One of the difficult things for non-Orthodox readers to grasp when they read Orthodox writings is the idea of the “passions.” The word is a technical term of sorts within Orthodoxy, but it is used rather differently than it is in contemporary culture (thus the difficulty in grasping the term). The sentence, “He has a passion for Liverpool F.C” (a soccer team from England), for instance, has no connection to the theological meaning of passions.
The original passion is the prelapsarian drive we have to be in communion with, and eventually, union with God. It is communing with God in the Garden (rather than the forbidden fruit, which was a good creation of God, and forbidden, not because it was bad, but because it was a substitute for God). After spiritual death that is a result of sin, we no longer have a connection to God because we are cut off from his presence, being cast out of the Garden. But this passion for fulfillment that can only come from and with God is part of the divine image, so those passions continue to seek a source of fulfillment. Thus it is, in the postlapsarian world, that the passions are generally bad because they are badly aimed. They are “the lust of the flesh and the lust of the eyes and the pride of life” that are commented on in 1 John 2:16. The passions are our desire for fame, fortune, control, popularity, and the illusive goal of a 1,000 upvotes on redit. At their worst they are our addictions. At their best (in our culture’s eyes) the passions are represented by the infatuation of a girl and a boy, and the ends to which they will go for love that Shakespeare commented on in Romeo and Juliet.
In the Orthodox vision of the Christian life, one of the goals is to learn inner peace (apatheia) while being fully engaged in external struggle (pathos), which is more accurately translated “suffering.” But “suffering” is generally considered a bad thing in our culture (yet another disconnect from the teachings about the passions), and is thus not generally associated with our everyday struggles in life, whether those be with our own temptations, our response to injustice, or the difficulty of paying attention in church.
Turning again to Maximos Constas (former Harvard professor and Eastern Orthodox monk), in his, The Art of Seeing, we find a succinct description of the interplay between the two. In ch. 3 he considers the great military martyr saints, and St. George in particular:
The depiction of the saint as simultaneously “at rest” and “watchful,” lends the seated figure [of St. George, with sword pulled half way from its scabbard] a palpable sense of energy and animation. This intriguing duality also expresses the central paradox of Christian martyrdom, and indeed of Christian life in general: the concurrence of inner rest (apatheia) and external sufferings (pathos), for “though the outer man in perishing, the inner man is being renewed every day” (2 Cor 4:16). [Loc 2085 in the Kindle edition]
How many times have I been filled with what I imagined to be holy rage, as I cleaned up debris in the midst of death following the political debacle of Hurricane Katrina in New Orleans, for instance, or the private conversation in my study with a woman abused by her husband, or the dehumanizing system of family welfare after she worked up the courage to leave said husband, to offer but a few examples from my life.
The art and gift of the authentic Christian life is to fully engage in those activities, yet remain in a state of inner rest and peace. That is what St. George embodies. That is what is necessary to slay the dragons of evil in our world.