khramina with icons: without them it is somehow uncomfortable and the soul is unsettled” (June 12). Once it is set up, he rejoices. Religious services are held on June 13 at a railway station. He notes the movement of the train from Europe into Asia several days later and on June 19 says

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that he has performed his first liturgy in Asia; on June 23–24 he describes the troops singing hymns, praising mother Russia, the tsar, and the Orthodox faith. There are still Orthodox churches in the Asian part of Russia—he mentions visiting a “simple church” on July 4.  The train travels out of Russia and into Manchuria. “Farewell, my gentle, dear Russia, holy homeland,” he writes on July 10, noting the next day that he involuntarily crossed himself at the border. Once he has arrived in Manchuria, his role as a priest changes—he immediately has to bury someone who has already been dead four days and notes that activities like this will probably constitute his main work. He also mentions that he sees images of the people’s gods, which look something like icons (July 7). He reports the first victim in his unit dies only ten days after the unit has arrived in Liaoyang (July 29). He performs services for the men as battles continue, reassuring them that death is not the end and that they will meet with God. On August 13, he reports ongoing cannons—“God help us,” he writes, and then discusses the rescue of a drowning man by his comrade. As he describes the scene, he explains that the rescuer, upon seeing the drowning man, remembered both Christ’s command that there is no greater love than to lay down one’s life for one’s friend and a military command to the effect that you may die yourself, but you must rescue your comrade. The successful rescue leads Mitrofan to say, “Yes, the spirit of Christ and the spirit of true comradeship between our warriors still survives. May God bless them.” In this early part of the war, then, the priest provides a portrait of religious life in the field but does not engage in any broader analysis of the meaning of the war. Although he is aware that the religion of the Chinese and Japanese differs from his own—on August 28 he mentions their concerns about evil spirits at burial sites—he does not discuss the need to counteract their beliefs but instead focuses on the experiences of his own troops. The gospel passage regarding the willingness to lay down one’s life for one’s friends is here used in a nonmilitary circumstance rather than in reference to a battle. Another chaplain, Fr. Georgii Ivanovich Shavel′skii, also says little about the enemy in a series of letters he writes during the war. Shavel’skii served as the chaplain of the 33rd East Siberian Rifle Regiment of the First Manchurian Army, later becoming the head chaplain (protopresbyter) of the Russian Army and Navy. His letters at the beginning of his tour note that the troops have hardly any contact with the Japanese, and he does not mention their religion or the importance of converting them to Christianity.31 Nevertheless, he does describe a particular sort of patriotism that is linked to the soldier’s attitude toward death.

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In a letter written June 29, 1904, Shavel′skii describes the attitude toward death that comes from the experience of being at the front: “We are constantly seeing the dead, the wounded, but we have gotten used to all of this; we look upon these horrors as if they are something fitting, unavoidable. Looking at death, sometimes we laugh.”32 He has just buried a Cossack who was killed and notes that he said during the service that the soldier had been involved in the great work of “expanding the great Russian land,” and that “the blood of each Russian soldier is a seed, from which grows the glory of the Russian land.”33 At the funeral, two men begin to cry, but an officer gently asks them why they are crying, since it is a great honor to die in this manner—better this than to die at home. Shavel′skii also notes that far from avoiding the battles, the troops yearn for them. He writes, In the time of war a special mood takes shape:  you wish for each wound of the enemy (this would seem to be un-Christian), and at the same time you feel that—more than at any other time—you are imbued with the highest aspirations for everything that is good, so that you prize your homeland and everyone is prepared to give themselves for it. Along with this arises a kind of perfectly peaceful attitude toward all dangers, even including death. You return home quite different.34

Shavel′skii indicates that the desire for the death of an enemy is understandable, even for a Christian, and the sacrifice of one’s own life is a great honor; but he does not suggest that these things are true because the war is against a nonChristian nation.

Public and Personal Reliance on Icons As Mitrofan’s diary attests, Russians used icons in their mobile churches and services at the front. In addition, icons, particularly those known as the “miracleworking icons of the Mother of God,” served a more public purpose for the leaders of the country. There are twenty-eight of these icons that are recognized throughout Russia, and several played a role in the religious life of the Russians during the war.35 There was substantial drama surrounding one of these icons, whose theft generated widespread concern among Russians in the summer of 1904. The Kazan icon of the Mother of God is the “most widely publicly revered” of the twentyeight national icons mentioned.36 The icon’s history dates to 1579, when a fire

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destroyed the city of Kazan’s fortress—something that the “indigenous Muslim population interpreted as a sign of God’s wrath on the Russian people.”37 A young girl dreamt of the icon of Mary and later found it. In 1612, Russian forces fasted and prayed before the icon for three days before a battle in which they successfully defeated the Poles. An akathistos hymn (i.e., one performed while standing) in honor of the icon was written in the 1860s, linking it to Russia’s history and using military language to describe its work: it refers to Mary as the “protection of the land of Russia” and “indestructible shield of the faithful.”38 A sermon in 1876 said that “the Mother of God wrestled Kazan from the hands of the impious and handed it [to] the Orthodox kingdom of Russians.”39 The icon, then, was connected to the protection of Russia in a variety of ways, so its theft in June 1904 had substantial symbolic value. It was suggested that the Japanese might have been involved with the aim of causing “domestic unrest.”40 However, the clergy—who preached many sermons about the event—primarily blamed Russia and the Russians, collectively, for the theft. Some saw it as “an omen that God and Mary had rescinded their protection of Russia, and turned their faces from it, especially regarding its Eastern front”; others, such as Fr. Ioann Vostorgov, “saw the event as a sign that Russia was failing in its messianic mission.”41 The missionary press, however, discussed it extensively; Pravoslavnyi Sobesednik published more than 100 pages on the legal process surrounding the theft in special sections in January–May 1905.42 Icons were also valuable on a personal level. During the summer, an unnamed priest gave instructions to soldiers departing for the Far East, which were published in Tserkovnyia Viedomosti in June 1904 (the speech itself is undated). The priest told the “Christ-loving warriors,” as he addresses them, to treat their entry into battle as a holy task, though it is clear from his explanation that he means primarily that they should not get drunk the night before battle.43 He also says that they all should ask their parents and their spiritual father to bless them and give them a cross or an icon. He tells several stories of how the cross has kept Russian soldiers from harm in the past and instructs them to wear this cross or icon into battle as protection, in part because it may literally keep them from dying.44 In April 1904, Missionerskoe Obozrenie reported that the Triumph of Mary Port Arthur icon had arrived at the St. Petersburg home of Vice Admiral Vladimir Pavlovich Verkhovskii during Passion Week. The article describes the vision of the old sailor and notes that after the war broke out, the Kiev-Pechersk Lavra gathered funds from 10,000 people for the materials to make the icon. Each person gave five kopeks and was not allowed to contribute more. The iconographer himself did not charge to do the work. While the icon was in St. Petersburg,

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an iconographer from the Novodevichi Monastery made a copy in oil. (Later authors would criticize the admiral and his family for their slowness in getting the icon to the Far East, with the implication that they enjoyed showing it off to St. Petersburg society.) The image included an inscription indicating that it was a blessing and a mark of triumph for the “Christ-loving military” of Russia from the Kiev monastery and 10,000 pilgrims and friends.45 The icon, the article said, was slated to be sent to the Far East in two days, to the place where Admiral Verkhovskii was stationed.46 The icon was then sent to Vladivostok but was temporarily deposited there in the Cathedral of the Dormition due to difficulties in delivering it to Port Arthur, which was under siege.47 A report from this period noted that family members of those serving in Port Arthur would gather around the icons and pray for the life and health of the warriors.48 Soldiers and military officers would also venerate the icon.49 At a prayer service in August, the bishop of Vladivostok stated, Though the icon has not reached Port Arthur, let not the heart of the old sailor who was made worthy of this vision nor the hearts of those who raised money for the icon be troubled. The Lord is All-merciful and Almighty, and though the icon of His Most Pure Mother is in Vladivostok she is able to help the warriors of Port Arthur, and all Russian warriors. Let us, citizens of Vladivostok, leap for joy to have such a holy thing.50

Publicity surrounding the icon, however, focused on the fact that it had not actually reached Port Arthur. Both the Orthodox News publishing house and the military authorities received many letters regarding the icon. One stated, As the icon has not come to the point of its final destination, it cannot give the grace-filled help and protection of the Theotokos. Now it is high time we asked for heavenly intercession, and if this help was promised upon the fulfillment of certain conditions, we ought not to have left things halfway done. Let every way of delivering the icon be attempted, however hazardous; this being the will of the Theotokos, Her icon is sure to get to Port Arthur.51

This optimism, however, was misplaced, as the next chapter will describe.

A Prayer under the Open Skies: Sending Soldiers Off to War On Saturday, June 18, 1904, sixty-one members of the “D.” parish were called to active duty.52 The soldiers were to ship out two days later, on Monday. The

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prospect of mobilization was distressing to the soldiers and the families, and the priest considered how to comfort them. On Sunday, some of those who had been called up came to the parish church to ask for God’s blessings. The priest’s wife recommended that he give a prosphora—a small loaf of unleavened bread used in the Orthodox liturgy—to each soldier, and he did so. The author notes that some of those present took prosphora to give to other soldiers who did not come to church: “Give me a prosphora, father: I will give it to Ivan . . . Give me [one]—I will give it to Nestor . . .” On Monday, once the recruits had assembled, the commander said, “Now, to prayer,” and they removed their hats and turned toward the church, which was located about 200 meters away.53 The deacon asked for a blessing from the bishop, and “under the open skies, in this great church of the Creator,” they prayed that God return those departing for war “whole and uninjured.” The prayer that followed (presumably by the bishop, though this is not stated) noted Christ’s command to “take up the cross and follow me,” indicating the difficult task ahead for the soldiers. The prayer leader said after they learned on Saturday of “the will of the Tsar, calling you to the defense of the dear fatherland and the holy faith,” they were strengthened by prayer so that they could fulfill their duty. He also states, with regard to those they leave behind—it is unclear whether he means everyone, or just the clergy—that “we will, even to a small degree, be participants in your glorious cross. Your cross, that is, your service in the defense of the TsarFather and the dear fatherland, I call a glorious cross, because it is the path to the heavenly kingdom, to the kingdom of glory.”54 At the conclusion of the service, those departing kiss the cross as well as the priest, deacon, and psalmist and prepare to leave; the sobbing of their relatives fills the air as they depart.

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Fall 1904: A Just and Holy War

Although unworthy, we implore Thee who art strong in battle for aid, and only beseech thee to accept our weapons in thy cause, to give Thy Christ-loving army victory and permit it to subdue the enemy. Send from on high Thy hand and touch the hearts of the enemy so that they shall make supplication to Thee, the God of peace, who loves his creatures. Strengthen us with Thy might, Defender of the orthodox faith; send Thy arrows to confound the enemy. Strike them as with lightning and give them into the hands of Thy faithful troops. —Prayer issued by the Holy Synod, 19041 The Holy Synod’s prayer reflects the two types of Orthodox hopes for the Japanese. On the one hand, those praying ask for God’s help in subduing the enemy, confounding them, striking them with lightning. The Christ-loving military desires a victory. On the other, God is called upon to “touch the hearts of the enemy,” in the apparent hope that they will also come to worship God—who is, the prayer notes, “the God of peace, who loves his creatures.” While most stories on the home front focus on God’s assistance for a Russian victory, there are few stories regarding this idea of “touching the hearts of the enemies.” In a brief undated report from December 1904, Missionerskoe Obozrenie reported that Bishop Macarius of Tomsk baptized Japanese prisoners of war. The preparation for baptism took more than four months; during this time, the Japanese prisoners studied the New Testament and other religious works in Japanese; two of them learned prayers in Russian. All of those baptized declared that they wished to change their Japanese surname to a Russian one.2 This duality of perspectives regarding the Japanese appears throughout the fall of 1904, as Russia struggles to handle and interpret its continued string of losses. An extended theological analysis of the war titled “Is Our War Just?” appears in a leading theological journal and argues that Russia must fight the

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war in order to expand the reach of Orthodox Christianity. At the same time, the chaplain Mitrofan Srebrianskii discusses Buddhism and notes the capacity of the Japanese to convert to Christianity, while he continues to lead prayers and reminds soldiers of the compatibility of faith and military service. Both he and the soldier Feodor Shikutz describe ordinary religious life at the front, with almost no mention of broader theological debates. In Japan, Nikolai performs a memorial service for Japanese Christian soldiers, emphasizing their status as martyrs, and discusses the tensions he experiences as a Russian Christian living among Japanese Christians.

Worship at the Front: Mitrofan and the Soldiers At the front, chaplain Mitrofan Srebrianskii continued to engage in ordinary religious activities with his men and to affirm the positive relationship between religion and military service. On September 9, Mitrofan and the men celebrated a staff holiday, the day of St. Theodosius.3 At noon the general and officers arrived, and the chaplain held a moleben (prayer service) for St. Theodosius. In his sermon, he discusses the fact that St. Theodosius belonged to a military family and that this did not interfere with his salvation. Mitrofan asks soldiers to dispense with the view that the military life permits sins that would not be permitted in civilian life. Military life, he says, is neither more permissive nor more sinful than civilian life. He continues, “Does military service really interfere with sincerely believing in God, praying passionately, observing the rules of the holy Church, preserving purity of thought, adhering to one’s word, and displaying chastity, honesty, industry, obedience, and respect for elders? Of course not.” Rather, he says, military service obliges one to engage in these actions even more and may add “the crown of martyrdom.” He reminds them that just as Christians form one body with many parts, “so is also the regiment one body, in which all provide one service to God, tsar, and fatherland, and to one another. It is only necessary to honestly and faithfully serve according to one’s oath.” God and the tsar will not forget this service, he says, and Theodosius will bless and assist them. He describes the food and drink for the feast: after the moleben, they have pirogi (dumplings) and champagne. In addition to praising military service itself, he also sometimes describes in his diary the distinct value of religious services in wartime. On September 18, he writes, “You are my strength, Lord, you are my God,” and adds, “These words were necessary to hear here, in the war, when, perhaps, now no human could

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help us, but only the Strength of our God!” On October 1, a holiday celebrating “The Protection of Our Most Holy Lady the Theotokos,” he paints a dismal picture of the battlefield. He had been awakened by cannon fire at 3:30 a.m., and there were many wounded personnel. He asks for strength, saying, “Holy God-bearer! Help us win and soon return to the wished-for peace!” He also records going to the front with his assistant to perform a prayer service in honor of the holiday. With the constant noise of the battle, they had to shout to hear one another. The squadron, on horseback, was awaiting orders to depart, and its officer and soldiers were shocked to see the chaplain arrive. Mitrofan told them he was there to pray with them, and the commanders ordered the soldiers to remove their hats. Mitrofan turned his horse to the east and positioned himself uphill so that the soldiers could see and hear him and then proceeded to sing the prayers. He describes being struck by the beauty of the scene. Later, while he walked among the wounded, a soldier asked him to take money to light a candle for him. Then he performed a burial service for a soldier with an amputated leg who died the previous day; many people were crying. Despite his distress, Mitrofan sees value in the war, suggesting in his entry of October 7–10 that people come to know themselves in war and to know others more deeply:  “here you cannot continue to mask yourself for very long.” He also feels joy in celebrating the liturgy, noting the “wonderful service” in which “everyone felt joy” as they knelt in the church. Still, they are all, as he says on October 16, “bearing the heavy cross of war.” Mitrofan’s desire to spread the Christian message is evident in the few places in his diary where he refers to the religion of the Japanese and expresses the hope that they will recognize the truths of Christianity. On September 6, he talks about the Chinese and Japanese religions together, noting that both forms of religion are being shaken up as these peoples try to become more “civilized.” But once they become civilized, he says, they will begin to focus more on spiritual matters. He asks, Where then will they find the answers? In the idols of old gods, who even now the Chinese and Japanese beat with sticks if they experience bad luck? That is a bad answer. In philosophy? The spirit does not need a part of the truth opened up by philosophy, but the whole truth that can shine its light on the dark corners of the soul, to be the foundation of the striving of the soul for virtue, to answer all of its needs.

He adds that when these cultures are civilized, people may well experience a “protest of the soul.” He leaves unsaid that Christianity is the source of the whole

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truth. Unlike the missionaries at home, however, he does not suggest that it can be imposed on the Japanese through the war. In fact, war and religious mission do not come up at all; the passage begins with a meditation on the poor treatment of the Chinese temples during the war. He even indicates that the Japanese are not quite ready for conversion, that they will perhaps reach this point after they have become more “civilized.” Furthermore, Mitrofan does not see the Japanese as hostile to Christianity but respectful of it and potentially receptive to it. Specifically, he is aware of some conversions of Japanese, including Japanese warriors, to Christianity. On October 27, he relates a story told by another officer about the baptism of a Japanese officer. The Russian officer states, Understandably, I became interested in the reason why he accepted Christianity. It turned out that the primary reason was the [First Sino-Japanese] war [1894– 1895]. This officer with his corps fought on the island of Formosa .  . . [T]he population, especially in the mountains, was wild and cruel, and the Japanese suffered greatly. “And there,” said the officer, “at the sight of the horrible physical and spiritual suffering of my soldiers, I did not know how to comfort them and myself. The best outcome was death, but what kind of death? Without a definite hope for a future existence? . . . After I returned home, I studied the Christian religion and found in it everything that my soul had been seeking.”

Again, the expectation is that the Japanese are open to Christianity, and the chaplain is aware some have accepted it on occasion. In the midst of war, the Japanese are perhaps most open to it. Since Mitrofan puts the Chinese in a category with the Japanese, it is telling when he is impressed with the honesty and forthrightness of a group of Chinese who are offended, it seems, by an inappropriate offer of money. On September 23–24, he writes, “This scene struck me: never did I think that a Chinese person could act this way, being truly offended. Yes, the words of the apostle are true, that among each people there are those who please God by their actions.” Mitrofan’s attitude toward Buddhism is echoed in an article titled “Letters from the Far East,” dated November 1904 and appearing in Missionerskoe Obozrenie in January 1905. In this essay, the unidentified author discusses his views of the Chinese and their openness to Orthodoxy. He compares them to the Greeks in the time of the apostle Paul, noting that Paul saw “a special godliness among the Greeks in that they (built) an altar to the Unknown God,” and that a similar capacity might be seen in the Chinese, who have temples to their gods in “each insignificant little town.”4 He praises the “sweetness” of these temples,

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“built with such love and care.” Despite the fact that they are not illuminated by the name of the “One True God,” they could be changed in this way. He envisions Orthodox Christians passing by these temples after such a transformation and not joking but crossing themselves. If the Chinese love their false gods now, they will be able to venerate icons of the true God and of Christ even more faithfully.5 He suggests that the Russian Orthodox could set an example for the Chinese, and then “Orthodoxy will enter their hearts.” Unfortunately, however, the Orthodox have offended the Chinese—in particular, Russian soldiers commit offenses against them—and “we turn their souls away from the faith which we represent.”6 Mitrofan does not often ask broader philosophical questions about the war. On November 26–27, however, he wonders how God can permit war or even tolerate it but goes on to say that, like St. George, we must be willing to fulfill the will of God even if we die. By this time, the weather has turned cold, and his next entry, on November 28–30, describes how he is unable to kiss his cross because he is concerned that his lips will stick to it.

Nikolai of Japan: The Kingdoms of This World During this period in the middle of the war, Nikolai continued to participate in religious services in one form or another, though rarely as leader. It appears that he assumed his usual leadership position during some major holidays and served when clergy received appointments. In addition, as noted in the Preface, on October 17, Nikolai describes his participation in a memorial service (panikhida) for some fallen Japanese Christian soldiers. During the funeral, Nikolai speaks to the Japanese Orthodox community and asks that God honor the fallen soldiers, who are, he says, his “spiritual children.” He writes in Russian, and, in reporting his own speech, first uses the Russian word meaning “spiritual children” and then translates the term into Japanese. This linguistic strategy makes clear that the “spiritual father/spiritual child” relationship can exist between people of different nationalities. The love of a father is not a vague, generalized sort of love but applies to a very specific wish for the child. Continuing with the funeral, Nikolai says, “Thus, you with brotherly love, and I with the love of a father, carry warm entreaties to God that He will impute to them their strivings and death, undertaken by them in fulfillment of their duties to their Fatherland and State, as martyrs’ holy deeds and reward them with the Kingdom

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of Heaven.” He pleads with God to recognize his Japanese spiritual children’s military service to their own state and to reward them for it. Their service to their own earthly kingdom—a kingdom different from his own—should lead to membership in the heavenly kingdom.7 The funeral thus highlights the sense of membership and belonging a Christian experiences in both this world and the next. Several days later, on October 21, Nikolai notes in the heading to his diary (where he typically writes the day of the week and indicates any major holidays) that this is a Japanese religious holiday (“Birth of the Emperor”) as well as a Russian one (“Accession to the throne of the Emperor”). Nikolai does not comment on the fact that both celebrations honor their respective country’s leaders. Despite his apparent respect for the Japanese leader, Nikolai continues to suffer over Russian defeats. On October 19, Nikolai once again expresses deep grief: “Grief is crushing!” he says. “You walk, you speak, you do your job, but the worm is constantly gnawing there, in the depth of your heart”; the war has been so disastrous for the Russians that “the thought occurs that God has given up on Russia, as he gave up on the Jewish people when they fell into idol-worship. And does Russia in any case deserve the kindness of God?” Again he criticizes the upper classes for their faithlessness and even disparages the clergy. He notes that during his long years as a missionary, he has not found anyone to serve with him in Japan: “Four theological academies in thirty-five years cannot yield one missionary! Astonishing!” Though he does not draw this comparison directly, the willingness of his Japanese congregants to sacrifice for their homeland— and, as Nikolai sees it, take on the mantle of a martyr—contrasts sharply with his own Russian countrymen’s unwillingness or inability to serve in Japan as missionaries.

Military Service as a Religious Act Authors in Russia also emphasize military service as an individual duty that constitutes service to God and, in some cases, grants the soldier the status of martyr. Writing from Mukden in the second half of September 1904, the correspondent to Missionerskoe Obozrenie, M. Arkadeev, describes a young man he met while traveling third class on a night train from Kharbin. The young man, who recently became an officer, was the son of a deacon and had graduated from Ryazan Theological Seminary. However, after graduation, to the distress of his parents, he traded the spiritual path for a military one, and, Arkadeev

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writes, is now ready “to lay down his life for Holy Rus′ and the Orthodox faith.”8 Furthermore, the man notes that he only became truly religious after becoming a soldier; the strict military discipline “humbled his soul,” thus making him worthy, according to Arkadeev, to sense the existence of God.9 In a more dramatic depiction of the soldier’s vocation, Novaia Vremia contributor M. O. Menshikov describes Russians’ attachment to their homeland and their willingness to die for it. He suggests that this is something most people feel, though the intelligentsia see it as madness; it is a “people’s faith.”10 Menshikov notes that “in ancient times the defense of the country was seen as a religious act” and that just as the blood of Christian martyrs spilled for the church is holy, “so too is the blood of the martyrs for their fatherland, killed in war.”11 He contrasts Christian heroism to the heroism of the Muslims: “The Arab or Turk dies, having in mind the pleasures of heaven. The Christian gives life for the home land”; he dies “for his friends.”12 Menshikov justifies war in a variety of ways: eternal peace is a child’s dream; Christ praises the great love shown by those who lay down their lives for their friends; defensive war is permitted both by the ancient wisdom of Socrates and by the saints such as Sergius of Radonezh. But he has another reason for supporting Christian self-sacrifice: it has benefitted “the Europeans and the white race.”13 He insists that the concepts of homeland, church, and heroism will persist regardless of whether they are seen as unintellectual; they are a powerful and permanent part of the Russians’ life.

“Is Our War Just?” A Theological Analysis Nikolai’s nuanced views of the Japanese do not appear in the Russian missionary press. Still, the October 1904 issue of Bogoslovskii Vestnik, the journal of the Moscow Theological Academy, contains an extended discussion of the justice of war. L. A. Tikhomirov begins the article, titled “Is Our War Just?” by noting that at the time of writing, the war had been going on for eight months. Russia had been hard hit by the Japanese, which came as a surprise, since the Japanese were only an emerging power and Russia was (and viewed itself as) a strong military force. Tikhomerov begins with a reference to Solov’ev’s notion of the “good war” and the “bad peace.”14 In “Three Conversations,” Vladmir Solov’ev settles the question on the moral permissibility of war with the observation, “There is such a thing as a bad peace;

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there is such a thing as a good war.” Prior to the present time, we have gone through a prolonged period of peace, not asking the question whether it was a good peace or a bad one. But now a war begins, and the question of whether it is good or not inevitably arises for many people. (342).

He observes that Russia is now struggling with the defeats they have faced during the course of the war, which he says no one expected. Russians did not doubt their strength and assumed Russia would win the war easily. Now, however, the Russians are ashamed. As a result, they have begun to question the morality of the war, going so far as to suggest it is sinful even to be in the Far East. Religious leaders have even been asked to pray for the forgiveness of Russia. Tikhomirov quotes another religious leader, Father John of Kronstadt, who says that long ago, Russia won miraculous victories over her enemies, but that Russia no longer truly belongs to God and is suffering defeats as a result. If Russia repents, God will destroy her enemies. The loss of Russian prestige has been hard to bear, and partly as a result, Russians have begun to question the morality of the war: Some criticize our governmental mechanism and remind us that Japan has a “constitution.” Others criticize the moral impermissibility of the war, asking, “Why are we in the Far East?” “Why do we take foreign land?” There is a sense of the sinfulness of war . . . [One religious leader] is receiving many letters with requests to pray for the forgiveness of Russia for the unjustly begun war…Our misfortunes have been so persistent that it seems to many they are not accidental, but a punishment from God himself. (342)

Tikhomirov quotes John of Kronstadt’s argument about war to support his argument that Russia’s losses are God’s punishment for his country’s failure to adhere to the ways of God. Thus, he calls for repentance:  God will destroy Russia’s enemies if Russians will do this (344).15 Tikhomirov highlights both the religious concerns of the Russian population—the view that they have begun to see war as sinful, because Russia has acted unjustly in the Far East—and the responses of religious leaders such as John of Kronstadt, who see the war and Russia’s defeats in it as a punishment for Russians’ lack of commitment and service to God. The enthusiasm at the beginning of the war, the optimism that God was on the side of the Russians and would lead them to victory, has ended. Tikhomirov argues that the Russians cannot be blamed for starting the war; for Russia, this war is “strictly defensive” (344). Japan began it, not in response to Russian military actions but due to its own military goals. Russia’s failures are not a result of the nature of the war itself but rather of its “general

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national sin,” the lack of a “national idea,” he says:  “Russia does not know what she needs to do, what to create, for what to live. This sin numbs our life in peacetime and saps our strength in war” (345). Part of this weakness is that Russians do not have an adequate understanding of the importance of their fatherland. It is here he begins to articulate a kind of “manifest destiny” for Russia, something that stems from the country’s special position in the world. He writes: It saddens me to listen to the aforementioned requests for prayer for “sinful” Russia to be made for the supposedly “unjust” war . . . People seem to be repentant about the injustice of the role of the fatherland . . . [They say] “[o]ur land is enough; we don’t need to capture anything foreign.” They even say, “Why do the missionaries (go there)? The Chinese don’t want them.” “Let each live their own way.” . . . But doesn’t this deny human solidarity; doesn’t it deny the mutual obligations of one people to another and to humanity? And even more than this, doesn’t it deny completely the obligation to serve the people of God and the entirety of His household in a humanitarian role? Finally, this principle of “nonintervention” stems from a simple lack of knowledge of the historical process, in which nations live and develop precisely in that they “intervene” with one another. (345–346)

He returns to the earlier point that Russia is engaging in war out of self-defense, but he suggests as well that it is natural for Russia to keep extending in that direction. There is no “natural border” on the West, he says, and Russia—in responding to the Japanese aggression—needs “to go forward if we don’t want to be pushed back and destroyed” (349). Furthermore, Russia has a natural Christian obligation to move eastward. Russia’s service to Christianity is intertwined with its very existence, he says; Russia, through no will of its own, is “a liberator of the Orthodox East, and a propagator of Christianity among many heathen peoples.” He continues, “[i]t even fell to her, almost independently of her wishes, to become the protector of true Christianity, in its Orthodox form, among the peoples of the Christian world. If we take away all of these features . . . then what would there be of Russia?” (250). Russia’s mission in the Far East is a duty to God: Russia must fulfill this historic mission in the Far East as well. And if she fulfilled it, if she were to fulfill it, then she is just, and all who stand in her way, as Japan now does, are guilty before God and History. Then our war with Japan is a just war, not just because Japan attacked first and we defended . . . but more than anything because of the fact that we bring salvation to the East. (350)

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For Tikhomirov, Russia is not just one of many Christian countries but the paradigmatic Christian state. He argues that the Russian people are “the people of God, the God-bearers’ ” (354). The tsar rules on God’s authority: “The Russian idea sees in the Tsar not a despot, not a dictator, but a representative of God’s justice” (351).16 This does not mean that Russia has lived up to God’s expectations; in fact, he asks, “But is there anywhere on the earth a more abusive renunciation of God as in modern Russia?” (354). He suggests that the war has come to call Russia to account. God has sent the Japanese to the Russians to punish them for their own sins. Though Russia is suffering due to its weakness and disobedience to God’s commands, Tikhomirov says, it is possible to stiffen our resolve and fix the situation, and God will help us. Once again he quotes John of Kronstadt, who prophesies a victory for the Christ-loving military once Russia repents. Tikhomirov responds to this: A joyous prophecy, and may God grant that it will soon be fulfilled. But of course, for this we must look into our own souls and firmly decide to become servants of the works of God in History, to give birth in ourselves a Christian soul and structure, ordered to us from above on the very birth of Russia and entrusted to her for the realization in the earthly mission. And then we of course will see the fulfillment of the prophecy of Fr. John. But for this, repentance is needed—not in words, not in bringing of incense and sacrifices, but in the sense of an internal rebirth—the creation of a truly Christian state. (362)

Tikhomirov thus identifies several ways in which the war is just:  Russia is defending herself; Russia has a natural Christian obligation to move eastward; Russia is called upon to be the epitome of a “truly Christian state.” For Tikhomirov, the war is a sign that Russia needs to reaffirm its commitment to Christianity, and this will lead to military victory. The military victory, in turn, will enable Russia to do what she is meant to, what God wills her to do: spread Christianity into the Far East as part of her manifest destiny.

“Which Is the Civilized Power?” Throughout the war, Westerners continued to discuss the concept of civilization with regard to the Russians and the Japanese. The title of an October 1904 article for the English-language weekly Outlook—“Which Is the Civilized

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Power?”—encapsulates the debate that was occurring within at least some American, Russian, and Japanese circles. The author of this particular piece argued that the answer was Japan, but his view was debated; other Americans and Europeans suggested that Russian Christians deserved more support than Japanese “heathens,” and Russia worked to capitalize on these suggestions.17 As the war progressed, however, the more dominant view was that Japan did not constitute a “yellow peril” but was the more civilized nation and thus deserved the West’s support. This position continued to dominate the Japanese Englishlanguage press, and the Japanese government sent envoys to the US and Europe to emphasize that their country was not a threat to the West or to Christendom.18 Both Japanese and Western journalists are aware of the kind of treatment the Japanese are receiving in the Russian press. The author of “Which Is the Civilized Power?” mentions accusations appearing in the journal Russkii Palomnik that the Japanese Emperor is the Antichrist and a statement in the Holy Synod’s publication, Tserkovnyi Vestnik, that “God ordered the Jews to exterminate the Canaanites, and the Japanese are the Canaanites of the twentieth century.” In the Japan Weekly Mail, an anonymous source states, The recent remarkable outburst of the Russian religious press has of course been noticed by our readers; a sudden and simultaneous cry from the columns of nearly all the religious organs of the great empire to the effect that Russia has a heaven-sent mission to occupy Manchuria; but in the interest of Christianity she is bound to recover possession of that place; that the Mikado is Anti-christ and that the Japanese, as representatives of paganism, must be driven out.19

The author continues by noting that using Christianity “as the pretext for a barefaced aggression” could cause harm to efforts to spread the faith. It continues, “Russia is still in the age of the [C]rusades. Her religion is the religion of Islam to be propagated at the point of the sword. It is idle to descant upon such a display of ferocious bigotry.”20 On September 22, Nikolai mentions this particular article, quoting the line “Russia is still in the century of the Crusades; her religion is the religion of Islam, spread by the sword.” He calls this “unconscionable slander.”21 Nikolai is also aware of other criticisms of Russia and Russian Orthodoxy; on November 19, he states, “No one hates Russia so much or wishes her so much evil as the Protestant missionaries.” He mentions an article in the Methodist Tidings, published in Tokyo, which says that missionaries in China will be put to death if Russia wins the war, and if Japan wins, Christian missions will flourish. He is angry to see this characterization of Russia and calls the writers hypocrites.

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Religion in the Field: Shikutz On the same day Nikolai expresses concern about this “slander” against Russia, a cavalryman, Feodor Shikutz, arrives to serve the Russian army on the battlefields of Manchuria, near the city of Mukden. The diary of Shikutz, an experienced military man who began his service in the Russian army in 1892, is far less focused on the religious or spiritual elements of his wartime experiences. It is not that Shikutz is insensitive; despite his extensive experience with war, he appears less battle hardened than might be expected. On September 22, when his train arrives at the Mukden station, he sees a hospital train standing nearby. He writes, Coming close to it, I heard the groans of the wounded. It was difficult to hear . . . [T]he thought came into each of our minds that perhaps after several days we also would be carried back wounded . . . and other people just like us now, would look and feel sorry for us . . . With this difficult spiritual mood I returned to my own car, and the cries of the wounded did not leave my head.22

Later in the diary, after he has become a prisoner of war, he even displays empathy for the Japanese who are upset to see him wounded and who see their loved ones off at a train station. But religion barely seems to register, and it certainly never functions as a motivator for his fighting. In fact, he gives no indication of why he is motivated to fight—he says nothing negative about the Japanese. Military service seems to be just a job. Religion forms a backdrop to his experiences— chaplains perform prayer services, the liturgy, and funerals—but it does not appear to be a motivating force. After this reflective moment upon his arrival at the front, Shikutz moves quickly into descriptions of practical matters—traveling, caring for his horses, assessing the weather and the provisions. Though religious activities do not figure prominently in the stories of the battles, Shikutz occasionally mentions some:  people praying, crossing themselves, and giving thanks to God. He is immediately plunged into action, finding it necessary to sleep with his boots on. He first mentions his religious background on Sunday, September 26. “They told us that there would be a day off, and all people of the Orthodox faith were ordered to make confession and take communion,” Shikutz writes; however, before he is able to go to confession, the colonel calls him in to give him instructions. He mentions on September 29 that soldiers cross themselves in preparation for battle, but the stories of the actual encounters include no references to religion as either a comfort or inspiration. (He does refer to a “military baptism”

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[September 30], which seems to be a metaphor for their first entrance into battle.) His descriptions of the battle are fairly detailed, as are discussions of food and interactions with the Chinese civilians. He encounters a number of lifethreatening experiences. After one, upon discovering that he has survived, a comrade (or commander) uses a common expression referencing God: “You are the lucky one, Shikutz! Let God give us all such happiness” (October 2). Shikutz himself does not interpret his survival in religious terms, or if he does, he does not mention it here. This is notable because he does engage in considerable reflection on certain issues; for example, the sight of his horse mortally wounded “chilled his soul,” and he spends a long time discussing this (October 3). It appears that no chaplain accompanies his unit full time, but he mentions several visits by priests, including one on October 12. In a later entry, for October 21–22, he provides a short description of the religious services in the field. He writes about the celebration of a holiday, during which a priest came to serve the Divine Liturgy and performed a memorial service for the soldiers killed on the battlefield. He mentions the troops thanking God for giving them time to rest or going on reserve (October 31); celebrating the feast day of St. George (November 26), because they are “Georgian cavalry” (this involves a prayer service and special rations of sausage, vodka, beer, meat, rice soup, and tea); and celebrating the feast day of St. Nikolai Ugodnik on December 6, which involves participating in a Divine Liturgy. He describes on this latter occasion how, after the liturgy, all participants came up to the cross and a military photographer took a photograph. They are concerned that the music might reveal their position to the Japanese, and this does in fact happen—they are fired on but are not harmed, and one leader says that “God has saved [them] through some sort of miracle.” Shikutz displays a respect for Chinese religious practices that is not shared by his fellow soldiers. In one incident, Shikutz describes how another soldier took the “gods” from the “heathen temples”—which had been left behind by the Chinese—and burned all of them in a fire. He criticizes them for doing this, but he says, “this rained down such a scolding on me that I was not glad that I interfered. ‘Really,’ they said, ‘are you not Orthodox, so that you bow down before the Chinese idols? This means that you also are not Christian!’ and so forth” (October 28). The Christmas holiday is also celebrated in a fairly mundane way. On Christmas Eve, there is a rumor that the Japanese are planning to attack on Christmas. However, the attack does not occur, and Shikutz mentions briefly that some of the troops move to the rear in order to celebrate the holiday.

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Christmas at the Orthodox Mission in Japan: “A Two-Story House” The final defeat of the Russians under siege at Port Arthur also occurs around the Christmas holiday. On December 22, 1904, Nikolai discusses this defeat and the celebrations of the Japanese. The only hope now, he says, is Kuropatkin and the Manchurian army: “If they cannot hold, this means that God has left Russia to be laughed at by her enemies as punishment for the fact that she forgot God and her commandments.” Prior to the defeat, several efforts were made to take the Port Arthur icon to its intended destination. The last was by a retired captain, Nikolai Feodorov, who had served in the Russo-Turkish War of 1877–1878. He had reportedly learned from the newspapers about the fate of the icon and decided to take on the difficult and dangerous feat of delivering it to Port Arthur. Before traveling to Vladivostok, he visited John of Kronstadt to receive a blessing. After his arrival, a service was held on November 21, and then the icon was enclosed in a specially prepared case, which Feodorov intended to take to Port Arthur on a Norwegian steamer via Shanghai. However, Port Arthur fell on December 20, and shortly thereafter, Feodorov informed others that he had been unable to reach the city before this occurred. The icon then apparently reached Kuropatkin, but, according to a letter by John of Kronstadt, Kuropatkin allowed all of the icons brought to him to remain “among the Japanese heathen.” As a result, Father John said, the Russians have become a laughingstock of all their enemies.23 The icon was reportedly transferred by Father Nikolai Glagolev back to Russia and given to the head of the military chaplaincy, A. A. Zhelebovski.24 The loss at Port Arthur casts a pall over Nikolai’s preparations for the Christmas holiday. As before, he expresses his loneliness and the distance he feels from his fellow Orthodox Christians, his long-term friends and coworkers. On Christmas Eve, 1904, he writes once again about his depression over the Russian failures in the war and mentions the difficulties of coexisting with Japanese Christians. He describes his participation in services lasting until 1:00 a.m., saying that the service was glorious but that “[t]he whole day was made more difficult by the fact that it is necessary to suffer inside, not showing it outside. And how can one not suffer? How can one not grieve for the Fatherland? This is not impossible, if you abide eternally in the upper chamber.” He continues:

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Figure 7 “Russian Field Funeral at Port Arthur, Manchuria, 1905.” (Alamy.)

I live now in a two-story house. On the upper floor we are all children of the Heavenly Father; on that floor, there are no Japanese, no Russians. Most of the time I try to be there, and the Japanese also humor me, perhaps only outwardly; but even this is fine, and I thank them for their tact! Together we engage in Christian deeds for the Church, translation, book publishing, even Christian help to the prisoners of war or the Japanese wounded—all of this is suitable for the children of One Heavenly Father—with one soul, and with love, easily and joyfully. But sometimes an oppressive state of soul pulls me down to the lower floor, where I remain by myself, without the Japanese, who probably descend to their lower floor—where I am not admitted—even more frequently than I do . . . I must go to the upper floor, where there is no anger…I must be an inhabitant of the upper floor.

He thus characterizes the coexistence of the “earthly kingdom” and the “heavenly kingdom” as two floors of the same house. Staying on the upper floor is a struggle for him, and, he believes, for the Japanese as well.

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The following day, however, he describes Christmas as a happy, joyful time and says, “I was on the whole day more on the upper floor than the lower (see yesterday’s entry) . . . Throughout the whole day there was such a joyous commotion, full of good wishes, that it was impossible to look inward.” Participation in the communal liturgy and simply being in the presence of so many of his fellow Christians leads him to feel a connection with them. In the field, the Japanese and Russians make their peace with one another on Christmas in a different way. In at least one region, a truce is initiated by the Japanese. On Christmas, Mitrofan Srebrianskii writes, “The Japanese sent a letter, congratulating us on the holiday and giving their word that today for the entire day they will not fire, if we do the same. It seems that both sides fulfilled the conditions, and the day went by peacefully.” He does not state in the diary whether this is a local truce or whether it is broader. An entry dated January 28, 1905, appearing in the February 4, 1905, issue of the Japan Weekly Mail also mentions a Christmas Day truce, stating, [O]n the 6th instant, which, was the Russian Xmas day, the Japanese did not fire a single shot. They had announced their intention of refraining—we presume that the story alludes to only a part of the lines—and the Russians accordingly gave themselves up to undisturbed jollification. The sound of bands playing and of general hilarity could be heard by those in the Japanese entrenchments. At one stage 50 or 60 Russians mounted on a parapet and waved their caps for the Japanese, 20 or 30 of whom at once went out and, taking off their fur coats, waved them by way of return greeting.25

Mitrofan, in Ikoi, describes his mixed feelings, noting the deathly quiet on the battlefield while recollecting that in Russia the bells are sounding to glorify the birth of Christ. In his December 25 entry, he notes that he and another man lead short prayer services with the men in the field. “Of course, we hurried,” he writes, “but even so there was great joy that we had managed to celebrate.”

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1905: “The Scourging Hand of a Loving Father”

The winter and spring of 1905 bring more losses to the Russians, and the number of conversations about Russia’s divinely ordained expansion into Asia diminished as the likelihood of victory decreased. Russia’s defeat at Port Arthur after an eleven-month conflict, including a siege that lasted seven months, cost it 31,306 casualties, with a third killed or missing.1 More than 24,000 healthy officers and men were taken prisoner after the surrender; there were also 16,000 sick and wounded in hospitals at that time.2 As noted in the previous chapter, some Russians saw the loss of Port Arthur as partly attributable to Russia’s failure to obey the instructions of the Mother of God with regard to the Port Arthur icon. Three weeks after the defeat, the Bloody Sunday massacre occurred in St. Petersburg, sparking the Revolution of 1905. A priest, Father Gapon, was attempting to organize workers to issue an appeal to Nicholas II against government corruption. He led a peaceful demonstration, but the military fired on the demonstrators, leaving at least 130 and perhaps as many as 1,000 dead. After the news reported these two events— the defeat at Port Arthur and the deaths on Bloody Sunday—in quick succession, it was especially difficult to argue that Russia was divinely favored. Increasingly, Orthodox Christians focused on the need to recognize that God was punishing Russia for her sins and that Russians had to resign themselves to the will of God. There was, however, something of a last gasp for optimism about the war. A few Russian leaders continued to speak of God’s special protection over Holy Rus′. On December 28, 1904, Metropolitan Antonii of St. Petersburg spoke at Tsarskoye Selo, the tsar’s residence, expressing hopes for peace and noting how much the Russian people needed to hear words of peace in a time of war. Antonii focused the second half of his speech on the hope that Russia would move from a year in which it experienced God’s wrath to a year in which it experienced the blessings of God. He described how obedience to God would ensure the

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flourishing of Holy Rus′ not only domestically but also in world affairs and quoted God’s statement in Leviticus 26: “[Y]our enemies shall fall before you by the sword . . . [I] will be your God, and you shall be my people.” Russian troops in the Far East were laying down their lives for the Tsar and for Holy Rus′, and, he said, “our blood will be a holy seed from which the power of our native Russia and her Tsar will grow.”3 He criticized those who are “Russian by blood but not Russian by soul.”4 Nicholas II made a formal announcement regarding the defeat at Port Arthur on January 1, 1905. He stated that Russia had suffered losses in the past but that each time, “she came out of the battle with new strength.”5 He wrote, “With all of Russia I believe that the hour of our victory is coming, and that the Lord God will bless the troops that are dear to Me, defeat the enemy . . . and support the honor and glory of our Homeland.”6 Multiple memorial services were performed in Russia for those killed at Port Arthur. At the service in the Kazan cathedral, Metropolitan Antonin pronounces the words “eternal memory” to a weeping crowd, describing the warriors who “on the field of battle laid down their lives for Faith, Tsar, and Fatherland.”7 Even as memorial services were being held for the fallen, Tserkovnyia Viedomosti reported on the many religious services and efforts provided by priests to support the soldiers who continue to go off to war. In one, the author responds to a statement he claims he saw in a newspaper that said Russian clergy are indifferent to the war. He is distressed to see this and says it is not true. He cites the various activities members of the clergy engage in, as evidenced by letters from soldiers, who discuss the gratitude for the prayers and letters that remind them that people at home care about their efforts.8 An excerpt from a letter from Liaoyang describes a soldier who said that on the day he was sent into battle, he was told to throw away everything but his uniform, but he kept in his pocket a prosphora that Fr. Mikhail had blessed. He went into battle, thanking God both for his relatives and for Fr. Mikhail.9

Russia’s Religious Zealotry and the Japanese View of Christianity While Russia struggles to interpret its losses as the result of God’s punishment, the victors consider the impact of the war on the Japanese views of Christianity in general, of Russian Christianity, and of the Japanese Orthodox Church.

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An unattributed article in the Mail states that the positive impact of Japanese Christians providing aid to the sick and wounded will likely be outweighed by the “repulsion” felt with regard to “the methods of Christian Russia.”10 The author mentions “the behaviors of her soldiers, the writings of her newspapers, the methods of her administrators, and the acts of her Christian teachers themselves.”11 While acknowledging that the cruelty of Russian soldiers may be exaggerated, the author states that for the most part, they “have disgraced not only the civilization they represent but the Christianity they profess.”12 The Japanese see that “these men who butcher the wounded and mutilate the dead follow the cross into the combat and are blessed by priests on the eve of battle.” Moreover, the author writes, [T]he ferocity thus displayed in the field is in consonance with the writings of Russian journals, which are supposed to reflect the sentiment of the upper classes. Recall, for example, the journal which urged, and re-urged, that every Japanese should be exterminated as noxious vermin are exterminated. And recall the chorus—a chorus in such absolute union of tone and time as to have been plainly prearranged—the chorus of the religious press of Russia crying for Japan’s destruction as the adherent of a strange creed.13

The author of “Christianity in Japan” also notes that the Oberprocurator of the Holy Synod himself has “publicly attributed Port Arthur’s powers of endurance to the intercession of the Holy Virgin. Thus Russian Christianity has openly allied itself with the war, and is doing everything within its competence to hound Russia on to the strife.”14 Russia, it says, is “[a]n empire governed by oppression, administered by falsehood, inspired by aggression, represented by cruelty and honeycombed by sedition.” Such a product of Christianity is unlikely to raise the faith’s standing among the Japanese and the rest of the region. The high standing of the Russian Orthodox Mission in Japan, however, persisted for the most part. December’s Monthly Summary of the Religious Press notes that some newspapers tried to “sow the seeds of discord” by suggesting Nikolai was leading prayers in favor of Japanese victories, but the Japanese Orthodox Mission’s Seikyo Shimpo notes that “no Japanese Christian expects Nikolai to pray for Japanese victory, and Bishop Nikolai is aware that the Japanese Christians are praying for their country’s success. They are aware that they must pray in order to fulfill their duties as subjects, but both they and Nikolai recognize that their prayers “are subject to the divine will,” the Seikyo Shimpo reports.15 The press summary from January 14, 1905, reports on a piece by the editor of Seikyo Shimpo, who writes that the church has received a “baptism of blood”

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during the war. The church has been under suspicion, but its members have supported the war, and this in combination with “the willing manner in which not a few of our converts have laid down their lives in their country’s cause at the front have had the effect of banishing from the mind of the general public the unworthy suspicions” of the past.”16 Of the 200 or so Orthodox churches in Japan, “Not one . . . has been badly affected by the war”; it has deepened their faith and strengthened their resolve.17 Though the Japanese Orthodox Church emphasizes its loyalty to Japan, the Seikyo Shimpo does at one point stress the importance of the church’s historical debt to Russia. In an article summarized in the Japan Weekly Mail on March 11, 1905, “A Word to the Wealthy Gentlemen in our Church,” K. Yamada asks for contributions to take care of Russian POWs. He states, “The Russians who are prisoners in this country are members of our church and as such have a special claim on our sympathy and help . . . We must never forget that it is to the Russian people that we are indebted for all the benefits Christianity has conferred upon us. They are our parents, as it were, in things spiritual.”18 This will be a theme that other Japanese Orthodox priests highlight, as seen in Shikutz’s writings.

The Paschal Edict, 1905: Religious Toleration in Russia On April 17, 1905, Tsar Nicholas II issued an edict removing restrictions on the practice of religions other than Orthodoxy and stating “that apostasy [otpadenie] from the Orthodox faith is not subject to persecution.”19 Conversations about religious toleration had occurred throughout the late nineteenth century, despite concerns by church officials and other leaders regarding the perils of church–state separation. Nicholas II had issued a manifesto in February 1903 suggesting that religious toleration was desirable, though affirming that Orthodoxy would remain the “preeminent and predominant” faith. The Paschal Edict followed up on this movement by indicating the tsar’s “heartfelt aspiration to guarantee each subject freedom of belief and prayer by the dictates of his conscience.”20 The Japanese press also discusses the religious reforms of 1905. It reports that the retirement of “the most bigoted and intolerant of prelates, the recent procurator-general of the Holy Synod in Russia,” Konstantin Pobedonostsev, is likely due to the fact that he probably could not tolerate reforms proposed by the tsar.21 The article lists the major provisions of the edict and states that it

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represents “a marked departure from the barbarous system of religious intolerance hitherto prevailing throughout the length and breadth of the vast Russian empire.” It points out that the procurator-general, in urging the tsar to fight hard against the Japanese, had called them “filthy apes” because they were not Christian and that the Russian press “engaged in a crusade to prove that the Mikado was anti-Christ and that all his subjects should be exterminated as one exterminates noxious vermin.” The end of the article notes that Buddhism is “explicitly included in the religions to whose followers tolerance is extended.”22 The author adds, “Russia must henceforth abandon her savage attitude toward the religion of Japan. It is time that she should do so. The truth, the plain truth, is that whereas charity is the very essence of Christian doctrine, the practice of Christian nations is eminently uncharitable.”23 The reforms “should be welcomed by the whole world, for every civilized man must condemn religious intolerance in whatever shape and must sympathise with its victims.”24 The Japanese press, then, recognizes the changes that are occurring in Russia and continues to make the argument that Japan is more civilized than Russia.

Mukden and Tsushima The victory at Port Arthur facilitated the subsequent victory at the Battle of Mukden. Lasting from February 10–25, Mukden was the longest battle in military history up to that point and led to an enormous number of casualties: on the Japanese side, 16,000 dead and more than 54,000 wounded; on the Russian side, 20,000 dead or missing in action, 50,000 wounded, and 20,000 prisoners of war.25 The enormity of the losses served to reinforce his earlier belief that God was punishing Russia for its faithlessness. This final major land battle was capped by a massive naval defeat at the Battle of Tsushima in May, which forced Russia to give up any hope of victory. Thirty-eight ships from Russia’s Baltic fleet were sent into battle. Only three survived. From the Russian fleet, 4,830 were killed and 5,907 imprisoned by the Japanese.26 Among the Japanese, only 117 were killed and 583 wounded. Tserkovnyia Viedomosti reports on the loss, stating that Russian believers are searching in these dark days for comfort in prayer; they are holding prayer services and panikhidas (memorial services) everywhere.27 For the Russians, the psychological effect of the defeat was both immediate and long lasting. The Russian poet Anna Akhmatova, herself from a navy family,

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Figure  8 “Prayer at Night in the Russian Quarters in Mukden,” artist unidentified. (From the exhibit Yellow Promise/Yellow Peril,” developed by Visualizing Cultures at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology. Postcard images are from the Leonard A. Lauder Collection of Japanese Postcards at the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston.)

would be haunted by the defeat and went on to mention it in two of her bestknown poems, “Poem without a Hero” and “The Way of All the Earth.” More than fifty years later, she wrote that the defeat at Tsushima was “the first horror of my generation.”28 In addition to signifying Russia’s weakness with respect to what it had viewed as a lesser power, it also signaled the impending collapse of the social order as a whole, with the onset of the revolutions.

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Figure 9 “The Russian navy in Far East seas. Orthodox ceremony on board of flagship, June 1905.” (Engraving from Le Petit Journal.)

In a telegram to the fleet’s commander, Z.  P. Rozhdestvenskii, Nicholas II thanks the troops for fulfilling their duty in the service of Russia and of himself, adding, “By the will of the Most High it was not destined that your efforts be crowned with success, but the Fatherland will always be proud of [your] selfless courage. I wish you a speedy recovery, and may God comfort you all.”29 To Admiral Enquist, along with his thanks, he writes, “May the knowledge of having fulfilled your duty in a holy manner comfort you.”30 Even in defeat, the tsar affirms that the work the Russian military has done is a holy task.

St. George, Not the Dragon: The Chaplain’s Perspective Throughout his diary, it is clear that Father Mitrofan Srebrianskii also believes that the soldiers who fight in the war are doing their duty, and it is a duty of which God approves.31 However, he does not suggest that this duty is connected to defeating the religion or race of the Japanese; he typically brings up this issue when criticizing the unsupportive and ungracious attitude of Russians at home toward the war, particularly within the Russian press. The soldiers he encounters

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are so brave and dedicated that it upsets him to hear the war effort criticized or ignored. As he ministers to the soldiers on the battlefield, he reassures them of God’s love and care for them and seems to genuinely believe that they have done God’s will. He struggles rather briefly with the question of whether God can permit war, but—drawing on the image of St. George and the dragon—he says that we, like St. George, should fulfill God’s will even if we die (November 23–25). He is interested in St. George, not the dragon: in general, he does not talk about the war in terms of religious purpose, nor does he suggest that God is on the side of the Russians or that Russia has a special commission from God. Mitrofan Srebrianskii remains at the front throughout the war and as such has little to no contact with the Japanese. He does, however, have occasions to think about Buddhism and Buddhists through his contacts with the Chinese. On April 25, 1905, he rises at 4:30 a.m. to go on a visit to a Buddhist monastery, which contains some hospital facilities. The building, he says, is “very pretty.” In one section, monks are sitting and praying on benches; there is also a library. In another area are “the gods . . . in the center, a bronze statue of Buddha, to the right of him the ferocious god of war sitting on a ram.” He describes his contact with the residents, writing, “The monks met us with great curiosity. They were especially attentive to me, [since] it was soon explained that I was a ‘lama.’ The monks were all shaven, without hair, and in violet clothing.” One of the Russian officers offered a monk a cigarette; “the monk carefully took it, rose up on tiptoe, looked around,” and not seeing anyone, began to smoke, indicating that he will be beaten if his transgression is discovered. Mitrofan writes, “ ‘Ah,’ I thought, ‘sins have their place everywhere.’ ” This is one of few occasions where Mitrofan has any direct contact with Buddhists, and it is telling that his attitude is mild and patronizing rather than contemptuous. The war has not led him to raise dramatic concerns about the “crafty heathen,” or if it has, they do not appear in his diary. In fact, Mitrofan’s theological perspective on the war is rarely evident. There is, however, one brief section of the diary in which—struggling with the apparent imminent defeat of Russia—he suggests that God may have intended for Russia to lose the war. On June 5, 1905—as he marks one year spent on the front—he thanks God for the fact that he made it through the year. He notes that peace negotiations are in progress but says that “they” (which “they” he means is not clear; he seems to be talking about himself and the other soldiers in the field) do not yet want peace, apparently because they still see hope for victory: But if peace is made and we go home defeated, then automatically the question arises; what was the reason for our disaster? I am trying to answer this to the

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best of my ability. First of all, the history of God’s people must always be kept before our eyes. When the lawless Hebrews . . . neglected to thank God, the heathen people, who were relatively weaker, defeated Israel. However, repentance and return to God once again restored them to a better life. Russia is now going through the same test. A government . . . forgets God, and . . . becomes similar to the ancient Sodom and Gomorrah. Thus the justice of God involves our collective punishment by a heathen people, relatively weaker than ourselves. We make sense of it, we . . . turn to God; . . . and we regain divine kindness and blessings for our poor fatherland.

This is the kind of clear theological view of the war that we see in the missionary journals but not elsewhere in Mitrofan’s writings. (In fact, it is so unusual for him that this may indicate he took the idea from a missionary journal article, but he does not say this himself.) Even in this case, however, he does not describe God as ensuring Russia’s victory but causing Russia’s defeat.

Perspective of a POW: Japan as “Heaven on Earth” Like Mitrofan, Feodor Shikutz rarely focuses on the broader picture of the war, and in fact there is very little discussion of religion at all in early 1904; he is focused on staying alive and returning home. At the front, at times only two versts from the Japanese, he is in the presence of thousands of corpses and is at perpetual risk of death, injury, or capture. He does mention that in one city, there are many Chinese who are “Christian-Catholics,” stating, “they carry crosses and even showed us icons . . .. [O]ne of them was the birth of Christ and the other Palm Sunday” (March 5). As Easter approaches, Shikutz writes about the preparations for celebrating the holiday. On April 9, he mentions complaints from Chinese civilians about criminal activity among the Russian soldiers; the soldiers (though denying they have done anything wrong) claim that they did this because they needed money for Easter and that their commander sent them to prepare for the holiday. A few days later, he describes his distress over being away from his family during Easter; he thinks of them preparing the care package they have sent to him and describes the rations they are receiving (April 14). The celebration of Easter is sad: almost everyone despairs over the fact that the war has kept them in Manchuria, away from their families; they want to celebrate the holiday with their relatives and friends.

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Shikutz’s experience of the war changes dramatically after he volunteers to take on a dangerous assignment in the field (April 21). During the mission, he is shot in the leg and left among the dead and wounded. He crosses himself and prays, “Christ is risen!” He thinks of the Virgin Mary and about his life, his relatives, his company with all his comrades. He is very afraid but has trouble formulating a prayer and says, “I was both sad and frightened to die, and I wanted to pray and at the same time remembered and wished for the things that I would have to say goodbye to forever.” Even in this time of crisis, he describes something more akin to chaos than to deep religious feeling. He loses consciousness and is captured. The rest of the diary describes his experiences as a prisoner of war. He is treated well by the Japanese doctors and nurses and is especially impressed with the latter. While still in Manchuria, he is distressed when thinking about the deaths of many in and around Mukden, as well as the terrible suffering of the other captured soldiers. When he arrives in Japan, however, he sees its beauty and describes it as “some sort of heaven on earth” (May 31). Despite his unhappiness, as well as his distress over the prospect of losing his leg, he continues to have a good impression of the Japanese. When he sees Japanese people cry when they see him, he realizes that they probably have some family members in the war and that as they look at him, they think of their family members who are lying wounded among Russians (June 3). During his recovery in the POW hospital facility, he has a number of contacts with Japanese Orthodox clergy. On June 5, he notes that a Japanese Orthodox priest performed a liturgy in the next barracks, which he overhears “with great satisfaction.” There is also a funeral for a fellow soldier he knows, and he is sorry not to be able to participate “in order to have the possibility to see how the funeral of an Orthodox who died in Japan is conducted.” The priest serves the liturgy and comes back to ask about the convalescents’ health. Shikutz notes, “he speaks Russian very badly, but it was nevertheless possible to understand him” (June 8). He says that a priest (it is unclear whether it is the same one) also performs a weekly liturgy on Sundays in Hakodate (June 15). This priest, Andrei Metaki, comes to call on the prisoners, asks after their health, and gave Shikutz his card. Shikutz writes, “He is the representative of the Orthodox church in Hakodate, and serving there, comes to serve us as well . . . After dinner he read the burial service over the body of the soldier who died yesterday.” Shikutz notes several other liturgies that are performed, as well as several other Orthodox funerals, including one by Metaki on June 28. On July 6, he

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describes a choir singing for a Divine Liturgy in a nearby barracks: “the window as the result of the heat was open, and everything was very clearly audible.” In addition to performing the Divine Liturgy, Metaki also performs a burial service for a soldier who died from wounds of the battle of Mukden, leaving a wife and five young children; Shikutz is able to participate in the panikhida but has to return to his room rather than going to the grave (July 21). As he recovers, Shikutz has the opportunity to observe the Japanese. On July 24, he reports that Japan is sending soldiers to the front after he witnesses their departure from “a crowd of people, fathers, brothers, mothers, wives, sisters, and other relatives.” Their departures were unlike those of the Russians. Russians “cry, embrace, kiss, and say farewell, as if to the dead, but it is the opposite among the Japanese: they sing songs, [and] celebrate . . . as if the soldiers go not to war but to some sort of holiday.” On August 6, Shikutz notes that it is the day of the Transfiguration of the Lord, which makes him think of home and of the glorious celebrations of the day there; he does not mention any celebrations at the camp.

The Mother Church and the Daughter Church Peace talks were held in Portsmouth, New Hampshire, from July 24 to August 17, and Japan and Russia signed the Treaty of Portsmouth that ended the war on August 23, 1905. At 2:15  p.m. on August 25, a service of thanksgiving is performed in the Great Peterhof Cathedral (the Cathedral of Sts. Peter and Paul in St. Petersburg), which is attended by the emperor, Empress Alexandra Feodorovna, Maria Feodorovna, and other governmental and military officials.32 On Saturday August 28, thanksgiving prayer services were performed in all St. Petersburg churches, with archbishops Alexei of Tomsk and Gurii of Novgorod leading a grand service in Kazan Cathedral.33 Shikutz received the news about the peace talks from the visiting priest: after one service on July 20, the priest reported to the prisoners that peace talks would begin soon, and two weeks later, after another service on August 17, he informed Shikutz that they had been concluded. The diary of Shikutz during this period reflects the familial relationship between the Japanese Orthodox Church and the Russian church. At the end of the war—after peace was negotiated but before the prisoners had left—one prisoner died in the camp, and his funeral was conducted by Fr. Metaki, the Japanese Orthodox priest. On October 14, Shikutz reports that “the burial was especially grand,” with a large group of people in attendance, and he expresses the hope

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that this will be the last of his comrades to “remain eternally in a foreign land.” Two camp officials gave speeches, and Shikutz writes that both expressed their deep regrets regarding “the untimely destruction of the life of a brave defender of his homeland.” Shikutz provides a detailed account of the speech given next, by the priest Andrei Metaki, whom, he says, made up for his poor Russian by the spiritual tenor of his words. Like the other officials, the priest also “expressed regret about the untimely death of a brave soldier, who endured all of the Port Arthur adversities.” It was especially sad, he said, that the deceased so long hoped to return to his homeland, but, on the eve of realizing his dream, left this world for a better one. After mentioning the grief his relatives will experience, the priest addressed the prisoners, saying: When you go to your homeland, say to the mother of the Japanese church, Orthodox Russia, that her younger daughter, Orthodox Japan, will pray without ceasing for the souls of the deceased Russian Orthodox warriors, and that their place of burial will be carefully guarded by the young Japanese church. Tell the mother of our Church to pray for her young daughter, that God may help us to shed glorious light in the heart of our own countrymen (sootechestvennikov) and make them understand true Christian doctrine. Tell all of the relatives of those buried in our country that all the deceased are buried according to Orthodox customs, and that their graves will be preserved, and that even now temporary crosses are being replaced with gravestones. Do not forget, brothers, and tell our mother the Orthodox Church about everything that you see among us and about the things that we ask you in so heartfelt a manner.

Though Shikutz is unimpressed with the failure of the other officials to observe Russian customs and to permit all of those present to go to the graveside and attend the panikhida, he notes the respectful treatment of the dead. Shikutz describes the cemetery where the Russian soldiers are buried, noting that each gravestone bears the name of its soldiers under a cross, and reads, “May you rest in peace, brave Russian warrior!” The Japanese respect for the Russian dead continued long after the war, as the Japanese took responsibility for maintenance of the Russian graves.34

“The Scourging Hand of a Loving Father” Concerns about the prisoners of war also preoccupy Nikolai throughout the spring of 1905. The Russian losses lead to a rapid increase in the number of

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prisoners of war, and this means that Nikolai is constantly busy coordinating efforts on their behalf. Throughout the spring of 1905, he alternates between grieving and noting that he is too busy to grieve. Reporting the Japanese celebration of its victory at Mukden, he says that too much grief leads to madness, and he needs a healthy mind because there is so much to do. Later he says, “there is no time to be sad” because there are so many letters to write (March 23). The Orthodox Christians provide Japanese priests to perform services in the POW camps, produce and distribute religious books and crosses, support the painting of icons by prisoners, and engage in other religious activities. They also send grammar books for the illiterate and respond to other needs of the prisoners. For Easter, Nikolai publishes a brochure with Easter greetings from the Japanese Orthodox church to the Russian prisoners. On February 26, as he discusses the massive increase in the number of POWs after the battle of Mukden, Nikolai declares: You our God! Finally You have withdrawn from us, because we withdrew from you! You have taken Your helping hand and left us to our pride and our own strength and—here it is, our own strength—we are reduced to ashes! But let this punishment be from a loving Father! Let there be in us the spirit of humility and an igniting of fervency toward the fulfillment of Your commands!

On March 19, he writes, “it is evident that God punishes Russia for her terrible sins. But let this happen by means of the blows of a scourging hand of a loving Father who wants only good for Russia!” Services continue as always, and he continues to support the Japanese right to celebrate their country’s successes. On March 6, he notes that he “performed the Liturgy with three priests”; he goes off to the side at the end of the Liturgy, and then the priests go into the middle of the church to perform the thanksgiving prayers for the Mukden victory and further victories. He comments that they have the right to do this. The Japanese churches in general seem to be convinced that the war is not harming the efforts of the Orthodox church; on March 27, 1905, he reports that visitors say their churches are fine, noting “faith is one thing, war is another—war is an earthly affair, faith is a heavenly one; everyone knows this.” After the Battle of Tsushima, Nikolai writes about Russia’s “horrible defeat” in detail on May 17, describing the ships destroyed and prisoners taken, including two admirals. He contrasts his own agony to the happiness of the Japanese: “Above the gates of the Mission, and, of course, in each city and throughout Japan there are red flags, and the Japanese people celebrate; now it has no enemy in the

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sea, it is the master of all surrounding seas. I can think nothing; in my mind there is only sadness and silence in unbearable loneliness . . . Nevertheless sent eight packages by post.” On May 19, he describes “uninterrupted rejoicing by the Japanese.” Upon hearing that the Japanese will cancel school tomorrow after the morning prayers, he writes, “What can I answer, except—‘good!’ In [the Japanese people’s] ‘rejoicing’ they do not ask permission, only report. And they are right in their rejoicing. Where would people not rejoice in such circumstances?” He adds, “In the unbearable spiritual weight of these days I work on translations and putting lists in order.” Nikolai seldom expresses confidence that God will protect his country. The Tsushima defeat in particular prompts him to reflect at length on God’s role in military matters. On May 20, he writes, “The God-man cried for Judea; however, he did not protect her from the Romans.” He also suggests that Russia’s mistake was to attempt to stretch her empire out in a way that was not intended by God; God meant for Russia to be a land power, not a sea power. He questions whether Russia will understand the meaning of this “terrible loss, given to her by Providence . . . Will she understand that she does not need a large fleet at all, because she is not a sea power? . . . Help her, God, to become smarter and more honest!” (May 20). God, then, is not detached from Russia’s political and military affairs. Unlike many of his fellow Russian Orthodox, Nikolai does not appear to have a strong sense of Russia’s “manifest destiny,” but he nevertheless believes that Russia’s political and geographic destiny is directed by God. (He discusses this theory again on September 28, when he writes about a visit by a French correspondent, Ludovic Nadeau. Nadeau suggests that God gave Russia a continent, but she failed to understand that she was not a sea power, and Nikolai says he has had the same thought.) On May 28, he once again notes that the Japanese priests are performing a thanksgiving prayer in honor of the Japanese victory. He writes, “The priests after the Liturgy performed a prayer of gratitude about the brilliant sea victory over the Russian fleet. I stood at the altar, praying for my poor humiliated Fatherland.” He expresses gratitude for the fact that the cathedral had stopped ringing its bells at the start of the war: “it would be all the more painful if Russian bells celebrated Japanese victories.” The period between the conclusion and implementation of the peace treaty is both grim and busy for him; many entries make note of his depression (May 29, the “bitterness” that comes and goes; June 18, unbearable grief and apathy, sad news “weighing down the soul,” exacerbated by the “unceasing rain”; July 10, a Sunday with beautiful weather and a full church, but he feels a weight in his soul because of Russia’s shame; he is sick to

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his stomach). “There is no need to describe each day,” he writes on May 31: they are all the same, with letters from the prisoners and to the prisoners, constant demands and questions from the clergy serving the prisoners, and no time for translation work. His depression does not prevent him from continuing to reassure his followers of the value of their faith. On June 24, he describes the graduation ceremony for the seminary and catechist school, expressing concerns that some of the seminarians may go into the army. In his speech, he discusses a Jewish proverb that points out that if there are few people, each person should do the work of two. He encourages them to go out and do their work bravely. “God evidently blessed us, preserving His Church here fully . . . despite the current unfavorable circumstances,” he states. “You may meet on your path unreasonable people, who will say to you that you spread a faith that comes from an enemy country. But you have a firm and clear knowledge that you go out to spread a faith that comes not from any earthly kingdom, but from heaven.” The belief that Russia’s failure is God’s punishment becomes especially intense for Nikolai in the summer. On July 3, 1905, he writes, God is punishing Russia, that is, withdrew from her, because she withdrew from Him. [In Russia there is] a sort of wild frenzy of atheism, the most vicious enmity toward Orthodoxy and everything that is intelligent and moral . . . A  hellish gloom enshrouds Russia, and despair takes hold—will a ray of light ever come again? Without God, without morality, without patriotism, a people cannot exist independently. And in Russia . . . faith in a personal God and the immortality of the soul is quite extinguished. In terms of morality she is a rotten corpse.

The “abominable, cursed” intelligentsia drags the simple people to hell. “Russia is now being scourged. Humiliated, weakened, insulted; but has this really sobered her?” Satan’s joyful laughter is everywhere now, he says. Nikolai learns of the conclusion of the peace talks on August 17. He writes that he was reflecting on the possibility of some Russian victory, so that “we can still finish the war with glory.” He describes taking a stroll before beginning his evening work and daydreaming about this; it puts him in a good mood. Then someone tells him the news of the peace accord. “It was just as if cold water had been poured over me. Immediately the happiness flew away and grief seized me. It was just as it had been when our fleet was destroyed, when I, not knowing about it, happily walked between the house and the library, dreaming about the possible victory of Rozhdestvenski and unexpectedly saw a red flag hanging at the neighbor’s,”

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[indicating] that he had already been defeated. “Peace! But this means that this is a shame of Russia that the centuries will not wash off !” He goes off by himself and is unable to work that evening. The one time Nikolai articulates a belief in God’s protective power is after the conclusion of the peace treaty, when some Japanese stage riots against foreigners. In his diary entries on August 24–25, he describes the riots, with a detailed report of damages to other Christian churches, police stations, and homes. On August 25, he writes that the rioters cried out, “Now Nikorai must be burned down” (noting, “by Nikorai they meant all the mission buildings”) but says the soldiers prevented this from happening. Nikolai sees God’s hand in this: “isn’t this a clear sign that the Angel of God will protect us, despite all of our unworthiness?”

The Little Ship Survives The very end of the war is bittersweet. Nikolai writes that of course he is thankful there will be no more deaths, but he feels Russia’s defeat as a personal injury. At 6:00 a.m. on October 8, 1905, the Cathedral once again rang its bells for the first time since the start of the war. But to Nikolai it sounds like a “death knell.” He reflects again on the depth of his relationship to his homeland; he is rooted in it, he says, “as a plant in soil,” and its troubles make him “wither” as the soil dries out. He writes, “It is sinful to think this, but there is such suffering that the thought involuntarily comes to mind:  how good it would be not to exist!” But once again he is drawn out of his grief by his responsibilities and by his concern for the church. An Anglican bishop and his wife come by to congratulate him on the peace, and during the visit, the bishop asks how the Orthodox Church is doing. Nikolai reports, “Fine, thank God; not brilliantly, as to be expected in such a time, but not backward, and overall a little forward. Last Sunday there were several christenings here, and tomorrow in Yokohama will be three christenings.” He adds that the discussions lightened his spirits. The next day the performance of the liturgy again draws him out; he notes that his participation marked his return to serving every Sunday and every holiday (up to this point, he had performed only at major holidays and at services for the appointment of clergy). Prayers of thanksgiving were performed in gratitude for the conclusion of the peace (October 9). He adds,

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The transformation of the Holy Mysteries for the Liturgy accomplished its blessed action: I left the church with a light heart, the sad and dejected mood of the soul entirely departed. The Russian fleet was destroyed; but, at least, one of the little ships remained without any damage—the Japanese Orthodox Church. Isn’t it clear that Christ himself guides this ship? And is it permitted for me, serving under his hand, to surrender myself to dejection? Save me from this, God, and give me strength!

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A “Wasted Opportunity”: Russia’s Failure to Capitalize on Orthodoxy After the war, military psychologist Konstantin Druzhinin criticized the Russian military for its failure to capitalize on the Russian soldiers’ animosity toward the “heathen” Japanese.1 Even the “unbelieving military intellectuals” should have recognized that religion could be used to motivate the troops, he says; yet the opportunity “was continually wasted—not only by the majority of the army, but by the entire army.”2 The church was present on the battlefield in all “external appearances”—there were prayers, church services in mobile churches, and chaplains everywhere, even in battles, but “there was no religious mood in the army . . . no conscious striving for God . . . Our leaders and officers in general forgot what enormous strength, what a motive, and what a weapon of influence on the psyche of the troops they had in their hands because our soldiers on the whole believe in God.”3 The diaries and articles discussed in previous chapters support Druzhinin’s conclusion that during the Russo-Japanese War, there was little anti-Buddhist religious zeal among the soldiers at the front. Articles and speeches intended to inspire the troops do not seem to have led individuals such as Feodor Shikutz and Mitrofan Srebrianskii to reflect with any depth on the religious mission of the war. Druzhinin, who was part of Russia’s Division of Military Psychology,4 laments this wasted opportunity.5 He states that religion was a great support for him personally during the war and that he used it successfully to inspire his own troops when he served as a reconnaissance officer. (Unfortunately, his memoirs contain no descriptions of this activity, focusing instead on logistics and political issues.6) Views of Buddhism do not seem to have been radically altered by the war. In February 1905, the St. Petersburg periodical Niva: An Illustrated Magazine of

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Literature and Contemporary Life publishes a four-page photo spread in titled “The Religious Beliefs of the Japanese and Chinese,” with photos of Chinese temples, statues of gods, and Russian officers posing with Chinese monks, as well as an illustration of a man worshipping at a Buddhist temple.7 While critical of the “superficial” and “unsophisticated” nature of the Asian religions, the pictures accompanying the article depict them as a benign spectacle. After the war, in September and November 1905, Missionerkoe Obozrenie runs a twopart series, “A Comparison of the Major Religio-Moral Positions of Buddhism and Christianity.” The articles on the whole discuss Buddhism using a quasischolarly approach, with sections comparing the two religions’ doctrines of sin, of love, and of virtue. Buddhism is certainly presented as a lesser religion, but the article—appearing in the leading journal for missionaries—does not cast Buddhism as a particularly violent religion or refer to the war as a means for eliminating it.8 Druzhinin operated with a simplistic understanding of the relationship between Christianity and war:  he expected Orthodoxy to serve as a psychological motivator for the troops in their battle against the “heathen” Japanese. This book’s analysis of the discussion of Orthodoxy and the Russo-Japanese War, however, has highlighted many much more complex arguments and implicit beliefs about this relationship. In what follows, I sketch out several that were important in the Russo-Japanese War, discuss the views of Nikolai of Japan, and then consider the future of the “Christ-loving military” and the concept of holy war in Russia. The Russo-Japanese War elicited several implicit or explicit critiques of the idea that Orthodox Christianity should be utilized as a support for the war. Both Japanese and Western thinkers suggest that Russia is uncivilized due to its lack of religious freedom and its antiquated, unsophisticated evaluations of Japan and its religion. The era of Crusades should be over; no civilized nation should fight wars for religious reasons or even discuss the religion of their enemy when analyzing events during wartime. Some Russians tacitly accept this critique and counter these arguments by focusing on other markers of civilization. For example, Russia’s work in formulating the international law of armed conflict, as well as the military’s obedience to international norms during the war, is cast as a Christian activity. Extended discussions of the theological arguments about the war, such as Tikhomerov’s article, “Is Our War Just?” include a focus on just war criteria—here, just cause in particular—in addition to highlighting Russia’s destiny to extend Christianity’s reach into Asia. This article and numerous others describe the war as one of

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self-defense:  Japan’s attack on Port Arthur makes this a defensive war for the Russians. Not all Orthodox Christians are concerned with characterizing the war in this way; Orthodox leaders such as John of Kronstadt focus on its religious justification. He and others discuss the war using holy war language: the tsar is both a legitimate and religious authority; the cause is holy as well as just; and the war is fought by a Christ-loving military. For these thinkers, military defeat should also be interpreted in religious terms. If a battle or the war is lost, this is likely due to God’s punishment, and Christians should consider carefully what the reason for this punishment might be. They must reflect upon the nature of God’s justice as a sort of military theodicy. The reasons may be localized, as, for example, when the loss of the Port Arthur icon is seen as the cause of the military defeat there; they may also be generalized to society as a whole, as when Nikolai suggests that Russia is punished by the “scourging hand of a loving father” for its sins as a nation. The emphasis on the holy aspects of the war gives rise to critiques like those of Tolstoy, who believes that utilizing Christianity as a support for war constitutes “religious fraud.” Tolstoy argues that neither Christianity nor Buddhism should support war, as it contravenes the basic principles of both religions. These debates about the broad relationship between religion and the war are mostly irrelevant to Nikolai of Japan and to soldiers in the field. For Nikolai, utilizing Christianity as a support for war is simply unnecessary. Missions to non-Christians are successful and ongoing, so there is no reason to go to war for missionary purposes. Missionaries like Nikolai have come to see that Orthodox Christians in different countries are related to one another like parents and children or like siblings; the funeral service attended by Shikutz drives this point home, as do Nikolai’s many writings and his argument that the “little ship” survives. Nikolai does not believe that the Russo-Japanese War is unjust on Russia’s part, but it is not fought for the purposes his colleagues on the home front suggest.

The Political Theology of Nikolai of Japan Nikolai’s position on the Russo-Japanese War should be understood in the context of his distinctive approach to political theology. Nikolai is not a systematic theologian or ethicist; during the war, his focus is on leading the Japanese Orthodox Mission and on his daily work with Pavel Nakai on translating

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liturgical texts. He does not produce any theological treatises that relate politics and theology. Nevertheless, his approach to political theology can be discerned from his writings before and during the war. He stresses loyalty of each Christian to his or her homeland as a fundamental and apparently unshakeable theological principle. In addition, while he acknowledges the tension that this creates between Christians with different “earthly fatherlands” and different sovereigns, he suggests that these tensions can be alleviated through attention to the “heavenly fatherland.” He never suggests that the expansion of Orthodox Christianity is a cause for the war. Nikolai faces the tensions between his attachment to his homeland, his adopted country, and his faith every day he spends in Japan during the war. His diary shifts focus frequently, sometimes zoning in on his personal life, sometimes on the life of the church in Japan, and sometimes on the sorry state of the Russian empire, his beloved homeland. Nikolai stresses at the start of the war that “love of country is natural and holy”; he repeats this sentiment several times throughout the diary and in his public writings. But he must face the challenge of loving Russia while living with Japanese who love their country. Despite the impression of Japanese observers, such as the author of the prewar letter to the Japan Mail, he himself never says that both countries are “his own.” His long residence in Japan notwithstanding, he is Russian; he is neither Japanese nor “Russo-Japanese.” Because of his unique position, however, he is acutely aware of the loyalty to state and sovereign that both the Russians and the Japanese feel. Perhaps because of this awareness, he never falters in his contention that citizens of both countries are obliged to be loyal to their own emperor and to serve their own homeland in wartime if called to do so. At the start of the war, he implies that Japanese Christians should not feel any tension between their obligation to the state and their duties as Orthodox Christians; indeed, he sees them as being perfectly in line with one another. The reader of his wartime diary may be struck by his lack of scriptural and theological analysis on this point. He does not discuss why he has such strong beliefs about loyalty. Pragmatism may play a part; as his work in the early period of the mission demonstrates, he realizes that the political intervention of Christians in Japanese affairs could yield disastrous results. While a systematic theologian might have engaged in reflection on the meaning of Romans 13, it seems that for Nikolai, subjection to governing authorities, regardless of the authority’s religion or state, is not a topic that needs to be debated or analyzed. In the diary, Nikolai uses several metaphors to describe his own situation, the situation of Japanese Christians, and the relationship between himself and the

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Japanese Christians. In doing this, he draws upon metaphors or images used by earlier Christian thinkers. As noted in Chapter 1, the Western Christian theologian Augustine articulated complex doctrines of “the two”—two cities, two kingdoms—to describe the Christian’s overlapping or competing allegiances to state and religion. Christians are, or strive to be, citizens in, to be subjects of, or to belong to what is variously called the kingdom of God, the heavenly kingdom, or the city of God. On the one hand, this concept of citizenship functions as a metaphor that prompts Christians to examine where their loyalties lie—that is, do they “live” with God? Do they place God at the center of their world? These questions become even more complicated when Christians try to use this concept to make practical decisions with respect to the state—what is owed to “Caesar,” and what does it mean to be “subject” to the governing authorities discussed in Romans 13? Nikolai does not draw explicitly on the scriptures that relate to these issues, or from any earlier Christian authors.9 However, he does either draw on or replicate this “doctrine of the two” that is found in some of his predecessors and adds to this the notion of church as family—or “household.”10 In his public speeches and in speaking about the obligations of the Japanese to their country, he refers to the coexistence of the earthly kingdom or kingdoms and the heavenly kingdom. For example, he tells Admiral Makarov to build upon his service to the earthly kingdom (in the Navy) and serve the heavenly kingdom by raising funds for the construction for the Cathedral in Japan. Even in this particular case, it becomes clear that there is more than one earthly kingdom, and every earthly kingdom—apparently—deserves loyalty. Japan is one such kingdom, and Russia is another. Second, in his diaries, in describing his coexistence with the Japanese, he talks about living in a “two-story house,” where he is both with and not with the Japanese Christians he loves. This statement calls to mind Jesus’s statement to his disciples in John 14:2: “in my father’s house are many mansions,” though Nikolai does not reference it directly. The concept of the household appears in his other domestic and relational metaphors. Churches in different countries are siblings; bishops and priests are fathers to their congregants. When discussing his responsibility to stay in Japan after war breaks out, Nikolai calls the Japanese church his “fledgling,” stating, “If they do not allow me to stay here, I will stay in Shanghai, to be near the Church. And a seagull doesn’t fly far from its nest—how can I leave my young one, still a fledgling Church?” (January 26, 1904). After the end of the war, on December 6, 1905, Nikolai sends a letter to the Russian prisoners of war in Japan, whom he addresses as both “Russian Christ-loving soldiers” and “beloved brothers in Christ.” His brotherly love for them, he says,

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Figure  10 Holy Resurrection Cathedral, Tokyo, 2016. (Edwin Romeijn; used with permission.)

is strengthened by their “good Christian behavior,” which served as an example for the “new babes” of the Church who are in Japan, who also worked to display brotherly Christian love toward the Russian prisoners.11 Nikolai’s theological perspective on the war appears to be shaped by his ongoing experience with the Japanese and by his view of the Orthodox Church as one family. Nikolai knew the Japanese Christians before the war and expects to continue to know them after the war has ended. And these expectations are correct: he continues to live in Japan until his death in 1912.12 He remains beloved within his congregation and well respected in Japan. The Japanese emperor sends an ornate wreath to his funeral, and his funeral cortege is accompanied by a crowd of mourners who walk from the Holy Resurrection Cathedral—still called “Nikorai-do,” even in the present day—to Yanakea Cemetery. In 1970, Nikolai was formally declared a saint, with the title of “Equal to the Apostles,” the same title once used to designate the emperor Constantine.13 Unlike Constantine, his work to expand Christianity relied not on the force of the military but on his steady, decades-long efforts living among people of a different faith. The Japanese Orthodox Church he founded in the nineteenth

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century would go on to become an independent branch of the Orthodox Church whose members live in and owe allegiance to an “earthly kingdom” different from his native land of Russia. At the same time, in his eyes, he and they always were—and will always remain—members of the same heavenly kingdom.

The Renaissance of the Christ-Loving Military in the Post-Soviet Era After the dissolution of the Soviet Union in the early 1990s, there was a resurgence of interest in the Orthodox Church and its relationship to the state and the military. In 1997, a Russian military institute published an anthology of historical Russian-language works on this topic, titled The Christ-Loving Military. The volume includes selections from the diaries of field chaplains, discussions of religious and moral education in the Russian military, philosophical analyses of Orthodoxy and war, and descriptions of Russian saints who were affiliated with the military. In addition to providing a window into the Orthodox tradition of the Christ-loving military prior to the 1917 Revolution, the anthology indicates the assessment of the tradition that occurred within the decade after the fall of the Soviet Union. In the concluding essay, Aleksandr Savinkin advocates a renaissance of the Christ-loving military in Russia and sets out four conditions that he says should occur to facilitate this transformation.14 First, he says, is the establishment of “wise (peace-loving) military policy,” focused on the prevention of war and violence. As he discusses the nature of this policy, he critiques some of the choices Russia has made with regard to wars in the past but asserts, “the compatibility of the justice of war and military service with the Christian vocation.” He states, “The defense of the Fatherland is considered a holy duty” and adds that it is also possible to fight a just war on behalf of “one’s friends,” which he identifies as “other peoples (narodi), especially those related to us by faith” (439).15 Unlike his nineteenth-century counterparts, Savinkin does reference the Western just war tradition, mentioning Grotius’s arguments regarding the need to proceed cautiously when entering a war. But when war is undertaken out of genuine necessity, he says, the Russian Orthodox Church blesses the soldiers and even prays for the defeat of the enemy (441). The second step or element in the process of returning to the Christ-loving military is the reconstitution of what he calls a genuine or true army (445). He

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states that in its fullest sense, the meaning of “Christ-loving military” relates not only to “the soldier who believes in Christ and lives according to his laws.” The Christ-loving military is also “a qualitatively perfect military force, a genuine army, united into a single whole by a religious worldview, love toward the fatherland, strong (unwavering) military spirit,” and the highest level of military art or skill. The slogan “we are Russian, God is with us” accompanied the many victories Russia experienced in the eras of Peter I and Catherine II. Russia, he says, mastered the “science of victory,” an idea exemplified by the eighteenth-century General Alexander Suvarov—a general who reputedly won all sixty battles he led. Suvarov said that soldiers should pray, emphasizing that victory comes from God, and stated that God “is a general to us.” By the early nineteenth century, after 1812, however, the “genuinely Christ-loving character of the military was a thing of the past,” according to Savinkin (446). Savinkin praises the mastery of the military arts by Russians prior to 1812, but says that after this period, the “true professional army” disappeared, and the country went into a period of decline. By 1917, the military had lost its spiritual quality entirely. He tells an anecdote about a speech by the head of the Army and Navy chaplains—and a veteran of the Russo-Japanese War—Georgii Shavelskii, who met with a group of sailors in 1911. One said they were all willing to lay down their lives for the tsar and the Fatherland. Shavelskii said this willingness to sacrifice was honorable and worthy of their calling but added, “your fate is not to die but to be victorious! . . . Therefore do not die but win!” (447). The troops respond with shock, seeing this as a heresy. Savinkin, however, suggests that a Christ-loving military should be victorious. To restore the Christ-loving military, the best people in Russia must serve in the military; they must have “perfect moral and military qualities” and strive to emulate Russia’s earlier “holy warriors” (452). Third, Savinkin emphasizes that “the Christ-loving tradition of the Russian military is based on internationally recognized rules of war and peace” (455). Since “the most important mark of the Christ-loving military is love of humanity,” the Christ-loving military must always observe “principles of humanity and legality” and strive to alleviate the harms of war. A “civilized army created by a wise military policy” does not utilize “barbarian means” (455). Russia did follow these guidelines in the nineteenth century, participating in international conferences on the law of war in Geneva, Brussels, and the Hague starting in the 1860s. Spiritual rebirth is the fourth feature that must be developed to support a Christ-loving military. This must be supported by both commanders and

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military chaplains, as well as by institutions like the Russian Military Institute. He notes that some of this work was facilitated by a March 1994 cooperation agreement signed by Patriarch Alexei II and Minister of Defense P. Grachev.

“The War on Terrorism Is a Holy War”: Patriarch Kirill, 2016 The concepts of holy war and of the Christ-loving military were also addressed by the next Russian patriarch, Kirill I, during a speech given on May 6, 2016— a religious holiday honoring St. George the Victor that fell shortly before the seventy-first anniversary of victory in World War II (celebrated in Russia on May 9).16 Praising St. George for his brave defense of the Christian faith and his spiritual strength, Kirill notes that he is the patron saint of the Christ-loving military (or host) and goes on to describe the nature of this military. This Christloving military, Kirill states, “never performs evil and unjust acts” but “always fights for justice against evil.” He adds that “even if the members of the military do not fully acknowledge themselves to be Christians,” the nature of the Christloving military does not change as a result. It “displays irreproachable purity in its actions and thoughts . . . The Christ-loving military fights only with evil, when this evil is expressed in military actions, in aggression, in the destruction of the life of the people, and in the multitudes of war crimes” that occur. Kirill argues that the Russians’ victory in World War II was a “righteous (pravednyi) victory.”17 Russia did not start the war, he says; “the enemy came to our land, and from the first days of the hostilities the enemy began to display incredible cruelty, to destroy the peaceful populations, to burn villages, to destroy cities.” The population was living peacefully, and their native land suddenly came under attack; they faced the destruction of their families as well as their cities. This is why World War II from the very beginning . . . was called a holy war (sviashennia voina), that is a war for justice. And this is why one may boldly call our military Christ-loving, even if there were no priests in it, and even if no communal prayers were performed (although almost every soldier performed individual, private prayers). We fought for justice, for Homeland, for our land, and for the people against a treacherous and cruel enemy.

Kirill states that this ideal of the Christ-loving military persists to this day. When the Russian army fights in the Middle East, he says, “we know that this is

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not aggression, it is not an occupation . . . it is a struggle with a terrible enemy, who brings evil not only to the Middle East, but to the entire human race.” This evil, terrorism, involves harming and killing innocent people who are in no way fighting with the terrorists or presenting any danger to them; they are killed for the purpose of creating fear. Therefore, he says, “the war on terrorism is a holy war”: a war against such an enemy using “honorable means” is a holy war. He prays that the armed forces will remain faithful to their spiritual lineage as they battle against evil and for justice and asks that St. George act as “the patron and intercessor for our Christ-loving military.” Kirill’s statements with regard to both World War II and the present-day war on terrorism touch on many of the issues raised during the Russo-Japanese War and reflect the complexity of Russian Orthodox perspectives on war. His speech contains both just war and holy war language; in fact, it is difficult to separate one from the other. World War II is described as a defensive war against an enemy that targets noncombatants—a “war for justice”—and is therefore, in his mind, appropriately called a holy war. It is not holy because its cause is related to religion or because its leader is put in place by God; nevertheless, somehow, the military continues to be a “Christ-loving military” despite the absence of priests or communal prayer. (Though there is no tsar to fight for, “homeland” is still an appropriate focus for the military’s protective efforts.) Similarly, the war on terror is not carried out for a specifically religious cause or under a specifically religious authority, but it is fought by the Christ-loving military. As he notes at the beginning of the speech, the Christ-loving military may continue to exist even if its soldiers do not acknowledge themselves to be Christian; it continued to exist in World War II without priests or communal prayer. It is distinguished by the fact that it is committed to fight against evil and to conduct war in an honorable manner.

The Future of the Moral Language of War When Russian Orthodox Christians discuss war today, they do so following the complex patterns found throughout their history. The language and analytical architecture of Western Christianity, while providing a useful foundation for thinking about Russian Orthodox perspectives on war, is insufficient to describe and analyze Russian Orthodox perspectives on the Russo-Japanese War, and it is unlikely to be adequate for current and future wars in this religious and moral tradition.

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This analysis of the Russo-Japanese War provides a model helpful for evaluating the theological positions on war taken today by Russian Orthodox military and religious leaders, as well as ordinary soldiers and citizens. Russian Orthodox Christians today may hold or develop attitudes to the relationship between Christianity, the state, and war that are as diverse and multifaceted as those of their predecessors in the Russo-Japanese War. Whether they will follow a path that is as distinctive or creative as Nikolai of Japan’s remains to be seen, but the essay by Savinkin and the statements by Patriarch Kirill reflect a complexity that both points to Russia’s past and hints at the future of the moral language of war.

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Notes Introduction 1 According to the Japanese Bureau of Military Statistics, there were 87,484 Japanese fatalities, including 49,013 killed in action and 14,427 who died of wounds sustained in action; see Rotem Kowner, The A to Z of the Russo-Japanese War (Lanham, MD: Scarecrow Press, 2009), 80. 2 In the Orthodox Church, an ambo, also called an ambon or amvon, is a raised platform in the sanctuary. 3 Nikolai of Japan, Kratkoe zhizneopisanie: Dnevniki 1870–1911 gg. (St. Petersburg: Bibliopolis, 2007); diary entry for Sunday, October 17, 1904. Dates of the diary entries are provided in the text, according to the Julian calendar used in prerevolutionary Russia. The Bibliopolis edition includes entries from 1904 and 1905; for a complete edition of the diaries, in five volumes, see Dnevniki Sviatogo Nikolaia Iaponskogo, ed. Kėnnoskė Nakamura (St. Petersburg: Giperion, 2004). 4 Today’s Russian Orthodox funeral services contain this line, and Fr. John Bartholomew, an Orthodox priest and author of a forthcoming book on the Russian Orthodox Mission in Japan, says that he is unaware of any changes in the Slavonic text of this service (personal communication, August 4, 2015). 5 For the purposes of this book, the West is defined as North America and Western Europe. During the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, both Japan and Russia sought to be identified as part of the West, as will be discussed in what follows. 6 Different theorists map out the jus ad bellum and jus in bello categories in somewhat different ways. For an overview of the criteria, see David L. Clough and Brian Stiltner, Faith and Force: A Christian Debate about War (Washington, DC: Georgetown University Press, 2007), 59–64; see also Anthony F. Lang Jr., Cian O’Driscoll, and John Williams, eds., Just War: Authority, Tradition, and Practice (Washington, DC: Georgetown University Press, 2013). In Eastern Orthodoxy, similar language is used, though the term “just war” may be replaced by “justified war”; see Alexander F. C. Webster, “Justifiable War as a ‘Lesser Good’ in Eastern Orthodox Moral Tradition,” St. Vladimir’s Theological Quarterly 47, no. 1 (2003), 3–57, and the responses that follow in this special issue, entitled “Justifiable War?” 7 See, e.g., Michael Walzer, Just and Unjust Wars: A Moral Argument with Historical Illustrations 3rd ed. (New York: Basic Books, 2000).

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8 James Turner Johnson, The Holy War Idea in Western and Islamic Traditions (University Park: Pennsylvania State University Press, 1997), 30. Johnson surveys the history of the just-war tradition in Ideology, Reason, and the Limitations of War: Religious and Secular Concepts 1200–1740 (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1975) and its sequel, Just War Tradition and the Restraint of War: A Moral and Historical Inquiry (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1981). 9 Johnson, The Holy War Idea in Western and Islamic Traditions, 45. For more on the holy-war concept, see, e.g., Gerhard van Rad, Holy War in Ancient Israel, trans. Marva J. Dawn (Eugene, OR: Wipf & Stock, 1991) and Ronald Bainton, Christian Attitudes toward War and Peace (Nashville and New York: Abingdon Press, 1960). Bainton sets out four criteria for what he calls the “crusading idea”: “that the cause shall be holy (and no cause is more holy than religion), that the war shall be fought under God and with his help, that the crusaders shall be godly and their enemies ungodly, that the war shall be prosecuted unsparingly” (148). 10 Johnson, The Holy War Idea, 45. 11 Ibid. 12 Johnson, The Holy War Idea, 43; 10–11. 13 For example, in “RELIGIONIS CAUSA: Moral Theology and the Concept of Holy War in the Dutch Republic,” Journal of Religious Ethics 34, no. 4 (2006), Joris van Eijnatten attributes the association between Calvinism and holy war to “the Anglophone bias of much research” on war, including James Turner Johnson’s (610). 14 In Political Theology: A Guide for the Perplexed (London: T&T Clark, 2012), Elizabeth Phillips writes, “Eastern Orthodoxy is such a distinct tradition from the Western forms represented here as to be beyond the scope of this brief introduction” (41). 15 Johnson discusses this disjunction in The Holy War Idea, 20–25. 16 See, e.g., Edward Said, Orientalism (New York: Vintage, 1979). Paul Valliere notes the ignorance and neglect of Orthodox writings on law and politics due to “a Christian ‘orientalism’ that alternates between a condescending, essentially imperialist view of Orthodoxy as a backward form of Christianity and a romantic view of it as preserving mystical values” that no longer exist in the West (“Introduction to the Modern Orthodox Tradition,” in eds. John Witte Jr., and Frank S. Alexander, The Teachings of Modern Orthodox Christianity on Law, Politics, and Human Nature [New York: Columbia University Press, 2007], 1). Scott Kenworthy, in The Heart of Russia: Trinity-Sergius, Monasticism, and Society after 1825 (New York: Oxford University Press; Washington, DC: Woodrow Wilson Center Press, 2010), notes the “almost complete neglect of Eastern Orthodoxy by historians of Christianity” (6).

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17 For a broader definition of the term, see, e.g., Peter Scott and William T. Cavanaugh, introduction to The Blackwell Companion to Political Theology, 1. There are also many ways to define the terms that are part of my definition (i.e., state, nation, and empire). I will use Nigel Biggar’s definition that nation “connotes a people that has a considerable measure of autonomy, and whose autonomy is viable” (xiv) and that a state “is a set of institutions of self-government,” with a “nation-state” combining the two and possessing a sufficient degree of sovereignty (xv); see Between Kin and Cosmopolis: An Ethic of the Nation (Eugene, OR: Cascade Books, 2014). Since these distinctions are not critical for my argument, I use the word “nation” throughout the text when discussing political entities that exist in the modern era. 18 For a discussion of the role of organizations such as churches in international affairs, see, e.g., Jeffrey Haynes, Religious Transnational Actors and Soft Power (Abingdon, UK: Routledge, 2012); and Susanne H. Rudolph and James Piscatori, Transnational Religion and Fading States (Boulder, CO: Westview Press, 1997), which discusses the likelihood of conflicts between states of different faiths. I am grateful to Greg Baldi for directing me to this literature and raising these questions. In a related vein, see also Denis Vovchenko, “Modernizing Orthodoxy: Russia and the Christian East (1856–1914),” Journal of the History of Ideas 73, no. 2 (April 2012), 295–317, for a discussion of Pan-Slavism and Pan-Orthodoxy. 19 See Matthew 22:21/Mark 12:17/Luke 20:25; Romans 13:1. 20 In the twentieth century, the term “political theology” became associated with German theologian Carl Schmitt, whose involvement with the Nazi Party cast a shadow on the use of the term. Schmitt is important in providing a cautionary tale for those who would link religion and politics, but the current use of the term is not dependent on his work. See Elizabeth Phillips, Political Theology: A Guide for the Perplexed, 4–5; and Michael Hollerich, “Carl Schmitt,” in The Blackwell Companion to Political Theology (Malden, MA: Blackwell Publishing, 2004), 107–122. 21 The journal Political Theology was founded in 2000, and since the attacks of September 11, 2001, scholars within religious studies, political science, and other disciplines have been especially attuned to the relationship between religion and the political order. The publication of anthologies attests to interest in this topic: in addition to the Blackwell Companion, see also Craig Hovey, Jeffrey Bailey, and William T. Cavanaugh, eds., An Eerdmans Reader in Contemporary Political Theology (Grand Rapids, MI: William B. Eerdmans, 2012) and Craig Hovey and Elizabeth Phillips’s Cambridge Companion to Political Theology (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2015). 22 In “Defenders of the Christian People: Holy War in Byzantium,” George T. Dennis writes, “A holy war has to be declared by a competent religious authority, the obvious examples being a Christian pope or a Muslim caliph. The objective must

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Notes be religious; again, two obvious examples are the protection or recovery of sacred shrines or the forced conversion or subjection of others to your religion . . . Finally, those who participate in the holy war are to be promised a spiritual reward, such as remission of their sins or assurance of a place in paradise” (in The Crusades from the Perspective of Byzantium and the Muslim World, eds. Angeliki E. Laiou and Roy Parviz Mottaheda (Washington, DC: Dumbarton Oaks, 2001), 31). Dennis says that the Byzantine wars are not “holy” or good but just; in another sense, however, “all Byzantine wars were holy because the emperor was holy, and it was by his authority and sometimes under his leadership that wars were waged” (34). For a complex characterization of Japanese religions during this era, see Brian Daizen Victoria, Zen at War, 2nd ed. (Lanham, MD: Rowman and Littlefield, 2006). Several recent case studies of American wars have demonstrated a complex dynamic as it exists in wars that have occurred between Christians or Christian nations; see, e.g., Mark Noll’s The Civil War as a Theological Crisis (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2006); Jonathan Ebel’s Faith in the Fight: Religion and the American Soldier in the Great War (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2010); and Matthew McCullough’s The Cross of War: Christian Nationalism and U.S. Expansion in the Spanish-American War (Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 2014). These complexities exist even when Christians fight against other Christians; another level of complexity occurs in wars against nonChristians, or indeed when any missionary faith is involved in war. The relationship between the soldier and the missionary has often been a vexed one, dating back to Bartholome de las Casas’s passionate criticisms of the Spaniards who mistreated and slaughtered native Americans (see “Brief Account of the Devastation of the Indies” [1542], in E. G. Bourne, ed., The Northmen, Columbus and Cabot [New York, 1906], http://www.swarthmore.edu/SocSci/bdorsey1/41docs/02-las. html). Jennifer Graber notes that some missionaries believed wars with native Americans in Minnesota may have served as instruments of conversion (“Mighty Upheaval on the Minnesota Frontier: Violence, War, and Death in Dakota and Missionary Christianity,” Church History 80, no. 1 [March 2011)] 76–108). For a discussion of religiously based decision making on the part of Christian civilians amid a colonial war involving different groups of Muslims, see also John W. Kiser’s The Monks of Tibhirine: Faith, Love, and Terror in Algeria (New York: St. Martin’s Griffin, 2002). See Thomas Waldman, “Politics and War: Clausewitz’s Paradoxical Equation,” Parameters (Autumn 2010), 1–13. David Wolff, “Cultural and Social History on Total War’s Global Battlefield,” Russian Review 67 (January 2008), 77. Wolff notes that those in the “third world” celebrated the Japanese victory (71).

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27 For an account of the discovery of his diary in the 1970s, see Kennosuke Nakamura, “Some Aspects of the Life and Work of St. Nikolai of Japan,” in Michael Van Remortel and Peter Chang, St. Nikolai Kasatkin and the Orthodox Mission in Japan (Point Reyes Station, CA: Divine Ascent Press, 2003), 82–86. 28 The Mail’s coverage was wide ranging: in addition to reporting on international and domestic news, business, and sports, it reported in detail on the activities of the Christian missions in Japan, with entire stories devoted to specific events or ceremonies at particular churches. 29 In this book, the views of the Japanese Orthodox Church are represented only in translation; I have not used any Japanese-language sources. For an overview of the Japanese Orthodox Church in this era utilizing both Russian and Japanese sources, see Ilya Kharin’s After Nicholas: Self-Realization of the Japanese Orthodox Church, 1912–1956 (Gloucester, UK: Wide Margin Books, 2014).

Chapter 1 1 For further discussion of these issues, see Betsy Perabo, “How Soldiers, Too, Can Be Saved: Allegiance and Idolatry in the U.S. Military,” Political Theology 11, no. 2 (2010), 247–270. 2 This statement appears only in Matthew; the three other accounts of the arrest omit it. 3 Perabo, “How Soldiers, Too, Can Be Saved,” 250–251. 4 Translations of the Bible are from the New Revised Standard Version. 5 Perabo, “How Soldiers, Too, Can Be Saved,” 251. 6 See Louis J. Swift, The Early Fathers on War and Military Service (Wilmington, DE: Michael Glazier, 1983). 7 Timothy Ware, The Orthodox Church (London: Penguin, 1997), 8. 8 This is, of course, a simplified version of the Catholic story; certainly some Catholic theologians would tell a more nuanced version, and indeed in recent years there has been more stress on conciliar authority. See, e.g., the continuing debates over the relevance of the Second Vatican Council, as reflected in Gilles Routhier, “Vatican II: Relevance and Future,” trans. John J. Conley and Charles T. Kestermeier, Theological Studies 74 (2013), 537–554. Online. 9 Nikolai of Japan, “I v Iaponii Zhatva Mnoga . . . Pis’mo russkogo iz Khakodatie,” in Eleonora Sablina, 150 Let Pravoslaviia v Iaponii (Moscow: Airo-XXI/St. Petersburg: Dmitri Bulanin, 2006), 258. 10 Ibid., 264. 11 Ware, The Orthodox Church, 12–13. See also Hilarion Alfeyev, Orthodox Christianity: Volume I: The History and Canonical Structure of the Orthodox Church

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13 14 15 16 17 18

19 20 21

Notes (Yonkers, NY: St. Vladimir’s Seminary Press, 2011). The Russian version of this book, Tserkov v Istorii [The Church in History] (Moscow: Izdatelstvo Moskovskoi Patriarkhii Russkoi Pravoslavnoi Tserkvi/Veche, 2013), contains the same materials, though with some variations in the text. Ware’s description of history may be affected by his status as an American theologian writing in the twentieth century. His approach to this question has been criticized by Hieromonk Patapios, who states in “A Traditionalist Critique of The Orthodox Church”: “One does not gain the impression from reading the first part of this work that His Grace really believes that Divine Providence is the central guiding principle in the historical unfolding of the Orthodox Church.” Patapios suggests that Ware, an American convert to Orthodoxy, brings Western “baggage” to his interpretation of church history. However, despite this and other criticisms, he acknowledges the book’s status as the standard introduction to Orthodoxy and states that no better one is available in English. Orthodox Christian Information Center, http://orthodoxinfo.com/phronema/review_toc.aspx. Date of review not posted; reference is made to Orthodox Tradition, 16, no. 1, 39–72. Ware, The Orthodox Church, 13. Ibid., 14. Ibid., 15. Ibid., 16. Perabo, “How Soldiers, Too, Can Be Saved,” 255. See, e.g., Aiden Nichols, “St. Augustine in the Byzantine-Slav Tradition,” in Scribe of the Kingdom: Essays on Theology and Culture (London: Sheed & Ward, 1994). Nichols notes the Orthodox hesitation to rely on Augustine too exclusively and even hostility toward Augustine in some cases. Nichols states that “Augustine never set foot on the soil of the Eastern part of the Roman empire,” (115) and that between the fifth and ninth centuries, no Greek theologian could claim even an “adequate acquaintance” with his work (118). The situation does change somewhat in the nineteenth century, especially in Russia, where the Ecclesiastical Academy at Kiev engaged in the project of translating all of Augustine’s work into Russian between 1879 and 1907 (122). For a discussion of the nineteenth-century efforts, see also Myroslaw I. Tataryn, Augustine and Russian Orthodoxy: Russian Orthodox Theologians and Augustine of Hippo: A Twentieth Century Dialogue (Lanham, MD: International Scholars Publications, 2000). On the political reasons for the West’s preference for Augustine, see Alfayev, Orthodox Christianity, Volume I, 108. Gilbert Dagron, Emperor and Priest: The Imperial Office in Byzantium, trans. Jean Birrell (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003), 131. Ibid., 132. Aristotle Papanikolaou, The Mystical As Political: Democracy and Non-Radical Orthodoxy (Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press, 2012), 17.

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Papanikolaou notes that while Jesus is not “particularly clear on what is being called today a ‘political theology’ ”—and neither are the documents of the early church—what is consistent is the “nonidentification of the Kingdom of God with any form of political community” (15). Before Constantine, because there “was no real chance to challenge the imperial structures,” Christians focused on how to relate to those that already existed, such as the army (15). For recent debates on Eusebius, see Timothy D. Barnes, Constantine and Eusebius (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1981), and Devin Singh, “Eusebius as Political Theologian: The Legend Continues,” Harvard Theological Review, 108, no. 1 (2015), 129–154. Papanikolaou, The Mystical as Political, 17; and personal communication. Papanikolaou says Eusebius is incorrect to praise the Roman empire, or any empire that does not allow other religions to exist, as a paragon of Orthodoxy. His own central argument (which I will not address here) is that Orthodoxy is compatible with liberal democracy. Unless otherwise noted, quotations from Eusebius’s “Life of Constantine” are taken from the translation by Ernest Cushing Richardson in Vol. I of The Nicene and PostNicene Fathers, Series 2, ed. Phillip Schaff (Grand Rapids, MI: Wm. B. Eerdmans, 1890), 411–610; https://www.ccel.org/ccel/schaff/npnf201.i.html. Citations are given within the text. Eusebius notes that the account of this vision “might have been hard to believe had it been related by any other person” but that the emperor himself had described it to him and taken an oath to confirm it (“Life of Constantine” I). Maximin is killed by fire sent by God, and God strikes down “other enemies of godliness”; subsequently, Constantine and Licinius “made it their very first action to purge the world of enmity against God” (Papanikolaou, The Mystical as Political, 17). The implication is that God uses the emperors to cleanse the world of “Godhating tyrants.” Dagron, Emperor and Priest, 130–131. Due to the late fourth-century date, this may refer to Constantine or to later Christian emperors. Alfayev suggests that this identification occurred due to the Church’s gratitude for its radical change in status; see Orthodox Christianity: Volume I, 43, and Pravoslavie, Tom I: Istoriia, anonicheskoe ustroistvo I verouchenie Pravoslavnoi Tserkvi (Moscow: Sretensky Monastery, 2008), 42. John Garrard and Carol Garrard state, “The first of the Ravnoapostolny pantheon is Constantine” (Russian Orthodoxy Resurgent: Faith and Power in the New Russia (Princeton and Oxford: Princeton University Press, 2008), 156. Dagron, Emperor and Priest, 143; the references are to the troparion on the feast of St. Constantine. Dagron says, “Constantine was made a saint so as to avoid making him a model of kingship” (143).

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30 Ibid., 148; and see 283–284 for a discussion of various terms that relate church and state. Theocracy, he notes, was coined “by Flavius Josephus in connection with the Jewish people” (282). Caesaropapism occurs when “the temporal sovereignty more or less annexes the religious sphere”; theocracy is the opposite (283). He notes that caesaropapism was “increasingly used in the second half of the nineteenth century” to target Orthodoxy by “identifying ‘Constantinian’ or ‘Justinian’ intervention as the principal cause of the ‘schism’ between Christian East and Christian West” (283). 31 Theodoret, Ecclesiastical History, V.17–18, in William Stearns Davis, ed., Readings in Ancient History: Illustrative Extracts from the Sources, 2 Vols. (Boston: Allyn and Bacon, 1912–13), Vol. II: Rome and the West, 298–300. In Paul Halsell, Internet Ancient History Sourcebook, http://legacy.fordham.edu/halsall/ancient/theodoretambrose1.asp. 32 Ware, The Orthodox Church, 40. 33 Papanikolaou says that, according to the Orthodox perspective, government “presents” God, that is, makes God present (personal communication). 34 Papanikolaou, The Mystical as Political, 19–20. 35 Canon VI states, “LET the ancient customs in Egypt, Libya and Pentapolis prevail, that the Bishop of Alexandria have jurisdiction in all these, since the like is customary for the Bishop of Rome also. Likewise in Antioch and the other provinces, let the Churches retain their privileges”; Canon VII states, “SINCE custom and ancient tradition have prevailed that the Bishop of Aelia [i.e., Jerusalem] should be honoured, let him, saving its due dignity to the Metropolis, have the next place of honour.” (“The Canons of the 318 Holy Fathers Assembled in the City of Niceae, in Bithynia,” in Henry R. Percival, ed., The Seven Ecumenical Councils, Vol. 14 of The Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers, Series 2, http://www.ccel. org/ccel/schaff/npnf214.) 36 Ware, The Orthodox Church, 19. 37 Ibid., 23. Elsewhere “privileges” is used instead of “prerogatives.” 38 Ware, The Orthodox Church, 23. 39 Ibid., 26–27. The significance of Canon 28 of the Council of Chalcedon, which discusses the standing of the different bishops, is still debated among Roman Catholic and Orthodox theologians. See, e.g., George C. Michalopulos, “Canon 28 and Eastern Papalism: Cause or Effect?” (Monomakhos, http://www.monomakhos. com/essay-bin/canon-28-and-eastern-papalism-cause-or-effect/); originally published on an American Orthodox Institute website no longer active; and “The Leadership of the Ecumenical Patriarchate and the Significance of Canon 28 of Chalcedon: A Statement by the Faculty; Holy Cross Greek Orthodox School of Theology, Brookline, Massachusetts, April 30, 2009,” Greek Orthodox Theological Review, 56, nos. 1–4 (2011), 399–412.

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44

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47 48 49

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Ware, The Orthodox Church, 27. Ibid., 28. Ibid. John Strickland, The Making of Holy Russia: The Orthodox Church and Russian Nationalism Before the Revolution (Jordanville, NY: Holy Trinity Publications, 2013), 28. For an introduction to Augustine’s political theology, see Elizabeth Phillips, Political Theology: A Guide for the Perplexed (London: T&T Clark, 2012), 23–28; Jean Bethke Elshtain, “Augustine,” in eds. Peter Scott and William T. Cavanaugh, The Blackwell Companion to Political Theology (Malden, MA: Blackwell Publishing, 2004), 35–47; and Eric Gregory and Joseph Clair, “Augustinians and Thomisms,” in Craig Hovey and Elizabeth Phillips, eds., The Cambridge Companion to Christian Political Theology (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2015), 176–195. Phillips, Political Theology, 24. Augustine, “Letter 189 to Boniface,” in Arthur F. Holmes, ed., War and Christian Ethics: Classic and Contemporary Readings on the Morality of War, 2nd ed. (Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Academic, 2005), 62. Ibid., 63. Augustine, “Reply to Faustus the Manichean,” in Holmes, War and Christian Ethics, 64. There are multiple ways to understand the nature of the two cities, and I will not advocate here for a particular interpretation. Jean Bethke Elshtain notes that what is “political” about Augustine’s theology must be “teased out,” given that he did not write a specific treatise on the topic; and he is, she says, a “tough nut to crack” (“Augustine,” in The Blackwell Companion to Political Theology, 35). She cautions against simplifying his work by focusing on only a few texts. For her treatment of the two cities and war, see 42–46. Augustine, The City of God, trans. Marcus Dodds (New York: Modern Library, 1950), 477. Arguing against a position taken by Robert Marcus in Saeculum: History and Society in the Theology of St. Augustine (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1970), Phillips states that “Augustine was not using the concept of the earthly city to carve out a separate ‘secular’ space in which human government can operate legitimately without regard for the ‘sacred,’ which is the purview of the church” (26). See Oliver O’Donovan, The Desire of the Nations (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996), 82–84. Augustine, “Letter 185,” trans. J. R. King, in Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers, First Series, Vol. 1, ed. Philip Schaff (Buffalo, NY: Christian Literature Publishing Co., 1887); ed. Kevin Knight for http://www.newadvent.org/fathers/1102185.htm.

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54 Ibid. 55 Ibid.,185.14. 56 Ibid., 185.22. Augustine’s views on coercion are complex and evolve over time, as P.L.R. Brown notes in “St. Augustine’s Attitude to Religious Coercion,” Journal of Roman Studies 55, nos. 1–2 (1964), 107–116. For more on early Christian perspectives on the use of coercion, see Radu Bandol, “Diligite homines, interficite errores: The Ethics of Saint Augustine (354–430) in Approaching the Donatist Issue,” Perichoresis 9, no. 2 (2011), 201–220, and Michael Gaddis, There Is No Crime for Those Who Have Christ: Religious Violence in the Christian Roman Empire (Berkeley : University of California Press, 2005). 57 Augustine, “Letter 93,” trans. G. Cunningham, in Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers, First Series, Vol. 1, ed. Philip Schaff (Buffalo, NY: Christian Literature Publishing Co., 1887). Revised and edited by Kevin Knight. http://www.newadvent.org/ fathers/1102093.htm. See also Phillips, Political Theology, 94. 58 Papanikolaou, The Mystical as Political, 26. 59 Ibid.; see also John Meyendorff, The Byzantine Legacy in the Orthodox Church (Crestwood, NY: St. Vladimir’s Seminary Press, 1982), 48. 60 Meyendorff, The Byzantine Legacy, 49. 61 Ibid. 62 Ibid., 44. 63 Papanikolaou, The Mystical as Political, 21. 64 Paul Valliere suggests that this is particular to individuals not to states: “Symphonia depends on charisma, and charisma is conferred on persons, not abstract entities. While it might be possible, given the logic of symphonia, to appreciate evaluations of Constantine or Vladimir of Kiev as ‘equal of the apostles,’ it is a stretch to extend the honor to a society or nation” (“Introduction to the Modern Orthodox Tradition,” in John Witte Jr., and Frank S. Alexander, eds., The Teachings of Modern Orthodox Christianity on Law, Politics, and Human Nature [New York: Columbia University Press, 2007], 13). 65 Papanikolaou, The Mystical as Political, 29. 66 Ibid., 29–30. 67 Ibid., 30.

Chapter 2 1 As Timothy Ware notes, the schism was “the result of a long and complicated process, starting well before the eleventh century and not completed until some time after”; see The Orthodox Church (London: Penguin, 1997), 43. See also Hilarion Alfayev, Orthodox Christianity, Volume I: The History and Canonical Structure of

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4 5 6 7 8 9

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12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19

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the Orthodox Church (Yonkers, NY: St. Vladimir’s Seminary Press, 2011), 107–115. For documentation of the Schism, see Bryn Geffert and Theofanis G. Stavrou, eds., Eastern Orthodox Christianity: The Essential Texts (New Haven, CT, and London: Yale University Press, 2016), 218–265. See, e.g., John Fea, Was America Founded as a Christian Nation? A Historical Introduction (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox, 2011). John W. Coakley and Andrea Sterk, eds., Readings in World Christian History, Vol. 1: Earliest Christianity to 1453 (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis, 2004), 310–312. Hilarion Alfayev notes that there are two accounts of the baptism, one dating it to 989 or 990, the other to 987 or 988; see Orthodox Christianity, Volume I, 97. See also Alfayev’s description of this story as it appears in Tales of Bygone Years, dated to 986 (Orthodox Christianity Volume I, 97–99). Coakley and Stark, Readings in World Christian History, 312. Ibid., 314. Ibid., 315. Ware, The Orthodox Church, 78. Strickland, The Making of Holy Russia, x. While acknowledging the roots of the idea of “Moscow as the Third Rome” in the sixteenth century, Marshall Poe suggests that this narrative was not widely discussed until the late nineteenth century; see “Moscow, the Third Rome: The Origins and Transformations of a ‘Pivotal Moment,’ ” Jahrbücher für Geschichte Osteuropas 49, no. 3 (2001), 412–429. John Garrard and Carol Garrard, Russian Orthodoxy Resurgent: Faith and Power in the New Russia (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2014), 156. Paul Valliere, “Introduction to the Modern Orthodox Tradition,” in The Teachings of Modern Orthodox Christianity on Law, Politics, and Human Nature, John Witte Jr. and Frank S. Alexander, eds., (New York: Columbia University Press, 2007), 12. Ibid. Ware, The Orthodox Church, 80. Ibid., 82. John Shelton Curtiss, Church and State in Russia: The Last Years of the Empire, 1900–1917 (New York: Columbia University Press, 1965), 11. Ibid., 7–8. Ibid., 13. Strickland, The Making of Holy Russia, x. Curtiss, Church and State in Russia, 13. Donald Ostrowski argues that it is unclear whether there is a reference to Rome in Zossima’s text or whether he intended to identify Constantinople and then Moscow as successors to Jerusalem rather than Rome. But in either case the idea of inheriting the mantle of divinely ordained statehood is significant (Muscovy and the Mongols: Cross-Cultural Influences on the Steppe Frontier [Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002], 221–222).

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20 Curtiss, Church and State in Russia, 14. 21 Ibid. 22 In Russian Orthodoxy Resurgent, Garrard and Garrard note debates over “which disciple was the first to be called by Jesus and which disciple was the first to acknowledge Jesus as the Christ,” suggesting that the Gospel of John says it was Andrew rather than Peter and that “Russian Orthodoxy claims descent from Andrew . . . one of its two patron saints” (142). In a review of this book, however, Scott Kenworthy questions the Garrards’ analysis of primacy (Journal of Church and State 51, no. 4 [Autumn 2009], 701–702). 23 Curtiss, Church and State in Russia, 15. 24 Geffert and Stavrou, Eastern Orthodox Christianity, 283. The editors state, “It is difficult to imagine the patriarch of Constantinople issuing such a fawning statement” but note that the account appears in a Russian collection of church laws from 1653. 25 Curtiss, Church and State in Russia, 23. 26 Papanikolaou, The Mystical as Political, 32. 27 Marc Szeftel, “Church and State in Imperial Russia,” in Russian Orthodoxy under the Old Regime, Robert L. Nichols and Theofanis George Stavrou, eds. (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1978), 136–137. 28 Curtiss, Church and State in Russia, 27. 29 Ibid. 30 Ibid., 28. 31 Robert P. Geraci and Michael Khodarkovsky, introduction to On Religion and Empire: Missions, Conversion, and Tolerance in Tsarist Russia (Ithaca, NY, and London: Cornell University Press, 2001), 4. 32 Michael Khodarkovsky, “‘Ignoble Savages and Unfaithful Subjects’: Constructing Non-Christian Identities in Early Modern Russia,” in Russia’s Orient: Imperial Borderlands and Peoples, 1700–1917, Daniel R. Brower and Edward J. Lazzerini, eds. (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1997), 15–16. See also Alexey Miller, “Natsiia, Narod, Narodnost′ in Russia in the 19th Century: Some Introductory Remarks to the History of Concepts,” Jarhbucher fur Geshichte Osteuropas 56, no. 3 (2008), 379–390; and John W. Slocum, “Who, and When, Were the Inorodtsy? The Evolution of the Category of Aliens in Imperial Russia,” Russian Review 57, no. 2 (April 1998), 173–190. 33 In fact, the appropriateness of the term “heathen” was debated by English-speaking missionaries at the time. Jane H. Hunter notes that in the 1890s, American missionaries in Japan requested a change to the name of the Methodist periodical then called The Heathen Women’s Friend, because some found the use of the word “heathen” objectionable. After a close vote, the name was changed to Women’s Missionary Friend. (“Women’s Mission in Historical Perspective: American Identity and Christian Internationalism,” in Competing Kingdoms:Women, Mission, Nation, and the American Protestant Empire, 1812–1960, Barbara Reeves-Ellington,

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Kathryn Kish Sklar, and Connie A. Shemo, eds. (Durham & London: Duke University Press, 2010) Ibid., 17. Ibid., 21. Geraci and Khodorkovsky, Introduction to Of Religion and Empire, 7. Ibid. Curtiss, Church and State in Russia, 71. Paul Werth, The Tsar’s Foreign Faiths: Toleration and the Fate of Religious Freedom in Imperial Russia (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2014), 4, table 1. Svod Osnovnikh Gosudarstvennikh Zakonov, Vol. I, Part I, 1906; Vserossiiskii Monarkhichevskii Tsentr, www.monarchruss.org/library/svod_zakonov.htm. See discussion in Curtiss, Church and State in Russia, 72. Szeftel notes that articles 62 and 63 were “inserted in 1832, but carried over into the 1906 Fundamental Laws” (“Church and State in Imperial Russia,” 129). Svod Osnovsnykh Gosudarstvennikh Zakonov, 1906, sections 62–64; translation in Curtiss, Church and State, 37. Valliere notes the complexities of the relationship between the Slavophile movement, Russian nationalism, and Orthodoxy (“Introduction to the Orthodox Christian Faith,” 10); see also Laura Engelstein, Slavophile Empire: Imperial Russia’s Illiberal Path (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 2009). John Strickland, The Making of Holy Russia: The Orthodox Church and Russian Nationalism Before the Revolution (Jordanville, NY: Holy Trinity Publications, 2013), 4. Ibid., 4–6. Ibid., 6. Ibid., 6–7. Ibid., 7. Ibid., 10. This included Christians from outside Russia, including priests from Japan: “A message of greetings from the recently converted Japanese Orthodox captured the mood. Bearing names such as Sergei Suzuki, Ignatii Mukoyama, and Foma Ono, it testified to what was then a highly successful missionary effort” in Japan (11). Ibid., 17. Ibid. Curtiss, Church and State in Russia, 73. Sfeztel, “Church and State in Imperial Russia,” 128. Strickland, The Making of Holy Russia, 18. Ibid., 37. Ibid., 39. The Orthodox views of “deification” are connected to the doctrine of the Holy Spirit, who “enters members of the Church on earth through the sacrament of chrismation and sanctifies them” (40).

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57 Karl Blind, “After the Coronation at Moscow,” The North American Review 163, no. 476 (July 1896), 18. 58 Ibid., 30. 59 Ibid., 31. 60 Ibid., 32. See also Robert L. Nichols, “The Friends of God: Nicholas and Alexandra at the Canonization of Serafim of Sarov, July 1903,” in Religious and Secular Forces in Late Tsarist Russia, Charles E. Timberlake, ed. (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 1992). The Russian language has several words and phrases to refer to one’s native land, including rodina and otechestva. The root of rodina is “birth,” and the root of otechestva is “father” (otsa). The etymological links are further strengthened by the fact that the vocative form of “father,” the first word used in the Lord’s Prayer as God is being addressed, is Otche. More rarely, the phrase mat’-rodina, “mother homeland” or “motherland,” is used. Rodina could also be translated as “native country,” which in English carries the same root word connection (natus, a Latin word related to birth). 61 Papanikolaou, The Mystical as Political, 33. 62 Curtiss, Church and State in Russia, 76. 63 Ibid.

Chapter 3 1 The term “foreign mission” refers to missions outside of the Russian empire; “external missions” were to non-Orthodox populations within the empire. Another term, “internal missions,” was used to refer to efforts directed at Russian Orthodox Christians themselves, including sectarians such as Old Believers. Robert P. Geraci, Window on the East: National and Imperial Identities in Late Tsarist Russia (Ithaca, NY, and London: Cornell University Press, 2009), 301. For a discussion of the bureaucracy relating to the external missions, see A. R. Sokolov, “The Department for Spiritual Affairs of Foreign Confessions in the Ministry of the Interior,” in Foreign Churches in St. Petersburg and Their Archives, 1703–1917, Pieter Holtrop and Henk Slechte, eds. (Leiden and Boston: Brill, 2007), 163–171. 2 Werth, The Tsar’s Foreign Faiths: Toleration and the Fate of Religious Freedom in Imperial Russia (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2014), 12–13. 3 Ibid., 3. 4 Ibid., 4. 5 Michael Khodorkovsky, “‘Ignoble Savages and Unfaithful Subjects’: Constructing Non-Christian Identities in Early Modern Russia,” in Russia’s Orient: Imperial Borderlands and Peoples, 1700–1917, Daniel R. Bower and Edward J. Lazzerini, eds. (Bloomington and Indianapolis: Indiana University Press, 1997), 19. 6 Werth, The Tsar’s Foreign Faiths, 4, 47.

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7 Ibid., 47. 8 This term comes from Gregory Freeze, “Handmaiden of the State? The Orthodox Church in Imperial Russia Reconsidered.” Journal of Ecclesiastical History 36 (1985), 82–102; however, Freeze uses this term to refer to Orthodoxy rather than to other faiths. 9 Robert D. Crews, For Prophet and Tsar: Islam and Empire in Russia and Central Asia (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2006), 2. Historians disagree on how beneficial this situation was for the religious minorities. 10 Robert Geraci, Window on the East: National and Imperial Identities in Late Tsarist Russia (Ithaca, NY, and London: Cornell University Press, 2009), 49. 11 Ibid., 50. 12 See Geraci, Window on the East, 52–53, for a more in-depth discussion of the translation program. 13 Geraci, Window on the East, 54. 14 Ibid. 15 Ibid. 16 Ibid., 56. 17 Ibid., 58. 18 Ibid., 57. 19 Ibid., 71. 20 See, e.g., John W. Slocum, “Who, and When, Were the Inorodtsy? The Evolution of the Category of ‘Aliens’ in Imperial Russia,” Russian Review 57, no. 2 (April 1998), 173–190. 21 This attitude is reflected in the fact that Il′minskii’s wife and students gave him a cake on his name-day that featured “two rows of inorodtsy made of sugar”; see Geraci, Window on the East, 75. 22 Ibid. 23 Ibid., 80. 24 For a discussion of the treatment of shamanists and Buddhists in Buriatia, see Jesse Murray, “Not Far from the Kingdom of God”: Shamanism and Colonial Control in Russia’s Eastern Borderlands, 1853–1917,” Journal of World History 27, no. 3 (September 2016), 535–563. 25 Dittmar Schorkowitz, “The Orthodox Church, Lamaism, and Shamanism among the Buriats and Kalmyks, 1825–1925”, in Of Religion and Empire: Missions, Conversion, and Tolerance in Tsarist Russia, Robert Geraci and Michael Khodorkovsky, eds. (Ithaca, NY, and London: Cornell University Press, 2001), 209. 26 Ibid., 202. 27 Ibid., 203. 28 Ibid., 206. 29 Ibid., 211.

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30 Ibid. See also Alla Semionovna Babiy, “A Historical Survey of the Non-Russian and Foreign Mission Activity of the Russian Orthodox Church” (Master of Theology in Missiology, University of South Africa, November 2000). 31 See Schorkowitz, “The Orthodox Church,” 212, for a graph of Buriat Conversions to Orthodoxy, 1839–1892. 32 Ibid., 215. 33 Ibid., 217. 34 Millard Fillmore, “Letter of the President of the United States to the Emperor of Japan” (composed 1852, delivered 1853), in “Perry in Japan: A Visual History,” Brown University Library Center for Digital Scholarship, http://library.brown.edu/ cds/perry/Perry_Journal.html. 35 Elizabeth Dorn Lublin, Reforming Japan: The Women’s Christian Temperance Union in the Meiji Period (Vancouver: UBC Press, 2010), 13. 36 Samuel Hugh Moffett, A History of Christianity in Asia, Volume II: 1500 to 1900 (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis, 1998), 504. 37 Lublin, Reforming Japan, 14. 38 Moffett, A History of Christianity in Asia, 505. 39 Lublin, Reforming Japan, 15. 40 Hunter Miller, Treaties and Other International Acts of the United States of America (Washington, DC: Government Printing Office, 1942), vol. 4, 1054; cited in Abe Yoshia, “From Prohibition to Toleration: Japanese Government Views regarding Christianity, 1854–73,” Japanese Journal of Religious Studies 5, nos. 2–3 (June– September 1978), 113. 41 Lublin, Reforming Japan, 14. 42 Abe Yoshiya, “From Prohibition to Toleration,” 112. 43 During negotiations, the Dutch suggested that “the Japanese government should cease requiring its subjects to step on Christian symbols as this practice might offer Western powers a pretext on which to initiate belligerent action against Japan”; the shogunate ordered this practice abolished in 1857. Abe Yoshiya, “From Prohibition to Toleration,” 112. 44 Lublin, Reforming Japan, 14. 45 Moffett, A History of Christianity in Asia, 507. 46 Nikolai was tonsured June 23, 1860, and ordained hieromonk one week later (Michael Van Remortel, “Historical Introduction,” in Saint Nikolai Kasatkin and the Orthodox Mission in Japan, Michael Van Remortal and Peter Chang, eds. [Point Reyes Station, CA: Divine Ascent Press, 2003], 4). 47 Bishop Nektarii, the rector of the Petersburg Spiritual Academy, recommending that Nikolai take the job in Japan, said, “You must leave your own homeland and go to serve God in a distant and unbelieving (neverni) country”; his work, Nektarii said, was to be that of an apostle (trudi aposto’stva). Khristianskoye chteniye, vol.

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I (1869), 255; cited by M. N. Bololiubov forward to Pravoslavie na dal’nem vostoke vol. 2 (St. Petersburg: Izdatelstvo Sankt Peterburgskogo Universiteta, 1996), 6. Van Remortel, “Historical Introduction,” 5. Ibid., 4. Dates are given according to the Julian calendar. G. D. Ivanova, “Zhizn i deiatel’nost Mitropolita Sergiia (Tikhomirova) v iaponii,” in Pravoslavie na dal’nem vostoke, 12. Ibid. Van Remortel, “Historical Introduction,” 3. Ibid., 4 and 24n. 20. No diary from this period is extant, and there are few letters, but in the late 1860s, Nikolai described his experiences in several sources. Sablina, “Pathways of a Pilgrim from Russia,” in Van Remortel and Chang, 52 and 79 (fn 12). Van Remortel, “Historical Introduction,” 6–7. Ibid., 11 and 29n. 68. Kennosuke Nakamura, “Some Aspects of the Life and Work of St. Nikolai of Japan,” in Van Remortel and Chang, 98. Mitsuo Naganawa, “Archbishop Nikolai Kasatkin: A Russian Evangelist in Japan,” in Van Remortel and Chang, 24. Van Remortel, “Historical Introduction,” 9. See, e.g., “Seguni i Mikado” [Shogun and Mikado: A Historical Overview According to Japanese Sources], Russkii Vestnik, No. 11, 1869, 207–227; No. 12, 414–460; reprinted in Eleanora Sablina, 150 Let Pravoslania v Iaponii: Istoria Iaponskoi Pravoslavnoi Tserkvi i ee osnovatel′ Sviatitel Nikolai (Moscow: AIRO-XXI/ St. Petersburg: Dmitrii Bulanin, 2006), 201–252. Drevnaya i novaya Rossiya 10 (1875), 228–229; cited in “Zhizn i deiatel’nost Mitropolita Sergiia (Tikhomirova) v iaponii,” 14. Nikolai, “Dokladnaia zapiska ieromonakha Nikolaia direktoru Aziatskogo Departamenta P. N. Stremoukhovu” [Report of Hieromonk Nikolai to the Director of the Asiatic Department P. N. Stremoukhov], in Ya Zdes′ Sovershenno Odin Russkii (St. Petersburg: Kolo, 2002). Citations are given in the text. The report was originally published in Russkii Arkhiv 1 (1907), 570–661, and is also available in Sablina, 150 Let Pravoslania v Iaponii, 265–306. Ibid. 113. He also discusses the god Hachiman, who is associated with archery and war. Yoshikazu Nakamura, “A Valiant Missionary-Bogatyr: St. Nikolai Kasatkin in the Mirror of His Diaries,” in Van Remortel and Chang, 113. Lublin, Reforming Japan, 17. Eleonora Sablina, “Pathways of a Pilgrim from Russian,” in Van Remortel and Chang, 74.

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68 Michael Van Remortel, “Historical Introduction,” in Van Remortel and Chang, 13. 69 Ibid., 14. 70 Ibid. 71 Kennosuke Nakamura, “Some Aspects of the Life and Work of St. Nikolai of Japan,” in Van Remortel and Chang, 92. In 1979, Nakamura discovered that Nikolai’s diaries were in the Russian State Central Historical Archives, and he was responsible for having them transcribed into Russian and then translated into Japanese; the article describes this story. 72 “Remarks Delivered by Bishop Nikolai upon his Return to Japan in 1880” (originally recorded by Stefan Ohgoe), trans. Emiko Lyovin, in Van Remortel and Chang, 189. 73 Ibid. 74 George Maximov, “St. Nicholas of Japan on Buddhism, continued,” Pravoslavie.ru, October 15, 2014, http://www.pravoslavie.ru/english/72988.htm. These selections from Nikolai’s diary, taken from Dnevniki Sviatogo Nikolaia Iaponskogo, ed. Kennosuke Nakamura (St. Petersburg: Giperion, 2004), III:363, were translated by Maximov. See also A. Larionov, “Osobennosti vospriiatia buddizma sviatitelem Nikolaem (Kasatkinim), Prosvetitelem Iaponii” [Particularities of the perception of Buddhism by His Holiness Nicholas (Kasatkin), Enlightener of Japan”], Alpha i Omega 3, no. 44 (2005). 75 Nakamura, “Some Aspects of the Life and Work of St. Nikolai Kasatkin,” 88. 76 Ibid., 90. Nikolai makes this statement in a diary entry on May 12, 1882. 77 Ibid. 78 Yosuke Nirei, “Toward a Modern Belief: Modernist Protestantism and Problems of National Religion in Meiji Japan,” Japanese Journal of Religious Studies 34, no. 1 (2007), 151–175. In particular, Nirei discusses the possibility of Unitarianism as a national religion. 79 S. O. Makarov, “Pravoslavie v Iaponii,” in Vash Sluga i Bogomolets . . ., ed. Vitalii Guzanov (Moscow: Yugo-vostok-servis, 2003), 42. 80 Ibid., 43. 81 Ibid., 44. 82 Letter from Nikolai to S. O. Makarov, November 25, 1889; in Vash Sluga i Bogomolets . . .,” 90. 83 “Excerpts from the Meiji Constitution of 1889,” Asia for Educators, Columbia University, http://afe.easia.columbia.edu. 84 Helen Hardacre, Religion and the Japanese Constitution, Reischauer Institute of Japanese Studies, Harvard University, 2–3. http://rijs.fas.harvard.edu/crrp/papers/ pdf/Hardacre_ReligionConstitution.pdf. 85 Ibid., 3.

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86 A. Hamish Ion, “The Cross under an Imperial Sun: Imperialism, Nationalism, and Japanese Christianity, 1895–1945,” in Handbook of Christianity in Japan, Mark R. Mullins, ed. (Leiden: Brill, 2003), 71–72. 87 Ibid., 84. 88 Larianov, “Osobennosti vospriatia buddizma sviatitelem Nikolaem (Kasatkinim), Prosvetitelem Iaponii,” 4. 89 Moffett, A History of Christianity in Asia, 519. A chart breaking down the religious affiliations of Japanese in 1900 is found on page 520. 90 Ibid., 507. 91 Ibid., 513.

Chapter 4 1 Isabel Florence Hapgood, Service Book of the Holy Orthodox–Catholic Apostolic Church: Compiled, Translated, and Arranged from the Old Church–Slavonic Service Books of the Russian Church and Collated with the Service Books of the Greek Church (New York: Association Press, 1922). Hapgood’s translation of the Old Church Slavonic books of the Russian church, prepared with the support of the Holy Synod, was first published in 1906 (ix). She notes that she was provided with a copy of the Slavonic Service books by an archbishop who was a member of the Holy Synod. (Hapgood states that she used the Old Church Slavonic books and not the original Greek, though she says in the preface that she has compared it with the Greek [ix].) In the 1922 preface to the second edition, she notes that she has only made one important change to the text: “The word ‘Ruler’ has been substituted for any more specific title in the prayers, litanies and hymns. This renders it easy for any one of the score of autonomous churches belonging to the Eastern Orthodox Confession to supply the appropriate Official title for the head of the State” (n.p.). For a discussion of the Byzantine liturgy, see Robert F. Taft, “War and Peace in the Byzantine Divine Liturgy,” in Peace and War in Byzantium: Essays in Honor of George T. Dennis, S.J., Timothy S. Miller and John Nesbitt, eds. (Washington, DC: Catholic University of America Press, 1995), 28–31. 2 Letter to S. O. Makarov from Nikolai of Japan, November 10, 1889 [OS], in Vash sluga i bogomolets: Perepiska kontr-admirala S. O. Makarova s Nikolaem, episkopom Revel′skim, nachal′nikom Russkoi Dukhovnoi Missii v Iaponii, 1888–1890 gg., Vitalii Guzanov, ed. (Moscow: Yugo–Voskov–servis, 2003), 83. 3 Letter to S. O. Makarov from Olga Putyatin, September 1889; in Guzanov, Vash sluga i bogomolets, 63. 4 Ibid., 63, 65.

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5 The term in Russian is typically either khristolubivoye voinstvo—(a singular collective noun)—or khristolubivoye voini. Voini is the plural of voin, meaning warrior or soldier. Khristolubivoye may be translated as “pious,” but its more literal translation is “Christ-loving.” Voinstvo is “warriors” or “troops” or “military”—or, in a more biblical vein, a “host.” 6 Paul Robinson, “The Justification of War in Russian History and Philosophy,” in Just War in Comparative Perspective, ed. Paul Robinson (Burlington, VT: Ashgate, 2003), 62. Robinson notes that the terms spravedlivaia voina and pravednaia voina are used interchangeably to mean “just war.” 7 Ibid., 63. 8 Alexander Webster, “Justifiable War as a ‘Lesser Good’ in Eastern Orthodox Moral Tradition,” St. Vladimir’s Theological Quarterly 471, no. 1 (2003), 3. See also Alexander Webster and Darrell Cole, The Virtue of War: Reclaiming the Classic Christian Traditions East and West (Salisbury, MA: Regina Orthodox Press, 2004). Webster’s analysis of the history of Russian Orthodox has been challenged by other thinkers, in particular those supporting the pacifist point of view. See, for example, the responses to Webster’s essay in the special issue of St. Vladimir’s Theological Quarterly on “Justifiable War?” 47, no. 1 (2003). 9 See also Christopher Walker, The Warrior Saint in Byzantine Art and History (Aldershot, UK, and Burlington, VT: Routledge, 2003). 10 “St. George,” in Eastern Orthodox Christianity: Supplemental Texts, Bryn Geffert and Theofanis G. Stavrou, eds. (New Haven, CT, and London: Yale University Press, 2016), 332. 11 “St. George,” 332; Alfredo Tradigo, “George of Lydda,” in Icons and Saints of the Eastern Orthodox Church, trans. Stephen Sartarelli (Los Angeles: J. Paul Getty Museum, 2006), 278. 12 Webster, “Justifiable War,” 30. 13 The Passions and the Miracles of the Great Martyr and Victorious Wonderworker Saint George (Jordanville, NY: Holy Trinity Monastery, 1976), 2–4; cited in Webster, “Justifiable War,” 30. 14 Webster, “Justifiable War,” 31–32. 15 Ibid., 33. See also Scott Kenworthy, The Heart of Russia: Trinity-Sergius, Monasticism, and Society after 1825 (New York: Oxford University Press, 2010), 11–12. Kenworthy states, “Though this episode is disputed by modern historians, Sergius’s name became associated with the unification of Rus′ under Moscow and with its emergence from Tatar domination” (12). 16 “The Vigil Service to St. Sergius of Radonezh,” St. Sergius of Radonezh Russian Orthodox Cathedral, Parma, Ohio, http://www.st–sergius.org/services/menaion/StSergius.html. 17 For discussion of the practice of pilgrimage, see Kenworthy, The Heart of Russia, 169–220.

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24

25

26 27 28 29

30

31 32 33 34 35

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Hapgood, Service Book, 5. Ibid., 9. Ibid.,109. Ibid. Webster and Cole, The Virtue of War, 95–96. The Great Book of Needs (Expanded and Supplemented), Vol. 4: Services of Supplication (Moliebens) (South Canaan, PA: St. Tikhon’s Seminary, 1999, 130–150; cited in Webster and Cole, The Virtue of War, 96. A Serbian edition of the Book of Needs published in 1993 includes a prayer for a priest to read over weapons and states that the bishop or priest “sprinkles the weapons with blessed water” (Webster, The Virtue of War, 98). Orthodox Church in America, “The Beheading of the Holy Glorious Prophet, Forerunner, and Baptist John,” https://oca.org/saints/lives/2007/08/29/ 102419-the-beheading-of-the-holy-glorious-prophet-forerunner-and-baptis. Hapgood, Service Book, 439. See, e.g., Hapgood, Service Book, 440, 441, 448, and 449. Hapgood, Service Book, 451. These views are clearly present in the nineteenth century, when St. Philaret, Patriarch of Moscow, says during Napoleon’s 1813 invasion of Russia, “die for the faith and the Fatherland and you will be granted life and a crown in heaven” (Webster, “Justifiable War,” 6). Nadieszda Kizenko, “The Battle of Poltava in Imperial Liturgy,” Harvard Ukrainian Studies 31, no. 1/4 (2009–2010), 227–269. Kizenko, the first to translate the 1711 service into English, discusses its significance in detail on 229. Ibid., 230. Ibid., 228. Ibid., 233. Ibid., 233–234. John Witte and Frank S. Alexander feature him as one of only five authors in their collection on The Teachings of Modern Orthodox Christianity on Law, Politics, and the State (New York: Columbia University Press, 2007). Solov’ev deals with many other issues related to Russian nationalism and Orthodoxy; see, e.g., Greg Gaut, “Can a Christian Be a Nationalist? Vladimir Solov’ev’s Critique of Nationalism,” Slavic Review 37, no. 1 (Spring 1998), 77–94; Judith Deutsch Kornblatt, “Vladimir Solov’ev on Spiritual Nationhood, Russia and the Jews,” Russian Review 56, no. 2 (April 1997), 157–177; and Randall Poole, “Religion, War, and Revolution: E. N. Trubetskoi’s Liberal Construction of Russian National Identity, 1912–20,” Kritika 7, no. 2 (Spring 2006), 195–240. Poole notes that Solov’ev was also interested in the unification of Eastern and Western Christianity with the tsar as imperial authority and the pope as spiritual authority (195).

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37 See Judith Kornblatt, “The Truth of the Word: Solovyev’s Three Conversations Speaks on Tolstoy’s Resurrection,” The Slavic and East European Journal 45, no. 2 (Summer 2001), 301–321. 38 Vladimir Solov’ev, Tri Razgovori o Voine, Progresse i kontsi vsemirni istorii (Moscow : Tovarishestvo A. N. Sitin, 1991), 4. My translation is based on that of Stephen Graham, ed., War, Progress and the End of History: Three Conversations, Including a Short Story of the Anti-Christ (New York: G. P. Putnam’s Sons, 1915) but includes revisions based on Solov’ev’s original Russian version. 39 Ibid., 30. 40 Ibid., 31. For a legal perspective on the war with the Turks, see Peter Holquist, “The Russian Empire as a ‘Civilized State’: International Law as Principle and Practice in Imperial Russia, 1874–1878” (Washington, DC: National Council for Eurasian and East European Research, 2004), 14–15. 41 Graham, War, Progress, and the End of History, 31–32; see Solov’ev, Tri Razgovori, 43. 42 Ibid., 34; see Solov’ev, Tri Razgovori, 44–45. 43 Ibid., 32; see Solov’ev, Tri Razgovori, 43. 44 Ibid., 34; see Solov’ev, Tri Razgovori, 45. 45 However, in the second conversation, the General further argues for the superiority of Christianity and Christian rule (in the Middle East in particular) against the Politician’s pragmatic argument that Russian Christians have been just as likely to be barbarians as the Turks. 46 The concept of “panmongolism” is not unique to Solov’ev; the journal Pravoslavni Sobesednik published articles on the topic in March and April 1904 (see A. Stepanov, “K voprosu o panmongolizm,” April 1904, 667–686). 47 See Kornblatt, “The Truth of the Word.” Kornblatt highlights the end of the “Short Tale,” in which the Jews go to war against the Antichrist, as especially complex. Though many Solov’ev scholars have read the ending as stating that evil will triumph and that Christians can only place their hope in divine intervention, Kornblatt suggests that this is the kind of philosophy advocated by Tolstoy, not Solov’ev. 48 Curtiss, Church and State in Russia, 77. The translation is Curtiss’s. 49 Ibid., 78. 50 Ibid.. 51 The date of the talk is not provided, but the academy was founded in 1832, so the celebration was likely in 1907. 52 Georgii Shavel′skii, “Beregite Veru!” in Khristoliubivoe voinstvo: pravoslavnaia traditsiia Russkoi Armii (Moscow : Otechestvo i Voin, 1997), 141. 53 “Khristoliubivie Voinstvo,” [“The Christ-Loving Warriors”: from a brochure compiled from the works of Innokenti, the Archbishop of Kherson], in Khristoliubivoe voinstvo,

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106. (Originally published in Vestnik Voennogo Dukhovenstva, 1907, nos. 13 [398– 405] and 14 [434–440].) Citations are given in the text.

Chapter 5 1 “Port Arthur Icon of the Triumph of the Theotokos,” Hermitage of the Holy Cross, https://www.holycross-hermitage.com/port-arthur-icon-of-the-triumph-of-thetheotokos/. 2 See also Vera Shevzov, “Icons, Miracles, and the Ecclesial Identity of Laity in Late Imperial Russian Orthodoxy,” Church History 69, no. 3 (September 2000), 610–631. She refers to the icon as “the Victory of the Blessed Mother of God.” 3 David Schimmelpenninck van der Oye, Toward the Rising Sun: Russian Ideologies of Empire and the Path to War with Japan (DeKalb: Northern Illinois University Press, 2006), 102. 4 See Rotem Kowner, The A to Z of the Russo-Japanese War (Lanham, MD: Scarecrow Press, 2009), on the Treaty of Shimonoseki (1895), 352–353, and the Three-Power Intervention, 375–376. 5 Ibid., 5. See also Schimmelpenninck van der Oye’s discussion of how Russia “stumbled into a war with Japan” on 5–8 and his historical analysis of Russia’s “turn to the East” (Toward the Rising Sun, 111–195). 6 Ibid., 102. 7 Aleksei Nikolaevich Kuropatkin, The Russian Army and the Japanese War, vol. 1, trans. Alexander Bertram Lindsay, ed. Ernest Dunlop Swinton (New York: E. P. Dutton and Company, 1909), 191. Accessed via http://books.google.com. After a trip in 1903, during which he visited military academies and arms-production factories and inspected units in several cities, Kuropatkin noted, “There is no doubt that the population is almost as culturally advanced as [the] Russians” (Schimmelpenninck van der Oye, Toward the Rising Sun, 98–99). 8 Robert L. Nichols, “The Friends of God: Nicholas II and Alexandra at the Canonization of Serafim of Sarov, July 1903,” in Religious and Secular Forces in Late Tsarist Russia, Charles E. Timberlake, ed. (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 1992). Nicholas II also began to favor officials who made pilgrimages to Sarov, at least one of whom was supportive of policies that could lead to a “short victorious war in the Far East” (221). 9 Ibid., 222. 10 Ibid., 226. 11 Brian Daizen Victoria, Zen at War, 2nd ed. (Lanham, MD: Rowman and Littlefield, 2006), 29–30.

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12 Ibid., 30. In the Mahayana Buddhist tradition, a bodhisattva is a figure who defers reaching enlightenment in order to assist others in their quest for it. 13 Ibid. 14 See, e.g., Buddhist Warfare, Michael Jerryson and Mark Juergensmeyer, eds. (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010). 15 Victoria, Zen at War, 24. Religion during a “national emergency,” Suzuki adds, does not “have to be described by [the words] ‘Buddha’ or ‘God.’ Rather, if one simply discharges one’s duty according to one’s position [in society], what action could there be that is not religious in nature?” (25). 16 Murat Halstead, The War between Russia and Japan: containing thrilling accounts of fierce battles by sea and land… [S.l.: s.n.], c. 1904. 17 Introduction to Nikolai of Japan [Ivan Kasatkin], Sviyetetel′ Nikolai Yaponskii: Kratkoye Zhizneopisanie; Dnevniki 1870–1911, ed. T. Khristich (St. Petersburg: Bibliopolis, 2007), 41. The date in 1903 is not provided. 18 Schimmelpenninck van der Oye, Toward the Rising Sun, 60. 19 Rosamund Bartlett, “Japonisme and Japanophobia: The Russo-Japanese War in Russian Cultural Consciousness,” Russian Review 67 (January 2008), 18. 20 Ibid., 9. 21 Ibid., 14–15. Bartlett mentions that the popular St. Petersburg journal Niva had articles on Japan in 1894 and 1891; the February 12, 1905, edition of Niva carried the article Religioznia verovania iapontsev i kitaitsev [Religious beliefs of the Japanese and Chinese], 113–116. 22 Schimmelpenninck van der Oye, Towards the Rising Sun, 86.

Chapter 6 1 The manifesto appears in the Synod’s official journal, Tserkovnyia Viedomosti 17, no. 5 (January 31, 1904), 41–42; the Synod’s responses follow on 42–46. Unless otherwise noted, dates are given according to the Julian calendar. 2 Ibid., 45–46. 3 Antonii (Khapovitskii), “O Russko-Iaponskoi voine,” January 30, 1904, in Khristoliubivoe voinstvo: pravoslavnaia traditsiia Russkoi Armii (Moscow : Otechestvo NRi Voin, 1997), 136. 4 Ibid., 137 5 P. Solokov, “Slovo na liturgiya po sluchayu okonchaniya ukrasheniya stennoi zhivopisiu Aleksandro-Nevskogo khrama Uchilishchnago Soveta pri Sviaishem Sinod,” Tserkovnyia Viedomosti 17, no. 7 (February 14, 1904), 237. A verst is a unit of measurement approximating a kilometer. 6 Ibid.

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7 “Patrioticheskiia i molivennyia pozhelaniia po sluchayu otkrytiia voennykh deistvii na Dal′nem Vostoke,” Missionerskoe Obozrenie 9, no. 5 (I March 1904), 7–19. This journal published two issues in some months, the first marked as, for example, I March, the second as II March. 8 Nicholas II, Dnevnik′ Imperatora Nikolaia II (Berlin: Slovo, 1923), 131. 9 “Izvestiie i Zametki,” Tserkovnyia Viedomosti (supplement) 17, no. 6 (February 7, 1904), 205. 10 Ibid., 206. 11 At least, the author does not state that the service leaders use this. 12 See, e.g., “Po povodu sobytii na Dal′nem Vostoke,” Tserkovnyia Viedomosti (supplement) 17, no. 7 (February 14, 1904), 248–249. 13 Tserkovnyia Viedomosti (supplement) 17, no. 8 (February 21, 1904), 281. 14 Pravoslavnyi Sobesednik (February 1904), 162. 15 “Izvestiya i Zemetki: Po povodu sobytii na Dal′nem Vostoke,” Tserkovnyia Viedomosti 17, no. 9 (February 28, 1904), 314. 16 Ibid. 17 Richard Connaughton, Rising Sun and Tumbling Bear: Russia’s War with Japan (London: Cassell, 2004), 71. 18 V. Skvortsov, “Vcepoddannyishiya i offitsialniya telegrammi s teatra voini,” Missionerskoe Obozrenie 9, no. 5 (I March 1904), 23–32. 19 Skladen are folding icons that take the form of a diptych or triptych, for example. This particular icon is apparently the Golovkin triptych icon that also accompanied troops in 1812 and in the Crimean and Russo-Turkish Wars. See David B. Miller, Saint Sergius of Radonezh, His Trinity Monastery, and the Formation of Russian Identity (DeKalb: Northern Illinois University Press, 2010), 221. 20 V. Skvortsov, “Vcepoddannyishiya i offitsialniya telegrammi s teatra voini,” 31. 21 V. Skvortsov, “Po Povodu Voini c Iaponii,” Missionerskoe Obozrenie 9, no. 3 (I February 1904), 408. 22 Yasnaia Poliana is the name of Tolstoy’s estate. 23 Skvortsov, “Po Povodu Voini c Iaponii,” 411. 24 Ibid. 25 Ibid., 415. 26 A Platonov, “Armiia nasha imeet desyatkom soldat bolshe,” Missionerskoe Obozrenie 9, no. 8 (I May 1904), 1136–1142. 27 Introduction to Nikolai of Japan, Kratkoe zhizneopisanie; Dnevniki 1870–1911 gg. (St. Petersburg: Bibliopolis, 2007), 41. The introduction implies that this statement was made between 1900 and 1904. 28 In Matthew 23:37, Jesus states, “Jerusalem, Jerusalem, the city that kills the prophets and stones those who are sent to it! How often have I desired to gather

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30

31

32

33 34 35 36 37 38

Notes your children together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings, and you were not willing!” See also Luke 19:41. As noted in Chapter 2, both otechestva and rodina are used to refer to one’s homeland, but otechestva contains the root word for “father.” Though it might be translated here as “homeland,” “fatherland” is sometimes better rhetorically, as when Nikolai compares our “earthly fatherland” to the land of the “Heavenly Father.” Nikolai’s wording here is slightly ambiguous. He says he will not “sovershat′” the liturgy. In ordinary usage, this simply means “perform” the liturgy, or “officiate,” but the word also carries the sense of “completion” or “perfection.” Since he later discusses participating in the service without praying for the success of the Japanese troops or emperor, it may be better translated here as “complete,” that is, he will participate in it but not perform a final portion that involves these prayers. However, it seems more likely that he is using it here in the ordinary sense and simply changes his mind later on. Japan Weekly Mail, February 20, 1904, 204. This is slightly different from the statement as recorded in Nikolai’s diary, which does not include the sentence about Jesus’s “patriotism.” Dates for the Japan Mail are given as they appeared in that publication, according to the Gregorian calendar. Henry Drummond, Review of Otis Cary, A History of Christianity in Japan: Roman Catholic, Greek Orthodox, and Protestant Missions. Rutland, Vermont, and Tokyo, Japan: Charles E. Tuttle, 1976, in Japanese Journal of Religious Studies 3/4 (December 1976), 331–333. Japan Weekly Mail, February 13, 1904, 177. Ibid. Ibid., 192. I have been unable to locate any other references to this event, but as noted earlier, General Kuropatkin visits the monastery at around this time. “Bratskoe sochestvie Bolgarskoi tserkvi po povodu voini c Iaponiei,” Missionerkoe Obozrenie 9, no. 5 (I March 1904), 13. “Patrioticheskaia manifestatsiia tiflisskikh musulmani,” Missionerskoe Obozrenie 9, no. 5 (I March 1904), 18. “Moskovskoe magometanskoe dukhovenstvo,” Missionerskoe Obozrenie 9, no. 5 (I March 1904), 18–19.

Chapter 7 1 Izvestiya i Zemetki: Po povodu sobytii na Dal′nem Vostoke,” Tserkovnyia Viedomosti 17, no. 8 (February 21, 1904), 286. 2 “K sobytiem na Dal′nem Vostoke,” Tserkovnyia Viedomosti (supplement) 17, no. 23 (June 5, 1904), 854.

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3 Nikolai of Japan, Kratkoe zhizneopisanie; Dnevniki 1870–1911 gg. (St. Petersburg: Bibliopolis, 2007). Dates of entries are provided in the text. Japanese names are given in the same order used by Nikolai; he indicates that Yashoshima is the doctor’s surname. 4 “Monthly Summary of Religious Press,” Japan Weekly Mail, March 12, 1904, 304. 5 Rotem Kowner, The A to Z of the Russo-Japanese War (Lanham, MD: Scarecrow Press, 2009), xlvii. 6 See, e.g., February 13, 1904, and March 18, 1904; however, both of these references are quotations, the latter referring to this topic regarding the authority of the Russian sovereign over Japanese Orthodox Christians. 7 Nikolai says this is not feasible at the time; this process is complicated and will take some time. He writes, “It is still very early for the Japanese Church to become an independent sister of the other Churches . . . It is necessary that they [the other churches] acknowledge their sister and find her worthy to occupy a place among them” (February 26, 1904). 8 “Otpravlenie voinov iz Tomska i Omsk na pole brani,” Tserkovnyia Viedomosti 17, nos. 18–19 (May 6, 1904), 686. 9 Ibid. 10 Ibid., 683–684. 11 Ibid., 684. 12 Ibid., 684. 13 Ibid., 685. 14 Tserkovnyia Viedomosti (supplement) 17, no. 23 (June 5, 1904), 855. 15 “Monthly Summary of the Religious Press,” Japan Weekly Mail, March 12, 1904, 303–304. 16 Ibid., 304. 17 “Why Americans Sympathize with Japan,” Japan Weekly Mail, March 19, 1904, 333. 18 Ibid. 19 “Izvestie i Zametki: K sobytiem na Dal′nem Vostoke,” Tserkovnyia Viedomosti (supplement) 17, no. 15 (April 10, 1904), 540. 20 The Russo-Japanese War Society, “Makarov, Stepan Osipovich,” http://www. russojapanesewar.com/makaroff.html. The details regarding the prayer and the overcoat may be apocryphal, but they are reflective of the attitude toward Makarov in the press. 21 “INSTRUCTIONS FOR STEAMING AND FIGHTING” 17 March, 1904, No. 21. The Russo-Japanese War Research Society, “Admiral Makaroff ’s Battle Instructions,” http://www.russojapanesewar.com/makaroff-instruct.html. 22 Nicholas II, Dnevnik Imperatora Nikolaia II (Berlin: Slovo, 1923), 141. 23 Tserkovnyia Viedomosti (supplement) 17, no. 16 (April 17, 1904), 574. 24 Ibid.

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25 For background on John of Kronstadt, see Nadieszda Kizenko, A Prodigal Saint: Father John of Kronstadt and the Russian People (University Park: Pennsylvania State University Press, 2000). 26 Ioann Sergiev [John of Kronstadt], “Pamyati vitse-admirala Makarova,” Tserkovnie Viedomosti, nos. 18–19 (May 6, 1904), 683. 27 Ioann Sergiev [John of Kronstadt], “Slovo na den′ tezoiamenitstva Blagochestlivishei Gosudarnyi Imperatritsi Aleksandry Feodorovny 23 Aprelia 1904 goda,” Tserkovnie Viedomosti, nos. 18–19 (May 6, 1904), 651. 28 Ioann Sergeyev (John of Kronstadt), “Slovo na den′ svyashchennago muropomazaniya i venchaniya na tsarstvo Blagochestveishago Gosudarya Imperatora Nikolaya Aleksandrovicha 14 Maya 1904 goda,” Tserkovnyia Viedomosti (supplement) 17, no. 21 (May 22, 1904), 751–752. 29 Ibid., 752. 30 Richard Connaughton, Rising Sun and Tumbling Bear: Russia’s War with Japan (London: Cassell, 2004), 86. 31 Kowner, The A to Z of the Russo-Japanese War, 461. 32 Douglas Story, The Campaign with Kuropatkin (London: T. Werner Laurie, 1905), 82–83. 33 Connaughton, Rising Sun and Tumbling Bear, 85. 34 Story, The Campaign with Kuropatkin, 83. 35 The term tserkovnik may refer to a variety of different people associated with the church, from parishioners to junior deacons. See Glennys Young, Power and Sacred in Revolutionary Russia: Religious Activists in the Village, 255. 36 Tserkovnyia Viedomosti 17, nos. 18–19 (May 6, 1904), 686–687. 37 Ibid., 687. 38 “The Yalu Fight,” Japan Weekly Mail, June 4, 1904, 632. 39 Japan Weekly Mail, August 6, 1904, 157. 40 Connaughton, Rising Sun and Tumbling Bear, 85. 41 A color image of the painting is available at Dvoryanski rod Rogge, http://genrogge. ru/glushkov/f-965-1.htm.

Chapter 8 1 See The Dawn of Religious Pluralism: Voices from the World’s Parliament of Religions, 1893, ed. Richard Hughes Seager (La Salle, IL: Open Court, 1993); and Judith M. Snodgress, “Japan’s Contribution to Modern Global Buddhism: The World’s Parliament of Religions Revisited,” The Eastern Buddhist 43, nos. 1 and 2 (2012), 81–102.

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2 Peter Gardella, “Two Parliaments, One Century,” Cross Currents 44, no. 1 (Spring 1994), 97–104. 3 Congress of Japanese Religionists (Tokyo: Kinodo Publishing, [1904]), 1. Although the Congress was held in Japan, dates are given according to the Julian calendar. Citations are given in the text. 4 A Buddhist professor also emphasized that “religion properly has nothing whatever to do with war. This must be the judgment of every religionist” (32). He went on to say, “the relation of religion to war is like that of the Red Cross Society to war” (33); it cannot declare war and instead is present to give help. 5 “A Meeting of Religionists,” Japan Weekly Mail, May 7, 1904, 517; Japan Weekly Mail, May 28, 1904, 606. 6 William Imbrie, “An Interview with Count Katsura,” Japan Weekly Mail, May 28, 1904, 609. 7 Japan Weekly Mail, July 23, 1904, 101. 8 Peter Holquist, “The Russian Empire as a ‘Civilized State’: International Law as Principle and Practice in Imperial Russia, 1874–1878.” (Washington, DC: National Council for Eurasian and East European Research, 2004), 2. 9 Ibid., 4, citing Feodor Martens, Sovremennoe mezhdunarodnoe pravo tsivilizovannykh naraodov, 2nd ed. (St. Petersburg: Tipografiia ministerstva putei soobshchenii, 1887). The translation is Holquist’s. The Martens Declaration is the preamble to the 1899 Hague Conference Regulations Concerning the Laws and Customs of War on Land and relates to the protection of combatants and civilians under international law. 10 “Peace Conference at the Hague 1899: Rescript of the Russian Emperor August 24 (12, Old Style), 1898,” http://avalon.law.yale.edu/19th_century/hag99-01.asp. 11 Amos S. Hershey, The International Law and Diplomacy of the Russo-Japanese War (London: McMillan, 1906), 295. The translations are Hershey’s. 12 Ibid., 280. 13 Ibid., 271–272. 14 Ibid., 280. 15 “Sim pobedishi,” Special supplement to Missionerskoe Obozrenie (I May 1904), 87. 16 Ibid., 87–88. 17 Tolstoy’s positions on pacifism are addressed in detail by many authors; I will focus only his article that directly addresses the Russo-Japanese War. See, e.g., Colm McKeogh, Tolstoy’s Pacifism (Amherst, NY: Cambria Press, 2009). 18 Leo Tolstoy, Bethink Yourselves! Tolstoy’s Letter on the Russo-Japanese War, trans. V. Chertkov (Boston: The American Peace Society, 1904), 3; reprinted from the London Times, June 27, 1904. Citations are given in the text. 19 He suggests that Japanese Buddhists are engaged in the same kind of “fraud,” the distortion of true religion.

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20 “A Good Samaritan,” Tsukiji, Tokyo, August 27, 1904; in Japan Weekly Mail, September 3, 1904, 254. The author is identified as “B-i-n-g-o.” For a similar argument, see Paul Ramsey’s rewriting of the parable in The Just War: Force and Political Responsibility (New York: Scribner’s, 1968), 142–143. 21 Connaughton, Rising Sun and Tumbling Bear, 203. 22 Ibid. 23 “Poslednaia noch′ v Pokrovskoi tserkvi na stantsii ‘Liaoian’ K.V. zh.d. v Man′chzhurii,” Tserkovnyia Viedomosti (supplement) 18, no. 1 (January 1, 1905), 26–29. Zagoruiko is identified as a psalomshik, which may mean sexton or psalm reader. He departs from Liaoyang the following day and writes the report on October 26, 1904. 24 Ibid., 27–28. 25 Ibid., 28. 26 “Monthly Summary of the Religious Press,” Japan Weekly Mail, June 4, 1904, 645. 27 Ibid. 28 Ibid. 29 The “chief ” of the 51st was the Grand Duchess Elizabeth (Elizaveta Feodorovna); Srebrianskii corresponded with her during the war and later served as the fatherconfessor of the convent she founded after her husband’s death. 30 Mitrofan Srebrianskii, Dnevnik polkovogo svyashchennika [Diary of a field chaplain] (Moscow : Otchi dom, 1996), 3. Citations are given by date in the text. See also “Father Mitrofan Srebrianski: Father-Confessor of the Martha-Mary Convent,” Orthodox America 16, no. 6 (February 1997), http://www.roca.org/OA/146/146e. htm, Issue 146. 31 L. A. Georgieva, “Pis′ma Svyashchennika G. I. Shavel′skogo,” in V. S. Belonenko, ed., Iz Istorii Religioznikh, kul’turnikh, i politicheskikh vzaimootnoshenii Rossii i Iaponii v XIX–XX vekakh (St. Petersburg: Fond po izucheniyu istorii Pravoslavnoi Tserkvi, 1998), 160–199 (see especially 175–179). 32 Ibid., 180. 33 Ibid., 180–181. 34 Ibid., 181. 35 For example, the diary of Nicholas II, thin on content though it is, reports an official visit to what he referred to as “the miracle-working icon of the Mother of God” at the Kozelschina Nativity of Blessed Virgin Mary Convent at 7:30 a.m., on May 5, 1904 (OS). Nicholas II, Dnevnik Imperatora Nikolaia II (Berlin: Slovo, 1923), 147; see also “Icon of the Mother of God ‘Kozelshchansk,’ ” http://oca.org/saints/ lives/2014/02/21/100578-icon-of-the-mother-of-god-kozelshchansk. 36 Vera Shevzov, “Scripting the Gaze: Liturgy, Homilies, and the Kazan Icon of the Mother of God in Late Imperial Russia,” in Mark D. Steinberg and Heather J. Coleman, eds., Sacred Stories: Religion and Spirituality in Modern Russia. (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2007), 62.

21

Notes 37 38 39 40 41 42

43

44 45 46 47

48 49

50 51 52

53 54

211

Ibid., 63. Ibid., 69. Ibid., 76. Ibid., 80. Ibid. See “Sudebnyi protsess po delu o pokhishchenii v Kazani Iavlennoi Chudotvornoi Ikoni Kazanskoi Bozhiei Materi,” Pravoslavnyi Sobesednik (supplement, January 1905), 1–32. He illuminates this point with a long story of a soldier he encountered who later was badly wounded and had to have part of his leg amputated and who repented of his decision to drink before the battle. “Zavet svyashchennika voinu,” Tserkovnyia Viedomosti (supplement) 17, no. 23 (June 5, 1904), 851 “Veshii son,” Missionerskoe Obozrenie 3, no. 7 (April 1904), 53–54. Ibid. N. Mizn, “Port-Arturskaya ikona Presvyatoi Bogordintsi,” Vladivostok Epharchy, Primorsk Metropolitanate, Russian Orthodox Church, http://vladivostok.eparhia. ru/eparhia/synodal/churches/potr_artur/. Nelly Miz, “Ikoni—eto boevoye zmenya natsii,” Vladivostok, August 24, 2004, http://dlib.eastview.com/browse/doc/6629989. “Port Arthur Icon of the Triumph of the Theotokos,” Hermitage of the Holy Cross https://www.holycross-hermitage.com/ port-arthur-icon-of-the-triumph-of-the-theotokos. Ibid. Ibid. This report is included in the February 12, 1905, issue of Tserkovnyia Viedomosti; the author (identified as V. F.) expresses distress regarding the accusations that the clergy are indifferent to the war and, to counter this impression, describes some of the “thousands of threads” that link soldiers and the parish clergy. V. F., “Dukhovenstvo i voina,” Tserkovnyia Viedomosti (supplement) 18, no. 7 (February 12, 1905), 301–307. The author of the account wished to remain anonymous due to “modesty,” according to “V. F.” Ibid., 305. Ibid..

Chapter 9 1 Translation is from “Prayer and War,” The Christian Evangelist 41, September 22, 1904, 1208. Accessed via https://books.google.com/books/about/The_Christian_ Evangelist.html?id=3O1OAAAAYAAJ The prayer also appears in an article in The

21

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2 3

4 5 6 7

8 9 10

11 12 13 14 15

Notes Searchlight that states that the resolution was “published at St. Petersburg last week in the Official Messenger and approved by the Holy Synod.” The resolution called upon churches throughout the empire to pray every Sunday and holiday for the Russian army. The author criticizes the Russians for this prayer: “To pray for our success against our enemies is based on the tremendous assumption that we are right, they are wrong and therefore God loves us and hates them. When religion has only reached this stage in its development, it is still very anthropomorphic, we take God to be a person altogether like ourselves” (“Current Thought and Comment: Russians Pray for Aid,” The Searchlight, October 1, 1904, 301–302; accessed via https://books.google.com/books?id=_6hJAQAAMAAJ). “Kreshenie plennikh Iapontsev,” Missionerskoe Obozrenie 9 (I December 1904), 1448. Mitrofan Srebrianskii, Dnevnik polkovogo svyashchennika [Diary of a field chaplain] (Moscow : Otchi dom, 1996). This is apparently St. Theodosius of Chernigov, given that he serves in the Chernigovski regiment. Date references to selections from the diary will be given in the text. M. Arkadeev, “Pismo s dal′nego vostoka,” Missionerskoe Obozrenie 10, no. 1 (January 1905), 202. Ibid. Ibid. In a passage made famous by its inclusion in Handel’s Messiah, Revelation 11:15— quoting “voices in heaven”—states, “The kingdom of this world is become the kingdom of our Lord, and of his Christ.” The King James Version reads, “The kingdoms of this world are become the kingdoms of our Lord, and of his Christ”; the NRSV reads, “The kingdom of the world has become the kingdom of our Lord and of his Messiah.” Sometimes “kingdom” is used in the singular (for both the kingdom of this world and the kingdom of the Lord); sometimes it is in the plural. M. Arkadeev, “Pisma s Dal′nego Vostoka,” Missionerskoe Obozrenie 9, no. 19 (I December 1904), 1459. Ibid. M. O. Menshikov, Pis’ma k blizhnim (St. Petersburg, 1904). In Khristoliubivoe voinstvo: pravoslavnaia traditsiia Russkoi Armii (Moscow: Otechestvo i Voin, 1997), 120. Ibid., 124. Ibid. Ibid. L. A. Tikhomirov, “Spravedliva li Nasha Voina?” Bogoslovskii Vestnik 3, no. 10 (1904), 342. Citations are given in the text. On John of Kronstadt’s writings on the war, see Nadieszda Kizenko, A Prodigal Saint: Father John of Kronstadt and the Russian People (University Park: Pennsylvania State University Press, 2000), 247–250,

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16 Russian does not use definite or indefinite articles, so he may be saying “a” representative or “the” representative. 17 George Kennan, “Which Is the Civilized Power?” Outlook 78, no. 9 (October 29, 1904), 517. This George Kennan (1845–1924) is not the renowned diplomat and historian George F. Kennan (1904–2005). 18 See, e.g., John Albert White, Diplomacy of the Russo-Japanese War (Princeton, NJ:  Princeton University Press, 1964); Amos S. Hershey, The International Law and Diplomacy of the Russo-Japanese War (London: McMillan, 1906); Masayoshi Matsumura, Baron Suematsu in Europe During the Russo-Japanese War (1904– 05): His Battle with Yellow Peril, trans. Ian Ruxton (Lulu.com, 2012); Masayoshi Matsumura, Baron Kaneko and the Russo-Japanese War (1904–05): A Study in the Public Diplomacy of Japan, trans. Ian Ruxton (Lulu.com, 2009). 19 “The Prophetic Dutch,” Japan Weekly Mail, October 8, 1904, 385. 20 Ibid. 21 The Japan Weekly Mail republished some of the articles from the Daily Mail, so it is likely that Nikolai read the article in one of the daily issues from this week. 22 F. I. Shikutz, Dnevnik Soldata v russko-iaponskuyu voinu (Moscow : Gosudarstvennaia publichnaia istoricheskaia biblioteka Rossii, 2003). Dates of diary entries are provided in the text, in the Julian form. 23 N. Mizn, “Port-Arturskaya ikona Presviatoi Bogordintsi,” Vladivostok Eparchy, Primorsk Metropolitanate, Russian Orthodox Church, http://vladivostok.eparhia. ru/eparhia/synodal/churches/potr_artur/. 24 E. V. Isakova, “Russkoe voennoe dukhovenstvo v voine s Iaponiei 1904–1905 gg.,” in Iz istorii religioznykh, kul′turnykh i politicheskikh vzaimootnoshenii Rosii i Iaponii v XIX–XX vekakh (St. Petersburg: Fond po izucheniu istorii Pravoslavnoi Tserkvi, 1998), 138–139. 25 “The Battle of Heikautai,” Japan Weekly Mail, February 4, 1905, 110.

Chapter 10 1 Rotem Kowner, The A to Z of the Russo-Japanese War (Lanham, MD: Scarecrow Press, 2009), 299. 2 Richard Connaughton, Rising Sun and Tumbling Bear (London: Cassell, 2004), 256. 3 “Slavnie Khrista Ikh Imperatorskikh Velichestve,” Tserkovnyia Viedomosti (supplement) 18, no. 1 (January 1, 1905), 4. 4 “Ibid., 3. 5 Nikolas II, January 1, 1905 (“K sobytiem na Dal′nom Vostoke,” Tserkovnyia Viedomosti (supplement) 18, no. 2 (January 8, 1905), 71. 6 Ibid., 72.

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7 Tserkovnyia Viedomosti (supplement) 18, no. 1 (January 1, 1905), 32. 8 V. F., “Dukhovenstvo i voina,” Tserkovnyia Viedomosti (supplement) 18, no. 7 (February 12, 1905), 302. 9 Ibid., 303. 10 “Christianity in Japan,” Japan Weekly Mail, February 11, 1905, 151. 11 Ibid., 152. 12 Ibid. 13 Ibid. 14 Ibid. 15 “Monthly Summary of the Religious Press,” Japan Weekly Mail, December 17, 1904, 676. 16 “Monthly Summary of the Religious Press,” Japan Weekly Mail, January 14, 1905, 45. 17 Ibid.. 18 “Monthly Summary of the Religious Press,” Japan Weekly Mail, March 11, 1905, 267. 19 John Strickland, The Making of Holy Russia: The Orthodox Church and Russian Nationalism Before the Revolution (Jordanville, NY: Holy Trinity Publications, 2013), 100. 20 The edict would be followed by the Manifesto of October 17, 1905, which promised subjects “freedom of conscience”—a freedom that went beyond simple religious toleration. The Department of Religious Affairs of the Foreign Confessions in 1906 defined this freedom as the “right of every person possessing a sufficiently mature self-consciousness to declare or proclaim his faith, or even the absence of such, without hindrance and without any legal detriment” (Paul Werth, “The Emergence of ‘Freedom of Conscience’ in Imperial Russia,” Kritika 13, no. 3 [Summer 2012], 585). 21 “Religious liberty in Russia,” Japan Weekly Mail, May 6, 1905, 481. 22 Pobedonostsev’s intolerance of other faiths is also noted in the Japan Weekly Mail, May 27, 1905, which states that he also advocates a “species of theocracy, God being represented by the ruling Emperor in each case” (562). 23 “Religious liberty in Russia,” 481. 24 Ibid. 25 Kowner, The A to Z of the Russo-Japanese War, 244–247. 26 In addition, 1,862 were “interned in neutral countries.” 27 “K sobytiem na Dalnem Vostoke,” Tserkovnyia Viedomosti (supplement), 17, no. 23 (June 5, 1904), 949. 28 Nancy K. Anderson, The Word That Causes Death’s Defeat: Poems of Memory by Anna Andreevna Akhmatova (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2004), 252. 29 “K sobytiem na Dal′nem Vostoke,” 950. 30 Ibid.

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31 Mitrofan Srebrianskii, Dnevnik polkovogo svyashchennika [Diary of a field chaplain] (Moscow : Otchi dom, 1996), entry for January 1–4, 1905. Dates of diary entries will be given in the text. 32 “K sobytiem na Dal′nem Vostoke,” Tserkovnyia Viedomosti 18, no. 36 (August 27, 1905), 1542. 33 Ibid., 1542–43. 34 For a discussion of the Japanese care for the Russian graves in Japan, see E. V. Isakova, “Russkie voennye mogily v Iaponii,” in Iz istorii religioznykh, kul′turnykh, i politicheskikh vzaimootnoshenii Russii i Iaponii v XIX–XX vekakh (St. Petersburg: Fond po izucheniyu istorii Pravoslavnoi Tserkvi, 1998), 131–147.

Conclusion 1 In 1909–1910, Druzhinin prepared a questionnaire for veterans to assess their feelings and experiences in wartime. This was done “at the behest of the military psychology section of the Society of the Devotees to Military Science” (Jan Plamper, “Soldiers and Emotion in Early Twentieth-Century Russian Military Psychology,” Slavic Review 68, no. 2 [Summer 2009], 275). 2 Konstantin Druzhinin, Izsledovanie dushevnogo sostoianiia voinov v raznykh sluchaiakh boevoi obstanovki: po opytu Russko-Iaponskoi voiny, 1904–05 gg. (St. Petersburg: Russkaia Skoropechatia, 1910), 111. 3 Ibid. 4 At the beginning of the twentieth century, Russia became the first nation to place military psychiatrists on the front line in order to treat soldiers for fear-related issues (what was elsewhere termed “shell shock”; see Plamper, “Soldiers and Emotion,” 261). Plamper also discusses General Mikhail Dragomirov’s work on “controlled berserkerdom,” which was based on the assumption that “the willingness to suffer and to die, that is, self-sacrifice” was universal (269). See also Paul Wanke, Russian/ Soviet Military Psychiatry, 1904–1945 (London and New York: Frank Cass, 2005). 5 This does, however, fall in line with Kuropatkin’s prophetic statement in 1903 that the Russians would not be able to approach this war with the “exaltation of spirit” experienced in previous wars. 6 See Konstantine Druzhinin, Vospominaniia o russko-iaponskoi voine (St. Petersburg: Russkaia Skoropechatia, 1909). When he departs for the war, he does mention dying for faith and homeland and occasionally mentions God, a saint, or a religious holiday, but he does not include any descriptions of motivating troops through the use of religion. 7 “Religionzia verovaniia Iapontsev i Kitaitsev,” Niva 36, no. 6 (February 12, 1905), 113–116.

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8 A Mefodii, “Sravnenie glavneishikh religiozno-nravstvennikh polozhenii buddizma s khristianskimi,” Missionerskoe Obozrenie 10 (September and November 1905), 337–358, 495–513; quote on 513. For a discussion of postwar aspirations for the expansion of Orthodoxy into Asia, see Aileen Friesen, “Building an Orthodox Empire: Archpriest Ioann Vostorgov and Russian Missionary Aspirations in Asia,” Canadian Slavonic Papers: Revue Canadienne des Slavistes 57, no. 1–2 (2015), 56–75. 9 Perhaps his audience would have been so familiar with them that this would have been unnecessary. See Mitsuo Miyata, Authority and Obedience: Romans 13:1–7 in Modern Japan, trans. Gregory Vanderbilt (New York: Peter Lang, 2009). Miyata does not focus on the Japanese Orthodox Church but provides a range of Japanese Christian views on the text. 10 Replacing the metaphor of the “kingdom of God” with the “household of God” is central to the works of feminist theologian Letty Russell (see, e.g., Household of Freedom [Philadelphia: Westminster Press, 1987]). 11 In the letter, he also seems to be warning them about the political situation in Russia, suggesting that the devil is striving to make them “enemies of [their own] earthly Fatherland.” 12 Michael Van Remortel, “Historical Introduction,” in Michael Van Remortal and Peter Chang, Saint Nikolai Kasatkin and the Orthodox Mission in Japan (Point Reyes Station, CA: Divine Ascent Press, 2003), 20. 13 Ibid., 20–21. 14 A. E. Savinkin, “Vozrozhdenie khristoliubivogo voinstva,” in Khristoliubivoe voinstvo: pravoslavnaia traditsiia Russkoi Armii (Moscow : Otechestvo i Voin, 1997), 437. 15 Quoting a prayer book for Orthodox warriors published in 1915, Savinkin states, “the one who kills an enemy in war does not sin, because through war we protect our faith, Sovereign and Fatherland . . . Military service is a direct fulfillment of the commands of God: there is no greater love than to lay down one’s life for one’s friends.” (Short prayer book for Orthodox warriors [reprint] [Moscow, 1915/1994], 24–25.) 16 “Slovo Sviateishego Patriarkha Kirilla v den′ pamyati velikomuchenika Georgia Pobedonostsa posle Liturgii v Georgievskom khrame na Poklonnoi gore,” Russkaia Pravoslavnaia Tserkov (official site of the Moscow Patriarchate), May 6, 2016, http://www.patriarchia.ru/db/text/4461534.html. All quotations are my translation of the official text. 17 The word pravednyi means pious as well as just and righteous.

217

Index Ambrose of Milan 24 Augustine of Hippo 20–1, 26–30

Council of Nicaea, 25 Cyprian of Carthage 19

Battle of Liaoyang 127–8 Battle of Milvian Bridge 21–2, 123 Battle of Mukden 155–6 Battle of Tsushima 155–7 Battle of Yalu River 114–18 bishop, office of 23 Buddhism 48–52, 83–4, 102–3, 137–9, 155, 158 Nikolai of Japan and 56–7, 60, 102–3 Tolstoy and 124–5

DeForest, J. H. 109 “doctrine of the two” 28–9 (see also city [or kingdom], earthly and heavenly) Druzhinin, Konstantin 169

Cathedral of the Holy Resurrection 61 charism 32, 38, 42 chemical weapons 123 “Christian nation” concept 24, 34–8, 40–1, 61, 109–110 Christ-loving military 65–79, 88–90, 93, 106–8, 113, 125, 127, 132–3, 135, 144 translation 66 in post-Soviet era 175–8 Christmas 147–50 church–state relations 110 in Byzantine Empire 31–2, 36 Nikolai’s views on Japan 104–5 in Russia 154–5 civilization 108–11, 137–8, 144–5, 153, 155 civilization, views of 84–5, 108–9, 115–18, 121–2, 161, 170 city (or kingdom), earthly and heavenly 1, 28–9, 77–8, 139–140, 149, 165, 172–3 Clausewitz, Carl von 8 coercion, religious 29–30 Confucianism 57 Congress of Japanese Religionists 119–122 Constantine, Emperor 20, 21–5, 123 Constantinople 25 Council of Chalcedon 25–6 Council of Constantinople 25–6

earthly city (see city [or kingdom], earthly and heavenly) Easter 111, 159–60 Eastern Orthodoxy (see Orthodox Christianity) ecclesiology 18–19, 26 emperor, religious views of 24 enemy, conceptions of 8–9 Equal to the Apostles (title) Constantine 23 Nicholas II 43 Nikolai of Japan 174 Vladimir 35–6 Eusebius of Caesarea 16, 20, 21–5 fatherland (otechestvo) 42, 65, 71, 75–8, 88–92, 99, 103, 134, 172 (see also city [or kingdom], earthly and heavenly) translation and usage 206n.29 freedom of conscience (see religious toleration) George, Saint 67–8, 91, 114, 139, 146, 158, 177 “Greek church” (see Russian Orthodox Mission in Japan) Harris, Townsend, 52–3 heavenly city (see city [or kingdom], earthly and heavenly) Holy Synod 37, 88, 153 holy war tradition, 2–3 Byzantine views, 6

218

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Index

definition 6 in post-Soviet era 177–8 icons 90–2, 101–2, 106–7, 129–130, 159, 163 emperor as 24–5 Kazan i. of the Mother of God 90, 131–2 Mother of God of Smolensk 78 Port Arthur i. of the Triumph of the Theotokos 81–2, 132–3, 148 Ignatius of Antioch, 19 Il’minskii, Nikolai 48–52 Inorodtsy, 38, 50 Inovertsy, 38 international law of war 122–3 interreligious war 7–8, 74 Islam 39, 48–50, 98–9 Japan Christian missions to 52–4 Nikolai’s views of 56–9 religious affiliations 59, 63 Johnson, James Turner 2–4 John of Kronstadt (Father Ioann Sergiev) 142, 144, 148 just war 2–3, 177–8 Justianian 31–2 justifiable war 67 Kazan Mother of God icon (see icons) Kazan Theological Academy 48–50, 90 kingdom, earthly or heavenly (see city [or kingdom], earthly and heavenly) Kirill I, patriarch 177–8 Kuropatkin, Alexei 82–3, 91–2

Nikolai of Japan 1, 85, 93–7, 102–6, 110, 126–8, 139–140, 145, 153, 162–7 on Catholicism 19 on Christianity in Japan, 59–64 early history in Japan 52, 56, 61–4 political theology 171–5 report to Stremhoukov (1869) 56–59 oath, military 22, 93 orientalism 4 Origen 17 Orthodox Christianity 4, 17 pacifism 14, 42, 72, 124 panmongolism 89, 202n.46 papacy 19, 26 patriarchate 37 Pobedonostsev, Konstantine 41, 154 political theology 5 Port Arthur icon of the Triumph of the Theotokos (see icons) prayer 88, 125, 129, 132, 135, 147, 150 for Christ-loving military 69–71 for departing warriors 106–8, 133–4 by Japanese Buddhists, 103 by Japanese Christians 106 by Mitrofan Srebrianskii 137 by Nikolai, 106 by soldiers under Constantine 22 religious toleration 39, 110, 154–5 Roman Catholicism Nikolai on 57–8 Russian Orthodox Mission in Japan 96, 128, 153–4 (see also Nikolai of Japan)

Lamaism (see Buddhism) Makarov, Admiral Stepan 61, 65, 111–14, 125 martyrs 1, 17, 107 Massacre of Thessalonica 24 Meiji Constitution (1890) 61 Metaki, Andrei 160–2 mission, types of 45–6 Mongol invasion 36 Moscow as “third Rome” 36–37, 42, 191 n9 Nicholas II, Tsar 41–2, 87–9, 154, 157 Nikanor of Kherson 42–3

saints (see individual names) Savinkin, Aleksandr 175–7 Scherbakovskii, Stephan 114–18 Serafim of Sarov, St. 42, 83, 88, 101 Sergiev, Fr. Ioann (see John of Kronstadt) Sergius of Radonezh, St. 68–9, 88 Shavelskii, Georgii Ivanovich 130–1, 176 Shikutz, Fyodor 146–7, 150, 159–162 Sino-Japanese War 62–3 Solov’ev, Vladimir 59, 71–4, 141–2 Srebrianskii, Mitrofan 129–30, 136–9, 157–9 symphonia, 31–2

219

Index

219

Theodosius, Emperor 24 Tikhomirov, L. A. 141–5 Tolstoy, Lev Nikolaevitch (Leo) 42–3, 92, 123–6

war, holy (see holy war) war, interreligious (see interreligious war) war, just (see just war) World Parliament of Religions 119

Vladimir I 34, 41

“Yellow peril” 121

20

21

Scriptural references Old Testament Exodus 20:13 93 Joshua 5:14 102 Job 1:21 113 Joel 2:19 – 89 Leviticus 26, 152 Proverbs 23:14 30 New Testament John 5:13 3 John 14:2 173

John 15:13 95, 107, 130 Luke 3:14 16, 77, 93 Luke 19:41 95 Matthew 26:52 14 Matthew 28:19 45 Romans 13, 16, 61, 93 II Timothy 2:5 77

2