What is Worth Living For is Worth Fighting and Dying For

In his poem "On Seeing the Reformation Monument, Geneva," the Hungarian poet Gyula Illyes, writes (What You Have Almost Forgotten, p. 67) in connection with religious wars, such as the Thirty Years' War, of a famous Hungarian riddle:

The net result, written upon the blackboard --
-- the continent you wiped clean with your armies --
was the mere answer to a foolish riddle,
and that only possible in Hungarian,
where Protestants call themselves 'keresztyen'
and Catholics call themselves 'keresztyeny'
both meaning 'Christian'. And so the riddle runs:
'Why is a keresztyen more than a kereszteny?'
Did you really require the blood
of so many millions dead, before
you could distill this particle of sense,
this little 'y', and when, forgetful of
your duty, you took up the sword and hacked
the Gordian knot of Christian brotherhood,

Many look at history, with its religious wars, crusades, Irish Troubles, and all the spilled blood in the name of Jesus, and ask, Why should anyone fight for religion? In nomine Domini incipit omne malum—In the name of the Lord begins all evil; or so the saying goes. The spectre of the Catholic Crusades, the Spanish Inquisition, the Islamic Taliban, and most especially, an "old Testament God," are all often invoked whenever the concept of fighting for religious liberty is addressed in modern discourse.

The image of conversion by the sword, though it has no historical connection to Calvin's Geneva, Knox's Scotland or Winthrop's Massachusetts, is a powerful lens through which myopic moderns view all religious wars of the past. Forgotten is the defensive nature of the Dutch and Puritan Declarations of Independence, forgotten is the tyranny which the Huguenots resisted with their lives for the sake of conscience, forgotten is the fact that Ferdinand II, Holy Roman Emperor, wished to impose Catholic uniformity of worship upon his Protestant subjects, which provoked the Thirty Year's War.

There are those who believe that it is unlawful for any Christians to take up the sword in defense of anything. There are also those who question whether it is worth fighting for or dying for anything.

Albert Camus:

There are causes worth dying for, but none worth killing for.

I would contend, however, that whatsoever is worth living for is worth fighting for (lawfully) and, if need be, dying for. Life, liberty, true religion, these all matter enough to fight for and die for.

Aragorn (The Fellowship of the Ring):

If by my life or death I can protect you, I will. You have my sword.

A good man will give his life for his friends, John 15.13; Rom. 5.7. According to the Scriptures, a man, even an unbeliever, who gives his life for his friends, family or country, or even a stranger, has done something noble, a civil good, and is therefore a hero.

William Wallace (Braveheart):

Aye, fight and you may die. Run, and you'll live... at least a while. And dying in your beds, many years from now, would you be willin' to trade ALL the days, from this day to that, for one chance, just one chance, to come back here and tell our enemies that they may take our lives, but they'll never take... OUR FREEDOM!

On a personal as well as a national level, there are many reasons to take up arms. It is a matter of wisdom, and certainly many foolish reasons, often rooted in pride or the love of money, have been the basis for many bloody conflicts throughout human history, often with a veneer of religious justification attached to them. The Anglo-Dutch trade wars of the 17th century, between two ostensibly Protestant nations were a disgrace and a grief to the godly of that age. In our day, the spectacle of wars in the Middle East over oil is repugnant to most of us, and rightly so (I speak in general not necessarily of the current conflicts in Afghanistan or Iraq). National pride is a terrible reason to sacrifice the precious blood of its heroic men.

Chariots of Fire:

Lord Cadogan: Hear, hear. In my day it was King first and God after.
Duke of Sutherland: Yes, and the War To End Wars bitterly proved your point!

Duke of Sutherland: A sticky moment, George.
Lord Birkenhead: Thank God for Lindsay. I thought the lad had us beaten.
Duke of Sutherland: He did have us beaten, and thank God he did.
Lord Birkenhead: I don't quite follow you.
Duke of Sutherland: The "lad", as you call him, is a true man of principles and a true athlete. His speed is a mere extension of his life, its force. We sought to sever his running from himself.
Lord Birkenhead: For his country's sake, yes.
Lord Birkenhead: No sake is worth that, least of all a guilty national pride.

The use of Jesus' name to justify the unlawful taking of human life is a matter of grief to all who count his name precious. It should be remembered that just because his name is put forth as justification for the taking of life -- which is not even the case with the Taliban -- does not mean that it is done according to the mind of Christ (ie., with respect to the sixth commandment). Yet, where he has called us by his Word and Providence to protect that which is good and precious, we have a duty to fight and, if need be, to die in defense of the good.

J.W. Campbell:

I think it is true to say that religious truth, being the greatest thing in the world, is worth fighting for, and if attacked should be defended at all costs.

The kingdom of God, though spiritual, is not at odds with civil liberty, but rather it alone provides the true basis for it. And those charged with upholding civil liberty -- magistrates, and the soldiers and law enforcement officers under them, in the lawful exercise of their just duties -- bear the sword not in vain to protect the good and punish the evil, Rom. 13.4 (hence we pray for kings and all those in authority that we may lead a quiet and peaceable life in all godliness [first table of the law] and honesty [second table of the law], 1 Tim. 2.2).

John Kennedy of Dingwall:

[The Establishment Principle is not only] worth living for, but a principle worth dying for.

Of all the causes to fight and die for, those of life and civil liberty and, most especially, true religious freedom, are most excellent. To fight and die for the life and freedom of others, when called upon by Providence, is noble and virtuous; to fight and die in defense of the Lord's cause, when the circumstances are just and appropriate, is truly "precious in the Lord's sight" (Ps. 116.15).

Patrick Henry:

What is it that gentlemen wish? What would they have? Is life so dear, or peace so sweet, as to be purchased at the price of chains and slavery? Forbid it, Almighty God! I know not what course others may take; but as for me, give me liberty or give me death!

The Scottish Covenanters who fought -- defensively -- for Christ's Crown & Covenant were also heroes. They took up arms not for personal gain, nor for economic profit or clannish pride, but for the prerogatives of the true head and king of the Church. True religion is the most precious of causes for which to fight and die, "For whosoever will save his life shall lose it: and whosoever will lose his life for my sake shall find it" (Matt. 16.25; see also Matt. 10.39; 16.26; Mark. 8.35; Luke 9.24; John 12.25; etc.)


Robert Burns, The Solemn League and Covenant:

The Solemn League and Covenant
Now brings a smile, now brings a tear;
But sacred Freedom, too, was theirs:
If thou'rt a slave, indulge thy sneer.

What Have the Psalms Done?

George W. Robinson, "The Psalms in History," in John McNaugher, ed., The Psalms in Worship, pp. 515-516:

If it were asked, "What have the Psalms done?" I would answer, for one thing, they have made men -- men of heroic mold, of lofty faith, of fearless soul, who bowed the knee to none save God, and loved their liberty more than they loved their lives. Of them it might be said, as Lelievre, the Frenchman, writes of the Huguenots -- for the character of Puritan and Huguenot was of the same fine moral fiber: "The effect of the Psalms on the character of the Huguenots was wonderful. They nourished the moral life of a race of men such as the world will perhaps never see again." Yes, the world would be infinitely poorer without these Puritans -- worshipers of God, haters of unrighteousness, singers of Psalms, great nation-builders.

Siege of Sancerre

The French Wars of Religion comprise of a series of military conflicts between Roman Catholics and Huguenots from 1562-1598. The fourth war was set off by the St. Bartholomew's Day Massacre in August 1572 and lasted until the signing of the July 1573 Edict of Boulogne. This phase of the Wars of Religion is famous for three episodes in which the royalist Catholic forces besieged Huguenot cities at Sommières, La Rochelle and Sancerre.

Sommières capitulated after a siege which lasted from February to April 1573, during which the fortified city's defenders fought ferociously even pouring pots of boiling oil upon the heads of the attackers, and the terms of surrender were generous. Henry Baird writes that "the garrison capitulated on such favorable terms, that the Protestants were rather elated than discouraged" (History of the Rise of the Huguenots of France, Vol. 2, p. 589).

La Rochelle is a seaport and thus was not completely cut off by the massive consolidation of royalist forces, led by Henri, Duke of Anjou, which surrounded it. The conflict began there in November 1572, and the siege itself lasted from February to July 1573. Help was sought from Queen Elizabeth I of England, but she felt bound by an earlier peace treaty with France not to interfere beyond sending a small, ineffective relief convoy. (The famous Huguenot treatise, Vindiciae Contra Tyrannos (Defense of Liberty Against Tyrants), which has an important section on the duty of foreign princes to aid Christian subject being persecuted by their tyrant ruler, was published seven years later.) The city suffered but held out until the siege was lifted following diplomatic negotiations which involved Poland.

The Siege of Sancerre became legendary. Like La Rochelle, the initial phase of the conflict began in November 1572, with a temporarily successful surprise attack launched by the royalist forces led by Honorat de Bueil, seigneur de Racan. Unlike La Rochelle, Sancerre is a fortified landlocked hilltop city. Troops returned in January 1573, and in March, Claude de La Châtre led a second attack with 7,000 men, which was bitterly repulsed. Royalist troops pounded the city's walls with cannon fire, but the Sancerreans fought back with trebuchets, which became known as the "arquebuses of Sancerre," one of the last times this type of weapon was used in a European military campaign. After the failed assault, Châtre instituted a blockade which lasted through the summer. He made the calculated decision to starve the defenders whom he could not take by force. The Huguenot citizens responded bravely, singing psalms throughout the siege. But the effects of the starvation were staggering to contemplate. Resupply was impossible; messengers who were sent from the city to find help were executed. The day-to-day events were recorded by Jean de Léry, the Huguenot minister who had himself survived privation at the Protestant colony of France Antarctique in the 1550's, and lived through the Siege of Sancerre too, teaching his fellow citizens how to eat leather to survive. He wrote Histoire memorable de la ville de Sancerre (1574), the tenth chapter of which Edward Smedley, History of the Reformed Religion in France, Vol. 3, p. 88, has termed a "Cookery Book for the Besieged," because of de Léry's attention to detail and personal efforts at survival learned in Brazil and shared with his fellow Frenchmen. While most of the citizens suffered honorably, subsisting on horses, dogs, rats, mice, leather, parchment, grass and roots, he faithfully and sadly records the unpleasant details surrounding one family's descent into cannibalism. The dramatic effects of hunger led many to compare this siege to that of Jerusalem, and the Siege of Sancerre became a Protestant cause célèbre throughout Europe. Over 600 royalist troops were killed in combat compared to only 84 Sancerreans, but over 500 citizens, many of them children under the age of 12, died of starvation. But the city held out until a diplomatic solution was worked out. The city was ultimately taken by Châtre in August after Henri, Duke of Anjou (later Henri III of France), was elected king of Poland, upon the condition that he ceased hostilities against French Protestants, which led to the signing of the aforementioned Edict of Boulogne. Thus was the siege lifted. A year to the day after the commencement of the St. Bartholomew's Day Massacre, the last Sancerrean left the city freely, and shortly thereafter Châtre entered in triumph of sorts. One of the most horrific sieges in modern history ended in God's providence with mercy to its heroic citizens, if not the city's fortifications, which were leveled by Châtre. The courage of the Huguenot Sancerreans, and all those who suffered for the name of Jesus and the sake of the Protestant religion in France, must not be forgot.

Wallace's Oak

Freedom is best, I tell thee true, of all things to be won; then never live within the bonds of slavery, my son. -- Attributed to William Wallace's uncle.

There once was an ancient oak tree in the Torwood, near Falkirk, Scotland. It was reputed to be a common resting place for none other than William Wallace, Scotland's most famous patriot. It lived for centuries evidently; the painting here is by A. Nasmyth (1771). Sir Walter Scott records how he would retire there before or after battle in Tales of A Grandfather (1st series, 1828), Chap. 7:

A large oak-tree in the adjoining forest was long shown as marking the spot where Wallace slept before the battle, or, as others said, in which he hid himself after the defeat. Nearly forty years ago Grandpapa [Scott himself] saw some of its roots; but the body of the tree was even then entirely decayed, and there is not now, and has not been for many years, the least vestige of it to be seen.

Magnus Magnusson, Scotland: The Story of a Nation (2000), pp. 146-147:

Oak wood has long been revered in Scotland as a potent symbol of strength, hardness and durability. Until two centuries ago there was a vast oak tree known as 'Wallace's Oak' in the Torwood, a couple of miles north of Falkirk. In 1723 it was described as having a girth of thirty-six feet, still bearing leaves and acorns, and 'ever excepted from cutting when the wood is sold'. Fifty years later its girth measured as twenty-two feet at four feet above the ground by a John Walker, who observed that 'whatever may be its age, it certainly has in its ruins the appearance of greater antiquity than what I have observed in any tree in Scotland...it has been immemorially held in veneration and is still viewed in that light.' But, as Sir Walter Scott and others reported, by the end of the eighteenth century no trace of it remained, and efforts to pinpoint the exact site of the tree have been somewhat conjectural.

Tangible relics of 'Wallace's Oak' remain, however. The great tree was ultimately, and literally, loved to death by souvenir hunters. In the 1790s a piece of it was made into a box by the goldsmiths of Edinburgh and presented to George Washington, first President of the United States, as 'the Wallace of America'; this relic does not survive, alas -- it was stolen in a stage-coach raid in the 1820s and never seen again. The last of the roots of the tree was excavated to make a snuff box which was presented to King George IV on the occasion of his celebrated Royal Visit to Edinburgh in 1822...

Today, Wallacebank Wood, owned by the Glenbervice Golf Club, and managed along with the Scottish Wildlife Trust as a Wildlife Reserve, is home to coppiced descendants of the Wallace Oak.

William Hetherington wrote a poetic tribute to the Wallace Oak in Twelve Dramatic Sketches, founded on the Pastoral Poetry of Scotland (1829), which is recorded in James Grant Wilson, The Poets and Poetry of Scotland: From the Earliest to the Present Time (1876), Half-Vol. 4, p. 263:

The Torwood Oak

The Torwood Oak! How like a spell
By potent wizard breathed, that name
Bids every Scottish bosom swell,
And burn with all a patriot's flame!

The past before the rapt eye brings --
Forth stalk the phantom shades of kings,
And loud the warrior's bugle rings
O'er gory fields of blood!

I see the Roman eagle whet
Its hungry beak, I see it soar;
It stoops, I see its pinions wet,
Ruffled and wet with its own gore:
I see the Danish raven sweep
O'er the dark bosom of the deep, --
Its scatter'd plumage strows the steep
Of rugged Albin's shore.

Lo! England's Edward comes! -- the plain
Groans where his marshall'd thousands wheel,
Grim Havoc stalks o'er heaps of slain,
Gaunt Famine, prowling, dogs his heel!
Ah! woe for Scotland! blood and woe!
Fierce and relentless is the foe,
And treason points the murderous blow,
Edges the ruthless steel!

But who is he with dauntless brow,
And dragon crest, and eagle eye,
Whose proud form never knew to bow
Its lofty port and bearing high?
Around him close a glorious band, --
Few -- but the chosen of the land;
Beneath the Torwood Tree they stand,
Freedom to gain, or die!

'Tis he, the bravest of the brave!
Champion of Scotland's liberty,
Whose mighty arm and dreadful glaive
His mother-land could thrice set free!
That hero-patriot, whose great name
Justly the foremost rank may claim
Of that grace the rolls of fame --
WALLACE OF ELDERSLIE!

Yes, oft the Torwood Oak has bent
Its broad boughs o'er his noble head;
Oft, in his hour of peril, lent
The shelter of its friendly shade;
And though rude Time and stern Decay
Its moulder'd stem have swept away,
The hero's name there dwells for aye --
A name that cannot fade!