Political Theologies in Orthodox Christianity: Common Challenges and Divergent Positions 9780567674128, 9780567674173, 9780567674166

Citation preview

ii

i

POLITICAL THEOLOGIES IN ORTHODOX CHRISTIANITY

ii

iii

POLITICAL THEOLOGIES IN ORTHODOX CHRISTIANITY

Common Challenges and Divergent Positions

Edited by Kristina Stoeckl, Ingeborg Gabriel, and Aristotle Papanikolaou

iv

T&T CLARK Bloomsbury Publishing Plc 50 Bedford Square, London, WC1B 3DP, UK 1385 Broadway, New York, NY 10018, USA BLOOMSBURY, T&T CLARK and the T&T Clark logo are trademarks of Bloomsbury Publishing Plc First published 2017 Paperback edition first published in 2018 © Kristina Stoeckl, Ingeborg Gabriel, Aristotle Papanikolaou, and contributors, 2017 Ingeborg Gabriel, Aristotle Papanikolaou, Kristina Stoeckl and contributors have asserted their right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as Authors of this work. 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: Gabriel, Ingeborg, 1952, editor. | Papanikolaou, Aristotle, editor. | Stoeckl, Kristina, editor. Title: Political theologies in Orthodox Christianity : common challenges divergent positions / edited by Ingeborg Gabriel, Aristotle Papanikolaou, and Kristina Stoeckl. Description: New York : Bloomsbury Publishing, 2017. | Includes bibliographical references and index. Identifiers: LCCN 2016052752 (print) | LCCN 2017018706 (ebook) | ISBN 9780567674166 (epdf) | ISBN 9780567674135 (epub) | ISBN 9780567674128 (hb : alk. paper) Subjects: LCSH: Political theology. | Orthodox Eastern Church–Doctrines. | Civilization, Modern. Classification: LCC BX323 (ebook) | LCC BX323 .P655 2017(print) | DDC 261.7088/2819–dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2016052752 ISBN: HB: 978-0-5676-7412-8 PB: 978-0-5676-8585-8 ePDF: 978-0-5676-7416-6 ePub: 978-0-5676-7413-5 Typeset by Newgen Knowledge Works (P) Ltd., Chennai, India To find out more about our authors and books visit www.bloomsbury.com and sign up for our newsletters.

v

CONTENTS Foreword

ix

INTRODUCTION Ingeborg Gabriel, Aristotle Papanikolaou, and Kristina Stoeckl

1

Part I ORTHODOX POLITICAL THEOLOGY AND MODERNITY Chapter 1 MODERNITY AND POLITICAL THEOLOGIES Kristina Stoeckl Chapter 2 POLITICAL THEOLOGY IN ORTHODOX CHRISTIAN CONTEXTS: SPECIFICITIES AND PARTICULARITIES IN COMPARISON WITH WESTERN LATIN CHRISTIANITY Vasilios N. Makrides

15

25

Chapter 3 POLITICAL THEOLOGY UNDER THE CONDITIONS OF MODERNITY: A CATHOLIC PERSPECTIVE

55

Ingeborg Gabriel Chapter 4 EUROPEAN RELIGIOUS FREEDOM NORMS AS A CHALLENGE TO ORTHODOX CHURCHES Effie Fokas

75

Part II PROPHETIC POLITICAL THEOLOGY Chapter 5 THE POLITICS OF A “WEAK FORCE” Athanasios N. Papathanasiou Chapter 6 ORTHODOX POLITICAL THEOLOGY: AN ANARCHIST PERSPECTIVE Davor Džalto

97

111

vi

vi

Contents

Chapter 7 ESCHATOLOGICAL ANARCHISM: ESCHATOLOGY AND POLITICS IN CONTEMPORARY GREEK THEOLOGY Brandon Gallaher Chapter 8 TOWARD AN ORTHODOX POLITICAL THEOLOGY: THE CHURCH’S THEOLOGICAL FOUNDATIONS AND PUBLIC ROLE IN THE CONTEXT OF THE GREEK ECONOMIC CRISIS Pantelis Kalaitzidis

135

151

Part III ECCLESIAL POLITICAL THEOLOGY Chapter 9 ON THE POSSIBILITY/IMPOSSIBILITY OF AN EASTERN ORTHODOX POLITICAL THEOLOGY Alexander Kyrlezhev Chapter 10 THE PROBLEMATIC ISSUES OF EUCHARISTIC ECCLESIOLOGY IN THE CONTEXT OF CONTEMPORARY POLITICAL THEOLOGY Andrey Shishkov Chapter 11 “REVOLT AGAINST THE MODERN WORLD”: THEOLOGY AND THE POLITICAL IN THE THOUGHT OF JUSTIN POPOVIĆ Bogdan Lubardić

181

189

207

Part IV CIVIC POLITICAL THEOLOGY Chapter 12 WHOSE PUBLIC? WHICH ECCLESIOLOGY? Aristotle Papanikolaou

229

Chapter 13 ORTHODOXY FACING THE MODERN SECULAR STATE Konstantinos Delikostantis

243

Chapter 14 CIVIL RELIGION IN THE ORTHODOX MILIEU Cyril Hovorun

253

vii

Contents

vii

Part V SYMPHONIC POLITICAL THEOLOGY Chapter 15 ORTHODOX THEOLOGY, POLITICS, AND POWER Elena Namli

265

Chapter 16 ORTHODOXY AND DEMOCRACY IN POST-1989 ROMANIA Radu Preda

283

Chapter 17 THE CHURCH AND THE BULGARIAN MODERNITIES Mariyan Stoyadinov

299

Bibliography List of Contributors Index

311 338 341

viii

ix

FOREWORD We consider this publication a timely contribution to the ongoing discussion on political theology, which suffers from a noticeable lack of attention to the postcommunist situation in the traditional Orthodox countries. The intensity and excitement surrounding the conversation at the workshop under the title, “Political Modernity and the Responses of Contemporary Orthodox Theology,” which was held in Vienna in January 2014 at the Institute for Human Sciences, convinced the editors that the publication of those presentations, together with additional international voices, would constitute an invaluable contribution to political theology. First of all, we want to express our gratitude to the contributors to this volume for their collaboration. We are particularly grateful for the financial contributions to the workshop as well as the publication by Pro Oriente, the Institute of Human Sciences, and the Austrian Academy of Sciences (APART Grant) as well as the Austrian Science Fund and the European Research Council. Thanks also go to our collaborators Leilani Briel, April French, Olena Kostenko, and Andrea Riedl for their conscientious work on the manuscript, as well as to our editor at Bloomsbury, Anna Turton, without whom this book could not have taken its present form. The editors

x

1

I N T R O DU C T IO N Ingeborg Gabriel, Aristotle Papanikolaou, and Kristina Stoeckl

Political theology has become a highly debated topic far beyond the confines of Christian theology.1 The urgency to understand the way in which religions relate to the state, to politics, and to civil society—or to what we generally call “political modernity”—may be attributed to the public reappearance of religiously motivated politics,2 to global migration movements that result in less religious homogeneity in many places,3 to the fall of communism in Eastern Europe, and to the political transition in the countries of the Arab Spring, which have propelled religion back into the political sphere of formally secularized societies.4 These developments have demanded a revision within Western social and political sciences, which has called into question the master narrative of secularization.5 The return of religion to the public sphere has also required each religion to selfreflectively determine its attitude vis-à-vis other religions and political modernity, while engaging the traditionalist, fundamentalist, and reformist currents in its own ranks. This publication adds to the scholarly debate on the place of religion in 1 Hent de Vries and Lawrence E. Sullivan (eds.), Political Theologies: Public Religions in a Post-Secular World (New  York:  Fordham University Press, 2006). See also Elizabeth Phillips, Political Theology: A Guide for the Perplexed (London: T&T Clark, 2012). 2 José Casanova, Public Religions in the Modern World (Chicago, IL:  University of Chicago Press, 1994); Casanova, “Public Religions Revisited,” in Religion:  Beyond the Concept, ed. Hent de Vries (Fordham: Fordham University Press, 2008), pp. 101–19. 3 José Casanova, “Immigration and the New Religious Pluralism: A European Union– United States Comparison,” in Secularism, Religion, and Multicultural Citizenship, ed. Geoffrey Brahm Levey and Tariq Modood (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2009), pp. 139–64; Peter L. Berger (ed.), The Desecularization of the World: Resurgent Religion and World Politics (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1999). 4 Timothy A. Byrnes and Peter J. Katzenstein (eds.), Religion in an Expanding Europe (Cambridge:  Cambridge University Press, 2006); Ronald Inglehart and Pippa Norris, Sacred and Secular:  Religion and Politics Worldwide (Cambridge:  Cambridge University Press, 2004). 5 Jürgen Habermas, “Religion in the Public Sphere,” European Journal of Philosophy 14, no. 1 (2006): 1–25; William E. Connolly, Why I Am Not a Secularist (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1999); Berger, Desecularization.

2

2

Ingeborg Gabriel, Aristotle Papanikolaou, and Kristina Stoeckl

political modernity at the intersection of the social sciences and theology. It fills a lacuna in this debate by focusing on Orthodox Christianity, with special attention to the reemergence of the Orthodox Churches as political actors within traditional Orthodox countries. The reality of Orthodox Churches in the twenty-first century is much more complex than the simplistic notion of a so-called clash of civilizations might suggest.6 The struggle of Orthodox theologians to come to terms with political modernity after centuries of theological conflict with “the West” and after decades of communist secularization deserves our attention far more than has been the case up to now. This book gathers a wide range of theological perspectives from Orthodox European countries, Russia and the United States, thereby demonstrating the diversity of Orthodox theological engagement with the political. The chapters provide a window into how Orthodox Christianity continues to struggle with the modern political order in that they utilize theological arguments that render Orthodoxy either more or less compatible with liberal democracy. By drawing lessons from the past and reflecting on their present, the authors elaborate their own vision for the future of how Orthodox Christianity might find its place in the contemporary pluralistic society.

What Do We Mean by Political Theology? We use the term “political theology” in the sense of a theological approach to the political.7 Specifically, it refers to the ways theologians conceive of the relationship of the Church and the Church’s mission to bring about salvation in relation to the political sphere as a system of power and institutions. The task of the theologian is to argue from biblical, dogmatic, and ethical sources of revelation. In light of the inevitable interrelationship of religious and political spheres worldwide, the theological challenge is to take a new look at the situation brought about by political modernity and to attempt to formulate adequate theological responses. The starting point of each of the contributions in this book is thus the theological question, “How ought Orthodox Churches relate to the political?”—a question made all the more pressing by the fall of communism in Eastern Europe, where the majority of Orthodox believers reside. This question of the relationship between the Church and the political sphere has been a crucial one since the beginning of Christian history. In the so-called pre-Constantinian era, the small Christian communities, with their developing ecclesiastical hierarchies, were fragile entities under permanent threat from political institutions. In the fourth century, this period of threatened existence came to an end. Christianity was first recognized as a religio licita (religion acknowledged by

6 Samuel Huntington, “The Clash of Civilizations,” Foreign Affairs 72, no. 3 (1993): 22–50. 7 We do not, therefore, mean “political theology” in the sense of Carl Schmitt (secularized religion) or Eric Voegelin (religionized politics).

3

Introduction

3

the state) and later became the state religion in what we refer to as the Constantinian era. Yet, from the perspective of theology, the fragile existence of Christians in the pre-Constantinian era continued to be theologically paradigmatic. Even during the Constantinian era, there remained a lack of institutional identification of the Church with the political system. Church institutions and political institutions always existed side by side; yet the alliance of throne and altar—described as the symphonic model or, mistakenly, as caesaropapism—led to a high degree of overlap and gave rise to new theological challenges. The post-Constantinian age, finally, was characterized by the secularization of the state and the political sphere. The process of secularization has taken varied forms in different countries, some more and some less violent. The radical transformation of the political sphere in the post-Constantinian era posed new and difficult questions for theology. How should we interpret the postConstantinian situation? Should we see it as a state of decline as compared with the close relationship of “throne and altar”? As a menace and an evil to Christianity, to be resisted by all means available? Or might it be regarded as a challenging situation that may lead to greater ecclesial and theological independence, wherein the Church could follow her mission with greater freedom from the political pressures that characterized the Constantinian era? We are still in the post-Constantinian era today; subsequently, the task for Christian theologians is to formulate a normative and theologically grounded vision of how the Church is to relate to the political sphere in a situation characterized by growing religious pluralism worldwide. In other words, the theologian’s task is to articulate a political theology.

What Do We Mean by Modernity? In the 1934 Hale Memorial Sermon, Sergei Bulgakov compared the encounter of Christianity and the modern world with the story of the sphinx.8 As this mythical figure posed a difficult riddle to passersby, so does modernity to all who encounter it. Those who are unable or unwilling to respond are devoured alive. The metaphor strikingly demonstrates that the price of the Church avoiding serious theological reflection on modernity is the forfeiture of meaningful engagement with society. The considerable challenge for theology in the modern age is to find distinct answers to the questions modernity poses. Just as the mythological sphinx had an attractive human head and a ferocious animal body, the sphinx of modernity is an ambivalent creature with constructive and destructive qualities. As such, any political theology must take both sides of modernity into account.9 Modernity as a sociological phenomenon has implications for all areas of life, politics probably being the most important. The modern state generates concrete

8 Sergei Bulgakov, Social Teaching in Modern Russian Orthodox Theology, 20th Annual Hale Memorial Sermon (Evanston, IL: Seabury-Western Theological Seminary, 1934), p. 10. 9 Max Weber already identified this dual character of modernity. See Arpad Szakolczai, The Genesis of Modernity (London: Routledge, 2003).

4

4

Ingeborg Gabriel, Aristotle Papanikolaou, and Kristina Stoeckl

institutional responses to the inherent tension between individual freedom and the need for collective cohesion. The democratic state balances this tension through the possibility of equal participation of all members of a polity and through a representative democratic government. The modern human rights regime elevates the individual human being, who is still seen as part of a “community in which alone the free and full development of his personality is possible” (Article 29, Universal Declaration of Human Rights). With this, the normative guiding vision of political modernity is to grant individuals as much freedom as possible, so they may live in self-determination within a political community that watches over their security internally and externally (human rights, democracy) and further assists in fulfilling basic needs in a way that rectifies unequal social conditions (social rights). In today’s world, two global developments complicate the basic tension of political modernity:  (1)  the emergence of supranational forms of organization, regulations, and markets, which defy direct democratic control at the national level (e.g., international corporations and international governance); and (2) the pluralization of societies (through migration, individualization, and so on) that results in less social homogeneity and less consensus on shared cultural values. The conditions of globalization and growing material inequality have the capacity to erode the model of the limited governance of political liberalism complemented by a civil society based on effective human rights (including the right to religious freedom).10 Political modernity is, therefore, often met with discontent and protest, frequently articulated in religious terms. Coming back to Bulgakov’s powerful metaphor, modernity is indeed sphinxlike, for it contains both the great promise of individual freedom and the power to destroy the conditions of that freedom. The Eastern Church, which tended to witness the emergence of Western modernity as a critical bystander, has since undergone its own process of modernization and is now prepared to analytically engage with both the liberating and the destructive sides of the modern experience. Orthodox theologians deserve attention beyond the narrow scholarly circle of theology, since their status as non-Western participants and observers of the ambivalence of the modern condition offers an original perspective on the conundrum, which the sphinx of modernity has posed to the contemporary world.

Sociohistorical Contexts and Multiple Modernities The task of working out political theological responses to the modern condition is complicated in that the cultures influenced by Enlightenment philosophy, modern science, and the democratic revolutions have not developed unitary positions visà-vis religion. Theological responses to historically variable modernities are bound

10 Colin Crouch, Post-Democracy (New York: John Wiley, 2004).

5

Introduction

5

to differ.11 Political theologies, to the extent that they are based on normative biblical and traditional sources (for Orthodoxy, the latter consists mainly of patristic sources), must be contextualized in time and space. The recognition that political theologies are context-dependent, inasmuch as they respond to a specific situation and time in the life of a church, does not mean that all political theology is relative to historic and social circumstances. We distinguish three principled responses to political modernity in Christianity, each of which has found proponents in the past and continues to attract supporters in the present: first, to see modernity as an inherently Christian development;12 second, to reject modern society outright as an anti-Christian apostasy; and third, to formulate a position between these two extremes, giving a differentiated theological response and enhancing efforts of theological self-reflection for a better understanding of oneself and others.13 The third option calls for intellectual engagement, rigor, and creativity at a level compared only to that demanded of early Christian theologians. And yet the problem of context remains. Does the experience of the communist repression of religion explain why many Orthodox theologians in Eastern Europe continue to view modern society as anti-Christian? Does the experience of living in diaspora explain why many Orthodox theologians in the West have formulated differentiated and self-reflective models of bringing together Orthodox faith and secular political modernity? Does the experience of the Christian churches in much of Western Europe, where Christian parties successfully implemented social welfare states and a transnational political union (the European Union [EU]), explain why most theologians there view modernity positively?14 We contend that although context can, no doubt, offer partial explanations for theological positions, it cannot offer a valid legitimization, since any theological argument must ultimately be justified on theological grounds, which include an interpretation of the scriptures and (especially for the Orthodox) of the patristic tradition. This collection aims in part to demonstrate the broad range of political theological proposals of Orthodox theologians from a variety of national backgrounds so as to incite further discussion for what a context-transcending Orthodox political theology might look like in the age of modernity.

11 See Gertrude Himmelfarb, The Roads to Modernity: The British, French and American Enlightenments (London: Vintage Books, 2004); Shmuel N. Eisenstadt, Multiple Modernities (London: Transaction, 2002). 12 This was the position of liberal Protestantism at the turn of the twentieth century. 13 See Peter L. Berger (ed.), Between Relativism and Fundamentalism:  Religious Resources for a Middle Position (Grand Rapids, MI:  Eerdmans, 2010), especially Michael Plekon’s essay, “Relativism and Fundamentalism: An Eastern Church Perspective from the ‘Paris School’ and Living Tradition,” pp. 180–209. 14 Certainly, Vatican II was a watershed moment for the Roman Catholic Church in this regard.

6

6

Ingeborg Gabriel, Aristotle Papanikolaou, and Kristina Stoeckl

The Task of Political Theology Political theology is one resource for orientation when navigating the ambivalences and challenges of modernity. In fact, Christian theology (including Christian ethics) has a long history of intellectual discussion on normative positions vis-àvis the political. Several New Testament texts (e.g., Jn 18; Mk 12:17)15 put forward a clear and rather distinct vision of Christian engagement, seeing the Church as a (nonviolent) power sui generis that is dissimilar to the political community. The Church’s prophetic witness is neither to affirm state power nor to reject it outright, but to serve as a critical voice against inhumane power abuse. Its proclamation of the eschatological Kingdom of God constitutes a judgment on worldly affairs so as to bring about an ever deeper orientation and recognition of God and his plans for the good of the world and all human beings. This begs the question: to what extent do the normative positions, values, and moral guidelines of Christian theology and of the modern political culture overlap? Or must we regard them as utterly distinct from one another? Any answer to such questions must consider that neither Christianity nor modernity are in themselves monolithic; nor are their positions defined once and for all. They evolve historically through new insights and within changing political contexts. Nevertheless, the foundational principles of Christian political theology and of political liberalism are not contingent, albeit they have their own histories of interpretation and reinterpretation. Any theological reflection on the political thus stands within a complex conceptual matrix. It presupposes an explicit (or implicit) sociological analysis of modernity and its respective political systems, modes of functioning, and normative basis and implications. Such analysis forms the necessary foundation for any political theology or for any studies in political ethics, which are to give theological and moral orientation to the faithful and their churches, operating within particular political contexts. In other words, whichever political theologies are at play, they will have considerable practical (i.e., ethical) and political implications.

The Content and Structure of this Book This book consists of five parts. Part I offers a broad contextualization of Orthodox political theologies with regard to sociological theories of modernity, the history of modern Europe, the Catholic experience of secularization and modernization, and the contemporary European legal framework on religious freedom. In Chapter 1, Kristina Stoeckl develops a model of political theologies that locates the specific Orthodox political theologies presented in this book within what she calls “the challenges of modernity.” Her model extends Jürgen Habermas’s model of religious modernization by indicating three broad areas of confrontation between religious worldviews and modernity, and it delimits a range of possible responses, without 15 See Gabriel’s Chapter 3 in this book.

7

Introduction

7

setting any thresholds to indicate when a religious tradition has “come to terms with modernity.” Vasilios N. Makrides, in Chapter 2, compares Orthodox Christian and Western Christian relations with political power over two millennia of European history, analyzing their different trajectories. Ingeborg Gabriel’s chapter begins with an interpretation of a central biblical text from the Gospel of St. John, indicating that from its inception, the Christian community took a differentiated and innovative position vis-à-vis the political and elucidating some normative theological implications of this biblical passage. The chapter’s historical overview demonstrates the variety of forms that have existed in the relationship between the political and the religious in the European context, the latest of which involves the challenge of how to accommodate the secular transformations of the political sphere. Based on the position of the Roman Catholic Church at Vatican II, Gabriel argues that there are good theological and ethical reasons to support the normative positions of political modernity and that the churches can fulfill their mission by positioning themselves in the free spaces offered by civil society, while serving as a critical and prophetic voice in the public square. In Chapter 4, Effie Fokas observes that European norms for religious freedom represent a challenge to Orthodox Churches, especially in states with majority Orthodox populations. She asks whether this challenge differs qualitatively or quantitatively from that faced by other faith groups and seeks to give an answer by comparing four majority-Orthodox contexts from data generated in a research project on pluralism and religious freedom. For the following sections, we distinguish four ideal types of political theologies: prophetic, ecclesial, civic, and symphonic. The first two represent churchcentered perspectives, considering which politics, if any, the Church supports. The other two represent world-centered perspectives, seeing the Church as related to the political, as part of civil society, or as an institutional partner with the state.Part II offers four views of an Orthodox prophetic political theology, deemed “anarchic” by two of this book’s contributors. Prophetic political theologies focus on small Christian communities that resemble the earliest Christian communities and their practice of an “ethics of brotherhood” (Max Weber), avoiding entanglement with the inherently violent political powers. In Christianity, this position has always been at the heart of monasticism. In Chapter 5, Athanasios N. Papathanasiou develops an alternative understanding of the political role of Orthodox Christianity as antipolitics. He argues that Christianity’s difficulty is accepting Christ’s invitation to a radical anti-egoistic and self-sacrificial attitude based on indiscriminate love, one that could have important social and political consequences for the Church as a community becoming a counter-model for corrupted societies. Davor Džalto’s chapter explicates a self-consciously “anarchist” perspective. Džalto asserts that, in the Orthodox world, the concept of symphonia has profoundly shaped the dominant theological and popular view of the “ideal” sociopolitical, ecclesial whole. This model aims at a “harmony” between the “sacred” and the “secular,” with close, even organic ties between the Church (and her theology) and the state (and its official ideology). In response to this model, Džalto, inspired by the theology of Leo Tolstoy, develops what he calls an “anarchist” alternative that opts for a radical apolitical position of love that nevertheless indirectly influences politics.

8

8

Ingeborg Gabriel, Aristotle Papanikolaou, and Kristina Stoeckl

In Chapter  7, Brandon Gallaher takes a more analytical approach toward eschatological anarchism. He contrasts Christos Yannaras, a well-known Greek Orthodox critic of modernity, with Pantelis Kalaitzidis, an alternative pro-modern voice from the same tradition. Kalaitzidis has consciously forged an Orthodox “contextual theology” or “liberation theology” that attempts to respond to the rise (and fall) of secularism, the global economic crisis, and, above all, to provide a theological justification of liberal democracy and of political secularity as a positive phenomenon. Pantelis Kalaitzidis himself has contributed Chapter 8, in which he asks why Orthodoxy has hitherto not developed a “political theology” in the liberating and radical sense of the term. He then considers the crucial question of the place of religion in general and the Church in particular between the public and private spheres. Kalaitzidis argues the legitimacy of a public role for the Church in the secular, pluralistic societies of late modernity, finally applying the described theological presuppositions for an Orthodox political engagement to the particular case of the current acute economic crisis in Greece. Part III is dedicated to Orthodox ecclesial political theology, a model that sees the Church as a eucharistic community and thus as the only community where true humanity can be realized in the imitation of Jesus Christ, which the faithful are then to emanate into society as a whole. Andrey Shishkov, in Chapter  9, focuses on eucharistic ecclesiology and its impact on the way religious groups conceive of themselves as political actors. Shishkov argues that in studying religious actors, it is especially important to see how religious groups, Christian churches in particular, describe themselves. In Chapter  10, Alexander Kyrlezhev reflects on the experience of religion-state relations in the post-Soviet space and elaborates the difficulties the Russian Orthodox Church faces to find a theologically adequate approach to secular politics and a secularized society. The sociopolitical transition in Russia has placed a great amount of stress on the Church, which has reacted not so much with a proper theological response as with a conspiratorial state of mind, seeing secularization as “a foreign fact” imposed by the inimical West. Bogdan Lubardić’s chapter offers a critical overview of the relationship between theology and the political in the work of Justin Popović, a major churchman, intellectual, and saint of the Serbian Orthodox Church. The author argues that this influential theologian’s critique of the political should be understood from his fundamental theological presupposition that the political should not necessarily be equated with politics in the narrow sense. His approach to the political is neither a “religionized” (geo)politics nor a theology of politics; rather, it is a preeminently Christological hermeneutic of the lifeworld of the political, set in a polemical style. All three chapters in Part III are relevant for understanding the difficult relationship between the West and Russian or Serbian Orthodoxy. They represent a counterpoint to the previous articles, which, albeit church-centred, take a prophetic rather than an ecclesial approach. Together, the prophetic and the ecclesial forms of political theology explicate the old biblical metaphor of the Church as “the light of the world” and “the city on a hill” (Mt 5:13). This ecclesiocentrism is limited in that it tends toward a sort of privatization of Christian faith, leaving the world of the political and the realities of power to

9

Introduction

9

themselves.16 In the biblical text, the metaphor of the Church being “the light of the world” is, therefore, complemented by another metaphor, calling it “the salt of the world” (Mt 5:14). Political theologies that argue for a stronger involvement in politics may be seen as belonging to such a model. Civic political theologies envision political involvement in the form of the Church’s strong presence in civil society, contributing to the forming of opinions and human conscience through Christian public theology in the wider sphere of the public square. Symphonic political theologies opt for the close cooperation of the Church with the state, replicating what has been for the longest period in Eastern Orthodox history the standard for church-state relations. The price for this cooperation is that it can tend to obscure the biblical call to nonviolence, the ultimate catalyst of which is the Cross, and to overlook the pluralistic situation of modern societies. Part IV offers three treatments of Orthodox civic political theology, which considers Orthodoxy a force of civil society. In Chapter 12, Aristotle Papanikolaou interrogates the very category of “the public” and examines whether “public ecclesiology” depends on where the Church is located. The chapter ends by proposing an Orthodox “public ecclesiology” across time and space through a case study of public issues surrounding homosexuality, such as laws against so-called gay propaganda and gay marriage. The author argues that Orthodox support of a public political space grounded in the sacredness of the person, as expressed in human rights language, especially rights to freedom and equality, is not necessarily “liberal” or “Western,” but is based on a theologically grounded Orthodox ecclesiology and theological anthropology. Konstantin Delikostantis argues in Chapter  13 that Orthodox Churches, facing contemporary challenges, need to surpass their negative attitude toward modernity, to reevaluate their position vis-à-vis humanism and autonomy and to widen their dialogue with modern positions, aiming “even at a synthesis between the two.” In such a dialogue, the idea of freedom, its content and meaning, its truth and crisis, remain a crucial issue for both Orthodoxy and modernity. Chapter 14’s author, Cyril Hovorun, analyzes various aspects of civil religion in the Orthodox sociopolitical milieu. He argues that the concept of civil religion is a helpful hermeneutical clue to understanding the social and political processes in countries that associate themselves with the Eastern Christian tradition. Both the notorious “Russian world” and the Balkan style of nationalism can be seen as “civil religions.” Orthodox Churches have significantly contributed to the construction of these civil religions, which feature elements of religious cults and ideologies. Civil religion in the Orthodox context can thereby be constructive in that it assists in nation building. At the same time, it can mobilize masses to participate in destructive nationalist conflicts and encourage the exclusion of “the other.” Hovorun concludes that both the constructive and destructive effects of Orthodox civil religion, however, threaten to obscure the original nature and mission of the Orthodox Church.

16 This view inadvertently reflects secularist expectations that want to exclude the Church from public life.

10

10

Ingeborg Gabriel, Aristotle Papanikolaou, and Kristina Stoeckl

Finally, Part V gathers church-centered treatments of Orthodox symphonic political theologies. These chapters consider the extent to which Orthodox Churches are or should be institutional partners of the state, rather than forces of civil society. In Chapter 15, Elena Namli reflects on the growing political and social role of the Russian Orthodox Church. Following a relatively long period of invisibility, the Russian Orthodox Church has reemerged in a number of areas as a significant political agent. State authorities and church leaders appear together at official ceremonies, the Patriarch comments on political issues, and the Church asserts its right and obligation to be a substantial moral voice in society. Commenting on the social teaching of the Russian Orthodox Church, Namli asks what these developments represent and how we should evaluate them. Radu Preda, in Chapter 16, describes the particular challenge the Romanian Orthodox Church faces as a majority church under the conditions of Western modernity, a democratic political system and membership in the EU. The postcommunist situation not only offers the Church a chance to reflect theologically on the political without fear of persecution, but also forces it to come to terms with her no longer privileged position in a pluralist society. In the final chapter, Mariyan Stoyadinov argues that, for a variety of historical reasons, the Bulgarian Orthodox Church is yet to find an adequate response to modern challenges or to develop positions of “political theology” for the Bulgarian context. The burden of the totalitarian experience, the schism in the Church, and the rapid transformation in Bulgarian society still await an adequate response from theologians.

Conclusion The four types of political theologies that structure this book are ideal types. They offer specific theological perspectives without excluding other approaches. Each of the four Orthodox political theologies actually appear in mixed forms. Kalaitzidis’s approach combines the prophetic model with the Church’s involvement in civil society. Namli’s presentation of the Russian Orthodox Church suggests the symphonic model in contrast with the civic model. In addition, none of them can claim perfection. The ultimate realization of God’s Kingdom of justice and love is an eschatological notion. Thus, any concept of the relationship of Christian theology and the political is subject to an “eschatological reservation” under innerworldly conditions of contingency. This does not imply, however, that all concepts of political theology are of equal value from a theological and ethical perspective. Scholars have yet to debate which model is better disposed to support the realization of love and justice, and the mitigation of violence as one of the primary values of the Kingdom of God and the message of the Gospels as criteria for salvation, by which one may create better conditions for believers to fulfill their mission and duties (Mt 25:36–43). Even if perfect justice cannot be realized in an imperfect world, it would be un-Christian and inhuman either to negate the concrete political and social conditions under which people live or not to concern oneself with ways to improve these conditions. The theo-political debate thus

11

Introduction

11

is a theological and ethical debate of the first order, since—to quote Aristotle— questions of the good are important for human beings, but they are even more so for political communities as a whole.17 Moreover, the positions churches take visà-vis the political at any given time in history have considerable influence on their credibility and, therefore, on their message. For these reasons, questions of political theology are some of the most challenging for theologians today. Political realities confront theologians daily in their specific historical and geopolitical contexts, requiring them to determine effective ways to proclaim God’s revelation in this age. The theologians in this book seek to do just that.

17 Aristotle, Nicomachean Ethics (Oxford:  Oxford University Press, 2009; NE I, 1: 1094b).

12

13

Part I O RTHODOX P OLITICAL T HEOLOGY AND M ODERNITY

14

15

Chapter 1 M O D E R N I T Y A N D P O L I T IC A L T H E O L O G I E S Kristina Stoeckl

The inevitability of political theology is a phenomenon of our modern times. In the premodern period, arguably, all theology was political and all politics were theological. A  distinct modern political theology becomes necessary only once theology is called to define its stance vis-à-vis a world whose parameters are no longer contained within the religious worldview. One cannot hope to understand modern political theology without a prior grasp of the changes introduced by modernity, but neither can one claim complete comprehension of modernity without taking seriously the variety of responses spelled out by religions in confrontation with the challenges of modernity. It is therefore necessary to recapitulate in some detail the passage from the pre-modern to the modern and the challenges that this entails for religious traditions. In this chapter, I develop a model of political theologies that should allow the reader to locate specific political theologies and in particular the Orthodox political theologies presented in this book within the field of what I call “the challenges of modernity.”

Distinguishing Modernization from Modernity When sociologists and historians speak of “modernization” and “modernity,” they refer to two aspects of historical development: “modernization” emphasizes process; “modernity” underlines a specific condition. By “modernization” we generally mean a series of developments by which traditional, agrarian societies were transformed into functionally differentiated, industrial, urban, and secular societies. Scholars may not agree on the precise periodization of this epochal change, but they would usually concur on the fact that modernization eventually creates new kinds of institutions—a market-based economy, a democratic polity, and autonomous knowledge-producing institutions, notably, science.1 According to the conventional view of modernization, traditional 1 Ronald Inglehart, “Modernization, Sociological Theories Of,” in International Encyclopedia of the Social and Behavioural Sciences, ed. J. Smelser Neil and Paul B. Baltes (Amsterdam: Elsevier, 2001), pp. 9965–71.

16

16

Kristina Stoeckl

societies relied on religion as a unitary source of meaning from which political and spiritual leadership, social rank, artistic production, and human relations all derived their legitimacy. In modern societies, on the contrary, religion no longer plays this overarching role and is simply one functional system among others.2 The term “modernity” has been used in the social sciences only since the 1980s to describe the condition of modern society in a different way from the classical theories of modernization. Classical theories of modernization focused on the processes by which societies become modern (urbanization, industrialization, secularization, and individualization). Theories of modernity focus on the condition of being modern.3 The difference becomes clearer when we consider how religion enters each of these two perspectives. Whereas mainstream sociology long maintained that modernization would eventually lead to the disappearance of religion from society,4 some sociologists recognized early on that modernization had only changed the place of religion in society. One of them was Emile Durkheim, who showed in The Elementary Forms of the Religious Life (1912) that modernization had brought about distinctively modern, seemingly secular forms of religion, for example, in the cult of the nation. Also, Max Weber focused on the way that traditional religions continued to shape secular cultures. In The Protestant Ethic and the Spirit of Capitalism (1905), he argued that the Protestant Reformation inaugurated a change in economic mentality that brought about the demise of traditional economy and the rise of capitalism. Both Durkheim and Weber considered the relationship between religion and modernity as paradoxical:  as a condition of simultaneous permanence and demise. Marcel Gauchet has summarized such observations in saying that the modern secular social and political order marks not a departure from religion, but rather a transformation of religion, which continues to shape the modern outlook: “Modern society is not a society without religion, but one whose major articulations were formed by metabolizing the religious function.”5

Modernization of Religion Modernization theory generally envisioned the demise of religion. In a more moderate version, put forward by Jürgen Habermas, the endpoint of modernization of religion is not its demise, but its transformation in view of greater compatibility with modern liberal society. This compatibility, Habermas suggests, comes about through the “modernization of religious consciousness” in response to the

2 Niklas Luhmann, Funktion der Religion (Frankfurt am Main: Suhrkamp, 1977). 3 Peter Wagner, “Modernity: History of the Concept,” in Neil and Baltes, International Encyclopedia, pp. 9949–54. 4 David Martin, A General Theory of Secularization (Oxford: Blackwell, 1978). 5 Marcel Gauchet, The Disenchantment of the World:  A  Political History of Religion (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1997), p. 163.

17

Modernity and Political Theologies

17

challenges of religious pluralism, modern science, and positive law and profane morality. This modernization, according to Habermas, has three steps: (1) “Religious citizens must develop an epistemic attitude toward other religions and world views that they encounter within a universe of discourse hitherto occupied only by their own religion. They succeed to the degree that they self-reflectively relate their religious beliefs to the statements of competing doctrines of salvation in such a way that they do not endanger their own exclusive claim to truth.” (2) “Moreover, religious citizens must develop an epistemic stance toward the independence of secular from sacred knowledge and the institutionalized monopoly of modern scientific experts. They can only succeed if from their religious viewpoint they conceive the relationship of dogmatic and secular beliefs in such a way that the autonomous progress in secular knowledge cannot come to contradict their faith.” (3) “Finally, religious citizens must develop an epistemic stance toward the priority that secular reasons enjoy in the political arena. This can succeed only to the extent that they convincingly connect the egalitarian individualism and universalism of modern law and morality with the premises of their comprehensive doctrines.”6 This process of modernization of the religious consciousness is for Habermas the prerequisite for the inclusion of religion in the liberal public sphere. In my opinion, Habermas is setting too high a threshold for the inclusion of religions in the modern public sphere. Religions cannot escape the challenges of modernity, but it cannot be taken for granted that they confront them in a constructive way, or that this confrontation is uniform across all areas of conflict. I therefore propose an alternative model, which starts not from the presupposition of demise or change of religions in modern societies, but from the assumption of their permanence and conflictuality.

Defining Political Theologies A political theology is consequently best understood as the response of a religious tradition, a church or an individual religious thinker, to the changing status of religion in modern society with regard to politics, that is, with regard to the question of how people live together and which laws govern the collectivity (given that these laws are no longer, as it was the case in the premodern period, the laws of religion). It is reasonable to expect that there will be different such responses, different according to confession (Western and Eastern Christianity, Judaism,

6 Jürgen Habermas, “Religion in the Public Sphere,” European Journal of Philosophy 14, no. 1 (2006): 1–25 (14).

18

18

Kristina Stoeckl

Islam, and so on), different according to the historical epoch in which this political theology is formulated, and different according to the individual judgments of representatives of the same religious tradition. For this reason it makes sense to speak of political theologies in the plural. This definition of political theologies has affinities with the discipline of history of ideas. It differs from the usage of the term in the vein of the legal theoretician of the Weimar Republic Carl Schmitt, who called “political theology” his theory of the sovereign state.7 If anything, it historicizes the Schmittean political theology of the “Rechtsstaat” as one specific Christian response to political modernity.8 Speaking about political theologies in the plural implies a certain agnosticism with regard to the ways in which religious men and women have defined their understanding of the political. It directs our glance to what all these different visions share, rather than to the specificity and particularity of each political theology, and is therefore structurally similar to speaking about modernities in the plural, as in “multiple modernities.”9 The theory of multiple modernities holds that the Western trajectory of modernization as described by the classical sociological theories of modernization is not the only pathway to modernity. Instead, modernization as a process has taken different shapes across different countries and continents, according to the societal and cultural prerequisites provided, and we find in the world a multiplicity of continually evolving modernities, which are all defined by the experience of rupture (with the past), of liberty (individual and collective selfdetermination), and of mastery (over the natural and social world).10 Rupture, liberty, and mastery are the three structural features shared across multiple modernities. Analogously, a theory of political theologies would hold that the Schmittean formulation of political theology is not the only possible definition of political theology. Instead, political theologies are responses that religious traditions give to the challenges of modernity according to their specific theological, historical, and cultural resources. What they structurally share are the “problematics” that they address: the experience of rupture, liberty, and mastery. These three challenges of modernity present themselves to the religious mind as the religious-cultural disconnect, religious freedom, and anthropocentric morality. They evoke different responses, which translate into different political theologies.

7 Carl Schmitt, Politische Theologie: Vier Kapitel zur Lehre von der Souveränität (1922; repr. 7th ed. Berlin: Duncker und Humblot, 1996). 8 Cécile Laborde, “Three Theses about Political Theology: Some Comments on Seyla Benhabib’s ‘Return of Political Theology,’ ” Critical Review of International Social and Political Philosophy 17, no. 6 (2014): 689–96 (693). 9 Shmuel N. Eisenstadt (ed.), Multiple Modernities (New Brunswick: Transaction, 2002). 10 Peter Wagner, Theorizing Modernity: Inescapability and Attainability in Social Theory (London: Sage, 2001).

19

Modernity and Political Theologies

19

Religious-Cultural Disconnect The term “religious-cultural disconnect” describes a situation in which a person’s religious and cultural identity, his or her sense of religious and of cultural belonging are no longer perceived as naturally related. This rupture in self-understanding has widespread consequences on the individual and on society as a whole. Religious belief and the entire “parcel” of cultural belonging that comes with it—a life structured around religious festivities, a diet in respect of religious commands, life-passages marked by religious rituals, and so forth—no longer have a binding function on the individual and on the society he or she inhabits. Charles Taylor has described this situation as a condition, characteristic in particular of secular Western societies, where nonbelief has become the “default-option,” even though persons continue to seek orientation in their lives and even though religions continue to offer this orientation.11 The phenomenon of the religious-cultural disconnect has been described for different religions and different geographical areas,12 but to my knowledge it has not yet been studied explicitly in the Orthodox Christian context. However, the question of the religious-cultural disconnect seems of particular importance in the case of Orthodox Churches. Due to their historical rootedness in nations and territories, paired with the particular historical experience of communist repression of religion in large parts of Eastern Europe, the rupture between the religious and cultural poses a particular challenge to Orthodox Churches. Orthodox political theologies cannot avoid reacting to the modern rupture between religion and culture. One possible, albeit paradoxical, response among Orthodox clergy and believers is to negate the rupture despite overwhelming evidence to the contrary, and to construct a fictional continuity between a glorious Orthodox past and present-day Orthodox identity. An example of such an attempt to “reconnect” in the Russian Orthodox context was an art exhibition on display in Moscow in 2015. Titled “My History” and organized by the head of the conservative Sretenskiy Monastery in Moscow, Archimandrite Tikhon, the exhibition presented the Russian middle ages, from the baptism of Tsar Vladimir to the rule of Ivan the Terrible, as the focal point of Russian historical and religious identity, thus constructing a bridge of continuity between the past, when Orthodoxy was indeed the center of Russian nationhood, and the present.13 The Patriarch of Moscow Kirill, too, has repeatedly made the reconnect of Russia’s present with the past Russian empire under an Orthodox ruler the theme of patriotic speeches.14 Such

11 Charles Taylor, A Secular Age (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2007). 12 Cf. Olivier Roy, Holy Ignorance:  When Religion and Culture Diverge (New  York: Columbia University Press, 2009); Grace Davie, Religion in Britain since 1945:  Believing without Belonging (Oxford: Blackwell, 1994). 13 The exhibition had an elaborate website: http://www.rurikexpo.ru/ (accessed January 27, 2015). 14 Russian Orthodox Church, “Слово Святейшего Патриарха Кирилла на открытии XVIII Всемирного русского народного собора” [Words of His Holiness Patriarch Kirill

20

20

Kristina Stoeckl

constructions disregard the impact of seventy years of communist secularization from above and of the present-day secular constitution of the Russian Federation. However, the negation of the modern rupture or its alleged non-applicability to Orthodox consciousness is also a recurring theme in other Orthodox contexts, it is not specific to Russia alone,15 and spells out one particular expression of Orthodox political theology. The other theological approach to the religious-cultural disconnect is to celebrate the rupture, rather than negate it. Social scientists generally associate the religious-cultural disconnect with the emergence of “pure-faith” religiosities.16 The most frequently cited examples are the Salafists in the context of Islam, and the Evangelicals in the context of Christian Protestantism. These are religious groups that consider the surrounding everyday culture as sinful or pagan and are critical of the attempts of religious establishments to keep up a connection between public culture and religion. Instead, they construct religion as “pure faith,” attainable and attractive to seekers across a variety of cultural settings, from South Korea to a Parisian suburb, from Indonesia to Brazil. The “purity” of the faith is often associated with a very strict observance of religious rituals and fundamentalism. By contrast, in the Orthodox context, the “pure faith” mode is usually connoted somewhat differently:  it is not associated, at least prima facie, with fundamentalism, but with liberalism. In a context where the political theology of the clerical mainstream invests all its energies into a re-connect of religion and public culture, and the celebration of disconnect, the emphasis of rupture becomes a potentially politically liberal stance.

Religious Freedom The second structural challenge of modernity is the experience of individual liberty. From the religious perspective, the modern affirmation of individual liberty translates into the question of individual religious freedom and the possibility of conversions. For many religious traditions today individual religious freedom and freedom of conscience epitomize the difficult relationship between religion and modernity, be it because these religions have membership models that are based on kinship rather than choice (for example, some strands of Alevism), because religious norms forbid conversion (for example, in Islam), or because conversions of believers upset the religious cosmology. No Orthodox political theology can

at the Opening of the 8th All-Russian People’s Congress], Offical Website of the Moscow Patriarchate, www.patriarchia.ru, November 11, 2014, http://www.patriarchia.ru/db/text/ 3367103.html (accessed August 3, 2016). 15 E.g., in some works of the Greek theologian Christos Yannaras, who constructs an ideological continuity between the Orthodox population under Ottoman rule and presentday Greece. 16 Roy, Holy Ignorance.

21

Modernity and Political Theologies

21

ignore the question of individual religious freedom. The main question that interests me when trying to assess the range of available political theological responses is whether an Orthodox Church tries to limit conversions through nonreligious means by recurring to the laws of the state, or whether it accepts secular freedom of conscience norms as its natural environment, or, even stronger, whether it accepts the individual freedom of choice to believe or not to believe as part of the religious condition and divine plan for human freedom. For the most part of their history Orthodox Churches in Eastern and Southeastern Europe have enjoyed the privileged status of state churches, with laws that protected the majority churches. During the communist period, individual religious freedom and freedom of conscience were oppressed throughout the region, regardless of individuals’ religious belonging. One could have suspected that after this history of repression, Orthodox Churches in Eastern Europe would have stood up for unconditional religious freedom, but this has not been the case. On the contrary, official religious representatives in many countries have tried to curb individual religious freedoms and retain privileges for the Orthodox majorities (despite the fact that after decades of communist repression of religion these majorities were mostly projections rather than backed up by hard sociological data). Following the collapse of the Soviet Union, the Russian Orthodox Church, for example, was increasingly wary about the phenomenon of proselytization by other faith groups among the potential Orthodox flock. This concern translated into restrictive legislation on religious freedom in the 1997 Russian Law on Freedom of Conscience and Religious Organizations, accompanied by an official discourse of Russian “traditional religions,” traditional meaning historically, culturally, and ethnically rooted in the historical multiethnic Russian empire.17 Alternatively, many Orthodox theologians have incorporated modern individual liberty as a positive challenge into their religious self-understanding. They emphasize the centrality of divine-human freedom and of free choice, rather than coercion, in religion. The one Orthodox author who has maybe gone the furthest in spelling out this lesson is Aristotle Papanikolaou, when he argues that it should be in the interest of all Orthodox Churches to facilitate the maximum religious freedom in their respective societies in order to render the choice of Orthodox Christianity truly free.18

Anthropocentric Morality The third central element of the modern condition is mastery over the natural and social world. What is meant by this is the empowerment of the individual

17 Derek H. Davis, “Editorial:  Russia’s New Law on Religion:  Progress or Regress?,” Journal of Church and State 39 (1997): 645–56. 18 Aristotle Papanikolaou, The Mystical as Political:  Democracy and Non-radical Orthodoxy (Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press, 2012).

22

22

Kristina Stoeckl

to interact intentionally with himself or herself and with the surrounding world. From the religious point of view the modern command to mastery constitutes a dual challenge: first, because religion itself becomes an object of human mastery; and second, because an anthropocentric morality challenges the way in which religion sets limits to human mastery. In the first sense, mastery refers to individual believers’ selectivity regarding items of faith. Most believers today, at least in the West, no longer consider themselves “born into” a religion. Instead of accepting the whole package that comes along with a religious confession, they tend to select those bits and pieces that best meet their individual preferences. Selectivity is a characteristic feature of modern religiosity. In a highly individualized form of religiosity, believers select from the religious offer those contents that they consider most convincing, possibly extending their religiosity to nonchurch arenas (Davie 1994). Such selfconstructed spiritualities may or may not translate into political theologies. They could be radically private and politically “silent,” or they could be public in a very selective way and with regard to specific concerns, for example, ecology. The second aspect of mastery concerns public and individual morality. Political theologies are essentially challenged by the anthropocentric morality that modernity brings about. Inasmuch as they conceive of the individual in the context of a divine plan, the challenge in front of all political theologies is whether they seek to generalize their moral intuition and to translate the divine will into political structures, claiming that they have privileged access to the correct interpretation of the divine plan, or whether they consciously refrain from making concrete political claims, emphasizing, instead, the apophatic, unknowable nature of the divine plan and the particularity of the choice made by the believer. The point becomes clearer when we consider the example of a morally controversial topic like prenatal diagnostics. This is a good example, because it is the direct result of human advancement in medicine and biotechnology, paired with the modern drive to mastery over nature itself. Political theologies can effectively take two stances on this problem:  the first is universalist, the second particularist. From a universalist political theological standpoint, which is adopted by the Catholic and Orthodox Christian Churches, limitless human mastery over life and death is problematic from an ethical point of view and sinful from a religious point of view. Catholics and Orthodox Christians may therefore consider it desirable that limits to human mastery over human nature become a general norm, and may work, as religious constituency, toward laws of the state that limit prenatal diagnostics. From a particularist political theological standpoint, on the contrary, a believer would not present his or her religious norms about the sanctity of life as generalizable. The believer acting on his or her conviction would act as a testimony, but would not recur to a political strategy. Such a political theology would conceive of limits to human mastery only in the particular context of those who profess a certain belief, but not in the general context of public political culture and legislation.

23

Modernity and Political Theologies

23

Table 1 Political theologies under conditions of modernity Modernity

Political theologies

Religious-cultural disconnect (rupture)

Religious freedom (liberty)

Anthropocentric morality (mastery)

I.1. Attempt to reconnect secular culture and religious past

II.1. Religious freedom as a sign of apostasy

III.1. Universalistic standpoint: religious morality as public norm

I.2. Pure-faith mode

II.2. Freedom as part and parcel of the religious condition

III.2. Particularist standpoint: religious morality as testimony

To summarize, the modern condition presents three distinct challenges to religions: the religious-cultural disconnect (rupture), religious freedom (liberty), and an anthropocentric public morality (mastery). Political theologies are standpoints that religious people formulate in response to these challenges. I have distinguished two possible responses for each of the three challenges. Needless to say that there can be more than two in each of these cases, but the two responses I have spelled out delineate a continuum along which possible reactions may be situated. Table 1 schematizes this model. The advantage of this model over Habermas’s model of modernization outlined at the beginning of this chapter is that it indicates three broad areas where confrontation between religious worldviews and modernity should be expected and it delimits a range of possible or likely responses, without setting any thresholds to indicate when a religious tradition has “come to terms with modernity.” “Coming to terms with modernity” means, in my model, confronting the three structural challenges of modernity—rupture, liberty, and mastery. We live in modern times. If one thinks of modernity as inherently dialectical, the range of conflictual responses vis-à-vis modernity spelled out by political theologies appears less a problem than an inevitable result of the modern condition. It can be helpful to remember that this modern condition was experienced as constructive tension by philosophers like Karl Marx and Friedrich Nietzsche, from the turn of the nineteenth century to the twentieth century. These nineteenth-century thinkers were “simultaneously enthusiasts and enemies of modern life, wrestling inexhaustibly with its ambiguities and contradictions,”19 and their self-irony and inner tensions stand in contrast to the flat dichotomizations that inform much of our contemporary debates. The study of different political theologies can therefore teach us as much about religions as it tells us about the predicaments of modernity.

19 Marshall Berman, All That Is Solid Melts into Air:  The Experience of Modernity (London: Verso, 1983), p. 5.

24

24

Kristina Stoeckl

Conclusion By way of a conclusion I would like to exemplify how some of the chapters contained in this book can be situated in the model I have just outlined. The political theology of Justin Popović, described by Bogdan Lubardić in his contribution, is an example for a definition of Serbian culture and Orthodox religion as reconnected, with conservative implications for society and politics (Chapter  11); whereas the chapters by Davor Džalto and Athanasios Papathanasiou each outline Orthodox versions of the religious-cultural disconnect, not in a pure-faith mode, but in a free-thinking and anarchist mode (Chapters 6 and 5, respectively). Effie Fokas’s chapter gives examples of cases where politics in Orthodox majority countries have come into conflict with European religious freedom norms. The background for all of these conflicts is the view that religious freedom is a sign of apostasy and that an Orthodox society should contain by law the effects of secularization on freedom of conscience (Chapter 4). Exactly the opposite viewpoint is presented by Alexander Kyrlezhev, who argues that an Orthodox political theology would need to take in the idea that religious freedom is a part of the divine plan for salvation: a view shared by Pantelis Kalaitzidis and developed in the context of an eschatological vision of the church (Chapters 9 and 8, respectively). The question of the Orthodox attitude to profane, anthropocentric morality is, finally, the topic of both Cyril Hovorun and Aristotle Papanikolaou. A  civil religion presents, in fact, a universalistic religious morality, which pertains to be valid for all citizens (Chapters  14 and 12, respectively). Both Hovorun and Papanikolaou point out how such a view can become problematic for the church itself, which finds itself reduced to being a defender of moral conduct, rather than an agent of divinehuman communication. Their proposals therefore move in the direction of the religious as a particularist moral standpoint that keeps away from trying to impose religious moral codes onto society as a whole. Taken together, the chapters in this book not only convey how broad the range of Orthodox political theologies is today, but also address political modernity from a variety of angles, bringing out how the confrontation with political modernity is specific neither to Orthodoxy, nor to religion, but is our common challenge.

25

Chapter 2 P O L I T IC A L T H E O L O G Y I N O RT HO D OX C H R I S T IA N C O N T E X T S :   S P E C I F IC I T I E S A N D P A RT IC U L A R I T I E S I N C OM PA R I S O N W I T H W E S T E R N L AT I N C H R I ST IA N I T Y Vasilios N. Makrides

Introduction The relations between Christianity and the broad domain of politics including the state undoubtedly constitute a huge and multidimensional topic, which has attracted massive interest from numerous and mostly opposite and conflicting perspectives throughout the centuries. It is an issue that has never stopped concerning and even bothering Christian, secular, and other actors from the first century ad up to our day, a fact that has given rise to an immense number of related source texts and secondary literature. It goes without saying that the relations between Christianity and the political sphere were articulated in abundant local contexts and specific sociocultural constellations. In some cases, Christianity represented the majority population within a given sociopolitical unit, a fact that has accordingly influenced its relationship with the ruling political elites and led to it often becoming the official state religion. In other cases, Christianity was a minority religion and was found under a foreign rule (e.g., Islam), a fact that has again affected significantly its relationship with political authorities and its concomitant expectations. It is further vital to distinguish between pre-modern and modern church-state relations, which exhibit different characteristics due to the radical and conflictual sociopolitical changes that have taken place in modern times; for instance, secularization, churchstate separation, and the religious neutrality of the state. Most of these developments took place in the European continent and especially in Western Europe. Although they exerted strong influences worldwide later on in non-Western contexts in the wake of overseas expansion, colonization, and modernization (westernization), things developed there in many respects differently (cf. the decoupling of secularization and modernization and the “multiple modernities” approach). Furthermore, the model of church-state relations predominant in Orthodox Christianity, basically in Eastern and Southeastern Europe, is also distinct from the Western Latin one, a fact that has had many repercussions, not only historically

26

26

Vasilios N. Makrides

in Byzantium, but also up until today.1 It appears quite pertinent thus to try to compare the Orthodox Christian and the Western Christian relations with politics aimed at locating, analyzing, and understanding their different trajectories across history without value judgments, as this may reveal a lot about the religio-cultural idiosyncrasies of the two worlds. This also concerns the issue of political theology, which has a long history and has acquired various and partly interrelated connotations and meanings.2 In the course of the twentieth century, political theology has in fact become an academic discipline, which has equally concerned not only political philosophy, but also Christian theology while leading to vivid discussions and debates among these and other related scholarly realms. In this specific modern sense, political theology is understood as a way to analyze the complex interface between Christian theology and politics. This may include the patent and latent influences of theological ideas and concepts on political theory, practices, and state structures. In this respect, it is about a particular theory of state, society, and law aimed at legitimizing a related social symbolic imaginary—all this in the wake of the groundbreaking and much-debated work of Carl Schmitt. The term may also refer to a specific theological trend, which is critical of political authority, society, and the church itself. The question is of course whether we can talk of a political theology in a broader framework, for example, with regard to previous eras of Christian history, given the already mentioned strong bond between church and political power since early Christianity; or concerning the political significance of all religious activities. Can or should any attempt to correlate or fuse church and politics across Christian history be subsumed under the umbrella term “political theology”? Opinions diverge on this question, as many scholars prefer to use various other and partly similar terms to describe such phenomena (theology of politics, theological politics, theo-politics, and so on). The main purpose is thereby to indicate the subtle and fine distinctions between them, which are stricto sensu different from the notion of political theology developed during the twentieth century. Generally speaking, the term “political theology” can be used to describe the theoretical elaborations and reflections, both in history and at present, on the overall relationship between Christianity and political power.3 Apart from the role of the church in maintaining political order or secularized theological concepts in politics, this may also include both the political consequences of theological

1 For a valuable overview, see Lucian N. Leustean (ed.), Eastern Christianity and Politics in the Twenty-First Century (London: Routledge, 2014). 2 Carsten Bagge Lautsen, “Studying Politics and Religion: How to Distinguish Religious Politics, Civil Religion, Political Religion, and Political Theology,” Journal of Religion in Europe 6 (2013): 428–63. 3 No doubt, other terms may also be used for the same purpose, such as “political philosophy”:  Francis Dvornik, Early Christian and Byzantine Political Philosophy: Origins and Background, 2  vols. (Washington, DC:  Dumbarton Oaks Center for Byzantine Studies, 1966).

27

Political Theology in Orthodox Christian Contexts

27

principles and concepts, and political agendas containing parts of theology. No doubt, such cases can be located, albeit in differing forms and with varying intensity (e.g., in theological texts, in council decisions, in state legislation), across the whole spectrum of Christian history. Looking at the great variety of such cases, it is perhaps more accurate to talk about political theologies in the plural, yet, for the purpose of this chapter, looking at this phenomenon as a whole, the singular form is more pertinent. By taking even a cursory look at the issue of political theology in the Latin West and the Orthodox East, one immediately realizes an obvious asymmetry between them. In short, the entire topic is comprehensively and systematically developed, theoretically reflected on and quite prominent in the Western Christian discourse, theological and otherwise, and has been promoted by various actors, both individual and institutional, Christian and secular alike. On the contrary, the same issue is clearly far less noticeable in the Orthodox Christian discourse, not only historically, but also in modern times. A fresh interest in this issue has been triggered by the radical sociopolitical changes at the end of the twentieth century, especially the fall of Communism in many predominantly Orthodox countries of Eastern and Southeastern Europe. Furthermore, in many related cases, Orthodox thought has been influenced by Western developments in political theology, a fact that has also led to the articulation of a specific Orthodox political theology, usually in distinction to the Western one. Yet, we are mostly talking here about individual Orthodox attempts, which did not enjoy an official endorsement and establishment. Hence, the differences between East and West are quite conspicuous here, and the question is why. To mention a characteristic example:  In a recent lengthy companion to political theology of 566 pages in total, only one chapter of 14 pages deals with Orthodox political theology, whereas the rest of the volume deals with the political theology in the Western world or is written by Western scholars reflecting the related views and presuppositions on the topic.4 In addition, a look at some recently published compendia to the Orthodox Christian world reveals that the issues of an Orthodox political theology are generally not addressed.5 This obvious difference between East and West has led some scholars to claim that Orthodox Christianity lacks political theology altogether. Pantelis Kalaitzidis has thus attempted to locate several reasons to which this deficit on the Orthodox side may be attributed, for example, to the position of the church vis-à-vis the state in Byzantium and to the later nationalization of Orthodox Christianity.6 Yet, if we 4 Peter Scott and William T. Cavanaugh (eds.), The Blackwell Companion to Political Theology (Malden, MA: Blackwell, 2004). 5 Ken Parry et  al. (eds.), The Blackwell Dictionary of Eastern Christianity (Oxford:  Blackwell, 2001); Mary B. Cunningham and Elizabeth Theokritoff (eds.), The Cambridge Companion to Orthodox Christian Theology (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2008); Ken Parry (ed.), The Blackwell Companion to Eastern Christianity (Malden, MA: Blackwell, 2010); John Anthony McGuckin (ed.), The Encyclopedia of Eastern Orthodox Christianity, Vols. 1–2 (Oxford: Wiley-Blackwell, 2011). 6 Pantelis Kalaitzidis, Orthodoxy and Political Theology, trans. Fr. Gregory Edwards (Geneva: WCC, 2012), pp. 65–80.

28

28

Vasilios N. Makrides

are to understand this difference by reference to the absence of a Western Christian type of political theology in the Orthodox East, then such a claim is valid. In reality, we do not encounter Western political theology and its particular logic in the Orthodox East, a fact understandable for many historical, sociopolitical, and other reasons. However, it is more precise to talk about an underdevelopment of political theology in Orthodox contexts, not about its complete absence. After all, the term as such is not unknown to the Orthodox vocabulary of today, and there have been attempts, both historically and in modern times, to formulate a specific Orthodox political theology.7 Despite its still limited influence, there is certainly a tradition of Orthodox political theology. What still remains to be examined pertains basically to the reasons behind this evident East-West difference, which is the focus of this chapter. The reasons for this, which are in many cases closely intertwined, fall grosso modo under the following three broad categories.

The Relations between Christianity and Politics in the East and West The first category of reasons deals with the wide topic of the relations between Christianity and politics (including church-state relations on an institutional basis) since the early church, a fact that has already played a seminal role in the differentiation between the East and West in the Christian Roman Empire. No doubt, this estrangement is due to a wide variety of reasons (e.g., theological, cultural, ecclesiastical), which finally led to the separation of the two churches and worlds. Yet, it is clear from varied evidence that the overall relations between Christianity and politics came to be articulated differently in the East and West, even from an early period, and played a decisive role in the growing differentiation of the two worlds. This becomes clear if we take into consideration the developments in the fourth and fifth centuries in the frame of Christianity’s ongoing establishment in the Roman Empire. In the East, the relations between church and state followed the model of συμφωνία (symphony, harmony), evidenced by the now famous sixth novel of Emperor Justinian I  of 535.8 According to this East Roman (Byzantine) model, the care of worldly affairs (τῶν ἀνθρωπίνων) was considered to be the primary obligation of the state and political leaders, not of the church and its representatives, who were expected to focus more on the divine aspects (τοῖς θείοις). Even so, both realms, the sacerdotium (ἱερωσύνη) and the imperium (βασιλεία), were conceived as being bound inextricably together, while their representatives were

7 Aristotle Papanikolaou, The Mystical as Political:  Democracy and Non-radical Orthodoxy (Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press, 2012), pp. 13–54. 8 Ernest Barker, Social and Political Thought in Byzantium from Justinian I to the Last Palaeologus (Oxford:  Clarendon Press, 1957), pp. 75–76; Adolf Martin Ritter, “Kirche and Staat” im Denken des frühen Christentums: Texte und Kommentare zum Thema Religion und Politik in der Antike (Bern: Peter Lang, 2005), pp. 246–49.

29

Political Theology in Orthodox Christian Contexts

29

seen as God-ordained stewards and curators for the welfare of humankind. The complementarity between the religious and the mundane has always remained a normative ideal in the Orthodox East and has reflected a more holistic and integrated vision of the world. Church and politics were considered to stem from the same divine source, namely, God, and, despite their different jurisdictions, had a common goal. It was a model of unity, cooperation, unanimity, and reciprocity between the religious and the mundane, which left its mark in the Orthodox East throughout the centuries, even in modern times despite the advent of the nationstate. In real terms, though, Justinian claimed and attempted to control the church in total,9 and this is also what successive emperors tried to do. All in all, this relates to the notorious Byzantine caesaropapism, which should, however, be understood in a differentiated way, given that the church was not a mere pawn to the will of the emperor.10 Be that as it may, the point is that the ideal of a symphonic complementarity between church and state left its strong mark in the Orthodox symbolic imaginary. No doubt, there were local variations in the application of this model later on in the history of the Orthodox world, such as in Tsarist Russia,11 yet some elements always remained constant. Among other things, the political realm ideally had to be permeated by Christian principles and convictions. More specifically, due to the existence of a strong, central, imperial political structure throughout Byzantine history (330–1453), the church never felt the need to address social issues independently of the state and develop its own autonomous social agenda and state theory. No doubt, it cared for societal and political matters, given also that human beings were regarded in the Greek patristic tradition as clearly having a political dimension and responsibility.12 Yet, all this took place in an auxiliary way at the side of the state. The church never asked for

9 Manfred Clauss, “Die συμφωνία von Kirche und Staat zur Zeit Justinians,” in Klassisches Altertum, Spätantike und frühes Christentum, Festschrift Adolf Lippold, ed. Karlheinz Dietz, Dieter Hennig, and Hans Kaletsch (Würzburg:  Der Christliche Osten, 1993), pp. 579–93; Klaus Bringmann, “Imperium und Sacerdotium: Bemerkungen zu ihrem ungeklärten Verhältnis in der Spätantike,” in Imperium Romanum, Festschrift Karl Christ, ed. Peter Kneissl and Volker Losemann (Stuttgart: Franz Steiner Verlag, 1998), pp. 61–72. 10 Speros Vryonis, Jr., Speros, “The Patriarchate of Constantinople and the state,” in Orthodoxy and Western Culture:  A  Collection of Essays Honoring Jaroslav Pelikan on His Eightieth Birthday, ed. Valerie Hotchkiss and Patrick Henry (Crestwood, NY: St. Vladimir’s Seminary Press, 2005), pp. 109–23; Judith Herrin, Byzantium:  The Surprising Life of a Medieval Empire (London: Penguin, 2008), pp. 33–49. 11 Konstantin Kostjuk, Der Begriff des Politischen in der russisch-orthodoxen Tradition:  Zum Verhältnis von Kirche, Staat und Gesellschaft in Rußland (Paderborn: Schöningh, 2005); Boris A. Uspenskij and Victor M. Zhinov, Tsar and God and Other Essays in Russian Cultural Semiotics, trans. Marcus Levitt (Boston: Academic Studies Press, 2012). 12 Theodor Nikolaou, “Der Mensch als politisches Lebewesen bei Basilios dem Grossen,” Vigiliae Christianae 35 (1981): 24–31.

30

30

Vasilios N. Makrides

or claimed political power for itself, nor would that have been possible under the premises of the symphony model. This “division of labor” and jurisdictions had an immediate impact on the articulation of Orthodox political theology, which did not fundamentally challenge imperial power and fit well into the predominant pattern of symphony between church and state. Apart from its social criticism, Orthodox political theology was basically formulated in order to legitimize the existing political order, which always had to support the church and protect the true Christian faith, namely, Orthodoxy. Further, political theology here never became an area of independent activity of the official church or of individual actors. All this was closely connected with Christian eschatology and its political significance in the frame of the Byzantine Empire. The latter was considered as the materialization of the Kingdom of God on earth and a reflection of the heavenly kingdom, given also that the emperor was thought of as standing in the place of Jesus Christ.13 The strong link between Christian monotheism as the sole true revealed faith and Roman imperial monarchy with its universal claims was instrumental in this context, as eloquently formulated in the political theology of the bishop of Caesarea Eusebius, centered on the person of Emperor Constantine I.14 The Latin West, on the contrary, due to different religious and sociohistorical developments, opted for another model of the church’s relation to the world and the political sphere, which was marked by their eventual separation and continuous tension. Western Christian political theology originated quite early on.15 But the elaborations of Augustine on the “two cities” (civitates), the earthly and the divine, and on their tenacious duality in the early fifth century set the decisive guidelines for later developments here.16 Especially after the political end of the Western Roman Empire in 476, the Church of Rome was basically left

13 Gerhard Podskalsky, Byzantinische Reichseschatologie:  Die Periodisierung der Weltgeschichte in den vier Grossreichen (Daniel 2 u. 7) und der tausendjährigen Friedensreiche (Apok. 20). Eine motivgeschichtliche Untersuchung (Munich: Fink, 1972); Steven Runciman, The Byzantine Theocracy (Cambridge:  Cambridge University Press, 1977 [1st ed.]; 2003 [paperback]). 14 Daniel Stringer, “The Political Theology of Eusebius Pamphili, Bishop of Caesarea,” The Patristic and Byzantine Review 2 (1982):  136–50; Michael J. Hollerich, “Religion and Politics in the Writings of Eusebius:  Reassessing the First ‘Court Theologian,’ ” Church History 59 (1990):  309–25; Timothy David Barnes, Constantine and Eusebius (Cambridge, MA:  Harvard University Press, 1993); Claudia Rapp, “Imperial Ideology in the Making: Eusebius of Caesarea on Constantine as ‘Bishop,’ ” The Journal of Theological Studies 49 (1998):  685–95; Marilena Amerise, “Monotheism and the Monarchy:  The Christian Emperor and the Cult of the Sun in Eusebius of Caesarea,” Jahrbuch für Antike und Christentum 50 (2007):  72–84; Devin Singh, “Eusebius as Political Theologian:  The Legend Continues,” The Harvard Theological Review 108 (2015): 129–54. 15 Lester L. Field, Jr., Liberty, Dominion, and the Two Swords: On the Origins of Western Political Theology (180–398) (Notre Dame, IN: Notre Dame University Press, 1998). 16 Ritter, “Kirche and Staat,” pp. 164–243.

31

Political Theology in Orthodox Christian Contexts

31

alone without any stable political ally. This led to two major developments that shaped its future course. On one hand, the church reaffirmed its fundamental independence from political power and intervention, which had already been evident earlier (cf. the views of Bishop Ambrosius of Milan17). On the other hand, the church claimed superiority over politics in general on the grounds of its divine origin and redeeming power. This double claim was powerfully manifested in the theory about the “two powers,” the spiritual, sacred authority (auctoritas) and the hierarchically lower temporal, royal/imperial power (potestas), by Pope Gelasius I (492–96). This was formulated in a letter titled Duo sunt and addressed to Byzantine Emperor Anastasios I, aimed at stopping any political interventions in the West.18 It was a theory found in various forms later on in the West, for example, regarding the spiritual and the inferior temporal “sword,” thus supporting the church’s right to influence politics and society at large. Apart from papal supremacy, Gelasius’s text exhibited a clear world-affirming attitude, given that the world was regarded as a domain to be influenced or even controlled by the church. The fundamental autonomy of the church from political intervention remained a cardinal characteristic in the Western symbolic imaginary and was preserved like this up to the modern era. Within this context, the church remained free, self-governing, sovereign, and self-confident, yet without a permanent political structure at its side—contrary to the situation in Byzantium. The various alliances of the popes with political leaders (e.g., the Carolingians in the eighth and ninth centuries) were mostly occasional and contingent. They were not meant to abolish the church’s fundamental autonomy, despite continuing political pressure. In the Latin West, thus, tension, confrontation, and conflict between the ecclesiastical and the political realm clearly dominated. This is quite evident in the well-known Investiture Controversy between popes and German emperors (eleventh to twelfth centuries), which is altogether absent from Byzantium.19 Another interesting point of comparison between East and West in this context concerns the political function of the church itself. In the Latin West, the church tried, on one hand, to remain independent from external political control, yet on the other, it undertook specific political functions and acquired political power for itself. The foundation of the Papal states, a group of territories in central Italy run by the popes from 754 to 1870, is a case in point with long-term repercussions (cf. the modern foundation of a Vatican City State). By raising political claims the church was subsequently forced to address numerous issues that a state institution normally would. This included, among other things, the articulation of its own elaborated state theory and political theology, which in turn proved to be a source of conflict with political actors in the West and their pretensions for power and

17 Ibid., pp. 134–47. 18 Ibid., pp. 244–47; Barker, Social and Political Thought, pp. 107–09. 19 Angeliki Laiou-Thomadakis, “Οἱ δύο ἐξουσίες. Ἡ διαμάχη μεταξὺ Παπῶν καὶ Αὐτοκρατόρων καὶ οἱ θεωρίες τῶν Βυζαντινῶν” [“The Two Powers. The Conflict between the Popes and the Emperors and the Views of the Byzantines”], Thisaurismata 15 (1978): 106–18.

32

32

Vasilios N. Makrides

control. It is exactly out of this particular constellation that the church in the West felt a more intense need to deal independently with various nonreligious, worldly issues, including politics, and to articulate effective strategies. This pervasive tension between church and state in the West also explains why political theology discourses were formulated here by both the church and sociopolitical actors, usually independently of one another. All of them claimed autonomy and superiority over the other, and thus had a vivid interest in controlling this broad field according to their own logic, a fact that led to the elaboration of more detailed, articulated, and reflected forms of political theology. The differences between East and West in church-state relations and their concomitant political theologies do not solely reflect the situation during the Middle Ages. They also had a huge impact on subsequent developments, especially in the Western world, as it underwent radical changes and transformations since early modern times, not least in the domain of religion in the wake of the Reformation. All this also affected the church’s position in society and its overall relationship with politics. More about these changes is mentioned in a later section, yet it should be emphasized here that the old Western model of church-state separation was further continued in modern times by becoming even stronger and resilient. This can clearly be observed in various forms in Western modern liberal democracies. It is out of this long tradition that the articulation of modern political theology in the West took place in a more systematic way. Challenged by modernity and discredited to a large degree by secular social movements and modern ideologies, the Roman Catholic Church tried to respond more persuasively and effectively, a fact that led to considerable advances in its own political thinking and self-understanding. Despite numerous differences, the Protestant Churches basically grew out of the same, long Western tradition. They were also challenged by modernity, which forced them to address social and political issues in their own way. Although the Protestant Churches did not raise political claims and were easily adapted to the modern pattern of church-state separation, they remained particularly focused on worldly affairs, political, social, or otherwise, and this led them finally to develop an acute social consciousness and criticism as well. All this affected, in turn, the formulation of a Protestant political theology, which not only flourished, but was also further expanded to include new topics of interest, realms, and ideas. It goes without saying that all the above changes did not matter much to the Orthodox East, which basically continued the line of its own traditional political theology. The church lacked the specific dealing with the political realm in the Western sense and usually refrained from seeking political power and influence. It also avoided undertaking a leading role in addressing worldly and political issues, which were thought to constitute the main area of concern for the state. The church could solely address such issues in a complementary way, assisting the state, but never making the state its priority. All this had an impact on Orthodox political theology, which developed usually in close connection with the respective political authorities, not independently. After all, there was a constant dependence of the church on the state. It is also not accidental that some political leaders (e.g.,

33

Political Theology in Orthodox Christian Contexts

33

Wallachian Prince Neagoe Basarab in the early sixteenth century20) developed an analogous political theology in diverse treatises, which were in accordance with Orthodox orientations and principles. This reflected, in turn, the influential ideal of symphony between church and politics and their convergence. This sense of an established status quo here, which was not supposed to be overthrown, also influenced Orthodox political theology. This was not regarded as a way to cope with a novel situation or related claims, but as a way of better explaining and legitimizing the already existing and accepted order. In this respect, it could not be considered particularly innovative and hardly broke new ground. There was a period in the history of Eastern Orthodoxy, however, when the church acquired a greater responsibility over sociopolitical issues. This took place under Ottoman rule in the Balkans in the case of the Patriarchate of Constantinople, which was entrusted with the nonreligious affairs of the Orthodox Millet as well. Nevertheless, this was seen as an exception, not as the rule. This is why the church was again restricted to its own religious domain once political elites took the lead in the liberated Balkan states. Interestingly enough, the situation in Ottoman times did not force the church to elaborate more on a fresh political theology, an indication that such issues did not belong to its priorities. Additional factors also played a role in inhibiting the stronger development of an Orthodox political theology, for example, the strong otherworldly orientations, which were generally more predominant in Eastern than in Western Christianity. Such orientations had many repercussions and led many Orthodox to withdraw from the world and neglect social action.21 From such a perspective, eternal life after death was a priority and a crucial criterion in evaluating all transient earthly developments and situations including politics. The latter was consequently interpreted as a “lesser evil” in the context of God’s plan for humankind, namely, as a means of controlling the consequences of the original sin and leading humans to observe God’s precepts within the bounds of history. This is why political leaders had to be pious, devout, and moral, thus enabling the will of God to be realized on earth. It is clear then that politics had a relative and limited value, a diachronically dominant evaluation in the Orthodox world.22 Within such a frame of reference, the articulation of an Orthodox political theology was certainly neither a priority nor a must. More importantly, for some Orthodox, such a preoccupation would be an indication that the church has fallen victim to worldliness and neglects eschatology.

20 Augustine Casiday, “Neagoe Basarab,” in The Orthodox Christian World, ed. Augustine Casiday (London: Routledge, 2012), pp. 310–17. 21 Demosthenes Savramis, “Max Webers Beitrag zum besseren Verständnis der ostkirchlichen ‘außerweltlichen’ Askese,” Kölner Zeitschrift für Soziologie und Sozialpsychologie (Sonderheft) 7 (1963): 334–58. 22 Vasilios N. Makrides, “Die politische Aufgabe der Kirche:  Bemerkungen anhand der Sozialkonzeption der Russischen Orthodoxen Kirche,” in Die politische Aufgabe von Religion: Perspektiven der drei monotheistischen Religionen, ed. Irene Dingel and Christiane Tietz (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2011), pp. 219–43.

34

34

Vasilios N. Makrides

The differences with regard to Roman Catholicism and Protestantism here are again more than conspicuous. In fact, the Roman Catholic Church has its own strong otherworldly elements, yet at the same time it exhibits a strong world-affirming attitude, which may also explain the thriving of political theology in its context.

Theological Reflection, Innovation, and Change in the East and West Setting aside the sociopolitical realm and its impact on political theology in the East and West, let us consider another cluster of reasons that may explain the observed differences between them. This has a lot to do with doing theology and developing theological reflection and reasoning, which is a crucial step toward the articulation of a coherent theoretical background of a given religious system.23 This theologization process took place early enough in different forms in the East and West. Byzantine theology, despite its very productive early period, became more and more traditionalist in later centuries and preferred to be oriented toward the established authorities of the past (e.g., the Cappadocian Church Fathers, the decisions of the Ecumenical Councils), which were never challenged. The latter took place solely in a few isolated instances, which ended in persecution and silencing in most cases. In addition, there was a strong and influential current of Byzantine theology, which remained mostly otherworldly focused and apophatic, putting emphasis on experience, ascetic practices, mysticism, orthopraxy, revelation, and mystery.24 Theology never became a scientific enterprise here and was never rationalized and systematized to the degree that was in the West.25 No doubt, there were signs of a humanistic theology in Byzantium as well,26 yet its long-term influence was rather limited and constrained by several factors. Most importantly, it did not develop in the same way and with the same vigor, innovative power, and impact as was the case in the West over a long period of time. All this also relates to the wider anti-formalist spirit characterizing Orthodox Christianity in general. From this perspective, Latin theological systematization was seen as too binding

23 Niklas Luhmann, Funktion der Religion (Frankfurt am Main:  Suhrkamp, 1977), pp. 72–181. 24 Karl-Heinz Uthemann and Alexander P. Kazhdan, “Theology,” in The Oxford Dictionary of Byzantium, Vol. 3, ed. Alexander P. Kazhdan (Oxford:  Oxford University Press, 1991), pp. 2057–60. 25 Gerhard Podskalsky, Theologie und Philosophie in Byzanz:  Der Streit um die theologische Methodik in der spätbyzantinischen Geistesgeschichte (14./15. Jahrhundert), seine systematischen Grundlagen und seine historische Entwicklung (Munich: Beck, 1977); Gerhard Podskalsky, “Die griechisch-byzantinische Theologie und ihre Methode:  Aspekte und Perspektiven eines ökumenischen Problems,” Theologie und Philosophie 58 (1983): 71–87. 26 Gerhard Podskalsky, Von Photios zu Bessarion: Der Vorrang humanistisch geprägter Theologie in Byzanz und deren bleibende Bedeutung (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2003).

35

Political Theology in Orthodox Christian Contexts

35

and inflexible and as curtailing divine and human freedom and openness. It is not accidental to find Orthodox critiques today of academic theology in universities as Western adulterations of the Orthodox ethos and as deviating from the genuine Orthodox tradition and spirit.27 Considering the long anti-formalist trajectories within Orthodox Christianity, it becomes understandable why this religious and theological milieu was not particularly conducive toward promulgating a more systematically articulated political theology. By contrast, in Western theology generally, early enough, there were signs of a more rational and critical inquiry and concomitant reflection. This also had to do with the stronger influence of the Roman law and the role of philosophy in the Latin West—as attested, for instance, in the works of Tertullian and Augustine.28 It is very important that this spirit left a vivid legacy and bore fruits later on, especially from the period of Scholastic theology in the High Middle Ages to modern times. It was a process of rationalization, scientification, and systematization of theological discourse, which rendered theology more worldly. This is evident in attempts to render the Divine Revelation compatible with human reason and integrate theology as a sacra scientia into the educational establishment of the day. Once more, this was hardly a process without tensions and conflicts, especially in modern times when theological arguments underwent a vigorous critique and refutation. Yet, this again forced the church to reflect further on its theological foundations and come up with new ideas and strategies. It was thus about a long intellectualization process, which did not only affect theology as such, but other church domains as well (e.g., canon law). Bearing this in mind, we also cannot understand the continuing, systematic, and enhanced reflection on political theology in the Latin West apart from this dominant tradition and spirit. It goes without saying that the articulation of a more methodically conceived political theology presupposes a predilection for theoretical analysis and extrapolations, creative and critical reflection, an innovative spirit, rationalizing tendencies, and synthetic abilities. In addition, the whole issue has a lot to do with the willingness of the church to enter into a dialogue with nonreligious (including secular) actors. To this purpose, the conditions in the West were far more pertinent and appropriate than those in the East, a crucial parameter connected with the potential for theological change and innovation.29

27 Georg Metallinos, “Das Problem der deutschen Einflüsse auf die griechische akademische Theologie in der Gründungsphase der Athener Universität,” Orthodoxes Forum 3 (1989): 83–91. 28 Gerhard Podskalsky, “Orthodoxe und westliche Theologie,” Jahrbuch der Österreichischen Byzantinistik 31 (1981):  513–27; Gerhard Podskalsky, Zur Hermeneutik des theologischen Ost-West-Gesprächs in historischer Perspektive (Erfurt:  University of Erfurt, 2002). 29 Vasilios N. Makrides, “Orthodox Christianity, Change, Innovation: Contradictions in Terms?,” in Innovation in the Orthodox Christian Tradition? The Question of Change in Greek Orthodox Thought and Practice, ed. Trine Stauning Willert and Lina MolokotosLiederman (Farnham: Ashgate, 2012), pp. 19–50.

36

36

Vasilios N. Makrides

All this can become more evident from an overview of the development of Western political theology in its various manifestations in history and at present, based on its critical function toward various Christian and state conceptions and visions.30 Its early sources can be located in the “tripartite theology” (theologia tripertita) of the pagan Roman politician and writer Marcus Terentius Varro (116– 27 bc). One of the three kinds of theology he suggested was the “theologia civilis,” namely, a theology related to the sociopolitical functions of religion. Varro’s views, though, were sharply criticized by Augustine, who in his De civitate Dei formulated in turn a detailed, highly reflected, and dualistic “theology of history” in an attempt to explain historical events eschatologically, to legitimize the Christian worldview against pagan criticism, and to promote the tenacious tension between Christian and secular visions. If we compare Augustine’s political theology with Eusebius’s attempt in the East to legitimize the Christian politics of monarchy and imperial authority as ordained by God for human society in imitation of divine sovereignty over the universe, we may locate significant differences. It is not only about two differing views of Christianity and politics, which were later on influential in the East and West, respectively; but also a difference in the degree of reflection, discursive power, breadth of knowledge, and synthetic abilities, which are more evident in Augustine’s work.31 Issues of political theology were treated in the West later on as well, as by Thomas Aquinas. But a real revolution in the renewed reflection on political theology occurred from the seventeenth century onward in Western Europe, which has continued to this day in numerous and diverse ways and with different objectives. It is about highly reflected and theoretically articulated attempts to conceptualize political theology in the frame of modernity and postmodernity, which dominate the respective fields of research and discussion. Interestingly enough, this was accomplished by both Christian and other actors (political, scholarly, secular, and so on), a fact continuously enabling the fruitful interaction between them, regardless of differences, and the generation of fresh and innovative perspectives and directions for future research. Among other things, this is obvious in the “Compendium of the Social Doctrine of the Church,” issued by the Pontifical Council for Justice and Peace of the Vatican in 2004. It should not occasion surprise then that the Orthodox are basically absent from this ample and rich interdisciplinary discussion on political theology in modern times, a fact rendering their relevance to the whole topic rather limited. Their own sources on this issue, Byzantine and otherwise, do not appear to have

30 Bernd Wacker and Jürgen Manemann, “ ‘Politische Theologie’:  Eine Skizze zur Geschichte und aktuellen Diskussion des Begriffs,” Jahrbuch Politische Theologie 5 (2008): 28–65. 31 Sabrina Inowlocki and Claudio Zamagni (eds.), Reconsidering Eusebius:  Collected Papers on Literary, Historical and Theological Issues (Leiden:  Brill, 2011); Johannes van Oort, Jerusalem and Babylon: A Study of Augustine’s “City of God” and the Sources of His Doctrine of the Two Cities (Leiden: Brill, 2013).

37

Political Theology in Orthodox Christian Contexts

37

much relevance today, given the radical changes that have already taken place in modern times, which will be dealt with in more detail in the next section. As already mentioned, it is important to understand the constant development of western political theology in close connection with the sociopolitical and other transformations that happened there and triggered the respective extensive reflection. For example, the persisting tension between the divine and the earthly realm in the Augustinian sense was such an incentive. The extensive and wideranging reflection by Western theologians, canonists, and thinkers in the Middle Ages on the idea of the kingdom and the king as a person, namely, the “two bodies of the king,” which has been examined by Ernst Kantorowicz in his classic study,32 cannot be separated from the overall climate of tension between church and politics at the time. The entire issue concerned not only political medieval thought, but also the way in which Western monarchies in early modern times started to develop their own political theologies. The same can be argued with regard to the constitutional status of the bishop-elect within the church and his relation to the secular monarch, as the church’s jurists developed theories surrounding the bestowal of ecclesiastical power and a related new terminology of ecclesiastical office and jurisdiction in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries.33 Needless to say, analogous cases and developments are absent from the Orthodox East. It is also worth mentioning that the lack of systematization and the antiformalism in Orthodox Christianity not only pertain to political theology, but are located in other areas as well. This holds true for social teaching, which has been systematized for the first time by the Russian Orthodox Church since 2000,34 and for canon law.35 The opposite was again the case with the Western Christian Churches, which had a long history of systematically presenting their highly reflected social views36 and their canon law.37 In fact, these differences are

32 Ernst H. Kantorowicz, The King’s Two Bodies (Princeton, NJ:  Princeton University Press, 1997), with a new preface by William Chester Jordan. 33 Robert L. Benson, The Bishop-Elect:  A  Study in Medieval Ecclesiastical Office (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1968). 34 Vasilios N. Makrides, “Why Does the Orthodox Church Lack Systematic Social Teaching?,” Skepsis:  A  Journal for Philosophy and Interdisciplinary Research 23 (2013): 281–312. 35 Anastasios Kallis, Das hätte ich gerne gewußt:  100 Fragen an einen orthodoxen Theologen (Münster: Theophano Verlag, 2003), pp. 244–51. 36 Werner Heun et  al. (eds.), Evangelisches Staatslexikon (Stuttgart:  Kohlhammer, 2006); Anton Rauscher (ed.), Handbuch der Katholischen Soziallehre (Berlin:  Duncker & Humblot, 2008). 37 Wilfried Hartmann and Kenneth Pennington (eds.), The History of Medieval Canon Law in the Classical Period, 1140–1234: From Gratian to the Decretals of Pope Gregory IX (Washington, DC: Catholic University of America Press, 2008); Szabolcs Anzelm Szuromi, Pre-Gratian Medieval Canonical Collections: Texts, Manuscripts, Concepts (Berlin: Frank & Timme, 2014).

38

38

Vasilios N. Makrides

purely contextual and have nothing to do with an alleged Orthodox “essence” that is unlike the Western one. Nevertheless, many Orthodox theologians and thinkers have tried to construct such an essence out of this anti-formalism. The Western tendency to meticulously examine, to rationalize, and to systematize was criticized as being flawed and positivistic and as being opposite to the apophatic tradition of the Orthodox East. To create a program of a sociopolitical revolution out of the Christian Gospel was seen as a serious curtailment of the Christian eschatological tradition. Christianity, so the argument goes, primarily, is supposed to change the inner human person, whereas the change of social structures is regarded as a later outcome of personal transformation. It is thus not accidental that many Orthodox have criticized the forms of Western political theology that were articulated in modern times, including Liberation theology in Latin America.38 It becomes understandable that such fundamental predispositions and orientations were not particularly conducive to a further development of Orthodox political theology.

Christianity and the Challenges of Modernity in the East and West A final and perhaps more important cluster of reasons for the lack of a more articulated political theology in Orthodox Christianity relates to the way this religious tradition met with modernity and faced its challenges. Here, again, we discover a major difference with Western Christianity, which was more closely related to modernity and was deeply affected by it. After all, historically speaking, modernity was initially a West European product. It is quite vital to keep in mind that the flourishing of political theology in the West up to the present has a lot to do with the numerous new challenges to Christianity brought about and disseminated through modernity. These changed the entire structure and profile of the Western world and literally forced the Western Churches to address the novel situation more effectively. This entailed the reconfiguration of their relations with the emergent modern nation-states, which became dominant afterward and set the rules for future developments, including the separation between church and state, the religious neutrality and secularization of the state, and the establishment of religious freedom and tolerance. Roman Catholicism faced much greater problems with modernity, especially in the wake of the French Revolution and throughout the nineteenth century, which challenged its significant sociopolitical privileges and overall status. It struggled for many centuries with modernity and had to defend itself by offering its alternatives to the modern sociopolitical ideals and visions. In fact, it is out of this

38 Georgios Metallinos, “ ‘Θεολογία Ἀπελευθερώσεως’ καί ‘Θεολογία Ἐλευθερίας’ ” [“ ‘Liberation Theology’ and ‘Freedom Theology’ ’’], Koinonia 52 (1981):  51–61; Dimitrios Théraios, Le malaise chrétien: Archétypes marxistes de la théologie de libération (Geneva: Georg, 1987); Kallis, Das hätte ich gerne gewußt, pp. 167–68, 285.

39

Political Theology in Orthodox Christian Contexts

39

long interaction and confrontation with modern statehood that its own articulated political theology was developed. Generally speaking, it was only after the Second Vatican Council (1962–1965) that Roman Catholicism managed to come to terms with modernity in a more constructive way and accept its legitimacy, including that of the modern secular and religiously neutral nation-state.39 This was quite a long and painful development, which was marked by countermovements seeking to maintain Catholicism’s rights and privileges in the modern era. The later impact of such Catholic conservative political theorists (e.g., Joseph de Maistre, Donoso Cortés) has also been crucial (on Carl Schmitt and others),40 although they were unable to represent the Catholic mainstream. It was in this context that Catholic political theology could develop further, considering especially the contribution of Johann Baptist Metz and his “new political theology” after the Second World War. This was connected with a social critique of bourgeois Christianity,41 a current of political theology that has developed further.42 We should also not forget the influential current of Liberation Theology in Catholic Latin America since the 1960s.43 What is characteristic in these attempts is the constructive dialogue of Christian theology with modern secular thought, which is evident in the use of Marxist categories in capturing social problems and understanding class inequalities. As regards the Protestant Churches, we should first keep in mind that the dynamics of change unleashed by the Reformation were intrinsically related with the advent and spread of modernity. It has been argued that the confessionalization process initiated by the Reformation was closely connected with the emergence of modern statehood in the Protestant-controlled areas of central Europe,44 which in turn also affected Roman Catholicism.45 In general, Protestantism had fewer problems with

39 Rudolf Uertz, Vom Gottesrecht zum Menschenrecht: Das katholische Staatsdenken in Deutschland von der Französischen Revolution bis zum II, Vatikanischen Konzil (1789–1965) (Paderborn: Ferdinand Schöningh, 2005). 40 Alberto Spektorowski, “Maistre, Donoso Cortés, and the Legacy of Catholic Authoritarianism,” Journal of the History of Ideas 63 (2002): 283–302. 41 Johann Baptist Metz, Zum Begriff der neuen politischen Theologie:  1967–1997 (Mainz: Grünewald, 1997). 42 Jürgen Manemann, Carl Schmitt und die Politische Theologie:  Politischer Antimonotheismus (Münster: Aschendorff, 2002). 43 Christopher Rowland (ed.), The Cambridge Companion to Liberation Theology (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999 [1st ed.]; 2007 [2nd ed.]). 44 Heinz Schilling, “Confessionalization:  Historical and Scholarly Perspectives of a Comparative and Interdisciplinary Paradigm,” in Confessionalization in Europe, 1555–1700: Essays in Honor and Memory of Bodo Nischan, ed. John M. Headley, Hans J. Hillerbrand, and Anthony J. Papalas (Burlington, VT: Ashgate, 2004), pp. 21–35. 45 Wolfgang Reinhard, “Pressures towards Confessionalization? Prolegomena to a Theory of the Confessional Age,” in The German Reformation, ed. C. Scott Dixon (Malden, MA: Blackwell, 1999), pp. 169–92.

40

40

Vasilios N. Makrides

modernity and was able to adjust itself more easily to the new exigencies. Yet, it still faced other serious challenges in the modern context, which jeopardized the persuasiveness of its distinctive religious message. In short, both Roman Catholicism and Protestantism were forced, especially in the nineteenth century, to reconfigure their structure and message in view of the mounting new sociopolitical challenges.46 Most important in our context is the fact that Protestantism exhibited a strong worldaffirming outlook and had a catalytic cultural impact in the long run, as masterfully explained in the Weberian frame of reference. It thus reacted against the traditional Christian dualities, such as between the church and the world, by merging the Augustinian “two cities” and transferring spiritual elements into the secular realm. It also gave priority to social ethics and activism, as well as to various immanent aspects of Christianity, which included, among other things, the acceptance of church-state separation and of the principle of territoriality with the concomitant state control over the church. The articulation and development of Protestant views on politics and the state47 fit well into these basic worldly orientations and the strong connection established between Protestantism and the surrounding culture. All this led to a flourishing of various forms of political theology within the wider Protestant frame in Europe and the United States.48 What is perhaps more characteristic in the West is the fact that secular political thought and philosophy have also been in direct or indirect interaction with the Christian political tradition and have been influenced by it in many ways. It is thus not only about a Christian, but also about a secular political theology with numerous repercussions, whereas the interactions between the two remain in many cases quite conspicuous. A case in point is the jurist Carl Schmitt, whose succinct formulation of a political theology of the state became a classic afterward in the related research field, when he argued that the main concepts of modern politics were secularized versions of older theological notions.49 Schmitt’s political theology had a polemical tone and drew from many sources (e.g., Scholastic philosophy, Thomas Hobbes, Georg W. H. Hegel, Donoso Cortés). His views had quite a mixed reception and received many critiques (e.g., by Erik Peterson, a Protestant theologian who converted to Catholicism50). But, for our purpose, these 46 Martin Friedrich, Kirche im gesellschaftlichen Umbruch:  Das 19. Jahrhundert (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2006). 47 See Heun et al., Evangelisches Staatslexikon. 48 Reinhold Niebuhr, Moral Man and Immoral Society: A Study in Ethics and Politics (New York:  Scribner, 1947); Dorothee Sölle, Politische Theologie (Stuttgart:  Kreuz-Verlag, 1982); Jürgen Moltmann, Politische Theologie—Politische Ethik (Munich: Kaiser, 1984). 49 Carl Schmitt, Politische Theologie: Vier Kapitel zur Lehre von der Souveränität (1922; repr. 7th ed. Berlin: Duncker & Humblot, 1996); Carl Schmitt, Römischer Katholizismus und politische Form (Munich: Theatiner, 1925). 50 Erik Peterson, Der Monotheismus als politisches Problem: Ein Beitrag zur Geschichte der politischen Theologie im Imperium Romanum (Leipzig: Hegner, 1935). See also György Geréby, “Political Theology versus Theological Politics:  Erik Peterson and Carl Schmitt,” New German Critique 105 (2008): 7–33.

41

Political Theology in Orthodox Christian Contexts

41

cases attest to the high degree of reflection and development that political theology has enjoyed in the Western world in modern times. We may also locate many other interactions between Christian and secular political theologies considering intellectual figures such as Theodor Adorno, Walter Benjamin, Jürgen Habermas, Giorgio Agamben, and Slavoj Žižek, to mention but a few. Modern Jewish reflection on political theology (e.g., by Leo Strauss, Jacob Taubes) has also played a seminal role in the interdisciplinary discussion of the whole topic.51 A cursory look at the contemporary bibliography may also reveal the breadth and plurality of the different approaches to political theology. The yearbook Politische Theologie (since 1995), as well as the journals Political Theology (since 2001) and Teologia polityczna: Rocznik filozoficzny (since 2003), all examining the complex interface of theology and politics, further attest to this fact. Another characteristic of the related modern Western scene concerns the active involvement of church groups, theologians, and various other Christians in the concrete political arena through the foundation of political parties and other similar movements.52 The Western spectrum of such initiatives is quite ample and rich, ranging from Catholic Socialism, Christian Communism, Christian Left, and Christian Anarchism to Theoconservatism, National-Political Catholicism, Christian Right, and Clerical Fascism. The existence of Christian Democratic parties of varied provenance and orientation nowadays is not unrelated to the long tradition of political theology in different Western contexts.53 In fact, the origins of Christian Democracy go back to the serious challenges the Roman Catholic Church and establishment faced since the French Revolution.54 No doubt, this direct involvement in politics was not necessarily crowned by success, but it also exhibited some conspicuously dark sides, for example, regarding the “German Christians” (Deutsche Christen), who theologically supported National Socialism in Germany, or regarding the practicing Catholics of the Action Française, the FarRight political movement in France. Although the legitimation of specific political conditions through theological concepts has generally been criticized, the critical role of theology in examining the presuppositions of politics is still hailed as quite important.55 It is also not accidental that Pope Benedict XVI was invited to the

51 Lorenz Jäger, Unterschied. Widerspruch. Krieg:  Zur politischen Theologie jüdischer Intellektueller (Vienna: Karolinger, 2013). 52 See various articles in Michael Minkenberg and Ulrich Willems (eds.), Politik und Religion, Politische Vierteljahresschrift, Sonderheft 33/2002 (Wiesbaden:  Westdeutscher Verlag, 2003), pp. 229–99. 53 Stathis N. Kalyvas, The Rise of Christian Democracy in Europe (Ithaca, NY:  Cornell University Press, 1996). 54 Hans Maier, Revolution und Kirche: Zu Frühgeschichte der christlichen Demokratie (Munich: Deutscher Taschenbuch Verlag,, 1975). 55 Norbert Lammert, “Politik und Religion: Erwartungen und Ansprüche,” Ökumenische Rundschau 62 (2013): 309–19; Helmut Schmidt, Religion in der Verantwortung: Gefährdungen des Friedens im Zeitalter der Globalisierung (Berlin: Ullstein, 2012).

42

42

Vasilios N. Makrides

German Parliament in 2011, where he gave an important speech on the debated issue of the foundations of modern statehood, law, and morality, and the secular claims for their legitimacy.56 Turning now to the Orthodox East in modern times, it is not difficult to witness the existing great differences to the aforementioned Western situation from the very beginning. Orthodox Christianity never fully experienced (West European) modernity and had only a partial and fragmented encounter with the radical changes it entailed. Modernity was in most cases regarded as an exogenous phenomenon, intrinsically connected with the “fallen West,” and its theological deviations and historical alienation from Orthodox authenticity. This is why the Orthodox in their majority showed and continue to show a negative attitude and an aversion toward the basic accomplishments of Western modernity, for example, toward individual human rights or the secular state. They also often try to offer their alternative and allegedly better solutions to the impasses of Western modernity by mostly drawing on premodern sources (Patristic and otherwise). However, all this pertains more to the level of discourse, whereas the level of pragmatics is usually different. In any event, the encounter between Orthodox Christianity and modernity still remains incomplete, controversial, and ambiguous, while the exceptions to this main trend are few and far between and still do not matter much. After all, we are talking about long-term processes, whose results cannot be immediately visible and tangible. It is in this broad context that modern Orthodox political theology was articulated, which understandably deviated even more clearly from the Western one. Traditional Orthodox anti-Westernism also played a significant role in the formulation of the related discourse and critique of modern Western developments. Orthodox political theology had to be different from the Western one and based on its own sources from the past. A dominant frame within Orthodox political theology that developed from the nineteenth century onward was closely connected with the emerging ethno-religious nationalisms in the Balkans and in other Orthodox contexts.57 It was about the integration of Orthodoxy into the nationalist discourse of the emerging nation-states, which was in fact a modern transformation of the political eschatology of the Byzantine Empire and its association with an “earthly Kingdom of God.” It is in this context that various political ideas, strategies, and visions were articulated in connection with Orthodoxy and perceptions of one’s own electedness as the “new chosen people of God”, for example, the nationalist “Great Idea” in Greece58 or the vision of a “Holy Russia” in the Tsarist 56 Georg Essen (ed.), Verfassung ohne Grund? Die Rede des Papstes im Bundestag (Freiburg im Breisgau:  Herder, 2012). See also Achim Pfeiffer, Religion und Politik in den Schriften Papst Benedikts XVI:  Die politischen Implikationen des Joseph Ratzinger (Marburg: Tectum, 2007). 57 See various articles in the special issue “Ecclesiology and Nationalism” in St. Vladimir’s Theological Quarterly 57, nos. 3–4 (2013). 58 Pantelis Kalaitzidis, “Orthodoxy and Hellenism in Contemporary Greece,” St. Vladimir’s Theological Quarterly 54 (2010): 365–420; Marios Chatzopoulos, “Μεσσιανισμός

43

Political Theology in Orthodox Christian Contexts

43

Russian Empire.59 Despite the diversity in their views, the Russian Slavophiles also promoted a religio-cultural nationalism drawing on Orthodox ecclesiology and leading to a messianic and populistic vision of history, in which the Russian people were believed to have played a key role. This was connected with their social and political views (regarding autocracy, and so on) by reference to concrete changes that were taking place or were envisaged in nineteenth-century Russia.60 In fact, all this amounted to a Slavophile political theology, while similar elements can be also located in the religious philosophy of Vladimir Solov’ev.61 As already observed, Western political theology owes much to and was in fact triggered by the profound sociopolitical changes that had happened in the course of the modern age. An analogous situation can also be observed in the Orthodox East during the twentieth century, as many predominantly Orthodox countries were found behind the “Iron Curtain” of Communism.62 This radical break in Orthodox history, which meant many tribulations and persecutions for the respective churches, led many Orthodox to reflect more seriously on political issues and on the church’s relationship with the state. This was also because the Communist regimes, despite their professed atheism, subjected the churches to their needs and instrumentalized them for their mundane purposes. Such a development did not please many Orthodox churchmen and thinkers, especially those belonging to the Russian Orthodox diaspora in the West, who started rethinking and critically reassessing the traditional closeness between church and state in the Orthodox world. It is in this context that fresh ideas about an και Μοναρχία: Σχετικά με τους όρους νομιμοποίησης της δυναστικής εξουσίας στην Ελλάδα τον ύστερο 19ο αιώνα” [“Messianism and Monarchy: On the Conditions under which Authoritarian Governance Was Legitimized in Late 19th-Century Greece”],, in Διακυμάνσεις του νεοελληνικού πολιτικού στοχασμού από τον 19ο στον 20ο αιώνα [Ripples of Modern Greek Political Thinking: From the 19th to the 20th Century], ed. Paschalis M. Kitromilides and Marios Chatzopoulos (Athens: Ethniko Idryma Erevnon, 2014), pp. 13–45. 59 John Strickland, The Making of Holy Russia:  The Orthodox Church and Russian Nationalism before the Revolution (Jordanville, NY: Holy Trinity, 2013). 60 Michael Hughes, “‘Independent Gentlemen’:  The Social Position of the Moscow Slavophiles and Its Impact on Their Political Thought,” The Slavonic and East European Review 71 (1993):  66–88; Michael Hughes, “State and Society in the Political Thought of the Moscow Slavophiles,” Studies in East European Thought 52 (2000):  159–83; Pål Kolstø, “Power as Burden: The Slavophile Concept of the State and Lev Tolstoy,” The Russian Review 64 (2005):  559–74; Susanna Rabow-Edling, Slavophile Thought and the Politics of Cultural Nationalism (Albany :  State University of New  York Press, 2006), pp. 117–33; Alexandru Racu, “From Ecclesiology to Christian Populism: The Religious and Political Thought of Russian Slavophiles,” South-East European Journal of Political Science 2, no. 1 (2014): 39–70. 61 Marin Terpstra, “ ‘God’s Case on Earth’: Notes on Theocracy and the Political Theology of Vladimir Solov’ëv,” in Vladimir Solov’ëv: Reconciler and Polemicist, ed. William Peter van den Bercken, Manon de Courten , and Evert van der Zweerde (Leuven: Peeters, 2000), pp. 411–29. 62 Lucian N. Leustean (ed.), Eastern Christianity and the Cold War, 1945–91 (London: Routledge, 2010).

44

44

Vasilios N. Makrides

Orthodox political theology originated, with a lasting impact on the Orthodox world. Characteristically enough, the need for a greater autonomous social presence of the church and its emancipation from the state has been repeatedly voiced, especially by Sergei N. Bulgakov, whose various interesting ideas constitute one of the most serious modern attempts at formulating an Orthodox political theology.63 The same can also be claimed for other Russian immigrants to the West, as in the case of the journal of Russian religious thought titled The Way (Put’) and published in Paris under the direction of Nikolai A. Berdyaev, in which, among other things, social and political issues were addressed.64 Another phase in the development of Orthodox political theology took place after the collapse of Communism (1989–1991) and the concomitant political reorganization of Eastern and Southeastern Europe. This led to a renewed and enhanced interest in formulating a fresh Orthodox political theology in order to meet the new challenges. This was done officially by the Russian Orthodox Church, which with the document “Bases of the Social Concept” of 2000  delineated its political theology as well, especially in the chapters on church and state, church and nation, and church and politics.65 It was a lengthy and interesting document, given that it was the first time that an Orthodox Church officially proceeded to such a step. Yet, this change of attitudes should be understood in reference to the specifics of Russian Orthodoxy in the course of the twentieth century and its harsh experience under Communism (1917–1991). In the post-Soviet era the church attempted to present an all-encompassing, new social profile and to heal the wounds of the past by regaining its power and influence, both in the Russian Federation and abroad. In terms of its political theology, the Russian Orthodox Church maintains an ambivalent position in this document. It is greatly oriented toward the past and the inherited Orthodox and specifically Russian tradition, while it criticizes sharply the changes effected by Western modernity (e.g., secularity of the state). At the same time, it acknowledges that the church

63 Sergei Bulgakov, Towards a Russian Political Theology, ed. and trans. Rowan Williams (Edinburgh:  T&T Clark, 1999). See also Myroslaw Tataryn, “Sergei Bulgakov:  Eastern Orthodoxy Engaging the Modern World,” Studies in Religion/Sciences Religieuses 31 (2002): 313–22; Radu Costin Iacob, Sophia, the Wisdom of God: An Eastern Christian Political Theology in the Sophiology of Sergei Bulgakov (MA Thesis, Katholieke Universiteit Leuven, 2011). See also the texts by the Orthodox contributors (J. Fedotoff, B. Vyscheslavzeff, and S.  Zankow) in the volume, Die Kirche und das Staatsproblem in der Gegenwart, 2nd ed. (Geneva:  Forschungsabteilung des Oekumenischen Rates für Praktisches Christentum, 1935), pp. 35–44 and 183–213. 64 Antoine Arjakovsky, The Way: Religious Thinkers of the Russian Emigration in Paris and Their Journal, 1925–1940, trans. Jerry Ryan (Notre Dame, IN:  University of Notre Dame Press, 2013). 65 Jennifer Wasmuth, “Russian Orthodoxy between State and Nation,” in Eastern Orthodox Encounters of Identity and Otherness: Values, Self-Reflection, Dialogue, ed. Andrii Krawchuk and Thomas Bremer (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2014), pp. 17–27.

45

Political Theology in Orthodox Christian Contexts

45

should accommodate itself with the present secular establishment, even if this is undesirable and condemnable from an Orthodox point of view. This is again a rather pragmatic and realistic attitude, although the church keeps drawing its arguments from a premodern, romantically ideal situation, which is believed to be qualitatively much better than the present one. The church further seeks to keep its various bonds and cooperation with the state intact, while it is ready to disobey it for decisions opposing the will of God. This is again a sign speaking against the traditional submissiveness and subservience of the church to the state. All in all, it is a rather ambiguous document oscillating between traditionalism and renewal, and certainly an innovative step for the Orthodox Church. Yet, a major difference from the West is the lack of a constructive dialogue with secular modernity and concomitant developments (in political philosophy, theory, sociology, and so on), which Western Christian thought has taken more seriously into consideration in formulating its own political theology. The collapse of Communism has also given rise to other individual attempts to formulate a fresh political theology responding to the contemporary challenges to the Orthodox world, especially regarding the transition from totalitarianism to a liberal democratic order.66 It is no surprise thus that issues such as the compatibility between Orthodox Christianity and the Western ideals of democracy, plurality, tolerance, civil society, liberalism, and multiculturalism have been quite prominent in this context, given also that various scholars, including Samuel P. Huntington, had cast serious doubts about it. Such issues have been amply discussed by several Orthodox theologians and churchmen coming from former Communist countries, who on one hand tried to formulate a related Orthodox political theology, and on the other criticized various deficits of the Orthodox world, especially its lagging behind with regard to modernity and its reluctance to come to terms with modern developments. They were also critical of the traditional Orthodox antiWesternism, which was evaluated as a serious hindrance toward the evolution of Orthodox Christianity in modern times. Such are the cases of the Romanian theologian Radu Preda,67 the Serbian priest and theologian Radovan Bigović,68 and the Russian priest and theologian Veniamin Novik,69 to name but a few.

66 Kristina Stoeckl, Community after Totalitarianism: The Russian Orthodox Intellectual Tradition and the Philosophical Discourse of Political Modernity (Frankfurt:  Peter Lang, 2008), pp. 104–50. 67 Radu Preda, “Die orthodoxen Kirchen zwischen nationaler Identität und ‘babylonischer Gefangenschaft’ in der EU,” in Politik und Theologie in Europa: Perspektiven ökumenischer Sozialethik, ed. Ingeborg Gabriel (Ostfildern:  Matthias-Grünewald-Verlag, 2008), pp. 285–312. 68 Radovan Bigović, The Orthodox Church in the 21st Century, trans. Petar Šerović (Belgrade: Konrad Adenauer Stiftung, 2009). 69 Veniamin (Novik), Православие, Христианство, Демократия:  Сборник статей [Orthodoxy, Christianity, Democracy:  A  Collection of Articles] (St. Petersburg: Aleteiia, 1999).

46

46

Vasilios N. Makrides

In addition, various Orthodox theologians and thinkers coming from the United States are trying to find some common ground between their Orthodox faith and the Orthodox political heritage (e.g., the imperial one), on one hand, and the liberal democratic structures of modern governance, on the other.70 Apart from the realization of their ideas and suggestions, it is obvious that Orthodox thought tries to break new ground in formulating its own political theology, especially within the American liberal democratic milieu. The related attempt of Aristotle Papanikolaou should be especially mentioned here.71 Starting from a critique of the Eusebian and Constantinian imperial model of an Orthodox political theology, he attempts to locate the potential influence of key Orthodox concepts (e.g., theosis, Eucharistic divine-human communion, personalism, mysticism), not as an inward or world-negating retreat, but in the public and political domain and thereby to show the social dimension of Orthodox spiritual life. Entering also into dialogue with political theologians (Stanley Hauerwas) and other thinkers of the “Radical Orthodoxy” movement (John Milbank) claiming the non-Christian character of the modern liberal democratic principles, Papanikolaou aims to show the opposite with regard to Orthodox Christianity. His endeavor is not a nostalgic return to a Byzantine-like unified politico-religious culture, but an attempt to come to terms with liberal modernity in a constructive way. Yet, these are hardly the sole tendencies toward a renewed Orthodox political theology currently, as more traditionalistic voices still dominate the related field, which is permeated by a deep distrust toward the Western Christian world and its specific way to modernity. In general terms, the political role of the Western Christian Churches, especially of the Roman Catholic one, is heavily criticized by the Orthodox side as a serious deviation from the original Christian spirit. After all, the existence of a Vatican City State is from an Orthodox point of view utterly deplorable and condemnable. Although the church is not apolitical, it should equally not be ready to undertake direct political functions. The only exception pertains to critical moments in the history of a nation or a state when the church must temporarily undertake a leading function in society until the whole situation enters a safer phase. This has a lot to do with the traditional “ethnarchic role” of the Orthodox Church. Nevertheless, one is not allowed to make a permanent situation out of a temporary one. Therefore, when Archbishop Damaskinos of Greece (1941–1949) became the regent after the Second World War for almost a year, this was because of a critical turning point in modern Greek history,72 yet he gave up his political office soon afterward. Another case in point is Archbishop Makarios III of Cyprus (1950–1977), who also became the first president of the Republic of Cyprus (1960–1977), a church with a long

70 Nikolas K. Gvosdev, Emperors and Elections: Reconciling the Orthodox Tradition with Modern Politics (Huntington, NY: Troitsa Books, 2000). 71 Papanikolaou, The Mystical as Political. 72 Panteleymon Anastasakis, The Church of Greece under Axis Occupation (New York: Fordham University Press, 2015), pp. 35–58 and passim.

47

Political Theology in Orthodox Christian Contexts

47

ethnarchic tradition.73 But his undertaking of both an ecclesiastical and a political office until his death caused an internal crisis in the Church of Cyprus (1971– 1973) for being incompatible with the Orthodox tradition and canon law.74 It is also not accidental that Orthodox Churches do not usually allow clergymen to run for office as members of parliament and other political positions, a fact showing the Orthodox sensitivities regarding the direct involvement of the church in party politics and election campaigns. The same applies to the founding of an Orthodox political party directly by the church, which is regarded as an improper and wrong mixing of the otherwise separated jurisdictions of church and state. Nevertheless, the existence of an Orthodox political party in a variety of forms and combinations is not altogether absent from the Orthodox imaginary.75 Even so, this has not led to the formulation of a related political theology so far, which has been done more systematically solely in the aforementioned “Bases of the Social Concept” of the Russian Orthodox Church. There are also further attempts in this anti-Western context to formulate an Orthodox political theology, which are sometimes theoretically more challenging. This is the case of the Greek theologian and philosopher Christos Yannaras, who after the end of the military Junta in Greece (1967–1974) endeavored to formulate a specifically Orthodox political theology. He was familiar with the “new political theology” and its Marxist leanings in the West, yet he was critical of it for many reasons, for example, for its scientifically and systematically articulated theoretical and positivist background, its rational regulation of rights and desires, its worldly social activism and optimism, its utilitarianism, and its strong relation to the overall project of Western modernity with all its observed deadlocks. In turn, Yannaras intended to articulate a political theology based not on utilitarian aims, but on human truth and existential authenticity. It is about politics according to real human needs, with the purpose of creating a true society of persons and of loving and authentic relations, based on the revealed Trinitarian prototype of love.76 Basically, he is in favor of an open, flexible, and adaptable political theology and related action, which would draw more on the rich Orthodox ecclesial life and apophatic tradition.77 It is also about a conception of politics that is based on

73 Victor Roudometof, Globalization and Orthodox Christianity: The Transformations of a Religious Tradition (New York: Routledge, 2014), pp. 102–18. 74 Victor Roudometof, “The Orthodox Church of Cyprus,” in Leustean, Eastern Christianity and the Cold War, pp. 271–81 (275). 75 Theodosis Ath. Tsironis, Εκκλησία πολιτευομένη:  Ο πολιτικός λόγος και ρόλος της Εκκλησίας της Ελλάδος (1913–1941) [The Church in Politics: The Political Discourse and Role of the Church of Greece (1913–1941)] (Thessaloniki: Epikentro, 2010). 76 Christos Yannaras, Κεφάλαια πολιτικῆς θεολογίας [Chapters on Political Theology] (Athens: Grigoris, 1983). 77 Christos Yannaras, “Apophatik und politisches Handeln,” in Gottes Zukunft— Zukunft der Welt, Festschrift Jürgen Moltmann, ed. Hermann Deuser, Gerhard Marcel Martin, Konrad Stock, and Michael Welker (Munich: Kaiser, 1986), pp. 374–79.

48

48

Vasilios N. Makrides

the ancient Greek (the model of polis) and Eastern Orthodox heritage and that is fundamentally different from the Western one.78 As already mentioned, a crucial feature of the modern Orthodox discourse on political theology is its traditionalism, namely, its dependence on previous epochs and sociopolitical models. A case in point concerns the model of “Political Hesychasm,” which has attracted quite some attention in recent years as a specific form of an Orthodox political theology and practice. The entire issue is not unrelated to the enhanced interest of modern Orthodox thought in the Hesychast movement and in Gregory Palamas, which has been vivid since the 1960s. The model of “Political Hesychasm” refers to the time of late Byzantium when persons with such an orientation occupied political offices in Constantinople after the end of the civil war in 1347. The term was initially suggested by the Russian medievalist Gelian M.  Prokhorov79 and has been amply discussed afterward in various contexts. In a recent attempt, Vladimir V. Petrunin tried to discover the spirit of “Political Hesychasm” in the “Bases of the Social Concept of the Russian Orthodox Church,” thus pointing to the existing continuity of this Orthodox tradition of political theology.80 It was also argued that this model was applied historically to other Orthodox milieus (e.g., in Bulgarian and Romanian lands) in the late Middle Ages and early modern times. For instance, this was the case of Wallachian Prince Neagoe Basarab (1481/2–1521), who clearly stood under such Hesychast theological influences.81 The spirit of “Political Hesychasm” has been also located in the works of two influential Greek Orthodox theologians, John S. Romanides and the previously mentioned Yannaras.82 It has also been argued that this particular 78 Christos Yannaras, “A Note on Political Theology,” St. Vladimir’s Theological Quarterly 27 (1983): 53–56. 79 Gelian M. Prokhorov, “Исихазм и общественная мысль в Восточной Европе в XIV в.” [Hesychasm and Social Thought in Fourteenth-Century Eastern Europe], Trudy Otdela Drevnerusskoi Literatury 23 (1968):  86–108. Gelian M. Prokhorov, “L´Hésychasme et la pensée sociale en Europe orientale au XIVe siècle,” Contacts 31 (1979): 25–63. 80 Vladimir V. Petrunin, Политический исихазм и его традиции в социальной концепции Московского Патриархата [Political Hesychasm and Its Traditions in the Moscow Patriarchate’s Social Concept] (St. Petersburg:  Aleteiia, 2009). See also Kristina Stoeckl, “Political Hesychasm? Vladimir Petrunin’s Neo-Byzantine Interpretation of the Social Doctrine of the Russian Orthodox Church,” Studies in East European Thought 62 (2010):  125–33; Vladimir V. Petrunin, Kristina Stoeckl, and Sergei S. Horuzhii, “О политическом исихазме” [On Political Hesychasm], in Феномен человека в его еволюции и динамике:  Труды Открытого Семинара Института Синергийной Антропологии [The Human Phenomenon in Its Evolution and Dynamic:  Works of the Open Seminar of the Institute of Synergetic Anthropology], ed. Sergei S. Horuzhii (Velikii Novgorod: Novgorodskii Gosudarstvennyi Universitet, 2013), pp. 190–245. 81 Mihai-Dumitru Grigore, Neagoe Basarab—Princeps Christianus:  ChristianitasSemantik im Vergleich mit Erasmus, Luther und Machiavelli (1513–1523) (Frankfurt am Main: Peter Lang, 2015). 82 Daniel P. Payne, The Revival of Political Hesychasm in Contemporary Orthodox Thought:  The Political Hesychasm of John S.  Romanides and Christos Yannaras (Lanham: Lexington Books, 2011).

49

Political Theology in Orthodox Christian Contexts

49

political side of Hesychasm goes back to the learned and influential Patriarch of Constantinople Photius, who in the ninth century attempted to enhance the power of the patriarch by simultaneously reducing the power of the emperor.83 The claim for universal power has been raised by several Hesychast patriarchs later on in Byzantium; this is why some prefer to talk of a “Political Photianism” in describing this model of Orthodox political theology.84 Such and similar evaluations are further sometimes given additional dimensions in the context of present political developments in postcommunist Russia, as the film by the archimandrite Tikhon Shevkunov Gibel’ imperii. Vizantiiskii urok (2008) clearly shows;85 or in the attempts to legitimize religiously an eschatological war for the new world order between the “Third Rome” (Moscow) and the “Third Carthage” (Washington).86 In all these attempts, there are clear pieces of a particular neo-Byzantine Orthodox political theology, which is clearly critical of the developments in the West (e.g., its secular and liberal modernity). In any case, Byzantinists and other scholars may raise serious doubts as to the historicity and the real practical significance of such a phenomenon in late Byzantium and whether the present reconstructions of Byzantine history are arbitrary and ideological. The above data of course do not cover the entire spectrum of the current Orthodox discourse on this topic. We should also mention here a most commendable effort to review the issue of political theology by the Greek theologian Pantelis Kalaitzidis, who stands behind a promising renewal of Orthodox theology and its dialogue with the modern world.87 He offered a wide panorama of political theology in close dialogue with all the main developments in Western theology and the world (including that of Carl Schmitt) and attempted to articulate the basic contours of a future Orthodox political theology based on the Eucharistic community and the Orthodox Christian eschatology as a way of orientation and transformation, not only personal, but also social and cosmic. To this purpose, he criticized previous forms of a political theology developed within the Orthodox world and their nostalgic idealization nowadays, including that of Eusebius and Byzantine caesaropapism, as well as the recent nationalist ethno-theology of many Orthodox Churches.88

83 Barker, Social and Political Thought, pp. 109–17; Ritter, “Kirche and Staat,” pp. 258–67. 84 Dan Ioan Mureşan, “The Hesychasts: ‘Political Photianism’ and the Public Sphere in the Fourteenth Century,” in The Orthodox Christian World, ed. Augustine Casiday (London: Routledge, 2012), pp. 294–302. 85 Irina Papkova, “Saving the Third Rome: ‘Fall of the Empire,’ Byzantium and Putin’s Russia,” Institute for Human Sciences, 2009, http://www.iwm.at/publications/5-juniorvisiting-fellows-conferences/vol-xxiv/saving-the-third-rome/ (accessed July 13, 2016). 86 See the intellectual club “Katekhon” and the almanach “Severnyi Katekhon” by Arkadii Maler. See also the website http://www.katehon.ru. 87 Trine Stauning Willert, New Voices in Greek Orthodox Thought: Untying the Bond between Nation and Religion (Farnham: Ashgate, 2014). 88 Kalaitzidis, Orthodoxy and Political Theology, pp. 81–139.

50

50

Vasilios N. Makrides

With regard to our issue, another key characteristic of the Orthodox milieu concerns the lack of a more serious and fruitful interaction between Orthodox and other actors (political, secular, and so on) toward formulating a respective Orthodox political theology. Modern Orthodox theologians often today try to consider the other side, yet this is usually not a reciprocal phenomenon. The latter take Western more than Orthodox Christianity into consideration because the former has finally become an integral part of modernity’s project.89 For example, an important Greek philosopher and thinker, Panajotis Kondylis (1943–1998), who systematically dealt with the thought of Carl Schmitt90 and translated his wellknown text into Greek with his own additional comments,91 showed no real interest in the Orthodox tradition of the country. Living between Germany and Greece, he was far more interested in the project of Western European modernity and its later globalization; thus he never seriously considered the Orthodox tradition. This notwithstanding, one may locate various other, rather isolated and idiosyncratic, attempts by non-theologians to create something like an Orthodox political theology. A  characteristic case is that of Kostas Zouraris, a political scientist, who in the late 1970s started a systematic search for the authentic Greek political tradition, which, in his view, was distorted by its Western reception and dissemination. After a Marxist and atheist phase in his life, Zouraris started looking from another angle diachronically at the intellectual and cultural sources of Hellenism, an endeavor that brought him into closer contact with the Greek Orthodox tradition. He thus took the latter seriously into consideration, as he firmly believed that the respective political ethos can be located in various Orthodox, cultural, and popular, yet hitherto neglected, sources. In the end, he used all these sources and arguments to criticize Western intellectual domination (e.g., in the European Union) and to promote the specific political ethos of the Greek Orthodox East.92 A similar anti-Westernism, but with other presuppositions and objectives, 89 Thanos Lipowatz, “Πολιτική θεολογία και νεωτερικότητα” [Political Theology and Modernity], in Θρησκείες και πολιτική στη νεωτερικότητα [Religions and Politics in Modernity], ed. Thanos Lipowatz, Nikos Demertzis, and Vasiliki Georgiadou (Athens: Kritiki, 2002), pp. 117–41. 90 See Panajotis Kondylis, “Jurisprudenz, Ausnahmezustand und Entscheidung: Grundsätzliche Bemerkungen zu Carl Schmitts ‘Politische Theologie,’ ” Der Staat 34 (1995):  325–57; see also Panajotis Kondylis, “Nur Intellektuelle behaupten, dass Intellektuelle die Welt besser verstehen als alle anderen,” Interview by Marin Terpstra, Deutsche Zeitschrift für Philosophie 42 (1994): 683–94. 91 Carl Schmitt, Πολιτικὴ θεολογία. Τέσσερα κεφάλαια γύρω ἀπὸ τὴ διδασκαλία περὶ κυριαρχίας (Translation—Notes—Postscript: Panajotis Kondylis) (Athens: Leviathan, 1994). 92 Kostas G. Zouraris, Εἰσαγωγὴ στὴν ἀπογείωση τῆς πολιτικῆς:  Τὸ σὸν πολίτευμα Ἰορδάνου τοῦ νεομάρτυρος καὶ Ἁγίου Γρηγορίου τοῦ Παλαμᾶ [An Introduction to the Takeoff of Politics: The Sociopolitical Parameters of Jordan the New-Martyr and St. Gregory Palamas] (Athens: Armos, 2001); Kostas G. Zouraris, Φιλοκαλοῦμεν μετ’ ἀνταρσίας: Προπονητικὴ γιὰ

51

Political Theology in Orthodox Christian Contexts

51

is also formulated by the Greek historian and political scientist, Dimitri Kitsikis, who has taught mainly in Canada and who also had a Marxist background before turning his interest to geopolitics and the Orthodox tradition. He is the main theorist of the “Intermediate Region,” a geopolitical model of a region lying between Western Europe and the Far East. Kitsikis has also often made public his views about the future of Greek politics, in which the Orthodox tradition and actors are supposed to play a seminal role.93 On a more neutral bent, there has been an interesting attempt by Dimitrios Kisoudis to apply the political theology of Donoso Cortés and Carl Schmitt to the Greek Orthodox case in trying to explain the modern competition and clashes between church and state (in the period of Archbishop Christodoulos, 1998–2008). Kisoudis centered his analysis on three key terms/concepts, namely, eikon (icon), ethnos (nation), and nomos (law), and showed how the Greek Church understands and uses them in the frame of its political relevance and theology, a fact leading to tensions and conflicts with the modern state.94 It is obvious from the above elaborations that political theology is not a lingering void in the Orthodox world, and we may also locate a number of other related attempts,95 including one in a handbook of political theology dealing in particular with the ideas of Bulgakov, Paul Evdokimov, and Maria Skobtsova.96 Orthodox thought seems to have increasingly realized the need to proceed to a critical discussion of its own political past, which is not relevant for the present global age.97 Yet, despite the proliferation of Orthodox discourses on political

τὸ πολίτευμα τῆς ὑπεραναρχίας [We Philokalize in Rebellion: An Exercise in the Political System of Ultra-Anarchy] (Athens: Armos, 2010). 93 Dimitris Kitsikis, Τό Βυζαντινό πρότυπο διακυβερνήσεως καί τό τέλος τοῦ Κοινοβουλευτισμοῦ [The Byzantine Administrative Model and the End of Parliamentarism] (Athens: Esoptron, 2001). 94 Dimitrios Kisoudis, Politische Theologie in der griechisch-orthodoxen Kirche (Marburg: Diagonal-Verlag, 2007). 95 Apostolos Nikolaidis, Κοινωνικοπολιτική Ἐπανάσταση καί Πολιτική Θεολογία [Socio-political Revolution and Political Theology] (Katerini:  Tertios, 1987); Spyridoula Athanasopoulou-Kypriou, Όχι εγώ. Κείμενα πολιτικής θεολογίας με αναφορές σε θέματα φύλου, θρησκείας και ιδεολογίας [Not I: Essays on Political Theology with Reference to the Issues of Gender, Religion and Ideology] (Athens:  Armos, 2011); Darko Djogo, “Trinity, Society and ‘Political Theology,’ ” International Journal of Orthodox Theology 3, no. 2 (2012):  89–112; Ovidiu Panaite, “The Theological Background of Political Philosophy in Early Christianity:  An Essay on Orthodox Political Theology,” International Journal of Orthodox Theology 4, no. 1 (2013): 127–49. 96 Michael Plekon, “Eastern Orthodox Thought,” in Scott and Cavanaugh, Blackwell Companion to Political Theology, pp. 93–106. 97 Cf. John Anthony McGuckin, The Orthodox Church: An Introduction to Its History, Doctrine, and Spiritual Culture (Malden, MA: Blackwell, 2008), pp. 380–98.

52

52

Vasilios N. Makrides

theology in recent years, the differences to the related situation in the Western world, both Christian and otherwise, are great and quite significant. Orthodox thought has dealt so far with the entire issue in a nonsystematic way and rather sporadically, thus the impact of the related ideas has remained limited and narrow. In addition, there are great differences in the degree of reflexivity and abstraction between Eastern Orthodox and Western Christian political theologies, the former being less theoretically developed and less underpinned by considerations drawn from philosophy, as well as from social and political sciences. Further, Western Christian political theology clearly has a more world-affirming purpose and overall orientation, while the Eastern Orthodox one is still more other- and outerworldly oriented.

Concluding Remarks The issue of political theology is not the sole one that can be examined from such a comparative East-West perspective. There are plenty of other related and partly related issues, whose examination can yield more or less the same results and which point to the East-West differences in history and at present. For example, social thinking does not lack in Orthodox contexts,98 yet the differences to the respective situation in Western Christianity are more than obvious. As already mentioned, Eastern Orthodox perspectives do not appear to play a role in international and interdisciplinary discussions on political theology nowadays, in most cases being basically altogether absent.99 The entire related discourse is still dominated by Western (Christian) perspectives, whereas selected openings to other religions and cultures (Islam, and so on) have also been attempted in recent years.100 There is still no obvious major international interest in Orthodox political theology, although the whole situation in post-Communist times certainly appears to be slightly different. It also seems that very few, if any, in the non-Orthodox world really expect any significant contribution from the Orthodox side to political theology; in other words, one that would generate fresh discussions and open new vistas and horizons for future research and reflection. In all probability, this is also related to the notorious traditionalism of the Orthodox Christian system, which seeks to connect modern developments with premodern conditions and to somehow “legitimize” the former by reference

98 With regard to Russia, see Konstantin Kostjuk, История социально-этической мысли в Русской Православной Церкви [The History of Social-Ethical Thought in the Russian Orthodox Church] (St. Petersburg: Aleteiia, 2014). 99 Cf. the volume by Hent de Vries and Lawrence E. Sullivan (eds.), Political Theologies: Public Religions in a Post-Secular World (New York:  Fordham University Press, 2006), where Eastern Orthodoxy is not taken into account. 100 Andrew F. March, “Genealogies of Sovereignty in Islamic Political Theology,” Social Research: An International Quarterly 80 (2013): 293–320.

53

Political Theology in Orthodox Christian Contexts

53

to the latter. This is principally aimed at enabling reforms based on indigenous traditions, Patristic and otherwise, for example, by discovering the outlines of a theory of a social contract, which has been amply outlined by modern political thought (John Locke), in the writings of John Chrysostom.101 Such connections may be intriguing at first, yet they do not necessarily presuppose the acceptance and positive affirmation of modernity by the Orthodox, as they are mostly focused on the hailed and glorious Orthodox past, which is generally valued as lying above the present and the future. This fundamental orientation, which is still evident in most Orthodox theological thinking, is usually perceived by outsiders as not up-to-date and subsequently as less appealing and attractive. After all, Western political theology explores facts and issues and poses questions that differ in most respects from the Orthodox ones, given that it has become aware of the exigencies of modernity and struggles to offer pertinent answers.102 This perhaps may be a sad finding for the Orthodox side, but it should be read positively, namely, by giving it the incentive and the opportunity for stronger self-reflection and self-criticism, especially in coming to terms with modernity constructively and experimenting with novel ideas. On another bent, the point to be emphasized is that Orthodox Christianity should not be deplored because of the lack of a Western-style political theology. It is necessary to consider the whole matter neutrally and beyond good and evil. After all, history has shown that the issue of the political involvement of the church can lead to various unwelcome situations and complications. This becomes clearer if we consider the different targets of social criticism in the East and West and the consequences thereof, particularly in modern times. In the West, the Roman Catholic Church became a prime target of criticism in the sharpest form as both an institution and an ally of the Old Regime in specific constellations—as, for example, in the case of the French Revolution. It was mainly criticized by secular and other actors as an autonomous religio-political body, promoting a specific conservative social vision with immense transnational influence across Europe and beyond. The attacks on the Roman Catholic Church were thus directed principally against it and aimed at limiting its multifaceted social influence and (political) power. In the Orthodox East, however, the church has often been criticized for lacking social consciousness and not addressing sociopolitical problems, but has never been the prime and main target of criticism. The latter was basically directed against the state, the government, or the political parties who were supposed to deal with, and solve, such problems in the first place. Precisely because it was never an autonomous actor in this domain and was not compelled to take decisions or

101 Nikolas K. Gvosdev, “St. John Chrysostom and John Locke:  An Orthodox Basis for the Social Contract?,” Philotheos:  International Journal for Philosophy and Theology 3 (2003): 150–53. 102 Marin Terpstra, “The Political Theology of a Potestas Indirecta,” Religion, State and Society 41 (2013): 133–51.

54

54

Vasilios N. Makrides

action by itself, the church became only a secondary target in this context and basically suffered collateral damages from sociopolitical revolts and upheavals. A case in point is the October Revolution of 1917 in Russia. The Russian Orthodox Church was thought to be part of the Tsarist regime and was treated inimically by the Bolsheviks. But it was not their main target, which was actually the Tsarist state. Later on, the church suffered a lot in the Soviet Union, but managed to survive by developing related strategies, albeit under unfavorable conditions. This was clearly the case when an Orthodox Church was collaterally affected by radical sociopolitical changes, although it was not considered itself to be the main cause of the related problems. Bearing all the above in mind, the attempted comparison in this chapter was not meant to show the superiority of Western Latin over Orthodox Christianity in matters of political theology and to criticize the deficits of the Orthodox East. It was rather about various factors that have historically shaped the contours of these churches and have had many repercussions until today. By considering these different trajectories in the East and West, we may also better understand the cultural specificities of these churches and their preferences. Yet, these differences in no way reflect the “essence” of these churches beyond time and history. In the foregoing elaborations, an attempt was made to show that such differences are simply the outcome of divergent sociopolitical and other circumstances, which have shaped the overall profile of these churches. As a result, the latter are always subject to change and adjustment when the time is ripe and calls for it. The problem is that such transitions take place slowly and over a long time, which is why they are not immediately perceived as such. This also concerns the issue of political theology under examination. Its underdevelopment in the Orthodox East in contrast to the Latin West is basically due to the specific sociohistorical circumstances explained above. Orthodox political theology has been constrained by several factors from the very beginning; thus it was never in a position to develop more systematically and autonomously. Nevertheless, this is again nothing but a contingent development in the historical course of Orthodox Christianity. It says nothing about the future, which may be surprising, not only in this domain, but also generally, as Orthodox Christianity continues to evolve, acquire fresh experiences, and articulate new agendas of thought and novel strategies of action pertaining to its self-understanding, social presence, and message.

55

Chapter 3 P O L I T IC A L T H E O L O G Y U N D E R T H E C O N D I T IO N S O F M O D E R N I T Y:   A   C AT HO L IC P E R SP E C T I V E Ingeborg Gabriel

Reflection on the relationship of the Christian Churches with the political sphere constitutes an eminent theological challenge in any age. In our age, its focus is the fundamental changes brought about by modernity, which ask for a theological redefinition of the position of the churches vis-à-vis the political community. Since the churches in many countries are significant public actors, their attitude toward politics, as well as the values they hold and the arguments they present for or against particular political institutions, are of considerable political importance. This holds true not only for individual states, but also for the international community as a whole, highlighting the relevance of political theology. This chapter starts out with an interpretation of a central biblical text from the Gospel of St. John that shows that the Christian community took a differentiated and innovative position vis-à-vis the political already in biblical times. It then tries to spell out some theological implications of this text. The historical overview that follows shows the great variety of concrete forms the relationship between the political and the religious took in the European context whereby the latest phase is that of a secular transformation of the political. Based on the position of the Roman Catholic Church at the Second Vatican Council one can argue that there are good theological and ethical reasons to support the normative positions of political modernity and that the churches are called to make good use of the free spaces of civil society, positioning themselves as critical and prophetic voices in the public square.

Biblical Roots: The Paradoxical Relationship of the Political and the Religious according to St. John The New Testament reinterprets the Old Testament in the light of the incarnation, that is, the first coming of Jesus, the Christ. This holds true also for Old Testament prophetism, the main function of which was to proclaim religious as well as ethical

56

56

Ingeborg Gabriel

values to the people of Israel based on the Torah.1 Christianity transformed this prophetic model of the Old Testament with regard to the position it took toward the political sphere. How this is done is one of the fundamental questions of a Christian political theology. Several texts in the New Testament deal with this new concept of the political. The best known is in Matthew 22:15–22 (par Mk 12:13–17; Lk 20:20–26), where the Pharisees ask Jesus a catch question: “Tell us, is it lawful to pay the census tax to Caesar or not?” Showing them a Roman coin, Jesus famously replied:  “Repay to Caesar what belongs to Caesar and to God what belongs to God” (Mt 22:21). This text, widely influential in Christian history, distinguishes between the realm of Caesar, that is, the political sphere, and that of God, that is, the religious sphere, thereby creating a fundamental dichotomy between the secular and the religious not found in the Old Testament.2 An even more differentiated theological reflection on this dichotomy of the secular and religious spheres is found in the Gospel of St. John (18:33–38; 19:1– 16). Written between AD 80 and 100, it already reflects some of the experiences of the Christian communities within the Roman State. It marks the beginning of the passion story of the fourth evangelist and it contains a well-developed Christian political theology in nuce that merits a close look.3 The leitmotiv of the text that is interwoven into it is king/kingship,4 the term king signifying the political authority par excellence. The chapter thereby revolves around three questions central to any political theology as well as political philosophy: Who holds supreme authority, that is, who is the king? How can the political authority defend its claims against usurpers? And last but not least: What constitutes the basis for the legitimacy of these claims? The conversation between 1 The Jewish-American moral philosopher Michael Walzer sees prophetic criticism as a forerunner of modern intellectual criticism; cf. Michael Walzer, Interpretation and Social Criticism (Harvard: Harvard University Press, 1987). 2 Cf. Leonhard Goppelt, “Die Freiheit zur Kaisersteuer—zu Mk. 12,17 und Röm. 13,1–7,” in Christologie und Ethik. Aufsätze zum Neuen Testament, ed. Leonhard Goppelt (Göttingen:Vanderhoeck & Rupprecht, 1968), pp. 208–19. 3 Cf. Martin Hengel, “Reich Christi, Reich Gottes und Weltreich im Johannesevangelium in Königsherrschaft Gottes und himmlischer Kult,” in Königsherrschaft Gottes und himmlischer Kult im Judentum, Urchristentum und in der hellenistischen Welt, ed. by Martin Hengel and Anna Maria Schwemer (Tübingen: Mohr, 1991), pp. 163–84; Thomas Söding “Die Macht der Wahrheit und das Reich der Freiheit. Zur johanneischen Deutung des Pilatus-Prozesses (Jn. 18:28–19:16),” in Zeitschrift für Theologie und Kirche 93 (1996): 35–58; Ignace De la Potterie, Die Passion nach Johannes. Der Text und sein Geist (Einsiedeln:  Johannes Verlag, 1987); the commentary of Raymond E. Brown, The Gospel According to John XIII–XXI:  A  New Translation with Introduction and Commentary, Vol. 2 (New  York:  Doubleday, 1970); the political dimension is highlighted in David Rensberger, “The Politics of John: The Trial of Jesus in the Fourth Gospel,” Journal of Biblical Literature 103 (1984): 395–411. 4 The term king/kinship appears 2 x 7 in the text. Four is the cosmic number (the four elements), three the divine number, and seven thus means the connection between heaven and earth.

57

Political Theology under the Conditions of Modernity

57

Jesus and Pontius Pilate as put forth by John attempts to answer all three questions, whereby the result remains paradoxical demonstrating the fundamental tension between the authority of Christ and that of the political ruler of his day before whom he stands accused of political insurgency and by whom he is finally condemned and crucified. The scene consists of seven parts and involves three parties:  the accused, Jesus; Pontius Pilate, the Roman proconsul; and the Jewish authorities with their messianic expectations of a Jewish king to end foreign occupation (cf. Jn 19:12). The trial is thus characterized by an explosive mixture of political and religious motives and interests of the three different parties. Pontius Pilate’s introductory question echoes the accusation of the Jewish authorities that Jesus has proclaimed himself to be the “king of the Jews.”5 At the same time he is trying to find out the real nature of his offense, giving him a chance to exculpate himself. Jesus’s answer to the Roman magistrate is as counterproductive as it is paradoxical: The kingdom of mine does not belong to this world. If it did belong to this world my attendants would be fighting to keep me from being handed over to the Jews. But as it is the kingdom of mine is not from here. (Jn 18:36)

What is Pontius Pilate to make of this? At first sight the statement contains a sort of affirmation: The accused considers himself to be a king since he heads a kingdom. He denies, however, to command over what constitutes the essence of political power: the ability to defend it with force. In reality, the answer obviously complicates the situation for the judge as well as for the accused since Jesus does not plead innocent, but rather nourishes the accusations brought against him. This shows that this is a theological statement, not the protocol of a real conversation, its aim being to redefine the very notion of kingdom and kingship. Jesus claims to be a king, that is, a political figure par excellence—a claim that seems absurd given his concrete situation. So what does it mean theologically? First, the terminology is political, not purely spiritual. Even if his kingdom is not of this world, Jesus calls himself neither an itinerant preacher nor a spiritual guru, and not even a prophet. By claiming the title of a king he claims an authority that is analogous to political authority, at the same time stressing the main difference that consists in his refusal to use force and exert violence, which is one of the central characteristics of any political authority. Pontius Pilate grasps the implications of this answer: “So you are a king?” and Jesus thereafter carries the argument still a step further: You say it. I am a king. For this I was born and for this I came into the world to testify to the truth. Everyone who belongs to the truth listens to my voice. (Jn 18:37; cf. Jn 1:12 and 8:47)

5 This question is the same as in the Synoptic Gospels (cf. Mk 15:2 par Mt 27:11, Lk 23:3).

58

58

Ingeborg Gabriel

He thus spells out the essence of his sui generis kingship. His authority consists in his testimony for the truth to which his followers are ready to listen, thereby confirming his authority, which is not of this world but nevertheless in this world.6 Pontius Pilate’s skeptical reply, “What is truth?” has resounded through the ages. It may be the reason that in the end he gave into the political pressure and condemned a person of whose innocence he was convinced.7 The following passages in John’s passion story revolve around the question of kingship, the term thus constituting their red thread. The flagellation and the crucifixion depict Jesus as the king who is martyred and suffers unjust violence— instead of inflicting it on others. The soldiers mock him as a king; he is dressed in a purple mantle and a crown and presented to his people as their king. Finally, the inscription on the cross contested by the Jewish authorities calls him again the “king of the Jews.” All of this turns the political notion of a king upside down,8 the ultimate paradox being that Jesus who stands before the Roman judge, as a victim of injustice and political intrigues, is the ruler of the world (ho kosmos). Thus, the one unjustly judged is the final judge at the end of times. This fundamental “transvaluation of all values”9 also constitutes the basis for a redefinition of the political preparing the ground for its desacralization and reimagination. At the center of this complicated historical process stands the theological insight already evident in this text that the political is not the ultimate authority. It cannot command unconditional obedience since the “power of the sword” may always be questioned by the “power of truth.” The political that has throughout history surrounded itself with an aura of sacredness is thus fundamentally disempowered. It can be criticized and ultimately is to be judged on whether it serves human wellbeing and the common good of the community. In other words, political power is functionalized. This is a revolution in outlook with regard to the very idea of the political and it may come as a surprise that this text can be found in the Gospel of St. John, which is considered to be the most spiritual of the four gospels. However,

6 The wording is rather precise: “My kingdom is not from this world (ek tou kosmou toutou),” meaning that Jesus has not received it from worldly powers but from his father. Later gnostic texts introduce a small but important change. The text now reads “My kingdom is not in this world (en tou kosmou toutou),” thus dividing the spiritual from the worldly sphere in a way not to be found in the original text. De la Potterie, Passion, p. 71. 7 In his essay, What Is Justice? Justice, Law, and Politics in the Mirror of Science: Collected Essays (Berkeley:  University of California Press, 1957), Hans Kelsen, the Austrian legal positivist, interprets the scene in Jn 18, replacing the question “what is truth?” with “what is justice?” 8 In the final interrogation the legitimacy of political power is not discussed (in light of Rom. 13), but it constitutes an allusion to God’s providence (Jn 19:9–11), cf. Brown, The Gospel According to John, p. 496. 9 Friedrich W. Nietzsche, The Antichrist, trans. H. L. Mencken (The Project Gutenberg E-book, 2006), §13, http://www.gutenberg.org/files/19322/19322-h/19322-h.htm (accessed August 3, 2016).

59

Political Theology under the Conditions of Modernity

59

another scene in this gospel shows the same counter-indication that is, in a way, complementary. The fourth evangelist replaces the installation of the Eucharist at the last supper through a scene according to which Jesus washes the feet of his disciples (Jn 13:1–20). The disempowerment of political power through nonviolent testimony and the humble service of the master vis-à-vis his followers bring about fundamental transformations of the social and political spheres.10

Theological Coordinates: Three Dichotomies and Their Implications for a Christian Political Theology God and Caesar: The Differentiation between the Religious and Worldly Spheres The dichotomy between the religious and the worldly (secular) and with it the political spheres, is coming into being in the Church as an institution. On their pilgrimage through history Christian communities are to represent the kingdom of God, proclaim it, prophetically speak up for justice, and thus prepare its coming. However, the Church is not the kingdom of God, but—as Vatican II formulates—is “sacrament, i. e. a sign and instrument.”11 Her mission is to bring men and women closer to God as well as to each other and thus further the unity of mankind. The saeculum in its time and space dimensions through her service is to be permeated by justice and love, as salt permeates food (Mt 5:13). The world is seen as a distinct sphere that more or less stands in opposition to the religious sphere of the Church, the degree depending on the justice that has been realized in this world at a specific time in history. The relationship between the two can take different institutional forms, but—and this is the great novelty—they remain distinct entities. The Church thus constitutes a real novum in history. Her very existence as a separate institution makes it a political factor, a fact that has crucial implications for the political sphere, since it leads to its disempowerment, the more since ecclesiastical institutions that are organized in an analogous way with a hierarchy (i.e., persons who claim authority over others) are a visible prophetic counterpower.

10 Christian political theology has mostly focused on Rom 13:1–7 when looking at the attitude toward the political sphere where political power appears as God given (cf. also 1 Pt 2:13–14; 1, Tm 2:1–2). This view has all too often justified abuse of power and neglected the prophetic quality of Christian faith. After the totalitarian catastrophes the apocalyptical model of revelation gained new relevance: cf. Heinrich Schlier, “Der Staat nach dem Neuen Testament,” in Besinnung auf das Neue Testament: Exegetische Aufsätze und Vorträge, ed. Heinrich Schlier (Freiburg: Herder, 1956), pp. 193–211. For present interpretations, see also Bernard Lategan, “Romans 13:1–7: A Review of Post-1989 Readings,” Scriptura 110, no. 2 (2012): 259–72. 11 Cf. Lumen Gentium, Dogmatic Constitution on the Church (Vatican:  Archive, 1964):  http://www.vatican.va/archive/hist_councils/ii_vatican_council/documents/vat-ii_ const_19641121_lumen-gentium_en.html (accessed August 3, 2016).

60

60

Ingeborg Gabriel

As is well known, the way the Church has understood herself vis-à-vis the political authorities has taken different forms in the East and the West (and here again in Catholic and Protestant Churches). Some reasons for this were the rather different political and historical circumstances in which the churches found themselves. The debate about these differences thereby should not obscure the astonishing fact that church structures in the West as well as in the East (and in other churches but in some heterodox Protestant groups) always and everywhere made the Church a visible association not identical with the political institutions, but which had her own identity, her own aims, and her own structures that always claimed a certain degree of independence vis-à-vis the ruler and therefore constituted a potential threat to the claim to absoluteness inherent in political authority. Despite all deformations and dysfunctionalities, ecclesiastical alliances with political powers and violence executed toward others, in short, despite the long chronique scandaleuse of the churches, it must not be forgotten that they were always potential and also actual critical actors vis-à-vis the political authorities. It was so as to not be subjected to critical interventions that kings and rulers tried to subdue, suppress, and/or manipulate the Church, to neutralize her as a counterpower and to mute her voice. The very existence of church institutions separate from those of the state, that is, the empire, thus changed the essence of the political sphere as well as the discourse on the legitimacy of its power. Politics now had as a particular function, the responsibility for the earthly common good and the well-being of all the citizens of the land, whereas the Church was responsible for the eternal good and moral questions. To cite but one famous example, St. Ambrose forbade Emperor Theodosius II to enter his church after he had committed a massacre on the citizens of Thessaloniki. In this sense Christian political theology made of the political power an institution that is to serve those who are under its rule. And it insisted that political authorities can be, and indeed have to be, judged on whether they fulfill their function to improve the human lot. Even if political power has been re-sacralized (also as a Christian political power) during long periods of Christian history, this critical impulse of desacralization and functionalization by prophetic testimony remained an ideal and a source of inspiration for those who wanted to limit political power.12 “Now” and “Not Yet”: Eschatological Tensions and the Dynamics of History A second dichotomy characterizing Christianity as a religion is that of the inherent eschatological tension between the “Now” and the “Not yet.” This tension between the first and the second coming of Christ is constitutive for Christian faith in its individual as well as collective dimensions. Jesus’s announcement of the coming of the messianic Kingdom of God as the very core of his message introduces a new view of history and of time as such. Because of the incarnation, the basileia

12 Cf. Arnold Angenendt, Toleranz und Gewalt: Das Christentum zwischen Bibel und Schwert (Münster: Aschendorff, 2007).

61

Political Theology under the Conditions of Modernity

61

tou theou is already present in this age. Only at his second coming in the future, however, will his mission be completed in the Kingdom of God, which will mark the end of history. This creates a time frame within which the history of mankind unfolds, a rather complex theological notion that has, however, very concrete consequences because it catapults history, so to speak, into a state of permanent motion that will find its end only with the end of history itself. The Christian concept of history, thus, is a highly dynamic one, even if the ardent hope of Parousia, the second coming of Christ, as an eschatological longing has often been replaced by a presentist eschatology that identified the status quo with the Kingdom of God. Another way to tame the fundamental tension between the present and the future inherent in Christian faith was and is its individualization. It then becomes the salvation of the individual that stands in the center of history and no longer the fate of the world and of humanity as a whole. This elimination of the social and indeed cosmic dimensions of Christian life, however, leads to complacency and traditionalism that are counter-productive consequences of the loss of the hope for the completion of the world under God’s rule and authority and the ultimate realization of justice in the Kingdom of God, weakening also the “hunger and thirst for justice” (Mt 5:6) and thus the ethical impulse of Christianity. The Prophetic Mission: Ecclesiastical Institutions and Individual Christian Conscience In John 18 one person stands up for the truth in front of an unjust judge and calls others to follow his voice. Jesus is thus shown as the one who freely proclaims God’s word in front of political rulers. At the same time he is the Word his followers are to imitate. Even if the prophetic mission has been entrusted to the Church as a whole, it is obviously always individual Christians who are called to give prophetic testimony for justice and love in the concrete historical circumstances and to “follow his voice” according to his or her conscience. The high value placed on the individual conscience inspired by the Holy Spirit who guides the individual believer is constitutive for Christian self-understanding. This also has important implications for the political realm where Christians are called to resist inhuman practices and any abuse of power. It is the intellectual capacity, the courage, and ardent struggle for more justice and love of Christians that is to lead to a better human life for many. This duty cannot be delegated to others. It is the responsibility of every Christian as well as of the Church as a whole to voice prophetic criticism wherever fundamental rights and values are at stake, even if this leads to grave disadvantages, since it is their duty “to obey God more than men” (Acts 5:29).

Historical Struggles: The Taming of Caesar and Its Secular Transformation The tension between the Church and the Roman political powers was felt already in the early Christian ekklesia. Christians saw themselves as loyal citizens with a

62

62

Ingeborg Gabriel

high ethos. They were, however, ready to face discrimination and martyrdom for their beliefs, including their moral convictions. One of the reasons, if not the main reason, for their persecution was that their political allegiance seemed somewhat dubious. This is not surprising if one takes a look at the political terminology used by the early church. Already the biblical term “kingdom of God” that runs like a red thread through the Old Testament is a highly political notion. It testifies to the belief that God will establish his reign of justice at the end of times, bringing to an end all arbitrariness and injustice of human rulers, judges, and merchants. This ardent hope for a kingdom of justice is also present in the New Testament. The theological meaning of the terms basileia and basileus must not have been easy to grasp for outsiders. Calling Christ a president (or chairman), even in a modern setting, would sound somewhat subversive. So to call him a king, living under the rule of Augustus with practically absolute power, was even more so. This transfer of political terminology is, by the way, also to be found in liturgical language, such as in the kyrie eleison, a call originally directed to the Byzantine emperor asking for his mercy. Addressing it to Christ, the Lord, clearly meant a transfer of loyalty and it was indeed the intent of this early Christian political theology to show that loyalty ultimately belonged to God and not to the basileius of the empire or other earthly rulers. This by itself is a signal that the Church saw herself as a power sui generis challenging the political authorities with nonviolent means, her message being one of peace and not of political revolution. At the same time it is also not surprising that this message brought her into conflict with Roman law. What is astonishing, however, is that the early church did not avoid such misunderstandings by simply using other, less political terminology, thus rejecting the option of an apolitical theology even at the price of discrimination and persecution. After more than three hundred years of her existence as an illegal institution at the substate level, the Church, in a step-by-step process taking another two hundred years, became the Church of the Roman Empire, thus replacing paganism as the state religion.13 From then on she legitimized the political rule in what was to become Europe. It is important to remember at this point that political powers and authorities in all ages relied on religious foundations. Religion was essential to secure the favor of the gods (or later God) for the well-being of the city. This was so not only in all pagan empires but also Isreal. St. Augustine argues in his Civitas Dei against this ubiquitous view and against those who want to reinstitutionalize paganism as the official state religion of Rome after barbarian conquests and the fall of Rome had, in their opinion, discredited the Christian God. For the Church this newly acquired role as the religion of the empire meant that she supported a sacralization of the political under Christian auspices. This also led to a profound transformation of ecclesial institutions. During the so-called Constantinian epoch the difference between the political and religious spheres was blurred in both

13 Starting with the Edict of Milan in ad 313, it may be seen as finalized with the closure of the Platonic Academy by Emperor Justinian in ad 529.

63

Political Theology under the Conditions of Modernity

63

the Western and the Eastern Church, which were over and again drawn into political struggles, all too often betraying their call to nonviolence and standing in a close relationship with the political authorities, a history which discredits them particularly in Europe to this day.14 However, a separation of the religious and the political always existed, an arrangement that was unique to Christian lands. Thus, even if the Church was all too often ready to give in to political demands and played her own power games, she remained a separate entity and thus a potential counterpower. The establishment of universities and with them academic theology would, for instance, have been impossible without this double structure of the Christian orbis. This separation between the religious and the political spheres was more pronounced in the West than in the East. This had historical rather than theological reasons: Whereas in Byzantium the Church existed within a largely intact Roman administrative and political order, in the West the barbarian invasions between the fourth and tenth centuries had practically destroyed all Roman institutions, replacing them with relatively primitive tribal structures. The Western Church, therefore, during this long period constituted the only functioning institution and often took over political responsibilities. It was the guardian of knowledge from antiquity and of education. Church law as well as her bureaucracy became the model for the political institutions of the West in statu nascendi.15 This particular history also enabled the Western Church to carve out free spaces for herself so as to manage her own internal affairs with a certain degree of independence (e.g., to nominate bishops). Despite often excessive power claims, her struggle for the so-called libertas ecclesiae contributed decisively to setting limits to otherwise arbitrary political rule.16 The memory of this age-long struggle between the imperium and the sacerdotium with its various ups and downs should serve as a reminder that the taming of Caesar is an arduous as well as a difficult affair and that any progress toward a system of checks and balances of political power as the precondition for political freedom rights is a precious and precarious civilizational and cultural good. The devastating wars of religion in the fifteenth to seventeenth centuries initiated a new phase in Western political development.17 It was then and there that the

14 It was the most important factor for what has been called eurosecularity; cf. Peter L. Berger, Grace Davie, and Effie Fokas, Religious America, Secular Europe? A Theme and Variations (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2008). 15 Harold Joseph Berman, Law and Revolution:  The Formation of the Western Legal Tradition (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1983). 16 Ernst Wolfgang Böckenförde, Geschichte der Rechts- und Staatsphilosophie (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2002), p. 262. 17 This view has recently been challenged by William Cavanaugh, “Religious Violence as a Modern Myth,” Political Theology 15, no. 1 (2014):  486–502. He is right in that it was not solely religion that was responsible for the religious war, but also politics and that the absolutism that followed was no more peaceful. He overlooks, however, that the question of State legitimization had indeed to be reformulated so as to accomodate different creeds in

64

64

Ingeborg Gabriel

secular state was invented. The theory of a political entity not based on religion was first formulated by Thomas Hobbes standing under the impression of the brutal English civil war in Leviathan (1651). It was developed further by John Locke in Two Treatises on Government (1689) and would become the model for a new political and social order in a historic situation when religious homogeneity could no longer be achieved but by brutal force and expulsion of religious minorities. A century later this covenant theory was transformed into a political program that brought forth the first human rights declarations implemented after the American and French Revolutions. The core idea of this political liberalism is that all citizens have equal rights, which are enshrined in a national constitution. These human rights include the right to religious freedom as well as the freedom of conscience. Rights are prior to the state, which has the function to institutionalize and guarantee them to all citizens. The aim of this constitutional state model in view of religion is that believers of different creeds are to live together in peace on the basis of equality. Where the state is effectively legitimized by religion this is not possible. The human rights–based constitution thus replaces religion as the foundational principle and is to serve as a unifying force and ultimate point of reference for political legitimacy. Political power this way becomes once more desacralized. It is now tamed by a constitutional law that sets clear limits to the use of power, its main aim being to spare citizens from arbitrary or unjust treatment by state authorities. The principle of legality to which the state was compelled is indeed a revolution that leads to the functionalization of political institutions, the ultimate purpose of which—it is now proclaimed—is to serve human dignity, equality, and freedom, and thus to humanize life. One of the important consequences of modern constitutionalism is the creation of the civil sphere. As the German philosopher Jürgen Habermas has shown, the establishment of an intermediate sphere between the state and the individual in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries has been the result of the new freedom rights, such as the right to free speech, the right to assemble, and, last but not least, the right to religious freedom, and would not have been possible without them. It was in this newly created public sphere that critical argument could be voiced that was to orient the political processes toward moral goals.18 According to Immanuel Kant, the state and its organs are to be held accountable before the Richterstuhl der Vernunft (tribunal of practical reason).19 The image of one State on the basis of equality and that for this the emergence of religious confessionalism and the wars of religion played a decisive role. To use this as an argument to exclude religion from the public sphere would, however, be anachronistic. 18 Cf. Jürgen Habermas, The Structural Transformation of the Public Sphere: An Inquiry into a Category of Bourgeois Society (Cambridge: Polity Press, 1992). According to Immanuel Kant, “publicity is the principle of the mediation between politics and morals,” here p. 102. 19 Immanuel Kant, Fortgesetzte Betrachtung der seit einiger Zeit wahrgenommenen Erderschütterungen (1765), in Kants Werke, Akademie Textausgabe I: Vorkritische Schriften 1747–1756 (Berlin: Suhrkamp, 1968), pp. 465–72 (469).

65

Political Theology under the Conditions of Modernity

65

the tribunal thereby intentionally or unintentionally evokes that of Jesus standing before Pontius Pilate in John 18. The religious image and impulse have been transformed into an ethical one. The public sphere now is the space where moral and political questions that concern the res publica as a whole are to be discussed. The res publica or public authority is thus split into two different spheres. The state with its monopoly of force, that is, the political sphere in the original sense, is being complemented by a civil society consisting of voluntary associations, media, and so on. It is in the latter that public opinion is to be formed and abuses of power are to be criticized. The former dichotomy between the religious (mainly the churches) and the political institutions is thus being superseded (if not replaced) by that of the state and civil society, its main function being the control of the political authority through practical reason. This public square is a substantive invention of political liberalism and one of its main strengths since it allows for a forum where public discussions can take place, reforms can be initiated, and protests can be voiced, whereby all these political processes depend on the capabilities and willingness of the citizens of a particular state. Practical reason and the nonviolent power of discourse combined with civil protest, if need be, are to humanize the exercise of political power. That this remains difficult and indeed perilous is shown inter alia by the large number of journalists harassed and even murdered, by bans pronounced against civil society institutions, and by the difficulties faced by church institutions everywhere when they speak up for freedom and human dignity. The secular constitutional state, that is, the state not legitimized by religion, has been rejected by the established Christian churches (not by heterodox Christian communities) throughout the nineteenth and part of the twentieth century. Since the term secular is used in rather different combinations and to describe rather different phenomena in the current debate, some clarifying remarks on the topic are to be made at this point. The term “secular” comes from the Latin “saeculum” (this age, the world). It rests on the assumption that there exist two spheres, religious and secular, in time as well as in space. In this way it reflects the differentiation between them made in Christian theology as described above. From the perspective of a Christian political theology, it is of particular importance to clearly distinguish between the phenomena associated with this terminology in modern debates, since this is the precondition for their ethical evaluation from a Christian point of view. I  think it is helpful to distinguish between the following three usages, which are to be called secularization, secularism, and the secular state.20 The term secularization is to denote an empirical fact or a set of empirical facts that are investigated by sociologists of religion. Secularization thereby means 20 The terminology differs widely. Mine comes closest to that of José Casanova, as put forward in his classic, Public Religions in the Modern Age (Chicago, IL: Chicago University Press, 1994).

66

66

Ingeborg Gabriel

that the influence of a (particular) religion on people’s lives as well as on the public and political sphere is declining. This decline in religious practice at a certain time and in a particular place can be measured by sociological methods and tools that answer questions posed about religious practice (e.g., less people attend Sunday Mass in the church or Friday prayer in the mosque; polls show that less people believe in God and they no longer think that He acts in their lives). This empirical secularization clearly differs from what is to be called secularism, meaning a philosophical concept dominant in some strings of European Enlightenment philosophy. It has different features. First, it holds a progressivist philosophy of history that is based on the assumption that religion will fade away in the historical process quasi automatically. Second, this decline is highly welcome, with religion constituting an alienating as well as outmoded form of human conscience. Secularist ideology is thus based on a view of history that contains a fierce religious criticism and sees religion as being fundamentally opposed to human flourishing. Its decline in the course of time is therefore to be supported, whereby there lies a certain contradiction in the fact that its final disappearance is guaranteed anyway by the historical process. The chief enemies of the secularist view and the religious criticism of the nineteenth century were, of course, the Christian faith and the institutionalized churches, which were to be excluded from public life. It has and is, however, also extended to other religions. There existed different variants of secularism in the European context that were more or less benign. For German romanticism, for instance, religion was mainly an outmoded form of consciousness that was to be overcome by education. Thus Johann Wolfgang von Goethe in one of his aphorisms writes: “Whoever has art and science, does have religion; who lacks both is to have religion.”21 Religion here is looked down on as a surrogate for the finer and inherently superior forms of knowledge that are art and science. This contempt for religion inherent in secularism took a more malignant form in French Enlightenment. Thus the French philosopher and sociologist August Comte (1798–1857), following the main stream of French philosophy, distinguishes between a religious age being replaced by a metaphysical (philosophical) one. This age will in turn be overcome by the scientific positivist age in which religious superstition will have completely disappeared. For Karl Marx, religion is an “opium of the people” that will vanish together with social misery. Vladimir Lenin then opted for a more active secularist political approach, demanding the liquidation of all those who dealt with this “opium for the people.”22 His policies and those of his followers led to

21 Johann W. Goethe, “Wer Wissenschaft und Kunst besitzt, hat auch Religion; wer jene beiden nicht besitzt, der habe Religion,” Zahme Xenien, Gesammelte Werke in acht Bänden, Bd. 1, Gedichte (Gütersloh: Gütersloh Verlag, 1976), pp. 376–82 (381). 22 Karl Marx, “Zur Kritik der Hegelschen Rechtsphilosophie:  Einleitung,” in Karl Marx and Friedrich Engels, Werke. Bd. 1 (Berlin:  Aufbau Verlag, 1964), pp. 378–91 (378); Vladimir I. Lenin, “Sozialismus und Religion,” Werke 10: November 1905—Juni 1906 (Dietz Verlag: Berlin 1958), 4. Auflage, pp. 70–75 (71).

67

Political Theology under the Conditions of Modernity

67

the totalitarian and antireligious climax of the ideology of secularism and the bloodiest persecutions of Christians in history. The secular state, as indicated above, is obviously identical with neither secularism nor secularization but constitutes a legal order not legitimized by a particular religion but by a constitution based on human rights. This difference is of utter importance for any Christian political theology. Secularism as a philosophy of history and a political ideology that is by definition atheistic constitutes a (potentially deadly) opposition to Christian faith as to any religion, and therefore has to be fought with all intellectual and political means. There is also no reason for Christian theology to welcome secularization. If Christians consider their religion the highest good, they obviously cannot wish that its influence declines, that the number of the faithful shrinks, and that people become less committed to their faith. Christian theology can, and indeed should, however, endorse the secular state for reasons that are shown in detail in the next section. The conceptual distinction between these phenomena (empirical secularization, philosophical and ideological secularism, and secular state constitutionalism) does not mean, however, that they are not linked with each other in reality. To name but the two most important combinations: first, the very aim of secularism is to bring about secularization, which secularists believe is an inherently good thing, liberating people from religion superstition, and alienation, and—in the present situation—violence. Secularists will therefore do all they can to convince people of their quasi-religious belief in the course of history and its beneficial effects, thereby furthering secularization. Second, since the secular state guarantees religious freedom and thus does not force its citizens to hold a religious creed, this may also lead to enhanced secularization. When citizens may choose not to practice, or to change their religion or have no religion at all, they may also become fierce secularist atheists.23 The discussion whether the age of secularism has come to an end and whether we are now in a post-secular age includes questions of secularism and secularization. Is the former still alive as a philosophy? Is the process of secularization going to continue? These are important philosophical and empirical questions that, however, have to be separated from normative political questions: What type of political system can Christians endorse and on which theological grounds? Which Christian political theology best supports the biblical vision of a separation of powers in this age? Summing up, the historical overview indicates that there were three phases in European Christian history in which Christianity, mainly because of historical circumstances, took different views and outlooks on the right and theologically fitting relationship between the religious, that is, the Church, and the political, that is, what used to be the empire is now the state. The differentiation between the two, however, existed all through history and has, indeed, never been questioned as such

23 That this is not necessarily so is shown by the stunning difference in religiosity in the United States and in Europe, i.e., in what has been called eurosecularity, cf. footnote 14.

68

68

Ingeborg Gabriel

being a particular feature of Christianity based on biblical texts such as John 18. This continuity of the separation of the Church and the political as well as its moral ends that have always been the individual practice of high Christian ethos as well as what has been called the taming of Caesar, that is, the struggle for the limitation of arbitrary political power, has, however, been incorporated in different historical forms that show a great deal of variation. This makes the discontinuity sometimes seem more visible than the continuity of the separation between the religious and the political. Typically three phases are to be distinguished: the existence of the Church in the Roman Empire as a fragile sub-state and indeed an illegal entity, a lack of status that led to frequent persecutions and discriminations. In this period there were single voices for religious freedom, for example, by Lactanz and Tertullian, but the concept itself was not rife yet. In the long, so-called Constantinian age, the Church, that is, the churches in the East and in the West, were engaged and engaged themselves as state churches, thus legitimizing the political power of their time. This relationship was more or less harmonious, whereby historical circumstances again played a decisive role in shaping it concretely. The status as a state church made possible impressive cultural achievements, including the establishment of substantive caritative institutions. But it also made the Church part of the political system and its use and abuse of power. It was Christian monasticism that saw itself as the heir to this fundamental spiritual insight and as an internal prophetic corrective to the political involvement of the Church. The third phase was again brought about by historical changes. They were for a long time fiercely opposed by the established churches that focused on the negative consequences of the modern age and the civil revolutions of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. Marxism and the Marxist revolutions of the twentieth century for many affirmed this view of an anti-Christian modernity with which, as some popes formulated it, Christianity can never be reconciled. Political liberalism, however, also contains from the very beginning a humanist normative project that—as will be argued in the following—relies on the establishment of political structures that the churches can, and indeed must, endorse, since they not only grant them legally guaranteed free spaces based on religious freedom and other freedom rights, that is, an agora where they can freely proclaim the gospel including its ethical contents, but also free the Church from political interference to which it had been subject in so-called Christian states and by Christian rulers. And, perhaps most important, it no longer makes faith a matter of compulsion or political opportunism, but of personal affirmation. In the last section I therefore want to argue that the secular state as a political order should be considered by Christians as Charles Taylor once formulated an “admirable invention of modernity”24 and that there are good theological as well as ethical reasons for a Christian political theology to endorse it. 24 Charles Taylor, A Catholic Modernity? (New  York:  Oxford University Press, 1999), p. 25.

69

Political Theology under the Conditions of Modernity

69

Modern Challenges: The Secular State and the Mission of Christian Churches on the Areopag of Modernity The Roman Catholic Church has recognized the secular constitutional state at Vatican II as the form of government that best corresponds to human dignity and the rightful aspirations to freedom in the modern age. She did that after a long period of hesitation, by removing the main stumbling block with regard to the recognition of modern political culture: the rejection of religious freedom. As the title of the document on Religious Freedom, Dignitatis humanae,25 indicates the main theological argument for this change of position of the Roman Catholic Church was that the dignity of the human person and his or her right to free and responsible decisions in accordance with his or her conscience in religious matters is to be respected by the political authorities. Religious freedom thus is confirmed as a civil right. This is important. It does not put religions on an equal basis, or undermine the belief in the Christian faith being the only true faith (which, by the way, is completely reasonable for any creed). It rather acknowledges that the choice of a particular religion touching the innermost being of a person in his or her relationship with God is not to be subjected to the interference by the state. The state is in this way neutral in questions of religion. It is to let citizens freely choose or also change their religion, not to hold a religious belief, and it is not to privilege one particular religion over others, as was the case in a state based on a state religion.26 This theological position is not as new as it may seem at first. As mentioned above, some authors were arguing in this direction already in antiquity. 27 More importantly, it had always been clear for theologians that the act of faith has to be free and that men and women are obliged to follow their individual consciences in questions of religion. This freedom of religious consent was seen as the essence of human dignity. This theological insight collided, however, with the steadfast

25 “The declaration of this Vatican Council on the right of man to religious freedom has its foundation in the dignity of the person, whose exigencies have come to be fully known to human reason through centuries of experience” (Dignitatis Humanae, Declaration on Religious Freedom, section 9 [Vatican:  Archive,  1965]:  http://www.vatican.va/archive/ hist_councils/ii_vatican_council/documents/vat-ii_decl_19651207_dignitatis-humanae_ en.html). 26 Cf. Ingeborg Gabriel, “Christianity in an Age of Uncertainty: A Catholic Perspective,” in Between Relativism and Fundamentalism, ed. Peter L. Berger (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2010), pp. 124–51; J. Bryan Hehir, “The Modern Catholic Church and Human Rights: The Impact of the Second Vatican Council,” in Christianity and Human Rights: An Introduction, ed. John Witte, Jr. and Frank S. Alexander (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2012), pp. 113–34 (with further literature). 27 Cf., e.g., Tertullian, Apologetische, Dogmatische und Montanistische Schriften, übers. Heinrich Kellner, Bibliothek der Kirchenväter, Series 1, Vol. 24 (Kempten & München, 1915), chapter 24.

70

70

Ingeborg Gabriel

claim of states to be based on a state religion, a view that was the norm before modernity since a state religion and the favor of God or the gods was considered to be essential for the well-being of the state as well as its citizens, whereby this claim was regarded as superior to the individual right to religious freedom. This led to the morally paradoxical situation that heretics, that is, people who wanted to change their faith and persons of other faiths (though in varying degrees) were obliged to follow their own conscience in matters religious, but had at the same time to accept political and church punishment for doing so, that is, for following their convictions. This incongruence has been once and for all eliminated by the theological recognition of the right to religious freedom as a civil right. But there are also other good theological and ethical reasons for the recognition of human rights, including religious freedom as well as the democratic rights of participation, that set limits to political power through a system of checks and balances as well as through institutions that are disposed to prevent abuse of power as well as political corruption that characterizes autocratic, not to speak of totalitarian, systems. The aim of this systemic humanist approach is to curb political arbitrariness and indeed politically afflicted violence. Through the ages this aim had been pursued mainly by attempting to improve the piety and virtue of rulers and moral exhortations by the churches. In the model of political liberalism it is the rule of law, the separation of powers, that is, between the legal, the executive, and the judiciary branch, and democratic procedures that mitigate the dangers of abuse of power. Despite all imperfections this puts political morale on a more reliable and permanent basis and therefore constitutes considerable progress from a theological and ethical point of view, the reduction of violence being one of the main aims of Christian ethics. The belief in a messiah who on the basis of principle refrains from using violence (Jn 18:36) can be seen as a stimulus and an obligation to search for political solutions that are less prone to inflicting violence on the innocent, but even on those who are eventually proved to be guilty. Therefore the political inventions of modernity should be recognized insofar as they have the capacity and potential to further this project of the reduction of violence in political affairs. That the state needs to use violence to a certain degree and is therefore always connected with sin was one of the insights of the Church fathers. In view of this, it has always been the aim of political ethics and indeed theology to find means and ways to mitigate the necessary use of force through political institutions that are less prone to arbitrariness and injustice. Particularly for a Christian political theology that has to take into account the strong biblical option for nonviolence, this is imperative. The practice of justice based on human rights considerably raises the chances that those who are wrongly accused are acquitted, suspects are not tortured, and believers are not harassed, that citizens are able to participate in furthering the common good freely, and so forth. It is (to give but one other example) no minor moral achievement if politicians treat their opponents with respect and are ready to step down when voted out of office. All this is to be endorsed from the point of view of Christian ethics. Therefore a political order based on human rights is to be preferred over other forms of government

71

Political Theology under the Conditions of Modernity

71

since it improves the life of human beings and therefore is in accordance with the most fundamental ends of Christian ethics and faith. A  Christian political theology that opts for democracy and constitutional human rights therefore does not favor a political status quo in democratic states. There are good theological and normative reasons for such a position. Another central invention of the modern liberal state is, as shown above, civil society. It creates a public sphere in which churches can, and indeed have to, raise their voice. It constitutes the decisive advantages of the constitutional state that it allows for the propagation of faith and morals as well for prophetic criticism and charitable activities within this civil society. This means that the Church is free to proclaim her message without state interference, which had been the order of the day in so-called Christian states, political authorities clamping down on positions and activities that did not suit them. Social critics (such as John Chrysostom) thus were unwelcome and often persecuted, as were bishops all too active or popular. The freedom granted to the Church under a constitutional regime, allowing for her public engagement through social teaching and actions of Church associations, is therefore a high good for the Church herself,28 because she can voice her social and political criticism without being harassed for her open words in public and engage freely in charitable activities. Why, then, it must be asked, is there so much unease with modern political institutions and sometimes also with modernity as a whole among Christian theologians? There seem to be several reasons for this:  first, it may have to do with strong emotional attachment to an ideal Christian past. It is this interior image of a utopian land where all were pious, obedient, and adhered to Christian faith, be it in the Middle Ages or in Byzantium, which then serves as a point of reference in judging the present age. This land, however, never existed. It means therefore to give in to an illusion to compare this imagined perfect state to the messy realities and shortcomings of today’s societies and politics. Second, the nostalgic attitude widespread in church circles might, however, also have to do with a lack of aptitude to use the new opportunities on the areopag of modernity. It is demanding and indeed uncomfortable for an institution used to a position of monopoly for centuries or even millennia to act as one among many actors in a pluralistic setting. As much as the constitutional secular state frees the churches from a whole range of evils, temptations, and the necessity of deforming compromises with the political powers that, as history shows, were mostly to their disadvantage, it also puts them in a position of equality with other players. This poses considerable challenges and requires learning processes that are by no means easy. Second, as a state church, she had to deal only with state authorities. Now she has to act within a

28 The concrete arrangements between Church and State differ in various countries, ranging from strict separation, e.g., in the United States and in another form in France, to mixed systems as in Austria, Germany, and other European countries, the State paying for religious education, university chairs in theology, and so forth.

72

72

Ingeborg Gabriel

civil society that plays by rather different rules. She is confronted with actors that have overlapping aims, that is, nongovernmental organizations and other religious communities. This could actually be seen as a chance to further one’s own causes on a broader basis. It is, however, in fact more often regarded as a threat also because of a lack of habitude to interact on a basis of equality with others. More difficult even is to accept that the Church is no longer sacrosanct but has to endure criticism that can also be unfair. Churches that were used to a monopoly position in religious and moral matters (e.g., the Austrian Roman Catholic Church) have had a hard time adapting to this situation. A  third point is that to effectively participate in public discourse, churches have to present their political and social convictions as public arguments. This would call for a Christian intellectual culture, which to flourish requires basic freedom of thought and internal pluralism within the Church herself. Intellectual creativity, the ability to take risks, and tolerance of others outside and inside the Church could make her a strong actor in the public realm. It also would equip her to form alliances with other actors (including other churches) so as to promote her own agenda as well as fundamental causes more effectively. Actions in the public square require a positive attitude toward pluralism in society based on the conviction that the church institution can indeed learn something from others and their competence29 (cf. Gaudium et spes 43). A  lack of such attitudes combined with the real shortcomings and the one-sidedness of modern societies, which often lack a basic feeling for the values of the Christian faith, may be a fourth reason for the general discomfort with modern political culture, as can often be observed within the Christian Churches. These are, however, not theological arguments but rather reflect a lack of courage to take new paths after a long period as a state church. This is all the more regrettable, since in general, as data showed after the fall of Communism, there are high expectations in European societies that churches realize their role of being moral guide in the public. They are to assist those who are socially marginalized, disadvantaged, and in need through charitable activities, but they are also to raise their prophetic voice, criticizing the concrete social ills and thus help to usher in social change. It is therefore an opportunity and indeed duty of the churches to speak up on the areopag of modernity against poverty and social exclusion because of growing social inequalities, against human trafficking, but also against warmongering and human rights violations as well as the destruction of natural resources and consumerism to name but a few of those life destructive tendencies. It is of considerable advantage that the Church can do this without having to fear political consequences and persecution, even if she will be criticized by those who hold other interests and

29 Gaudium et Spes, Pastoral Constitution on the Church in the Modern World, section 43 (Vatican:  Archive, 1965), http://www.vatican.va/archive/hist_councils/ii_vatican_ council/documents/vat-ii_cons_19651207_gaudium-et-spes_en.html (accessed August 3, 2016).

73

Political Theology under the Conditions of Modernity

73

must be prepared to shoulder this criticism. One of the main strengths of a political order that allows for much freedom is that it allows for creative human solutions. But it also relies on a moral basis that it cannot create itself, as the German jurist Ernst-Wolfgang Böckenförde formulated in what has become cited as the so-called Böckenförde-paradoxon.30 The present intellectual and social debates on social capital and trust also show that these foundations are of eminent importance for social cohesion.31 Summing up:even if in modern as in other societies there are all kinds of human follies, immoral behavior, corruption, and other ills as well as particular laws Christians cannot agree with, this is by far outweighed by the opportunities they grant for churches to further faith as well as morals. Churches as large institutions in civil society can help to provide value orientations and also empower their believers to act as moral agents in private and public life so as to further the common good through social and educational activities.32 A political theology for this age, as I attempted to sketch it, should therefore fulfill three preconditions: first, it should acknowledge that the religious-secular divide that is part of modern political culture is not an invention of modernity, but has deep biblical roots, the gospels already differentiating clearly between the religious and the political spheres. This dichotomy that constitutes as a Christian particularity, in the course of history had substantial influence on the configuration of the political as well as the religious or ecclesiastical spheres. Even though in its secularist garb after the French Revolution, other than after the American Revolution, it was anti-Christian, the separation of Church and states in a secular constitutional state constitutes a high cultural and political good. A secular state respecting religious freedom and cooperating with the churches allows her to exercise her critical prophetic role in freedom and without legal harassments. Christian Churches should thus not fall into the trap of regarding modernity as a whole as apostatic, that is, in discontinuity with an idealized Christian premodernity, where the unity of throne and altar guaranteed their flourishing and dominance. Second, political institutions can improve human lives by realizing a considerable degree of human security and freedom. For this they depend, however, on the high ethos of their citizens with regard to the respect of the other, their ability to compromise, and other political virtues. A public theology that expresses itself in matters of faith and morals can actively contribute to shaping this ethos through education and their participation in public discourse. It is the very strength of

30 Ernst Wolfgang Böckenförde, Staat, Gesellschaft, Freiheit. Studien zur Staatstheorie und zum Verfassungsrecht (Frankfurt: Suhrkamp, 1991), pp. 42–64 (60). 31 Cf., e.g., Robert Putnam, Democracies in Flux:  The Evolution of Social Capital in Contemporary Society (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2004). 32 Cf. Ingeborg Gabriel, Ulrich Körtner, and Alexandros Papaderos, Trilogy of Social Ethics: Orthodox—Catholic—Protestant (Philadelphia: Ecumenical Press, 2012).

74

74

Ingeborg Gabriel

liberal societies that they allow for such criticism and grant the Church free space to preach her message, enabling her to contribute to human well-being as well as human salvation by proclaiming her anthropological and theological message in greater freedom. Third, the constitutional secular state, democracy and human rights should neither be over- nor undervalued. Insofar as their humanist-ethical foundations overlap with fundamental ethical inspirations of Christian origin, such as the mitigation of violence and the respect for human dignity, they constitute an invention to be supported and defended by Christian political theology against autocratic, not to speak of totalitarian, forms of governments. They are to be preferred over other forms of rule insofar as they offer a political framework in which there is less political injustice than in other political orders we know of. By allowing for a plurality of voices in the public square, they also increase the chance that better and more humane solutions can be found for social ills. At the same time it is obvious that these as any political and social institutions can never realize perfect justice in an imperfect, that is, sinful world. They also cannot give meaning to human life nor do they offer an ultimate eschatological vision of hope and the final fulfillment of human history in the kingdom of God, in “a new earth and new heaven in which justice reigns” (1 Pt 3:13), where God “will wipe off all tears and there will be no more sorrow” (Rev 21:4). Political institutions are thus responsible for the common good, not for salvation. It is the task of any Christian political theology to assess their advantages and disadvantages from an ethical and theological point of view that is embedded in the anthropological and theological vision of the Christian faith as a whole.

75

Chapter 4 E U R O P E A N R E L IG IOU S F R E E D OM N O R M S A S A C HA L L E N G E T O O RT HO D OX C H U R C H E S Effie Fokas

The emerging European institutional framework for religious freedom forms an important aspect of the political and societal context in which Orthodox Churches must function—regardless of the extent to which the latter are aware of this or accepting of this fact.1 Though this institutional framework engages states directly and less so churches,2 because of the close links between the two in the majority of Orthodox countries (and less conspicuously in others), the potential impact for churches is extensive—particularly through more or less subtle implications for church-state relations—but also through equality directives mandating nondiscrimination on bases such as religion and gender 1 This chapter draws on research conducted by the author in the Pluralism and Religious Freedom in Majority Orthodox Contexts research project (PLUREL), funded by the European Commission 7th Framework Package (Marie Curie Fellowship). The country cases examined in PLUREL are from Greece, Romania, Bulgaria, and Russia, and the research was conducted between 2010 and 2013. The empirical research conducted in the project entailed over one hundred semi-structured qualitative interviews with representatives of religious minority groups, representatives of the Orthodox Church, representatives of state organs dealing with “religious affairs,” representatives of NGOs dealing with religious freedom issues, and lawyers handling religious freedom cases. I  would like to thank the many individuals in these four countries who contributed to the research by devoting time and energy to an in-depth interview with me as well as, in some cases, providing helpful supplementary texts. Without their generosity and willingness to share their perspectives and experiences with me, this particular research would not have been possible. I would also like to thank the European Research Council for the grant supporting my work during the drafting of this chapter (Grant Agreement No. 338463; see www.grassrootsmobilise.eu). 2 With the notable exception of the framework for communication between the European Union (EU) and religious communities embedded in Article 17 (especially para. 3) of the Treaty on the EU, which sets out that: 1. The Union respects and does not prejudice the status under national law of churches and religious associations or communities in the Member States.

76

76

Effie Fokas

orientation, and through protection of religious freedom for all individuals (whether of majority or minority faith). Both “European” and “norms” should be read with inverted commas. The Europeanness per se of the norms is neither suggested nor considered, and there is no normative content to that characterization. I refer to norms as “European” in that they emanate from institutions that are part of the broader European unification project, and especially those set by the European Convention of Human Rights (ECHR), and further developed by the European Court of Human Rights (henceforth ECtHR, or the Court) enforcing this Convention. The Court is the European body dealing most explicitly, thoroughly, and actively with religious freedom and thus is central to any discussion of European religious freedom norms.3 Meanwhile, though “European religious freedom norms” is a commonly used expression in sociolegal literature, it should become clear in the pages that follow that while the term may apply fairly to the articles and protocols of the ECHR, if we define norms as sociologists do, that is, as informal understandings that govern society’s behaviors, then strictly speaking we cannot necessarily call what emerges from the Court’s religious freedom jurisprudence “norms.” Rather than informal understandings governing society’s behaviors, the Court’s decisions are often formal decisions against which societies react. This is particularly the case in the context of the Court’s religion jurisprudence, which is neither strictly linear nor strictly consistent. Still for simplicity’s sake, the term “norms” is used here, and I ask the reader to bear this caveat in mind. Finally, I take for granted that European religious freedom norms represent a challenge to Orthodox Churches, and more conspicuously to states with a majority of Orthodox populations. The more poignant question is whether these norms represent a particular challenge to Orthodox Churches. Or, more precisely, do they represent challenges that are somehow qualitatively or quantitatively different from those faced by other faith groups, or challenges that are especially burdensome for Orthodox Churches as compared with other faith groups? I address this question with references to data generated in a research project on pluralism and religious freedom comparing four majority Orthodox contexts. In the pages that follow, I  foreground this discussion with an exploration of the European institutional framework for religious freedom, drawing attention to what I  see as a fundamental tension between two basic principles in European governance: that of subsidiarity on one hand and a commitment to pluralism on 2. The Union equally respects the status under national law of philosophical and nonconfessional organizations. 3. Recognizing their identity and their specific contribution, the Union shall maintain an open, transparent and regular dialogue with these churches and organizations. 3 The Court of Justice of the EU is the judicial body that specifically enforces EU law; in terms of religious freedom jurisprudence at the European level, this text engages solely with that of the European Court of Human Rights.

77

Religious Freedom Norms as a Challenge to Orthodox Churches

77

the other. I then set out the European religious freedom norms relevant to this discussion, based on particular articles of the ECHR as well as on specific cases in the religious freedom jurisprudence of the ECtHR. Finally, I examine the extent to which both the latter impact Orthodox Churches in any distinct sense.

Subsidiarity versus Pluralism in the European Institutional Framework for Religious Freedom The principle of subsidiarity was formally established into EU structures by the Treaty of Maastricht in 1992. According to the Treaty on theEU (a.k.a. the Lisbon Treaty), which has been in force since 2009: Under the principle of subsidiarity, in areas which do not fall within its exclusive competence, the Union shall act only if and in so far as the objectives of the proposed action cannot be sufficiently achieved by the Member States, either at central level or at regional and local level, but can rather, by reason of the scale or effects of the proposed action, be better achieved at Union level.4

In my interviews with Orthodox Church leaders I found a keen awareness of, and sense of relief over, the subsidiarity principle when it comes to matters of religion 4 Formulations vary to an extent, even within EU documents. The EU’s website defines it thus on one particular page (http://europa.eu/legislation_summaries/glossary/ subsidiarity_en.htm): “The principle of subsidiarity [. . .] is the principle whereby the Union does not take action (except in the areas that fall within its exclusive competence), unless it is more effective than action taken at national, regional or local level. It is closely bound up with the principle of proportionality, which requires that any action by the Union should not go beyond what is necessary to achieve the objectives of the Treaties.” Elsewhere on the same website, the term takes a slightly different slant (http://europa.eu/legislation_ summaries/institutional_affairs/treaties/lisbon_treaty/ai0017_en.htm):  “The principle of subsidiarity [. . .] determines when the European Union is competent to legislate, and contributes to decisions being taken as closely as possible to the citizen. [. . .] The principle of subsidiarity aims at determining the level of intervention that is most relevant in the areas of competences shared between the European Union and the Member States. This may concern action at European, national or local levels. In all cases, the European Union may only intervene if it is able to act more effectively than Member States.” The protocol on the application of the principles of subsidiarity and proportionality lays down three criteria aimed at establishing the desirability of intervention at the European level: “Does the action have transnational aspects that cannot be resolved by Member States? Would national action or an absence of action be contrary to the requirements of the Treaty? Does action at the European level have clear advantages?” The principle of subsidiarity also aims at bringing the EU and its citizens closer by guaranteeing that action is taken at the local level where it proves to be necessary. However, the principle of subsidiarity does not mean that action must always be taken at the level that is closest to the citizen.

78

78

Effie Fokas

within the EU. This is one area of EU policy with which I found, among church representatives, both a strong familiarity and a fervent affinity. While, on one hand, the EU works according to the principle of subsidiarity, on the other hand, it claims to be religiously and philosophically neutral, but devoted to the principle of pluralism. Accordingly, it aims to influence member states in such a way as to create environments conducive to the flourishing of diversity and pluralism, including religious pluralism. And the EU directly influences member states in this direction by prohibiting discrimination on bases such as religion. This is especially crucial in the context of increasing religious diversity across Europe (due to not only mass immigration to EU member states, but also the proliferation of new religious movements). Thus, to the extent to which the EU seeks to establish a social model that embraces pluralism and provides equal rights for all its citizens, it would appear that a rather large degree of regulation of national religion-related policies may be necessary in certain contexts. In the ECtHR context specifically, the subsidiarity principle dictates that while certain standards must be universally observed by all signatory states, each state is, in the first place, responsible for securing the rights and freedom protected by the Convention. Nowhere is the tension between the principles of subsidiarity and pluralism more conspicuous than in the workings of the Court, where both concepts are developed over years of case law. The fundamental tension between these two concepts arises quite simply from the fact that human rights (and even more so religious freedom) norms are largely utilized in the defense of minorities and it is not often politically expedient for states to defend minority rights. If and when defending religious freedom is left to the local and national levels and the Court must play only a subsidiary role, minority rights are often trampled and so too religious pluralism. In order to reconcile the potential tension between universality of human rights norms on one hand, and subsidiarity on the other, the Court developed the doctrine of the “margin of appreciation.”5 This doctrine was set out by the Court in 1976 in Handyside v. UK, where the Court indicated that it allows member states a “margin of appreciation” in determining whether a particular restriction of a right is required (“necessary in a democratic society”) in the given circumstance.6 The doctrine is based on the Court’s assumption that “by reason of their direct and continuous contact with the vital forces of their countries, state authorities are in principle in a better position than the international judge to give an opinion on the exact content of these requirements as well as on the ‘necessity’ of a ‘restriction’ or ‘penalty’ intended to meet them” (Handyside v. UK, 1976).

5 Susanna Mancini, “The Crucifix Rage:  Supranational Constitutionalism Bumps Against the Counter-Majoritarian Difficulty,” European Constitutional Law Review 6, no. 1 (2010): 6–27 (20–21). 6 Carolyn Evans and Christopher E. Thomas, “Church-State Relations in the European Court of Human Rights,” Brigham Young University Law Review 3 (2006): 699–725.

79

Religious Freedom Norms as a Challenge to Orthodox Churches

79

As one scholar argues, the margin of appreciation doctrine poses a serious obstacle to the projection of minority values: “In the jurisprudence of the ECtHR the less the court is able to identify a European-wide consensus on the treatment of a particular issue, the wider the margins the court is prepared to grant to the national institutions. Minority values, hardly reflected in national policies are the main losers in this approach.”7 In the religious freedom context, where the margin tends to be particularly wide, the margin of appreciation is a substantial tool through which the Court allows states a certain, variable leeway to interpret religious rights and freedom within the broader context of their national cultures and traditions. Meanwhile, it provides an exit for the Court from certain culturally and politically sensitive issues:  as one observer notes, “The large discretion [the Court] often grants to national authorities on [religion] cases is symptomatic of its difficulty in dealing with them.”8 Why are the ECHR and the ECtHR so important, both in general and specifically, for the topic at hand? The ECHR, through its role of defending the rights enshrined in the Convention, has evolved into “the most effective transnational human rights institution on earth.”9 It has become a quasi-constitutional court for the approximately 800 million individuals residing in the forty-seven member states of the Council of Europe.10 The ECtHR is now an arena where some of the most challenging debates around European religious pluralism take place, and its case law has centrally contributed to shaping the terms of such controversies. To some extent the Court may be considered to be in the process of developing a theory on the proper place of religion in the public sphere.11 The Court increasingly deals with matters touching a nerve of European Christian, Muslim, secular, and atheistic publics alike, with its decisions regarding, for example, their national right to display a crucifix in public schools (Italy—the Lautsi case of 2009); the Court’s engagement with the right to wear the crucifix while working for an airline (the “British Airways case” in the United Kingdom, which reached the ECtHR in Eweida and others v.  UK, 2013); and through the Court’s refusal to engage with resistances to the proliferation of minarets (in

7 Eyal Benvenisti, “Margin of Appreciation, Consensus, and Universal Standards,” International Law and Politics 31 (1999): 843–54 (851). 8 Julie Ringelheim, “Rights, Religion and the Public Sphere: The European Court of Human Rights in Search of a Theory?,” in Law, State and Religion in the New Europe: Debates and Dilemmas, ed. Lorenzo Zucca and Camil Ungureanu (Cambridge:  Cambridge University Press, 2012), pp. 283–306 (306). 9 W. Cole Durham and D. Kirkham, Introduction to Islam, Europe, and Emerging Legal Issues, ed. W. Cole Durham et al. (Burlington, VT: Ashgate, 2012), pp. 1–15 (2). 10 Matthias Koenig, “Governance of Religious Diversity at the European Court of Human Rights,” in International Approaches to the Governance of Ethnic Diversity, ed. Jane Bolden and Will Kymlicka (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2015), pp. 51–78. 11 Ringelheim, “Rights, Religion and the Public Sphere.”

80

80

Effie Fokas

Switzerland, 2009), among many other intense religion-related debates across Europe. Thus the Court’s voice is also a contentious one. The latter is exacerbated by the variable margin of appreciation it allows individual states on religious issues (Evans 2001), the size of which, some would argue, shifts according to whether the Court is handling a case to do with Islam12 or with majority Orthodox contexts.13 Certainly there are debates regarding whether Orthodox states are treated fairly under the system. Certain statistics serve to substantiate those concerns:  of the forty-seven member states of the Council of Europe, seven majority Orthodox states alone are accountable for 63  percent of all ECHR convictions to date for religious freedom violations. Twenty percent of those convictions are against one state alone:  Greece.14 These statistics may also serve to substantiate certain critiques of Orthodoxy as somehow incompatible with or particularly challenged by democracy, rule of law, human rights, and so forth.15

12 Jeremy Gunn, “Religious Symbols in Public Schools: The Islamic Headscarf and the European Court of Human Rights Decision in Sahin v. Turkey.” in Durham et al., Islam, Europe, and Emerging Legal Issues, pp. 111–46. 13 James T. Richardson and Jennifer Shoemaker, “The European Court of Human Rights, Minority Religions, and the Social Construction of Religious Freedom,” in The Centrality of Religion in Social Life:  Essays in Honour of James A.  Beckford, ed. E. Barker (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2008), pp. 103–16; see also Silvio Ferrari, “The Strasbourg Court and Article 9 of the European Convention of Human Rights: A Qualitative Analysis of the Case Law,” in The Lautsi Papers: Multidisciplinary Reflections on Religious Symbols in the Public School Classroom, ed. J. Temperman (Leiden: Brill, 2012), pp. 11–34. 14 These statistics are based on a count including judgments up until 2012 and strictly and solely Article 9 violations. Majority Orthodox state religious freedom (Art. 9) convictions until 2012: Armenia 3; Bulgaria 5, Georgia 1, Greece 11, Moldova 4, Russia 5, and Ukraine 3. The remaining 27 percent are against Azerbaijan (1), France (4), Latvia (3), Poland (1), San Marino (1), Switzerland (1), Turkey (7), and the United Kingdom (1). Note:  These statistics alone are of limited explanatory value regarding religious freedom jurisprudence in general, given that many relevant cases are decided under separate, or in conjunction with, other ECHR articles (e.g., Freedom of Expression, Art. 10, Freedom of Assembly/Association, Art. 11, and Prohibition of Discrimination, Art. 14). 15 From very different perspectives:  Daniel Payne, “The Clash of Civilisations:  The Church of Greece, the European Union and the Question of Human Rights,” Religion, State and Society 31, no. 3 (2003):  261–71; Adamadia Pollis, “Eastern Orthodoxy and Human Rights,” Human Rights Quarterly 15, no. 2 (1993):  339–56; Elizabeth Prodromou, “International Religious Freedom and the Challenge of Proselytism,” in Thinking through Faith: New Perspectives from Orthodox Christian Scholars, ed. Aristotle Papanikolaou and Elizabeth Prodromou (Crestwood, NY:  St. Vladimir’s Seminary Press, 2008), pp. 247–78; Sabrina Ramet, “The Way We Were—and Should Be Again? European Orthodox Churches and the ‘Idyllic Past,’ ” in Religion in an Expanding Europe, ed. T. Byrnes and P. Katzenstein (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006), pp. 148–75.

81

Religious Freedom Norms as a Challenge to Orthodox Churches

81

Do these statistics suggest a particular challenge of European religious freedom norms for Orthodox Churches? I think numbers alone rarely give a full picture of anything and this case is no exception. Certainly a completely different picture emerges if one considers not convictions against states issued by the Court, but applications filed against states with the Court (many of which are never ruled on and do not end up in convictions, for whatever reason, including potentially that the Court faces a greater legitimacy crisis vis-à-vis certain states than it risks with others, majority Orthodox included). For example, when it comes to cases with religion-state relations, most applications come from separationist regimes (Turkey above all and also France), followed by states with official religions (often Orthodox), and then states with cooperation regimes. However, the pattern of violations found is inverse, with most violations found in states with official religions, followed by cooperation regimes, and then by separation regimes (almost no violations found). One finds a similar story when comparing old and new member states: more applications are lodged against older member states (including Greece) than newer member states, but more violations are found in new member states than in old ones.16 The French case of large numbers of religious freedom cases filed against the state, compared to few violations found, is particularly conspicuous and raises questions about the extent to which politics trumps rights when the Court is addressing certain member states.

What Does the Convention Say about Religious Freedom? For a more grounded discussion, rather than focusing on those numbers it is better to consider what the Convention actually says about religious freedom and the extent to which this might entail a challenge to the Orthodox Churches. There are several relevant articles, but most relevant to religious rights and freedom are the following. Article 9—Freedom of Thought, Conscience and Religion 1. Everyone has the right to freedom of thought, conscience and religion; this right includes freedom to change his religion or belief and freedom, either alone or in community with others and in public or private, to manifest his religion or belief, in worship, teaching, practice and observance. 2. Freedom to manifest one’s religion or beliefs shall be subject only to such limitations as are prescribed by law and are necessary in a democratic society in the interests of public safety; for the protection of public order, health or morals; or for the protection of the rights and freedom of others. 16 I thank Matthias Koenig for these insights comparing numbers of applications versus violations found, based on his yet unpublished database on the Court’s engagements with religion.

82

82

Effie Fokas

Article 10—Freedom of Expression 1. Everyone has the right to freedom of expression. This right shall include freedom to hold opinions and to receive and impart information and ideas without interference by public authority and regardless of frontiers. This Article shall not prevent States from requiring the licensing of broadcasting, television or cinema enterprises. 2. The exercise of these freedoms, since it carries with it duties and responsibilities, may be subject to such formalities, conditions, restrictions or penalties as are prescribed by law and are necessary in a democratic society, in the interests of national security, territorial integrity or public safety; for the prevention of disorder or crime, for the protection of health or morals, for the protection of the reputation or rights of others, for preventing the disclosure of information received in confidence, or for maintaining the authority and impartiality of the judiciary. Article 11—Freedom of Association and Assembly 1. Everyone has the right to freedom of peaceful assembly and to freedom of association with others, including the right to form and to join trade unions for the protection of his interests. 2. No restrictions shall be placed on the exercise of these rights other than such as are prescribed by law and are necessary in a democratic society in the interests of national security or public safety, for the prevention of disorder or crime, for the protection of health or morals or for the protection of the rights and freedom of others. This Article shall not prevent the imposition of lawful restrictions on the exercise of these rights by members of the armed forces, of the police or of the administration of the State. Article 14—Prohibition of Discrimination17 The enjoyment of the rights and freedom set forth in this Convention shall be secured without discrimination on any ground such as sex, race, color, language, religion, political or other opinion, national or social origin, association with a national minority, property, birth or other status. First Protocol, Article 2—Right to Education No person shall be denied the right to education. In the exercise of any functions that it assumes in relation to education and to teaching, the State shall respect the 17 As Evans and Thomas note, “The ECHR only prohibits discrimination in regards to ECHR-acknowledged rights and does not include a general provision requiring the equality of all people before the law. The absence of a general non-discrimination provision in the main body of the ECHR has a significant legal effect in church-state cases” (Evans and Thomas, “Church-State Relations”).

83

Religious Freedom Norms as a Challenge to Orthodox Churches

83

right of parents to ensure such education and teaching in conformity with their own religious and philosophical convictions. These are all fairly standard norms and most of them in some form or another also appear in the constitutions and laws on religion in countries with Orthodox majorities.

Is There Anything about Those Norms Particularly Challenging to Orthodox Churches? Several examples from cases in front of the Court involving Orthodox countries suggest that there is, indeed, something particularly challenging to Orthodox Churches in these norms. Below I illustrate some of the problematic issues. Manifestation and Proselytism: The Kokkinakis Case (1993) Minos Kokkinakis was a Greek Jehovah’s Witness who had been arrested over sixty times for violating the Greek legal ban on proselytism elaborated in a 1938 law and embedded in the Greek Constitution. After imprisonment for alleged proselytism in his communication with the wife of a church cantor, Kokkinakis took his case to the ECtHR. This was a watershed case for the ECtHR:  it was the first Article 9, that is, religious freedom, conviction issued by the Court, in its first thirty-four years of operation. And it was the case in which the Court developed for the first time, in clear terms and cited repeatedly in later case law, its conception of pluralism in relation to religious freedom: As enshrined in Article 9 (art. 9), freedom of thought, conscience and religion is one of the foundations of a “democratic society” within the meaning of the Convention. It is, in its religious dimension, one of the most vital elements that go to make up the identity of believers and their conception of life, but it is also a precious asset for atheists, agnostics, sceptics and the unconcerned. The pluralism indissociable from a democratic society, which has been dearly won over the centuries, depends on it. (Kokkinakis v. Greece, 1993, ECtHR, para. 31)

In other words, the Court deemed that pluralism was contingent on freedom of thought, conscience, and religion—a freedom available not only on religious but also on nonreligious grounds. The Court did not go so far, however, as to criticize the actual law banning proselytism in Greece. Rather, the Court judged that the Greek state had applied it too harshly, to such an extent that Kokkinakis’s freedom to manifest his faith had been violated. The 1938 law banning proselytism, which was introduced into Greek legislation under the military dictatorship led by Ioannis Metaxas, continues to be formally in effect in Greece. But in the aftermath of the Kokkinakis case, religious minorities are increasingly rarely (compared to previous decades) arrested for proselytism.

84

84

Effie Fokas

The reason for this is, in the words of a representative of the Greek ombudsman, that “Kokkinakis is in the drawer.” The ombudsman’s representative delivered this statement as a positive thing: police no longer send Jehovah’s Witnesses to jail in Greece, he said, because they have the Kokkinakis case in their desk drawer, like a trick up their sleeve, in order to justify to complainants why the Jehovah’s Witness in question could not be sent to jail (and of course to remind themselves of the same thing). But from a different perspective, namely, from that of religious minorities, the drawer is not a particularly prominent or effective place for Kokkinakis to be: it should be on the books, in a change in the legislation. (Of course, at the same time, in theory Kokkinakis could be on the books but not in the drawer, and with more adverse effects for religious minority groups.) Key to this example is the fact that there has not been such legislative change, and, more specifically, the reasons behind this lack of change: in this particular case, but in many others also, the national government did not want to face the wrath, particularly the electorally expressed wrath, of Right-wing groups and of a powerful majority church, both of which resist changes to the status quo and pursue the protection of the majority faith against external threats.18 This national-level situation finds its reflection at the supranational level also: again, the ECtHR in Kokkinakis did not enforce a change in the law, but, rather, relied on the subsidiarity principle and referred to the margin of appreciation, to show deference to national cultural tradition in the state’s handling of religious affairs. The margin of appreciation is, in general, used fairly widely in the Court’s religious freedom jurisprudence and, it seems, increasingly in the present context of the legitimacy crisis the Court is undergoing: like the Greek state, the Court does not want to face the wrath of member states threatening not to comply with its judgments (such as that expressed by the United Kingdom since Hirst v. UK, 2005,19 and increasingly in recent UK political threats to withdraw from the Convention altogether). Thus we have here an example highlighting the potential mobilization powers of the church and how the latter hinders policy change. Discrimination, Association, and Canonical Jurisdictions: Metropolitan Church of Bessarabia v. Moldova (2001) In this case the applicants, the Metropolitan Church of Bessarabia, an autonomous Orthodox Church formed in 1992, together with twelve Moldovan nationals, 18 This in fact is nearly a direct quote from a Ministry of Education and Religious Affairs representative on the receiving end of calls for change in the legislation (personal interview with the author, February 12, 2013). 19 In Hirst, the ECtHR found the United Kingdom in violation of the Convention for stripping prisoners of voting rights. The case became the center of a strand of media and political expression within the United Kingdom that cast the ECtHR in the light of a threat to national sovereignty, traces of which can certainly be found in current debates around a potential UK withdrawal from the EU.

85

Religious Freedom Norms as a Challenge to Orthodox Churches

85

alleged that the Moldovan state’s refusal to recognize the Metropolitan Church of Bessarabia infringed on their freedom of religion and association, and that the applicant church was the victim of discrimination on the grounds of religion. According to the church’s articles of association, it took the place, from the canonlaw point of view, of the Metropolitan Church of Bessarabia, which had existed until 1944. The wording of the Moldovan state in its defense in the ECtHR case of the Metropolitan Church of Bessabaria v. Moldova (2001) is worth citing here at length as it illustrates well a perspective that is fairly persistent in Orthodox cases: The refusal to allow the application for recognition lodged by the applicants was intended to protect public order and public safety. The Moldovan State, whose territory had repeatedly passed in earlier times from Romanian to Russian control and vice versa, had an ethnically and linguistically varied population. That being so, the young Republic of Moldova, which had been independent since 1991, had few strengths it could depend on to ensure its continued existence, but one factor conducive to stability was religion, the majority of the population being Orthodox Christians. Consequently, recognition of the Moldovan Orthodox Church which was subordinate to the patriarchate of Moscow, had enabled the entire population to come together within that Church. If the applicant Church were to be recognised, that tie was likely to be lost and the Orthodox Christian population dispersed among a number of Churches. Moreover, under cover of the applicant Church, which was subordinate to the patriarchate of Bucharest, political forces were at work, acting hand-in-glove with Romanian interests favourable to reunification between Bessarabia and Romania. Recognition of the applicant Church would therefore revive old Russo-Romanian rivalries within the population, thus endangering social stability and even Moldova’s territorial integrity (emphasis mine).20

Here we also have several dimensions conspicuous in other majority Orthodox contexts. First, the taking for granted of the role the church is to play in uniting people under a common national identity. The notion is echoed by many of my interviewees. Also characteristic is the striking degree of nonchalance in the presentation of the argument. The embroilment of the church into jurisdictional disputes, which are then translated into broader political concerns, is also a tendency fairly common to Orthodox contexts; somewhat particular to the latter is the extent to which such disputes are seen as justified to override religious freedom/human rights concerns in the mind-sets of many of its representatives.

20 In the Russian case Dmitry Uzlaner speaks of “securitization of religion” and a reuse of public security concerns as a pretext to limit religious (and other) freedoms of “dissident” groups (Dmitry Uzlaner, “The ‘Pussy Riot’ Case:  Arguments, Rhetorical Strategies and the Peculiarities of Post-Secular Society in Russia,” Paper presented at a conference on Orthodoxy and Human Rights, Catholic University of Leuven, Belgium, April 2013).

86

86

Effie Fokas

Education and National Identity: The Case that has yet to reach the ECtHR around Majority Orthodox Teaching in Public Schools Religious education is a focal point of majority Orthodox Churches’ efforts to maintain a national identity closely connected to Orthodoxy. Currently in Greek public schools a mandatory course of religious education is taught that is catechetical in character, teaching the Orthodox faith (catechetical to varying degrees, depending on the level of education in question, whether primary, secondary, or tertiary). Exemption from the course is available only to the non-Orthodox,21 and only on formal declaration of a different faith, which is then indicated on the student’s diploma. (This, in turn, creates a new problem of a breach in private data; an example that is indicative of the interconnectivity of such problems.) One Greek Orthodox cleric describes the course as a natural reflection of reality: “What we say is that since the Orthodox here are more than 85% of the population, the course ought to be taught as Orthodox.” At the time of research, the same situation applied to the Romanian context: a course from which exemption was possible, on written request, but in this case exemption was possible for all students and not only the non-Orthodox. But on November 12, 2014 the Romanian Constitutional Court declared those terms unconstitutional and thus a new policy of opting into the religious education course on written request was introduced. One metropolitan synod (that of Cluj, Maramures, and Salaj) responded to the decision with a press release indicating that a great injustice has just been made to the children and youngsters who benefit from religious education, because it dismisses their moral education as superfluous. In a symbolical way, this decision tarnishes the freedom earned by young people’s sacrifice in the December 1989 Revolution, whose direct effect in the public space is religious education. It is well-known that our schools suffer under the siege of temptations such as tobacco, alcohol, drugs, early sexualization, language vulgarity and deviant behavior and that the only authorities able to fight these are family, the school and the church.22

A sense that the Orthodox Church is—by virtue of its majority status—responsible for the religious education of the youth is a common theme among church representatives in many Orthodox contexts (though not all have mandatory majority religious education in public schools, e.g., Bulgaria and Russia). How exceptional are Orthodox countries in the above? In terms of religious education in the majority faith, Orthodox countries are far from exceptional in Europe:  the countries with no religious education are a very small minority 21 For approximately a two-year period in the last decade, exemption was also possible on purely philosophical grounds and without requiring a formal declaration of a minority faith or of nonbelief. 22 The press release, in Romanian, can be found at http://www.episcopiammsm.ro/ pdfuri/2014/Comunicat%20de%20presa%20religia%20in%20scoala.pdf.

87

Religious Freedom Norms as a Challenge to Orthodox Churches

87

(three), as are those with nondenominational teaching; those with denominational teaching form a significant majority, and in most of these cases the religious authorities of the faith being taught also have the power to select the teachers23 (a power recently confirmed by the ECtHR in the Fernández Martínez v. Spain case, in 2014).24 Indeed, many states with majority churches across Europe have been found to violate one or more of these norms by trying to protect their majority churches through privileges.25 However, such trends are or seem less and less conspicuous in other majority faith countries, and the churches are, or seem, less and less able to maintain their privileges through negotiations with (or threats against, as the case may be) the states.26

What Does the Court’s Jurisprudence Say about Religious Freedom? In light of these examples, it may be helpful to consider in a somewhat more systematic (though necessarily still brief) way the Court’s religious freedom jurisprudence and the evolution of the latter over time, in order to see whether it contains particular challenges to Orthodox Churches. It is noteworthy that in its first thirty-four years of operation as a Court, from 1959 to 1993, the ECtHR did not issue a single conviction against a state on the basis of the main religious freedom provision of the ECHR, Article 9 on the freedom of thought, conscience, and religion.27 In the twenty years since that first 23 Ferrari, “The Strasbourg Court and Article 9.” 24 In this case a teacher of Roman Catholic religion and ethics in a state secondary school, a married priest, alleged that the nonrenewal of his contract of employment as a school teacher entailed an infringement of Article 8 of the Convention (Right to respect for private and family life), taken separately and together with Article 14 (Prohibition of Discrimination). Fernández Martínez argued that the cause of the nonrenewal was the publicity given to his family and personal situation as a married priest, and thus the nonrenewal of his contract conflicted with his rights to freedom of thought and freedom of expression under articles 9 and 10 of the convention, respectively. The Court supported the Spanish state in its upholding of the religious autonomy of the Catholic Church, in its power over who has the right to teach the religion course in the schools. (Notably though, Fernández Martínez stands on the very shaky ground of a 9:8 split decision, with all eight dissenting judges expressing their dissent in separate opinions, either jointly or individually.) 25 Heiner Bielefeldt, “Misperceptions of Freedom of Religion or Belief,” Human Rights Quarterly 35 (2013): 33–68. 26 That said, I would argue that neither of these situations is static or predictable, and a broad range of factors influences what is put on the agenda, where, and when (on this, see Fokas 2015). 27 It is important to note that in the Court’s first thirty-three years (1959–1992), cases related to the right to religious freedom were dealt with exclusively by the ECHR. As Ringelheim notes, until 1989, almost all cases brought under Article 9 were deemed inadmissible (Ringelheim, “Rights, Religion and the Public Sphere”).

88

88

Effie Fokas

groundbreaking case in 1993, Kokkinakis v. Greece, the Court has issued over fifty Article 9 convictions (and far more on religious freedom but in conjunction with another right, e.g., nondiscrimination). These numbers in themselves suggest a rapidly increasing judicialization of religion.28 Throughout the Court’s religious freedom case law, it has increasingly dealt with issues going to the heart of religion-state relations and of the place of religion in the public sphere. The evolution is by no means linear, but certain trends can be detected. For example, Matthias Koenig observes a trend of the Court toward more narrow margins of appreciation and, effectively, toward more secularist approaches.29 Koenig sees a three-step evolution of the Court’s jurisprudence on matters of religion, leading increasingly to assertive secularist stances. The first step consists of a broad definition of religious freedom, which tends to work in favor of majority religion over negative religious freedom claims, for example, the maintenance of asymmetric blasphemy laws as in the case of Otto-PremingerInstitut v. Austria (1993), where the Court defended the state’s right to seize and forfeit a film considered offensive to Christians. The second stage reflects a tendency of the Court to uphold secularism, mostly through cases to do with Islam. Characteristic here is the case of Leyla Sahin v.  Turkey (2005), in which it upheld a ban on wearing the Islamic headscarf at Turkish universities. Finally, the third phase in ECtHR jurisprudence transposes the secularist line of argument in cases related to Islam, onto cases involving Christian majorities. In other words, in this latter stage, the Court may be seen not only as ceasing to protect majority religious rights, but also actively influencing the status quo of church-state relations in signatory nations. The Lautsi v. Italy (2009) judgment is a case in point, where the Court ruled that the display of the crucifix in Italian classrooms is in violation of the ECHR. The decision provoked an intense response and was contested by the Italian state in the Grand Chamber of the ECtHR, where the Court heard an unprecedented number of third-party interventions from national governments, nongovernmental organizations (NGOs), and members of the European Parliament. As one scholar explains in the aftermath of that 2009 judgment: The application of the margin of appreciation doctrine, had so far protected the ECtHR from direct confrontations with contracting parties. The vituperative 28 Not all religious freedom cases are dealt with exclusively or even primarily under Article 9 of the Convention: also relevant are Article 10 on Freedom of Expression, Article 11 on Freedom of Assembly and Association, and Article 14 on Prohibition of Discrimination. Also important to note in relation to this point is the fact that the possibility of individual direct recourse to the newly single-tiered ECtHR was first enacted in 1998, thus also playing an important role in the increasing judicialization of religion. 29 Koenig, “Governance of Religious Diversity”; see also Sylvie Langlaude, “Indoctrination, Secularism, Religious Liberty, and the ECHR,” International and Comparative Law Quarterly 55 (2006): 929–44.

89

Religious Freedom Norms as a Challenge to Orthodox Churches

89

criticism directed at the European judges in the aftermath of the Lautsi decision indicates that a more active European court will not automatically be welcomed by the European peoples [. . .] If the European court, as the Lautsi case might suggest, abandons its traditional judicial self-restraint and becomes a true arbiter in highly divisive issues, such as religion, it will face many challenges. A crucial one will be to gain the confidence of European citizens, in order to avoid provoking populist resentments when establishing rights in a context of cultural controversy.30

In its 2011 judgment the Grand Chamber (Lautsi v.  Italy, 2011) dramatically reversed the original Lautsi decision (original unanimous finding of violation in 2009, while in 2011 the judges ruled 15–2 that there was no violation). Thus this Grand Chamber decision represents a seeming turning point and a potential pause to the evolution trends described above. Certainly any evolutionary perspective of the Court’s religious freedom jurisprudence (or any jurisprudence, for that matter) should also take into careful consideration developments external to the actual cases addressed by the Court, and beyond the particular facts of each case. In particular, it is critical to bear in mind the legitimacy crisis that was facing the Court around the time of the 2011 Lautsi Grand Chamber judgment, which has continued and heightened since the United Kingdom’s threats to withdraw from the Convention system all together. In this highly politicized and precarious context, the Court has had to be extra aware of the extent to which its legitimacy is contingent on the acceptance and implementation of its judgments at the national level. It is also in this context that, in 2013, the margin of appreciation and the subsidiarity principle (which, until then, were established through and embedded only in the Court’s case law), both formally entered the ECHR with the introduction of Protocol 15, which inserts a reference to the principle of subsidiarity and the doctrine of the margin of appreciation into the Convention’s preamble. A brief consideration of the more recent cases of Sindicatul Păstorul v. Romania (2013), Fernández Martínez v. Spain (2014), and S. A. S. v. France (2014) suggests that, indeed, the post-Lautsi 2011 world of ECtHR engagements with religion may be somewhat altered. Each of these three religious freedom judgments made after the Lautsi Grand Chamber decision were decided in favor of the states in question.31 And in each, the margin of appreciation factored significantly.32

30 Mancini, “The Crucifix Rage,” 26–27. 31 The very interesting Vojnity v.  Hungary case, of course (application no.  29617/07 [ECtHR February 12, 2013]), decided around the same time frame as Sindicatul, Fernández, and S.  A. S. cases, ruled in favor of the applicant, with the Court finding Vojnity was discriminated against on the basis of religion. 32 There were nine references to the margin in Sindicatul, twelve in Fernández, and ten in S. A. S.; the word “margin” was preceded by “broad,” “wide,” or “wider” in seventeen of these references in total.

90

90

Effie Fokas

Do These Norms and Trends Represent a Particular Challenge to the Orthodox Churches? A short and frank answer to this question is “yes and no.” One anecdotal example of a particular perceived challenge is that soon after the first (2009) Lautsi judgment, one Greek Orthodox bishop, certain that the decision would be overturned because (indirect quote) “Europe protects national identities,” declared, “We must reframe our religious symbols as national symbols in order to protect them from Europe!” And certainly, the notion that icons would have to be removed from all public schools in all member states was perceived as an affront to Orthodoxy and an unwelcome European encroachment on national religious autonomy. It is not coincidental that six of the ten national government interventions criticizing the Court’s original 2009 decision were from majority Orthodox states33—again a striking numerical fact. Less anecdotally, and based on my research on religious freedom in majority Orthodox contexts, three points should be made to nuance our perspectives and challenge uncomplicated “yes” or “no” responses to the question of whether European norms represent particular challenges to Orthodox Churches First, regarding the conception that there is some natural inherent incompatibility between Orthodoxy and pluralism (the latter being understood in normative, rather than descriptive, terms), the research yielded notably little-to-no references to theology, per se, in my interviewees’ discussions of limitations to religious freedom in these countries. “Byzantine Symphony” was mentioned by a small number of Orthodox Church representatives. But far more prevalent were discussions of practical matters stemming from close church-state relations, and symbolic matters, such as “symbolic” references to the Orthodox Church in the constitutions or religion laws. Eventually these two categories of the practical and the symbolic merge, since in all cases practical limitations experienced by minority religious groups were linked to, in theory, the symbolic references to Orthodoxy or the Orthodox Church in those legal texts (usually in the preambles). Second, certainly close church-state relations in some way either underlie or exacerbate limitations to religious freedom experienced by minority religious groups, but this is an area in which “European norms” are not particularly clear or decisive. The ECtHR opinions on religion-state relations have evolved over several years of engagement with less intense but still clearly challenging struggles over the state’s proper relation to religion, often stemming from a protection of a majority faith, a tendency, in turn (whether conspicuously or not), often related to a religionnational identity link (whether now a benign aspect of national identity and/or embedded in nationalistic expressions, or more powerful). This evolution has been

33 Armenia, Bulgaria, Cyprus, Greece, Lithuania, Malta, Monaco, San Marino, Romania, and the Russian Federation.

91

Religious Freedom Norms as a Challenge to Orthodox Churches

91

masterfully examined and critiqued by a number of scholars.34 As Carolyn Evans and Christopher Thomas note, the ECtHR has held that establishment of religion is not in itself a breach of the Convention but is only prohibited to the extent that it implicates one of the other Convention rights, for at least three reasons. First, the text does not mention establishment and takes no explicit position on whether it should be permitted. Second, at the time the ECHR was drafted, a number of member states had established churches, including the United Kingdom, Sweden, and Norway; prohibition of establishment could have threatened the Convention’s ratification. Finally, the Court is not convinced that all forms of establishment are necessarily incompatible with the rights set out in the ECHR.35 Still, establishment or significant privileging of a majority faith has many times been on trial in the Court.36 It should be noted that the main body of the ECHR lacks a general provision requiring the equality of all people before the law, and instead only prohibits discrimination in regard to rights set out explicitly in the Convention.37 However, the 12th Protocol to the Convention entails a broadening of the scope of the antidiscrimination requirement by stating that the enjoyment of legal rights must be “secured without discrimination” on a number of grounds, including religion.38 According to Evans and Thomas, “The absence of a general

34 Koenig, “Governance of Religious Diversity”; Marco Ventura, “Law and Religion Issues in Strasbourg and Luxembourg:  The Virtues of European Courts,” European University Institute, ReligioWest Kick-Off Meeting Conference Paper, Robert Schuman Centre for Advanced Studies, November 2011, http://www.eui.eu/Projects/ReligioWest/ Documents/events/conferencePapers/Ventura.pdf (accessed July 13, 2016); Ringelheim, “Rights, Religion and the Public Sphere.” 35 Evans and Thomas, “Church-State Relations,” 706. 36 Indicatively, in Grandrath v.  Germany (1966); Kjeldsen v.  Denmark (1976); Young v. UK (1981); Darby v. Sweden (1989); Kokkinakis v. Greece (1993); Wingrove v. UK (1996); Dahlab v.  Switzerland (2001); Refah v.  Turkey (2003); Folgero v.  Norway (2007); Lautsi v. Italy (2009/11). 37 Evans and Thomas, “Church-State Relations,” 703. 38 The 12th Protocol was introduced in 2000. The full title and text of Article 1, Protocol 12 are as follows: Article 1—General prohibition of discrimination. 1. The enjoyment of any right set forth by law shall be secured without discrimination on any ground such as sex, race, color, language, religion, political or other opinion, national or social origin, association with a national minority, property, birth or other status. 2. No one shall be discriminated against by any public authority on any ground such as those mentioned in paragraph 1. At the time of writing, there were thirty-seven signatories of the forty-seven Council of Europe member states, but only eighteen of these had ratified. Greece s/nr (signed, not ratified); Bulgaria ns/nr; Romania s/r; Russia s/nr. Other ns/nr: Denmark, France, Norway, Sweden, Switzerland, United Kingdom.

92

92

Effie Fokas

non-discrimination provision in the main body of the ECHR has a significant legal effect in church-state cases,” and the ratification of the 12th Protocol is unlikely to make a great difference in this regard “because of the generous approach the Court has taken to state claims of an objective and reasonable basis for making a distinction between religions.”39 Third, even more conspicuous in limiting religious freedom in majority Orthodox contexts, and even less governed or governable by European norms, is the close relationship between religion and national identity.40 But neither is this particular to majority Orthodox contexts. Certainly it was much more conspicuous in other European countries in the past, a fact that underlies intense debates about whether in Orthodox contexts too it is just a matter of time before the same norms are internalized.41 The trouble with this particular factor of a religion-national identity link, though, is the “fuzzy lines” between its banal, benign, and pernicious manifestations. A lot that is especially problematic in majority Orthodox contexts, in the domain of religious freedom provision, lies somewhere along these fuzzy lines, making it both unquantifiable and, worse still, making its negative repercussions, if and where they arise, difficult to identify as such and to rectify. As expressed at the beginning of this chapter, we may take for granted that European religious freedom norms represent a challenge to Orthodox Churches:  whether through ECtHR decisions or EU directives, the status quo in terms of the public place of religion is increasingly challenged—whether that be in the right of the state to limit proselytism, association for other (than the

39 Evans and Thomas, “Church-State Relations,” 713. E.g., in Iglesia Bautista v. Spain (1992), the Court ruled that because of the Spanish Concordat with the Catholic Church, awarding privileges for the Church in exchange for obligations placed on the Church (e.g., maintenance of certain historical places and objects) is an objective and reasonable basis for distinctions between treatment of the Catholic Church and other religious institutions. This case bears strong relevance to most Orthodox cases, where agreements and “exchanges” on similar historically embedded grounds underlie many privileges enjoyed by the Orthodox Church (e.g., in the Greek case, tax exemption and clerics’ salary paid by the state in “repayment” for property given to—or taken by, depending sometimes on the eye of the beholder—the Greek state). 40 Effie Fokas, “Pluralism and Religious Freedom in Majority Orthodox Contexts,” ELIAMEP (Working Paper No. 49, June 2014), http://www.eliamep.gr/wp-content/uploads/ 2014/06/49_2014_-WORKING-PAPER-_Effie-Fokasfinal.pdf (accessed July 13, 2016). 41 José Casanova makes this type of argument when comparing Catholicism with Islam; presumably, for Casanova, Orthodoxy could fit into this framework also. Peter Berger also discusses this time factor in conjunction with EU membership, suggesting that Europeanization will lead to secularization and thus to less impact of the Church on the state, or, potentially, of religious identity on national identity. For a discussion of the latter, see Effie Fokas, “ ‘Eastern’ Orthodoxy and ‘Western’ Secularisation in Contemporary Europe (with Special Reference to the Case of Greece),” Religion, State and Society 40, nos. 3–4 (2012): 395–414.

93

Religious Freedom Norms as a Challenge to Orthodox Churches

93

main) Orthodox Churches, or education in accordance with the religious and philosophical beliefs of parents. All the above limitations may be experienced as challenges to privileges enjoyed by majority Orthodox Churches. That said, the role of agency is key, and there are also voices within Orthodox Churches both accepting and embracing these limitations, and calling for increased separation of the church from the state whereby the latter ceases to act as protector of the Orthodox Church. Such special protection, many theologians argue (including many whose voices are expressed in this book), comes at a cost for the church in terms of its spiritual role. Meanwhile, there is also resistance in majority Protestant, Roman Catholic, and Muslim states to such limitations embedded in European religious freedom norms, as evinced in the ECtHR case law (e.g., protection of majority religious education in Folgero v. Norway, of the right to limit abortion in ABC v. Ireland, and of the right to limit the wearing of the headscarf in public spaces in Layla Sahin v. Turkey). On these bases we can argue that challenges of European religious freedom norms are neither organic to nor exceptional within Orthodox Churches. The challenges to Orthodox Churches are not particular in nature, though they are arguably particular in conspicuousness and scope.

94

95

Part II P ROPHETIC P OLITICAL T HEOLOGY

96

97

Chapter 5 T H E P O L I T IC S O F A “ W E A K   F O R C E” Athanasios N. Papathanasiou

In 2008, the year that marked the outburst of the world economic crisis and heralded the onslaught of neoliberalism, Raffaele Simone published his book Il Mostro Mite: Perché l’ Occidente non va a sinistra [The Sweet Monster: Why the West Is Not Moving to the Left].1 Simone posed a crucial question—why is the Left losing ground in the West?—which continues to be remarkably relevant today. The rejuvenated political Right seems to have charmed the West, appearing ruthlessly realistic and tailored to human nature, which craves for power and unlimited individual sovereignty. The Left appears not only to have lost momentum, but to be undergoing a serious identity crisis. Many of its traditional slogans now seem unrealistic, if not outright detrimental to progress and development. Some decades ago, the Left enjoyed an overpowering moral advantage: it denounced exploitation of humans by humans, rejected an apparently rotten world order, and called for a just world where everyone could develop his or her full humanity free from the bondage of the alienation imposed by a corrupt system. But now things are sharply different. The axiom of selflimitation for the sake of solidarity, as well as the prioritization of the social, now sounds like sheer madness. The Left has been heavily criticized as “unnatural,” insofar as it opposes what appears to be the locomotive of success:  egoism! The “talented egoist”—that is, the naturally gifted person who is aware of his or her talents and demands privileged earnings—argues that inequality benefits economic efficiency.2 What we are witnessing is the resurgence of naturalism, the critique of which is much more problematic for the Left than those against Stalinism and soviet bureaucracy (Stalinism, after all, is sustained only by few currents of the Left). For many people, the clash is between “realism” (a euphemism for naturalism) and utopianism, and the former inevitably appears more reasonable. 1 Raffaele Simone, Il Mostro Mite:  Perché l’ Occidente non va a sinistra (Milan: Garzanti, 2008). 2 Cf. Gerald A. Cohen, Why Not Socialism? (Princeton, NJ:  Princeton University Press, 2009).

98

98

Athanasios N. Papathanasiou

The fact that this heated ongoing political debate brings to the fore major anthropological questions is obviously of special importance. Insofar as the issue at stake is the relationship between the natural order and egoism, the current predicament of leftist visions may seem analogous to the difficulty many people have in accepting the fundamentally anti-egoistic message of the Christian Gospel. Today, it is en vogue to speak about love; commercials venerate love, and marketing imbues consumerism with appeals to love. However, this is a superficial love, disguised narcissism, a convenient label for covetousness. Christian sacrificial love is something totally different and ultimately untenable for naturalists who exalt Social Darwinism. The Christian belief that the world is not self-referential, as well as the definition of love as the ultimate criterion (two tenets with integral dogmatic weight) set the parameters for Christians’ political worldview, a worldview that, in my understanding, is more radical even than many of the leftist suggestions for a new social order. These two tenets are the foundation for the ultimate novelty that God has promised and has been working out: the transformation of the world into the Kingdom—that is, into a way of existence that has thus far never existed. Christians may subscribe to this eschatological doctrine, but it does not necessarily lead all of them to the same conclusions and everyday attitudes. To some, the Kingdom may suggest an authoritarian rule on earth (a reflection of the heavenly hierarchy on earth, with the monarch as the representative of God); to others (among whom I  include myself), it points toward a move away from authority, with emphasis instead being given to the communal character of the Trinity. Additionally, for some, reflecting heaven on earth entails establishing an unchangeable order (a kind of historicized eschatology); for others, no order is immutable, since the real eternity belongs to the future Kingdom. Schematizing these positions, I would say that the former stance abhors change and revolution, while the latter welcomes them. But immutability and change in favor of whom and what? Once again, interpretation proves to be the onerous privilege of humans. Stanley Hauerwas has expressed the simple and clear-cut truth: “Any theology reflects a politics, whether the politics is acknowledged or not. The crucial question is: what kind of politics is theologically assumed?”3 This question is not rhetorical at all. It demands serious reflection on what the criteria are that constitute the backbone of the Christian Good News. Without these criteria, the work of interpretation degenerates into subjectivisms with no common ground. The notion of “criteria” helps us to investigate Christians’ fidelity to their Lord in a world that is continually changing, that is, a world that finds itself in tension between the “already” and the “not yet,” between Christ’s historical work and the completion of the eschatological Kingdom. No permanent arrangements should be expected as long as history lasts, but only provisional ones, which

3 Stanley Hauerwas, “Can Democracy Be Christian? Reflections on How to (Not) Be a Political Theologian,” ABC Religion and Ethics, June 24, 2014, http://www.abc.net.au/ religion/articles/2014/06/24/4032239.htm (accessed December 19, 2014).

99

The Politics of a “Weak Force”

99

nevertheless have to reflect the criteria of the Good News as much as possible. Sacrificial love excludes terrifying zeal, which means that any kind of authoritarian rule, either purely secular or religiously inspired, is to be heavily questioned by the Gospel criteria. Sacrificial love is the difference between Christian anti-egoism and other kinds of anti-egoism, such as love based on reciprocity. Sacrificial love is always a scandal.

Sacred Anarchy I strongly believe that the Gospel anticipated the notion of the “permanent revolution” associated with Leon Trotsky in the early twentieth century (although with different content). The Christian faith entails a way of life that questions order, both reactionary and revolutionary. John Caputo has aptly called this specific aspect of the Gospel “sacred anarchy,” meaning that in the Kingdom, the last are first and first are last, a strategically perverted system of privileging, so that the advantage is given not to beautiful Athenian bodies thathouse a love for wisdom, but to lepers, deaf mutes, the blind, epileptics, and the paralyzed. The favor of the Kingdom falls not on men of practical wisdom, of arete, of experts in phronesis, but on tax collectors and prostitutes, who enjoy preferential treatment over the upright and well behaved [. . .] Cripples are made straight, lepers are cured, and the dead rise from their grave. All these bodily metamorphoses are in turn figures of a personal transformation best described as metanoia, which might be translated from “repentance” to “being of a new mind and heart,” being tuned and attuned to the new being that comes of belonging to the Kingdom.4

What Caputo says is surely not an unheard of discovery. He merely brings to the fore the heart of the Good News, supposedly self-evident for all who profess themselves Christians. And, although the Gospel does not coincide with any particular ideology, social system, or political party,5 it offers an orientation for political vision and action.6 God’s preferential option for the poor, rightly stressed 4 John D. Caputo, “Spectral Hermeneutics: On the Weakness of God and the Theology of the Event,” in After the Death of God, ed. John D. Caputo, Gianni Vattimo and Jeffrey W. Robbins 5 Cf. Georges Florovsky, Bible, Church, Tradition: An Eastern Orthodox View, Vol. 1, The Collected Works of Georges Florovsky (Belmont, MA: Nordland, 1972), p. 34. The same applies to the established Church; it cannot be engaged in political group propaganda and competition. 6 “A mentality, which configures an attitude that subsequently is expressed politically.” Ovidiu Panaite, “The Theological Background of Political Philosophy in Early Christianity: An Essay on Orthodox Political Theology,” International Journal of Orthodox Theology 4, no. 1 (2013): 127–49 (127).

100

100

Athanasios N. Papathanasiou

by Liberation Theology, should be rephrased into a preferential option for the marginalized—that is, all those who suffer the various forms of violence in this world and are classified on the basis of social and economic criteria, but certainly not on the basis of their being images of Christ himself, which means persons of infinite value. Seventeen centuries ago, St. John Chrysostom boldly crushed the established concept of social order, and annihilated the perversion of Christian life into sacramentalism, when he proclaimed the poor in the dark alleyways as living altars more valuable than the stone altars in the churches.7 Christians have the freedom to undertake acts of solidarity or not, yet they do not have the freedom to remain Christians if they do not. With this seemingly controversial statement, I  want to say that Christian identity cannot be distorted into a religiosity a la carte, which bypasses the weightier matters of the law:  justice and mercy and faithfulness (Mt 23:23). And this is not just an impetus for individual charity, but also politics for a systemic change. It is not by accident that several Fathers of the Church urged confrontation with social malaise and argued that charity is vain and even deceitful when exploitation remains the basis of society and the reason for the benefactors’ wealth.8 There are several examples of Christian interventions that contributed to the transformation of society; we need look no further, for example, than the hospital, which was a Christian, Byzantine invention.9 Of course, the similarity between the politics inspired by the Gospel and the politics of the welfare state is apparent. The same can also be said of the measures devised by capitalism in support of the poor or the environment, such as “corporate social responsibility.” There is, however, an important difference. These measures need not be founded on love, but solely on an impersonal principle of justice, or on capitalism’s desire to safeguard its hegemony and avert social upheaval. For Christians, however, love must permeate everything. Solidarity is a sign of the Kingdom, but if it is performed without love, it degenerates into an advocate of the old world. Only a sacrificial love, a love that clashes with injustice, a love without demands for reciprocity and without political profit, a love stronger than death (i.e., a love connected with God himself, since otherwise death—both biologically and spiritually10—reigns),

7 John Chrysostom, “Commentary on the Second Epistle to the Corinthians: Sermon 20,” Patrologia Graeca, Vol. 61 (Paris: J. P. Migne, 1862), pp. 539–40. 8 See Athanasios N. Papathanasiou, “Liberation Perspectives in Patristic Thought: An Orthodox Approach,” in Hellenic Open University:  Scientific Review of the Post-Graduate Program “Studies in Orthodox Theology,” Vol. 2, Festschrift John Zizioulas (Patras: Hellenic Open University, 2011), pp. 419–38. 9 Timothy S. Miller, The Birth of the Hospital in the Byzantine Empire (Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1997). 10 Cf. Luigi Zoja, La morte del prossimo (Torino: Giulio Einaudi Editore, 2009).

101

The Politics of a “Weak Force”

101

only this love can create a prophetic (or anarchist, in the way Caputo uses the term) politics, for a radically new world: In Luke’s version of the parable of the great feast (14:15–24), the emphasis is not so much on the invitation being extended to good and bad alike (as in Matthew’s version) [. . .] It follows immediately after Jesus’ advice not to ask to dinner those who can be relied on to return your hospitality (14:12–14). What has to be broken down is an entire pattern of calculating human worth in any system of exchange.11

The “sacred anarchy,” far from being an alibi to avoid social responsibility, entails a series of dilemmas. Living in between the “already” and the “not yet,” Christians have to take responsibility for the institutions of the world, trying to reorient them or annul them if need be. As simply one example, one can recall St. Paul’s discussion on the necessity and the limits of state authorities (Rom 13:4), as well as the patristic consideration of politics as the “garments of skin” that God gave humans after the fall in order to survive and develop their potential in their new and difficult situation.12 Yet whatever political system Christians employ in history must be measured against the vision of the Kingdom and “sacred anarchy.” And Christians should actively seek to keep this vision before them and be accountable to it.

Temptations of Orthodoxy in Orthodox Countries Church leaders in the so-called traditionally Orthodox countries usually welcome the political views that reinforce the institutional ecclesiastical influence in society, government, and legislation. Immersed in nostalgia for the bygone Christian empire, they usually understand themselves as natural allies of political parties that favor (or do not object to) nativism and collectivism, which, in apparent contradiction to the Gospel, nevertheless abound in ecclesiastical circles at the expense of freedom and, ultimately, democracy. By nativism and collectivism, I  mean the belief that national, cultural, and religious identities comprise one monolithic and indivisible identity, which is transmitted to each new generation primarily by birth. In this view, the human subject is authentic insofar as it remains faithful to the data of its collectives (nation, culture, and religion as a whole). Any break with its collectives is doomed as apostasy and anomaly. This position raises a lot of objections and further considerations from a theological point of view. The human subject’s surrender to collectivism is 11 Rowan Williams, Christ on Trial:  How the Gospel Unsettles Our Judgment (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2000), p. 53. 12 Panayiotis Nellas, Deification in Christ: Orthodox Perspectives on the Nature of the Human Person, trans. N. Russell (Crestwood, NY: St. Vladimir’s Seminary Press, 1987).

102

102

Athanasios N. Papathanasiou

precisely what was annulled by the Bible and the basic axes of the Church event. In late antiquity, Christianity signaled the emergence of the subject, by claiming that everyone, irrespective of nation and culture, could break from the “truth” of his or her fathers and freely choose the truth brought by a foreigner from a trivial Jewish town, Jesus.13 The narratives of several martyrdoms testify to this. Young people, notably women, evaluating the truth claim as more important than nativism, came to rupture with their parental religion. Yet this was not about an exaltation of individualism, meaning the autonomous human of modernity. In Christian—and especially Orthodox—theology, the subject is fundamentally relational. Breaking from its collectives does not render it a fleshless phantom unrelated to people and culture. Breaking with nativism empowers the subject to give new meaning to its flesh, and thus become not only a product but also a creator of the culture. The Church is always a community, but a community that always needs to be built up on the basis of the covenant, the free action and response between humans and God. The predominantly biblical and Christian emergence of the subject (which is actually reaffirmed in every single moment of church life, when every single member is urged to be responsible and even judge which preaching is authentic and which is not; cf. Gal 1:8), together with the relational character of personhood and the concomitant ethics of responsibility, offer the base for meaningful participation in discussions about human rights and open democracy. Collectivistic theologies are pleased with politics of particularity that demonize globalization as a whole. It is not by accident that many church leaders have difficulty precisely in combining the local with the universal. They usually prioritize the local (once again the temptation of nativism), and forget that the absolutization of the local has been the distinctive characteristic of paganism, whereas the Gospel could not even exist without being rooted in ecumenicity and the conviction that there is one Truth for all. Christian theology should manifest the perspective of the incarnation of the Truth in every locality, so that the witness of the Church is always “glocalized” (local in global perspective).14 This has been its task since its inception; however, it appears in a new framework today. Together with some aspects of globalization that tend to homogenize cultures and absorb particularities, some other aspects also exist in parallel: those centripetal forces that invigorate the preservation of particular identities and their alleged self-sufficiency. Global capitalism reigns over a fragmented world by converting everything (marginality included) into merchandise and ultimately

13 Athanasios N. Papathanasiou, “Αn Orphan or a Bride? The Human Self, Collective Identities, and Conversion,” in Thinking Modernity:  Towards a Reconfiguration of the Relationship between Orthodox Theology and Modern Culture, ed. Assaad E. Kattan and Fadi A. Georgi (Balamand:  St. John of Damascus Institute of Theology, 2010), pp. 133–63. 14 Graham Ward, “Intercultural Theology and Political Discipleship,” in Intercultural Theology: Approaches and Themes, ed. Mark J. Cartledge and David Cheetham (London: SCM Press, 2011), pp. 29–42 (29).

103

The Politics of a “Weak Force”

103

incorporating all of it toward its own end.15 This process is aided by a narrow communitarianism that puts all its weight on identity issues and overlooks wider politics, such as the political system, the orientation of economy, and the fact that communities are never compact, but in reality host several subcultures— both the oppressors and the oppressed. The ever-malleable capitalism overruns everything, recording the greatest victory in history: the subordination of politics to economics, as if economics were a natural, linear phenomenon rather than a series of contingent options. But Christian theology, insofar as it continues to understand humans as the priests of creation, cannot countersign this eclipse of politics, which would be akin to the eclipse of God the Creator’s image in humans the creators. But this affirmation of political creativity brings us to the issue of religion’s role in the public sphere. The public sphere is a precious dimension of societal life, the forum where the participants of the society meet, coexist, and even debate, in benefit of the life they share. And it is not by accident that the public sphere is threatened by neoliberalism and postmodernism, which smash the concept of society in favor of either extreme individualism or the disintegration of the human subject. The majority of the collectivist Orthodox do not flee from the public sphere, opting instead for introversion. Rather, they enter the public square in a notably militant manner. Their platform has to do mainly with the aforementioned securing of the institutional role of the established Church, and the imposition of Christian ethics on the whole of society. The backbone of their politics is the blurring of the boundaries between the Church community on one hand and society at large on the other. Collectivists in the so-called traditionally Orthodox countries live out the premodern dream that society is identical with the Church community; hence, they demand that the state be constitutionally bound to interdict any divergence. This view not only violates history (no collective was ever absolutely solid; the clash between force and freedom has always haunted church history), but also renders the Church incapable of bearing witness in the public space with a commonly accepted language shared by all citizens in secular societies.

Orthodox Religion in the Public Sphere John Rawls is right in acknowledging that the place proper for religion is in the public sphere, arguing that citizens can reach an overlapping consensus by embracing public reason.16 Of course, there is considerable disagreement among scholars on whether Rawls’s proposal welcomes comprehensive doctrines or, on

15 Ibid., pp.  31–32. Also Alain Badiou, Saint Paul:  The Foundation of Universalism (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 2003), pp. 4–5. 16 John Rawls, Political Liberalism, 2nd ed. (New  York:  Columbia University Press, 2005), pp. 151–52.

104

104

Athanasios N. Papathanasiou

the contrary, excludes them from public reasoning.17 I believe that coexistence in the public space can hardly be fruitful if the basic claims of the religious identities have to be abandoned or bypassed. The concept of public reason is important; however, it is not—and cannot be—something truly neutral. No human options are neutral, but ideologically conditioned. It is not by chance that Marxist critics reproach Rawls for basing his view on a very questionable anthropology, that of competing individuals. But such an anthropology may well be a distortion of the authentic humanity that is a distortion forged by capitalism.18 Jürgen Habermas’s proposal that faithful citizens are not to be asked to silence their beliefs in order to participate in the public space, but rather to rephrase and translate them in a common public language (criticizing and being criticized at the same time),19 seems quite promising.20 Yet some questions, such as whether Habermas’s view fosters theology as an ordinary participant in the public sphere or instead leads theology to a reductive apologetic stance, remain open.21 What is important in this discussion is the conclusion that pluralism and democracy can succeed to the degree that the various religious identities have democratic and dialogical sensitivities “by nature”—that is, when these sensitivities spring from the very heart of these identities.22 Speaking of identities, I refer to all religious entities, regardless of whether they are of an older origin or hybrid. Each religious entity alone defines the concepts that comprise its own core. Therefore, some contain freedom and tolerance (or even better, acceptance) of otherness, while others do not. To put it another way, there are religious identities that conceive of theocracy as blasphemy, while others view it as piety. As far as Christianity is concerned, it seems very simple to me: Theocracy is a refutation of Christianity, despite the fact that this refutation has been disguised as Christianity par excellence in several phases in history. Orthodox theology has to single out the basic elements in its tradition, which (elements), apparently in opposition to dark chapters of the ecclesiastical history

17 Nigel Biggar, “Not Translation but Conversation:  Theology in Public Debate about Euthenasia,” in Religious Voices in Public Places, ed. Nigel Biggar and Linda Hogan (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009), pp. 151–93 (182–83). 18 Alan Ryan, “John Rawls,” in The Return of Grand Theory in the Human Sciences, ed. Quentin Skinner (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005), pp. 101–20 (116). 19 Jürgen Habermas, “Religion in the Public Sphere,” European Journal of Philosophy 14, no. 1 (2006): 1–25. 20 Maureen Junker-Kenny, “Between Postsecular Society and the Neutral State: Religion as a Resource for Public Reason,” in Religious Voices in Public Places, ed. Nigel Biggar and Linda Hogan (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009), pp. 58–81. 21 Biggar, “Not Translation but Conversation.” 22 In any event, the discussion about religious participation in an open society offers a basic framework, yet does not resolve all the specific political problems that may arise. A crucial question is the extent to which conscientious objection can be tolerated and even incorporated into the legal system. The issue is complicated, and each case may have to be treated separately.

105

The Politics of a “Weak Force”

105

and the imperial despotism, guarantee fertility in the Church’s encounter with the contemporary world, the demands for freedom.23 There are several trends in the Orthodox tradition that favor participation and accountability, elements that today would encourage the Church to advocate forms of direct democracy. The aforementioned emergence of the human subject, as well as the absence of hereditary kingship in Byzantium, moves in this direction. Moreover, the thirty-eighth and the forty-first of the so-called Apostolic Canons (composed not later than the end of the third century) call for the bishop to take care of everything in the Church, and that he is to be judged by God alone. The adherents of episcopal monarchy would certainly rejoice with this formula. Yet an overall view of the historical route begs different conclusions. Because of misappropriations that took place, canon 26 of the Fourth Ecumenical Council (451) decided that every church should have an accountant, so that administration could not be exercised in secret. Moreover, several Church Fathers ask the faithful to judge the situation themselves and avoid giving money to local churches that lack transparency and accountability; likewise, the faithful are asked to judge the way the civil authorities rule and not accept that every single governor has been approved by God.24 This view probably contributed to the Byzantine political ideology, which acknowledged rebellion against tyrannical sovereigns as a constitutional principle. Though Roman law considered usurpation a grave crime, the Church “tended to attribute the success of a rebellion to the emperor’s fall from God’s grace.”25 The twentieth-century approach of Orthodox theologians such as Nikos Nissiotis and Fr. Dimitru Staniloae is of special interest here. They saw Christians’ liberating social engagement as a duty deeply connected with the divine invitation to humans to lead the whole world to its completeness and authentic realization.26 Notably, Nissiotis took a critically positive position toward the theologies of liberation, while other Orthodox theologians, such as Fr. Alexander Schmemann, renounced them wholesale.27

23 Cf. Aristotle Papanikolaou, “Byzantium, Orthodoxy, and Democracy,” Journal of the American Academy of Religion 71, no. 1 (2003): 75–98. 24 Athanasios N. Papathanasiou, “Voices of Shared Responsibility:  Some Problems of Current Eucharistic Theology in Dialogue with the Dynamics of Tradition,” in The Primacy of the Pope in the Catholic-Orthodox Ecumenical Dialogue, ed. Simon Marincak and Anthony O’Mahony (Kosice, Slovakia: Orientaliaet Occidentalia, 2013), pp. 433–35. 25 Alexander Kazhdan, “Rebellion,” in The Oxford Dictionary of Byzantium, ed. Alexander P. Kazhdan (New York: Oxford University Press, 1991), p. 1776. 26 Nikos A. Nissiotis, “Secular and Christian Images of the Human Person,” Theologia 54 (1983): 90–122 (118–22); Nissiotis, “Ecclesial Theology in Context,” in Doing Theology Today, ed. Choan-Seng Song (Madras:  Christian Literature Society, 1976), pp. 101–24 (113–14); Dimitru Staniloae, Theology and the Church, trans. Robert Barringer (Crestwood, NY: St. Vladimir’s Seminary Press, 1980). 27 Alexander Schmemann, The Eucharist:  Sacrament of the Kingdom of God, trans. Paul Kachur (Crestwood, NY:  St. Vladimir’s Seminary Press, 1987), pp. 9–10. Cf.

106

106

Athanasios N. Papathanasiou

All these point to the fact that the founding politics of the Church is the insertion of a special type of community into the world. I  am speaking of “a special type” in order to emphasize not the communal character in general, but particularly the kind of community the Church needs to be: an open community, as it symbolically appears in the Byzantine icon of Pentecost. The group of apostles forms not a circle, but a horseshoe, which stands for a community open to the world. That means that the Church community comprises a political event in the sense that, by its very existence, the world is being engrafted with an actual way of life built on love, solidarity, and “sacred anarchy.” But this community, more than being a refuge (as many communities are), is an outpost, a signpost, and a foretaste of things to come, of the Eschaton, which involves the life of the entire creation. The Church community is continually becoming, and its relationship with the world (witness and service to it, assumption and transformation of it) is a constitutive dimension of its own self.28 So, one of the major challenges for Christians is to find ways to intervene in the mundane order, to offer new perspectives on human life, and to implement the criteria of the Kingdom and the “sacred anarchy.” As noted above, collectivists understand politics mainly as a means for securing particular privileges for Church authority. Their attitude to the broader issues of freedom, rights, or social justice is marked by indifference. However, for the Church to advocate for such issues is not to surrender to a Kantian ethics, but, quite the contrary, a commitment to the demands of the Gospel; it is a witness and praxis that bring some beams of the future Kingdom into history. The basis of John Chrysostom’s opposition to anarchy (in this case, meaning not Caputo’s “sacred anarchy,” but chaos in society) is highly indicative: If you take away the rulers of the cities, we are going to live a life more irrational than the life of the animals, biting one another; the richer ones would eat up the poorer, the stronger would eat up the weaker, the more audacious would eat up the milder.29

Athanasios N. Papathanasiou, “The Church as Mission:  Fr. Alexander Schmemann’s Liturgical Theology Revisited,” Proche-Orient Chrétien 60 (2010):  6–41 (36–40), and Athanasios N. Papathanasiou, “Χαμένοι στην Ηθική:  Στάσεις της Σύγχρονης Ορθόδοξης Θεολογίας” [Lost in Ethics:  Stances of Modern Orthodox Theology], in Η Επιστροφή της Ηθικής: Παλαιά και Νέα Ερωτήματα [The Return of Ethics: Old and New Questions], ed. Stavros Zoumboulakis (Athens:  Artos Zoes, 2013), pp. 281–318, where I discuss the positions of important Greek theologians such as Christos Yannaras and Metropolitan John Zizioulas. Also Pantelis Kalaitzidis, Orthodoxy and Political Theology, trans. Fr. Gregory Edwards, Doxa and Praxis: Exploring Orthodox Theology Series (Geneva: WCC, 2012), pp. 65–80. 28 Cf. Papathanasiou, “The Church as Mission,” 6–41 (11–25). 29 John Chrysostom, “Sermon 6: That the Fear of the Authorities Is Good,” Patrologia Graeca, Vol. 49 (Paris: J. P. Migne, 1862), p. 82.

107

The Politics of a “Weak Force”

107

In Chrysostom’s perspective, “maniac capitalism,” which by nature is cannibalistic,30 constitutes a state of anomaly, an anarchy that allows the domination of injustice and social tyranny. Politics as intervention in a state of anomaly, in order to offer a new meaning to the world, are reflected in the interpretations given to the incident in which Christ cleared the temple from merchants and money changers (Mt 21:12–17, Mk 11:15– 16, Lk 19:45–48, Jn 2:13–25). What kind of activism can this episode engender in the hearts of the Christians? What was John’s intention when he added something that the synoptic Gospels did not mention, namely, that Jesus not only spoke but also made and used a whip of cords? In the course of history, many have cited the incident for many purposes, including the justification of violence. No doubt, there is violence in the Gospel account, but the critical question is violence against whom and for what? Many have used the account in order to justify anti-Semitism, execution of heretics, physical punishment of schismatics, and even the Crusades. In one word, theocracy, or suppression of dissenters. This approach, however, is not to be found in Church literature until Augustine, who vigorously responded to the upheaval of the Donatists in northern Africa. And “following Augustine’s lead, later Christians would use the passage to justify even greater violence.”31 Sadly, this culminated during the Reformation. But, contrary to this use, there also exists another line of interpretation that focuses on the Greek text of the Gospels, pointing out that Christ never used the whip against people; rather, he used it only to drive out the animals.32 My own conclusion is that physical violence against people cannot be presumed from the Gospel account. However, we clearly find the use of some kind of violence there. It is the violence of resisting a certain order, a kind of civil disobedience. The core of the narrative is that Christ “poured out the moneychangers’ money and overthrew their tables” in public (Jn 2:15). This kind of violence is not directed against religious dissent, but against the surrender of religion to commerce and profit. This political action rejects the ultimate blasphemy, the mutation of the faith in Yahweh into the idolatry of Mammon. It is probably not by chance that the only point where Christ vehemently refuted some other religion is perhaps the point where he posed the sharpest dilemma about Mammon (Mt 6:24), while the contradistinction he made with the nations regarded the tyrannical power of their lords, which (power) his own disciples should absolutely avoid (Mt 20:25–27). Thus, recourse to violence, or rather consideration of permissible types of violence, must always be a dilemma for Christians. And this dilemma concerns not only the violence exercised by the established authorities, which St. Paul had in mind (Rom 13:4), but also some kinds of force against the tyrannical established authorities.

30 William Greider, One World, Ready or Not:  The Manic Logic of Global Capitalism (New York: Simon & Schuster, 1997). 31 Andy Alexis-Baker, “Violence, Nonviolence and the Temple Incident in John 2:13– 15,” Biblical Interpretation 20 (2012): 73–96. 32 See the analysis by Alexis-Baker, “Violence, Nonviolence and the Temple Incident.”

108

108

Athanasios N. Papathanasiou

Olivier Clément made some extraordinary elaborations, which open new horizons in clarifying that not only violence but also nonviolence may become idols if human action is not imbued with the criteria of a radically new evangelical vision: The theologians of violence forget the Beatitudes. The theologians of nonviolence forget that history consists of tragedies. But amongst the violence of history, it is the duty of Christians to manifest the love for enemies, which is the strength of Christ himself [. . .] It is the Church’s business not to impose methods, even non-violent ones, but to witness in season and out of season to the creative power of love. The problem is not one of violence or non-violence at all; and the solution, which can never be more than partial, lies in the ability to transform, as far as possible and in every circumstance of history, destructive violence into creative power. The cross which, as Berdyaev memorably said, causes the rose of worldly existence to bloom afresh, here signifies not resignation, but service; not weakness, but creative activity.33

This is why the Gospel inspires political options and stances, but does not coincide with any political system. It is not void of force, but it is all about a “weak force,” as Caputo has put it, referring his readers to 1 Corinthians 1:25 (“The foolishness of God is wiser than human wisdom, and the weakness of God is stronger than human strength”).34 The force of the Gospel is the peculiar strength of Christ’s voluntary kenosis, the utmost humbleness that nevertheless is not passivity but a direct clash with the powers of death. The hymn that the believing community sings on Holy Friday evening in front of Christ’s epitaph is an unsurpassable recapitulation of Christ’s self-sacrificial activism and sketches the mystery in a language that seems to be a contradiction in terms: “Hades was embittered when it encountered you, Word of God, [. . .] covered with wounds and all-powerful, and he shrank at the awesome sight.”35

The Dialectics of Death and Resurrection It has been noted that the Christian pre-Constantinian Martyr Acts conspicuously depict urban affairs. The martyr’s confession/declaration was a public event in the agora, in the central part of the city,36 and their religious stance was also political at 33 Olivier Clément, On Human Being:  A  Spiritual Anthropology, trans. Jeremy Hummerstone (London: New City, 2000), pp. 102–03. 34 Caputo, “Spectral Hermeneutics,” pp. 47–87 (62). 35 Matins for Holy and Great Saturday, 4th Ode of the Canon. I  have used the translation, Leonidas Contos (trans.), The Services for Holy Week and Easter in the Original Greek with a New English Translation (Redfern, Australia: Narthex Press, 1994), p. 318, with some minor alterations. 36 Glen W. Bowersock, Martyrdom and Rome (Cambridge:  Cambridge University Press, 2002), pp. 41–46.

109

The Politics of a “Weak Force”

109

the same time. What was the vision that inspired the confession of the protomartyr Stephen and all the martyrs who followed? It was the vision of the Kingdom, the victory over death. Allow me to repeat that this implies and entails a clash with any form of death, at the personal as well as the societal level. This vision introduced into the world the concept of a universal mission, an invitation to a truth that concerns all humans, not only the cultural and ethnic cluster where this vision took shape for the first time. The concluding phrase in Matthew’s Gospel, “Go and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit” (Mt 28:19), was made possible only because of a new event: the Christian community’s excitement over Christ’s resurrection. Before the resurrection, the only mission possible was an ethnically and culturally defined mission (“Do not go among the Gentiles or enter any town of the Samaritans. Go rather to the lost sheep of Israel”; Mt 10:5): Politics is about relationships between people dead and alive, relationships that are as painful as they are unavoidable. Yet much of recent political theory, including accounts and justifications of democracy, has tried to void the subject of death and by so doing has put forward accounts of politics that are, ironically, insufficiently “political.” We think the liberal avoidance of this kind of politics we advocate has everything to do with the general tendency of much contemporary political theory and praxis to avoid (or deny) the reality of death. Empire, global capitalism, the megastate, and even many forms of cosmopolitanism name systems of power that frequently proliferate death in the name of a life that would be free of it. No less pertinent are the quotidian practices of corruption and oblivion that are conditions of these systems’ possibility and integral to (but not exhaustive of) the soulcraft through which we are all brought into being. The deaths we organize our lives to resist and escape, then, are not only the big ones that await each one of us at the end, but are also (and relatedly) those that occur in the passing away of boundaries and identities in our vulnerable, lived encounters with the world of others and things.37

The politics of the Resurrection can thus define the gap between a liberating Christian commitment and all other politics. At the same time, however, this gap can be bridged by a theological attempt to discern a godly nostalgia in atheist movements that long for liberation and thirst for life unlimited. Olivier Clément shared this admittedly optimistic vision when he commented on the late twentieth-century youth rebellion and the uprising of the communist and anarchist initiatives in Europe: In the demonstrations [. . .], those old enemies, the red flag and the black flag, at last joined forces, blindly foreshadowing, in the assertion of the unity

37 Stanley Hauerwas and Romand Coles, Christianity, Democracy, and the Radical Ordinary:  Conversations between a Radical Democrat and a Christian (Cambridge: Lutterworth Press, 2008), pp. 2–3.

110

110

Athanasios N. Papathanasiou

of all and the uniqueness of each, the communion of the Trinity [. . .] Do not misunderstand the saying “everything is politics”; the key word is everything, and politics is the opium, if not of the people, at least of a younger generation and an intelligentsia who, in denying God, are seeking him.38

Conclusion I return to the predicament of the Christian faith—that is, the difficulty in accepting Christianity’s invitation to a radical anti-egoistic attitude, a self-sacrificial attitude based not merely on fascination with an idea (this may happen even to fanatics motivated by hatred), but also on indiscriminate love. Can this attitude be sustained without the support of faith? In the late nineteenth century, Frederick Engels hastened to downplay the deeply ethical socialism of many Christians in the history of the West, devaluing it as utopian and not scientific.39 I am not going to address the arbitrary and authoritarian self-definition of any ideology as scientific. What is of special interest here is the fact that today several thinkers turn to religion as an indispensable source for the moral power needed to pursue the common good. “Could a society devoid of the religious impulse stir itself to pursuit of the common good?” ask Robert and Edward Skidelsky, to which they immediately reply: “We doubt it.”40 Yet, for Orthodox theology, this impulse remains always a prophetic event in history, a witness that both sweetens human life and inconveniences it at the same time. Even translated into everyday life, the invitation to a “sacred anarchy” sounds scandalous. “This is a hard teaching. Who can accept it?” (Jn 6:60). This question should not be understood as a rhetorical one. It presupposes vigilant and responsible citizens who are truly capable of cooperating for the transformation of history, so that it can accommodate the “weak force” of the Resurrection.

38 Clément, On Human Being, p. 91. 39 Friedrich Engels, Socialism: Utopian and Scientific (Chippendale: Resistance Books, 1999). For the dating, see Doug Lorimer’s introduction, p. 7. 40 Robert Skidelsky and Edward Skidelsky, How Much Is Enough? Money and the Good Life (New  York:  Other Press, 2012), p.  218. I  owe this reference to Fr. Evangelos Ganas, “Κοινωνική Δικαιοσύνη και Βασιλεία του Θεού” [Social Justice and God’s Kingdom], Synaxis 131 (2014): 69–79.

111

Chapter 6 O RT HO D OX P O L I T IC A L T H E O L O G Y: A N A NA R C H I S T P E R SP E C T I V E Davor Džalto

Histories and Political Theologies The sphere of the sociopolitical has been the subject of many theological reflections in the history of Christianity. Theologians and clergymen, in both the East and the West, have been trying to articulate the place and meaning of various sociopolitical phenomena within the broader context of Christian theology and anthropology, virtually from the earliest periods of Christianity. This gave birth to a variety of political theologies over the last nearly two thousand years. In this sense, Christian “political theology” in general, and “Orthodox political theology” in particular, is not a new discipline and draws on a much richer heritage than the modern usage of the term, coined by Carl Schmitt, indicates.1 The problem here is, thus, not the lack of (Orthodox) theological reflections on the sociopolitical sphere, but rather the character of those reflections. Although there are many different theological approaches to the sociopolitical sphere, some have traditionally been more dominant than others. As Pantelis Kalaitzidis puts it: What one realizes [. . .] is that there is a nearly universal tendency among religious intellectuals to lean toward the far right and authoritarian ideologies in general.2

This provocative general remark helps to shed light on dominant tendencies in the history of Christian political theologies, in particular in the Orthodox world.3 1 The term used by Carl Schmitt in 1922, in Carl Schmitt, Politische Theologie: Vier Kapitel zur Lehre von der Souveränität (1922; repr. 7th ed., Berlin: Duncker und Humblot, 1996). 2 Pantelis Kalaitzidis, Orthodoxy and Political Theology, trans. Fr. Gregory Edwards, Doxa and Praxis: Exploring Orthodox Theology Series (Geneva: WCC, 2012), 25. 3 However, Kalaitzidis’s remark requires at least a passing comment. While it is certainly valid for most of the premodern and early modern approaches, the situation has radically changed in this respect after the Second World War, especially in the Roman Catholic

112

112

Davor Džalto

The question is, of course, if the concept of the “far right” and “authoritarian” can be automatically applied to the premodern social and political contexts and to what extent. Nevertheless, if we substitute “authoritarian” with “autocratic” and “far right” with broader concepts of “statist” and “nationalistic,”4 Kalaitzidis’s point remains, and becomes relevant for the premodern times as well. In the Orthodox world, the dominant theological as well as the popular view of the “ideal” sociopolitico-ecclesial whole has been profoundly informed by the concept of the Symphony (symphonia). In this model, the aim is a harmony between the sacred and the secular, and close, even organic ties between the Church (and her theology) and the state (with its official ideology). This harmony is not only sought in the mystical realm; “Byzantine Symphony” is a religiouspolitical concept that also implies close, institutional connections between ecclesial and political structures. It manifests itself as a very practical political philosophy, which affirms the institution of the emperor and also strengthens the political and institutional role of the episcopate. I give a brief outline of the symphonia concept in this chapter, where I intend to draw more detailed conclusions as to the traditional understanding of the churchstate relations. It suffices here to point to the underlining logic of symphonia, which survived the Byzantine Empire, penetrating many later Orthodox political discourses. The logic finds its expression in a popular, laconic phrase “One God in Heaven, one King on Earth.” This phrase captures an important idea—that there is an equivalency between “heavenly” and “earthly” governments, which gives autocracy ontological foundations. Such (pseudo) theological justification of autocracy as a mode of government has traditionally been translated into the justification of state, its apparatus, political system(s), and official (state) ideology. Theology here effectively functions as ideology, giving metaphysical significance to political institutions. Following symphonia, and the “one (God)—one (King)” logic, Orthodox theologians have been developing political theologies that were mostly defending context. Among the most prominent new approaches to the political sphere is the theology of Johann B. Metz, as well as a variety of “leftist” approaches known under the general term of “liberation theology.” Cf. John K. Downey (ed.), Love’s Strategy: The Political Theology of Johann Baptist Metz (Harrisburg, PA:  Trinity Press International, 1999); Christopher Rowland (ed.), The Cambridge Companion to Liberation Theology (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999 [1st ed.]; 2007 [2nd ed.]). 4 I use the concept of “nationalism” very broadly here, in the meaning I  explained elsewhere, to indicate “all ideologies based on a fascination with a certain social and/or political collective. By fascination, I mean the absence of critical and rational examination of the collective (super)ego that each nationalism affirms [. . .] the concept of ‘nationalism,’ in my interpretation, embraces various phenomena, various ‘self-centrisms,’ including an uncritical glorification of the ‘nation’ as a modern political construct, state-centered nationalism (or statism, which is often identical to imperialism), ethnically-based nationalism, as well as various adorations of tribal identities and belonging.” Davor Džalto, “Nationalism, Statism and Orthodoxy,” St. Vladimir’s Theological Quarterly 57, nos. 3–4 (2013): 503–23 (504).

113

Orthodox Political Theology

113

monarchy and autocracy as the Orthodox Christian model of government. Only recently have we found serious attempts to theologically articulate and appreciate different sociopolitical systems, including modern forms of democracy and pluralistic society.5 These new approaches came as a result of two major changes in the Orthodox world that have occurred over the last century or so: (1) A more significant presence of the “Orthodox diaspora” in the Western countries, in which Orthodox Christians were able to experience different forms of political and legal systems. An important moment in the formation of a more theologically vocal “Orthodox diaspora” was the Russian Revolution, which caused many Russians, including many theologians, to emigrate to Western Europe and North America. The awareness of different modes of social organization has gradually been developed, together with the need for a theological response to them. (2) The fall of the Berlin Wall and the collapse of the Soviet Union, which created a new sociopolitical situation in most of the countries in which Orthodoxy is the dominant and traditional faith. Theological responses to this change can be, very generally, divided into two categories: those that turned to traditionalism and some form of nationalism in search of a new conceptual/ ideological framework, and those that opened the theological discourse toward articulation and a more positive evaluation of modern (Western) political phenomena, such as democracy or pluralism. Arguably the most important single contribution to the contemporary Orthodox political theology was given by Aristotle Papanikolaou in his book The Mystical as Political. Papanikolaou is certainly correct in his method of approaching the political “based on the principle of divine-human communion.”6 He is also right when he claims that the principle of divine-human communion is the “core axiom” of Orthodox Christianity.7

5 See Aristotle Papanikolaou, The Mystical as Political:  Democracy and Non-radical Orthodoxy (Notre Dame, IN:  University of Notre Dame Press, 2012), and his argument on Sergei Bulgakov’s political theology in the same book; Pantelis Kalaitzidis, Ορθοδοξία και Νεωτερικότητα:  Προλεγόμενα [Orthodoxy and Modernity:  An Introduction] (Volos Academy for Theological Studies; Athens:  Indiktos, 2007); also Radovan Bigović, Црква у савременом свету [The Church in the Modern World] (Belgrade:  Službeni glasnik, 2011); and Zoran Krstić, Црква у друштву: у прошлости и садашњости [The Church in Society:  Past and Present] (Požarevac:  Eparhija Braničevska, Odbor za prosvetu i kulturu, 2014), Православље и модерност: теме практичне теологије [Orthodoxy and Modernity: Themes for a Practical Theology] (Belgrade: Službeni glasnik, 2012). 6 Papanikolaou, The Mystical as Political, p. 5. 7 “The fall of Communism in the traditional Orthodox countries has revealed an unpreparedness on the part of Orthodox Christianity to deal with questions of political

114

114

Davor Džalto

The “principle of divine-human communion” is the point of departure in my own theological approach to the sphere of the political. I presume that Orthodox political theology, just as any other application of Orthodox theology on a particular phenomenon (such as culture, anthropology, ecology, and so on), needs to take into account some of the basic elements of Christian faith and Christian theology before it can articulate and evaluate that phenomenon. This is quite the opposite approach to most of the theological discourses on the political that traditionally begin with the need to justify certain political phenomena and then construct theological narratives to satisfy this need. Toward the end of this introductory part, I want to briefly explain the concept of the “political,” as I use it in a more specific sense in this chapter. I want, first of all, to describe with it the sphere of the competence of the state as the highest and most complex social institution, with its apparatus through which the state exercises its power. However, the main challenge that this approach poses is that focusing exclusively on the state and its exercise of power can be, and often is, misleading. The power of old-fashioned states, although still significant, is declining in the so-called era of globalization. The main reason for this decline is the rise of transnational, privately owned concentrations of wealth (e.g., transnational corporations). These corporations represent a new form of private tyrannies that in many respects pose an even greater risk than traditional tyrannies. Their financial power, which is well beyond those of many states, bears tremendous political implications as well, which, unlike the political power in most of what we could call democratic societies, is not subjected to any democratic control. Therefore, with the concept of “political” I want to address this type of political power as well, which represents one of the greatest threats to human freedom and dignity in the contemporary world. In what follows, I  first focus on the dominant Orthodox theological approaches to the political. My intention in this section is (1)  to explain why I find these approaches either misleading or completely irreconcilable with some of the basic aspects of the Orthodox Christian faith, and (2)  to reflect on the reasons that made Orthodox theologians, and Christian theologians in general, write theologies that served as rationalization and justification of the dominant order of power. In the central part of this chapter, I approach the sphere of the political from the point of view of what seems to me the very fundamental elements of Orthodox Christian ontology and anthropology. My analysis in this section is based both on classical and modern theological and religious-philosophical approaches to the sphere of the political, and on other approaches that are not, formally, Orthodox (e.g., theologians coming from different Christian denominations), but whose views I find profoundly Orthodox. In conclusion, I offer a brief analysis of the ways in which Orthodox political theology can practically be applied to the social and political reality, given both the lessons that history can teach us and the experience of our contemporary global(izing) society.

115

Orthodox Political Theology

115

Political Eschatologies: A Deconstruction Justification of symphonia and attempts to theologically legitimize the state (Roman Empire), emperor, and the exercise of political power have been commonplace for at least 1,700 years. Already Tertullian (c. 160–c. 225) speaks of the emperor as “chosen by God,”8 and the necessity to “pray for the Emperor” (in reference to 1 Tim 2:2), the empire, and the “interests of Rome,”9 despite the fact that he is well aware of Roman persecution of Christians, which he criticized.10 The classical elaboration of the symphonia doctrine begins with the period of Constantine the Great, and the establishment of close institutional relations between the Church and the state. Eusebius draws direct parallels between heavenly and earthly “kings,” between God, who is the “King of everything,” and Constantine as the universal king on earth. Eusebius even goes so far as to make parallels between God and His Son (Christ) and Constantine and his son (Crispus).11 The exact reasoning behind Constantine’s policies to establish

theology in a way that is consistent with its core axiom:  the principle of divine-human communion.” Ibid. 8 Tertullian, Liber ad Scapulam, quoted in Steven Runciman, The Byzantine Theocracy (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1977 [1st ed.]; 2003 [paperback]), p. 20. 9 “For we call upon God for the safety of the Emperor [. . .] the Scripture says expressly and clearly, ‘Pray for kings, and princes, and powers, that all may be piece for you.’ [. . .] There is another and a greater need for us to pray for the Emperor, and, indeed, for the whole state of the empire, and the interests of Rome. For we know that the great upheaval which hangs over the whole earth, and the very end of all things, threatening terrible woes, is only delayed by the respite granted to the Roman empire.” Tertullian, Apology, quoted in Henry Bettenson and Chris Maunder (eds.), Documents of the Christian Church (Oxford:  Oxford University Press, 1999), p. 8. 10 Ibid. 11 “And so, his love of goodness blended with a hatred of evil the champion of the good set out with his son Crispus, that most humane emperor, by his side, holding out a saving hand to all who were perishing. Then, taking God the universal King, and God’s Son the Saviour of all, as Guide and Ally, father and son together divided their battle array against God’s enemies on every side, and easily carried off the victory: every detail of the encounter was made easy for them by God, in fulfillment of His purpose. [. . .] His adversary thus finally thrown down, the mighty victor Constantine, pre-eminent in every virtue that true religion can confer, with his son Crispus, an emperor most dear to God and in every way resembling his father, won back their own eastern lands and reunited the Roman Empire into a single whole, bringing it all under their peaceful sway, in a wide circle embracing north and south alike from the east to the farthest west.” Eusebius, Ecclessial History (X), quoted in Eusebius, The History of the Church: From Christ to Constantine, trans. G. A. Williamson (London: Penguin, 1989), p. 332. Explicit references to Crispus were removed from later

116

116

Davor Džalto

tolerance toward Christianity, to actively support Christianity and the Church, and to eventually make a particular version of Christianity the key element of the official state ideology remains a matter of dispute.12 What, however, seems clear is that the state and ecclesial authorities were entering a partnership that would help both of them spread their field of influence.13 In the post-Constantine Roman Empire, emperors would continue to actively participate in theologizing the sociopolitical sphere, offering that way a rationalization of the (un)holy alliance between the church and the state, between theology and politics. Emperor Justinian, for instance, speaks of an analogy between heavenly and earthly governments, but takes it a step further by arguing in favor of some kind of symbiosis between the sacred (and the ecclesial) and political: The priesthood and the imperium do not differ very greatly. Nor are sacred things so very different from those of public and common interest.14

The purpose of this “harmony” between “spiritual” and “political” hierarchies was to secure the stability and prosperity of the empire and humankind (since, ideally, all humankind should be embraced by one empire and one Church). This effectively led to the new (Christian) imperial cult, in which the emperor acquires divine attributes, becoming an “image of God.”15 Paradoxically enough, by confusing the competences of the Church and the state, the symphonia doctrine causes more tensions than it brings harmony, when approached theologically. The “image” theory is transferred here from its proper, liturgical, context (bishop as the

editions, after Crispus had fallen out of mercy and had been killed by Constantine in 326, being thus also subjected to damnatio memoriae. 12 Among the studies dedicated to the subject, Thomas Elliot’s book Christianity of Constantine the Great is especially useful. The author’s approach is very subtle as to the issue of what it meant to be a Christian in late antiquity. Cf. Thomas G. Elliot, Christianity of Constantine the Great (Scranton: University of Scranton Press, 1996). For a more positive appraisal of Constantine’s reforms, see Peter J. Leithart, Defending Constantine: The Twilight of an Empire and the Dawn of Christendom (Downers Grove, IN: IVP Academic, 2010). 13 Peter Brown points out that “as the fourth century progressed, it became increasingly plain that the Christian bishops, by conquering the cities from the bottom up, were in a position to determine the policies of the emperor.” Peter Brown, The Rise of Western Christianity (Malden, MA: Blackwell, 2005), p. 78. 14 Corpus Iuris Civilis, Vol. 3, quoted in John A. McGuckin, “The Legacy of the 13th Apostle:  Origins of the East Christian Conceptions of Church and State Relation,” St. Vladimir’s Theological Quarterly 47, nos. 3–4 (2003): 251–88 (283). 15 Cf. Theophylact of Ohrid, in Speros Jr. Vryonis, “The Patriarchate of Constantinople and the State,” in Orthodoxy and Western Culture: A Collection of Essays Honoring Jaroslav Pelikan on His Eightieth Birthday, ed. Valerie Hotchkiss and Patrick Henry (Crestwood, NY: St. Vladimir’s Seminary Press, 2005), pp. 109–23 (112).

117

Orthodox Political Theology

117

image of Christ in the liturgical performance, which is the image of the Kingdom of God) to the political one. If the emperor becomes the image of Christ (as the universal ruler), then, consequently, the empire also becomes the image of the Kingdom of God.16 These classical expressions of symphonia remained the dominant form of Orthodox political theologies, and continued after the fall of the Roman (Byzantine) Empire, becoming the foundation of the Russian Imperial ideology and other “Orthodox monarchies.” Of course there were occasional exceptions to this rule. One can find many examples that show theologians, monks, and clergymen questioning the authority of emperors, and sometimes subjecting them to severe criticism.17 In fact, the appearance of the whole monastic movement on the historical stage can be understood as a form of anarchism; an attempt to establish new communities that would, within their local sphere of competence, effectively abolish “worldly” (meaning compelling) sociopolitical order in order to create a “new society” that would more effectively mirror the reality of the coming Kingdom of God. One should also not overlook modern authors coming from the Orthodox world who questioned or openly rejected autocracy as a model of government, 16 One should add that symphonia, in some of its basic aspects at least, is not unique to Byzantium. The idea that the king (emperor) is an image of Christ, as well as the successor of the Old Testament kings, whose supreme duty is to take care of the chosen “people of God” (their tribe or other ethnic group, which is identified with the “New Israel”) is typical for the medieval times. This, among other reasons, caused a lot of tension and even open conflicts between the supreme ecclesial and political authorities in Medieval (Western) Europe. As Friedrich Heer put it: “Pope and Emperor sat enthroned in brotherly amity, both of them watching over Christendom, which meant mankind; the spiritual sword belonged to the Pope, the secular sword to the Emperor” but, at the same time, “The Emperor was the foundation of the state, just as Christ was the foundation of the Church [. . .] the Emperor as head of the hierarchy dispensed the high mysteries of his high-priestly office.” Friedrich Heer, The Medieval World: Europe 1100–1350 (London: Phoenix, 1998), pp. 267, 269. 17 Some of the most vocal oppositions to emperors and the exercise of political power one finds in Athanasius of Alexandria (who “compared the Emperor [Constantius] with Ahab, with Belshazzar, and with the Pharaohs. He was a parricide, worse than Pilate, a forerunner of Antichrist”). Runciman, The Byzantine Theocracy, p.  27. St. Ambrose of Milan (who famously condemned Emperor Theodosius for his crimes, and told Emperor Valentinian II: “Do not think that you have any imperial right over things that are divine,” see ibid., p.  30), and iconoclastic dispute, which can be viewed as a conflict between an Orthodox vision of the ecclesial/theological and the political power of Emperors (cf. John A. McGuckin, “The Theology of Images and the Legitimation of Power in Eighth Century Byzantium,” St. Vladimir’s Theological Quarterly 37, no. 1 [1993]:  39–58). However, in these and similar examples, the opposition was normally not the opposition to autocracy, monarchy or the political power in principle, but rather a protest against concrete emperors, their particular policies, or differences in theological views.

118

118

Davor Džalto

or even the state as such.18 However, all these approaches remained far from the theological and official ecclesial mainstream.19 Symphonia, once revitalized in the time of European romanticisms and nation states, remained the dominant view of the “ideal” church-state relations. After the collapse of the Russian Empire and the last “Orthodox kings,” symphonia served as an “ideal” alternative to the “Red Tsars” of the twentieth century. Therefore, it is not surprising that even in modern times many Christian theologians and authors affirm some form of the theocratic model, arguing either explicitly in favor of “Orthodox monarchy” as the ideal form of government (romanticizing the glorious past of the Byzantine, Russian, Bulgarian, or Serbian monarchies, for instance), or in favor of other forms of government and social orders in which the society would be governed by a fusion of the “national” (ethnical) and ecclesial.20 In the latter argument there would be no clear distinction between the political laws and religious norms, neither would there be room for plurality of political and social ideas, and their often conflicting interests.21

18 Cf. Leo Tolstoy, one of the most prominent anarchist authors, or Nikolas Berdyaev, Russian religious philosopher. For an overview of Tolstoy’s political writings and ideas, see Peter Marshal, Demanding the Impossible:  A  History of Anarchism (London:  Harper Perennial, 2008), pp. 362–83; for Berdyaev, see Catherine Baird, “Religious Communism? Nicolas Berdyaev’s Contribution to Esprit’s Interpretation of Communism,” Canadian Journal of History 30, no. 5 (1995): 29–47. 19 In this respect, even monasticism shares basically the same destiny. It is true that one can find particular monastic communities and individual ascetics living even today according to the principle of a radical personalism (which, in its communitarian dimension, translates as some form of anarchism), in which love for another human being (“brother” and “sister”) is the foundation of not only an individual faith but also their daily personal and communitarian life. However, monasteries and monastic orders have gradually been included in the overall Church hierarchy. This effectively turned the majority of monastic communities and monastic orders, just as other ecclesial structures, into “world-like” institutions. They became parts of the bigger Church administration, with vertical distribution of power, and often even the source of significant economic power. 20 The list of defenders of “Orthodox autocracy” (also called “Sacred monarchy”) as the Orthodox model of government is very long. Approaches range from more articulate theological arguments to popular narratives that defend monarchy simply by reiterating its position within the imaginary national/ethnic tradition, in each given local context. Among the most active contemporary proponents of the “Orthodox autocracy” in the Englishspeaking world are Vladimir Moss and Michael Azkoul. 21 Justin Popović, one of the most influential modern Serbian theologians, argues in favor of such a model in his book, Светосавље као философија живота [Saint-Savahood as Philosophy of Life], first published in 1953. He explains the concept of “Svetosavlje” as “Orthodox Christianity of the Serbian style and experience.” Justin Popović, Светосавље као философија живота [Saint-Savahood as Philosophy of Life] (Belgrade:  Monastery Ćelije, 1993), p.  3. (The word “Svetosavlje” is derived from the name of the first Serbian

119

Orthodox Political Theology

119

Even if we accept that these authors hoped for the best, by affirming only one model based on a single ideology and the fusion of the sociopolitical with the ecclesial, the result is that they unintentionally affirmed a potentially totalitarian system of government. They ignored some of the basic elements of the Christian faith, one of which being that Christ did not come to establish any particular form of government, but rather to bring a new existence that will fully be actualized in the Kingdom of God as an eschatological reality. This also means that the Kingdom of God cannot be established except in the eschaton, when history as we know it comes to its end. The only icon of that Kingdom, which exists in the course of history, is the Church—the communion of the faithful, gathered together to serve the liturgy.22 All attempts to find some kind of symbiosis between the ecclesial/mystical and the political result in three problematic consequences that I want to briefly address: (1) Secularization and de-eschatologization of the Church and Christianity, which is the result of attempts to sanctify the sociopolitical sphere. The result of this is that: (2) The mystical (eschatological) becomes the institutional, the Church as the communion of the faithful, which participates in the eschatological community becomes an institution that resembles institutions of “this world.” This de-eschatologization of the Church and Christianity results in the secularization of the Christian understanding of Truth. This further leads to: (3) A secularized and rationalized idea of truth; a single and total truth, which is not eschatological in its nature, becomes the foundation of a total, and even totalitarian vision of the world and society. archbishop Saint Sava, or Sveti Sava in Serbian.) Popović explains how this “philosophy” should be applied to various domains, including cultural and social life: “We want a society which represents and is, in itself, one organism, one body, and members of that society are (its) organic parts” (ibid., p. 30). He claims that both society and individual human beings have the same aim—to make God present in the human being, and to “incarnate” Him in the society (ibid., p.  31). Although Justin does not give a precise description of how this society is supposed to function, it seems that it should exist as some form of theocracy. He, for example, claims that, according to the Svetosavlje philosophy, everything, including the human being, society, people (nation), and the state “have to conform to the Church as an eternal ideal, but the Church must not, under any condition, conform to them or, even less, to be their slave” (ibid., p. 34). He also defines the Church as both “a Divine-human organism” and “a Divine-human organization” (ibid., p. 32). In the same chapter Justin identifies the New Testament concept of the “holy people” or “God’s people” (1 Pt 2:9–10; 1.15–16) with the concrete political, national, and ethnic collective—the Serbian people (ibid., p. 35). 22 In my understanding of the Church (in its visible form) primarily as the communion of the faithful, gathered to serve the liturgy, and the liturgy as the icon of the Kingdom of God, I follow mainly John Zizioulas’s ecclesiology. Cf. John Zizioulas, Being as Communion: Studies in Personhood and the Church (Crestwood, NY:  St. Vladimir’s Seminary Press, 1997), and chapters on John Zizioulas’s ecclesiology in Paul G. McPartlan, The Eucharist Makes the Church: Henri de Lubac and John Zizioulas in Dialogue (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1993).

120

120

Davor Džalto

This means that all models that propose a symbiosis between the doctrinal aspects of Christianity and state ideology, or in which a particular political community is portrayed as the fulfillment of Christian aspirations and the “ideal” human community, implicitly reject the need for the Kingdom of God as an eschatological reality. According to this model, the “Empire” (state) functions as the Kingdom of God on earth, and eschatology is turned into history. The second coming of Christ is, therefore, not only unnecessary but can even be disturbing, as it would cause the end of this harmonious whole.23 By employing Christianity as a useful ideological narrative, the process of secularization and de-eschatologization of the Church began from within. Freedom and love, as the very foundations of the Church and her modus vivendi, are replaced by institutional procedures, exercise of power, and concerns for financial, political, cultural, and other types of influence in “this world.” The Church gradually becomes less and less a liturgical community, which bears an eschatological character, becoming instead more and more a bureaucratic institution, which resembles the state and its procedures. Freedom and love are thus exchanged for the security that the powers of “this world” can offer.24 Finally, by giving up the ontological freedom (which means the opportunity to manifest one’s existence as freedom and as an eschatological reality) as an important point of reference, many political theologies aspire to create a rationale in which there would be no plurality in the sociopolitical realm. The crucial mistake here is the identification of the Christian truth, which is an eschatological and hypostatic event, with a single expression of Christianity within the particular historical context and the sociopolitical reality. The idea that there is only One Truth (the person of Christ as the Incarnate Logos of God) does not imply, by any means, that there can only be one truth in each particular domain of the complex reality we historically live in. Proponents of this unfortunate identification between the metaphysical and the sociopolitical (an expression of which is the “one God— one king” concept) turn the Truth of Christianity into another ideological “truth,” leaving no room whatsoever for freedom manifested as plurality, and therefore no room for thinking other political models. The reason for such an Orthodox theological vision of the political is not very difficult to understand given the historical context. The unholy alliance between the political authorities and ecclesial authorities, which began with Constantine the Great and his attempt to make Christianity a new ideological force in the hands of the political authorities, enabled, in return, the church leaders to obtain

23 A good illustration of this logic is offered by Fyodor Dostoyevsky in his “Grand Inquisitor” story from The Brothers Karamazov. The Inquisitor, realizing that the sudden appearance of Christ undermines his project of making a happy and even “perfect” society, asks Him: “Why, then, have you come to hinder us?” 24 One should not confuse this institutionalization of the Church, initiated by the attempt to conform to the requirements of “this world,” with Christian mission and Christianization of various aspects of the world.

121

Orthodox Political Theology

121

a prominent social status, turning the institutional church into an important political factor. This alliance, sometimes even a marriage, continued and became more articulate in the centuries to come. It became important, even necessary, for the institutional church to develop theological narratives that would justify this new social position and the new power it gained. It is not, therefore, difficult to understand why there is almost a universal tendency throughout history to construct theological narratives that would support the dominant order of power and dominant ideologies, unless they are openly and aggressively antichurch. Historically this meant the support of autocracy, and, much later, the support of various ideologies such as ethnic, national, and state-based nationalisms.25 Analyzing the prevailing responses to the sociopolitical changes in the course of history, one can see a very consistent pattern according to which Christian theologians and intellectuals in general first defend the dominant order of power. Once that order is seriously challenged or abandoned, they try to condemn the new system or new political ideas as “anti-Christian” or “demonic,” affirming the traditional sociopolitical systems and their values.26 When it becomes impossible to ignore the new reality, theology is often employed to construct new narratives that would justify and rationalize the new order, be it constitutional monarchy, democracy, plutocracy, or corporate dictatorship. The logic and the underlining principles are, in this respect, very similar if not the same in both the East and the West.27

25 For more on my argument on Orthodox theology and nationalism, see Davor Džalto, “Nationalism, Statism and Orthodoxy,” St. Vladimir’s Theological Quarterly 57, nos. 3–4 (2013): 503–23. 26 An instructive example here is the Roman Catholic engagement with modernity, and its cultural and sociopolitical innovations. Traditionally an enthusiastic supporter of autocracy, Roman Catholicism strongly condemned most of the typically modern phenomena such as political freedom, pluralism, progress, human rights, and secular society. In the encyclical Mirari Vos (1832), Pope Gregory XVI strongly criticizes the idea of separation between Church and state (“It is certain that that concord which always was favorable and beneficial for the sacred and the civil order is feared by the shameless lovers of liberty”), together with freedom of expression (“freedom to publish”) and freedom of conscience for everyone (called in the encyclical “absurd and erroneous proposition”). Quoted from Pope Gregory XVI, “Mirari Vos, On Liberalism and Religious Indifferentism,” Papal Encyclicals, August 15, 1832, http://www.papalencyclicals.net/Greg16/g16mirar.htm (accessed July 13, 2016). Cf. Syllabus Errorum (1864), papal encyclical issued by Pope Pius IX, “Syllabus Errorum,” Papal Encyclicals, December 8, 1864, http://www.papalencyclicals.net/ Pius09/p9syll.htm (accessed July 13, 2016). Once most of the major European monarchies collapsed, and some form of democracy became the dominant system of government, the position of the institutional church and its theology also changed, opening up the space for a theological appreciation of democracy and pluralism, which would eventually prevail. 27 Historically, the major difference between Eastern and Western Christianity in this respect is the fact that in the absence of a powerful state (especially after the collapse of

122

122

Davor Džalto

The result of these historical developments is that Christian theologians have often been constructing exclusive theological narratives that prescribe only one right answer to all possible situations. And although my intention in the rest of this chapter is to formulate something that seems to me as a possible, even authentic Orthodox theological articulation of the sociopolitical sphere, I  refrain from prescribing particular solutions that aspire universal significance and applicability. The reason for this is my belief that we can specify particular leading principles that should be taken into account when approaching concrete situations, but solutions to particular issues in each given context and historical period must be appropriate to that context. That means that solutions to one problem in a certain context will most probably be different from those in different contexts, even if the guiding principles remain the same. The history of the past two hundred years, if not the entire human history, has taught us that it is very dangerous to formulate abstract ideas, even the most noble and logically consistent ones, and then try to automatically apply them everywhere, ignoring the complexity and diversity of the reality. The blind faith that there is only one truth (i.e., abstract dogma), which dictates certain forms of reality and to which everything and everyone must conform, has been at the very heart of various totalitarianisms in recorded history, and continues to be one of the main challenges that human beings face up to the present moment. Therefore, in my attempt to offer one vision of Orthodox political theology for which I find most arguments, I do not want to deny the possibility of other approaches that may also be called Orthodox. If there is one lesson to be learned from Orthodox Christianity it is that there is no truth (or Truth) without freedom. To be truthful and to get to know the truth can happen only through a free and creative activity. This is the origin of my political as well as epistemological anarchism.

Political Theologies and Theological Politics One of the most direct references to the sphere of the political in the New Testament is the famous place from Matthew 22 in which Christ was asked about

the Western Roman Empire), to which the institutional church could submit in exchange for wealth, protection, and influence, the Church in the West has gradually taken many competencies of state (which provoked a long and complex discussion as to the nature of the church-state relations in territories that were under the political control of secular rulers [e.g., kings], and the relation between the authority of the pope and authority of the king in political matters). The process in which the Church was assuming the competences of the state led to the formation of the Papal state and, eventually, to the modern ecclesial state (Vatican City State), in which the head of the Church (the pope) becomes the head of the state as well. In the East, the Church effectively became an institution of the state, although one can constantly see the tension between the two, as well as attempts of the Church representatives to make the state accept particular church policies. However, both these cases show the underlining logic of secularization of the Church and de-eschatologization of Christianity.

123

Orthodox Political Theology

123

paying the imperial tax. His answer, “give to Caesar what is Caesar’s and to God what is God’s” (Mt 22:21) is very often used in Christian anarchist literature as clear evidence in favor of sharp difference, if not even a contrast, between the heavenly and earthly domains, between what is God’s dominion and what is the sphere of the political. Analyzing the meaning of these words, in his account on Anarchy and Christianity, Jaques Ellul asks:  What really belongs to Caesar? For Ellul, the answer is clear: Whatever bears his mark! Here is the basis and limit of his power. But where is this mark? On coins, on public monuments, and on certain altars. That is all. Render to Caesar. You can pay the tax. [. . .] Paying or not paying taxes is not a basic question; it is not even a true political question. On the other hand, whatever does not bear Caesar’s mark does not belong to him. It all belongs to God. [. . .] Caesar has no right whatever to the rest. First we have life. Caesar has no right of life and death. Caesar has no right to plunge people into war. Caesar has no right to devastate and ruin a country. Caesar’s domain is very limited.28

If we understand the concept of “Caesar” in a broader sense, as something that refers to the entire sphere of the political and not necessarily only to a particular form of exercise of the political power (e.g., imperium), this passage and Ellul’s analysis grow in importance and relevance. Ellul here affirms the tension between the sphere of the political and basic concerns of the Christian faith. This seems quite logical if we think of the Roman Empire or other contexts in which the official ideology is very different or even opposite to the Christian worldview, or where the Church is persecuted and Christianity forbidden for ideological reasons. Things become, however, more complex when we come to the example of the so-called Christian states and Christian societies. What happens with this tension if “Caesar” (sometimes even honestly) tries to create a Christian state and a Christian society as historical realities, or if church leaders try to create the same by assuming political power or by influencing it? This question seems important to clarify, not only because the answer to it impacts the way we think of Christianity and politics, and so-called Christian Empires of the past, but also in light of the modern democratic Christian options. In other words, can a certain form of “Christian politics” resolve the tension between political authorities and their power and the Kingdom of God? Is this tension just another form of Manichaeism, of essentially a non-Christian dualism? Is it another rationalization, which uses dualistic categories to confuse the mystery of the divinehuman communion, which should be manifested in all spheres, including the political one?

28 Jacques Ellul, Anarchy and Christianity (Eugene, OR:  Wipf and Stock, 1991), pp. 60–61.

124

124

Davor Džalto

Between the Kingdom of God and “This World” The tension between God and His Kingdom on one hand, and “this world” on the other, is clearly present already in the New Testament. This tension is, in my view, one of the basic elements of the Christian faith and it must be preserved in order to avoid both a simple monism, which would negate ontological freedom of the human being, and a non-Christian dualism, which introduces other ontological principles, apart from God. Moreover, this tension should not be understood as the tension between the “material” and the “spiritual” by any means, or dismissed simply as an incorporation of the Neoplatonic elements into Christian faith. What is, then, the meaning of this tension? If we look at the way in which the very phrases “this world” and the “prince of this world” appear in the Gospel, we find that they clearly bear a negative connotation: “Now is the time for judgment on this world; now the prince of this world will be driven out” (Jn 12:31). In the same Gospel, Christ’s disciples are called not to belong to “this world”: If the world hates you, keep in mind that it hated me first. If you belonged to the world, it would love you as its own. As it is, you do not belong to the world, but I  have chosen you out of the world. That is why the world hates you. (Jn 15:18–19)

One of the sharpest contrasts between “this world” and God (and His Kingdom) we find in the First Epistle of John: Do not love the world or anything in the world. If anyone loves the world, love for the Father is not in them. For everything in the world—the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eyes, and the pride of life—comes not from the Father but from the world. The world and its desires pass away, but whoever does the will of God lives forever. (1 Jn 2:15–17)29

However, contrasting “this world” and the dominion of God seems to contradict another set of basic elements of the Christian faith. It is clear that from the point of view of Orthodox theology it would be impossible to simply reject the world, as the totality of God’s creation (even in the fallen state), or to condemn it as “evil.” The reason for this is that Christianity affirms the world in three important ways: (1) by God’s creative activity, the result of which was “very good”;30 (2) by the Incarnation of God the Logos, who became a creature (GodMan); and (3) by Christ’s Resurrection and the promise of the future universal resurrection and everlasting life. 29 Compare also with 1 Jn 5:19: “We know that we are children of God, and that the whole world is under the control of the evil one.” 30 “God saw all that he had made, and it was very good” (Gen 1:31).

125

Orthodox Political Theology

125

This leads to a paradox: on one hand we must sustain the faith in the divine-human communion as the purpose of human life; on the other hand, however, we must affirm the immanent tension between “this world” and the Kingdom of God as the final “destination” of the divine-human communion. Is this tension necessary, and how can we overcome this paradox? If we try to understand the meaning of the negative connotations given to “this world” in Scripture, while, at the same time, keeping in mind the need for a divinehuman communion as the guiding principle, we can conclude that the phrase “this world” does not refer to the world as such (i.e., to created beings), but rather to a special mode of existence, which characterizes our being in history. “This world” stands for the world of necessity. It is not evil because it is material, but because existence in the fallen state (which means existence without the full communion with God) manifests itself as necessity. Instead of a God-like existence, based on freedom and love, history is the space of the individualized mode of existence, which is based on separation and alienation between particular beings, the cause and the result of which is mortality. In other words, we can understand “this world” as a concept that points to the individualized mode of existence, as opposed to the personal mode of existence that the Kingdom of God stands for.31 The personal mode of existence refers to an ontologically free existence, which is established and affirmed in communion with other beings, not in contrast to them. The “substance” of that existence is not any particular property of a being, or “essence,” but the self-emptying love that creates and sustains this new life. That means that our biological and social hypostasis bears the potential for the ontologically free existence, but they must be overcome. The fullness of the ontologically existence can only be achieved in the eschaton. The solution to the paradox, which both affirms the world and contrasts “this world” (the world of necessity) to the Kingdom of God (free existence), we find in the liturgical performance as a concrete and visible manifestation of the Christian faith. Church as liturgy, and the icon of the coming Kingdom of God, is the bridge between “this world” and the Kingdom of God. That means she embraces the world and incorporates its segments (through the liturgical offering) as its very essential part, while announcing the new mode of existence. Liturgy implies a free participation in the new being, a choice of a new existence that would not be based on necessity, but rather on freedom and love. Without negating the world and history, liturgy calls for their creative transformation, so that the world of necessity can enter into communion with God, with free existence. Another implication of this transformation (or transfiguration) of the world, to make it capable of entering the communion with God and everlasting life, is that everything that represents the necessity of “this world,” everything that cannot be transfigured to enter a personal relationship (of love) as the foundation of the

31 In my differentiation between “individual(ized)” and “personal” modes of existence, I follow, mainly, the ecclesiology and anthropology of John Zizioulas, first systematically presented in his book Being as Communion.

126

126

Davor Džalto

Kingdom of God, will be set aside, as something that does not partake in the future life. That means there are elements of the world we live in that exist in history in a paradoxical way, as nonbeing (without real, eschatological hypostasis). It seems that the apostle Paul has those manifestations of the world in mind when he speaks of things that “cannot inherit the Kingdom of God.”32 Some aspects of the world we live in will thus acquire a new existence and everlasting life, while others will disappear. To that which “cannot inherit the Kingdom of God” belongs everything that cannot enter a personal relationship, everything that does not bear a hypostatic potential. In my view, political structures, as one of the par excellence manifestations of “this world,” belong to those things that will not “inherit the Kingdom of God.”

“This World” and the Sphere of the Political The tension that we find between the Kingdom of God and “this world” in the ontological realm can also be applied to the political sphere. Apart from the example of paying the imperial tax, and Christ’s words to “give to Caesar what is Caesar’s and to God what is God’s,” we find more instances in which the political powers of this world and Christian faith are contrasted. Those often-quoted places include Christ’s parallel between His kingdom and “this world”: Jesus said, “My kingdom is not of this world. If it were, my servants would fight to prevent my arrest by the Jewish leaders. But now my kingdom is from another place.” (Jn 18:36)

The Son of God comes not as a military or political leader who establishes a particular form of government or who brings a particular political program (which is the reason why he was rejected by some Israelites as a false messiah, who refuses to lead the people toward a political independence). Instead, He offers a new existence, an existence that will not be bound by the limits or the necessities of “this world” (e.g., biological, racial, national, class, and so on) but will instead be grounded in love. Love thus becomes the criterion of interhuman relationships: You know that the rulers of the nations lord it over them, and those in high positions enslave them. It shall not be so among you; but whoever would be great among you must be the servant. (Mt 20:25–26)

One cannot but realize the contrast between the Christian way of being “great” or “first”33 and being “first” according to the logic of “this world.” Those who are 32 “Do you know that the unrighteous will not inherit the kingdom of God” (1 Cor 6:9); “I declare to you, brothers and sisters, that flesh and blood cannot inherit the kingdom of God, nor does the perishable inherit the imperishable” (1 Cor 15:50). Cf. Gal 5:21. 33 “And He sat down, called the twelve, and said to them, ‘If anyone desires to be first, he shall be last of all and servant of all’ ” (Mk 9:35); compare also Mk 10:44.

127

Orthodox Political Theology

127

first in this world (e.g., political and other leaders) require other human beings to serve them. On the other hand, in Christ’s vision of being “first,” service and love replace the power of “this world,” which is foremost manifested in the kingdom of Caesar. To rule over people, or to relate to them in any other way except through love, becomes thus, a priori, illegitimate when viewed from the eschatological perspective. Christ’s instruction that anyone who wants to be first “must be the very last” is a call for humility, struggle against one’s own ego, and ultimately a call for interhuman relationships that would be based on self-emptying love. However, serving each other in all the needs that “this world” presents to us is not enough if we want to achieve the fullness of existence—we need to be born again. Therefore, the tension remains, and it helps us not to de-eschatologize the eschaton, or reduce Christianity to just another philosophy or ethical teaching. Does this mean that the sphere of the political does not have a place in the overall Christian understanding of the world, or that Orthodox theology, if it wants to stay faithful to itself, is essentially escapist when it comes to the political realm? Can we not employ the liturgical solution to reconcile the Kingdom of God and the sphere of the political (which was to some extent applied in the Byzantine empire, by giving the emperor a liturgical role)? Since, in my view, the kingdom of Caesar is a par excellence part of “this world,” it belongs to those aspects of the world that “cannot inherit the kingdom of God.” This is why, in my view, the liturgical solution is inapplicable to the sphere of politics; political structures can be justified on pragmatic grounds, but they are not justifiable ontologically. They represent pseudo-ecclesial constructs, human communities without communion that should be overcome in the eschaton (and many of these political phenomena should actually be overcome in the course of history as well). The reason for this is not simply the fact that it is hard to imagine political institutions in the eschatological perspective, in which they are given eternal existence, having an inherent place in the “new being.” The reason for this impossibility also lies in the very structure of the sphere of the political, which is based on the individualized mode of existence and organized according to it.34 Let us take a closer look at this issue. One of the main expressions of the individualized mode of existence is the drive to self-preservation and self-affirmation, which results in various forms of egoism. Egoism should not be understood here as an ethical but rather as an existential concept. In order to sustain our biological and social existence we need to confront each other and the nature around us. There is no primordial and underlining harmony of the natural and social order, which is only disturbed by evil people. The very structure of the natural and the social sphere is curved, disharmonious, and death-bearing. What various cultures, philosophies, and even our daily experience

34 Although political authorities belong to this sphere of necessity, which has no potential for participating in the eschaton, I  think that sociopolitical communities still reflect the communitarian dimension of the human being. The problem is that all of them fail to satisfy this basic human need to exist as a being in communion of freedom and love.

128

128

Davor Džalto

teach us is that in order to sustain life in such a world we need to either seize, use, and concur the reality around us (which includes nature, other human beings, and social structures), or to accept the impossibility of achieving justice, harmony, and happiness in this world, which leads to escapism, or glorification of death and the afterlife. The methods for implementing such philosophies of life can range from magic to religion, from science to politics. This tragic structure of the reality of the fallen world and the corresponding individualized mode of existence find their expression in the realm of the political. Various forms of class struggle, oppression of those in power against those who do not have instruments of power in their hands, inequality of wealth, and privileges of few can be understood as a sociopolitical symptom of essentially metaphysical problems. However, the real issue with the political here is not only that those who have privileges and power exercise their power over those who do not have it. The problem here is that even if we could imagine a society with no classes, and those in charge of managing particular aspects of the social life acting altruistically and from the most noble motives, we would still need some form of legitimate exercise of power. Even then one would need legitimate social instruments to protect individuals and groups from others who, for this or another reason, want to harm them. The problem here is that such an exercise of power, in which the society (meaning others) exercises power and domination over one or more members of that society, can never be justified on Christian grounds, even if such an exercise of power and domination is perfectly logical, legal, legitimate, and even necessary. An exercise of power and domination, which either sizes human freedom or uses another human being for any purpose, including the most noble ones, reflects the logic and the needs of the individualized mode of existence, not existence as love. This exercise of power and violence (when punishing a criminal, for instance) can be considered just only from the point of view of the fallen world. However, violence against another human being can never be justified from the point of view of Orthodox Christian anthropology. That is its strength and its weakness. Here, again, we face a paradox: an exercise of violence against another human being is, for Christians, unacceptable under any circumstances, and yet it is sometimes necessary to prevent an even bigger exercise of violence or destruction of another human being. This is the tragedy of the human existence in “this world.” In the fallen world, the necessity is the mode of existence, which means that it is impossible to establish and sustain a pre-eschatological political community based on freedom and love. That means even the best possible government we can think of could never satisfy Christian ontology and anthropology. From the point of view of Christianity, there can be no ontological justice where there is death; perfect justice is reflected only in unconditional, all-forgiving, all-embracing, and self-emptying love. Therefore, the only community that historically iconizes this mode of existence, which becomes the foundation of both particular and collective (communal) existence in the Kingdom of God, is the Church.

129

Orthodox Political Theology

129

We can conclude this section by asking another set of questions that immediately present themselves:  If the sphere of the political does not have its place in the Kingdom of God, does that mean we are again faced with an irreconcilable dualism between “this world” and its powers, and the Kingdom of God, which can only be resolved through the creation of the “new heaven and new earth,” as an essentially monistic reality?35 However, this leaves us with little or nothing that could help us deal with more practical social and political issues.

Orthodox Christian Anarchism What should be, then, a specifically Christian position vis-à-vis the society and the state, once it becomes clear that there are no valid theological arguments for affirmation of “Orthodox monarchy” or the “symphony” model? How should plurality and pluralism that characterize modern societies be addressed? How should we respond to official ideologies (in a variety of forms they may take, from the well-known “grand narratives” of statism, nationalism, or militarism, to more diffuse and subtle ideologies, such as exceptionalism, neoliberalism, consumerism, “feeling good” ideology, and so on) that significantly shape the public sphere even in those societies that are formally “democratic”? It is important to try to offer some answers to these questions, not only out of intellectual curiosity but also because in many parts of the world Christians seek to articulate their response to the changing political landscape, both locally and internationally. In countries where Orthodoxy is a traditional and dominant faith, these questions have a special importance. If one wants to be faithful to Orthodox ontology and anthropology when approaching the political, it seems to me that some kind of anarchism is the only expression of Orthodox political philosophy that is consistent with basic postulates of Orthodox theology. This is not an entirely novel idea. In fact, early Christianity can indeed be perceived as anarchic in terms of its predominant abstinence when it comes to the engagement with the (political) power structures, as well as attempts of early Christians to preserve their own faith as a sphere that cannot be identified with, or invaded by, the political.36 35 Cf. Isa 65:17, and Rv 21:1. 36 In his book Church and State, Luigi Sturzo points to this “anarchism,” which in his view came not out of any special interest in the political, but rather out of the lack of any active resistance toward the empire or the political power as such: “The Christians of the first centuries, on the contrary, denied neither political power in general nor the power of the Empire as such, nor did they put up a collective resistance either in the political field or by armed revolt. They maintained their line of resistance in their own special field, that of religion, which had become for them the prevailing social focus of their life. Their resistance took the form either of flight or of public profession of faith and martyrdom. [. . .] In the face of the Empire as a politicoreligious unity, they might be said to represent a kind of social anarchism.” Luigi Sturzo, Church and State (Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press, 1962), p. 26.

130

130

Davor Džalto

In more recent times, we find elements of anarchism in Nikolai Berdyaev’s religious philosophy. Berdyaev speaks of “religious truth in anarchism” and even identifies the Kingdom of God with anarchy.37 One should also not overlook the fact that one of the most important figures in the history of anarchism, Leo Tolstoy, came from an Orthodox Christian context. One can also argue that his sociopolitical views were strongly influenced by Orthodox Christianity, despite (or, maybe, because of) his opposition to the official church structures. This anarchist thread in the history of Orthodox Christianity is not related only to opposition to concrete exercises of political power. In fact, anarchism appears as the only consistent expression of Orthodox political theology, if we keep in mind the character of the political sphere as a manifestation of “this world.” As the sphere of the political does not have a real being (it cannot be part of the eschatological reality), political structures cannot be defended on metaphysical grounds. Another important conclusion from the analysis of Orthodox anthropology is that we must affirm the faith in freedom and uniqueness of each human being, and reject all ideologies and political systems that intend to simply exploit other human beings, subordinate them against their will, or harm them. The consequence of this is that: (1) We should approach the sphere of the political from a practical rather than metaphysical point of view, unless particular manifestations of the political go directly against Christian ontology and anthropology (e.g., threatening the existence of human beings or the natural environment). This means we should not try to give metaphysical significance to particular phenomena that belong to “this world” (e.g., administrative procedures, institutions, and actions), and that merely satisfy many of our practical needs in the world we live in. Finding solutions to concrete needs in each given context should be based on affirmation of human life and human dignity, as well as on the maximization of freedom, to the point when that freedom starts interfering with freedom and rights of others.

37 Although the concept of “anarchism” has for Berdyaev an ambivalent meaning, his general approach to the sphere of the political can be called anarchist:  “The religious truth of anarchism consists in this, that power over man is bound up with sin and evil, that a state of perfection is a state where there is no power of man over man, that is to say, anarchy. The Kingdom of God is freedom and the absence of such power; no categories of the exercise of such power are to be transferred to it. The Kingdom of God is anarchy. This is a truth of apophatic theology; the religious truth of anarchism is a truth of apophatics.” Nikolai Berdyaev, Slavery and Freedom, trans. R. M. French (New York: Charles Scribner’s, 1944), pp. 147–48. Cf. Edward B. Richards and William R. Garner, “The Political Implications of Nicholas Berdyaev’s Philosophy,” Journal of the History of Ideas 31, no. 1 (1970):  121–28; Baird, “Religious Communism?,” 29–47; Alexandre Christoyannopoulos, Christian Anarchism:  A  Political Commentary on the Gospel (Exeter: Imprint Academic, 2011), pp. 23, 220–21.

131

Orthodox Political Theology

131

(2) We must be critical of all systems in which there is an exercise of power and domination of individuals or groups over other human beings, or other beings in general. These premises represent the foundation of anarchism as an authentic Orthodox political theology/philosophy. When I  say “anarchism” I  do not have in mind any particular historical manifestation of anarchism, but rather a couple of basic principles that most anarchist streams have historically shared. In this sense, following the leading contemporary anarchist thinker, Noam Chomsky, anarchism should be understood as a tendency that is suspicious and skeptical of domination, authority, and hierarchy. It seeks structures of hierarchy and domination in human life over the whole range, extending from, say, patriarchal families to, say, imperial systems, and it asks whether those systems are justified. [. . .] Their authority is not selfjustifying. [. . .] And, as I  understand it, anarchy is just that tendency. It takes different forms at different times.38

Based on this approach we can say that an anarchist social philosophy also implies that all members of the society must be allowed to participate in making decisions that impact their lives. All institutions and procedures that cannot be justified based on these principles should be dismantled. This also means that many state structures in their present form, as well as many other sources of political and economic power that formally do not participate in the exercise of political power, and yet have tremendous influence over the lives of other people (such as transnational corporations, for instance), should be dismantled in order to create a more free and just society. However, unlike many anarchists, I am not a priori against the existence of states. The reason for that is that I believe we need certain social structures that can take care of the manifold individual and collective needs, such as healthcare, infrastructure, some system of security, education, and so on. I think that state structures can, and in fact should, be used to satisfy these and other needs. If they are under public and democratic control, and act in the interest of all citizens, they have a potential to effectively satisfy many of those needs. The point is to make sociopolitical structures functional and accountable, and prevent them from being the source of authority or domination. Whether this, in the long run, necessarily leads to the disappearance of states as we know them, in order to enable a different, more just, and more efficient kind of social organization is hard to predict.

38 Noam Chomsky, “The Kind of Anarchism I  Believe in, and What’s Wrong with Libertarians,” Chomsky.Info, Interview with Michael S.  Wilson, Alternet, May 28, 2013; http://chomsky.info/interviews/20130528.htm (accessed July 13, 2016).

132

132

Davor Džalto

Acknowledging freedom as one of the most fundamental aspects of the Christian faith, one must accept a plurality of living prospects, to paraphrase JeanFrançois Lyotard, as a necessary consequence of the manifestation of freedom in the individualized mode of existence. This, however, means that the multiplicity of living prospects and interhuman relations will be, in principle, irreconcilable during the course of history. Manifestation of human freedom in the fallen state of existence necessarily includes a possibility both to love and to hate another human being, both to give life for another human being and to take someone’s life. The tragic fact of the historical existence is that to affirm human freedom also means to affirm human potential to harm other human beings. This is the reason why the historical existence, in its sociopolitical manifestations, requires laws and institutions that protect all members of the society from other subjects of the social sphere. Since political structures are governed by many, often conflicting interests and forces, one meaningful and justifiable way to organize them would be to provide mechanisms that maximize the freedom, rights, and opportunities of all members of the society, up to the point when that freedom starts interfering with the freedom, rights, and opportunities of other people. This means that starting from some basic presuppositions of Christian anthropology, such as freedom and dignity of each human person, Christians can, in principle, support secular, pluralistic, democratic, and welfare society, not as “ideal” but as the “least bad” form of social organization that has been known. The social sphere should provide a common public space that virtually all citizens of a society can share. Although there is nothing exclusively Christian in this claim, such a vision of the society can be related to the Christian faith in personal freedom, in human capacity to say “no” to all particular religious perspectives and institutions, including Christian ones. This is the foundation of a Christian secularism.39 There is also another reason why secular society can be beneficial for Christians and the Church. This has to do with the very functioning of religious institutions (including the ecclesial structures) as social and political entities. The institutional church suffers from all the weaknesses that other social and political institutions contain. With a more prominent social position and a bigger influence, religious institutions tend to aspire (similarly to other political institutions) more power in the sociopolitical sphere and an access to more significant financial resources. 39 Christian secularism, just as Christian anarchism, begins with the differentiation between what “belongs to God” and what “belongs to Caesar.” Starting from the Gospel and basic Christian anthropological concerns, it aims at a clear distinction between religious institutions (both Christian and non-Christian) and state, as well as the conceptual differentiation between, on one hand, religious teachings and dogmas, and, on the other hand, the sphere of the political and judicial. This means that Christians, starting from their own faith, and the insight that their only homeland is the Kingdom of God, should affirm the “safe distance” between the Church and the state. This distance prevents religious institutions and teachings from having a control or monopoly over the social and political sphere, while preventing, at the same time, the state and its ideology from exercising power and influence in specifically church matters and teachings.

133

Orthodox Political Theology

133

History shows us how the Church, in its institutional manifestation, often mirrors social and political structures (by imitating, e.g., medieval political models, hierarchically organized society, with a vertical distribution of power). In this sense, a dialogue with modern society and secular and democratic values can be beneficial for both the Church and the society. Secularizing the social and political sphere can prevent secularization of the Church herself, by limiting a dangerous alliance between the Church and the state. Church and other religious communities should have the freedom to do their missionary work and religious services, but they should not have instruments of oppression. Democratic institutions and procedures of the modern society (at least in theory, if not that much in practice) can help Christians rethink the church structures from the point of view of Christian anthropology and eschatology. They can actually remind Christians that many of the modern secular ideas and values have Christian roots, and that some of the distinctly modern (also postmodern) phenomena, such as political pluralism, can help the institution of the Church to become more communitarian and, ultimately, more Christian. However, as I pointed out at the beginning of this chapter, Christian thinkers should be careful not to repeat mistakes from the past, by constructing theological narratives that would glorify and justify any given social order as ideal or “Christian” per se. In this sense, I think that even defenders and proponents of some of our contemporary “democratic” modes of sociopolitical systems are very conservative—instead of a critical examination of these systems we very often hear of their glorification. The state must be prevented from giving its political, financial, or military support to particular religious goals, in order to obtain the Church’s ideological support in return. Moreover, it must also refrain from promoting particular ideological narratives (or the state itself), as a form of “secular (civil) religion” that often replaces traditional religion in modern societies. The tension, and even dualism between the kingdom of necessity, domination, and power, and the Kingdom of God, can help Christians understand the political institutions as functional, maybe even necessary categories that, however, do not have any metaphysical significance and should not be given a metaphysical justification. With such awareness, the Church and Christians can play a very constructive role in the contemporary society, being always in opposition to all orders of power, to all oppressive mechanisms and official ideologies. Their criticism and corrective role within society can be grounded not only in modern affirmations of human freedoms and rights, but also in Christian anthropology, which affirms human dignity, freedom, and love as categories that will “inherit the Kingdom of God.”

134

135

Chapter 7 E S C HAT O L O G IC A L A NA R C H I SM :   E S C HAT O L O G Y A N D P O L I T IC S I N C O N T E M P O R A RY G R E E K THEOLOGY Brandon Gallaher

For nearly seventy years, Orthodox academic theology has followed with near religious fervor the “neo-patristic synthesis” paradigm pioneered by the Russian theologian, historian, and ecumenist Georges Florovsky (1893–1979). This theological approach begins and ends with the perpetual theological return to and renewal in the patristic corpus (especially the Greek Fathers), monastic spiritual traditions, and Byzantine liturgy. Theology to be worthy of the name must always be “following the Holy Fathers,” itself a phrase found in the conciliar acta to introduce doctrinal definitions. Yet of late there has been an increasing awareness among Orthodox theologians in Western Europe and North America of the severe limitations of this type of theology, which all too often has been scholasticized by Florovsky’s epigones, and thus the need for it to be reenvisioned. Neo-patristic forms of theology tend to be little interested in culture and politics other than in the church arts, such as iconography and hymnography and in rehashing various versions of the Byzantine “symphonia” of church and state (itself a buzzword in Vladimir Putin’s Russia). Only those forms of political and social order are acceptable that are part of the eternal artifice of the Byzantine ecclesial canon found as it were frozen in the gold mosaics of San Vitale. For this reason, it is quite rare to find an Orthodox theological exploration of the positive nature of modernity. In fact, what has become almost routine in Orthodox public religious discourse are unrelenting critiques of liberal democracy and “militant secularism” understood as two heads of the beast of “secular humanism.” In this study, I  contrast a well-known Greek Orthodox critic of modernity (Christos Yannaras [b. 1935]) with a new alternative pro-modern voice from the same tradition (Pantelis Kalaitzidis [b. 1961]). Kalaitzidis has consciously forged an Orthodox “contextual theology” or “liberation theology” that might respond to the rise (and fall) of secularism, the global economic crisis, and, above all, provide the beginning of a theological justification of liberal democracy and of the reality

136

136

Brandon Gallaher

of secularism as a positive phenomenon.1 It will be seen that, rather unusually for a Eastern Orthodox context, the political theology of Kalaitzidis begins with his response to culture, (post-)secularism, and the political, not by an appeal to Marxism, postcolonialism, and post-structuralism but with a characteristic Orthodox teaching: eschatology. But before I turn to Kalaitzidis let us look at the critique of modernity of the great Greek philosopher Yannaras.2

Christos Yannaras: A Critic of Modernity What Yannaras has sadly become widely known for, despite the depth and nuance of so much of his oeuvre, is his extreme critique of democracy, secularism, and human rights. To understand this one must grasp his critique of the “West” as the two are inextricable. Yannaras repeatedly insists that “the West” has, in a favorite phrase, “distorted the Christian Gospel.”3 Following the Greek American theologian John Romanides (1928–2001),4 Yannaras sees the “Western deviation” [etc.] as going back to its roots in Augustine, who would have remained “a solitary heretical thinker [. . .] if in the 9th century the Franks had not discovered the meaning of his teaching.”5 Even stronger yet, he traces the origins of “what we now call totalitarianism” to high scholasticism and Thomas Aquinas in particular.6 He claims that from Augustine “to Thomas Aquinas and up to Calvin” a new version of “ecclesiastical orthodoxy” was completed (in contrast to Eastern Orthodoxy) where Orthodoxy becomes a “religion” and is now “the confirmation to institutionalized ideology—which is sovereign because it is logically and socially and metaphysically obligatory.”7 Western Christianity as a religion, therefore, puts the individual at its core and religion becomes an “individual event” that is subject to the whims and desires of each person and above all the natural need to appease “the unknown and transcendent—it is an individual effort towards individual faith, individual virtues, individual justification, individual salvation.”8 But with this Western 1 A parallel project in the American context is that of Aristotle Papanikolaou. See Aristotle Papanikolaou, The Mystical as Political:  Democracy and Non-radical Orthodoxy (Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press, 2012). 2 See Andrew Louth, “Some Recent Works by Christos Yannaras in English Translation,” Modern Theology 25, no. 2 (2009): 329–40. 3 Christos Yannaras, Orthodoxy and the West, trans. P. Chamberas and N. Russell (Brookline, MA: Holy Cross Orthodox Press, 2007), pp. 33, 41, 51. 4 See http://www.romanity.org/cont.htm (accessed April 6, 2015). 5 Christos Yannaras, The Elements of Faith:  An Introduction to Orthodox Theology (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1991), pp. 154–55. 6 Yannaras, Orthodoxy and the West, p. 12; and see Yannaras, Elements, p. 158. 7 Yannaras, Elements, pp. 156, 158. 8 Christos Yannaras, “Human Rights and the Orthodox Church,” in The Orthodox Churches in a Pluralistic World: An Ecumenical Conversation, ed. E. Clapsis (Geneva: WCC,

137

Eschatological Anarchism

137

medieval focus on the individual comes man’s theorization in the early modern period (later set out systematically in the Enlightenment) as a rational subject by nature over against other such subjects who then calculate their own needs among the plurality of subjects. First they deduce normative moral principles for all from a logical definition of the common good, which is in their interest, and then having accepted this good, they enter into a “social contract” or mandatory code of law that outlines certain normative rights or powers (a “claim-demand”) to protect them both from other individuals encroaching on them and from the arbitrary use of power from above.9 The code of law assures the individual that their rights are legally enforceable or mandatory on all as individual claims.10 Rights were applied to people regardless of their social class or economic status or indeed any other difference that marked them out as persons. Here the collectivity of “societas” is simply the “ ‘blending together of individuals in the pursuit of common interests’ [. . .] an arithmetical sum total of non-differentiated individuals [. . .] human coexistence as a simple cohabitation on the basis of rational consensus [. . .] the ideal of societies of unrelated individuals.”11 In this way, a secular modern realm where the individual was the central focus was fenced off from a sacred realm where there was a meeting of all in a communion of persons. The individual is deprived of his existential difference and uniqueness found in the event of truth, which is the community, and, above all, the person has taken from him the innermost “knowledge of subjectivity and identity that comes with reference to a creator God who exercises providential care over his creation.”12 Secularism is born and faith becomes a private mute grasping after transcendence since the “advancement of individualism, a characteristic element of modernity, functions as the inexorable alienation of humanity” with ideology taking the place of religious faith, the sacred being eclipsed and substituted by the political rationalization of the subject.13 There is, he argues, a direct line from Western religion’s “individual metaphysical salvation” to the eighteenth-century “secularized (legal) protection,” which is the origin of “the political system of so-called ‘representative democracy.’ ”14 In modern societies, power frees itself from social control and becomes “technocratic” and subject to the rationalization of technological and market logic regardless of social needs and national budgets: “ ‘Democratic’ government decisions which change people’s lives are dictated by considerations freed from all legal control and are sometimes defended on the inviolable grounds of ‘national security.’ ”15 If this seems to be a 2004), pp. 83–89 (85–86); and see Yannaras, Postmodern Metaphysics, trans. N. Russell (Brookline: Holy Cross Orthodox Press, 2004), p. 25. 9 Yannaras, “Human Rights and the Orthodox Church,” p. 84. 10 Ibid., p. 83. 11 Ibid., p. 88. 12 Yannaras, Postmodern Metaphysics, p. 28. 13 Ibid., pp. 27, 29. 14 Yannaras, “Human Rights and the Orthodox Church,” p. 87. 15 Yannaras, Postmodern Metaphysics, p. 22.

138

138

Brandon Gallaher

rejection of modernity or an anti-modern philosophy, then that is because it is just such a rejection. He writes of “modernization” as a form of “fundamentalism”: One could maintain that the brightest minds in the West are now gathering up their belongings and getting ready to leave the train of Modernity, which is plainly heading for a complete dead end. And it makes no sense at all for us, the peoples of the Balkans and the Middle East, to insist even today on belatedly joining the train of Modernity which intelligent people are hastening to abandon.16

Yannaras contrasts this apotheosis of egoism and individualism in the West that births modern liberal democracy, modernity, secularization, and the culture of human rights to the event of communion, which he sees in the democracy of ancient Greece. Its direct heir is the Eastern Orthodox Church or ecclesia (taken from the ancient Greek polis), which meets to constitute and reveal itself in the Eucharist according to the truth and after the image of the Trinity where many are one.17 Politics in such an ethos is a common exercise of life according to the truth where one is “constituted around the axis of ontology (and not selfinterested objectives).”18 Yannaras writes that as a “modern Greek,” he embodies the contradiction and alienation of the remains of “ecclesiastical Orthodoxy” in thirsting for the “right” yet still bearing the unhappy reality of the “wrong” in a society “radically and unhappily Westernized.” In his critiquing of the West, he argues, he is simply engaging in “self-criticism; it refers to my own wholly Western mode of life.”19 However, in Yannaras, “the West” continually seems to be identified with an alien and barbarian foreignness reflected in the Western Churches and the “East” with the “Greek spirit” embodied in the Christian Hellenism of Orthodoxy.20

Pantelis Kalaitzidis: The Context of the Volos Academy The attempt at a sympathetic encounter with modernity found in the work of Pantelis Kalaitzidis is a fascinating contrast to the polemic of Yannaras. Kalaitzidis

16 Christos Yannaras, “The Dilemma: Modernization-Fundamentalism,” in “Εις Μικρόν Γενναίοι”—Οδηγίες Χρήσεως [“Generous in Little”: A User’s Guide] (Athens: Patakis, 2003), pp.  264–76, especially p.  271, cited in Pantelis Kalaitzidis, “Orthodox Theology and the Challenges of a Post-Secular Age: Questioning the Public Relevance of the Current Orthodox Theological ‘Paradigm,’” in Proceedings of the International Conference “Academic Theology in a Post-Secular Age” (Lviv: Institute for Ecumenical Studies, 2013), pp. 4–25 (6n. 9). 17 Yannaras, “Human Rights,” p. 86. 18 Ibid., p. 88. 19 Yannaras, Orthodoxy and the West, pp. viii–ix. 20 Ibid., p.  126. See also Brandon Gallaher, “Christos Yannaras:  Orthodoxy and the West: Review,” Logos: A Journal of Eastern Christian Studies 50, nos. 3–4 (2009): 537–42.

139

Eschatological Anarchism

139

is the director of the Volos Academy for Theological Studies. It is a theological institute in Volos, Greece, which is a port in the administrative region of Thessaly on the Greek mainland over 300 km north of Athens. The academy is sponsored by the local bishop, Ignatios of Demetrias, and has strong ties to the Patriarchate of Constantinople and, especially, Metropolitan John of Pergamon (or John Zizioulas [b.  1931], as he is better known). This connection to Zizioulas is important as Kalaitzidis’s theology might be viewed as a “Zizioulean” political theology with its strong emphasis on eschatology, Eucharistic community, and appeal to the “true” neo-patristic legacy of Zizioulas’s teacher Florovsky. Volos is not a degree-granting institution, but hosts conferences, roundtables, study days, and seminars on philosophical, theological, and political topics from interreligious dialogue and women, violence and fundamentalism to theology and literature, church and state, and the ecological crisis. It also has a lively publishing arm and most of these conferences have their proceedings published. Volos has attracted negative attention from religious conservatives in Greece. In reaction to its summer 2010 conference “Neo-Patristic Synthesis or Post-Patristic Theology: Can Orthodox Theology be Contextual?”21 a letter was circulated online signed by conservative churchmen and academics denouncing the “post-patristic heresy,” and subsequently a retaliatory conference was held in 2012.22

Orthodoxy and Political Theology: A Critique of Carl Schmitt Kalaitzidis’s work until recently has been best known for its systematic attack on the Hellenistic ethno-phyletism and anti-westernism of the Church of Greece and the Greek theologians of the generation of the 1960s (e.g., Yannaras).23 His theology is wrapped up in a larger project of taking on the Church establishment. To take on the church establishment in a Greek context is to take on the ethnic basis of Greek society and identity. He believes that the Church no longer fulfills her role as both a witness to the Kingdom to come and a leaven through which it encourages society to transform its structures, which are themselves both unjust and not reflective of the call to universality of the Christian Gospel. Kalaitzidis’s primary mode of discourse for his political theology is therefore “prophetic” and “eschatological.” The best way to gain a sense of his thought is by looking at these themes in his book, Orthodoxy and Political Theology (Geneva, 2012). In this work, Kalaitzidis begins by attacking the German philosopher and jurist Carl Schmitt

21 See http://orthodoxie.typepad.com/ficher/synthse_volos.pdf (accessed April 17, 2015). 22 See https://metapaterikiairesi.wordpress.com/ and http://www.impantokratoros.gr/ dat/storage/dat/13192916/englisch.pdf (accessed April 17, 2015). 23 See Pantelis Kalaitzidis, “The Image of the West in Contemporary Greek Theology,” in Orthodox Constructions of the West, ed. Georges Demacopoulos and Aristotle Papanikolaou (New York: Fordham University Press, 2013), pp. 142–60.

140

140

Brandon Gallaher

(1888–1985), author of Political Theology (1922). Schmitt, a Nazi (from 1933), represents everything Kalaitzidis opposes: antidemocratic authoritarianism, antiTrinitarianism, and hostility to eschatology. Authority, for Kalaitzidis, is loving service that, like Jesus Christ who emptied Himself and took the form of a slave, sees authority not as an external imposition or legal coercion but self-offering in love, communion, and freedom.24 Trinitarianism “introduces difference and dialogue among the three divine persons, which are not conducive to a pro-royalist perspective.”25 Finally, eschatology implies “openness to the future, a hope and an expectation for a renewed and more just future, and a world of forgiveness and reconciliation.”26 Political theology here begins with Orthodox dogma, not secular ideology. But taking one’s political bearings from an Orthodox doctrine may seem naive. Orthodoxy prevailed in Byzantium, but this was not the necessary and sufficient condition for social progress as it was not a society based on “love, justice, democracy and freedom.” Furthermore, the Ecumenical Council Fathers did not exemplify the “spirit of dialogue, liberalism, or tolerance towards other voices.” Thus one must know that “textual truth does not necessarily result in social renewal” and avoid all simplistic moves from a particular vision of theology, ecclesiology, and worship to the realm of “culture/ politics and state.”27

A Political Theology of the Orthodox Christian Left Although Kalaitzidis rejects a facile move from theology to praxis, it does not mean that theology cannot inspire the Church in her activity in the world. What is required for such a vision, however, is much more than a crude structural analogy (so Schmitt) between the lawfulness of the state and its institutions and the theology and metaphysics of the Church. It requires a different theological political approach. Such an approach has mostly been seen in liberation theologies. Furthermore, it runs the risk of simply reducing the Church to a nongovernmental organization or any other Left-of-center political actor. This Orthodox theo-political approach is consciously one of Christian Socialism or the Left.28 It builds on the work of the Greek theologian and ecumenist Nikos Nissiotis (1924–1986) in prioritizing the “ ‘revolutionary attempt to recreate the social structure, in which social injustice, the manifold forms of political and economic oppression, and ingrained biases impose the urgent need for theological thought to be renovated.’ ”29 24 Pantelis Kalaitzidis, Orthodoxy and Political Theology, trans. Fr. Gregory Edwards, Doxa and Praxis: Exploring Orthodox Theology Series (Geneva: WCC, 2012), p. 37. 25 Ibid., p. 19. 26 Ibid., p. 20. 27 Ibid., pp. 38–39. 28 Ibid., p. 65. 29 Nikos Nissiotis, Η απολογία της ελπίδος [An Apology for Hope] (Athens, 1975), cited in Kalaitzidis, Orthodoxy and Political Theology, p. 45.

141

Eschatological Anarchism

141

Here we see a two-part theo-political program. It begins with a full-scale self-critique of the Church with an attempt to establish a more positive role for the Church vis-à-vis the world and the political. Kalaitzidis has gone a long way in this direction already through writing about Orthodoxy and modernity and calling rather audaciously (to much scandal in Greece) for a “reformation” in Orthodoxy.30 Second, the Church must become actively involved with the world, working toward greater social and economic justice as well as the transformation of the social structures. However, in order to accomplish this mission of becoming engaged in the world, the Church must not become identified as an organ of the state:  either as the state’s pliable social-welfare arm or as a conveyer of culture, language, and funny dances. In both cases, the result is a political quietism as the Church never takes its own countercultural positions but cedes this to the state. At the other extreme, the Church must avoid acting like a prophetic sect. In such a position, she stands apart from the world becoming absorbed by her own counterstory to the secular realm. Occasionally, she emerges from her cave-blasting, fiery rhetoric in the world’s direction. It is in this second part of the theo-political task that Kalaitzidis returns to eschatology as the inspiring master theme of the Church’s action in the world and in the political realm.

The Church, the Public Sphere, and Secularism But what is the basic stance of the Church toward the world? Kalaitzidis argues that “religion” is a public not a private matter. The Church herself is firstly a public body with public teachings and then also a private body, of which one may be a member or not. This results in tripartite distinction in political theology between the state or government, the public realm in which the Church meets the world, and the state in civil society and the private realm. In contrast to Greece, there needs to be a separation of Church and state so that both realities maintain their God-given integrity and the Gospel is not jeopardized by power. This theological argument for the necessity of a secular civil order with no established church comes out of the experience of a theologically compromised Greek national Church.31 The Church may be involved in the public sphere but she must be aware of “boundaries and conditions” unique to her and that are not identical with the ecclesial bounds of the Church. Thus the public sphere in a secular society is ostensibly neutral in regard to ideology, religion, and values, and the Church must respect this status. The public sphere also has certain values that in some cases overlap with those of the Church (in the manner of the “overlapping

30 See Pantelis Kalaitzidis, “Challenges of Renewal and Reformation Facing the Orthodox Church,” The Ecumenical Review 61, no. 2 (2009): 136–64. 31 Kalaitzidis, Orthodoxy and Political Theology, p.  81; contrast John Milbank and Adrian Pabst, “The Anglican Polity and the Politics of the Common Good,” Crucible: The Christian Journal of Social Ethics 1 (2014): 7–15.

142

142

Brandon Gallaher

consensus” of John Rawls [1921–2002]), but in other cases clash with it; but the Church must respect these as well. Thus the Church must have a respect “for the fundamental achievements of modernity and above all for human rights, religious freedom and tolerance of difference, and the distinct roles of Church and state.” Though the Church can act in the public sphere, this in no way means she has authority here. Her public role does not allow her to try to establish the sort of conventional positions found in Orthodox ecclesial rhetoric on foreign affairs, national issues, and ethnic identity. The Church, therefore, must respect the fact that there are those with no religious belief and those with other religious beliefs. In other words, the Church must respect the fundamental secular nature of the public sphere, which is distinctive to the modern, that is, “the division of society into sub-systems or autonomous sectors of social affairs.” Each of these areas has its own logic and own autonomy and Kalaitzidis argues that this (Western, secular) separation is positive and safeguards “democracy, freedom, respect, and toleration of difference.”32 He does not believe that this separation of social affairs into subsystems necessarily shatters and fragments reality and is counter to the “holistic vision of Orthodoxy, which looks to a catholic transformation of the life of the world and of humankind, a radical change and renewal of every aspect of life.” This is, as we shall see, because he sees the reality of the Church is eschatological, a reality that, when viewed in terms of its ideal personal subject, Zizioulas famously described as having its “roots in the future and its branches in the present.”33 Yet it must not be thought that Kalaitzidis is naively singing the praises of secularism. He is critical of it in his own Greek context. Ethnicism is but one more species of the negative aspect of a certain sort of secularization in that it sacralizes the nation and civil society. In this context, the Church substitutes an ethnocultural national narrative of a people’s continuous rebirth for her proclamation that in the Body of Christ, realized in the Eucharist as the foretaste of the Kingdom, there is neither Jew nor Greek, slave nor free, male nor female (Gal. 3:5). This leads to individuals identifying with the Church as a national or ethnic reality but then having a privatized belief set (e.g., atheism) completely at odds with her teaching. This combination of secularization and nationalism is also found in contemporary Russia and Japan.34 The Church comes across “as an authoritarian and State-subsidized organ rather than serving as a witness to the Church’s living and prophetic presence in the world. The Church’s word has thus been secularized,

32 Kalaitzidis, Orthodoxy and Political Theology, p. 82. 33 John Zizioulas, Being as Communion:  Studies in Personhood and the Church (Crestwood, NY: St. Vladimir’s Seminary Press, 1997), p. 59. 34 In both Russia and Japan, the contemporary state has become strategically allied with certain national cults (Russian Orthodoxy, Shinto) that serve as caretakers of a sacred vision of the nation. These cults are widely identified with by the population as encapsulating their nationhood. Nevertheless, there is a drop in regular participation in traditional rites, which is combined with a radical privatization of belief. Adherents of the national cults often hold beliefs quite at odds with the teachings of the “official” religion (e.g., “Orthodox atheism”).

143

Eschatological Anarchism

143

betraying the fact that politics have invaded the Church rather than society and politics being transformed and sanctified.”35

Post-Secularism, Dialogue, and the “Cross-Centred Ethos of Christ” It is imperative that religious associations be voluntary and grounded in free will and not connected to the state and the powers that be.36 The status of the Church as a free association gives her the ability to embody the “Cross-centred ethos of Christ.” The Church does not theocratically dominate the public sphere, but she (somewhat kenotically by withdrawing) lets it develop freely by itself and likewise the citizens who participate in it. But the Church does not play a passive role in relation to civil society. She actively persuades those in it through living a different sort of life in but not of the world of the fruitfulness of the Gospel message.37 At the close of the chapter, I develop my own thoughts on the political role of the Church as a kenotic but active witness to Christ in society. Kalaitzidis builds on the work of Jürgen Habermas (b. 1929) on post-secularism. Post-secularism is not a call to “de-secularization” (which would mean religion and modernity were incompatible) or a “return to religion,” but an embrace of a true pluralism of dialogue where there is a coexistence of the religious and the modern: “the co-presence or co-existence within the same public space of religious and secular world-views, ideas, outlooks on society, and politics, which are called to live together, and to live together differently, in a ‘complementary learning process.’ ”38 This is a post-Christian reality, which, Kalaitzidis argues, is related to “religious and cultural pluralism.” In theological terms, this means Orthodoxy must be prepared to be open for dialogue with the secular world, working toward mutual understanding. And here enters another theological trope. Orthodoxy must not be subordinate to the flesh it takes on or incarnates (the social and cultural conditions in a particular age), but it will also not ignore or even scorn “societies and cultures or new cultural forms.” Modernity and late-modernity can also be of God, for “everything bears the seal of the gift and the breath of the Holy Spirit [this is a line from the Orthodox baptism rite] who ‘blows where It wills’ (cf. Jn 3:8) and is not restricted only to the sociocultural models of the past.” In practice this means there is a necessity for a de-Byzantinization of the Church or at least for the Church not to become identified with any one particular period in history. But such an unhooking of the Church from specific historical forms and ages can come only after a “theological, liturgical and spiritual renaissance and a reconstruction of its Eucharistic communities.”39 35 Kalaitzidis, Orthodoxy and Political Theology, p. 90, and see pp. 92, 125. 36 Ibid., p. 84. 37 Ibid., pp. 84–85. 38 Kalaitzidis, “Orthodox Theology and the Challenges of a Post-Secular Age,” 8. 39 Ibid., 18; see Nikolaos Asproulis, “Pneumatology and Politics: The Role of the Holy Spirit in the Articulation of an Orthodox Political Theology,” Review of Ecumenical Studies Sibiu 7, no. 2 (2015): 184–97.

144

144

Brandon Gallaher

The Action of the Church: Eschatology and Witness The Church acts in society by being a witness to the new reality of the Kingdom of God. She protests against social and institutional evil as well as the violation of human dignity and freedom and “should be a voice defending the ‘other,’ the ‘foreigner,’ the least of our brothers, the needy, the weak, and the victims of history, who are all icons of ‘the Other’ par excellence, the ‘Foreigner’ par excellence.” Although Kalaitzidis does not use liberation theology’s language of the “preferential option for the poor,” this is certainly in the background. The main focus, he says, is the call to repentance and witnessing to this in its liberating social activity, although he is a bit vague on what this consists. In this way, the Church prepares humanity to receive her preaching about the Kingdom of God, which Kalaitzidis says involves “a creative, spiritual fruitfulness, and the Christ-centered healthiness of Christian communities.”40 The emphasis on eschatology in Kalaitzidis brings in a number of related ideas, and we are given not so much a rational political program as a new vision of how the Church relates to the world and how she might be active in it. First, Kalaitzidis wants the Church to take eschatology as her master theme in her political theology because with it enters a dialectic between the present or “already” and the future or “not yet.” This dialectic—seen above all in the Eucharist as the sacrament of the Kingdom to come41—distances the Church from the structures of the world. It allows her the freedom to refuse to settle down and identify herself with the world and history at the same time as she does not disdain the world or flee from it and history. Second, eschatology allows the Church to emphasize repentance for the past and faith in the openness of the future. By beginning with the end, one is able to not point to any final and established meaning within history and one becomes open to both radical criticism of all institutions and an idea of ceaseless movement into ever greater riches.42 Indeed, Kalaitzidis even goes so far as to say that “The Church, therefore, is not the Kingdom, but it is becoming the Kingdom; the Church is a type and icon of the Kingdom.”43 The role of the Church, her politics broadly speaking, is to witness to the Kingdom, to a new transformed way of life. Her witness transfigures and renews the world by prophetically denouncing “reified structures of injustice and exploitation and ministering to the persons and groups that have been wronged and exploited.” She calls the world to repentance and announces the good news of Jesus Christ.44 The Church overcomes in herself the spirit of egoism and authoritarianism and puts forward instead a vision of authority being one of self-empting love and service, as the Church above all exists for the life of the world.45 In this way, 40 41 42 43 44 45

Kalaitzidis, Orthodoxy and Political Theology, pp. 84–85. Ibid. 98ff. Ibid., p. 86. Ibid., p. 109. Ibid., pp. 120–21. Ibid., pp. 124, 126.

145

Eschatological Anarchism

145

the Church by transforming herself can transform the world and its politics by presenting a new vision of power as service and care for the Other,46 above all seen in Christ. Really, this is not far off from the public acts of Pope Francis in washing the feet of inmates on Maundy Thursday, arguing for “a poor church for the poor,” calling for 2015–2016 as a “Holy Year of Mercy,” and generally avoiding the pomp and circumstance of his office. Kalaitzidis quotes his own bishop, Metropolitan Ignatios:  “The Church can contribute to the ‘resurrection of politics,’ but only when it is a ‘Church of the cross,’ i.e. of sacrifice and service.”47 Kalaitzidis refers to his politics as “eschatological anarchism.”48 He opines that monasticism, in particular, with “its coenobitic and ascetic spirit and its ethos of voluntary renunciation, has always provided the best example for Christians’ journey in the world, while also standing guard and keeping a permanent vigil over the Church’s eschatological identity” and so monastics are the Church’s eschatological conscience, its “eschatological watchmen.”49 This is somewhat ironic as Kalaitzidis is a relentless critic of the monks of Mount Athos, and his work at Volos has been denounced by certain conservative monastics (including many Orthodox bishops, all monastics by tradition). Now this evangelical vision is beautiful and a breath of fresh air in the Orthodox context where theology so often simply sacralizes the political order of the day from the colonels to Milošević and Putin. Yet, in its vagueness, it is unclear what this amounts to practically, and so it fails not as a theology but as a liberation theology. It so much emphasizes that the Church is a spiritual reality directed toward the Kingdom to come that it almost neglects and forgets that the Church is also a profoundly human institution with a material reality and a particular history. Pace Kalaitzidis, if the Church is to be renewed then it must reenvision (not reform) its canon law, hierarchical liturgy (which glorifies the bishop as an emperor), and theology retaining continuity through a living tradition. Kalaitzidis, in fact, has made concrete suggestions elsewhere, not for ecclesial reenvisioning but a root and branch reformation of Orthodoxy. However, I think the vagueness herein and the extremity elsewhere is due precisely to beginning with eschatology—swerving between the extremes of the already and the not yet. The temptation is to see the Church as passing through the midst of history with her gaze fixed on the eschaton, surviving in this way the vicissitudes of history or building a liturgical paradise of justice, equality, and hope and then projecting it onto society. History and culture for such a theology, despite words otherwise, are not the essential garments of the body of the living Christ, the Church, but at best afterthoughts to be abolished, ecstatically taken up into the life to come or collapsed into an ideal Jerusalem of the elect as is found in so much socialism. The antinomies of history and the eschaton need to be kept in a creative tension through faith and tradition 46 Ibid., p. 124. 47 Ignatius of Demetrias, “Authority and Diakonia in the Life and Structures of the Church,” cited in Kalaitzidis, Orthodoxy and Political Theology, p. 135. 48 Ibid., p. 130. 49 Ibid., pp. 138–39.

146

146

Brandon Gallaher

grounded in a kenotically envisioned Body of Christ that has bound itself to the world as it is of that world but beyond it. Without this polarity, the Church either becomes static or erratic.

A Christian Secularism of Witness or a Political Theology of the Royal Doors It is such a creative ecclesial tension of history and the eschaton as the foundation of political theology that I want to explore in the last portion of this study. Here I draw on hints in Kalaitzidis, especially his argument for the Church as a perpetual witness to the Kingdom and his kenotic vision of ecclesial authority. I  want to argue, in the context of Western European and North American societies, for secularism (and with it liberal democracy) as a Christian phenomenon grounded in an account of the Incarnation involving Christ taking on the flesh of the world. In such a theology, many secular forms of the world are good in and of themselves as the world is “very good” (Gen 1:31) and as they tacitly propound Christian values. Yet there is always an awareness that the Christian is not at home, but only visiting this planet. Modern culture, despite its great dangers, can be viewed, as Charles Taylor has noted, as providential to the extent that, with its breaking with “the structures and beliefs of Christendom,” certain aspects of Christian life, its gospel ethic, such as in a more humane attitude to women and now sexual minorities, were taken forward and developed, penetrating human life and society, in ways that would simply not have been possible within a purely Christian culture.50 Thus the end of Christendom, and the rise of a secular civil society, even one that only conceives reality within an “immanent frame,” that is, wholly outside any transcendent reality and working entirely on its own internal principles,51 this ecclesial dissolution is seen to be a necessary providential development for the spread of the gospel ethic and indeed perhaps part of the very trajectory of the Gospel.52 One might be bold to say that the Church illumines things in the world by her very withdrawal, her self-emptying, via secularism and the end of Christendom.53 In this way, the Church’s light then can spill out far ahead onto the path society treads without her obscuring that light by her dogmatic and historical bulk. Dietrich Bonhoeffer (1906–1945) is among many who argue against a view that sees two spheres in perpetual conflict: one being divine, holy, supernatural,

50 Charles Taylor, A Catholic Modernity? (New  York:  Oxford University Press, 1999), p. 16. 51 Charles Taylor, A Secular Age (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2007), pp. 542–57 and especially p. 594. 52 See Taylor, A Catholic Modernity?, pp. 18, 26, 29, 36–37. 53 See Gianni Vattimo, After Christianity, trans. L. D’Isanto (New  York:  Columbia University Press, 2002).

147

Eschatological Anarchism

147

Christian, that is, the sacred; and the other being worldly, profane, natural, unchristian, that is, the secular with its realm of the political. For the very next move is to put Christ on one side of this divide alienating Him and us from the world He created and redeemed. This forces man to seek Christ without the world in which He was incarnated, which is a sort of docetism, or it leads to an angry atheism where one seeks the world without Christ. There are not, Bonhoeffer argues, two realities but one reality of God in Christ in and for the world. In being with Him we stand as the Church both in God and in the world. Christ contains within Himself the world, He embraces within His very life as the Son of God the secular and the sacred and the world “has no reality of its own, independently of the revelation of God in Christ.”54 The opposites, then, sacred and secular, are in an “original” or “polemical unity” in Christ and do not have their reality except in Him in a polemical attitude toward one another bearing witness in this way to their common reality and unity in the God-Man. History’s movement consists of divergence and convergence from and toward Him.55 One cannot understand secularism and liberal democracy apart from the fact that the world, the secular realm of the political, is what is continuously becoming incorporated and sanctified into God in Christ through the Church, His Body. If in Christ God entered the world, so too what is Christian is only found in the secular, the supernatural in the natural, the holy in the profane, the revelational in the rational, and the divine monarchical in the democratic. To be a Christian, then, is to be a secular person but always in Jesus Christ in His Body in the world, the Church.56 If all of history is in Christ diverging and converging in and toward Him in the world in Him, then might not the movement in history that is the end of Christendom and the rise of the secular or secularization with its liberal democratic order be viewed not as a divergence from Him but a tacit and mysterious convergence? And might not this convergence be identical with God’s own self-kenosis in Christ? In order that Jesus can be more fully in the world He redeemed, He must withdraw His Body from its domination of the secular space in order that that space may in freedom develop of its own accord. The Church may sit in that space, but she should sit lightly. In sitting, she witnesses by the beauty of her form the life of Christ, thereby coaxing the world to turn toward the one in whom it is upheld, freed, and even validated in its pluralism. This does not deny that sometimes the Church must stand assertively in the space of society and denounce evil, which calls itself good (Isa 5:20). But the main theo-political mode of the Church in a post-Christian society, if she is to once more draw up creation into the net of Christ like the fishermen made most wise through the sending down on them of the Holy Spirit, is a quiet testament of living in the world, but toward the Kingdom.

54 Dietrich Bonhoeffer, Ethics, ed. E. Bethge, trans. N. Smith (London: Collins, 1964), pp. 196–97. 55 Ibid., pp. 198–99. 56 Ibid., p. 200.

148

148

Brandon Gallaher

The Christians of this Church each have a mind that reflects the Body of which they are constituent members and the very suffering Servant who emptied himself who is their head. They are utterly involved with the secular world in situations that they encounter living in it, but in these situations they think Christian-wise, cutting themselves back to let the light shine through, rather than worldly-wise, blocking the light through their dogmatic insistence. They are transparent. Part of this self-emptying mind of Christ each Christian possesses is to see not only a reality beyond the bustle of daily life—that all that is true is elsewhere—but also that there dwells just beneath the skin of the planet, even in its most forthright worldliness, living signs of the presence and action of God and traces of His ends. This is because the Church is not only a divine Body from elsewhere but also a body of and from and for the world, a body of God whose flesh, muscles, and organs are tissues of creation including within themselves the particular contradictory histories, ideologies, philosophies, tragedies, and epiphanies of every human being who has existed, now exists, and will ever exist on this planet on the table before us. When Christ ascended He took with Him not only a particular humanity, but also a human nature that recapitulated all of human history and all human agonies, desires, and graspings after the inconceivable, and He gave these realities back to us renewed through His Spirit in the Church. Thus when a Christian stands in the world they are certainly pointing toward eternity, existing toward the end of the Kingdom. But they are also in the Church standing with that world, sanctifying it tacitly in and through Christ, as they are members of His Body, in solidarity with all those who are seeking a life of fullness and abundance who may not be identified with the Church. Indeed, they may be in sympathy with those who even see the Church as a Body that is hostile to the aspirations of “secular man” striving for political and democratic freedom. Such is an evangelical but also political Christian testament in the new postsecular post-Christian order. ‘It is precisely through the kenotic but testifying character, through the selfemptying activity of the Christian in giving witness to something more, different, other, that he images Christ and points secular democratic man to the divine roots of creation, to a polity of true equality where all stand before their loving Creator and Redeemer. The secular man sees the Christian behaving differently, otherwise, churchwise. They are interested in the same things that the secular are interested in and care for the world, sharing in the struggles and joys of it, practicing its ways with a skill and effectiveness to build up society, as they are of it and for it. Yet the Christian does not preach at secular democratic man, he does not attack him for his faulty and even distorted assumptions. Instead Christians convict the secular about their assumptions being wrong “by being the sort of people that they are. They share our work with us. They are always alongside us. They really do know, they really do care, but they bring to it something different, something different which makes us think.”57 Michael Ramsey (1904–1988) points to this “something different” as the Christian reverence for all persons as 57 A. M. Ramsey, Sacred and Secular:  A  Study in the Otherworldly and This-Worldly Aspects of Christianity (London: Longmans, 1966), p. 70.

149

Eschatological Anarchism

149

called from before the ages for sharing the glory of eternity with their Creator; a heavenly serenity that is seen in the saints who in the midst of hell are radiating a Paschal joy; and an authentic humility of those who have tasted the Kingdom and now ache to please its King above all by caring for His creation. Such a politics of kenotic witness is based on ascesis,58 on a disciplining of the passions, a cutting back of the old man in order to make room for the Spirit to remake us as new men so that we might shine with the light of Christ drawing the world back into the tabernacle of the Church. Here in this disciplining of ourselves, the self-cultivation of the virtues, we use the tools of the Church from regular participation in sacraments like the Eucharist and confession to care for the poor, fasting, vigils, and above all contemplative prayer by which we draw closer to Christ and the world, which is His flesh and blood. This is all to aid in the ascetic process of learning to love the brother in our political activity, our daily encounter with him in the desert of society and so drawing close to God in union and communion with Him in Christ in His Body, the Church. They are formative political acts marking out the Christian community and allowing it to provide a space for a separate political order whose common good overlaps with its own even if its vision of the nature of that good may be otherwise. Political theology here is founded on a vision of secular society and secularism, rightly understood, as an unmanifested or tacit version of the Church where what is secular or worldly has divine-human roots. So by the Church’s withdrawal in society and her members silently radiating something different, other, a withdrawal that is its form of presence, ever witnessing to its Lord, she emphasizes that “the world is relative to Christ, no matter whether it knows it or not.”59 This witness is best viewed in terms of persuading the world that at the points where the world’s values align with the Church, indeed maybe tacit developments of the gospel ethic, they find their true incarnation in Christ crucified. The place of witness of the Church can be viewed as akin to the royal doors of the Orthodox altar, the doors of the Kingdom, which are swung wide open during the whole of the “Bright Week” following Easter or Pascha. The Church simply points through these doors to the altar, a space that has its foundation in God Himself, on which lies the sacrificed Lamb of God, which is the true fulfilment of secularism and liberal democracy, the suffering God whose weak force lies secretly at the center of creation, politics, and secular. society: Ecce homo. Here at the center of creation, at the center of civil society and democracy, lies its true meaning—Christ crucified and resurrected. The Orthodox Christian is called in politics to lift high the Lamb of God and let the light of Christ illumine all so that all may come and taste and see that the Lord is good.

58 See Papanikolaou, The Mystical as Political, especially pp. 196–97. 59 Bonhoeffer, Ethics, pp. 206–07.

150

151

Chapter 8 T OWA R D A N O RT HO D OX P O L I T IC A L T H E O L O G Y:  T H E C H U R C H’ S T H E O L O G IC A L F OU N DAT IO N S A N D P U B L IC R O L E I N T H E C O N T E X T O F T H E G R E E K E C O N OM IC   C R I SI S Pantelis Kalaitzidis

In modern scholarship, it is commonplace to assert that Eastern Orthodox theology, for primarily historical reasons, has not developed an adequate political theology in the context of modernity. As a result of the Chalcedonian definition of Jesus Christ and the expectation of the coming Kingdom of God, one of the Orthodox Church’s basic features has been a comprehensive vision of the catholic/ holistic transformation and salvation of God’s creation. Yet, this has not led to an analogous and sound public interpretation of and witness to its eucharistic and eschatological self-consciousness, in most cases. Since a particular way of doing theology has profound implications for the so-called political realm, Orthodoxy is obliged in the context of late modernity to find ways to properly express itself on issues related to political theology. This chapter attempts to present the foundations of an Orthodox political theology.1 I first develop the parameters and theological presuppositions of such a theology. This involves gathering the elements and premises of an Orthodox approach to the political, based predominantly on Trinitarian and Incarnational theology, on the eschatological understanding of the Church and its eucharistic constitution, on biblical texts and patristic tradition, and on the major contributions of contemporary Eastern Orthodox theologians. I  then consider the crucial

1 In some sections of this chapter, I summarize arguments and analyses from my books, Ορθοδοξία και Νεωτερικότητα: Προλεγόμενα [Orthodoxy and Modernity: An Introduction], Volos Academy for Theological Studies (Athens:  Indiktos, 2007)  and Orthodoxy and Political Theology, trans. Fr. Gregory Edwards, Doxa and Praxis:  Exploring Orthodox Theology Series (Geneva: WCC, 2012). An English translation of Orthodoxy and Modernity by Elizabeth Theokritoff is forthcoming by St. Vladimir’s Seminary Press. I  thank WCC Publications and St. Vladimir’s Seminary Press for permission to use material from these publications.

152

152

Pantelis Kalaitzidis

question of the place of religion in general, and of the Orthodox Church and its theology in particular, between the public and the private spheres. This facilitates an application of the described theological presuppositions for Orthodox political engagement to the particular case of the current economic crisis in Greece.

Theological Foundations2 Why Has Orthodoxy Not Developed a “Political Theology”? The Eastern Orthodox Church is extensively involved in charitable and philanthropic activities and has explicitly affirmed an engagement in favor of peace, social justice, and the integrity of creation, as confirmed most recently by the documents of the Holy and Great Synod of the Orthodox Church, held in Kolymvari, Crete, in June 2016.3 Yet, the Church has not truly developed a “political theology,” and even some of the most prominent Orthodox theologians have underestimated or misunderstood the meaning and content of political theology.4 Why, with few exceptions, has Orthodoxy not developed a political theology, in the liberating sense of the term? Why has the idea of the “theological or Christian Left” not developed within the Orthodox milieu, as it has in many countries of Western 2 In Orthodoxy and Political Theology (pp. 15–51), I offer an overview of the prehistory of political theology (mainly in Byzantium), its modern roots, and diverse perspectives from the Right (Carl Schmitt) and from the Left (Johann B.  Metz, Jürgen Moltmann, and Dorothee Sölle, who followed the legacy of Karl Barth and Dietrich Bonhoeffer). See also Elizabeth Phillips, Political Theology: A Guide for the Perplexed (London: T&T Clark International, 2012). 3 See, e.g., The Holy and Great Council of the Orthodox Church, “The Mission of the Orthodox Church in Today’s World,” Official Website of the Holy and Great Council, Pentecost 2016, https://www.holycouncil.org/-/mission-orthodox-church-todays-wor ld?inheritRedirect=true&redirect=%2Fhome&_ 101_ INSTANCE_ VA0WE2pZ4Y0I_ languageId=en_US (accessed July 12, 2016). See also the 1986 document from the Third Pre-conciliar Pan-Orthodox Conference in Chambésy, Geneva: “The Contribution of the Orthodox Church to the Prevalence of Peace, Justice, Freedom, Fraternity and Love Among People, as well as the Elimination of Racial and Other Discrimination,” in The Patriarch of Solidarity: Ecological and Global Concerns of Ecumenical Patriarch Bartholomew, ed. John Chryssavgis and Konstantinos Delikostantis (Istanbul: Istos, 2013), pp. 133–35. 4 Fr. Alexander Schmemann, a preeminent theologian of the Russian diaspora, sharply criticized liberation theology (see, e.g., Fr. Alexander Schmemann, Preface to The Eucharist:  Sacrament of the Kingdom, trans. Paul Kachur [Crestwood, NY:  St. Vladimir’s Seminary Press,  1987], pp.  9–10) and firmly opposed the social concern and political involvement of the faithful. See Athanasios N. Papathanasiou, “The Church as Mission: Fr. Alexander Schmemann’s Liturgical Theology Revisited,” Proche-Orient Chrétien 60 (2010): 6–41 (35–41). In addition, Christos Yannaras, a highly influential Greek theologian and philosopher, has adopted a cautious attitude toward progressive political theology,

153

Toward an Orthodox Political Theology

153

Europe and the Americas?5 Answers to these questions are neither simple nor onesided, for the following reasons:6 (1) The Orthodox Church has a long-standing tradition of close cooperation and accommodation with the state and worldly power, inherited from the Byzantine Empire (i.e., the model of synallelia7) and from the Ottoman Empire (i.e., the millet system8). One of the major consequences of this close relationship with worldly power has been the lack of a prophetic ecclesial discourse and criticism vis-à-vis those in power and the failure of a serious commitment by the Church in the field of social engagement. With the

which he perceives as a one-sided, ideological, activist, and secularized way of thinking based on a utilitarian and individualistic reading of the Bible and understanding of the Christian faith. See, e.g., Christos Yannaras, Κεφάλαια πολιτικῆς θεολογίας [Chapters on Political Theology] (Athens:  Papazissis, 1976); Yannaras, “A Note on Political Theology,” St. Vladimir’s Theological Quarterly 27 (1983):  53–56 (53–54); Yannaras, The Freedom of Morality, trans. Elizabeth Briere (Crestwood, NY:  St. Vladimir’s Seminary Press, 1984), pp. 199–200, 216–17n. 19. 5 A recent publishing boom of titles refering to political, liberation, or public theology has been taking place, which is nearly impossible to analyze in the framework of this chapter. Yet, in the multiple books on political theology published over the last several years, only one contribution concerns Eastern Orthodoxy, a chapter in a companion volume by Michael Plekon, “Eastern Orthodox Thought,” in The Blackwell Companion to Political Theology, ed. Peter Scott and William T. Cavanaugh (Malden, MA: Blackwell, 2004), pp. 93– 106; and another is a reprint of a text by an Orthodox theologian in a reader: Alexander Schmemann, “Worship in a Secular Age,” in An Eerdmans Reader in Contemporary Political Theology, ed. William T.  Cavanaugh, Jeffrey W.  Bailey, and Craig Hovey (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2012), pp. 105–18. 6 For a more extended analysis of these points, see Pantelis Kalaitzidis, Orthodoxy and Political Theology, trans. Fr. Gregory Edwards, Doxa and Praxis: Exploring Orthodox Theology Series (Geneva: WCC, 2012), pp. 65–77. 7 The term synallelia originates from the Byzantine political system, and serves to designate the special relationship between church and state, especially in the Orthodox context. It refers to the loyal and mutual cooperation between these two distinctive institutions for the sake of the people, who are simultaneously members of the church and subjects or citizens of the state. On synallelia, see Pantelis Kalitzidis, “Church and State in the Orthodox World:  From the Byzantine ‘Symphonia’ and Nationalized Orthodoxy to the Need of Witnessing the Word of God in a Pluralistic Society,” in Religioni, Libertà, Potere: Atti del Convegno Internazionale Filosofico-Teologico sulla Libertà Religiosa, Milano, Università Cattolica del Sacro Cuore e Università degli Studi, ed. Emanuela Fogliadini (Milan: Vita e Pensiero, 2014), pp. 39–74. 8 The principle of organizing a theocratic empire on the basis of religious ethnicities, with Islam in the preeminent place, followed by other religions (i.e., Orthodoxy, Armenian Christianity, and Judaism).

154

154

(2)

(3)

(4)

(5)

(6)

Pantelis Kalaitzidis

exception of some great Church Fathers, the Orthodox Church has failed to keep its distance from worldly power in order to challenge or to criticize the sacrilized empire (in the case of Byzantium), or to breach its loyalty to the Ottoman Muslim rule when its people and its flock risked massacre and retaliation. During the entire Ottoman occupation (four centuries, and even more in some cases), all Orthodox peoples in the Balkans and the Christian East preserved a community of peoples with common faith, values, and roots. As a result, all Orthodox Christians in the Ottoman regions shared a common fate, marked by the millet system (religious-based ethnicity) and the ethnarchic (political and secular) role of the Church, until the rise of nationalism in the aftermath of the European Enlightenment, which provoked the national fragmentation of the Orthodox people. Due to this historical situation, the Orthodox Churches today are still trapped in an ethnocentric dimension. In this context, Christian identity is used neither to refer to participation in a baptismal community and the Body of Christ, nor to point to the eschatological Kingdom, but rather to refer to a collective reality marked by ethno-cultural characteristics. During the belated nation-building processes in nineteenth-century Southeastern Europe, the Church became identified with the struggles of each particular nation. This gradual statism and nationalization of particular local Orthodox Churches coincided—at least for the Greeks—with a progressive urbanization up until the first half of the twentieth century. In this period, the strong influence of pietistic religious organizations introduced and intensified the individualistic and petit-bourgeois understanding of Christian morality, leading even more to an escape from history and society and to the lack of a Christian discourse that would criticize the dominant social injustice and the marginalization of the poor, in the light of the Gospel. It is, therefore, not surprising that the Church relates negatively to globalization via the defense of national independence and distinctiveness, language and cultural heritage, instead of recognizing therein elements of the ecumenical character and inherent catholicity of the Gospel. This is a complete reversal of the Gospel criteria. The defense of the weak, the poor, and the needy—an absolute priority for Christ and for the entrance into His kingdom (Mt 25:40)—has been relegated to second place in favor of the defense of ethno-cultural identity. By doing so, the institutional church and the grassroots faithful seem to completely ignore the emergence and consolidation of a Christianity that is inextricably tied to a globalized world, that of the Roman oikoumene. As paradoxical as it may seem, what has been described above constitutes a completely peculiar version of contextual theology, which could be called “ethno-theology.” Whether consciously or not, this ethno-theology avant la lettre has adopted the context of the nation and has become a kind of “liberation theology” marked by a robust conservative, or even far-Right, orientation and agenda.

155

Toward an Orthodox Political Theology

155

(7) The particular conditions in which Orthodox people have lived in past centuries (especially the nineteenth and twentieth centuries) constitute one explanatory factor for the primacy of the ethnic/national over the theological/ecclesial and social. These conditions include not only national fragmentation and the rise of nationalism, but also the Bolshevik Revolution in 1917 and the establishment of communist regimes in most Orthodox countries after the Second World War. The antireligious propaganda and religious persecution perpetuated under Communism provoked strong anticommunism among Orthodox believers. (8) Another factor that prevented Orthodoxy from developing a progressive or radical political theology was the specific and monolithic understanding of the “return to the Fathers,” as put forth by the eminent Russian émigré theologian Fr. Georges Florovsky. Initially this return was understood as an attempt to “de-westernize” Orthodox theology and to purge it of various foreign influences, but eventually this led to an overemphasis on the patristic tradition as the absolute and normative criterion and measure of doing theology. The consequences of this overemphasis on patristics were the devaluation of biblical studies, an ahistorical approach to patristic theology, a weak response to various modern challenges, and a tendency toward theological introversion, which led to a nearly total absence of the Orthodox from the major theological developments and trends of the twentieth century (such as dialectical theology, existential and hermeneutical theology, the theology of history and culture, the theology of secularization and modernity, “nouvelle théologie,” the theology of mission, the theology of religions and otherness, and, in regard to our discussion, contextual theologies, the theology of hope and political theology, liberation theology, black theology, and feminist theology, among others).9 Orthodox Engagement with Political Theology This long list of factors explaining the absence of a progressive political theology in the Orthodox context does not mean that discussions concerning political theology and liberation theology have not affected the Orthodox world at all, or that Orthodox theologians unanimously rejected political theology in its liberating version. In fact, a political theology avant la lettre was already present from the beginning of the twentieth century among Eastern theologians and religious philosophers, much before the emergence of the “leftist” trend or radical political theology in the West. For example, as early as the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, Russian religious philosophers who lived during a time of intense unrest immediately before and after the Bolshevik Revolution expressed views that, in a way, foreshadowed “leftist” political theology. For example, Sergei Bulgakov engaged with certain socialist ideals in the name of his Christian faith 9 See more in Pantelis Kalaitzidis, “From the ‘Return to the Fathers’ to the Need for a Modern Orthodox Theology,” St. Vladimir’s Theological Quarterly 54 (2010): 5–36.

156

156

Pantelis Kalaitzidis

and conscience, including a stint in the short-lived 1907 Second Duma as an independent Christian Socialist. More recently, after the emergence of the trend of “leftist” or radical political theology in the 1960s, important theological and ecclesiastical figures, such as Nikos Nissiotis and Metropolitan Georges (Khodr) of Mount Lebanon have written and spoken fervently about these issues, responding positively to the challenges of the times.10 In the Greek milieu, Savas Agourides and the “school” he formed promoted a progressive political theology.11 For decades, Agourides was the most progressive theological personality in the Greek milieu, a committed theologian who not only engaged in productive critical dialogue with the challenges faced by modern biblical interpretation, but was also able to translate the biblical critique of wealth, injustice, and oppression into a proposal for a political theology critical of both the institutional church and the ecclesiastical establishment. This critique extended to the unjust structures of the Greek political system, which marginalized and oppressed the poor and the needy, foreigners and immigrants.12

10 Nikos Nissiotis, “Church and Society in Greek Orthodox Theology,” in Christian Social Ethics in a Changing World, ed. J.  C. Bennet (London:  SCMP, 1966), pp.  78–104; Nissiotis “Reflexions sur le sens de la solidarité de l’Eglise avec le monde,” Contacts 57 (1967): 35–47; Η απολογία της ελπίδος [An Apology for Hope] (Athens, 1975); Nissiotis “Ecclesial Theology in Context,” in Doing Theology Today, ed. Choan-Seng Song (Madras:  Christian Literature Society, 1976), pp.  101–24; Nissiotis “L’home image de Dieu et pécheur:  L’humanisme contemporain et la théologie de la libération,” ΕΕΘΣΠΑ [Academic Yearbook of the Faculty of Theology of Athens University] 25 (1981): 331–60; Pantelis Kalaitzidis, “Πολιτική Θεολογία στο έργο του Nίκου Νησιώτη” Nίκου Νησιώτη” [Political Theology in the Work of Nikos Nissiotis], in Νίκος Νησιώτης:  Ο Οικουμενικός Θεολόγος της Ορθοδοξίας [Nikos Nissiotis:  Orthodoxy’s Ecumenical Theologian], ed. N.  Asproulis and G.  Vlantis (Volos:  Ekdotiki Demetriados), forthcoming; Georges Khodr, L’ appel de l’ Esprit: Eglise et société, ed. Maxime Egger, trans. Raymond Rizk et al. (Paris: Cerf, 2001); Khodr, “Eucharistie et libération,” Service Orthodoxe de Presse (SOP) 338 (2009): Suppléments 330A. 11 Among Agourides’s disciples is Professor Petros Vassiliadis from the Thessaloniki School of Theology. He has devoted his studies to the social aspect of Pauline theology and the theological critique of the dominant economic system and neoliberal globalization. See Pantelis Kalaitzidis, “Η εσχατολογική προοπτική στη θεολογία του Πέτρου Βασιλειάδη και οι συνέπειές της για την πολιτική θεολογία” [Eschatology in the Work of Petros Vassiliadis and Its Relevance for Political Theology], in Ο Οικουμενικός Διάλογος στον 21ο Αιώνα [Ecumenical Dialogue in the 21st Century], Festschrift Petros Vassiliadis, ed. Ioannis Petrou, Stylianos Tsompanidis, and Moschos Gkoutsioudis (Thessaloniki:  Vanias, 2013), pp. 381–426. 12 I presented these aspects of Agourides’s theology in November 2010 in my unpublished paper, “Savas Agourides and Prophetic Christianity,” at a conference in

157

Toward an Orthodox Political Theology

157

In 1970s and 1980s Greece, Alexandros Papaderos was another influential theological figure involved in discussions about the Church’s social engagement. He successfully transferred and adapted the model of postwar German lay academies to the Greek Orthodox context without openly criticizing or challenging the dominant themes of Greek theology of that time (namely, the return to tradition, the theology of the personhood, mystical theology, and monastic revival). In doing so, Papaderos emphasized Orthodoxy’s social engagement and the Gospels’ implications in the social context.13 From the younger generation of Greek theologians, Athanasios N. Papathanasiou has worked toward the articulation of an Orthodox political theology. In his writings, Papathanasiou links social action to mission and to the march toward the Kingdom of God. He reminds one of the sharp social critique of the Fathers, as well as of the liberation and the radical political perspectives of patristic thought, insisting particularly on the centrality and the sacramental nature of a fellow human being as a brother or sister. He even suggests that elements of Sobrino’s “sacred character of the poor” or “preferential option for the poor” can be found in some Eastern Church Fathers and in the Eastern canonical tradition.14 One sign of hope and encouragement is that Ecumenical Patriarch Bartholomew, in his public addresses and messages, which demonstrate his spiritual leadership and theological and eschatological awareness, has also displayed a unique sensitivity and commitment to burning “political” or global issues. These include such pressing matters as the relationship between religion and politics, racial

Thessaloniki, organized in Agourides’s honor by the School of Theology at the University of Thessaloniki, the Artos Zois Foundation, and the Greek Biblical Society. 13 See Alexandros Papaderos, “Liturgical Diaconia,” in An Orthodox Approach to Diaconia:  Consultation on Church and Service, ed. George Tsetsis (Geneva, WCC, 1980), pp.  17–46; Papaderos, “Aspects of Orthodox Social Ethics,” in Trilogy of Social Ethics:  Orthodox—Catholic—Protestant, ed. Ingeborg G.  Gabriel, Ulrich J.  Körtner and Alexandros K. Papaderos (Philadelphia: Ecumenical Press, 2013), pp. 21–132. 14 Athanasios N.  Papathanasiou, “Liberation Perspectives in Patristic Thought. An Orthodox Approach,” in Hellenic Open University: Scientific Review of the Post-Graduate Program “Studies in Orthodox Theology,” Vol. 2 (2011), pp. 419–38 (422–23, 432). See also the essay “Για έναν πολιτικοποιημένο εκκλησιαστικό χώρο,” in Papathanasiou, Ανεστιότητα και Παραπεμπτικότητα:  Κριτικές Προσεγγίσεις στα Θεολογικά Δρώμενα [Itinerancy and Referentiality: Critical Approaches to Theological Events] (Athens: Armos, 1998), pp. 121– 38; Papathanasiou, Ορθόδοξη Θεολογία και Κοινωνική Δικαιοσύνη [Orthodox Theology and Social Justice] (Athens:  Akritas, 2001). In addition, see the noteworthy essay on the same issue by the late Panagiotis Nellas, the founder of Synaxi, the leading Greek theological journal (of which Papathanasiou is currently editor in chief): Panagiotis Nellas, “Τρεις βιβλικές προϋποθέσεις στο πρόβλημα:  Ορθοδοξία και Πολιτική” [Three Biblical Presuppositions in the Issue of Orthodoxy and Politics], Μαρτυρία Ορθοδοξίας [Witness of Orthodoxy] (Athens: Hestia, 1971), pp. 155–86.

158

158

Pantelis Kalaitzidis

discrimination, religious tolerance, peace, social justice, poverty, the economy, ecology, and the environmental crisis. He addresses each of these crucial questions not from an ideological standpoint but from the depth of the Eastern Orthodox tradition.15 Two other examples constitute a more minor trend regarding political theology in contemporary Greece, but are worthy of comment. First, the Christian-Socialist movement of “Christian Democracy” (and its youth movement EXON) has tried to develop a third way between capitalism and Marxism, promising social change and liberation in the name of Christianity. During Greece’s seven-year military dictatorship, this group was particularly noteworthy for the courageous resistance of its president, Nikos Psaroudakis, and of its weekly newspaper I Christianiki. Second, in the early 1980s, the so-called neo-Orthodox movement concentrated on theologians who were inspired by patristic theology and the theology of the Russian diaspora, on one hand, and on Marxist and neo-Marxist intellectuals who were interested in Orthodoxy and Greece’s spiritual and cultural heritage, on the other. This trend, whose most characteristic representative is theologian and philosopher Christos Yannaras, is perhaps the only movement that earned a wide hearing and continues to influence both theological and ecclesiastical affairs, as well as more general cultural and even political developments, primarily through Yannaras’s regular Sunday column in one of the largest and most respected Greek newspapers, I Kathimerini. The late French Orthodox theologian Olivier Clément believed that these two very different movements represent the Orthodox version of liberation theology.16 Foundations for an Orthodox Political Theology Given these historical circumstances and recent theological trends, on which foundations could an Orthodox political theology commence? Here follows a brief sketch of the basic ideas that should unavoidably characterize any attempt to formulate an Orthodox political theology. 15 See Ecumenical Patriarch Bartholomew, In The World, Yet Not of the World: Social and Global Initiatives of Ecumenical Patriarch Bartholomew, ed. John Chryssavgis (New  York:  Fordham University Press, 2010); Bartholomew, Encountering the Mystery:  Understanding Orthodox Christianity Today (New  York:  Doubleday, 2008), especially chapters  6, 7, 8, and pp.  89–228. On the same issue, see Metropolitan Gennadios of Sassima and Archimandrite Evdokimos Karakoulakis (eds.), Οικουμενικός Πατριάρχης Βαρθολομαίος:  Πατριαρχικός Λόγος και Πολιτική (1991–2011) [Ecumenical Patriarch Bartholomew:  Patriarchal Addresses to Political World (1991–2011)] (Athens: Eptalofos, 2011). 16 Olivier Clément, “Orthodox Reflections on ‘Liberation Theology,’ ” St. Vladimir’s Theological Quarterly 29 (1985):  63–72. I  disagree with Clément’s assessment. When one considers the results of these movements (neo-nationalism, neoconservatism, antiwesternism, the denial of modernity, and multiculturalism), Clément’s enthusiastic judgment is unwarranted.

159

Toward an Orthodox Political Theology

159

The Doctrine of the Trinity and the Incarnation of Jesus Christ17 The Russian religious philosopher Nikolai Fyodorov (1829–1903), when asked what the Orthodox Church’s social program was, replied with a phrase that has since become famous: “Our social program is the dogma of the Trinity.” He was thus referring to the life of the divine persons who are equal in honor and whose interpenetration in mutual love and in communion and sharing serve as a model for human life and society. Metropolitan Kallistos Ware commented on Fyodorov’s famous phrase: The doctrine of the Trinity is not merely a theme for abstract speculation by specialists; it has practical and indeed revolutionary consequences for our understanding of human personhood and society. The human person is made in the image of God, that is to say, of God the Trinity, and the doctrine of the Trinity affirms that God is not just a monad, the One loving himself, but a triad of divine persons loving each other. Formed in the Trinitarian image, the human person is thus created for relationship, sharing, and reciprocity. Cut off from others, isolated, unloving and unloved, no one is a true person, but only a bare individual. Our human vocation is therefore to reproduce on earth at every level, in the church and in society, the movement of mutual love that exists from all eternity within God the Trinity.18

Yet, if this is the case, asks Paul Valliere, why then does not one major neo-patristic work link this understanding of the Trinity with society and social problems, as is the case, for example, with the Roman Catholic liberation theologian Leonardo Boff and his work, Trinity and Society?19 This question even applies to the initiators of the theology of personhood, Metropolitan John D. Zizioulas of Pergamon and Christos Yannaras.20 The Trinitarianism and personalism of Zizioulas, as formulated 17 Kalaitzidis, Orthodoxy and Political Theology, pp.  35–44. For the significance of a robust Christology that takes seriously the historical (i.e., Christ’s personal history) and not only the ontological (metaphysical) aspect of Christ’s identity in the articulation of an Orthodox political theology, see Nikolaos Asproulis, “Pneumatology and Politics: The Role of the Holy Spirit in the Articulation of an Orthodox Political Theology,” Review of Ecumenical Studies Sibiu 7, no. 2 (2015): 184–97. 18 Kallistos Ware, “Eastern Christianity,” in The Encyclopedia of Religion, Vol. 4, ed. Mircea Eliade (New York: Free Press, 1987), p. 571, quoted in Paul Valliere, “Introduction to the Modern Orthodox Tradition,” in The Teachings of Modern Orthodox Christianity on Law, Politics, and Human Nature, ed. John Witte Jr. and Frank S. Alexander (New York: Columbia University Press, 2007), pp. 1–32 (5). 19 Valliere, “Modern Orthodox Tradition,” p.  5; Leonardo Boff, Trinity and Society, trans. Paul Burns (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis Books, 1988). 20 For a recent attempt to unpack the political implications of Zizioulas’s theology of personhood, see Aristotle Papanikolaou, The Mystical as Political: Democracy and Non-radical Orthodoxy (Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press, 2012). Papanikolaou attempts to set an agenda for an Orthodox political theology, focusing mainly on issues related to the cultural Left (liberal democracy, the common good, human rights, and political forgiveness).

160

160

Pantelis Kalaitzidis

initially in his now classic Being as Communion, did not prompt any radical social activity or awareness by most Orthodox theologians.21 The same deficiency can be observed in Yannaras’s work.22 Not only has his theological ontology and personalism (both based on sound Trinitarian and Christological grounds) not led to social activism, to a struggle for the protection of human dignity, or to solidarity with the victims of history, but rather, it has often encouraged a flight from history and an undermining of social activity and collective struggles. In my view, a sound interpretation of the Christian doctrine of the Trinity should lead to the rejection of every model of social inequality as well as to the denial of every sort of political domination and authoritarian understanding of politics. As it is commonly agreed, the doctrine of the Trinity, along with that of the Incarnation, make up the very backbone of Christianity, the two basic axes around which every Christian doctrine centers.23 The theocratic and hierarchical understanding of the Church (in both East and West) has led to an understanding of religion in terms of power, while the Church was imposed on society from above, justifying more or less all the social anachronisms and prohibitions that continue to hold sway today.24 Such conceptions and realities actually rolled back the hard-fought gains of Trinitarian and Incarnational theology and negated the political relevance of the scandal of the Cross. According to a faithful understanding of the Trinitarian doctrine, the very being of God is understood as communion in otherness, and otherness in communion, as a tripersonal community of love and freedom. Instead of pointing to liberating and loving Fatherhood, however, theology ended up referring to a sort of divine policeman upholding the established order. In this false understanding, theology and spirituality lost their paradoxical and antinomian character, leading to the “religious” authoritarian models that preceded the New Testament. This was a complete reversal of the original understanding of the Trinitarian faith of the Christian communities, for which God does not impose himself as an external authority, but comes in the person of Jesus Christ, as kenosis and the self-offering of eros, granting humans reconciliation with God through adoption, calling them

21 John Zizioulas, Being as Communion:  Studies in Personhood and the Church (Crestwood, NY: St. Vladimir’s Seminary Press, 1985). See also Zizioulas, Communion and Otherness: Further Studies in Personhood and the Church (London: T&T Clark, 2006). In contrast, Zizioulas and the Ecumenical Patriarchate of Constantinople have been occupied with formulating a meaningful response to the ecological crisis. 22 Christos Yannaras, Person and Eros, trans. Norman Russell (Brookline, MA: Holy Cross Orthodox Press, 2008); Yannaras, Προτάσεις Κριτικής Οντολογίας [Proposals for a Critical Ontology] (Athens: Domos, 1995); Yannaras , Relational Ontology, trans. Norman Russell (Brookline, MA: Holy Cross Orthodox Press, 2011). 23 See, e.g., Sergius Bulgakov, “Dogma and Dogmatic Theology,” in Tradition Alive: On the Church and the Christian Life in Our Time, ed. Michael Plekon (Lanham, MD, Lexington Books, 2003), pp. 67–80. 24 Kalaitzidis, Orthodoxy and Political Theology, p. 36.

161

Toward an Orthodox Political Theology

161

into communion with him and offering the possibility of participating in the divine life. The Incarnation of Christ offers humanity a new reality of sonship by adoption. In this perspective, God is at once both the Other par excellence and near to humanity via the person of Jesus Christ. The hermeneutics of the Incarnation can open up a new horizon for the discussion and articulation of an Orthodox political theology. In fact, according to the Chalcedonian Definition, Christ assumed “without confusion,” “unchangeably,” “inseparably,” and “indivisibly” the whole person together with human nature, as well as history in its entirety, and hence the political, social, and economic aspects of human life, not merely its spiritual or religious dimensions. As St. Gregory Nazianzus characteristically remarked, “What is not assumed cannot be healed, and what was united to God is saved.”25 The Church and politics, then, are not compartmentalized, with the first relegated to the so-called spiritual sphere of human life and the second to the material or worldly, as is often maintained. Rather, the Church desires to transform and save the whole human person (body and soul, spirit and matter), as well as every aspect of human life. The idea that the Church should only concern itself with religious or spiritual issues or with the realm of the sacred, leaving to others the so-called material and profane, is, therefore, fundamentally flawed and actually “Manichean.”26 This is not to say, however, that there is not an important, fundamental difference between the Church and politics. This difference is not to be found in the areas that each one claims for itself—in fact, they often claim dominion over the same areas—but rather in the ways the Church and politics realize their (political) visions. The ecclesial way is—or should be—the way of love, freedom, and charismatic service (diakonia); the way of political power is characterized by force, domination, and legal or institutional coercion. The Church’s version of politics, then, is directed at “those who hunger and thirst for righteousness” (Mt 5:6). This is not to be understood in the sense of succumbing to the temptation Christ rejected to transform stones into bread miraculously—or, as in Fyodor Dostoevsky’s ingenious conception of “The Legend of the Grand Inquisitor,” in an authoritarian and magical way.27 Rather, it is to be understood as a call to expose the hideous and tyrannical face of every repressive authority (religious, political, or economic), to reveal the spiritual depth and the hidden Christological dimension of social and political action on behalf of our

25 St. Gregory Nazianzen, Letter 101, Patrologia Graeca, Vol. 37 (Paris:  J.  P. Migne, 1862), 181C–184A. See also Saint John of Damascus, An Exact Exposition of the Orthodox Faith, III. 6, Patrologia Graeca, Vol. 94 (Paris: J. P. Migne, 1862), 1005ΑΒ. For what follows, see Kalaitzidis, Orthodoxy and Political Theology, chapter 6. 26 See also Aristotle Papanikolaou, “Political Nestorianism and the Politics of Theosis,” Public Orthodoxy, October 12, 2015, http://publicorthodoxy.org/2015/10/12/politicalnestorianism-and-the-politics-of-theosis/ (accessed July 13, 2016). 27 Mt 4:3–4; Lk 4:3–4. See Nicolas Berdyaev, Dostoevsky:  An Interpretation, trans. Donald A. Attawater (London: Sheed & Ward, 1936), pp. 188–212.

162

162

Pantelis Kalaitzidis

neighbor. As Berdyaev summarized in his famous aphorism, “Bread for myself is a material question; bread for my neighbor is a spiritual question.”28 The Eschatological Dimension The Church’s political discourse must never lose sight of the fundamental importance of eschatology, that is, of the active expectation of the Kingdom of God; nor must it content itself with the now-familiar themes of the defense of the nation and national continuity, or of ethno-cultural identity—which, of course, are neither issues nor priorities in God’s Kingdom. According to the examples set forth by the Church’s founder, Jesus Christ, its obligation is to voluntarily withdraw from the quest for worldly power and authority and to fight the temptation to become a power itself or to desire to become involved in politics in an authoritarian way. In other words, it should resist becoming established within history, forgetting its eschatological orientation. As Petros Vassiliadis states, “The Church does not serve as a religious power acting in parallel to the state’s worldly power, quite simply because it is not a power at all, but rather the eschatological and charismatic people of God who are peacefully incorporated into their social surroundings in order to sanctify and transform them.”29 The Church, then, is in the world, without being of this world;30 it lives and moves within history, without drawing its roots from history, but rather from the eschaton, inasmuch as it constitutes an “icon” of the eschaton and a “symbol” of the Kingdom. Thus, the Church should refuse to behave in an authoritarian manner, as if it were Caesar, placing its hope and expectations on its worldly effectiveness; rather, it should live out its calling to actualize and proclaim the overcoming of the authoritarian spirit in its life, structures, and administration, as well as in the world at large, by giving account of “the hope that is in you [the Body of Christ].”31 The Church, of course, ought to be open to the world and to dialogue with it, in order to preach the good news of salvation, to infuse the world with its ethos of love, service, and freedom, thereby preparing for and announcing the eschaton. Any serious discussion about eschatology leads to the question of the Church’s nature and identity, while at the same time introducing an element of anticipation, based on a robust perception of the Holy Spirit’s role in church life and the whole of creation. A proper understanding of eschatology is closely related to a proper understanding of Tradition, beyond any dangerous traditionalism.32 As John

28 Nicolas Berdyaev, The Origin of Russian Communism, trans. R.  M. French (London: G. Bles, 1948), p. 185. 29 Petros Vassiliadis, “Οι σχέσεις Εκκλησίας—Πολιτείας στην Κ. Δ.” [Church-State Relations in the New Testament], Βιβλικές ερμηνευτικές μελέτες [Biblical Hermeneutical Studies] (Thessaloniki: Pournaras, 1988), p. 444. 30 Jn 18:36; 3:3; 8:23; 17:16. 31 1 Pt 3:15. 32 See, e.g., Pantelis Kalaitzidis, “The Eschatological Understanding of Tradition in Contemporary Orthodox Theology and Its Relevance for Today’s Issues,” in The Shaping of

163

Toward an Orthodox Political Theology

163

Meyendorff wrote, “Without eschatology, traditionalism is turned only to the past: it is nothing but archeology, antiquarianism, conservatism, reaction, refusal of history, escapism. Authentic Christian traditionalism remembers and maintains the past not because it is past, but because it is the only way to meet the future, to become ready for it.”33 Eschatology represents something much more than a mere concern about the afterlife, “death.” It is a foretaste even now of the life of the future age and the active anticipation of the coming Kingdom in every aspect of life—including the social and political.34 The expected Kingdom, however, is not “from this world.”35 It is not limited to or coextensive with the present age; it does not have here a “lasting city,” but rather seeks “the city which is to come,”36 since “the form of this world is passing away.”37 It does not use worldly means—power, coercion, and authority— to impose its will and survive,38 and it cannot be identified with anything that we know from the past. The Kingdom of God comes to us from the future, from the renewed and transfigured new world of God, free from the authoritarian spirit of domination, injustice, division, decay, and death. The Church thus draws its identity, its true esse, from the future of the Kingdom, since it is not defined by the past or the present, from that which it was or that which it is, but from that which it will be in the eschaton, in the Kingdom of God.39 The Church in history is not identified with the Kingdom, but is en route to the Kingdom; it is becoming the Kingdom and offers the possibility of participating in it. The Kingdom of God is something broader than the Church, thus it is right to stress the dynamic eschatological nature of the Church on earth and the active march against, and victory over, evil. The Church is a type and icon of the Kingdom, a “type and icon of God,” according to St. Maximus the Confessor, inasmuch as it performs the same unifying work in its imitation of God.40 This work is, however, nullified and the anticipation of the Kingdom of God cast into oblivion whenever the Church flirts with ideas of worldly power and dreams of theocracy,

Tradition: Context and Normativity, ed. Colby Dickinson, with Lieven Boeve and Terrence Merrigan (Leuven: Peeters, 2013), pp. 297–312. 33 John Meyendorff, “Does Christian Tradition Have a Future?,” St. Vladimir’s Theological Quarterly 26 (1982): 139–54 (141). 34 For further development and evidence, see Kalaitzidis, Orthodoxy and Political Theology, pp. 106–12. 35 Jn 18:36, “My kingship is not from this world.” 36 Heb 13:14. 37 1 Cor 7:31. 38 Jn 18:36; Mt 26:52–53. See also Jn 8:23. 39 See, e.g., John Zizioulas, “The Early Christian Community,” in The One and the Many:  Studies on God, Man, the Church, and the World Today, ed. Fr. Gregory Edwards (Alhambra, CA: Sebastian Press, 2010), pp. 147–50. 40 Maximus the Confessor, Mystagogy, Patrologia Graeca, Vol. 91 (Paris: J. P. Migne, 1862), 664 D.

164

164

Pantelis Kalaitzidis

whenever the life of the Church—and of society in general—is ruled by a spirit of authoritarianism, which is nothing but subjection to the tyrannical dominance of the ego, the irrationality of the passions, and the power and authority of death. The Church is, therefore, still in statu viae (en route), and Christians live between two decisive moments—the Resurrection and the eschaton—finding themselves “in between.” This in-betweenness determines their choices and values. Everything is evaluated in light of the eschaton; the Christian’s whole life is oriented toward the anticipated new world from which the present takes its identity and hypostasis, its meaning and purpose.41 Christians are “aliens” and “exiles” in this world,42 refusing to settle into the world or to be identified with the hic et nunc, because even though they live in the world, they are not of this world.43 Without disdaining the world, they refuse to identify their life and mission with the forms and powers of the present age. While their faith has cosmic dimensions, they refuse to be identified with the here and now. Without disregarding history, they refuse to limit their purpose to the confines of history. Even though they live within history, they refuse to be absorbed by it. While Christianity is, at root, historical, it nevertheless is oriented toward a reality—the Kingdom of God—that is meta-historical, but that, however, has already begun to affect and illuminate the historical present, inasmuch as the eschaton is constantly, albeit paradoxically, breaking into history. Christians do not worship the past, because they are turned toward the future, the eschaton, from which they await the fulfillment of their existence. This, however, is not a denial of the present, because the eschaton does not destroy but rather transforms history, turning it into eschatological history and imbuing it with meaning and purpose. The Eucharistic Perspective But what about the very locus where the people of God experience this anticipation of the Kingdom? According to Orthodox theology, as it was especially systematized and clarified in the work of the leading Christian theologian Metropolitan John D.  Zizioulas of Pergamon, the experience of this anticipation is fully provided in the Divine Eucharist, the mystery that “makes the Church” and offers its identity.44 This way of understanding the being of the Church has not remained something suspended in mid-air, but from the very beginning, the first Christian 41 Οscar Cullmann, Christ and Time: The Primitive Christian Conception of Time and History (London: SCM Press, 1962), pp. xix–xxi; Savas Agourides, “The Hope of an Orthodox Christian: Present Promise and Future Fulfillment (a Simple Catechetical Lesson),” trans. by P. A. Chamberas, ed. by L. Sherrard, in Synaxis: An Anthology of the Most Significant Orthodox Theology in Greece Appearing in the Journal Σύναξη from 1982 to 2002, vol. III: Ecclesiology and Pastoral Care (Montréal: Alexander Press, 2006), pp. 23–28 (25–28). 42 1 Pt 2:11. 43 Phil 3:20: “But our citizenship is in heaven.” Heb 13:14: “For here we have no lasting city, but we are looking for the city that is to come.” 44 Paul McPartlan, The Eucharist Makes the Church: Henri de Lubac and John Zizioulas in Dialogue (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1993).

165

Toward an Orthodox Political Theology

165

communities understood the Eucharist as an icon of the eschaton in history, which images the gathering of the dispersed, the union of the divided, and participation in the banquet of the Kingdom.45 As Zizioulas and other Orthodox theologians have carefully articulated, the identity of the Church is primarily to be found in the Eucharist, rather than in the confession of the faith, moral perfection, the therapeutic approach (purification of the soul from the passions), and so on.46 We should not perceive the Eucharist as a sacramentalistic rite or an individualistic religious expression of piety, nor as an opportunity to confirm and emphasize the power and dominance of a single person or autonomous “order” (the bishops, e.g., or presbyters who celebrate the Eucharist in the bishop’s name, simply because of the role they play in the celebration of the mystery of the synaxis) at the expense of the ecclesial Body.47 Even less is the Eucharist offered to promote the role and authority of some secular ruler, or Caesar, who is seen according to a convoluted theocratic logic as standing in the place of the Byzantine emperor, and therefore in the type and place of Christ. On the contrary, the Eucharist is the mystery of unity and communion in the Body of Christ, which is the Church. It is the mystery of equality and participation and of universal fellowship between God, our fellow human beings, and creation; for it is in the Eucharist, or rather by the Eucharist as the starting point, that every kind of physical bond and hierarchy, every sort of created and corruptible division of sex, race, nation, language, culture, and social class, is relativized and overcome. The oldest and most representative example of this is provided by the well-known passages from Acts, referring to the worship and life of the early Christian community of Jerusalem, which connect the Resurrection and radical social transformation, the Eucharist and voluntary common ownership, the eucharistic table and the ministry of the tables.48 According to Acts, the first Christians to believe in the Resurrection of Christ were dedicated to the teachings of the apostles and to their communion with one another, to the celebration of the Eucharist and to prayer,

45 See, e.g., The Didache, 9.4; cf. 10.5. Cf. The Sacramentary of Serapion of Thmuis, 13.1, and Kalaitzidis, Orthodoxy and Political Theology, 99. 46 Metropolitan of Pergamon John (Zizioulas), “Εκκλησία και Έσχατα” [The Church and the Eschaton], in Εκκλησία και Εσχατολογία [The Church and Eschatology], ed. Pantelis Kalaitzidis (Volos: Ekdotiki Demetriados, 2014), pp. 43–44. An English translation by Fr. Gregory Edwards is forthcoming by WCC Publications. 47 As Petros Vassiliadis has noted, it was not until the second century AD that special significance came to be attributed to the office of the bishop. Nevertheless, even Ignatius of Antioch, well known for his episcopocentric ecclesiology, “never imagined a ‘monarchial’ episcopal office, as was mistakenly believed in the past. Ignatius’ conception of the Church was purely eschatological.” Petros Vassiliadis, “Αποστολή-Διακονία-Επισκοπή (Η Συμβολή του Βιβλίου των Πράξεων στη Διαμόρφωση της Πρωτοχριστιανικής Εκκλησιολογίας)” [Apostoli-Diakonia-Episkopi: The Contribution of the Book of Acts to the Development of Early Christian Ecclesiology], in Βιβλικές ερμηνευτικές μελέτες, pp. 380–81. 48 Acts 2:42–47; 4:32–37; 6:1–6.

166

166

Pantelis Kalaitzidis

and had everything in common, with nothing separating them and nothing distinguishing between them. Without this eucharistic and eschatological foundation, common ownership and social engagement lose their sacramental depth and are reduced to the level of activism and romantic pipe dreams. The Eucharist, without its social verification and dynamic, ceases to be the mystery of unity and communion, a foretaste and proleptic manifestation of the eschaton, an ecclesial act that resists manifold evil and transfigures the world and history; instead, it becomes simply a religious gathering, a sacramentalistic rite, an individualistic expression of piety. Clergy and hierarchs celebrate the Eucharist, but at its most authentic, the Eucharist actually engenders the dissolution of the hierarchical structures and authoritarian stratification that reflect the fallen world’s status quo. This is so because (1) the liturgy flows into the everyday life of believers, known by some as “the liturgy after the liturgy,”49 the inseparable link between the Eucharist and the mystery of unity, the Eucharist and radical social transformation, the liturgy and committed engagement in society and culture; and (2) the celebration of the liturgy presupposes the catholic participation of the people and the overcoming of the mediatory priesthood (as envisioned by the Old Testament) by the charismatic priesthood (as envisioned by the Epistle to the Hebrews). With this in mind, one can understand why the Divine Eucharist represents a foretaste of the eschaton and a proleptic manifestation of the coming Kingdom of love, justice, and freedom. It entails reconciliation and “the unity of all,” victory over the demonic and divisive spirit of authoritarianism, the overcoming of the law and power, and the decisive destruction of the power and tyranny of death. The Eucharist and eschatology, catholicity and universality, therefore, constitute the Church’s identity and reflect the consciousness of the first Christian communities. This does not signify, however, that there is not a crucial difference between the Church and politics, between its eucharistic and eschatological identity and worldly life and reality. There is a radical difference between the Church’s understanding of politics and the state’s worldly understanding, a difference in terms of content, scope, and implementation. This is best demonstrated in that the content of the Church’s political message is primarily that each person is an icon of God, an icon of “the Other” par excellence, and its political vision is to be a witness pointing to another way of being and life, which seeks to transform the surrounding reality through love, freedom, and diakonia, while avoiding the use of any coercive tactics.50 In other words, the more the Church communicates this message and pursues this vision, thereby transforming the world, the more the authoritarian spirit recedes from the life and structures of the world. On the contrary, when the Church is absorbed by the world (an unfortunately

49 Ion Bria, The Liturgy after the Liturgy:  Mission and Witness from an Orthodox Perspective (Geneva: WCC, 1996). 50 Kalaitzidis, Orthodoxy and Political Theology, pp. 120–21.

167

Toward an Orthodox Political Theology

167

common historical and current phenomenon), it becomes more and more authoritarian, claiming a share of worldly power.51 In such a circumstance, the Church has forgotten that Christian ethics are anarchical, being eschatological and crucicentric, because Christians, when following the example of Jesus Christ, live out an ascetical ethic of the voluntary surrender of the ego and of individual self-sufficiency, power, and authority. Hence, the Church’s very entanglement with power, its attempt to establish a Christian state, and its daydream of returning to an ideal theocratic “Christian” society or empire constitute an aberration, distortion, and contradiction in terms.52 The Church, therefore, has the task of liberating politics in the light of eschatology, since eschatology is related to the dialectic between the present and the future, the “already” and the “not yet,” which pervades the Church’s sojourn in the world. Furthermore, eschatology introduces an attitude toward life that maintains distance from the structures of the world, a refusal to settle down and identify oneself with the world and history, yet without any trace of disdain for the world and history or any flight from them. Eschatology entails repentance for the past, as well as a faith in and openness to the future and the ultimate outcome of history. All the while, it points to a permanent suspension of assuming any final and established meaning within history, to constant doubt and radical criticism of the meaning of all institutions, and instead implies the notion of movement without end, unceasingly and constantly gaining in richness.

The Public Role of the Church and Theology Any discussion of political theology inevitably leads to the crucial question of religion’s place in the public sphere and thus the legitimacy of a public role for the Church in the secular pluralistic societies of late modernity. The survival or even the “return of religion” in today’s societies, despite the predictions of secular intellectuals that it would gradually decline or disappear due to the progress of science and rationalism, gave a new impetus to the ongoing debate, while leaving room for the question: Can the Church be present in the public sphere, both verbally and in action, or does this presence breach the principles that Enlightenment or secularization have established, the main presupposition of which is the separation between religion and politics, religion and state? In light of the theological argument delineated above and of the significant and lively discussion currently taking place between intellectuals, philosophers, sociologists, political scientists, and theologians (e.g., José Casanova, Ronald F.  Thiemann, Richard Falk, John Rawls, Jürgen Habermas, Jürgen Moltmann,

51 Ibid., pp. 124–25. 52 Ibid., pp. 130–31.

168

168

Pantelis Kalaitzidis

Emmanuel Clapsis, Jean Baubérot, and Regis Debray),53 I address this question in a positive manner, under the following conditions: (1) The Church is not a private, but a public institution, provided we understand that “public” differs from “state,” and to the extent that the first is broader than the second. This implies a tripartite (state, public, and private) rather than a bipartite (state and private) distinction. It further implies that the Church relates to civil society, not to the state. (2) The Church can be involved in the public sphere, provided it is aware of the boundaries and conditions of that sphere (i.e., its neutrality in regard to ideology, religion, and values), and to the extent that it respects the values established in that sphere (e.g., human rights, religious freedom, and tolerance of difference) and the distinctive roles of church and state. (3) That the Church exists and acts in the public sphere does not indicate that it should also claim authority in that sphere, nor does it indicate that the Church’s public role should be to involve itself with the issues of nationalism or ethnic identity, subjects so familiar in conventional Orthodox rhetoric. Nor should it reproduce the forms or models of medieval “Christendom,” or of Byzantine theocracy and ethnarchy, in the case of Eastern Orthodoxy. (4) The Church must also understand and accept another reality of modern society, one that is largely due to secularization: the division of society into subsystems or autonomous sectors of social origin. According to this division, the subsystems of politics, the economy, society, culture, science, education, and religion operate with their own inner functional autonomy and are governed by the principle of separation, which is considered the only way of safeguarding democracy, freedom, respect, and toleration of difference. The modern person does not want religion to be involved in his or her other subsystems or activities or to exercise tutelage over them, because he or she regards this as a violation of his or her freedom and autonomy from the power of the Church that was won with such difficulty. Furthermore, the principle of separation does not apply only to religion, but to any other outside entity that intervenes in a person’s life. This socially originated division into subsystems may seem at first to shatter and fragment reality, or to go against the holistic and inclusive vision of Orthodoxy that looks to a catholic transformation of the life of the world and of humankind, a radical change and renewal in every aspect of life. But in fact, this is not so, as suggested above, based on the distinction between church and power, church and state, and above all between Church and Caesar, on one hand,

53 A recapitulate of this discussion, along with analyses and critical remarks on the public role of the Church and theology, is beyond the scope of this chapter. For a fuller analysis, see Kalaitzidis, Ορθοδοξία και Νεωτερικότητα, pp. 127–61; Kalaitzidis, Orthodoxy and Political Theology, pp. 81–86.

169

Toward an Orthodox Political Theology

169

and between charismatic diakonia (service) and worldly dominion or domination, on the other. (5) The medieval/theocratic/traditional model elevated the Church into an authority that would give legitimacy and meaning to whatever regime was in power, thus making it the official ideological apologist for the power given “from above.” In this capacity, the Church had a de facto public role (before any discussion about public and private, which essentially began with modernity), while participation in its faith and life was in practice compulsory for ruling officials, part and parcel of the Church’s obedience and loyalty to the commands and orders of the state. The model that emerged from the radical changes that came with secularization and modernity privatized the Church and religion in every form, liberating the public space and citizens from ecclesiastical tutelage and from any religious or metaphysical reference, thus reminding the churches of the voluntary character of Christian communities. Perhaps the synthesis we seek in late modernity, with its tendency to escape into postmodernity and with its de- or post-secularization, is a discourse of the Church and of theology that relates to the community of citizens, that new element and new achievement of our times. Such a discourse would intervene in a society and a public space that, as we have seen, is ever less likely to be identified with the state and civil power. It would respect all the positive achievements of modernity and secularization, and would not forget the nature of religious associations being profoundly voluntary and grounded in free will, not connected with the state or the powers that be. (6) If the Church were to adapt to these conditions, its public discourse would be a word of witness to the new reality it is experiencing. It would not be an expression of the Church imposing itself on the public space, whether by evoking its contribution to national struggles; by promoting its social usefulness and effectiveness using the methods of marketing, communication, or advertising; or by functioning as the ideological arm of those in power, tactics that have long cultivated confusion between the status of the citizen and that of the believer. The Church’s public discourse would further be a word of protest against social and institutional evil, against the violation of human freedom and dignity, against disdain for the uniqueness of the human person. It would be a word of support for “others,” “the least of these” (Mt 25:40, 45), as for the victims of history who are an image of “the Other” par excellence, of him who “dwelt among us” (Jn 1:14), and accepted the role of “the least” to become one of us and to take on not only our flesh and body, but also human experience in general, as his own. (7) The above limitations and restrictions, “modern” in inspiration, by no means nullify the public discourse of the Church. Rather, they make it more authentic and genuine, in that they can help it rid itself of the burden of going along with the state or of the derision that accompanies an official apologist for whatever is the current regime or ethno-religious ideology. While the

170

170

Pantelis Kalaitzidis

Church cannot have a direct say in the handling of political, economic, and other problems, modern people would be able to listen carefully and appreciate the Church’s social critique of the existing unjust social structures and of the violations of the divine gift of freedom, along with its defense of the inalienable value and priority of the human person. This assumes, however, that there would be some basic consistency between words and deeds, theory and practice, thereby manifesting a new ethos of a charismatic ministry of service, of personal otherness, and of freedom. (8) In any case, we should note that this entire discussion concerning a conditional public presence for the Church and theology began in the West, where secularization, the privatization of religion, and the separation of church and state prevailed. It is possible that this discussion may signal the quest for a new balance and a new synthesis between secular and sacred, public and private. The discussion in question will have no substantial relevance to most Orthodox Churches so long as they cling stubbornly to their phobic imprisonment in the forms and models of the Constantinian period, remaining trapped in their capacity as a state church and in their national-patriotic role; and so long as they remain blithely devoted to the model of “a Christian society” of which they imagine themselves the spiritual leaders and exclusive representatives and administrators, even in today’s conditions of pluralistic democracy. Thus, the Orthodox Church in traditionally “Orthodox” countries, instead of engaging in a struggle for internal spiritual renewal and reformation, often chooses to waste the theological and spiritual resources of its patristic tradition and its spiritual capital by imposing its presence and activities in the public sphere in its pursuit of a traditional, closed society, rather than in the context of an open society. As long as this paradox remains, the theological voice of the Orthodox Church will continue to operate in a daydream world and will probably remain an illusion. In the meantime, its “political” engagement will likely be limited to medieval or premodern models of intervention, rather than to witness, solidarity, and justice. In other words, our Church, the Orthodox Church, will in the end have to decide in what world, in what society, and in what epoch it is living!

A Theo-political Approach to the Economic Crisis in Greece In light of this chapter’s argument thus far, one could raise the following questions:  How should the Church’s presence within the public sphere look like, in concrete terms? What should its public discourse be like in traditionally Orthodox countries like Greece, which does not share the same historical trajectory as Western secular countries and needs to find its own way toward modernization? What issues should an Orthodox political theology address, and what solutions could such a theology offer? And finally, what witness is a clearly articulated Orthodox political theology bearing in today’s world? In order to be more accurate in our reflections, let us take as an example the economic

171

Toward an Orthodox Political Theology

171

crisis afflicting Greece and the Greek Orthodox Church’s public discourse and theology.54 As is well known, the economic crisis has been at the center of international interest for several years now, especially since its negative effects for thousands of people have also had an impact at the very heart of the industrialized Western world. Greece has been the European country hardest hit by the crisis and still experiences its tragic consequences. The crisis has placed people’s social cohesion and unity at risk, leading many of them into hopelessness and despair, which has forced many to emigrate from Greece. Thus, apart from its economic nature, many experts now also qualify this as a humanitarian crisis. The numbers put forward by official surveys conducted by various governmental institutions and economic institutes are striking. Of the total population of 11 million, 1.5 million Greek citizens are unemployed, constituting approximately 27 percent of the country’s total active workforce. The situation for young people is even worse: the unemployment figure for people under 30 reached an incredible 60 percent, which is without precedent inside the Eurozone.55 The unprecedented economic crisis has exacerbated the passions, turning one individual against another, and one social or professional group against another. It has sown the seeds of disappointment and rage, anger and despair, hatred and division. A whole world, a whole system, and a whole way of living and organizing society collapsed suddenly before our astonished eyes, even though the signs of this impending catastrophe had been visible for quite some time. It was not for lack of certain prophetic figures crying out in the wilderness, such as the late political philosopher Panagiotis Kondylis, who more than twenty years ago predicted to what end the deeply parasitic nature of the Greek economy and the hopelessly “clientelist” structure and corrupt nature of the Greek political system would lead. Such prescient figures foresaw that consumer irrationality, fed by overlending, would jeopardize the long-term future of the country and would debilitate it not only in the economic and political spheres, but also at the level of national defense and geopolitics.56

54 In the following paragraphs, I  adapt my analyses from Pantelis Kalaitzidis, “L’Orthodoxie grecque face aux défis de la crise économique, de la pauvreté et de la mondialisation:  Du conservatisme politico-social à la nouvelle version du discours ‘révolutionnaire’ et anti-impérialiste,” in Les religions et le droit, ed. Christine Mengès-Le Pape (Toulouse: Presses de l’Université Toulouse 1-Capitole, 2012), pp. 625–40; Kalaitzidis, “Populistische Diskurse in der Orthodoxen Kirche von Griechenland,” Religion & Gesellschaft in Ost und West 6 (2013): 14–18 (censured for its parts referring to the Germaninspired austerity policies and the new division in Europe between North and South); Kalaitzidis, “Ethique évangélique et politiques de dette dans l’Europe post-chrétienne,” in La dette, les religions, le droit?, ed. Christine Mengès-Le Pape (Toulouse: Presses de l’Université Toulouse 1-Capitole, 2014), pp. 501–09. 55 These data are from October 2015. 56 See Panagiotis Kondylis, Η παρακμή του αστικού πολιτισμού [The Decline of Bourgeois Culture] (Athens:  Themelio, 1995); Kondylis, Πλανητική πολιτική μετά τον Ψυχρό Πόλεμο [Global Politics after the Cold War] (Athens: Themelio, 1992), pp. 158–62.

172

172

Pantelis Kalaitzidis

The acute economic crisis that has affected Greece since 2009 has enabled the Church (the largest and most important network of volunteer labor in Greece) and its representatives to gain privileged access to mass media and to the public sphere in general, thanks to its commendable preparedness in the areas of charitable work, social welfare, and solidarity. The Church has provided an ever-increasing number of the misfortunate with soup kitchens and food banks; clothing and shelter; medicine and free medical care; and pastoral, psychological, and ethical counseling. It has offered pastoral ministry and free legal assistance to prisoners and immigrants, financial aid, and so on. These are just some of the Church’s impressive responses to the economic crisis, yet all these activities are rather ad hoc and philanthropic in nature. Once again, what seems to be lacking on the part of the Church is a more critical stance toward the problem itself, a stance that speaks to the root of the problem and does not content itself with dealing only with the symptoms. Such an attitude, which is in line with the Church Fathers’ position to similar situations, looks to the underlying structures that produce poverty and social injustice.57 But as Athanasios N. Papathanasiou has noted: All references of the dominant ecclesiastical discourse to the structures are rather the result of a confessional attitude than a struggle with Devil as such. It is telling [. . .] that many church leaders criticize capitalism due to the joy they felt in discovering an argument against heretics in [Max] Weber and his correlation of Calvinism with capitalism. Beyond this self-glorification, however, finding an intra-Orthodox Calvinism still remains a challenge. Similarly, it is not very difficult to boldly criticize capitalism for the most clever expressions of the dominant ecclesiastical discourse, to the extent that it will be first associated with international Zionism [. . .] The ecclesiastical organization, in order to appear seemly amidst the chaos brought on by the crisis, cites various texts by the Fathers of the Church that talk about charity. It neglects, however, to read on, where the Fathers criticize the structures themselves and warn against transactions with the rich and powerful, condemn loans with interest, and denounce the withholding of workers’ wages.58

Yet, perhaps Papathanasiou makes a mistake in his diagnosis. It is possible that the problem is not so much—or at least not only—a missing social criticism in the Church’s discourse in response to the economic crisis in Greece (a discourse

57 Pantelis Kalaitzidis, “Η οικονομική κρίση και ο ανέξοδος ριζοσπαστικός λόγος” [The Economic Crisis and Cheap Radical Rhetoric], within an article by Maria Topali, “Εκκλησία και Αριστερά σε νέους δρόμους” [The Church and the Left in New Ways], Kathimerini, October 5, 2014, http://www.kathimerini.gr/786331/article/epikairothta/ellada/ekklhsiakai-aristera-se-neoys-dromoys (accessed July 9, 2016). 58 Athanasios N. Papathanasiou, Η Ρήξη με το Μηδέν:  Σφηνάκια Πολιτικής Θεολογίας [The Clash with the Null:  Some Sips of Political Theology] (Athens:  Armos, 2015), pp. 172–82.

173

Toward an Orthodox Political Theology

173

that should include references to scriptural and patristic texts criticizing social injustice, the accumulation of wealth by a minority of people, the practice of loans with interest, or the phenomenon of poverty due to socioeconomic exploitation, the deprivation of wage workers, and more generally the lack of the spirit of sharing and equity). Such elements can be found in the first official texts issued by the Holy Synod of the Church of Greece at the beginning of the economic crisis. Its Encyclical, titled “Theological considerations on the financial crisis,”59 recalled the Church Fathers’ relentless criticism against greed and the accumulation of wealth at the expense of the poor and further emphasized the theological significance and value of brotherhood, solidarity with the poor, and the voluntary and anticonsumerist spirit. In addition, distinguished hierarchs of the Greek Orthodox Church have intervened in the Greek economic crisis in the same spirit, either by publishing newspaper articles and sermons or by resorting to highly symbolic acts.60 The two official talks delivered before the solemn session of the Synod of the hierarchs of the Church of Greece in October 2010, the first by Metropolitan Pavlos of Siatista (“The multiple causes of the contemporary economic crisis”) and the second by Metropolitan Ignatius of Demetrias (“The Church as a hope and as a factor of unity of Greek society”), expressed a similar spirit.61 Papathanasiou himself, as well as lay theologians Petros Vassiliadis and Stylianos Tsompanidis, published articles and papers criticizing, from a theological point of view, the adoption by European and Greek authorities of the neoliberal agenda and the austerity measures as well as the disastrous effects of economic globalization.62 More recently, in July 2015,

59 Holy Synod of the Church of Greece, “Θεολογική Θεώρηση της Οικονομικής Κρίσεως” [Theological Considerations on the Financial Crisis], Official Website of the Church of Greece, Encyclical Letter No. 2894, March 15, 2010, http://www.ecclesia.gr/ greek/holysynod/egyklioi.asp?id=1181&what_sub=egyklioi (accessed July 13, 2016). 60 Metropolitans Nikolaos of Mesogaia and Anthimos of Alexandroupoli have requested that the state stop paying them wages in order for it to save money, and as a sign of solidarity with the suffering people. The Orthodox clergy in Greece are paid by the state in exchange for multiple lands ceded by the Church. 61 Both talks were published (in Greek) in the official magazine of the Orthodox Church of Greece Ecclesia 87 (2010): 738–46, 747–56, respectively. Metropolitan Ignatius’s lecture was later republished in an extended form: “Η Εκκλησία ως ελπίδα και ενότητα της κοινωνίας και ως νοηματοδότηση της ζωής του ανθρώπου” [The Church as a Hope and Unity of the Society and Meaning-Giving to the Human Life], Theologia 83, no. 2 (2012): 7–23. 62 Papathanasiou, Η Ρήξη με το Μηδέν; Petros Vassiliadis, Preface to “Παγκόσμια Οικονομία και η Χριστιανική Αντίδραση” [The World Economy and the Christian Reaction], Deltion Biblikon Meleton 27A (2009):  9–16; Petros Vassiliadis “Η βιβλική θεώρηση της οικονομίας” [A Biblical Approach to the Economy], Theologia 83, no. 2 (2012): 25–36; Petros Vassiliadis and Stylianos Tsompanidis, “Economia Mondiale—cambiamenti climatic— dibattito interreligioso:  La testimonianza Christiana nell’ era della globalizzazione,” La Testimonianza della Chiesa nel mondo contemporaneo, Atti del XII Simposio intercristiano Tessalonica, 30 agosto–2 settembre 2011 (Padova: San Leopoldo, 2013), pp. 63–86; Stylianos

174

174

Pantelis Kalaitzidis

at the peak of the Greek crisis, when some European countries were attempting to push Greece out of the Eurozone (the so-called Grexit) and even out of the European Union, lay Greek theologians with various political affiliations and from various theological institutions signed “A Christian Call in a Time of Crisis in Europe.” This “call” reflected a spirit of self-criticism in that it recognized errors and failures in the Greek political and economic system. But the signatories also expressed concerns about the policies proposed by European partners that focused on the need for reforms without considering the systemic causes of the crisis, the debt crisis, or the need to address the serious humanitarian consequences of the ineffective neoliberal policies, all the while appealing to European solidarity and expressing their desire that Greece remain in Europe.63 In order to assess the Greek crisis theologically, it is no longer sufficient merely to appeal to scriptural and patristic texts criticizing social injustice and exploitation, the sin of greed, and the accumulation of wealth by a minority of people, or the practice of loans with interest. In no case do I support the idea that we can resolve the complex problem of the economic crisis by applying principles from biblical stories or patristic texts, or by taking patristic thought as a model to be applied either to society and the arena of political life that falls within the competance of the state, or to international relations between modern secular states. In other words, no parable, sacred text, or story about debt and its forgiveness could solve such a complex contemporary problem. The modern state has a secular and pluralistic nature with a strong aversion to any kind of supervision exercised over it by any religious or ecclesiastical authority, so we should not foster any illusion about the reality of post-Christian Europe today. Rather, I am in favor of the separation of church and state. I defend the secular character of the state, and I think it is time for us Orthodox Christians to understand that Byzantine symphonia (the mutual

Tsompanidis, Εκκλησιολογία και Παγκοσμιοποίηση:  Οι Εκκλησίες στην Οικουμενική Πορεία για μια Εναλλακτική Παγκοσμιοποίηση στην Υπηρεσία των Ανθρώπων και της Γης [Ecclesiology and Globalization:  Churches in the Ecumenical Process for an Alternative Globalization Addressing Peoples and Earth (AGAPE)] (Thessaloniki:  Pournaras, 2008); Tsompanidis, “The Ecumenical Process of AGAPE (=Alternative Globalization Addressing People and Earth): An Orthodox Perspective,” in A Testimony to the Nations: A Vigintennial Volume Offered to the Ecumenical Patriarch Bartholomew (Thessaloniki: Aristotle University of Thessaloniki, School of Theology, 2011), pp. 905–23. Tsompanidis, “Από την Ελεημοσύνη στην Καταπολέμηση των Αιτίων της: Το Χρέος της Εκκλησίας μπροστά στις Προκλήσεις της Οικονομικής Παγκοσμιοποίησης [From Charity to Combatting Its Causes: The Duty of the Church in the Face of the Challenges of Economic Globalization], Theologia 83, no. 4 (2012): 71–80. 63 For the English version, see “A Christian Call in a Time of Crisis in Europe,” Volos Academy for Theological Studies, July 10, 2015, http://academia.org/index.php/en/ news-announcement/652-a-christian-call-in-a-time-of-crisis-in-europe/ (accessed July 12, 2016).

175

Toward an Orthodox Political Theology

175

alliance between church and state for the sake of the common good) is no longer the appropriate model to follow. As for secularization, I  see in it both inherent dangers and creative challenges. Following in my theological and ecclesial journey the eschatological understanding of the Church, I strongly support the idea that we cannot use biblical texts or the commandments of the Sermon on the Mount as the governing principles of a modern state, since this would smell of theocracy or religious totalitarianism. And while the social critique of the Fathers is of great importance and could help to inspire us in order to address today’s problems and challenges, we should be aware that the Fathers lived in a completely different context and framework from our own, which lacked the modern concepts of democracy, human rights, and freedom and was imbued with an authoritarian and patriarchal spirit to which quite often they themselves subscribed. If we do not consider all these parameters, then we cannot explain why or how the anger and rage engendered by the crisis have also found a home in some parts of the Church, alongside a more sober, balanced, and honest self-criticism. Thus, from one moment to the next, the Church in Greece has experienced an unprecedented radicalization and polarization toward the extreme ends of the political spectrum. Unfortunately, this has taken place in a way that calls into question the very core of the Gospel and the Church’s message of love, repentance, and a spirit of forgiveness. And so we come to the paradoxical case that the late, self-professed atheist, veteran leftist leader Leonidas Kyrkos advocated: dialogue and reconciliation and the need to avoid violence at all costs, while bishops and official church documents addressed to the people extol the practice of hurling yogurt and tomatoes at unpopular public figures, as well other forms of violence, and call for resistance to the troika’s takeover of the country,64 expressing fear that “our creditors and rulers will soon attack our spiritual and cultural identity, which is connected with Orthodoxy.”65 In other words, these reactions reveal that certain clerics were frightened by the prospect of losing the existing privileged relationship of the Church with the state. Meanwhile, other bishops are calling for politicians to ask the people for forgiveness, forgetting that—according to the Christian view—the first thing is one’s own repentance and forgiveness, as well as an attitude of self-criticism and self-reproach, before we dare ask the same from others. As Metropolitan John D.  Zizioulas reminds us, “The Church must not adopt society’s attitudes towards ethical matters; rather, it must spread throughout society the spirit of forgiveness and love, which allows the future to release the

64 Metropolitan Andreas of Konitsa, near Ioannina, in Epirus in northwest Greece, has encouraged such activity. 65 See the official Church document, which suggests that due to the economic crisis, Greece is once again facing the experience of being a country that is under occupation, administered by its foreign creditors, having its welfare state dismantled and destroyed, and its spiritual and cultural specificity threatened. Holy Synod of the Church of Greece, “Η Εκκλησία απέναντι στη Σύγχρονη Κρίση” [The Church Facing the Current Crisis], Pros ton Lao 44 (2010): 1–4.

176

176

Pantelis Kalaitzidis

human being from the past. An unforgiving church is a secularized church, because unwillingness to forgive is a characteristic of this world and worldly ethics.”66 There are, of course, some exceptions, even among the bishops, who speak not only of the mission of reconciliation and the duty to stand alongside the poor and marginalized as a result of the crisis, but also of the urgent need to be selfcritical. But the vast majority of Greek bishops, as well as the ecclesiastical press and fundamentalist religious blogs, have in the end adopted a “revolutionary” discourse, which at many points is reminiscent of the anti-Western, anti-European discourse of the communist Left, all the while paradoxically repeating many of the far Right’s discursive stereotypes. In fact, the public comments of some church representatives, occasioned by the economic crisis, point to the paradox of a radicalization of Greek Orthodoxy, which at the sociopolitical level and in only a few short years has shifted from a conservative and authoritarian discourse to a revolutionary one. This is, however, hardly surprising for those familiar with such issues, because in reality this “revolutionary” rhetoric simply masks the Church’s fear of an “open society” and the achievements of modernity, as well as the fear of losing Greek Orthodox uniqueness. The “revolutionary” rhetoric also reflects the Church’s attempt to maintain at all costs the status quo in the relationship between church and state. Ultimately, and more prominently than anything else, this “revolutionary” discourse masks a fear of globalization that is common both to the extreme and the popular Right and to part of the extreme or radical Left (including believers and fanatic atheists), though born of very different motives. In reality, the issue of globalization draws together religious nationalism and economic nationalism, unites theological antimodernism and anti-westernism with the anti-Europeanism of the parties at both extremes, and connects the Church’s sociopolitical anachronism with the provincial spirit of the trade unions. Obviously, it is relatively easy for the Church in Greece to adopt the discourse of the sociopolitical Left, but it will prove rather difficult to conduct a serious dialogue with the demands and expectations of the cultural Left (human and minority rights, gender issues, multiculturalism, immigration, “cosmopolitanism” and interreligious dialogue, political liberalism, and so on). Of course, various self-critical attitudes did not “default” in Greece in this time of economic crisis. Critical discourse also focused on the responsibility of European policies and attitudes, particularly the policy of the German government and the aggressiveness evident in German public opinion, for the deterioration and worsening of the economic and social situation in Greece. While many Greeks blame themselves for the evils that ravage the country, others feel neglected and abandoned by the European partners, who believe that European solidarity has not really worked in the case of Greece. They also feel that Greeks are victims of the aggression of the markets and the supremacy of economics over politics and are hence being punished both for their cultural specificity and for their

66 Zizioulas, “Εκκλησία και Έσχατα,” pp. 43–44.

177

Toward an Orthodox Political Theology

177

spirit of resistance and lack of submission. In fact, it seems that in the present socioeconomic context, Greece has become at once both a victim of the “clientelist,” populist, and corrupt political system (and wider mentality) that dominated the country over the preceding thirty-five years and a victim of the new division of Europe (into North and South, creditors and borrowers), a division that, as a result of the strict austerity measures imposed on Greece by the German political and financial hegemony, has come to replace the old divide between east and west.67 If there is one common denominator that unifies these more or less disparate stances toward the Greek problem, it is the moral and ethical dimension of the crisis, as well as its spiritual and cultural background. In discussions and interventions that have taken place within the Greek public sphere, one often recognizes that the ultimate problem of Greece today relates not only to the economic and financial crisis, but also to symbolic and cultural representations and mentalities. In other words, Greece is facing a chiefly spiritual and ethical problem. To this point, the Orthodox Church would have something to say (1) if it had not been trapped by the antimodernist mind-set with its corresponding discourse; (2)  if it had not largely succumbed to the temptation of populism, statism, and religious nationalism; and (3)  if it could really incarnate in public space a morality other than the worldly one—an ascetic ethos and the ethics of sharing and sacrifice, mutual help, and voluntary renunciation of material goods. Despite the spiritual riches and the many living examples of Orthodox tradition in this regard, this ethos is yet to be found, inasmuch as the Church is inconsistent with its own principles and morals. This dilemma will continue to exist so long as the Church does not dare to articulate a critical and prophetic word against injustice, social exploitation, and inequality. But a church where most bishops are living like princes and behaving like despots can neither be respected nor taken seriously. A fortiori, such a church cannot give moral lessons to a society already suffering from an economic crisis and the subsequent growing poverty, nor can it imagine that, due to the exceptional situation in which the country finds itself, it will regain its leading (ethnarcic) role as it had under Ottoman Turkish rule.

In Lieu of a Conclusion Theology, as a prophetic and critical voice of the institutional church, should continually remind the Church of its eschatological memory and of the loss of its paradoxical identity within the boundaries of this world, as described by the well-known phrase, “in the world, but not of the world.” This should happen whenever the institutional Church attempts to absolutize and to adopt historical or worldly schemes, or whenever it tends to forget Jesus’s kenotic way for the sake of Caesar. This does not mean that theology or the Church should remain silent before institutionalized evil, such as social injustice, exploitation, and

67 See Kalaitzidis, “Ethique évangélique et politiques,” pp. 507–08.

178

178

Pantelis Kalaitzidis

poverty, or that it should react against such evils only by instituting philanthropic and charitable activities. The Church should articulate in today’s parlance the prophetic preaching and social critique of the Prophets, the Gospel, and the Church Fathers, as well as the groundbreaking work done by twentieth-century Orthodox theologians and thinkers in order to elucidate the social implications of Trinitarian and Incarnational theology and of an eschatological and eucharistic identity. In other words, the Church and theologians should once again announce to the world the hopeful message of the coming Kingdom of God and its social and liberating implications for the whole of creation and for human beings of every time and place. If the challenge for the previous generation of Orthodox theologians—who lived in a more or less traditional setting—was to articulate an Orthodox political theology based mainly on the teachings and writings of the Fathers and focused on the agenda of the sociopolitical Left, such an approach is insufficient for the current generation. The latter must acknowledge the great achievements of the previous generation in the new sociocultural environment of secular pluralistic societies—marked by individualism, mobility, and fluidity—and must bring them into fruitful and honest dialogue with the Orthodox tradition, while facing the new challenges posed by both the sociopolitical Left and the cultural Left. Yet, if the Orthodox Church is to have the capacity to speak its truth today, and to preach the good news of the Kingdom to a modern people—and not to the irreversibly bygone world of yesterday—it is more urgent now than ever to move beyond its ethnocentric discourse, to abandon any illusion of returning to a theocracy or any other romantic, antimodern idea of “a Christian society,” and to finally acknowledge and accept the world of modernity and postmodernity in which we live and move. The Church’s identification with traditional and agrarian societies and its refusal to accept the reality of modern pluralistic societies are the most intractable pastoral and theological problems today, making any attempt at dialogue between the Church and the world utterly futile, for the very simple reason that the societies the Church is addressing are inconceivable outside of the wider framework of modernity. We must then admit that an inclusive Orthodox political theology should take into account not only classic social and political issues, but also the challenges posed by secularization and pluralism.

179

Part III E CCLESIAL P OLITICAL T HEOLOGY

180

181

Chapter 9 O N T H E P O S SI B I L I T Y / I M P O S SI B I L I T Y O F A N E A S T E R N O RT HO D OX P O L I T IC A L T H E O L O G Y Alexander Kyrlezhev

Speaking about political theology, I  mean to discuss a theological view of the political. The “political” can be defined in many different ways, but in a general sense it means the way in which the “living together” of a human community is arranged and ordered in the specific dimension of legitimate use of power and rule of law—other than in the economic, cultural, religious dimension, and so forth. The political, first of all, refers not only to statehood but also to other social relations that carry out organizing functions in a society. Political theology stems from the necessity to theologize on the political as such, but since the latter is changeable and always concrete (it is contextualized in time and space), this kind of theology is forced to follow the political evolution (even if it means reacting to a revolution). For the most part of the twentieth century and at least in the region we now refer to as the post-Soviet space, the combination of the words “political theology” read like a contradiction in terms: a theology of antireligious politics? Theology is a teaching about God. On the plane of oikonomía theology says how God acts in relation to the world and hence in the world. It is presumed in turn that actions of the Christian must be a response to God’s activity, that is, they must correspond to it in the sphere of human responsibility. God’s activity in the world is revealed in and by the Church. This means that in the political space in the broad sense, that is, in the polis as structured human community, theology belongs to a specific domain: the Church, ecclesia. This is the case because the Church is also understood as a structured community: as “people of God” and as “Kingdom of God on the earth.” St. John the Apostle says, “And we know that we are of God, and the whole world lieth in wickedness” (1 Jn 5:19). Here “of God” might be understood as an indication that the ecclesial “we” belongs to an eschatological community, which is related to the transcendent in the here and now of the immanent world. Thus a tension arises between ecclesia (directed toward “the coming world”) and the polis (as “this world”). In its pragmatics and its substantiation (all the more immanentist) the polis always displays for the Church a fundamentally alien way of being-in-the-world.

182

182

Alexander Kyrlezhev

At the same time, God’s saving activity in the world cannot be restricted to the limits of the Church. Even if we suggest that all of God’s actions are in a sense “ecclesial” (since the Church is of God and so she is wherever God is), nevertheless we have to distinguish this from God’s acting in the way his grace does in “the Church outside the Church”: in modus ecclesia extra ecclesiam. The political community as such is always a challenge for the Church, because by virtue of her universal religious mission in the world (“Go ye therefore, and teach all nations”—Mt 28:19) the political ideal of the Church presupposes that the paradox ecclesia extra ecclesiam will eventually be removed, that is, that the ecclesial and the political communities will eventually coincide. In this sense, the Church herself is in charge of the polis, even if the latter’s way of being is fundamentally incorrigible. The imperative of churching the polis, of bringing the political community in line with the ecclesiastical vision of being-in-the-world, always remains in force. So, as long as the polis in which Christians live and the Church as a Christian community coincide (or almost coincide), the function performed by political theology is quite clear:  political theology says how one should envision God’s action in the world’s sociopolitical sphere—outside the proper sacramental ecclesial domain—and how the Christian must act in this sphere. But the situation radically changes when the sociopolitical sphere enters the process of secularization and a secular state arises along with a “secular society” (first of all in the sense of a secular political community). In such a setting, the Church ceases to be a dimension of the political in the broad sense and religion becomes privatized religion. The understanding of the Church is transformed: it becomes a voluntary association of individual religious citizens, that is, only one civic association among others. In this situation political theology, as it were, loses its subject since now it must answer an absurd question: how does God act in the (public) realm of conscious godlessness? That is, in the realm that is not ecclesia extra ecclesiam, but absolutely outside the Church, in “inky darkness,” so to speak. Hence we have to distinguish at least three historical situations (each of them presupposes a special type of political theology): (1) “ancient pagan” (before the Christian state and Christian society had emerged); (2) Christian proper (which symbolically might be called “medieval”); and (3) modern secular (post-Christian and post-religious). In the process of transition from the first situation to the second, a radical change in the political theology of the Church occurred. This change concerned the Christian interpretation of political authority. In the preConstantine period Christians regarded the political rulers of their time, who repressed the Church, as “Antichrist.” The conversion of Emperor Constantine fundamentally changed the relationship between Christians and the political power: where before Caesar had been the Antichrist, now he was Christian. The second transition also requires a radical change in political theology; it requires a new—namely, modern—political theology. And the possibility or impossibility of this modern political theology is precisely what I want to focus on in the remainder of this chapter.

183

Eastern Orthodox Political Theology

183

The first problem with this new political theology consists of the fact that throughout the ages the Church has related to the world according to the political theology of the second type and this approach persists in the ecclesial milieu until today. This political theology—namely, the theology of the “Christianized polis,” where the temporal power shares with the Church her spiritual or sacred aims— was perceived as an expression of the historical triumph of Christianity over its enemies, in particular ancient paganism. This way of relating to the political world has found different liturgical expressions:  for example, the veneration of saint rulers—the pious Christian emperors, kings, and princes as “Defenders of Faith” (Constantine, the Equal-to-apostles, being the first); ecclesiastical feasts (e.g., the Feast of Triumph of Orthodoxy, celebrated on the First Sunday of Lent in the Eastern Christian tradition, and associated with the religious activity of the temporal authorities), and so forth. Thus the “medieval type” of political theology was (and still is) perceived by many as “progress” with respect to the political theology of the early Christian or pre-Constantinian period. The second problem consists of the fact that according to the “medieval” mindset of the political theology of the second type, the crucial development that determines the modern situation, namely, secularization (which was first of all a philosophical and political development), is interpreted in terms of apostasy. That means it is seen as a religious regress. Once the Church’s historical journey is understood as a particular phase of the whole history of salvation, then the passage from “progress” to “regress” not only throws the Church back into preConstantine times, but is also interpreted as the result of the “political” failure of the Church, which was originally destined to sanctify the world in both its cosmic and sociopolitical dimensions. Given this conceptual framework of progress and regress, a modern Eastern Orthodox political theology that wants to overcome the medieval mind-set of the political theology of the second type would need to accept the following assumptions: (1) Modern Eastern Orthodox political theology would need to comprehend the event of secularization as an “inexorable” historical fact that requires a new theological response, comparable to the inexorable first historical transition from early Christian to the Medieval situation. Hence, a certain theology of history is required, and such a historiosophy is quite possible even if we remain within the discourse of apostasy because the latter can be construed in two different ways. If God is the Lord of history and if the history (of humankind) is not only the sociopolitical history but also simultaneously the history of salvation, then modern apostasy (i.e., the departure from God and the Church that has occurred in historically Christian societies) can be comprehended in two ways: (1) either secularization is to be understood as apostasy in the form of an intrusion of “inky darkness” into the sociopolitical history, and the Church must not enter this external darkness; or (2) secularization is to be understood as a form of apostasy, which, however, can be comprehended as an event within the history of salvation itself, that is, as the emergence of “the realm of estrangement from God” in which many people are involved. These men and women are in need of pastoral care on

184

184

Alexander Kyrlezhev

the part of the Church, because, according to St. Paul, God “will have all men to be saved, and to come unto the knowledge of the truth” (1 Tim 2:4). In other words, the specific zone ecclesia extra ecclesiam, though in its negative definition, retains validity even in the apostatic/secularized historical setting. In the first case we have the old political theology of the second type, but with a new element: in the modern world the Church is then understood as “the Holy remnant,” “the little flock of the faithful,” and she can cherish only the hope for reunification of ecclesia and politeia in the apocalyptic era. In the second case political theology also interprets the Church as the “little flock of the faithful,” but at the same time it interprets modernity and secularization as a particular period of salvation history, namely, as a peculiar historical situation in which many members of the political community experience “the tragedy” of freedom that God granted to human beings, or “the drama of atheistic humanism” (in the words of Henri de Lubac).1 In this situation the Church is called not to keep strict enclosure and to stockade herself off from “the external,” quite the contrary, she is called to accept with respect the choice of the “apostates” (unconscious or unintentional as it may be). Such an Orthodox political theology would have to make sense of secularization not as “foreign fact” (say, as a process imposed by the heterodox and/or a secular West), but as its own historical fact (acknowledging, e.g., that the Russian politeia for centuries has been a part of the West and has gone through its own secularization, or even several secularizations).2 Experiencing this fact/event as its own Orthodox political theology could restore the “correlative tension” between ecclesia and politeia in the contemporary societal context. Only then the term “political theology” would cease to be absurd in the present context and would recover its proper meaning. (2) The second prerequisite for a new Orthodox political theology is an ecclesiology that presupposes a tension between ecclesia and polis. This means that the ecclesial being-in-the-world must be conceived as bidirectional: it is directed not only toward God in the liturgical and sacramental practice of the Church, but also toward the world-polis in Christian civil action. Both aspects of this ecclesial being-in-the-world presuppose not only an individual but also a social/collective dimension. The political theology of the second type (of the time when ecclesial and political communities coincided, and it was envisioned that eventually the “people of God” and humankind will coincide too) reduced the “social” dimension of the Church to the sum total of those who attended the Church as a temple. When this approach is in the foreground it leads to an ecclesiology that heavily relies on institutional church structures, which drives back an ecclesiology of the community: the main

1 See Henri de Lubac, The Drama of Atheist Humanism (San Francisco:  Ignatius Press, 1995). 2 See Julia Sinelina, Секуляризация в социальной истории России [Secularization in Russia’s Social History] (Moscow : Akademiia, 2004).

185

Eastern Orthodox Political Theology

185

task of the Church in this world consists in sacramenta administrare, that is, to administer sanctifying sacraments to her members. So the sacramental (or even theurgical) functions are seen as a sufficient and even only vocation of the Church in the society. The Church as a community, that is, an association of her members, who are at the same time members of a larger society, is neglected. In the new situation of “secular apostasy,” when those attending a church as a temple constitute but a group of citizens who are only a part of the political community, the “theurgical” understanding of the Church (indispensable as it is) must be supplemented by its sociological understanding:  ecclesia as “we,” that is, as a community formed through its liturgical openness to God but at the same time open to the polis as a political community. In this case the Church as a religious association becomes a component of civil society and thus can grasp itself as a social entity involved in the life of the polis. In other words, in its political dimension ecclesia is first of all a community of faithful, its members being polites, that is, citizens as members of a political community. Consequently this new political theology would need to be an expression of the inner religious experience of the Church (i.e., the perception of God’s saving activity in the sacramental experience of her members) in “political” terms, namely, in terms of social (Christian) ethics. Gospel (or New Tidings of Christ) is not a moral code in the modern sense (being strictly “religious” in essence), but in order to be a political instrument in current circumstances it must be transformed into the set of ethical values—valuable to modern secular society. Only if this is done can the religious be at the same time political. Such a transformation would of course lead to a tension between an ecclesial community and a larger secular political community, but this tension is only “natural” (i.e., in accord with the nature of the Church herself) in a contemporary setting where the polis now is not pagan in the strict sense, but, one might say, apostatic neo-pagan. (3) The third prerequisite for an Orthodox political theology that would be not only theoretically but also practically adequate consists of the necessity to take into consideration the historical and contemporary context or, better, contexts in which real churches live, and how these churches respond to the sociopolitical environment. The Eastern Orthodox world did not experience European secularization as a fact that requires a new theological response. At the time when the Catholic and Protestant Churches in Western Europe made important steps forward in developing a political theology that comes to terms with secularization and modernization, most local Orthodox Churches lived under “communist captivity.” Soviet-style atheistic secularization was perceived by ecclesial consciousness exactly as an apostasy (in the first sense mentioned above). At the same time the Orthodox diaspora did not produce an adequate modern political theology3 3 See Vladimir S. Varshavskii, Незамеченное поколение [The Unnoticed Generation] (New  York:  Chekhov, 1956), pp. 154–62; Aristotle Papanikolaou, The Mystical as Political:  Democracy and Non-radical Orthodoxy (Notre Dame, IN:  University of Notre Dame Press, 2012), pp. 45–46. Cf. Michael Plekon, “Eastern Orthodox Thought,” in The

186

186

Alexander Kyrlezhev

(while the old one was cherished, e.g., in the Russian Orthodox Church in Exile). And in the noncommunist “orthodox space” we also do not find a new political theology, but only traditionalist, not to mention reactionary political theologies of the second, “medieval” type (e.g., in the case of prominent Greek theologian Christos Yannaras). As to the most recent developments it must be recognized that the theological endeavor of Aristotle Papanikolaou is quite contextual (let alone his theological reasoning), but his proposal reads like an answer to the demands of some Orthodox Christians for theological justification of liberal democracy as the political context in which they live. I doubt whether his theological reasoning will find an echo in other “Orthodox contexts” quite different with regard to the respective political reality. We should be aware of the fact that in post-Soviet Orthodox countries, which have experienced a prolonged sociopolitical transition, the changing realities have exerted strong pressures on the Church, which has reacted not so much with a proper theological response to the situation but with a conspiratorial state of mind (secularization as “a foreign fact” imposed by the inimical West). Thus in the Russian context, the political theology of the “Orthodox kingdom” actually enjoys unbroken attractiveness, especially if it is understood as an apocalyptic kingdom. This somewhat paradoxical vision, held by many Russian Orthodox believers, goes as follows: a political victory of the Church (once again!) would be possible only in the apocalyptic era, that is, in the interim period between the secular dominance and the coming of the Antichrist at the end of history. Such an idea is a peculiar way to preserve—in a prospective vision—the sense of the Church’s spiritual triumph in the world’s history despite the fact of her temporary political defeat in the current situation. So the main problem for the formulation of an adequate Orthodox political theology is that, on one hand, it is possible to elaborate dogmatically justified political theologies of all sorts:  conservative, liberal, radical, progressive, or reactionary. On the other hand, however, mainstream religious reasoning in basically all the historically Orthodox countries jettisons all forms of theological “modernism,” no matter how justified this theology would be from the dogmatic point of view. More precisely: the responses of today’s Orthodox mainstream views on sociopolitical issues can be classified into two categories:  opportunistic and antimodernist. The first is pragmatic, and only the second is theological or quasitheological. Of course, in some contexts the opportunistic stance has generated a sort of theological justification of the status quo, as was the case in Soviet Russia, where some theologians elaborated what was called “the principle of theological approach” in order to demonstrate the conformability of the communist ideology with the Church message4 (an aphoristic expression of such a stance was coined Blackwell Companion to Political Theology, ed. Peter Scott and William Cavanaugh (Malden, MA: Blackwell, 2004), pp. 93–106. 4 See, e.g., the article of a professor of the Leningrad Theological Academy dedicated to the fiftieth anniversary of the October Revolution of 1917:  N. A. Zabolotskii “Русская

187

Eastern Orthodox Political Theology

187

by one Russian Orthodox hierarch in the era of “perestroika”:  “We [Orthodox Christians and other parts of the Soviet people] have different worldviews, but the same ideology”). Nowadays in Russia this pragmatic stance finds expression in religious patriotic rhetoric consistent with the objectives of the political propaganda of the state. The question of the possibility of a contemporary Orthodox political theology that is neither simply opportunistic, nor antimodernist becomes more complicated in the context of the latest processes of de-secularization as well as debates about post-secularism and its implications at the local and global levels. If post-secular phenomena are construed as a foundation for religious revenge in the sociopolitical sphere, this would serve as an obstacle to the development of a political theology of the third type, that is, a theology responsive to the processes of secularization. Taking into account these phenomena does not mean the abolition of the historical experience of secularized politics and secular society including Orthodox countries. But at the same time these new developments pose new questions of the relationship between the religious and the secular and thereby force us to seek a political theology that would not be strictly “modern” but rather “postmodern” and hence “post-secular,” otherwise the political theology of the third type would be obviously outdated. And this is the fourth prerequisite for an adequate contemporary Orthodox political theology. To sum up:  certainly, individual or collective theological reason is able to construct dogmatically justified Orthodox political theologies, and we only have to welcome such efforts because otherwise it is hard to speak about such a theology at all. Intellectual, including theological, endeavors are valuable in and of themselves. At the same time we have to be fully aware of the problem with the reception of the theological proposals of this sort on the part of the ecclesial community, bearing in mind both hierarchy and the faithful. It is in this sense that we are forced to assert that as long as the Orthodox ecclesial milieu, clergy and laity alike, rejects any new political theology as a theological reaction to historical and current developments, such a theology is impossible as actually ecclesial and Orthodox (meaning in this case a specific Eastern Christian, i.e., denominational, point of view).

Православная Церковь в новых социальных условиях” [The Russian Orthodox Church in New Social Conditions], Zhurnal Moskovskoi Patriarkhii 7 (1967): 33–38.

188

189

Chapter 10 T H E P R O B L E M AT IC I S SU E S O F E U C HA R I ST IC E C C L E SIO L O G Y I N T H E C O N T E X T O F C O N T E M P O R A RY P O L I T IC A L T H E O L O G Y Andrey Shishkov

The return of religion into the public sphere for modern societies has raised the question of the recognition of religious groups as valid political actors. In studying those actors, it is especially important to see how religious groups, Christian Churches in particular, describe themselves. Those self-descriptions should be seen as a source for validation of quite a number of issues that can become political in public space. In the first place those are issues of power and decision-making within the existing organizational structure of religious communities. In Christian theology it is ecclesiology that deals with the self-description of a church. In a situation where church communities become political actors, ecclesiological models can reveal a political dimension that was hidden before (in the secular era). In the new, post-secular situation,1 ecclesiology as a branch of Christian theology certainly becomes a political theology per se.2 This chapter focuses on eucharistic ecclesiology—one of the most well-known and influential ecclesiological models in today’s Christian theology.

Eucharistic Ecclesiology as a Model of the Church Eucharistic ecclesiology is a theological model that correlates two theses in the teaching of St. Paul on the Body of Christ. On the one hand, the Body of Christ is 1 Alexander Kyrlezhev speaks of the post-secular situation as a “zone of uncertainty”— a zone in which “neither the secular nor the religious dominates,” and for this reason “the religious mind can return and does return to public space”:  Alexander Kyrlezhev, “Постсекулярное: Краткая интерпретация” [The Postsecular: A Concise Interpretation], Logos 3, no. 82 (2001): 100–06 (106). 2 John Milbank, e.g., suggests seeing in Christian ecclesiology a sort of “Christian sociology” or “theology as a social science”:  John Milbank, Theology and Social Theory: Beyond Secular Reason (Cambridge, MA: Blackwell, 1990), p. 382.

190

190

Andrey Shishkov

an element of the eucharistic sacrament partaken by church members, thus uniting in one body (cf. 1 Cor 10:16–17). On the other hand, the Body of Christ is the Church (cf. 1 Cor 12:27–28). United into a single theological concept, those two provisions of Pauline teaching represent the basis of the eucharistic ecclesiological model. The latest models also speak about the third element—the constitutive role of the Holy Spirit in uniting people into the Body of Christ.3 Eucharistic ecclesiology has a long history. It has been described well enough as the basis for the formation of the medieval ecclesiological model of “the mystical Body of Christ,”4 which made a considerable influence on political-theological theories such as the doctrine of the two bodies of a king.5 In the twentieth century, eucharistic ecclesiology returned in a new form unknown to medieval theological thought. This model, which we hereafter call “eucharistic ecclesiology,” has become one of the most influential modern ecclesiological models. One of the earliest proponents was the Orthodox theologian Archpriest Nicolas Afanasiev (1893–1966). He managed to synthesize into a single theological model the insights of outstanding Russian theologians, such as Alexey Khomyakov (1804–1860) and Archpriest Sergey Bulgakov (1871–1944), and to catch the impulse of the liturgical revival movement that spread across European churches.6 His first works on particular aspects of the eucharistic model he proposed came out as far back as the early 1930s, while the fullest description of Afanasiev’s eucharistic ecclesiology is found in his magnum opus—The Church of the Holy Spirit (1971, posthumous edition). In Afanasiev’s eucharistic ecclesiology the Eucharist as the Body of Christ and the Church as the Body of Christ correlate through the church assembly—“the empirical manifestation” of the Church.7 The Eucharist is impossible without the assembly in which it is celebrated and the presider who celebrates it. And the need for the presider is inferred from the very idea of the assembly as organized people of God. Afanasiev writes that “without presiders the church assembly would turn

3 See, e.g., John Zizioulas, Being as Communion: Studies in Personhood and the Church (Crestwood, NY: St. Vladimir’s Seminary Press, 1997), p. 130. 4 See, e.g., Henry de Lubac, Corpus Mysticum:  The Eucharist and the Church in the Middle Ages (Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press, 2007). 5 See Ernst H. Kantorowicz, The King’s Two Bodies (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1997). 6 About historical and theological context of Afanasiev’s thought, see Aidan Nichols, Theology in the Russian Diaspora:  Church, Fathers, Eucharist in Nikolai Afanas’ev (1893– 1966) (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1989), pp. 1–33. 7 My survey of the Eucharistic ecclesiology developed by Archpriest Nicolas Afanasiev as presented in this chapter is based on his following works: Nicolas Afanasiev, Трапеза Господня [The Feast of the Lord] (Riga: Balto-Slavianskoe obshchestvo kul’turnogo razvitiia i sotrudnichestva, 1992); Afanasiev, Церковь Духа Святого [The Church of the Holy Spirit] (Paris: YMCA Press, 1971).

191

Eucharistic Ecclesiology in Political Theology

191

into a disorderly mass.”8 Therefore, the assembly and the presider are essential structural elements in eucharistic ecclesiology. The Eucharist becomes the element that constitutes the Church from which the whole church structure grows out. Because the Eucharist has a local character, that is, it is always celebrated at a particular place, the local church is always the Church. As the Eucharist is celebrated in it, each local church contains the fullness of the Church as the Body of Christ. Thus, the eucharistic assembly is identified with a local church and the presider with its head. The governing principle of the existence of a local church is the principle of unity of the eucharistic assembly. It lies in the fact that in a local church there is only one single eucharistic assembly and only one single presider— the bishop. In fact, a local church consists precisely of these two elements—presider and assembly—and the relations between them are determined by the celebration of the Eucharist. The basic distinctive feature of thоse relations is interdependence, as the presider cannot act (in the first place, celebrate the Eucharist) without the assembly, while the assembly cannot do without the presider. This principle is known in theological literature as the one and the many. Afanasiev himself did not create any theological system to unite ecclesiology with other fields of theological knowledge, primarily with Christology. However, he set a framework, making it possible for the next generation of theologians to develop and inform it. Among the Russian theologians, it was Fr. Alexander Schmemann (1921–1983) who did the most to develop Afanasyev’s ideas in his works. Eucharistic ecclesiology has acquired its most complete form in the theology of Metropolitan John Zizioulas9 (b. 1931). In the works of this outstanding Greek theologian, it has become an integral part of his own theological system described in his books Being as Communion (1985) and Communion and Otherness (2006). Today, Metropolitan John’s eucharistic ecclesiology is the prevailing approach in the eucharistic project. It is with his name that the very term “eucharistic ecclesiology” is mostly associated. Thanks to Metropolitan John Zizioulas, his high position in the Church of Constantinople and active participation in the ecumenical movement, eucharistic ecclesiology has gained broad recognition and is considered by Western theology to be typical Orthodox ecclesiology.10 It is included in official documents of important Christian ecumenical institutions, such as the Joint Commission for Dialogue between the Roman Catholic Church and the Orthodox Church and the Faith and Order Commission of the World Council of Churches. 8 Afanasiev, Церковь Духа Святого, p. 143. 9 Aristotle Papanikolaou, e.g., describes Zizioulas’s model as “the most developed systematic expression of eucharistic ecclesiology”:  Aristotle Papanikolaou, The Mystical as Political: Democracy and Non-radical Orthodoxy (Notre Dame, IN:  University of Notre Dame Press, 2012), p. 60. 10 See, e.g., Miroslav Volf, After Our Likeness: The Church as the Image of the Trinity (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1998).

192

192

Andrey Shishkov

Eucharistic Ecclesiology in Political Theology Today, eucharistic ecclesiology attracts the attention of political theologians as well. Quite a number of outstanding thinkers working in this field have made attempts to expound the potential of the Eucharist as applied to political and public spheres. Among them are William Cavanaugh, Vigen Guroian, Aristotle Papanikolaou, Catherine Pickstock, Pantelis Kalaitsidis, and others. Aristotle Papanikolaou is right to note in his study11 that the primary motive for using Eucharist ecclesiology in dealing with issues concerning relations between church, state, and society is the desire to bring the Church out of the private (or marginal) into the public,12 because the Eucharist as divine service (the liturgy) is essentially of public nature. Or how the Orthodox theologian Vigen Gouroian, who uses eucharistic ecclesiology in his political theology, says, “Liturgy defies the privatization of religion which this pluralistic, secular society promotes.”13 And protestant theologian Berndt Wannenwetsch writes, “Christian worship could not but challenge and finally overcome this separation of political life and private existence.”14 The Eucharist also becomes public because it unites particular individuals into a people—the people of God (or as Gouroian says—public). If the above-mentioned theologians are right and the Eucharist overcomes the privatization of church life, the church community gathering in eucharistic assembly becomes public too. In such a manner eucharistic ecclesiology opens the way to make a theological case for the presence of the Church in public space in a situation where traditional church institutions have been discredited in the eyes of society as secularization progressed. In my view, the attractiveness of eucharistic ecclesiology as the rationale for the Church’s public presence lies in that it is seen as a project focused on the community or on the people (which is to point to its democratic dimensions), rather than on the hierarchy and vertical power as is the case of traditional ecclesiological systems. Gouroian affirms that the Eucharist is “an action which seeks to re-create the world through the formation of a eucharistic public which is sent out into society to transform it into the image of God’s Kingdom of light, liberty and love.”15 This formation goes beyond national, ethnic, political, or any other boundaries since in the Eucharist all differences are obliterated. Gouroian believes that by virtue of its mission the eucharistic community as a public (people) is called to also

11 See the chapter “Eucharist or Democracy?” in Papanikolaou, The Mystical as Political, pp. 55–86. 12 Ibid., p. 69. 13 Vigen Guroian, Incarnate Love:  Essays in Orthodox Ethics (Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press, 1987), p. 68. 14 Bernd Wannenwetsch, “Liturgy,” in The Blackwell Companion to Political Theology, ed. Peter Scott and William T. Cavanaugh (Oxford: Blackwell, 2004), pp. 76–90 (77). 15 Guroian, Incarnate Love, p. 67.

193

Eucharistic Ecclesiology in Political Theology

193

participate in “creating and legitimating public institutions and values.”16 Apart from Catholic theologian William Cavanaugh using eucharistic ecclesiology in his political theology too, the eucharistic community as public becomes a stronghold of counter-politics. For him, the Eucharist is primarily a way of opposing violence by the state. The state realizes its might and power over the bodies of citizens with the help of violence, which “creates fearful and isolated bodies, bodies docile to the purposes of the regime.”17 Cavanaugh contrasts the isolating work of violence with a different policy of governing the bodies—the eucharistic one. “Isolation is overcome in the Eucharist by the building of a communal body which resists the state’s attempts to disappear it,”18 he writes. Both Gouroian and Cavanaugh think of the eucharistic community as community by publicly interpreting and judging social events, phenomena, order, and values in a (eucharistic) ecclesial vein. Such an approach coincides with the idea of Jürgen Habermas that churches and religious organizations are increasingly assuming the role of “communities of interpretation” in the public arena of secular societies. They can attain influence on public opinion and will formation by making relevant contributions to key issues, irrespective of whether their arguments are convincing or objectionable.19

However, Habermas believes that in the perspective of liberal democracy such communities “must not only superficially adjust to the constitutional order” to become part of civil society. In other words, they should incorporate the main principles of liberalism and democracy.20 However it should be noted that Habermas’s demand of religious communities of interpretation to be more inclusive is valid only for the societies based on principles of liberal democracy. But, for example, for Cavanaugh, who suggests his model of eucharistic community as a tool to counter-politics in the context of the Pinochet dictatorship, the exclusivity of the church communities becomes a decisive factor for the resilience to state power. Meanwhile, the question of the relationship between ecclesiology as a theoretical self-description of the church community and democracy remains. How does 16 Ibid. 17 William Cavanaugh, Torture and Eucharist: Theology, Politics, and the Body of Christ (Oxford: Blackwell, 1998), p. 206. 18 Ibid. 19 Jürgen Habermas, “Secularism’s Crisis of Faith: Notes on Post-Secular Society,” New Perspectives Quarterly 25 (2008): 17–29 (20). 20 Habermas writes: “It is a well-known fact that the Catholic Church first pinned its colors to the mast of liberalism and democracy with the Second Vaticanum in 1965. And in Germany, the Protestant Churches did not act differently. Many Muslim communities still have this painful learning process before them. Certainly, the insight is also growing in the Islamic world that today an historical-hermeneutic approach to the Koran’s doctrine is required” (ibid., pp. 27–28).

194

194

Andrey Shishkov

eucharistic ecclesiology correlate with the basic principles of modern democracy and how far is it compatible with (or loyal to) it? To be recognized as loyal to liberal democracy this ecclesiological model should detect the elements of a democratic system in it. In my view, these elements should primarily be searched in the areas of church (community) organization, governance, and decision-making. Eucharistic ecclesiology, which has emerged at a time of flourishing mass democracies (1930s), represents a constant source of hope for proponents of compatibility between church ecclesiology and democracy. We see in this model an attempt to legitimize power in the Church not only through divine establishment but also through the people. Eucharistic ecclesiology is based on the idea that the people of God who assemble for the Eucharist to partake of the Body of Christ are united in one Body with Christ, thus becoming the one Body of Christ (1 Cor. 10:16–17), which is, according to St. Paul, the Church (1 Cor. 12:27). The divine establishment of church power is exercised through the people of God. The Eucharist constitutes the Church and represents the divine establishment of the whole church structure, including that of power. The church hierarchy and all the church ministries in eucharistic ecclesiology have the Eucharist as their source. However, the Eucharist cannot be celebrated without the assembly of the people of God. It is only through the people who assemble for the Eucharist that God “establishes” the church structure. According to eucharistic ecclesiology, power in the Church belongs to the whole local church—the assembly of the people of God in Christ. The Eucharist celebrated by a presider who is a bishop without the people is invalid. The same can be said about any other actions taken in a church. Moreover people should make a reception of a bishop’s actions constantly. A  bishop governs a church with the participation of the people. At the same time, the bishop is seen as the people’s representative before the face of God. Such an involvement of people in the decision-making process into the church community affords an opportunity to the eucharistic ecclesiology proponents to talk about its democratic nature and even correlate it with liberal democracy. But the problem is that Guroian, Cavanaugh, or Papanikolau do not consider how the community is really structured into eucharistic ecclesiology in detail. In the next part of my analysis I  show that some crucial principles of eucharistic ecclesiology do not correlate with some important principles of liberal democracy. I  examine the questions of power structure of the eucharistic community and decision-making process in it in the examples of two main eucharistic models existing in Orthodox theology—those of Fr. Nicolas Afanasiev and of Metropolitan John Zizioulas.

Afanasiev’s Approach The unity of the eucharistic assembly as an “empiric manifestation” of the Body of Christ in Afanasiev’s approach demands that a local church should function as one body. All the decisions of a local church should be made in the church assembly

195

Eucharistic Ecclesiology in Political Theology

195

by consensus.21 Any action not certified by the church assembly is believed to be made as if outside the Church.22 Church action is linked with the basic structural elements of a local church— its presider and assembly. To exercise any ecclesiastically significant action along with the Eucharist, the church assembly, in Afanasiev’s thought, becomes a church council of the local church. He gives this definition: “A council is a church assembly as a gathering of church members with Christ in order to consider and decide matters of catholic nature.”23 A church council as an institution represents the whole Church and speaks and acts on its behalf as a whole. For Afanasiev, any individualization of voices within a church gathering is unacceptable. He also criticizes the principle of representation at a council as leading to a loss of integrity.24 At the same time, a church council is a quasi-eucharistic event since it does not celebrate the Eucharist. The decision-making mechanism in a local church is a two-part structure correspondent to the respective division between the presider and the assembly. The presiding bishop makes a decision while the assembly attests to its consistency with the word of God.25 At the same time, Afanasiev states that “since it is presupposed that, given his irreproachable service, the bishop acts in accordance with the will of God [. . .] the community is as if obliged to accept the bishop’s decision.”26 In Afanasiev’s eucharistic model, a local church acts as a single body guided by the presider’s will, which, provided his service is irreproachable, expresses the will of God. The decision-making is ensured by the church council of a local church presided over by the bishop. One can say that the actions of a local church in its active phase boil down to those of the presiding bishop, while the people of God only passively ensures a positive reception of his actions. At the same time, however, it should be noted that for all the special roles played by the presider in decision-making, eucharistic ecclesiology discerns a local church primarily as a collective actor. There can be no individualized actions in the assembly. Even the bishop’s activity cannot be called individual in the strict sense of the word. He always has to correlate his actions with the opinion of the community. An illustration of the collective nature of the functioning of a local church and at the same time the passive role of the people of God in decision-making is found in Afanasiev’s model of the ministry of lay people (laikos) in the Church. Afanasiev emphasizes three areas in which the ministry of the Church finds its expression,

21 Nikolai Afanasiev, Церковные Соборы и их происхождение [The Church Councils and Their Origins] (Moscow : Sviato-Filaretovskii institut, 2003), p. 16. 22 Ibid., p. 21. 23 Ibid., p. 40. 24 Ibid., pp. 43–44. 25 Ibid., p. 69. 26 Ibid.

196

196

Andrey Shishkov

namely, administration of the sacraments, governance, and magisterium.27 An analysis of the ministries shows that power in the body of a local church is distributed as follows:  the presiding bishop acts, celebrating the Eucharist, governing the church, and teaching. The people of God receive the work of the presider by saying “Amen,” taking communion, and testifying that the actions of the presider are in accord with the will of God and teaching of the Church. All decisions, according to Afanasiev, are made by consensus. All these are collective ministries. Afanasiev criticizes any practice that privatizes ministries and turns them into a private affair, such as one’s presence at the eucharistic service without communion or the transformation of the Eucharist into a private requested service.28 He criticizes the idea of representation of various groups—the clergy, the religious, and the laity—in the church-governing bodies and also the idea of the people’s self-governance over a local church without the participation of a bishop.29

Zizioulas’s Model In Metropolitan John Zizioulas’s eucharistic model we find the same structural elements as in Afanasiev’s—the Eucharist, the assembly, and the presider. However, the accents in the relations between those elements are somewhat shifted. The boundaries of a local church in Zizioulas’s model are defined somewhat differently from Afanasiev’s. The accent here is made not on the eucharistic assembly but on the bishop. Ideally, each eucharistic assembly should be presided over by a bishop.30 But due to the fact that the modern church practice is at variance with these expectations, it is rather a diocese than a parish that should be considered a local church.31 For Zizioulas, it is important that the ecclesiological model he proposes should preserve this necessity for a bishop to be linked with a local church even at the expense of the unity of the eucharistic assembly. The point is that Afanasiev did not insist that the ministry of a presider should strictly comply with the rank of bishop, since in his historical accounts the bishop’s ministry “evolved” from the ministry of the senior presbyter;32 whereas Zizioulas, in this study of the bishop in early Christian time, insists that the ministry of the bishop, separate from that of presbyter, existed already under the apostles.33 27 Afanasiev, Cerkov’ Duha Svjatogo, p. 37. 28 Ibid., p. 58. 29 Ibid., p. 69. 30 Zizioulas, Being as Communion, p. 251. 31 Ibid. 32 Afanasiev, Cerkov’ Duha Svjatogo, pp. 259–64. 33 John Zizioulas, Eucharist, Bishop, Church:  The Unity of the Church in the Divine Eucharist and the Bishop during the First Three Centuries (Brookline, MA:  Holy Cross, 2001), p. 64.

197

Eucharistic Ecclesiology in Political Theology

197

Now we consider Zizioulas’s model in its ideal version, in which a local church coincides with the eucharistic assembly and is headed by a bishop. However, let us point to this difference between the approaches of Afanasiev and Zizioulas: for the former it is important that the focus of the unity of the local church should be on the assembly, while for the latter, it should be on the bishop. A key element in Zizioulas’s approach to the doctrine of the Church is his concept of the “corporate personality” of Christ.34 Metropolitan John affirms that Christ can be understood in two ways: as an individual—Jesus Christ revealed to humanity in a historical event—and as the Church. Both aspects are united in his person or, as Zizioulas affirms, in his “wholly personal being” through the Holy Spirit. Through the involvement of the Holy Spirit in the divine economy of the Church, “individualism is overcome in Christ: He is not ‘one’ but ‘many’ at once.”35 The “many” who are united in the personhood of Christ are those who are described by St. Paul as “the bread which we break, is it not a participation in the Body of Christ? Because there is one bread, we who are many are one body, for we all partake of the one bread” (1 Cor 10:16–17). In this way the ecclesiology of Zizioulas unites the model of corporate personality of Christ with the Eucharist. In the Eucharist, the Church also becomes a reflection of the eschatological community of Christ.36 In this sense, the Church of God as an eschatological assembly of saints around Christ becomes the extreme case of Zizioulas’s model. He speaks of the Eucharist as an event in which eschata is realized. In this sense, each local church “presents an image of the Kingdom.”37 Through the Eucharist the assembly of a local church led by a bishop becomes identical with the eschatological assembly of saints with Christ as their head.38 The iconic primacy of the bishop in a local church presiding over the eucharistic assembly is an expression of the eternal primacy of Christ in the eschatological assembly of saints in the Heavenly Kingdom. Following from the above is a very unique teaching of Zizioulas about the bishop as a presider of a local church. Just as in Afanasiev’s works, the relation between the bishop and the assembly is characterized by mutual dependence expressed in the principle of “the one and the many” described above. At the same time, as already mentioned, the bishop represents an icon of Christ and by this

34 The term “corporate personality” was brought into theological usage by the English Baptist theologian G. U. Robinson in his Old Testament studies. Zizioulas makes a reference to his article of 1936, “Hebrew Conception of Corporate Personality” and a number of other works. See more on Zizioulas’s use of the “corporate personality” model in Paul G. McPartlan, The Eucharist Makes the Church: Henri De Lubac and John Zizioulas in Dialogue (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1993), pp. 166–86. 35 Zizioulas, Being as Communion, p. 130. 36 Ibid., p. 254. 37 Ibid., p. 255. 38 McPartlan, The Eucharist Makes the Church, p. 195.

198

198

Andrey Shishkov

virtue he is alter Christus in his local church.39 By this virtue, the bishop acts in the church in persona Christi, while he “does not represent Christ as an individual but as part of the community.”40 As alter Christus, he “is inconceivable as a separate individual, i.e. without the community of which he is head.”41 Zizioulas writes that the bishop becomes alter Christus “in the double Christological function: he unites the Church in one body, and at the same time he diversifies this unity by distributing ministries and orders in the Church.”42 Zizioulas writes, “Christ stands above his Church and yet never outside or without her. Equally, the bishop stands above his community, which means that it is through him the Spirit is given and the Church is constituted.”43 In other words, according to Zizioulas, the bishop represents the “corporate personality” of a local church.44 It is as though the bishop has two bodies, physical and ecclesial—a sort of corpus ecclesiae. In his physical body he represents the same as any other member of the community who joins it through baptism and chrismation, while his ecclesial body coincides with the local church that he heads. One may think that the ecclesial body of a bishop appears only at the moment of the celebration of the Eucharist, but, according to Zizioulas, the ministry of a bishop goes beyond his local church, being at the same time local and universal, since a bishop is part of the conciliar episcopate of the universal Church. In this council of bishops, however, the presiding bishop of a particular local church acts not as an individual but represents his church as alter Christus45 in his ecclesial body. On the basis of this vision of the structure of a local church I draw the conclusion of how it functions and how power is distributed in it. A local church in Zizioulas’s model acts as a single body, while being a collective actor. According to “the one and the many” principle, the will and voice of a local church are concentrated in its head, the bishop, while the people of God are assigned the passive part of the organic body. The Eucharist is not celebrated without the people’s assembly, but all decisions are made by the local church head—the bishop.

39 John Zizioulas, The One and the Many: Studies on God, Man, the Church, and the World Today, ed. Fr. Gregory Edwards (Los Angeles: Sebastian Press, 2010), p. 242. 40 Ibid., p. 244. 41 Ibid., p. 244. 42 Ibid., p. 246. 43 Ibid., p. 245. 44 The same opinion was expressed by two authoritative researchers of Zizioulas’s ecclesiology—Miroslav Volf and Paul McPartlan. Volf directly speaks about the bishop as a corporate personality:  Volf, After Our Likeness, p.  111. McPartlan connects the bishop with the concept of corporate personality through the “the one and the many” principle: McPartlan, The Eucharist Makes the Church, p. 186. 45 See, e.g., John Zizioulas, “The Development of Conciliar Structures to the Time of the First Ecumenical Council,” in The One and the Many. See also McPartlan, The Eucharist Makes the Church, p. 202.

199

Eucharistic Ecclesiology in Political Theology

199

The Problem of Negative Reception It is interesting that both Afanasiev and Zizioulas sidestep the problem of the negative reception of a bishop’s actions. Although the former considers several historical cases of unworthy behavior of the presider or conflict within the church communities, neither of them find a conceptual solution in the frame of eucharistic ecclesiology. [A presider] ordained through the witness of the Church could not have been deposed from his position without any special reasons. He occupied this place permanently, because the ministry of presbyter bishops was permanent one in the local church where they have been ordained for their ministry.46

Afanasiev does not explain what special reasons he has in mind. Moreover, as already mentioned above, he says that a sacrament remains valid in grace regardless of worthiness or unworthiness of particular members of the assembly (including necessarily the presider) since it is administered by the whole Church, not by its particular members.47 Meanwhile, it is a very serious question: can people really influence the actions of the presider through the reception in the frame of eucharistic ecclesiology? What happens if the presider did not take people’s opinions? Let us imagine several model situations. For example, a part of the eucharistic community does not accept the presider’s actions and the bishop in turn rejects this negative reception. In such a situation there is an amputation of the discontented part from the community because the local church is the part that is in communion with the bishop. Only that part in communion with the bishop retains all the structural elements of the eucharistic community—the people, the presider, and the Eucharist (which the presider is celebrating in the presence of the people). And if the whole community rejects its presider, in the logic of eucharistic ecclesiology, it ceases to be an assembly and turns into a crowd. A local church has no resources to continue living without the presider, because the presiding bishop is a structural element of eucharistic ecclesiology without which it stops working. Of course, Afanasiev described cases from the historical practice of the early Church when a presider was replaced by the next presbyter by seniority, but this opportunity was closed when the episcopal ministry was separated as requiring a special ordination by other bishops. And Zizioulas’s model did not presuppose this opportunity from the very beginning. The only way to remove an unworthy presider in eucharistic ecclesiology is for other local churches to interfere (which goes beyond this model). It appears that if the people of God within eucharistic ecclesiology have no opportunity for a negative reception of the bishop’s actions, they always have to exclaim “Amen!” and “Axios!” but cannot say “Anaxios!”

46 Afanasiev, Cerkov’ Duha Svjatogo, p. 229. 47 Ibid., pp. 40–41.

200

200

Andrey Shishkov

Radical Collectivity of Eucharistic Ecclesiology There is another important aspect of the model under discussion connected to its radical collectivity (communality). Eucharistic ecclesiology cannot adequately describe individual practices of church life. It has proved to be insensible toward individualization within a community. Any manifestation of an individual’s will, interests, or opinion in decision-making in a community is discerned by eucharistic ecclesiology as inadmissible (as I said earlier, Afanasiev, e.g., was against any privatization of ministries in a local church). The reason is that the very idea of eucharistic ecclesiology lies in the radical unity of all participants in the Eucharist with Christ and through it with one another. Any individualization within a eucharistic community destroys this unity and renders meaningless the use of the eucharistic model. But at the same time Fr. Afanasiev and, in particular, Metropolitan John Zizioulas are well-known for their close attention to the theme of personality in the Church. And it may seem that their personalism should disprove the thesis outlined above. To clarify this issue let us look at some representative fragments, where they uncover the ecclesial dimension of personality. Afanasiev writes: The Christian lives as a person in the Church, entering and remaining as such. The Church speaks to the unique and irreplaceable human person, not to masses or the crowd. In the Church one person is not set in opposition to another or to the Church because one is shoulder to shoulder with other members of the Church without whom one would not be able to exist. The individual “I” or “me” is always surrounded in the Church by the “we”, the “us” without whom one could not be. However, the “we” is not merely a conglomerate of separate, individual “I’s”, but the Church itself as the one Body of Christ.48

In general, we find a similar, though more complicated reasoning in Zizioulas as a part of his own doctrine of the personality in the Church. He distinguishes between two “modes” of human existence: the hypostasis of biological existence (which constituted a man’s conception and birth) and hypostasis of ecclesial existence (which constituted baptism): Only in the Church has man the power to express himself as a catholic person. Catholicity, as a characteristic of the Church, permits the person to become a hypostasis without falling into individuality, because in the Church two things are realized simultaneously:  the world is presented to man not as mutually exclusive portions which he is called upon to unite a posteriori, but as a single whole, which is expressed in a catholic manner without division in every concrete being; simultaneously the same man, while relating to the world precisely this catholic mode of existence that he has, comes to express and realize a catholic

48 Ibid., p. 294.

201

Eucharistic Ecclesiology in Political Theology

201

presence in the world, a hypostasis which is not an individual but an authentic person. Thus the Church becomes Christ Himself in human existence, but also every member of the Church becomes Christ and Church. The ecclesial hypostasis exists historically in this manner as a confirmation of man’s capacity not to be reduced to his tendency to become a bearer of individuality.49

And again, the same idea, but in connection with the Eucharist: The Eucharist is first of all an assembly (synaxis), a community, a network of relations, in which man “subsists” in a manner different from the biological as a member of a body which transcends every exclusiveness of a biological or social kind. [. . .] There Christ is “parted but not divided” and every communicant is the whole Christ and the whole Church.50

In other words, the ecclesial realization of the person is to overcome the human individuality through its inclusion into, talking in terms of Zizioulas, a “corporate personality” (each member becomes Christ and the Church), which is formed in the sacrament of the Eucharist. This situation implies a synergistic compound of the wills of all members in a “corporate” will.51 Any individual will destroys this unity. The danger of eucharistic collectivity is, of course, not in the idea of a radical unity in Christ, but in those interpretations of this model, which are the basis for repression of any individual manifestations in the church community. For example, the exclusive status of the “mortal god” (alter Christus in Zizioulas’s ecclesiology), combined with collectivity and impossibility of negative reception, can be interpreted in the spirit of Carl Schmitt’s theory of the sovereign in which the power of the people is personalized in the figure of their leader. Insensibility of the existing eucharistic models to any individualization conflicts with the basic principles of liberal democracy and its permanent attention to the individual. Aristotle Papanikolaou makes an attempt to overcome this collectivity of the eucharistic ecclesiology.52 He proposes that the introduction

49 Zizioulas, Being as Communion, p. 58. 50 Ibid., pp. 60–61. 51 Miroslav Volf at various times has pointed out that Zizioulas leaves the particularity of the person in his works (Volf, After Our Likeness, pp. 87, 115, 181–85). E.g., he writes, “The personhood of different persons cannot be grounded in one and the same relationship of Christ and Father, one ends up with human clones corresponding to Christ” (ibid., pp.  181–82). And John Panteleimon Manoussakis speaks that “Zizioulas’s theology could potentially undermine otherness because of an overemphasizing of (ecclesial) communion”:  John Panteleimon Manoussakis, God after Metaphysics:  A  Theological Aesthetics (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2007), p. 37. 52 I come to the conclusion that the suggestions of Papanikolaou to introduce ascetic elements to the eucharistic ecclesiology means the introduction of the individual

202

202

Andrey Shishkov

of ascetical (individual) elements in the eucharistic assembly “does not challenge the fundamental logic of eucharistic ecclesiology.”53 But this conclusion looks very problematic, if we understand by eucharistic ecclesiology Afanasiev’s or Zizioulas’s approach. It challenges the very idea of uniting in one body. One can say that we need to think of the unity of the church body like “unity in diversity.” But the degree of diversity that we find in eucharistic ecclesiology is represented by the principle of “the one and the many”—presider and people. But Papanikolaou does not propose to include ascetical elements in the eucharistic assembly any ecclesiological framework different from the Afanasiev-Zizioulas approach. Meanwhile I  especially agree with Papanikolaou in his striving to discuss such a new perspective. But how do we include it? It conflicts with the collectivism of the Afanasiev-Zizioulas eucharistic ecclesiology. And I think this is a methodological problem.

Some Methodological Issues Actually, Fr. Nicolas Afanasiev and Metropolitan John Zizioulas have built their models on the basis of only one quality (aspect) of the Eucharist—the ability to unite church members into one Body (of Christ). In their approach, they overlooked other dimensions of the Eucharist as an ecclesiological phenomenon (e.g., “the Eucharist as a gift,” “the Eucharist as ascetic doing,” and so on). At the same time the Afanasiev-Zizioulas approach has become a fundamental (or universal) one in the eucharistic project. And the above-mentioned ecclesiological aspect of the Eucharist (to unite church members) has received fundamental status. But the problem is that universalization of one aspect my lead to totalizing effects. Trying to overcome those methodological difficulties, I propose the following: (1) to relativize the “foundationalism” of existing eucharistic ecclesiological approaches; (2) to develop alternative approaches in an ecclesiological key, based on the other aspects of the Eucharist, and connecting those aspects with the church structure. We can be helped here by the so-called complexity approach. This approach represents a special cognitive attitude in the work with a particular phenomenon.

dimension in it, on the ground that he is trying to reconcile eucharistic ecclesiology with liberal democracy (and therefore its specific attention to the individual). Papanikolaou’s synthesis aims to create on the basis of the eucharistic ecclesiology a model of the church community, which “looks like a liberal democracy minus anthropological baggage of modern liberalism.” Papanikolaou, The Mystical as Political, p. 86. 53 Ibid., pp. 84–85.

203

Eucharistic Ecclesiology in Political Theology

203

In describing it, we follow the notion of “epistemological complexity” offered by Italian political philosopher Danilo Zolo.54 The notion of “complexity” points not to a confusion resulting from difficulties in solving a problem or describing a phenomenon. It points to the concurrent existence of several different irredundant approaches and perspectives to be taken into account to avoid a reduction of the phenomenon under study. Neither of the approaches is thought to be universal or fundamental as each acts only within a certain sphere “even within this area, only with exceptions and anomalies.”55 In the complexity approach, any phenomenon “can always be interpreted in the light of a plurality of different theories that are even, in many cases, mutually exclusive.”56 Complexity also points to a fundamental disruption in the description of an object of the study. This point, taken together with the attitude renouncing foundationalism (i.e., a search for fundamental justification of a theory), suddenly finds its development in the aesthetic approach offered by Franklin R. Ankersmit in his political philosophy.57 He describes particular (political) theories as foundationalist ones, if “in all of them a certain principle, an aspect of the citizen or the social or political order, is conceived as the foundation of these theories that enables the political theorist both to explain the political order.”58 Similarly, in the modern eucharistic ecclesiology its fundamental foundation lies in the quality of the Eucharist to gather together members of the eucharistic assembly in one body. Ankersmit criticizes the reduction of a political theory to “fundamental principles” and points to the totalitarian character of foundationalist approaches. He himself holds a different approach in describing political reality, which he calls “aesthetic.” The criticism of foundationalism is at the same time the criticism of claims to the universal expression of truth by a particular approach—construction of an indissoluble reality, acquiring holistic knowledge, and so on. Deprived of its fundamental status, the above-mentioned principles, or qualities, become solitary affirmations that can be used to construct creatively a new (political) reality. As Ankersmit says, the aesthetic approach is linked with the “organization of truth,”59 not with truth as such. As applied to eucharistic ecclesiology, it means the rejection to consider the above principle (gathering participants in the Eucharist into one body) to be fundamental. It allows one to adopt a selective attitude to its application (considering certain limitations) in constructing ecclesiological reality and

54 Danilo Zolo, Democracy and Complexity:  A  Realistic Approach (University Park: Pennsylvania State University Press, 1992), pp. 6–10. 55 Ibid., p. 9. 56 Ibid. 57 In particular, see Franklin Ankersmit, Aesthetic Politics: Political Philosophy Beyond Fact and Value (Stanford, CA:  Stanford University Press, 1997) and Ankersmit, Political Representation (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 2002). 58 Ankersmit, Political Representation, p. 164. 59 Ibid., p. 195.

204

204

Andrey Shishkov

introducing elements of other approaches that (in a different treatment) can have their own fundamental grounds and claims to be universal.60 We do not deal with the question of how exactly and through which instruments this “organization of truth” is exercised. It is important for us to notice the aesthetic approach offered by Ankersmit. It becomes even more relevant in light of the growing interest in theo-aesthetics in Christian theology.

Conclusion This analysis shows that the eucharistic ecclesiology in the context of political theology becomes a tool of positioning of church presence in the public space. Its attractiveness for contemporary political theology is based on the fact that the model focuses on the people and the community, rather than on the Church hierarchy and vertical power. Hence there are attempts to correlate the eucharistic ecclesiology with the modern (liberal) democratic context in which contemporary societies exist. The political role of the eucharistic community can be described in terms of communities of interpretation. They are called to publicly interpret and judge social events, phenomena, order, and values in a (eucharistic) ecclesial vein. But such communities are very exclusive. And it is a problem to incorporate them in public processes of liberal democratic societies. Another problem is the insensibility of eucharistic ecclesiology toward any individualization within a community. This fact was established on the basis of the analysis of the approaches of Fr. Nicolas Afanasiev and Metropolitan John Zizioulas. The above-mentioned insensibility makes it very difficult to use eucharistic ecclesiology in the political-theological theorizing, aimed at a convergence between church ecclesiology and liberal democracy with its permanent attention to the individual. As noted above, the collectivity of the existing eucharistic models can be the basis for such ecclesiological models in which the individual can be suppressed and repressed, which is radically at variance with the basic principles of liberal democracy. Unfortunately, a solution of this problem is impossible in the framework of the eucharistic models under examination. To overcome the problem, a new, alternative eucharistic model that would ecclesiologically reveal other aspects of the Eucharist more sensitive to the individual, should be developed. Herewith, in my opinion, it is necessary to relativize the foundationalism of the models of Afanasiev and Zizioulas that occupy a central place in contemporary eucharistic ecclesiology. To do so I have proposed to address two methodological approaches: the “complexity approach” of Danilo Zolo and the “aesthetics approach” of Franklin Ankersmit.

60 This is true for both political and religious functions of eucharistic ecclesiology, because the above-mentioned eucharistic collectivity closes the door for such important ecclesiastical functions of the Eucharist as individual theosis.

205

Eucharistic Ecclesiology in Political Theology

205

This chapter does not claim to propose any alternative models of eucharistic ecclesiology itself, but to outline the problems with existing ones, to suggest that the roots of those problems lie in methodology, and by the complexity and aesthetics approaches to propose possible ways of solving them. I believe that the aforementioned methodological approaches will give the eucharistic project a whole a new conceptual extension.

206

207

Chapter 11 “ R EVOLT A G A I N ST T H E M O D E R N W O R L D” : T H E O L O G Y A N D T H E P O L I T IC A L I N T H E T HOU G H T O F J U S T I N P OP OV IĆ Bogdan Lubardić

This anxiety-ridden world is a question which cannot give an answer to itself by itself alone. —Justin Popović, Philosophical Crevasses, 1957

Introduction: Maverick Saint—Challenging Theologian The recently proclaimed saint of the Serbian Orthodox Church, St. Justin of Ćelije (Blagoje Popović, 1894–1979) is probably one of the most important theologians of the Serbian Orthodox Church in the twentieth century.1 The significance of his engagement on behalf of the Church stems from his theoretical work as a professor and intellectual, and from his work as a preacher, liturgist, spiritual father, and confessor of the faith against the communist government. This in itself recommends a closer analysis of the ways in which his theological thought understands and evaluates the “political.” In the Serbian Christian context in particular, but also in Russia and Greece, his thought remains considerably influential and held in high esteem. In the West his writings are less well known. His thought has occasionally been met with reserve, and in particular his views on the political have instigated diametrically opposed conclusions, ranging from outright rejection to total embracement. In this chapter I  try to offer an understanding of the underlying conditions, presuppositions, and guiding motives that are at work in Popović’s thematization of the political. I give a panoramic exposition of his views on the political and show that these might be misunderstood or misused if they are not seen for what they are, namely, applicative reflections emanating from his theology proper. Shedding light on these elements, critically, may help us to avoid the Scylla of automated apologetic defense on his behalf (panegyric approach) and the

1 All translations of Popović are by the author, with the exception of those in Notes on Ecumenism.

208

208

Bogdan Lubardić

Charybdis of a criticizing mannerism devoid of comprehensive insight into the spiritual messages of his thought (disqualifying approach).

Christological Grounding of Existence Popović’s understanding of the political is rooted in his Christology. Every element in his opus is determined, be it positively or negatively, by the grounding character of the idea of Christ the God-man and god-humanhood (theanthropism, bogočoveštvo). Popović does not embrace Christ on the ground of faith alone. He argues the case of Christ, both directly and indirectly. As regards the major indirect argument, he underpins his endorsement of Christology with a phenomenologically reasoned description of the situation and state of the world. This description leads him to conclude that death is a “reality [. . .] more real than all realities in the world.”2 Death engulfs all of the natural order and permeates social history, through all ages in all people. However, where philosophy and modern science accept death as a “natural” occurrence, Popović calls the revolt against death a collective duty of mankind. But who shall lead this insurrection?—“The greater the plight, the greater the god that is sought.”3 It is only in the revealed reality of the person of Christ,4 the God-man, that one finds the answer to death. For the Lord, as divine Word, reveals that death is caused by sin. Sin is not merely a moral transgression against God; it is the metaphysical root of evil. Christ is the pre-eternal consubstantial Son of the ever living God, untainted by sin. Hence, the only way in which mankind may reappropriate life without death is by living in the incarnated Christ. This can be achieved through repentance (metanoia, pokajanje) and the refusal to ground our being, and understanding of being as such, exclusively of ourselves or outside God the Creator. Popović identifies the ill-fated self-sufficiency of humanity with “humanism.” “The ‘image of God’ is actually the only true image of man. The ‘new Man’ is the God-man: the Lord from heaven (1 Cor 15).”5 That is why he promotes a new kind of humanity through the “re-birth, transformation and resurrection”6 of 2 Justin Popović, “Прогрес у воденици смрти” [Progress in the Mill of Death], Философске урвине [Philosophical Crevasses] (Belgrade:  Monastery Ćelije, 1999), pp. 291–313 (292). 3 Justin Popović, “Европски човек на жеравичној раскрсници” [European Man at the Burning Crossroads], Философске урвине, pp. 284–90 (286). 4 Justin Popović, “Исус Христос—истинити Богочовек” [Jesus Christ—True God-Man], Догматика Православне Цркве II [Dogmatics of the Orthodox Church II] (Belgrade: Monastery Ćelije, 2004), pp. 97–116. 5 Justin Popović, “Подвижничка и богословска поглавља” [Ascetical and Theological Chapters], На богочовечанском путу [On the Way of the God-Man] (Belgrade: Monastery Ćelije, 1980), pp. 131–87 (177–78). 6 Popović, “Прогрес у воденици смрти,” p. 310.

209

“Revolt against the Modern World”

209

mankind in Christ the Son of God. This “theohumanity” can be achieved through “the Church, the sacraments, and all that she contains.”7 In fact, “the Church is nothing else but the God-man himself extended into the ages of ages.”8 Popović’s vision of resuscitated and renewed humanity (1 Cor 15:54) is not only anthropic, but also cosmic and historiosophic. The destiny not only of mankind, but also of created nature in its entirety, depends on whether Christ is recognized and accepted through the Church as the Logos of God:  “The meaning and goal of the existence of the Church:  to bring everything into the measure of growth of the fullness of Christ—to god-humanize everything (obogočovečiti).”9

Humanism and Theohumanism Popović’s interest in the political is predetermined by this all-encompassing Christological vision. The sociopolitical drama is a reflection of the theodrama, the dialectical relation of what he calls “humanistic” and “theohumanistic” forces.10 Popović thematizes the political on three main planes:  (a)  critique of Europe—the geopolitical-cultural plane, (b)  critique of ecumenism—the ecclesial-ecumenical plane, and (c) critique of the national—the local-Serbian plane. The Political: Europe, Russia, Orthodoxy Popović holds that Europe is the mother of “our” civilization and culture. He conceives of Europe in the wider sense, as a synthesis of Mediterranean-Hellenic and Euro-Russian geopolitical, sociocultural, and spiritual areas. There is a narrower sense as well, to which he only refers polemically, and this sense relates to the geopolitical, sociocultural, and religious reality of Western Europe, that is, to “westernism” in general. Although the two are inextricably connected, Popović speaks in the name of the “excluded” other, that is, on behalf of the Eastern Orthodox ecumene of nations. Serbia, for him, is at the “burning crossroads”; it stands in an “in between” position, deciding in a seemingly “either-or” situation. However, Popović thinks that the relation of West and East is equally vital to both sides. And he tries to resolve the predicament for both the West and the East in terms of the idea of “integral Europe,” or, as St. Nikolaj of Ohrid and Žiča put

7 Popović, “Подвижничка и богословска поглавља,” p. 143. 8 Justin Popović, “Врховна вредност и непогрешиво мерило” [Ultimate Value and Infallible Criterion], Философске урвине, pp. 314–35 (324). 9 Ibid., p. 325. 10 Justin Popović, “Човек или Богочовек” [Man or God-Man], Православна Црква и екуменизам [The Orthodox Church and Ecumenism] (Belgrade: Monastery Ćelije, 2001), pp. 133–44 (144).

210

210

Bogdan Lubardić

it, “beyond East and West.”11 However, eventually Popović’s idea of an integral Europe is problematic, inasmuch as it, as we shall see, appears to exclude Western culture and Christianity (which are viewed through critical lenses only) from the synthesis “beyond East and West” conducted in the name of Orthodoxy only. Popović’s critique of Western Europe runs as follows: humanism is the architect of modern Europe. Its culture, therefore, rests on man as the preeminent principle of foundation. Man is modern Europe’s program and goal, its means and content. The age of man coincides with the modern age of Western Europe. According to Popović, three fatal consequences of this process spring to the fore: (a) man is the measure of all things—this posits the principle of metaphysical relativism, (b) man does not need God; moreover, man excels in trying to systematically dethrone the Creator and gain total independence, anesthetizing the sense of personal immortality12 along the way—this posits the principle of metaphysical naturalism, and (c)  man is irreparably mortal—this posits the principle of metaphysical nihilism. Three principles set the basic framework for the ascent of European humanity, that is, they inaugurate modernity, that is, the age of man. The ascent is set in terms of “progress” pulled by the locomotive of the so-called scientific worldview. However, human progress remains ever futile before death. This remains the case even if the progress of humanity is self-divinized in Feuerbachian terms,13 say, in the name of man-godhood (čovekoboštvo). In Popović’s view the whole dynamic of European humanism, its progress, is in fact a “masked regress.”14 It cannot be anything else if the price is acceptance of the reality of death as everlasting. Spiritually regarded, humanism is not evolution but devolution, argues Popović. If death is to have the last word, as my worst enemy, all sociocultural effort is essentially meaningless. This spells out the reason for Popović’s revolt against a humanism that fails to give ultimate or salvific meaning to life. Unrestrained humanism inevitably leads to atheism, argues Popović, because the self-positing of man implies the reduction or elimination of divine agency. Once man is posited in an atheistic way, anarchism, nihilism, and destructive strife follow suit. The final word in European culture, then, is “cultured cannibalism”:15 “theocide inevitably leads to suicide”16—“Wille zur Macht has transmuted itself into Wille zur Nacht.”17

11 Nikolaj Velimirović, “Изнад Истока и Запада” [Beyond East and West], Сабрана дела [Collected Works], Vol. 5 (Himmelsthür:  Diocese of Western Europe of the Serbian Orthodox Church, 1977), pp. 794–810. 12 Popović, “Прогрес у воденици смрти,” p. 306. 13 Popović, “Европски човек,” p. 286. 14 Popović, “Прогрес у воденици смрти,” p. 303. 15 Justin Popović, “На вододелници култура” [At the Watershed of Cultures], Философске урвине, pp. 436–51 (440). 16 Ibid., p. 446. 17 Ibid.

211

“Revolt against the Modern World”

211

In this context it is important to note that Popović’s reconstruction of the sociopolitical and cultural history of Europe follows two basic paths: (a) a linear line of historical time (diachrony) and (b) a nonlinear line of meta-historical time (synchrony). From the first perspective, the “beginning of the end” of Europe as a Christian project is placed in the tenth century. In this he closely follows18 Oswald Spengler’s pessimistic analysis of the birth of European—Faustian—culture, as given in The Decline of the West (1918, 1922–1923)19 and also Fyodor Dostoevsky, who lets his starets Zosima say: “And in Rome, well, a thousand years ago instead of the Church the state was there proclaimed.”20 From the second perspective, Popović places the “beginning of the end” of Europe within the meta-historical event of the primordial fall of Adam. He identifies this event with the self-positing of humanity as self-sufficient, which is “an ontological apostasy from the One and Only thing essentially needed”21—the life-giving God. This in itself is the gesture of the “first humanism.” In one way or another, cultured history is the tragic perpetuation of this event. This second path of genealogy of culture is opened up to Popović by the Church Fathers, especially by the works of St. Macarius of Egypt and Isaac of Syria.22 Their descriptions of human ontology, perverted by passions and sin, serve as evaluative keys for reading European culture-products within a historical time scale. It is crucial to note this because it is in the name of the alternative vision, offered by the Church Fathers, that Popović persistently attacks what he regards as European social culture. In other words, if we do not see through Popović’s harsh rhetoric, if we fail to perceive him as re-presenting the biblical messages of the Christ-centered vision of the saints (set in his own creatively updated and polemically projected terms), then Popović’s affirmation of humanism in the God-man and his hope for Europe will be misread as instances of mere “anti-humanism” and political Europessimism. Since he does reach a negative result in his description of the europäische Kulturwelt in crisis, then what is the prescription? In other words, what is to be done? Again, the answer is set in terms of Orthodox Christian theology. In short, humanistic progress needs to be met and overcome by theohumanistic progress,

18 Ibid., p. 447. 19 This controversial work was translated into Serbian in 1936 by the religious philosopher Vladimir Vujić. 20 Justin Popović, Философија и религија Ф. М. Достојевског [The Philosophy and Religion of F. M. Dostoevsky] (Belgrade:  Monastery Ćelije, 1999), p.  187n. 31; Justin Popović, Достојевски о Европи и слaвенству [Dostoevsky on Europe and the Slavs] (Belgrade: Monastery Ćelije, 1999), p. 451n. 28. 21 Justin Popović, “Молитвени дневник” [Diary of Prayer], На богочовечанском путу, pp. 119–30 (123). 22 Justin Popović, Проблем личности и познања по учењу светог Макарија Египатског [The Problem of Personhood and Cognition according to St. Macarius of Egypt] (Belgrade: Manastir Ćelije, 1999); Justin Popović, Гносеологија Исака Сирина [The Gnoseology of St. Isaac of Syria] (Belgrade: Manastir Ćelije, 1999).

212

212

Bogdan Lubardić

because, “the progress which betrays and abandons man in the moment of death—is not progress but a falsification of progress.”23 The God-man has solved the main problem: that of death—through resurrection. That is why the divinehuman hypostasis of Christ the God-man is the “ultimate value and absolute criterion.” Namely, it is the foundation of the return into spiritually grounded personhood. This allows for the overcoming of individualism, fracturing, and instrumental objectification of the human being. More importantly, it enables the person to exist uninterrupted by the destructive strictures of death. Quite radically, “ideas are nothing:  the person is the agency which carries ideas. [. . .] the Person of Christ is everything.”24 God-manhood is thus set to counter mangodhood. The resulting alternative offers a perspective of renewal within divinehuman all-unity (svejedinstvo). This can be accomplished through a grand process of churchification (ucrkvenje) of all existence. Affirmation of both personhood (ličnost) and catholicity (sabornost), freedom and service, you and I, stability and creativity, the national and international, the human and divine coincide under the condition that the way of existence of Christ is emulated. This likening to Christ is achieved in and by the Church, as his living Body. Therefore, the Church emerges as Popović’s normative model, ideally, for the orders of culture, society, and education; and, jointly, churchified humanity emerges as the theanthropic telos of history. The full image, reality, and presence of the God-man Christ, exclaims Popović, is preserved in the Orthodox Church. What is more, it is Russia that is currently the preeminent keeper of the full image of the living Christ, contends Popović, embracing Dostoevsky’s views.25 It is exactly here that Popović, in the spirit of his times, follows the second move of Oswald Spengler’s prophecy in Untergang des Abendlandes (1922), namely, the spiritual renewal of the world shall come ex Oriente—from the rise of the civilization of Orthodox Russia. Therefore, if it is to recover its spiritual life and proper Christian identity, if it is to avoid a negative apocalyptic outcome, Europe should pay heed to the words, deeds, and treasures of Orthodoxy, and in particular to Russian Orthodoxy. “In resistance to the West our Christ should shine forth, whom we have preserved and whom they had never known.”26 These are the words of Dostoevsky, and Popović endorses them. However, he immediately qualifies these exclusive terms with the following, again from Dostoevsky: “The true essence of Orthodoxy is comprised in service to all humankind. Orthodoxy is pre-destined for that.”27 Hence, despite the seemingly closed sense of the first statement, it is in

23 Popović, “Прогрес у воденици смрти,” p. 303. 24 Popović, “Подвижничка и богословска поглавља,” p. 183. 25 Justin Popović, “Достојевски као пророк и апостол православног реализма,” [Dostoevsky as Prophet and Apostle of Orthodox Realism], Философске урвине, pp. 414– 26 (422). He quotes from Dostoevsky’s Idiot and from the edition of Biography, Letters and Notes within Dostoevsky’s Notebook (St. Petersburg, 1883). 26 Popović, “Достојевски као пророк,” p. 422. 27 Ibid., p. 423.

213

“Revolt against the Modern World”

213

fact the inclusive, universal, all-embracing dimension of Dostoevsky’s reflections on Orthodoxy, Russia, and Europe that moves Popović to sanction his thought in complete identification. Needless to say, the concept of inclusiveness in both Dostoevsky and Popović has certain limits inasmuch as they seem to leave little or no room for the intrinsic goods brought to light and life in the West, and by the history of Western culture and spirituality, respectively. This limitation may be understood historically from within the context of the Westernizers versus Slavophiles controversy, which both authors were part of, and by Popović’s noncomprehensive exposition to Western culture as a whole. For Popović, Orthodox spirituality is the only way out, for it offers a kenotic reversal of the humanistic ways of mankind.28 Such a reversal demands nothing less than a radical revolt against sin, that is, against naturalistic self-sufficiency of mankind, or against modernity. “What is left for us, sorry prisoners of death? Only—revolt . . .”29 Revolt and reversal presuppose repentance, which in itself represents an “all-encompassing earthquake.”30 Together, the three forge the figure of spiritual counterrevolution, of which Justin Popović is a paradigmatic representative in the mid- and postwar European context (in fact, Popović depicts this figure as “theohumanistic evolution”). The three instances mentioned, together, are points of orientation. They signal the paths of (re)turning to the Promised Land of “theanthropic eternity incarnated within the borders of time and space,” 31 which is another among his definitions of the Church of the God-man. According to Popović, this is where the resurrection of Christ perpetuated by the Spirit comes to pass (as the “one thing that is needed” [Lk. 10:38–42]).32 The Political: Ecumenism and the Orthodox Church This leads us to view Popović’s thematization of the political in terms of his critique of ecumenism—as of the ecclesial-ecumenical plane (of the political). To all that was said one might retort, in amazement or protest, that Western Europe has Christ. If so, then what is the purpose of the vitriolic attack on a supposedly Christless Europe? To Popović’s mind, modern Europe has travestied the essence of Christianity; it has

28 In the sense that the self-emptying of humanity of its true (i.e., divine-human) personhood actually results in a self-sufficient humanism, thereby requiring a self-emptying of this self-sufficient humanism in order to reverse such a process. 29 Popović, “Прогрес у воденици смрти,” p. 293; Popović, “Светосавска философија прогреса” [Saint-Savian Philosophy of Progress], Светосавље као философија живота [Saint-Savahood as Philosophy of Life] (Belgrade:  Monastery Ćelije, 1993), pp. 192–211 (193). 30 Popović, “Подвижничка и богословска поглавља, p. 160. 31 Justin Popović, “Унутрашња мисија наше Цркве (Реализација Православља)” [The Inner Mission of Our Church (The Realization of Orthodoxy)], Хришћански живот [Christian Life] 2, no. 9 (1923): 385–90 (386). 32 Popović, “Прогрес у воденици смрти,” p. 301.

214

214

Bogdan Lubardić

systematically falsified the all-embracing foundational image and meaning of the Person of Christ the God-man, kept in the Church herself—or in the body of the Orthodox33 Church. The most he is prepared to concede, aligning with Dostoevsky, is the following:  “Indeed, in the West, in truth, there is neither Christianity nor Church, although we still find many Christians.”34 What are the suppositions for such a point of view? And how does Popović determine what he names the true—Orthodox—Church? First, on Popović’s understanding, the undoing of (Western) European Christianity is the consequence of the promotion, and the subsequent acceptance of humanistic secular ideals and agendas within the Church of the West. Western humanism entails the fatal reduction—“painful and sad correction”35—of the work and teaching of the incarnate Word, the God-man Christ. And conversely, the reduction of the God-man is the extension of the process of the secularization of the West in terms of its humanistic agenda, which invokes a grave change of its identity. The difference between Roman Catholicism and Protestantism is in fact superficial in this regard. Because, in both “instead of the God-man it is man who is placed as highest value and criterion.”36 What is more, according to Popović’s logic, both are inherently tied to the proto-protest that came to pass in the fall of Adam.37 Instead of abiding in the revealed reality of the living and concrete God-man, giving primacy to God so as to be truly human, the West is ending in the “final glorification of humanism,” which, it is stressed, puts on the mask of Christianity in the attempt to give itself divine sanction. That is why, for Popović, ecumenism in terms of Western Christianity is destined to fail even before it has started. Second, the heart of Popović’s critique of humanism is his deconstruction of secularized Christianity and especially its project of “ecumenism.” Western Christian ecumenism cannot be the solution for a problem it has itself caused, contends Popović. It rests on a double movement, erroneous in its core. On one hand, it affirms humanity at the expense of god-humanity. He qualifies this as “panheresy.”38 On the other hand, it affirms the ambition to forge Christian and panhuman unity through a dialogue of love,39 regardless of the consequences of the previously mentioned reduction of

33 Popović regards the Orthodox Church as the only true Church. Therefore, he would say that the syntagma “Orthodox Church” is a pleonasm. 34 Justin Popović, Достојевски о Европи, p. 451; Popović, “Светосавска философија друштва” [Saint-Savian Philosophy of Society], Светосавље као философија живота, pp. 228–38 (236). 35 Ibid., p. 234. 36 Ibid. 37 Popović, Православна Црква и екуменизам, p. 138. 38 All other heresies are dwarfed by this, because it springs from the primordial sin of the self-affirmation of man against God. See Bishop Atanasije (Jevtić), “Commentary on Father Justin’s Notes,” in Saint Abba Justin, Notes on Ecumenism, ed. Bishop Athanasius Yevtich, trans. Aleksandra Stojanovich (Alhambra, CA: Sebastian Press, 2013), pp. 11n. 6, 36. 39 Popović, Православна Црква и екуменизам, p. 146.

215

“Revolt against the Modern World”

215

god-manhood. That is why, as V. Cvetković states succinctly, Fr. Justin “finds the substitute for humanism in the God-humanism, (and) he also replaces the idea of western ecumenism as [a] humanistic project with the evangelical and Orthodox ecumenism as the God-human endeavour.”40 There are substantial presuppositions of true—Orthodox—ecumenism, according to Popović, which constitute the precondition for participation in the event of ecclesial ecumenicity (catholicity), and they are (1)  repentance, (2) acknowledgment of truth in faith, and (3) finally reintegration to the Church in which the event and reality of the God-man have not been compromised, either historically or structurally. As Popović continues to say, the unity of the Church as the goal of ecumenism par excellence is neither a political process, nor should it be. If it is to be effectual in truth, it needs to be a spiritual theohumanistic movement and theanthropic event in Christ and on his terms: ecumenism through god-human catholicity.41 The Political: Saint-Savahood and Serbia I now turn to Popović’s thematization of the political in terms of his critique of the national—as of the local-Serbian plane (of the political). In offering his criticism of Serbian society between the two world wars and after, Popović executes an application of his general principles of theological critique to a particular case study of Serbian history, society, and culture inasmuch as it has, or should have, Orthodoxy as one of its essential identity constituents. This is realized in his programmatic work Saint-Savahood as Philosophy of Life (1953). “What is a human being (the visible) without God (the invisible)?” he asks. “A soulless corpse,” he answers.42 Likewise, if Europe allows itself to have Christ extracted from its heart’s soul, then it shall in due time become a corpse. The same follows for Serbian society and history, extrapolates Popović. Serbian political society and culture betray all the varied symptoms of Western humanism, exacerbated in murky times (1919– 1939–1944). In addition to all the Western “evils,” he adds, the Serbian people— Christians and non-Christians—have succumbed to certain failings that, in a way, are characteristically their own “common vetch” (e.g., tribal nationalism and ecclesial ethnophiletism43). That is why an Orthodox Christian critical reaction needs to be conceptualized, propagated, and instilled. Accordingly, this should be a critique addressing not only Western Europe, but also one set in terms of a

40 Vladimir Cvetković, “St. Justin the New (Popovic) on the Church of Christ,” in The Body of the Living Church: The Patristic Doctrine of the Church, ed. Nicholas Marinides and Seraphim Danckaert (Crestwood, NY: St. Vladimir’s Seminary Press, forthcoming). 41 Popović, “Подвижничка и богословска поглавља,” p.  173; Popović, Notes on Ecumenism, p. 10. 42 Justin Popović, “Светосавска философија света” [Saint-Savian Philosophy of the World], Светосавље као философија живота, pp. 178–91 (184). 43 Popović, “Унутрашња мисија,” p. 387.

216

216

Bogdan Lubardić

self-critique of Serbian society. The ideal of Saint-Savahood, thus, has two main aspects: (a) it represents a concretization of the idea of theohumanistic progress where, keeping in tune with Popović’s neo-patristic drift of thought, St. Sava is taken as a paradigm for the Serbian context and (b) it represents a countercultural alternative to both European and Serbian humanistic modernism. Saint-Savahood as Philosophy of Life covers six main areas of the human lifeworld:  the world (nature), progress, culture, society, values-criteria, and education. In the following I limit my exposition to the domains of society and education. First, according to Popović’s understanding, society is a living whole comprised of individual particulars, that is, of persons.44 Since he regards the person as of the highest value for it is a god-bearing entity (eikon tou Theou), Popović thinks that all the aims, questions, and problems of society, ultimately, converge in the problem of personhood “multiplied by all the individual members comprising a society.”45 The solution of the problem of personhood, therefore, entails the solution of the problem of society. So far, especially in modern European social history, this problem was tackled through two equally unsuccessful extremes: (a) either man was reduced in favor of society as collective or (b) society was reduced in favor of the individual. What is more, and worse, in both cases the presence of God is ignored or acknowledged, but ceremonially. According to Popović’s interpretation, this holds true not only in collectivistic systems such as Nazism or Communism, but also in capitalistic systems that, by definition, are an epitome of liberal individualism. Moreover, banning God from society as such (Communism) or compressing God into the private sphere (Capitalism) essentially leads to the same:  positing the public horizon (polis) as godless. This leaves the public domain of the social at the mercies either of (atomized) individuals or (homogenized) collectives, both of which, in modern times, generate meaning of society in naturalistic terms, that is, out of human autarchy and absolute sovereignty of the people taken as an agency self-sufficient in principle. According to Popović’s maximalist Christian criteria, this in itself undermines the social project. It liquidates the realization of the possibility of a theohumanistically grounded social body. He attacks such a social image, resting as it does on a reductionist description of human personhood and, equally, on the God-is-dead or God-is-absent public consensus. He does this by claiming that society, be it collectivist or individualist, be it more or less socialist or capitalist, needs to evolve from a mere—essentially godless—organization of functions and systems into an organism, one open substantially to the divine. Popović opposes the separation of Church and the public square if this entails an exclusive, noncooperative segregation of the Church (as bearer of the kerygma) from the state and political society. Instead, he is in favor of a society seen as guilds, crafts, and estates of rank cooperating in and for the common good (viz., Christ’s legacy):  a society envisaged in terms of the ideal of “sobornicity”

44 Popović, “Светосавска философија друштва,” p. 228. 45 Ibid., pp. 228–29.

217

“Revolt against the Modern World”

217

(social catholicity), rather than as a domain set adrift due to rampant party strife, partitocracy, and self-serving egotism. He applies the analogy of body and its parts in order to illustrate his point. In an organism, harmony and health are vouchsafed not only by functional coordination of parts among themselves or in relation to the whole, but also, more importantly, by cooperative mutual service. “The greater the organ, the more responsible service does it officiate, and it is a servant to everything which is smaller than it.”46 Now, modern societies function not like healthy bodies; they are sick. This is so, continues Popović, because a body cannot function properly if its “soul” is missing or negated. As implied in the body-organism analogy, the soul of society is God, because society is comprised of persons (not of automatons or bio-human functions or identity card numbers):  and, persons are bearers of God by virtue of their constitutive filial god-likeness. Therefore, viewed from this perspective, social organization (no matter how efficient, no matter what kind) is made fully meaningful only if it accommodates a living God. Otherwise, it does not serve its principle entelechy, which, according to Popović, is to nurture, protect, educate, and open its members to God, Creator of all life. Not even “religion” is welcome if it jeopardizes either human or divine personhood. It is here that Christological ecclesiology is reintroduced, namely, only unity in essential goals allows for “the ideal solution of the problem both of man and of mankind, and of the problem of person and society.”47 We should note that Popović, ultimately, has in mind a maximalist vision set within the metapolitical reality of what he calls “ecclesial patriotism”:48 What kind of goal? [. . .] Certainly not some ephemeral, opportunist, circumstantial, utilitarian (goal), but, rather, an impassable, immortal, fateful goal. [. . .] This immortal goal was set by the God-man, drawing from the godlike essence of human nature. What is the goal, then? This is it: to incarnate God and all divine perfections in man and mankind, in person and society.49

The only place where Popović finds the societal body functioning like a healthy organism, at least in terms of the accepted principle or as the ideal norm, is in yet another body—the Body of Christ or the Church. In general, society as it is needs to keep traversing the path from organization (institutionalism, bureaucratism, technocratism, and so on) to organism, as much as the Church needs to resist traversing the path from organism to organization (clericalism,50 etnophiletism, and so on). This is what Popović advocates. However, 46 Ibid., p. 229. 47 Ibid., p. 230. 48 Popović, “Подвижничка и богословска поглавља,” p. 139. 49 Popović, “Светосавска философија друштва,” pp. 230–31. 50 Popović speaks out in the name of Christian laity as well, not only in favor of the hierarchical sacred orders. E.g., he encourages the movement of the bogomoljci, i.e., “asceticism in the masses.” See Popović, “Унутрашња мисија,” p. 390.

218

218

Bogdan Lubardić

it would be a mistake to qualify his viewpoint as a type of Christian fundamentalism that, by definition, encroaches upon the church-state divide as set by the principle of (hopefully) inclusive separation, that is, of neutrality. Although his organistic Christian social philosophy, projected in an ecclesial key, might come under criticism leveled against “organicism,” due to concerns about the “whole” (Party, Synod, tsar, and so on) negating the parts cooptively, this does not necessarily undermine Popović’s position. There are at least two reasons for this:  (a)  his is a personalistically patented organicism and (b) he sets the Church vis-à-vis the state and society in terms of a relation of mediation, which, in virtue of remaining on a spiritual-ethical level, protects all sides. The Church has the right to address, not to impose. That is why it may traverse the public domain, but only as long as it refrains from substantial encroachments on the will of subjects constituting the sociopolitical body. His vision is that of two bodies in symbiosis:  not of a devouring of the social-political state by the Church. In a nutshell, the Church is to be emulated freely.51 Second, the domain of education is the locus of the political in which Popović is most interested. At first glance, it seems that he is prepared to dissolve the principle of neutrality in favor of an “intégriste” conception of the ecclesial in relation to the secular social realm, especially when focusing on education. This reversal is indicated in metaphors left in his discourses on the relation of SaintSavian philosophy and education. The school and the Church, he suggests, are in fact “inseparable twins,”52 or “the school is the second half of the God-man’s heart, the Church is the first.”53 Is this a turnaround of sorts in regard to what was previously suggested to be the case (viz., neutrality)? The answer needs to be qualified carefully. At the time, catechism was a compulsory subject in the gymnasia of the Kingdom of Yugoslavia, regulated under law by the state. It seems, however, that Popović wants more, namely, “a realization of Saint-Savian education in all (levels) of schools: those folkish and those of the state.”54 As we might have anticipated, this is due to his view that European humanistic ideology, with its secular agenda, is infiltrating all the pores of the educational system. In terms of its political program, this is bound to usher an expulsion of religious knowledge and values from the corpus of state educational curricula. This in fact came to pass immediately after the Second World War, in 1951 (catechetical education was reintroduced as an optional subject as late as 2001, half a century later). Bearing in mind the rise of the Socialist Left movement in Serbia during the period of the Second World War, it is expected to find Popović reacting against what he sees as negative consequences of an upcoming militant

51 Popović, “Светосавска философија друштва,” pp. 237–38. 52 Justin Popović, “Светосавска философија просвете” [Saint-Savian Philosophy of Education], Светосавље као философија живота, pp. 254–66 (259). 53 Ibid., 265. 54 Ibid., 264.

219

“Revolt against the Modern World”

219

Communism, which, according to Marxist precepts, claims that religion is the “opium for the people.”55

Popović’s Ecclesial Legacy and the Political I now address, first, the basic types of objections that, variably, have been raised as regards Popović’s thought inasmuch as it relates to the political. The objections have been voiced in various quarters, western and eastern. I  present them in a summary way. After laying out the objections, I  offer explanative clarifications. These aim to show that the listed objections (although some point to neuralgic aspects of Popović’s, which cannot be dismissed), if left on their own, might be erroneously misleading or simply products of misunderstanding. (1) “Anti-humanism”: Admittedly, Popović is an antihumanist if this entails resistance to grounding human nature in self-sufficient autarchy of the human element. However, he targets “homomonism” (D. Nikolić), not the well-being of humanity (humanitas) as such. Thus, he can be seen as a humanist par excellence under the condition that we accept his concept of theohumanistic transformation as a manifold expansion of what the generic human being is called to become in Christ. But, what does this mean for nonOrthodox Christians, that is, for their irreducibly invaluable humanity? What is left of Popović’s vision, and experience, to offer to others, if non-Orthodox Christians choose to remain as such? Perhaps his answer would, or should, be twofold: (a) a non-imposing witness of an alternative Christian lifestyle, that is, the transformational effects of the Orthodox way of life in Christ, and, on the basis of his ascetical approach to prayer; and (b) a life of wholehearted “representational” prayer for others’ welfare, which, due to the integral nature of prayer, translates into pragmatic-caritative acts as well. However, his tendency to reject Western humanism en bloc is not helpful, and tends to generate misunderstanding if not mistrust. (2) “Anti-intellectualism”: Popović is an anti-intellectualist if this entails resistance to hypostatizing reason (dianoia, ratio) as self-legitimizing that arbitrates in all fields of meaning, with an explicit derogation of the illuminating agency of grace as of the spiritual mind (nous, intellectus). However, he in fact develops a comprehensive theory of logosality (logosnost), which attempts to address this issue in terms of opening reason to higher modes of rationality in and of the Logos (grace-imbued mind, blagodatni um). (3) “Anti-ecumenism”: Popović is an anti-ecumenist if ecumenism entails insistence on love-discourse at the expense of truth-discourse, which,

55 Karl Marx, “Zur Kritik der Hegelschen Rechtsphilosophie: Einleitung,” in Karl Marx and Friedrich Engels, Werke. Bd. 1 (Berlin: Aufbau Verlag, 1964), pp. 378–91 (379).

220

220

Bogdan Lubardić

inevitably, poses the question of how there can be many churches and, necessarily, the question of the fundamental identity of the one Church in one Christ. He would insist that the dichotomy between love-discourse and truth-discourse is a pseudo-distinction, for speaking the truth is an act of love. Still, it remains true that his critique of non-Orthodox Western Christianity concentrates almost exclusively on what he thinks are its failings. Hence, an appraisal of its positive sides is missing. What is more, the mentioned imbalance generates dubitation and some misunderstanding, which, in turn, leads some readers in the West to prematurely depart from his oeuvre. This puts additional strain on his Orthodox maximalism in ecumenical matters. (4) “Orthodox fundamentalism and either-or disjunctivism”: Popović has the tendency to draw stiff lines of demarcation between the proposals of modernity and what he perceives of as principles of traditional Christianity. However, this does not automatically translate into “fundamentalism.” This term is usually used in the pejorative sense and sometimes as a semantic tool for disqualification of the other’s position (ironically, sometimes this is done “fundamentalistically,” say, by groups that endorse militant atheism or even secular liberalism). In terms of a recursive formal definition, fundamentalism signifies an uncompromising allegiance to a set of principles that one finds true, and that one claims to have been tested by one’s own experience. Of course, this begs the question of explicating fully what exactly is this kind of “experience.” As a minimum, Popović refers to the official mind of the Church in terms of the decisions of the ecumenical councils, certain referential texts of the Church Fathers, dogmatic compendia, and alongside the practice of the Church, that is, the transformative spiritual effects of strictly following the liturgical-ascetical method of the Church Fathers. In this sense Popović’s thought might be regarded as fundamentally grounded. Popović in no place invokes violence, as is the case in some contemporary fundamentalist movements. Actually, one of the terms he uses to describe his position is “theanthropic conservatism.” It is used in order to describe the active protection of essential precepts (“fundamentals”) handed down in the tradition of the Orthodox Church. The same term is used by him to warn against undiscerning permissiveness exhibited by “church modernists” who, lured by the Zeitgeist, accept novelties uncritically. Popović distinguishes between novelty and creativity. Keeping tradition in such a way that it allows the “logosality” of reality, hic et nunc, to be brought to light in the Logos of God, Christ, is the creative happening par excellence, according to Popović. That is the test of what is truly new. Keeping tradition and keeping a discerningly creative—synthetic—approach to reality are not divorced in his thinking (in many instances his opus shows that Christian tradition is creative and that creativity has a tradition in Tradition). Still, it remains true that Popović’s negative criticism of the West as such, including its nonOrthodox ecclesial structures, might invite a disqualifying approach. If this is not addressed in preemptive terms, say, through the kind of careful

221

“Revolt against the Modern World”

221

hermeneutical understanding I try to lay out in this chapter, then it might encourage confrontational frames of mind and action, despite the fact that this was never Popović’s intention. (5) “Reductionism and generalization”: In his sweeping criticisms, Popović tends to conflate Western Europe with its darker side. However, is it not true that there is a darker side to consider? Alongside, he somehow fails to give a voice to those Christians of the West who have not a few points of agreement with some of his views, at least in terms of their culture-critique of secularism, uncurbed rationalism, re-paganization, and totalitarianism. One reason for his silence on such Western theologians, possibly, is his limited exposure to their works as such. The second is that it is the words of the Gospel, explicated in words of the Church Fathers old and new, which have the first and last word in all matters that Fr. Justin’s theology aims to address. This does not mean that he makes no reference to contemporary theologians, Orthodox and non-Orthodox. Additionally, one has to allow for the context of his life’s circumstances in order to understand that he was exposed to apocalyptic events firsthand, that his education was successively interrupted by exile and imprisonment, and, perhaps decisively, that the sense of the urgency of salvation was exacerbated by the prophetic trait of his person, spiritually and psychologically regarded. (6) “Simplification of diversity and subsumption of otherness”: In a way, it is true that the binary terms of humanism (West) and “either-or” theohumanism (East Orthodoxy) tend to reduce the super-complexity of the sociohistorical and cultural European Lebenswelt into just two parties antagonized in one ideologically conceptualized dialectic. Another related objection states that non-Christian religious or social identities are not given comprehensive attention, and the same follows for non-European cultures. Rather than understanding religious-social identities in the plural, and rather than viewing cultural differences and even conflicts as culturally inherent to the European lifeworld (hence seeing that delicate understanding of irreducibly concrete specificities needs to precede polemic as well as possible agreements), Popović views these other identities as mere consequences of the lack of knowledge of one thing—the Orthodox Church, or, as willful negations of what is understood to be the one Truth. Instead, an ideal of homogeneous society in perfect harmony is postulated in the Logos. But this seems to entail an a priori overstepping of irreducible particularity of the lifeworld hic et nunc as well as, paradoxically, repeating the figure of humanistic Enlightenment itself, formally, that is, the gesture of reducing reality to one absolute Reason. All these observations hold true to a significant extent, thus, they do warrant criticism. But we must not forget that Popović is writing in non-globalized times: before the reality of multiculturalism was inaugurated, before the resurgence of questions such as Islamization or incessant immigration, and before the promotion of sensitivities in regard to identity politics, differentiation of rights, deconstructive rationality, and so on. Hence, we should not ask him to hand

222

222

Bogdan Lubardić

out ready-made answers to all of our current questions (nor should we expect him to anticipate or know everything we know). Rather, we should ponder his vision of God in Christ and listen to his Orthodox experiencebased understanding of how God works our salvation in synergy with the freely consenting will. And surely, as a minimum, his vision of Truth emanates from Christ as concrete love in person. It springs from a deeply accommodating Love crucified for the other, for each and for all. One should not forget that Popović—equipped with the knowing of saving truths, saving instruments, and saving experiences—calls for the integration of sin-ridden, mortalized, and suffering humankind into such a love—a love true, divine and salvific. It is on these grounds that Popović is not prepared to surrender the normative concept of god-manhood in Christ, or to abandon the call for the anthropization of human history, to relativism (religious or secular), to reticent forms of “isms” that, as he intuits, seem to be warring against the Spirit of Christ—Truth. Be that as it may, despite heated diatribes, he does not invoke heartless judgment on particular otherness per se. He views each created being through the eyes of Christ’s unfathomable love by the Spirit. Perhaps this encourages him to be harsh for love’s sake. It is he who wrote, “The soul of every ailing creature should be approached on pigeon’s feet of prayer.”56 Therefore, his vision allows for an accommodation of otherness (in terms of an empathetic praying-for), even if the other chooses to resist the call of the Spirit abiding in Christ of the Orthodox Church. Still, the question remains: why do these precious thoughts, of which there are many, remain on the threshold of the “conceptual”? Why are they confined in the spiritual-practical domain (in lines of spiritual meditation, which, through unfathomable gestures of divinely inspired charity, address individual souls near and far, East and West)? Why is this Philokalic dimension not developed on the level of theological doctrine, where and when it comes out to address otherness, culturally regarded? Is this an indication of a nonsuperficial internal rift in the thought of Popović: a hiatus between love and understanding for Western Christians and hostile suspicion to Western Christianity, to which they willingly belong by reasoned free decision? (7) “Deficit of socio-cultural constructivism”: It is true that Popović did not venture to produce detailed accounts, or concrete protocols for application of what the alternatives should be in the immediate reality of the political. However, this never was his primary goal. His priority was to alarm the public prophetically, and to offer the essential reasons for, like standing stars, why the cardinal modernistic tendencies are potentially very harmful for the full, all-encompassing, and uninterrupted reception of the revealed truths of the Orthodox faith in a contemporary world. His maximalism, which goes hand in hand with a lack of sociopolitical gradualism, then, is not necessarily

56 Justin Popović, Letter 1:  Христолика душа света [The Christ-Like Heart of the World], На богочовечанском путу, pp. 189–91 (190).

223

“Revolt against the Modern World”

223

an effect of intellectual weakness, nor is his broad scope of condemnations an “easy way out.” Again, voicing prophetic alarm and offering eschatological orientation are to be accepted as his priorities modo audi Israël (Deut. 6:4). (8) “Pan-Slavism and nationalism”: His alleged pan-Slavism is neither an ideology of race, nor is it a racially universalized nationalism. Rather, it issues forth as a consequence of his historical-cultural embeddedness in the Slav side of Orthodox culture. Moreover, he was a Slavophile not a pan-Slavist. Conjointly, he was explicit in his critique of ethnophiletism. He always made sure that his love of Slavdom was measured by his admiration for the image of the Orthodox God-man (which, as he finds, is there preserved in remarkable fullness). (9) “Anti-Europeanism”: His anti-Europeanism is nothing more than his reaction to self-sufficient humanism. As such, it is a reaction to a reaction, a revolt against a revolt. Alongside, it is an affirmation of faith, hope, and love for a Europe, which, as he states, “boasts of her Christ” rather than “of herself.”57 As early as 1923, he endorses Vasily Zenkovsky’s statement in regard to the critique laid out by Russian intelligentsia: “It is with sorrow that they love Europe, and it is with love that they criticise her.”58 Popović’s critique of Europe, nevertheless, seems to be negative. And the problem here is that he did not allow for positive potentials of alternative kinds of humanism, Christian notwithstanding, to enter into the picture. That is to say, for him all Western humanism is identical to a god-denying or at least seriously flawed humanism. Still, to an extent, this may be balanced by bearing in mind several corrective moments. His critique of Europe encompassed both southeast Europe (South Slav culture) and Russia. For instance, he fervidly supported the critique of Soviet Communism. Moreover, reacting to Josef Pieper’s counter-critique, Popović conceded that it was in Orthodox historical lands that Communism spread most convincingly. But he added two qualifications. First, the reason for this is the fact that reducing everything onto man, that is, “hominization,” is the “atmosphere which is inhaled by human nature in general.” Second, Popović goes on to claim, “However, the Orthodox Church has never ecclesiologically endorsed any humanism in dogmatic terms.”59 The point is this: Popović’s critique of Europe is not solely anti-Western. At one level, it may be regarded as comprehensive. There is undeniable proof on record that Eastern European failings are noted very critically by him, including Serbian ones. He does find “eastern” brands and strands of the human element displacing the theohuman reality (e.g., cesaropapism, ethnophiletism, and non-personalist collectivism). Popović is also very critical in regard to many symptoms of the hierarchy’s conformism

57 Popović, Православна Црква и екуменизам, p. 159. 58 Justin Popović, “В. Зењковски: Руски мислиоци и Европа” [V. Zenkovsky: Russian Thinkers and Europe], Хришћански живот [Christian Life] 2, no. 12 (1923): 571–75 (571). 59 Popović, Православна Црква и екуменизам, p. 119.

224

224

Bogdan Lubardić

and self-indulgence, as well as failings of the members of the Church at large. Therefore, to an extent, Popović’s critique of Europe includes self-critique. It is a self-critique, note, of both the westernism and easternism of Serbia (e.g., as mentioned before, he criticizes the rather idiosyncratic Balkan ethnophiletisms). It certainly is not a projection of nationalist or geopolitical ressentiment, under a supposedly religionized guise. His Slavophile traits, again, are to be seen as effects of legitimate in-rootedness in Slav culture of which he was an integral part. The same is true of his Russophile streak, namely, he received the Christian-Hellenic gifts from Russian hands as well: especially during his formative years in St. Petersburg and Sremski Karlovci. In this sense, he was part of the project of forging an alternative— “supra-modern”—way for Christian self-understanding: an understanding set in terms of a critical synthesis of Orthodox Christianity, Slav tradition, and pan-European culture values. It is true that he endorsed the rather strict, and sometimes overgeneralized critique of Western Europe as given by the Russian and Serbian Orthodox Christian intelligentsia (from Dostoevsky to Nikolaj Velimirović and others). Still more, such similar Russian and Serbian thinkers represent one facet of the many-faceted pan-European movement of critical reassessment of the fruits of European modernity, Enlightenment, and culture as such: a movement in which many of the prominent critics were of Western origin (from K. Jöel to M. Maeterlinck or O. Spengler, not to mention many others to whom Popović recurs as well). Lastly, Popović experienced the horrors of the First and Second World Wars firsthand. It was armies invading from the West that left his nation destroyed and butchered. Over 1.8 million Serbian souls perished in two wars. In other words, in terms of historical explanation, it is not surprising that this might have textured his critique of Western Europe to a degree.60

Conclusion In Popović’s mind, the “political” includes the integrated system of human sociocultural institutions and domains as they appear in the horizon of the historical lifeworld. His thought is not to be regarded as a religionized politicology, or as a function of romantic nationalism. Nor is it to be regarded as a systematic theology of politics in the strict sense. Rather, it is to be viewed as a polemical hermeneutic of the political set within a comprehensive Orthodox Christology. Concretely, his critique of the political is grounded in an ascetically realized Christology firmly tied to biblical roots.61 Such a theology posits theohumanism as the regulative ideal for theory and practice. Accordingly, this is applied as the

60 Ibid., p. 152. 61 Popović, “Унутрашња мисија,” p. 389.

225

“Revolt against the Modern World”

225

primary criterion of assessment of the sociohistorical dynamic of the political. Selfsufficient humanism, including its founding principles (naturalism, rationalism, autarchy of the animal rationale, and so on) is taken to be the cause of distortion and spiritual decline of humanity, universalized ex Occidente. The paradoxical apotheosis of this process is the dogmatization of infallibility of human agency, as of the Roman Catholic Church (this principle, he claims, is subsequently universalized by Protestantism). Such humanism, argues Popović, falsifies the proper goal and scope of human nature, revealed in the living fullness of Christ the God-man, and, by extension, it undermines the project of theanthropization in Christ, offered by the (Orthodox) Church. According to Popović’s general viewpoint, this warrants the theologian to undertake a consistent critique of the humanistic closure of divine-human potential revealed to mankind as a divine gift, through (a)  criticism, (b)  furnishing an alternative model, and (c)  giving biblical-ecclesial witness to Christ by virtue of one’s own life in the God-man, that is, by sainthood in vivo. The consequences of this vision have been spelt out by Popović especially in terms of a reflection on church-state relations and education, namely, through (a)  the question of borders and modes of relation between the Church and the state and, as extended; (b)  the question of the right to give witness to God in the public square; and (c) finally the question whether, and in what capacity, theological education is to leave the confines of instituted religion. The Church needs to respect the order of the church-state divide, allowing for freedom of conscience and individual freedom of choice as of social agents. Popović does not advocate a theocratic model of society (though he seems to try to unite opposition to disestablishment of the Church with the approval of toleration of other confessions or religions). The role of the Church is to give witness to the extended presence of Christ, for he is her real Body and Head, wherein instruments of healing, illumination, and salvation abide. That is why he is not content to see the Church as passive or marginalized in regard to the social state. Rather, he proposes the model of symbiosis of two bodies—ecclesial polity and that of the social state. These two should, ideally, synchronize. For it is reasonable to have human personhood in God postulated and accepted, by both sides, as the highest regulating value of sociocultural and economical-political life. An organic social philosophy is advocated. But it is equipped with theanthropic personalism as corrective instance. At a minimum, the Church has the right, like other parties mediating the social order, to speak within the public square. However, at the level of education, it seems as if Popović takes it a step further, or in the reverse direction, by declaring that Church and school are two parts of “one heart.” If so, the principle of neutrality seems to be violated. However, this is not the case. What he has in mind is (a) introducing Christian education into all levels of the academia and (b)  counterbalancing naturalistic self-interpretations of humanistic science (especially in the wake of political neo-paganism and idolatry, viz., the perspectives of Nazism and Communism). He wants more Christian knowledge introduced into the realm of education, through debate and dialogue. This does not necessarily entail an invasive creationist reduction of the

226

226

Bogdan Lubardić

curricula of education in the secular-state domain. He pleads for enlightenment through Tradition (paradosis, predanje) to balance the tradition of Enlightenment (Dositejism), as an alternative or as a possible corrective. That is, he wants spiritual illumination (delivered through theological truths [Saint-Savianism]) to keep the sciences, both social and natural, open at least in principle to the possibility of an integrative ecclesial vision of all-unity in Christ the Logos of God (Popović reads the Logos as the constitutive underlaying Principle, all-encompassing Meaning, the Good, Beauty, and Truth of all creation). All manner of knowledge needs to be kept open-ended in relation to the spiritual world. The human mind, individually and generically, needs to be illuminated by the Spirit of Christ. Therefore, a wider and deeper presence of theology in and through academia seems in order. If this is opposed, then it needs to be countered by argument, albeit clothed in a rhetoric suffused with lament, warning, and protest. Finally, his critique of the political, and of politics in the strict sense, remains primarily a spiritual critique of things secular and humanistic. Political radicalism, Left or Right, devoid of a spiritual radicalism, executed ascetically in Christ, is undermined by its initial conformism. This is betrayed by the fact that it does not call into question the “ontological” status quo of human autarchy in relation to divine origins of all existence. Therefore, it is no less retrograde than what it purports to overcome. Living and acting in Christ the God-man by the Spirit is necessary as a preconditioning critique of the political inasmuch as the political tends to self-enclose in naturalistic terms, thus instigating the European and panhuman theodrama, or, as Popović would have it, thus derailing the movement of theohumanist transformation of fallen humanity. Revolution from “outside” must commence from the “inside.”62 It needs to be preceded by revolutionizing humanity’s spiritual inside in terms of a return into communion with the God, who in Jesus Christ, crucified and resurrected, calls humanity to realize its potential in filial trust, creative cooperation, and mutual adoration, according to divine intention. In the midst of the catastrophe that befell Europe in 1914, the Serbian saint-to-be writes in witness of this as follows: The extremes part more and more [. . .] a vast evil, a vast good, man in the abyss in between [. . .] and desperation grows [. . .] nothingness—oh, a desperation clad in light, oh, an illness with acute sight, оh, deep death—helplessness, nothingness, brother of the worm. [. . .] Christ, it is only he who unites the disunited. (Justin Popović, Notes from Oxford, May 10, 1917)

62 Popović, “Светосавска философија просвете,” p. 220.

227

Part IV C IVIC P OLITICAL T HEOLOGY

228

229

Chapter 12 W HO SE P U B L IC ? W H IC H E C C L E SIO L O G Y ? Aristotle Papanikolaou

The question of the role of the Church in the public square presumes that there is such a thing as a “public.” The question also presumes that the Church’s relation to such a public is homogeneous across space and time, and does not consider how a particular “public” shapes a particular church’s understanding of itself. This chapter interrogates the very category of public to examine if there is such a thing as the public. It asks whether what is meant by “public ecclesiology” depends on where the Church is located. It ends by proposing an Orthodox “public ecclesiology” across time and space through a case study of public issues surrounding homosexuality, such as laws against so-called gay propaganda and gay marriage. I  argue that Orthodox support of a public political space grounded in the sacredness of the person, as expressed in human rights language, especially rights to freedom and equality, is not necessarily being “liberal” or “Western,” but is Orthodox insofar as it is based on Orthodox ecclesiology and theological anthropology.

Whose Public? In order to make sense of what we mean by “public ecclesiology,” we must first understand what we mean by “public.” Public ecclesiology implies the presence or role of the Church in public life. The very notion of public ecclesiology disputes the making of religion “private” or the modern privatization of religion. It is well known, of course, that the general private/public distinction is an invention of modern Western thought, one that would have been unthinkable or would have assumed different forms in premodern societies, and even in many contemporary cultures. It is a distinction that contributed much to the creation of the modern notion of what Charles Taylor calls the “buffered self ”—an individualized self with clearly marked though invisible borders that serve to differentiate individuals from each other.1 What is private are, thus, those aspects of the buffered self ’s life that are not exposed to other individuals and not part of the shared life one has 1 Charles Taylor, A Secular Age (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2007).

230

230

Aristotle Papanikolaou

with the aggregate of individuals. In terms of religion, what is private are one’s beliefs about the whole, together with the norms by which one structures one’s life and which are grounded in beliefs about the whole. What belongs to the public are those norms that structure the relations among individuals, and since not all individuals share the same religious beliefs, there are some who would argue that one’s religious beliefs should not enter the public space as a way of structuring communal norms. This public/private distinction in relation to religion has been recently one of the central themes under debate in Western political philosophy, and has even come under attack in some forms of postmodern philosophy. At the individual level, it has been recognized that it is simply impossible to bracket or exclude one’s religious beliefs as one deliberates how to participate or relate to other individuals in the shared public space. Contrary to the earlier thought of John Rawls, there is no “original position” where one could deliberate about norms of a society that does not take into account the particulars of one’s existence, including ethnicity, race, and religious beliefs.2 At the level of the individual, religious beliefs always affect public life, even when one decides, as an example, not to base her vote on her religious beliefs. It may, in fact, be her religious beliefs that influence her decision not to base her vote on religious beliefs. Thus, at the level of individual religious existence, the private/public distinction has rightly been interpreted as a myth used to exclude religion from the public sphere for very noble intentions of preserving civic peace and equality among individuals.3 The fact, however, that the private/public distinction is a myth at the level of the individual does not mean that the notion of public itself is a myth, especially in terms of signifying broadly a shared communal life among individuals. Although there can be different interpretations of what is meant by the public political space, for the purposes of my argument, I mean society as a whole constituted as a shared communal life, which would include relations to state, culture, and civic associations. In terms of the general definition of public as a shared communal life, it can also apply to the Church, especially as it assembles in common worship, which is not to be differentiated from a private life, but from the space of interiority that is not accessible to other individuals in common worship even if it shapes how one relates to these same individuals in common worship. The Church, then, is a kind of public in the sense of the realization of a shared communal life, most

2 John Rawls, A Theory of Justice, revised ed. (Cambridge, MA: Belknap Press, 1999). 3 One could assert that the private/public distinction is operative in totalitarian regimes, where an intensification of a secret private life may exist behind the public persona expected by such authoritarian and oppressive regimes. The fact, however, that public life is always in some measure a lie in such regimes also means that the private is not disconnected from the public, especially if the public is recognized as a relation of individuals often forced to wear masks that constantly evoke the question of truth or falsity. Totalitarian regimes may intensify one’s interior life, but interiority is never private in relation to public life.

231

Whose Public? Which Ecclesiology?

231

realized in the celebration of the Eucharist. When we speak of public ecclesiology, however, we do not mean the Church as public, but the Church in public, that is, the Church in the public political space of society as a whole. This implies that the Church as public is in relation to the public political space that is society as a whole, which itself is constituted by multiple publics. This society as a whole that exists as multiple publics is different from the Church in the sense that being constituted as and by multiple publics, it does not presuppose the shared common beliefs that would be evident in the Church. When we speak of public ecclesiology we mean the existence of the Church as public in, through, and within society as a whole, which is a common space in which the shared beliefs of the Church are not presupposed, taken for granted, or form a unified cultural, political, or theological perspective. There are those who have argued and would continue to argue that in order to maintain and preserve modern democratic principles of equality and freedom, a high wall of separation needs to exist between the Church as public and the public that is the political space in which the Church exists in relation to other publics. While the situation in France indicates that it is possible to erect this high wall of separation through force in a way that is difficult at the level of the individual’s interior life, José Casanova has shown that religion as an institutional and cultural presence in Brazil, Spain, Poland, and the United States has not threatened or diminished democratic structures; religion has often contributed to the formation of democratic structures.4 In fact, the momentum in Western political philosophy has shifted in such a way that most would not advocate for such a high wall of separation, including Charles Taylor and Jeffrey Stout.5 Even John Rawls and Richard Rorty have modified their positions in relation to the role of the institutionalized and cultural presence of religion in the public political space.6 Most would see the situation in France as a manifestation of “secularism” in its ideological form, while still affirming the need for secularity, the meaning of which is at the center of the current debate, but has something to do with fostering a political space that is pluralistic. The meaning of the “secular” is a highly contested term, and even those who recognize its Western origins would still argue for its relevancy for understanding globally the repositioning of religion within the public political space. Charles Taylor, for example, rejects understanding the secular in terms of the church-state

4 José Casanova, Public Religions in the Modern World (Chicago, IL:  University of Chicago Press, 1994). 5 Jeffrey Stout, Democracy and Tradition (Princeton, NJ:  University of Chicago Press, 1994). 6 John Rawls, “The Idea of Public Reason Revisited,” The Law of Peoples (Cambridge, MA:  Harvard University Press, 2001), pp. 129–80; Richard Rorty, “Religion in Public Square: A Reconsideration,” Journal of Religious Ethics 31, no. 1 (2003):  141–49. See also Nicholas Wolterstorff, “An Engagement with Rorty,” Journal of Religious Ethics 31, no. 1 (2003): 129–39.

232

232

Aristotle Papanikolaou

relation and sees it as a configuration of the public political space in terms of pluralism and differentiation. There are those who like to pronounce that we are living in a post-secular world, but that depends on what one means by secular. If one means the elimination of religion from the public political space, then, indeed, we are living in a post-secular society insofar as religion has not been eliminated as a result of modern processes of differentiation, and there are no longer predictions that it will be eliminated. If, however, one means a differentiated public and legal order based on religious freedom and democratic regimes that, according to Taylor, “protect people in their practice of whatever religion or outlook they choose [. . .] treat people equally [. . .] give all people a hearing”7 then we are not in a postsecular situation, as the secular is the political space marked by the democratic commitment that allows for pluralism. What Taylor is arguing is that democratic secularity is marked by the pluralization of all voices, including religious voices, regardless of the cultural situation or history. This is really the challenge for the Orthodox Churches:  can they accept an understanding of a secular democratic liberal space defined not in terms of a high wall of separation between religion and the public political space, or between the church and the state, but in terms of a differentiated public and legal order that maximizes pluralism? What Casanova makes clear is that what we mean by public political space is not necessarily uniform and depends on the cultural and historical facts of particular public political spaces.8 He differentiates between “mere secularity,” in which religious belief is a normal viable option (one might call this the American model); self-sufficient and exclusive secularity, where living without religion is normal (one sees this especially in the Scandanavian countries); and secularist secularity, which is the condition of feeling liberated from religion, and where religion is seen as a threat to liberty (the French model). While we may say that what constitutes a public political space are the distinct publics that constitute such a space, that is, the lack of any common theological perspective, the role of the church in its institutionalized form in relation to this public political space would depend on the historical and cultural factors at play in a given public political space. What is not clear is whether the current Orthodox situation would fit into any of Casanova’s three models: mere secularity, sufficient and exclusive secularity, or secularist secularity. Which raises the question of whether we can speak meaningfully of secularity in the Orthodox countries, or whether we need to adjust Casanova’s model. But the general point is valid: put more simply, the role of religion, and specifically, the Church, in public political life depends on which

7 Charles Taylor, “Religion Is Not the Problem:  Secularism and Democracy,” Commonweal, February 25, 2011, pp. 17–21 (21). 8 See his more recent essay, “The Secular, Secularizations, Secularisms,” in Rethinking Secularism, ed. Craig Calhoun, Mark Juergensmeyer, and Jonathan Vanantwerpen (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2011), pp. 54–74. This volume contains excellent essays reflecting from a global perspective on how the relations between religion, the secular, and the public are differently negotiated for distinctive cultural and historical reasons.

233

Whose Public? Which Ecclesiology?

233

public we are speaking about. To complicate matters further, in the Orthodox world, the role of the Church in public political life might look different in the United States, Greece, and Russia. Let us briefly look at the situation of the churches in the United States, Greece, and Russia. In the United States, the Orthodox constitute less than 0.34 percent of the total population, which amounts to about 1 million people out of a total population of 316  million.9 Orthodox Christianity has no position of privilege in the United States, and the institutional churches, all of which, with the exception of the Orthodox Church of America, are connected to the so-called mother countries, have very little effect on American public life, either culturally or politically. In Greece, the Orthodox Church has had and continues to have a strong cultural presence with roughly 98  percent of the population identifying as Orthodox Christians.10 Here, the religious and the ethnic identities are not so easily differentiated, as a Greek who is an atheist may still consider himself Orthodox. Although levels of participation do not match the numbers of those who identify as Orthodox Christians, and although there are constant debates about the role of the Church in public life, the fact that the Church does have such a role is indisputable, even at the level of legislation. The situation in Russia is more complicated. The latest poles from the Pew Research Center indicate that nearly 72  percent of Russians now identify as Orthodox Christians, while only 7 percent actually attend the liturgies, a decline from 9  percent in 1998.11 What this indicates is that the communist attempt to separate religious and national identity—to be a Soviet Russian meant not to be an Orthodox Christian—has now been reversed and Russian national identity has been again fused with religious identity. What is also clear is that the theological east-west divide has been appropriated to reestablish a geopolitical east-west divide between Russia and the West. According to the emerging political rhetoric under President Vladimir Putin, it is not that Russia does not support democratic structures, it is just that its understanding of democracy includes “morality” as a result of its Russian Orthodox past, and this inclusion of morality is what differentiates Russian democracy from the godless liberal kind in the West, with its “perversions” and licentiousness.12 In this sense, some Russians have made

9 Alexei D.  Krindatch, “Research on Orthodox Christian Communities in the United States,” Hartford Institute for Religion Research, http://hirr.hartsem.edu/research/ orthodoxindex.html (accessed December 16, 2014). 10 “Religion Statistics by Country,” Religion Facts, http://www.religionfacts.com/ religion_statistics/religion_statistics_by_country.htm (accessed December 16, 2014). 11 “Russians Return to Religion but Not to Church,” Pew Research Center, February 10, 2014, http://www.pewforum.org/2014/02/10/russians-return-to-religion-but-not-tochurch/ (accessed December 16, 2014). 12 For a nuanced reading of the Russian Orthodox Church’s linking of human rights language with morality, see Kristina Stoeckl, The Russian Orthodox Church and Human Rights (London:  Routledge, 2014). See also Marc Bennetts, “Who’s ‘Godless’ Now? Russia

234

234

Aristotle Papanikolaou

common cause with such ultra-conservatives in the West like Pat Buchanan and, ironically, American evangelical Christians, even if evangelical Christians in Russia endure restrictions under the 1997 law “On Freedom of Conscience and on Religious Association.” What is unclear in Russia is to what degree this emerging consciousness that being “Russian” means being “Orthodox” has any real effect on the cultural and political life of present-day Russia; or to what extent the Russian Orthodox Church as an institution has any real political influence, or has contributed to laws affecting other religious traditions, religious education, or so-called gay propaganda.13 It is clear, then, that when speaking about public ecclesiology, or the church as public in the public political space, the public political space looks differently for the Orthodox Churches in the United States, Russia, and Greece. The Orthodox churches in the United States have little effect on public life, while the Church of Greece de facto has a strong public presence, even if disputed, in large part due to the intertwining of ethnic and religious identity in Greece. Things are still in flux in Russia, where the political rhetoric affecting public life is shaped by the geopolitical east-west divide, in a way that is not dominant in Greece. Given this descriptive reality, it would seem inconceivable to think that the Church in Greece would not have a public role, just as it would be inconceivable, as Casanova showed, for the Catholic Church not to have a public role in Brazil, Poland, and Spain. The Orthodox Church may be allowed to have a public role in the United States, but it will be limited in comparison with either Roman Catholic or Protestant forms of Christianity. The Church’s role in Russia is growing, but the future of such a role is still in question. The extent and degree to which the Church has a role in the public political space depends on “which public.” The question is whether distinct contextual situations should determine the way in which the Church attempts to influence the public political space. If we focus this question on specific issues, the Orthodox Churches have shown unanimity in relation to their response in the public sphere. In order to address this question further, I would like to use gay marriage as a case study. There does not exist an Orthodox Church in the world that would support the legalization of gay marriage. The particular public, thus, does not affect the Orthodox Churches’ response in this moral question. In the United States, the Orthodox churches have issued statements, but to little effect, as the 2015 Supreme Court ruling effectively made gay marriage a national right. The legalization of gay “marriage” in Greece and Russia is inconceivable at this time, though in Greece, European Union (EU) pressure forced Greece to pass legislation in 2015 legally recognizing same-sex union, despite the efforts of the Church; in Russia, in addition to resistance to the legalization of gay marriage, so-called gay propaganda laws have been passed that

Says It’s U.S.,” The Washington Times, January 28, 2014, http://www.washingtontimes.com/ news/2014/jan/28/whos-godless-now-russia-says-its-us/ (accessed August 3, 2016). 13 For one view, see Irena Papkova, The Orthodox Church and Russian Politics (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2011).

235

Whose Public? Which Ecclesiology?

235

do not exist in Greece. The legislation against gays in Russia is at a level not seen in Greece, even before EU integration. We, thus, see a slight difference between the Churches in Greece and Russia as Churches in Greece or other Orthodox countries are not endorsing laws against “gay propaganda”; but, in general, the Churches are fairly uniform in relation to laws endorsing gay unions of any kind.

Which Ecclesiology? Should, however, such resistance to the legalization of gay marriage be the response of the Churches that are committed to democratic structures? The Orthodox Churches in Russia and Greece have a power and presence in the public political space not given to the Orthodox Churches in the United States because of the role of Orthodox Christianity in shaping the cultural, ethnic, and even national identity of these peoples; but does this mean that these churches should use this power to influence public morality in a particular direction while seemingly supporting democratic structures? These questions move us from the descriptive to the normative and the relation between the two. In order to answer this question, we must turn to ecclesiology. Before doing so, however, one myth must be dispelled: that liberal democracy in the West has no “morality” and that the type of democracy supported by Orthodox countries in the East is one that is infused with morality.14 This juxtaposition of East-Democracy-Morality versus West-DemocracyImmorality is rhetorical demonization of the worst kind, as it is simply false that Western liberal democracy has been bereft of morality. It may not be the morality of a specific religious tradition, but it is a morality described best by Hans Joas as “the sacredness of the person,” expressed in the language of human rights.15 The meaning of the “sacredness of the person” is not self-evident, nor is its implications for structuring the public political space. I  argue that the ongoing interpretation of the meaning of the sacredness of the person and its expression in human rights language is best characterized by the Rawlsian notion of “overlapping consensus,” in which what emerges as a public morality is not that of evangelical Christians (and thank God for that!), but one that is

14 This rhetoric on “Western” liberal democracy is evident among Orthodox hierarchs and thinkers alike, but forms part of the Western theological critique of democratic liberalism. See Vigen Guroian, Incarnate Love: Essays in Orthodox Ethics (Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press, 1987); William T. Cavanaugh, Torture and Eucharist:  Theology, Politics, and the Body of Christ (Oxford: Blackwell, 1998); John Milbank, Theology and Social Theory: Beyond Secular Reason (Cambridge, MA:  Blackwell, 1990); and, of course, Stanley Hauerwas, Toward a Community of Character: A Constructive Christian Social Ethics (Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press, 1991). 15 Hans Joas, The Sacred of the Person: A New Geneology of Human Rights (Washington, DC: Georgetown University Press, 2013).

236

236

Aristotle Papanikolaou

contested and shaped by many voices.16 In the United States, for example, one witnesses a tradition of contestation of the meaning of freedom and equality where at one time women were excluded from voting, but now such an exclusion is unthinkable. The same debate is occurring in the United States on gay marriage. It is interesting to notice in this debate that religious actors, while being religiously motivated when giving public reasons for their objection, often revert to the vague notion of “family values.” Most Americans are not convinced by the idea that somehow the legalization of gay marriage is a threat to the common morality of allowing to all humans freedom of expression and equal treatment, even if they are still divided equally over the morality of abortion. In fact, the American people are actually affirming the value of things, such as commitment, trust, intimacy, honesty, integrity, and so on, that are integral to lifelong commitments. Thus, to highlight the legalization of gay marriage as an example of Western democracy being without morality is simply false and, again, an example of the worst kind of rhetoric of demonization. Only a crude understanding of homosexuality as “perversion” could see lifelong gay unions as without any value. Such a crude understanding was evident in the recent statement by the Assembly of Canonical Orthodox Bishops in the United States after the Supreme Court decision that effectively legalized gay marriage there.17 In the statement they linked their affirmation of traditional marriage to the so-called protection of children, without giving any empirical evidence at all of linking the danger of gay marriage to children (because there is no danger); such a link is also implied in the Pan-Orthodox Council’s document on “The Mission of the Orthodox Church in Today’s World.”18 The fact that the Orthodox Church makes such an empirically unverifiable claim only indicates that it really cannot find any good arguments within the terms of democratic liberalism. In other words, it somehow wants to affirm the principles of democratic liberalism, and yet argue against gay marriage and gay civil unions; in order to do so, it makes unverifiable claims that promotion of homosexuality harms children, which very few in the West find convincing. There are really no convincing grounds on the terms of democratic liberalism for rejecting something like gay civil unions, or, more generally, free and open expression of same-sex attraction. The Churches

16 On “overlapping consensus,” see John Rawls, Political Liberalism, 2nd ed. (New York: Columbia University Press, 2005). See also Ronald Thiemann, Religion in Public Life: A Dilemma for Democracy (Washington, DC: Georgetown University Press, 1996). 17 “Response of Assembly of Bishops to Obergfell v.  Hodges,” Official Website of the Assembly of Canonical Orthodox Bishops of the United States, July 2, 2015, http:// assemblyofbishops.org/ news/ 2015/ response- of- assembly- of- bishops- to- obergefell- v.hodges (accessed August 3, 2016). 18 The Mission of the Orthodox Church in Today’s World, Official Website of the Department for External Church Relations of the Moscow Patriarchate, www.mospat. ru, January 28, 2016, https://mospat.ru/en/2016/01/28/news127353/ (accessed August 3, 2016).

237

Whose Public? Which Ecclesiology?

237

should simply be honest that they want a public political space that is heavily saturated with Orthodox morality, but they cannot do so and still claim that they are promoting freedom of conscience, freedom of religion, and freedom of expression; in other words, to forcefully demand a public morality that is aligned with the Church’s morality should question the Orthodox Churches’ public commitment to democratic liberalism. The question now becomes whether because of culture and history, the morality of the shared public political space of an Orthodox country should reflect the Orthodox morality of the Orthodox tradition. Before we answer this question, we must first ask whether Orthodoxy is compatible with democracy; and, in order to ask that question, we must now ask the question of which ecclesiology. As is well known, I have written on this,19 and the ecclesiology I think that makes most sense for understanding what it means to be a “Church” is eucharistic ecclesiology. Kallistos Ware has written that although eucharistic ecclesiology “has been extensively criticized [. . .] what its opponents have done is to suggest modifications on points of detail rather than to propose a fundamentally different alternative.”20 This is a nice way of saying that no one has come up with a better solution, so this is the best we have with which to work. I have argued that eucharistic ecclesiology leads to a qualified Orthodox endorsement of democratic liberalism. Some misunderstandings, however, must be addressed, both of eucharistic ecclesiology and of my own position. First, it is inaccurate to say that eucharistic ecclesiology leads to a passive role of the laity and an autocratic understanding of the bishop.21 Eucharistic ecclesiology developed in the context of countering such clericalism, and the mutually constitutive relationship of the bishop in relation to the laity, of the one and the many, is a fundamental tenet of eucharistic ecclesiology. The fundamental logic of the eucharistic ecclesiology was to identify the nature and location of the Church as sacramental; in other words, in response to the question “where is the Church?,” eucharistic ecclesiology points to the sacrament of the Eucharist and not to any institutional structures. In this sense, eucharistic ecclesiology was meant and continues to intend to answer the question of the nature and the location of the Church in such a way that includes the laity and precludes any reduction to the bishop or even a council of bishops. It is for this reason that John Zizioulas refers to the laity as being “ordained” in baptism, which assumes a particular active role within the eucharistic assembly.22 The bishop is, 19 Aristotle Papanikolaou, The Mystical as Political:  Democracy and Non-radical Orthodoxy (Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press, 2012). 20 Kallistos Ware, “Sobornost and Eucharistic Ecclesiology:  Aleksei Khomiakov and His Successors,” International Journal for the Study of the Christian Church 203, no. 11 (2011): 216–35 (231). 21 See Andrey Shishkov’s contribution to this book. 22 John Zizioulas, Being as Communion:  Studies in Personhood and the Church (Crestwood, NY:  St. Vladimir’s Seminary Press, 1997), p.  216. Zizioulas was making this claim as early as 1972 in “Ordination—A Sacrament? An Orthodox Reply,” Concilium 4 (1972):  33–39. For Zizioulas, ordination is inherently relational and active and there

238

238

Aristotle Papanikolaou

according to Zizioulas, the “visible center of unity” of the eucharistic assembly, but there is no bishop, no unity to be expressed and symbolized in the bishop without the active constitutive role of the laity who are ordained into particular roles in the eucharistic assembly through baptism.23 As Zizioulas argues, “the multiplicity is not to be subjected to the oneness; it is constitutive of the oneness [. . .] This principle is that the ‘one’—the bishop—cannot exist without the ‘many’—the community—and the ‘many’ cannot exist without the ‘one.’ ”24 There are weaknesses to eucharistic ecclesiology as it has developed over time, but the passive role of the laity is not one of them. According to Zizioulas’s understanding of eucharistic logic, the unity of this particular local community is expressed in relation to other bishops through councils, and globally through a universal primate; but even as this eucharistic logic is expressed institutionally in council, the role of the laity is assumed to be expressed through the unity in the bishop.25 It is in the institutional conciliar structures that the role of the laity is noticeably absent in the Orthodox Churches and it is in his own understanding of conciliarity that Zizioulas’s extension of the logic of eucharistic ecclesiology could be criticized as affirming a passive role of the laity. The conciliar structure as it currently exists and as Zizioulas describes it does not include a role for the laity; thus, at the regional and the global levels, the institutional structures of conciliarity fail to iconically reflect the mutually constitutive dynamic of the one and the many in the Eucharist. Despite the best of intentions, hierarchical councils can often look like the House of Lords without the House of Commons. This does not mean, however, that eucharistic ecclesiology per se leads to a passive role of the laity; in fact, it is eucharistic ecclesiology as described above that can serve as a critique for any institutional structures that do not iconically reflect the mutually constitutive dynamic of communion and otherness in the Eucharist; it can also critique any Christian living in the world who does not actively attempt to realize this dynamic in non-eucharistic forms of community.

is no member in the eucharistic assembly who is not ordained. In fact, ordination of all participants is constitutive of the eucharistic assembly. 23 Zizioulas, Being as Communion, p. 236. 24 Ibid., pp.  136–37. On the interdependence of the ministries, see John Zizioulas, “The Ecclesiology of the Orthodox Tradition,” Search 7 (1984):  42–53. On the relational understanding of authority, see Zizioulas, “The Nature of the Unity We Seek: The Response of the Orthodox Observer,” One in Christ 24 (1988):  342–48. On the perichoretic nature of ministries and a rejection of the idea that the ministry of the bishop “stands above it [the community] as an authority in itself,” see Zizioulas, “The Church as Communion,” St. Vladimir’s Theological Quarterly 38 (1994):  7–19. For his most concise and elegant discussion of the mutually constitutive relationship between the one and the many, see Zizioulas, “Communion and Otherness,” Sobornost 16 (1994): 3–16. 25 Ibid., pp. 133–36. See also John Zizioulas, “The Development of Conciliar Structures to the Time of the First Ecumenical Council,” Councils and the Ecumenical Movement, WCC Studies 5 (Geneva: WCC, 1968), pp. 34–41.

239

Whose Public? Which Ecclesiology?

239

One of the weaknesses of eucharistic ecclesiology concerns not discerning exactly what happens after the Eucharist; how the Christian is to walk and live in the world in a eucharistic mode of being, which is one of learning how to love such that what is fostered are relations among other humans that realize personal uniqueness that is simultaneously an ekstasis, or a freedom from the determinism of the given. To address this, I argued for the integration of the ascetical into the understanding of ecclesiology.26 It may be true that the theologians responsible for eucharistic ecclesiology have overemphasized the eucharistic communal assembly at the expense of the ascetical, but it is simply wrong to argue that eucharistic ecclesiology does not allow for such an integration. It must be clarified that when speaking of eucharistic ecclesiology, the Church is strictly identified with the liturgical event of the eucharist and only by extension with institutional structures, such as metropolises, patriarchates, and councils. The Church is a happening, a realization, a manifestation, and a constituting of the assembly as the body of Christ, and this as a result of the post-Pentecostal activity of the Holy Spirit. While such a sacramental understanding of Church as event may imply certain after-the-eucharist conciliar structures, the role and mission of the individual Christian in the world are less clear. What is also absent is reflection on how eucharistic celebrations in their lived realities do not feel like the manifestation of the type of communion that Zizioulas describes. The latter two weaknesses result from a lack of integration of the ascetical into the eucharistic understanding of the Church. One could argue that the logic of eucharistic ecclesiology does not allow for such an integration of the ascetical, but this is inaccurate. The logic of eucharistic ecclesiology is that of the mutually constitutive dynamic of communion and otherness as event. It may be, as Zizioulas argues, that as event, the constitution of the assembly as the eschatological Body of Christ does not depend on the individual ascetical struggle of the participants but on the invocation of the Holy Spirit; however, just as ascetical struggle wires the body toward openness to the ubiquitous presence of God in the world, so does such a struggle make possible the experience of the eucharistic assembly as communion. Ascetical struggle does not cause communion, but opens one up to the communion that is already given in the assembly as a gift. In that sense, asceticism is inherently relational and forms the individual to relate to oneself, others, the world, and God in a eucharistic mode of being. If Augustine is right that God is closer to us than we are to ourselves, then asceticism does not cause the presence of God but allows such a presence to be more fully manifested in our lives, the measure of which is our love for the neighbor, even the enemy, and the imagined unlovable. To argue that eucharistic ecclesiology does not allow for such an integration of the ascetical is to create a false opposition between the Eucharist and the ascetical and to fail to see that the ascetical aims toward a eucharistic mode of being, and

26 Aristotle Papanikolaou, “Integrating the Ascetical and the Eucharistic,” International Journal for the Study of the Christian Church 11, nos. 2–3 (2011): 173–82.

240

240

Aristotle Papanikolaou

that the Eucharist as an event of communion depends on the ascetical.27 After the Eucharist, the Christian must enter the world in such a way as to ascetically struggle to learn how to love in the face of another who does not share her Orthodox presuppositions. This asceticism means that the faith is shared by persuasion and not by force, which means that the Orthodox Christian must inhabit a space with others who do not share her beliefs or presuppositions—a shared public political space.28 It is important to emphasize that the language of human rights does not adequately express all that Orthodox theological anthropology asserts is possible for being human, all that Orthodoxy understands by the notion of “sacredness of the person.” The political space is indeed distinct from the ecclesial, especially as it is one that would allow as one option among many the turn to belief in the nonexistence of God; but as seen through the perspective of practices of divinehuman communion, or learning how to love, liberal-democratic structures do not appear as foreign to an Orthodox understanding of the human person. Indeed, engaged in practices of divine-human communion, Christians would be actively shaping a political space structured around a minimal set of under-determined normative principles that include freedom and equality, guaranteed through human rights language that is not linked to a specific religious morality, all the while being aware that the ecclesial is not the political, even if, as I  argue, the mystical is the political.

Orthodoxy, Democracy, and Gay Marriage With the recognition of a shared public political space that is distinct from the public space of the ecclesial community, the Orthodox Christian must live and act so as to create structures that would guarantee that all humans are treated as unique and irreducible; such structures would look something like those that we call today liberal democratic, and, in fact, all Orthodox Churches throughout the world have indicated support for democratic political structures. This situation is very much unlike the Roman Catholic situation of the past century, when the debate was really about whether, in fact, the Roman Catholic Church could embrace democratic liberalism, and, in particular, the reality of church/state separation. It is also what differentiates Orthodoxy from the debate within Islam, where the question really is about the compatibility of Islamic beliefs and democratic liberalism. Now there may be the non-Orthodox who raise this question, as Samuel Huntington did, among others, but among the Orthodox themselves, the debate seems to be not about the compatibility between democratic liberalism and Orthodoxy, but about the role of religion within a democratic polity that affirms liberal values, such as

27 Such a mutual interdependence is actually evident in the daily structure of services and prayers in the Eastern Orthodox tradition, all of which culminate in the morning and daily celebration of the Eucharist. 28 For further development of this point, see my The Mystical as Political.

241

Whose Public? Which Ecclesiology?

241

freedom of conscience, freedom of religion, and even, in some cases, church/state separation, which exists, for example, technically in Russia but not in Greece. To support, however, liberal democratic structures would mean to accept that the morality of the public political space would not be identical to that of the ecclesial public space, since the goal of the public political space is distinct from, though analogous to, that of the Church as a shared communal space of worship. In order to create structures that would guarantee that all humans are treated as unique and irreducible, the Christian would work toward maximizing pluralism such that the public political space could not be such that it endorses the morality of a single religious tradition, no matter the cultural history of that shared public political space. In working toward securing structures that guarantee that all humans are treated as unique and irreducible, the ascetical Christian—who is not simply the monk—is not accepting a public political space without morality, but is working toward a public political space that is shaped by a morality that exists as an overlapping consensus. Given this theological point, the Orthodox Churches in the mother countries should not use the privilege of history or culture as a means to enforce legally particular moral positions of the Orthodox Church, especially if they publically proclaim support for democratic structures. The Church should use the power of its public presence toward promoting, furthering, and deepening the kinds of political structures that are most consistent with its own ecclesiological principles, or what should result when the “Church is a social ethic.”29 One may call such structures democratic, but that is irrelevant to the point. The Church simply cannot use the privilege of its cultural and historical position to impose its morality on a shared, pluralistic, public political space. If it wishes to do so, then it must do so consistently: it should ask for laws against premarital sex, lying, divorce, and so on. Why simply stop at one particular moral situation? Moreover, where is the Church’s opposition to the violence against the gay population, violence that even its own clergy incites at gay people? Why does the Church not support laws against such violence? Where is the Church’s outcry at the growing income inequality that exists globally? Where is the Church’s outcry at the recent report of the Economist that states how only 110 people in Russia out of a population of 140  million control 35  percent of the wealth? Why does the Church care so much about gay sex and not about this massive income inequality, which also exists, albeit to a lesser degree, in Greece and the United States? Why are the Orthodox Churches globally so silent about the rampant corruption in their countries? Why is it so difficult for the Church of Greece, in order to fight political corruption, to speak against laws granting immunity to elected officials? Given these arguments that I have proposed, the Church should not oppose the legalization of gay “marriage” in the public political sphere, or anything remotely similar to laws against “gay propaganda,” whether it be in the United States, Greece, or Russia. I write “marriage” in scare quotes, as the Orthodox Churches

29 Stanley Hauerwas, The Peaceable Kingdom:  A  Primer in Christian Ethics (Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press, 1991), p. 99.

242

242

Aristotle Papanikolaou

need not recognize such politically contracted unions as “marriage,” thus arguing that committed heterosexual unions are in some way distinct from committed union of the same sex;30 but politically contracted gay unions do not threaten, but, in fact, contribute to the morality of the democratic public political space, to which the Church should use whatever power and influence it has to improving, extending, and deepening. This is the Church’s ecclesiological imperative—its public ecclesiology.

Conclusion I have described a situation where public ecclesiology depends on the particular public of which one speaks. It is clear that the churches in Russia and Greece have a public presence that is simply not available to the Orthodox Church in the United States. And, yet, the power of this public presence should not be used to advance the particular morality of the Orthodox Church, or particular moral points; it should be used to shape a public political space informed by its own ecclesiology and its own understanding of the ascetical call to live a eucharistic mode of being in the world. Such structures involve the maximization of plural voices and a commitment to a public morality forged through an overlapping consensus. It is not necessary to call such structures democratic or liberal; in fact, since they are based on sound theological arguments and Orthodox ecclesiological principles, I would call such political structural principles Orthodox. I want to end by saying that if the best response to my argument is simply to say that what I am proposing works in the United States but not in Russia or Greece, then such a statement is not a theological argument. It is an empirical claim without any support. If one were to argue that theological thinking in the West was not as credible as what emerges from the pure space of the so-called mother countries, one could counterargue that the Orthodox theologians in the diaspora are forced to discuss Orthodox theology in such a way that mirrors the early Christian situation even up to the seventh century, when Christianity was not necessarily taken for granted philosophically, culturally, or politically. It is during this time period that we see the development of theology that has become foundational for the Orthodox tradition; and it may very well be that we see in the diaspora, ironically, the development of an Orthodox political theology that is more authentically Orthodox than what we see in the “mother countries.”

30 Even here the Orthodox must ask the kind of question posed by a draft of the recent Synod on the Family in the Roman Catholic Church—is there really nothing of value that the Church cannot recognize by committed, lifelong unions, whatever the sex of those involved in such unions?

243

Chapter 13 O RT HO D OX Y F AC I N G T H E M O D E R N S E C U L A R   S TAT E Konstantinos Delikostantis

Orthodox Churches exist and interact in a world shaped by modernity and its offsprings. They ought therefore to take into account this civilization, to clarify their point of view against its fundamentals: open society, the secular constitutional state, human rights, secularization, and pluralism. Do Orthodox Churches have a response to the challenge of modernity? This question cannot be avoided. The answer reveals Orthodoxy’s witness in the modern world, where many prejudices and hard criticism against modernity originate in religious attitudes. The Enlightenment, with autonomy as its central concept, is modernity’s keystone, “perhaps one of the most important revolutions”1 in Western history. In order to grasp the humanistic dimension of the Enlightenment, one should refer to Immanuel Kant, the Enlightenment’s philosopher par excellence. He turned autonomy, this “great magical word,” into the “Magna Carta of modernity’s ethics”2 and into the cornerstone of the modern constitutional state. Autonomy does not mean “wild freedom.”3 Despite Kant’s crucial intervention, the concept of autonomy still remains an apple of discord, a matter of misconception. Autonomy was misinterpreted even by the Enlightenment’s representatives themselves, by changing it into an extreme autonomism, into a subjectivism, into a banner against any “law” that is considered a heteronomous principle. It is not by chance that modern humanistic movements openly attacked the Church, which was considered as the residue of a dark premodern past. The Enlightenment shaped a new reality, in which no place was kept for the Church, accused of being a barrier in humanity’s progress.

1 Walter Kasper, Einführung in den Glauben (Mainz: Grünewald, 1972), p. 16. 2 Helmut Thielicke, Menschsein-Menschwerden: Entwurf einer christlichen Anthropologie (Munich: Piper, 1976), p. 232. 3 See Konstantinos Delikostantis, Der moderne Humanitarismus: Zur Bestimmung und Kritik einer zeitgenössischen Auslegung der Humanitätsidee (Mainz:  Grünewald, 1982), pp. 128–34.

244

244

Konstantinos Delikostantis

As far as the ecclesial circles are concerned, most of them understood autonomy as the individual’s autodeification, as abandonment of Christian values. Western churches denied, from the beginning, the “new freedom” of the Enlightenment. According to Jürgen Moltmann: “There is no expression of modernity that did not face some kind of resistance by the churches and theology.”4 It has been written that criticism or rejection of modern human rights by churches is due to substantial reasons, as well as historical ones.5 “Rationalism,” “autonomism,” “individualism,” “secularism,” and “sin’s oblivion” are some terms used by Christian theology to express its objections toward modernity’s ethics, in order to turn our attention toward the essential problems, the “real differences” between Christian and modern anthropology. Those essential differences do not allow an end to the tension between Christianity and the modern world; that, however, does not mean that there must be a constant and endless confrontation. From an early time and through various channels and different levels, Orthodoxy made contact with the Western Enlightenment. This encounter was at the beginning, inside Orthodox societies, a clash of the followers and the deniers of the Enlightenment itself. Although I do not fully agree with Christos Yannaras, that even nowadays “the polarization of Orthodox ethos and of imported western models of life, leads the societies with Orthodox values to a kind of cultural schizophrenia,”6 it is certain that the tension between Enlightenment and Orthodoxy, as well as the mutual prejudices, do not allow the clearing of the frontlines. Those tensions still define their relationship.7 Even today, many representatives of Western modernity continue to associate Orthodoxy with 4 Jürgen Moltmann, Was ist heute Theologie? (Freiburg: Herder, 1998), p. 15. 5 See Martin Honecker, Das Recht des Menschen:  Einführung in die Evangelische Sozialethik (Gütersloh: Mohn, 1978), pp. 70–71. 6 Christos Yannaras, Η Απανθρωπιά του Διακιώματος [The Inhumanity of the Right] (Athens: Domos, 1998), pp. 136–37. 7 V. N. Makrides describes the encounter of Orthodoxy and the Enlightenment, as well as their tension:  “Orthodoxie und Aufklärung waren keine a priori gegensätzlichen und völlig inkompatiblen Größen. Es gab eine Reihe von eminenten und gebildeten orthodoxen Klerikern, die sich für aufklärerische Ideen (z. B. Toleranz) interessierten, eine Anbindung von Aufklärung und orthodoxer Tradition anstrebten und schließlich eine gemäßigte bis scharfe Kritik an den überlieferten Strukturen in Kirche und Gesellschaft übten—so der Moskauer Metropolit Platon Levšin (1737–1812). Sie machten sich jedoch nicht die sozialkritische, ikonoklastische Radikalität und den ausgeprägten Antiklerikalismus der Aufklärung zu Eigen. Eine Spannung zwischen Aufklärung und Orthodoxie blieb also bestehen und kennzeichnete etliche ideologische Debatten auch während des 19. Jahrhunderts (z. B.  zwischen Slavophilen und Westlern in Russland) und darüber hinaus. Dies hatte unmittelbare Konsequenzen für die tatsächliche Wirkung der Ideen der Aufklärung in Kirche und Gesellschaft. Es kann deshalb behauptet werden, dass die Aufklärung im Orthodoxen Osten und Südosten Europas begrenzte Einflussmöglichkeiten fand.” Vasilios N. Makrides, “Orthodoxes Christentum und westeuropäische Aufklärung: Ein unvollendetes Projekt?” Ökumenische Rundschau 57, no. 2 (2008): 303–18 (308–09).

245

Orthodoxy Facing the Modern Secular State

245

negative attitudes toward the Enlightenment, even with the denial of its main principles. On the other hand, there exist some Orthodox theologians who think of modernity’s ethics as opposed to Orthodoxy’s core values. In any case, Orthodox Churches, facing contemporary challenges, need to surpass their negative attitudes toward modernity, to reevaluate humanism and autonomy, to found and widen a dialogue with modernity, aiming toward “even a synthesis between the two.”8 In such a dialogue the idea of freedom, its content and its meaning, its truth and its crises, must remain a crucial issue for both Orthodoxy and modernity. Orthodox Churches reveal their seriousness in this encounter with modernity, in their attitude toward the modern secular constitutional state, which was born in the second half of the eighteenth century, together with the classical declarations of human rights. Johannes Schwartländer saw here a new historical fact, a milestone in the history of politics.9 The secular character of the modern state does not imply that religions are pushed aside by the state in the domain of private affairs. Nothing hinders the public religious life and the public presence of religious communities. These communities have the right to act as a part of modern civil society.10 The privatization of religion11 is not a necessary and an inevitable result of the principle of the religious neutrality of the secular state, which is essentially different from a “value-neutrality” (Wertneutralität).12 The institutional distinction of religion and state13 does not mean at all a separation of religion and politics. Such a separation implies a “depoliticization of the society or an enforced privatization of religion, or both. In any case, separation of religion and politics means limitation of political freedom.”14 “The gladly used slogan of ‘separation of religion and politics’ would mean, taken in its proper sense, a refusal of freedom-centered understanding of politics. Therefore, in a free political entity, an imposed by the state, general separation of religion and politics, cannot exist.”15

8 Pantelis Kalaitzidis, Orthodoxy and Political Theology, trans. Fr. Gregory Edwards Doxa and Praxis: Exploring Orthodox Theology Series (Geneva: WCC, 2012), p. 137. 9 Johannes Schwartländer, Menschenrechte-eine Herausforderung der Kirche (Munich: Grünewald, 1979), pp. 41–42: “Das Entscheidende dieses geschichtlichen Vorgangs liegt in dem nicht aufzulösenden Doppelasppekt: Die allgemeinen Menschenrechte werden, ihrem geschichtlichen Charakter entsprechend, als verfassungsmäßige Grundrechte zu positiven und somit justiziablen Rechten, zugleich aber wird die Verfassung des politischen Gemeinwesens von nun ab wesentlich begründet in den Menschenrechten.” 10 Heiner Bielefeldt, Menschenrechte in der Einwanderungsgesellschaft:  Plädoyer für einen aufgeklärten Multikulturalismus (Bielefeld: Transcript, 2007), p. 81. 11 Ibid., p. 76. 12 Ibid., pp. 76–78. 13 Ibid., p. 81. 14 Ibid., pp. 81–82. 15 Ibid.

246

246

Konstantinos Delikostantis

The principle of the non-identification of the secular state with a specific religion does not exclude at all the cooperation between state and religious communities. “It would be a misunderstanding to identify the required ‘non-identification’ with ‘non-connection’. The secular constitutional state has the possibility, even the duty, to act in matters of religion and ideology.”16 Such actions of the state occur “not as support for the acceptance of the religious truth” but “to promote the religious and ideological freedom of the human being.”17 Orthodox Churches should not use their special relations with the state, formed through their key contribution to the maintenance of the national and cultural identity of most Orthodox nations, to claim a specific protection from the state or to declare the secular state “guardian” of the Orthodox culture.18 The remark that the modern state is a product of a development shaped by the conflict between Western Christianity and the Enlightenment and that an adjustment to this “exclusively western model”19 would cause a westernization of the relation between church and state in the Orthodox world, is not binding. As Heiner Bielefeldt notes, the secular constitutional state is not the offspring of “organic development” of specific cultural potentials of the West, but “the result of a complicated history of learning within a frame of a clash with the irreversible religious and ideological pluralism of modern societies.”20 This history of learning continues under the new conditions created by contemporary developments. Another difficulty is related to the fact that the word secular sounds suspect for many Orthodox, because it refers to the secularization of society and the Church and to its negative consequences for Christianity. It is taken for granted that the cooperation of the Orthodox Church with the modern secular state will lead to

16 Ibid., p. 82. 17 Ibid. 18 Athanasios Vletsis refers to the Orthodox diaspora-parishes in the West, which give witness of a vigorous ecclesial life and spirituality without privileged bounds with the state: “Die Bindung orthodoxer Kirchen an konkrete Staaten, welche man nur aus der Geschichte erklären und nachvollziehen kann, kann nicht auf Dauer, geschweige denn in den neuen Konstellationen unserer globalisierten Welt, das herrschende Paradigma gesellschaftlichen Lebens liefern; Diese Bindung hat zwar dann geholfen, wenn daraus konkrete orthodoxe Völker in schwierigen Momenten ihrer Geschichte die Kraft zum Überleben schöpfen konnten; anderseits führte sie zu einer eindimensionalen Fixierung orthodoxer Kirchen auf das Leben der eigenen Nation und damit zu ihrer Absonderung nicht nur von allem was sonst die Sorgen der heutigen Welt prägt, sondern auch von anderen Christen und Kirchen.” Athanasios Vletsis, “Die letzte Bastion einer byzantinischen Symphonie? Die Deklaration der Russisch Orthodoxen Kirche zu Menschenrechten (2008) als Ausdruck einer vormodernen Kirche-Staat Beziehung,” Ökumenische Rundschau 59, no. 3 (2010): 346–62 (361). 19 Bielefeldt, Einwanderungsgesellschaft, p. 90. 20 Ibid., p. 93.

247

Orthodoxy Facing the Modern Secular State

247

the secularization of the Church, to the “rejection or loss off its eschatological soul.”21 The predominant eschatological orientation of Orthodoxy, connected with the conviction of the instability of human affairs, the ephemeral character of institutions, and the impossibility of a definite historical synthesis,22 causes a distance in view of the structures of the world, but not at all indifference for our life, which is always linked with concrete historical powers and developments. Orthodoxy was and still is eschatological, but it never was indifferent to the world. “Eschatology introduces an attitude towards life that maintains a distance from the structures of the world, a refusal to settle down and identify oneself with the world and history, without however any trace of disdain for the world and history or any flight from them.”23 Our salvation is related to the historical context and conditions of our lives. “The Church does not divide life into separate realms, one holy and the other profane; it therefore addresses every aspect of life, including the state.”24 Instead of invoking the often idealized “symphony” of church and state in the Byzantine Empire,25 Orthodox Churches should today aim for a “new symphony,”

21 Michail Kardamakis, Οι Πειρασμοί της Ιστορίας και η Μαρτυρία της Εκκλησίας [The Temptation of History and the Witness of the Church] (Athens: Armos, 2001). 22 See Nikos Nissiotis, “Réflexions sur le sens de la solidarité de l’Eglise avec le monde,” Contacts 19, no. 57 (1967): 35–47 (46): “The Church does not announce immovable laws or rigorous systems, giving a final solution of this problem. The Church is the most realistic movement in the world, because of the fact that it hinders the societies to fall in the illusion of definitive solutions. It knows through its existence in the world and on the basis of the solidarity with it, that a definitive synthesis of history does not exist.” 23 Pantelis Kalaitzidis, Ορθοδοξία και Νεωτερικότητα:  Προλεγόμενα [Orthodoxy and Modernity:  An Introduction], Volos Academy for Theological Studies (Athens:  Indiktos, 2007), p.  86. See also Nikos Matsoukas, Οικουμενική Θεολογία [Ecumenical Theology] (Thessaloniki: Pournaras, 2005), p. 46: “The Church is necessarily and naturally connected with the adequacy and the negativity of history. It is persecuted openly or more gently by the authorities, it cooperates with them, it rightly practices politics against the authorities, it creates culture etc., that means: it is necessarily and naturally secularized! Otherwise its journey cannot be historical!” 24 Stavros Fotiou, The Church in the Modern World, trans. Bruce Gottfried (Berkeley, CA: InterOrthodox Press, 2004), p. 33. 25 Ibid., p.  41:  “Naturally, during the course of history the representatives of these two powers sometimes deviated from this agreement. There were indeed emperors who sought to interfere in church matters, and there were certainly servile patriarchs [. . .] [Nevertheless], the belief that Caesaro-papism—subordinating the Church to the state— existed in Byzantium is completely incorrect.” See also Athanasios Vletsis, “Die letzte Bastion einer byzantinischen Symphonie? Die Deklaration der Russisch Orthodoxen Kirche zu Menschenrechten (2008) als Ausdruck einer vormodernen Kirche-Staat Beziehung,” Ökumenische Rundschau 59, no. 3 (2010): 346–62 (351–52): “Dass das byzantinische Erbe

248

248

Konstantinos Delikostantis

which through the recognition of the secular character of modern human rights and of the neutrality of the modern state toward religion and ideology, opens to churches the possibility to act in the pubic space effectively and independently. This would mean not only an affirmation and protection of human rights, but also the revelation of the deeper sense of the biblical words, “Pay to the Emperor what belongs to the Emperor, and pay to God what belongs to God” (Mk 12:17). Alexandros Papaderos stresses the threat, originated in the restorative tendencies in the field of conception of church-state relations, which draws its norms from a romantic nostalgia. He describes the challenges and the new responsibility of the Orthodox Churches in view of our times, which do not favor the old “symphonymodel.” Globalization, religious and cultural pluralism, secularism, and so forth demand a new process of learning for the Orthodox Church, an encounter and an honest dialogue with modernity.26 On this basis, I note the following points, respectively, to the relations between Orthodoxy and modernity and especially to the attitude of the Orthodox Churches toward the modern secular constitutional state. (1) The fear of modern culture, a fear partly rooted in former and contemporary traumatic experiences of the Orthodox nations with the West, led to a defensive attitude against the Western world and to an entrenchment in a “closed Orthodoxy.” Obviously, such an attitude does not constitute a creative response to the challenge of modernity. The affirmation of the humanistic achievements of modern culture does not lead to a weakening or even a loss of our Orthodox identity, but it can deeply enrich it. (2) The identification of the Enlightenment with its anti-ecclesiastical and atheistic dimensions, with the “fundamentalism of modernity,” as well as the attribution of all the evils during the two last centuries, to its influence, has to be surpassed. The very essence of the Enlightenment is to be a movement for freedom, even if the idea of autonomous freedom has, along with its “grandeur,” also its “misère et profonde ambivalence.”27 bis heute die ausgeprägten Charakterzüge der Orthodoxen Kirchen bestimmt, dürfte nicht nur für die Eingeweihten ein Binsenweisheit darstellen [. . .] Die Beziehung zwischen Kirche und Staat wird gerade in byzantinischer Zeit geprägt und auch entsprechend weiter tradiert. Es geht dabei nicht bloß um eine rechtliche Klärung bzw. verbindliche Regelung dieser Beziehung, auf die orthodoxe Kirchen sich auf heute noch berufen. Es geht um mehr als das, nämlich um die Einstellung der Kirche zur Welt, mit all ihren Spannungen und Ambivalenzen. Orthodoxe Kirchen berufen sich immer wieder gern auf diese byzantinische Zeit, um das Ideal einer harmonischen Gestaltung ihrer Stellung in der Welt zu beschwören.” 26 See Alexandros Papaderos, “Aspekte Orthodoxer Sozialethik,” in Perspektiven ökumenischer Sozialpolitik:  Der Auftrag der Kirchen im größeren Europa, ed. Ingeborg Gabriel, Alexandros Papaderos, and Ulrich H.  J. Körtner (Mainz:  Grünewald, 2005), pp. 23–126 (118). 27 Walter Kasper, “L’Eglise et les processus modernes de la liberté,” Istina 49 (2004): 115–23 (115).

249

Orthodoxy Facing the Modern Secular State

249

(3) We have to understand and accept that the Enlightenment is not a superficial “progressism,” which totally rejects tradition. In view of the Enlightenment, tradition is not problematic in general, but traditions that cause heteronomy and alienation are. Modern humanism equally resists all tendencies in our societies that threaten human freedom and dignity. The Orthodox must accept that humanism of the Enlightenment is finally not liberation from the moral, but liberation for the moral; that autonomy expresses a new form of dynamic and creative freedom, for the responsible shaping of individual, social, and political life. (4) The representatives of modernity should recognize that Orthodoxy does not mean orthodoxism; that freedom, openness, and ecumenical spirit lie in the center of its life and its teachings. To attribute to Orthodoxy fundamentalism and nationalism generally means ignoring or concealing the fact that the philanthropic Orthodox tradition always respected the cultural features of the evangelized peoples. Indeed, it is a real overturning of the facts, if Orthodoxy, which always understood ecclesiastical community independent of nation, language, and culture, appears in our days as the tradition that promotes chauvinism and ethnocentrism.28 (5) The struggle for the humanistic ideals and the protection of human rights does not reveal or cover the depth of our freedom or the whole space of morality. The archbishop of Albania, Anastasios, rightly notes that the Orthodox vision of human freedom “lies beyond the limits of human rights, both in its scope and in its power.”29 In Orthodoxy, the highest expression of freedom is not the claim of individual rights, but the voluntary renunciation of our rights for the sake of love. The Church is the “place par excellence”30 of a freedom that is not related to individual claiming of rights but is sacrifice and diaconia. This is the specificity of Christianity, which surpasses all forms of humanism. Indeed, the history of freedom does not begin in modernity. We must not forget that the modern humanistic achievement presupposes the Christian heritage.

Epilogue I am convinced that the problems of Orthodoxy with modernity do not have primarily theological roots, but that they result from historical, social, and political developments, experiences, and contexts. This means that these difficulties are not insurmountable.

28 Cf. Yannaras, Η Απανθρωπιά του Διακιώματος, p. 158. 29 Anastasios Yannoulatos, Facing the World:  Orthodox Christian Essays on Global Concerns, trans. Pavlos Gottfried (Geneva: WCC, 2003), p. 74. 30 John Zizioulas, “Το Δίκαιον του Προσώπου” [The Right of the Person], Πρακτικά Ακαδημίας Αθηνών 72, no. B (1997): 585–602 (601).

250

250

Konstantinos Delikostantis

It is certain that Orthodoxy is close to the leading principles of the Enlightenment:  reason and freedom. Orthodoxy never feared freedom, and never underestimated human nature. From this perspective, Yannaras’s position about Orthodoxy and modernity as “incoincidents,” “opposing” civilizations, is unacceptable.31 Such opinions are rooted in an identification of modernity with its negative offerings. Today, in view of the crisis of solidarity, Orthodox Churches are called on to give their witness for the sense and the protection of the social content of freedom.32 It has been written that the idea of freedom in the Enlightenment had a “social deficit.”33 The claiming of social rights, indeed a titanic struggle, was aimed at the restoration of the social essence of freedom. Undoubtedly, this crucial dimension of freedom in the Orthodox East is more properly preserved than in the West, which brought up individualism. Orthodoxy had, and has, a clear sense of the social orientation of Christianity. Nevertheless, it must be underlined that Orthodoxy on this central point does not render the best service to its own, if it affirms exclusively the social dimension of freedom, identifying entirely the individual rights and the protection of the individual with individualism. Neither basic individual rights without social rights, nor social rights without a reference to the protection of the individual, express the full content and sense of freedom. Human right are indivisible. The proper response to the challenges of modernity is for Orthodoxy neither the uncritical acceptance nor the rejection of all its offerings. Central in this dialogue are the theological principles and not the accidental experiences of the particular Orthodox Churches within modernity. Orthodoxy has a long, rich, and deep theological tradition and vast spiritual deposits, which could be actualized in this dialogue. The concept of the “person” as the core of Orthodox theological anthropology protects Orthodoxy not only from the danger of individualism, but also from the human rights’ restriction in the name of “community” (Gemeinschaft).34 The representatives of modernity, who question the right of the Church to give its own witness in the public space, to articulate its prophetic protest against the threat of the human person, and to own and operate ecclesial foundation in the service of human beings, cannot found this attitude on the authentic spirit of the political culture of modernity, which they intentionally distort. Obviously, at the level of government and the rule of law, the roles of church and state are clearly

31 Yannaras, Η Απανθρωπιά του Διακιώματος, p. 134. 32 Konstantinos Delikostantis, Ο Πολιτισμός της Αλληλεγγύης [The Culture of Solidarity] (Athens: Ennoia, 2013). 33 Hans Maier, Wie universal sind die Menschenrechte? (Freiburg: Herder, 1997), p. 72. 34 Konstantinos Delikostantis, “Human Rights and Orthodoxy: Remarks on Christian Freedom and Autonomy,” in The Idea of Human Rights: Tradition and Presence, Proceedings of an international conference held in Prague, ed. Jindřich Halama (Prague:  Charles University of Prague, 2003), pp. 67–84 (75–76).

251

Orthodoxy Facing the Modern Secular State

251

discernible. However, in the broader field of politics, as a concern for freedom, justice, human rights, and so forth, the Church has not only the right but also the obligation to support all movements that protect human freedom and dignity; it has to speak and to act, to criticize injustice and violence, to intervene and to point out its own word of love and reconciliation. If politics is the art of the possible, our churches have to widen the possible, in the sense of more freedom, more justice, and more solidarity. The objection that in such efforts the Church is embroiled in the ambiguities of human affairs, or that Christian love and philanthropy are converted into political action, is an argument without theological ground or a sense of history.

252

253

Chapter 14 C I V I L R E L IG IO N I N T H E O RT HO D OX   M I L I E U Cyril Hovorun

The concept of civil religion is a helpful hermeneutical clue to understand the social and political processes in modern countries that associate themselves with the Eastern Christian tradition. Both the notorious “Russian world” and the Balkanstyle nationalism can be interpreted as “civil religions.” They have been constructed with a significant contribution from the Orthodox Churches and feature elements of religious cults and ideologies functioning in the capacity of theology. Civil religion in the Orthodox context can be both constructive and destructive, just as in any other context. Its constructive side consists in unifying people and building them as a nation. It thus has the power to mobilize the masses for the purposes that transcend mere welfare. At the same time, it can mobilize the masses to support and to participate in conflicts, including military ones, to encourage exclusion and hatred for “the other,” to legitimize dictatorship, and to sacralize corruption. Civil religion threatens the Church by significantly modifying its original nature and purpose. Before proceeding to analyze various aspects of civil religion in the Orthodox sociopolitical milieu, we should explore this concept as it has been developed in modern scholarship. The vast amount of literature on civil religion made this concept almost universal and at the same time evasive of a clear definition. Civil religion is like “a church with no buildings or membership statistics,” in the words of Michael Angrosino.1 Probably this evasiveness secured the tremendous success of this concept. Among the many definitions of civil religion, probably the most comprehensive is the one articulated by the editors of the Civil Religion in Political Thought, Ronald Weed and John Von Heyking: Civil religion originally refers to the way in which a particular set of political/ social arrangements come to acquire an aura of the sacred, thereby elevating their stature and enhancing their stability. It can serve as a point of reference for the shared faith of the entire state or nation, focusing on the most generalised 1 Michael Angrosino, “Civil Religion Redux,” Anthropological Quarterly 75, no. 2 (2002): 239–67 (259).

254

254

Cyril Hovorun

and widely held beliefs about the history and destiny of that state or nation. It is rarely entirely spontaneous or entirely invented, and is more likely to be some combination of the two. But it plays an important role in social cohesion, providing much of the glue that binds together a society through well-established symbols, rituals, celebrations, places, and values, endowing the society with an overarching sense of spiritual unity2[. . .] Civil religion [. . .] expresses an enduring need for the divine, whether it is the citizenry’s need for the divine that provides political power for those who capitalise upon it or a religious citizenry’s desire to absorb the political community at large into a wider theological destiny.3

As a term, “civil religion” goes back to Jean-Jacques Rousseau,4 who used it in his theory of social contract. This concept was crucial for his theory, as civil religion was supposed to serve as a glue to keep individuals within the confines of the republican state.5 Civil religion counterbalanced the social contract and contained the unavoidable centrifugal social forces, which were released by the contract. It thus was to safeguard the unity of the state and the society. Civil religion in Rousseau’s understanding was different from any traditional religion and consisted of a simple set of basic ethical norms. It was supposed to be upheld publicly, while people were allowed to keep any other sort of religiosity in private.6 A special chapter in the theory of civil religion has been dedicated to the totalitarian ideologies in the twentieth century: Fascism, Nazism, and Communism. This kind of civil religion was called “political religion.” Political religion is a radical form of civil religion. It seeks to substitute religion with totalitarian ideology. As early as 1932, Franz Werfel, in a series of lectures delivered in Germany, compared Bolshevism, Fascism, and National Socialism as quasi-religions. In 1939, Raymond Aron branded them as a “religion politique” and “religion séculière.” The Germanborn American political philosopher Eric Voegelin made probably the largest contribution to the research of “political religions,” particularly in his 1938 book, Die politischen Religionen.7 Another German scholar who had emigrated to the United States, Paul Tillich, approached the issue of “political religion” in a more moderate and appreciating way, as a driving force and manifestation of human culture. This culture articulates

2 Ronald Weed and John von Heyking (eds.), Civil Religion in Political Thought:  Its Perennial Questions and Enduring Relevance in North America (Washington, DC: Catholic University of America Press, 2010), p. vii. 3 Ibid., p. 3. 4 Ibid., pp. 145–66. 5 See Jean-Jacques Rousseau, The Essential Rousseau: The Social Contract, Discourse on the Origin of Inequality, Discourse on the Arts and Sciences, the Creed of a Savoyard Priest , trans. Lowell Bair (New York: Penguin, 1975), pp. 17, 20, 107–08, 110. 6 Ibid., pp. 110–12. 7 Eric Voegelin, Die politischen Religionen (Stockholm: Bermann-Fischer Verlag, 1939).

255

Civil Religion in the Orthodox Milieu

255

“shared symbols, values, and ideals”8 that shape community. Thus the culture as an “invisible religion,” to use the words of Thomas Luckmann,9 participates in the formation of a civil religion, which becomes perceived as a positive phenomenon. Paul Tillich exercised a remarkable influence on the American sociologist of religion Robert N.  Bellah,10 who applied the Rousseauian term “civil religion” to describe the complex of ideological principles that constituted the basis of the American political culture. He identified this culture as an “American civil religion” in his seminal article “Civil Religion in America,” published in 1967.11 He continued elaborating on this topic in a number of books that followed.12 Bellah’s evaluation of civil religion was even more positive than Tillich’s. He considered it to be formative for the American nation. Thus, while in the continental context, the concept of civil religion had more negative connotations, in the United States it turned into a constructive sociological notion. A tendency to approach civil religion triumphalistically culminated in the works of Jaroslav Pelikan. In his book Interpreting the Bible & the Constitution,13 he articulated American political culture in terms of a Christian tradition. Being a scholar who applied a very successful method to analyze the evolution of the Christian doctrine from the apostolic times to our day, Pelikan used the same method to present the evolution of the American religious “tradition”: Both the history of the American Republic and the history of the Christian Church make it clear that, alongside the authority of their original charters and in continuous interaction with that authority, the ongoing and cumulative interpretations of the Great Code in the form of tradition and precedent have come to occupy a privileged position of authority in their own right.14

8 Angrosino, “Civil Religion Redux,” p. 247. 9 Thomas Luckmann, The Invisible Religion: The Problem of Religion in Modern Society (New York: Macmillan, 1967). 10 Bellah confessed: “The religious need, the need for wholeness, which has been strong in me from adolescence, was partly filled in these years through my encounter with the theology of Paul Tillich. Here was the Protestantism of my childhood transmuted through the deepest encounter with the twentieth century. The recognition of despair in Tillich’s Christian existentialism corresponded to my mood. His book The Courage To Be with its magnificent closing lines made a impression on me.” Robert N. Bellah, Beyond Belief: Essays on Religion in a Post-Traditional World (New York: Harper & Row, 1970), pp. xiv–xv. 11 Robert N. Bellah, “Civil Religion in America,” Daedalus 96, no. 1 (1967): 1–21. 12 Bellah, Beyond Belief; Robert N. Bellah and Phillip Hammond, Varieties of Civil Religion (San Francisco:  Harper & Row, 1980); Robert N. Bellah, The Broken Covenant:  American Civil Religion in Time of Trial (Chicago, IL:  University of Chicago Press, 1992). 13 Jaroslav Pelikan, Interpreting the Bible and the Constitution (New Haven:  Yale University Press, 2004). 14 Ibid., p. 115.

256

256

Cyril Hovorun

Pelikan began his analysis by identifying the “holy texts” of the “American religion.” The constitution represented for him the “American Scripture.” He argued that other foundational texts such as the Declaration of Independence or Gettysburg Address are not of the same revealing power.15 Having thus defined the “canon” of “American scripture,” Pelikan identified the interpretive communities, which transformed the “Scripture” into a “tradition.” The most important interpretative community for him were judges “with their robes”—the “hierarchy” of this religion.16 The American civil religion, according to some interpreters, also had its “prophets” and “martyrs.” Michael Angrosino characterized George Washington as “the quasi-divine embodiment of American virtue.”17 The first American president was a “secular saint” of a new religion18 and its prophet. Even more dramatic was the role of Abraham Lincoln, who shed blood “for his people, sanctifying the very ground that had so recently been saturated with the blood of fratricides.”19 Bellah regarded Lincoln as the “greatest, perhaps our only, civil theologian.”20 Not everyone shares the same encomiastic attitude to civil religion. A number of scholars, including Bellah himself at a later stage of his career,21 adopted a more critical position concerning it.22 Indeed, this concept can be criticized from several perspectives. One of them is a conflict of civil religion with religion proper.23 The former reduces the latter and shifts its focus from God to politics. Such a shift can be illustrated by the way in which civil religion is implemented in the Eastern Christian contexts. The analysis that follows demonstrates how civil religion functions in these contexts, and how it can be dysfunctional here. This chapter is focused on two particular instances of the “Orthodox civil religion”: the one that appeared in the Balkans in the nineteenth century and the modern Russian civil religion. Russia has always been politically religious, even under the atheist communist regime. Civil religion existed in Russia also before the Bolshevik revolution in 1917. Its most famous formulas were “Moscow the Third Rome” and “Orthodoxy, monarchy, and nation” (pravoslavie-samoderzhavie-narodnost’). Fyodor Dostoevsky embodied this religion in the figure of Ivan Shatov in the novel The Devils (Besy). A former nihilist, Shatov converted to a sort of religion, which can

15 Ibid., pp. 18–21. 16 Ibid., p. 22. 17 Angrosino, “Civil Religion Redux,” p. 251. 18 Ibid., p. 250. 19 Ibid., p. 251. 20 Bellah, Varieties of Civil Religion, p. 15. 21 See Bellah, The Broken Covenant. 22 See John F. Wilson, Public Religion in American Culture (Philadelphia:  Temple University Press, 1979). 23 See John Murray Cuddihy, No Offense:  Civil Religion and Protestant Taste (New York: Seabury Press, 1978).

257

Civil Religion in the Orthodox Milieu

257

be characterized as civil. When asked by Nikolay Stavrogin whether he believes in God, Shatov confesses a credo of this religion:  “I believe in Russia. I  believe in the Greek Orthodox Church. I—I believe in the Body of Christ—I believe that the second coming will take place in Russia.” When Stavrogin repeated his question: “But in God? In God?” Shatov replied: “I—I shall believe in God.”24 The figure of Shatov is largely autobiographical for Dostoevsky and reflects many of his own ideas about Russia and the “Russian God.”25 Dostoevsky was one of the prophets of the Russian civil religion. This religion, on one hand, was nationalist. On the other hand, it claimed to be universalist, but this universalism, having been placed in the setting of a civil religion, gradually transformed to imperialism. Imperialism became an essential feature of the Russian civil religion. This feature migrated to civil religion, which constituted a fundament of the Soviet ideology. Marxism-Leninism as a political religion (a radical version of civil religion) of the atheist Soviet state adopted some forms, which are important for Orthodox Christianity. Thus, this doctrine was articulated at councils:  the Communist Party congresses. The Communist Party as the magisterium of the Soviet religion, showed no mercy to the heresies:  Trotskism, Maoism, Titoism, and so forth. Vladimir Lenin as the founder of the new religion was praised as an immortal deity. A  cult of veneration developed around this deity, including veneration of his “relics” in the mausoleum. His writings were considered a “Holy Scripture.” Any treatise in the field of humanities published in the Soviet Union was supposed to quote from it, just as the theological treatises are supposed to contain references to the Bible. The “revelations” of Lenin were preceded by the “old testament” prophecies by Karl Marx and Friedrich Engels. There were complex initiations to the hierarchies of the discipleship of Lenin. First, sevenyear-old “Octiabriata” (“October kids”), called thus after the 1917 October revolution, were “baptised” to the new religion. Then at the age of ten, Octiabriata were “chrismated” to the rank of “pioneers,” and then at the age of fifteen the most “worthy” youth were “ordained” to Komsomol (the communist union of youth) and thus became “deacons” of the Soviet regime. The members of the Communist Party constituted a caste of the “priests” of the Soviet religion. After the collapse of the Soviet Union, a new civil religion started filling the void of the Soviet ideology. This religion is somehow different from the earlier Russian civil religions. At the same time, it features elements from both the imperial and the communist religions. Additionally, some elements of Orthodox Christianity constituted a part of this new religion, which thus appears to be remarkably eclectic.

24 Fyodor Dostoyevsky, The Devils, trans. David Magarshack (London: Penguin Books, 1971), p. 259. 25 On Dostoevsky’s religious beliefs, see Jean Drouilly, La pensée politique et religieuse de F.M. Dostoievski (Paris: Librairie des cinq continents, 1971); Boyce Gibson, The Religion of Dostoevsky (Philadelphia: Westminster Press, 1974); Steven Cassedy, Dostoevsky’s Religion (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2005).

258

258

Cyril Hovorun

The Orthodox Church plays the most prominent role in constructing the new civil religion of Russia, which makes this religion different from many other civil religions, including the American one—those religions were constructed by politicians. One of the instruments to adopt the doctrine of the new Russian civil theology is traditionally conciliar. The articles of the new credo are being discussed and accepted at the “ecumenical” councils—the so-called World Russian People’s Council (Vsemirnyj Russkij Narodnyj Sobor). The Church has offered this religion theological language, in which it began expressing itself. The civil religion, however, does not use this language to speak about God, but about social and political values, which are supposed to consolidate the Russian people around the current political regime. In consent with the Church, civil religion transforms theology into ideology. It would be unfair to the Russian Orthodox Church to suggest that it contributes to the formation of this civil religion for these purposes only. The reasons for the Church to construct a civil religion is to give the unbelieving people some sort of belief, which features tokens and symbols of traditional Orthodox Christianity. The problem, however, is that this sort of belief is Christian only superficially. In many regards, it remains political and homogeneous to the old Soviet ideology. It is a civil religion and not a religion proper. The civil religion that the Church constructs in Russia is not identical to the normative Christian tradition, which the Church is supposed to uphold. For instance, incompatible figures such as Tsar Nicholas II Romanov and Joseph Stalin26 have been shortlisted for the new religion’s hemerologion. The civil religion in the majority of the Orthodox countries in the Balkans is typologically different from the Russian civil religions. Despite their common communist past, the former Socialist countries in Eastern and Southern Europe have mostly got rid of the communist religion. However, they fully embraced 26 Illustrative in this regard are the publications by a priest of the Moscow diocese of the Russian Orthodox Church, Fr. Alexander Shumsky. He promotes a so-called enlightened Stalinism. He describes this concept as follows: The union of the Russianism and Stalinism is a scientific and historical fact [. . .] It is completely pointless to argue against this fact nowadays [. . .] Stalinism for the Russian people is above all a strong statehood [. . .] Stalinism is ultimately the adoption of Orthodoxy as one of the main foundations of the Russian ideology. Addressing Stalin’s atrocities, Fr. Alexander Shumsky writes: With regard to the Gulag, for Stalin it was never an end in itself; he (Stalin) regarded it from the position of a vital need to address the political (the struggle against Trotskyism), strategic (lack of time before the war with Germany), and economic (lack of sufficient modern technical means of production) tasks. Criticism of Stalinism hits the core of the Russian statehood. Thus, Solzhenitsyn’s The Gulag Archipelago, to Fr. Shumsky, was a shell that was intended to destroy “a single monolith tank armour,” in which “the notion of the Russian people and the name of Joseph Stalin have

259

Civil Religion in the Orthodox Milieu

259

their old religion of nationalism. The dominant Orthodox civil religion in the Balkans, thus, turned to be a “set of beliefs, symbols and rituals which amount to a quasi-religion of the nation.”27 The new Balkan states that were established in the nineteenth century constructed and propagated their own civil religion. This religion, on one hand, played a positive role of unifying people within the confines of a single nation and giving a nation common purpose and political meaning. On the other hand, it often led these peoples to “the idolatrous worship of national identity purposes, and destiny.”28 The odds of the Balkan style of nationalism, which deeply penetrated the Church, can be explained by the influence of civil religion, which had been constructed with the assistance of the Church and which nevertheless is contrary to some basics of the Christian doctrine and ethos. An interesting case from the point of view of typology of civil religions is Ukraine. In this country, there is a clash of two types of civil religions: Russian-style imperialist and Balkan-style nationalist. The former is widely supported in the east and south of the country, while the latter, mostly in its west. Both kinds of civil religion ride on religious beliefs. The divisions between the Orthodox Churches in Ukraine exist because the divided churches associate themselves with the opposed civil religions. The Ukrainian Orthodox Church of the Moscow Patriarchate largely embraces the Russian imperial paradigm, while the Ukrainian Orthodox Church of the Patriarchate of Kiev and the Ukrainian Autocephalous Orthodox Church rely on the nation-based civil religion. It seems that a reconciliation between the Ukrainian churches is impossible until they distance themselves from the civil religions they support. Now, how do the civil religions that emerged in the Orthodox context correlate with civil religion in general, and how can they explicate the deficiencies of the latter? Let us take one by one the aspects of generic civil religion, as they have been identified in scholarship, and see how they function, or dysfunction, in the Orthodox milieu. First, civil religion does not emerge spontaneously. The states construct it meticulously and tailor it to fit their political expedience. Civil religions are to a great extent a result of political technologies. How a civil religion can be constructed with the assistance of political technologies, has been illustrated by Francis Bacon in his New Atlantis.29 Even though Bacon personally was not a religious man and believed in enlightenment and science, he provisioned a pivotal

melted.” Aleksandr Shumskij, Наступит ли эпоха «просвещенного сталинизма»? [Will There Come an Epoch of “Enlightened Stalinism?”], Russkaya Narodnaya Linia, December 16, 2013, http://ruskline.ru/news_rl/2013/12/16/nastupit_li_epoha_prosvewennogo_ stalinizma/ (accessed August 3, 2016). 27 Elizabeth Phillips, Political Theology: A Guide for the Perplexed (London: T&T Clark International, 2012), p. 6. 28 David Chidester, Patterns of Power:  Religion and Politics in American Culture (Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice Hall, 1988), p. 84. 29 Weed and von Heyking, Civil Religion in Political Thought, pp. 121–44.

260

260

Cyril Hovorun

role for religion at his utopian island of Bensalem. Bacon’s interest in religion thus was purely utilitarian. In the same way, the engineers of the civil religion in our day may not believe in their constructs, but consider them useful to legitimize and strengthen their authority. This applies to any civil religion, including the Orthodox ones. Those who constructed them in the Balkans, or do it now in Russia, do not necessarily believe in civil religion or in any religion at all. Nevertheless, they create it as a useful product to be consumed by people, for the purpose of legitimization of their rule. Power of legitimization is among the most important features of civil religion. The states are interested in supporting and promoting civil religion, because the latter enhances political legitimacy of the civil authorities.30 It ensures “obedience to the state or other kinds of political community.”31 Civil religion offers two ways to legitimize the political authority, according to Ronald Weed and John Von Heyking. One way superficially engages religious symbols and languages. The other way provides a more substantial theological hermeneutics of the state: One view of civil religion is that it is an acknowledged set of beliefs, drawing on familiar religious symbols and language, that sustains and reinforces a society’s moral-political beliefs. Plato, Spinoza, Bacon, Locke, and Rousseau emphasise this dimension. Another interpretation of civil religion ascribes more significant theological motivations, though it garners power by political means and maintains itself in political forms. This version of civil religion arises out of some overlapping theological consensus within the society and, consequently, cultivates wider recognition of its bond with God and His providence, often adopting the language of a national destiny and world-historic sacred purpose. Some features of this view occur in certain ancient Roman and medieval thinkers, while its other features are manifest variously in later figures such as Machiavelli, Hegel, and certain American Puritan writers.32

In the Orthodox contexts, this feature of civil religion, on one hand, can support republicanism, as it was the case in the newly established Balkan states, and on the other hand, endorses a nonrepresentative type of rule, as it is emerging in Russia. Greece, Bulgaria, Serbia, or Romania in the nineteenth century adopted a new model of authority, which was based on consent of people. The Orthodox Church supported this model, which turned national and even nationalistic. Statesponsored and church-blessed nationalism became a source of political authority and identity for the people of these states. Civil religion, thus, gave the nations a

30 See Bellah and Hammond, Varieties of Civil Religion, p. 5. 31 Graham Hammill and Julia Reinhard Lupton (eds.), Political Theology and Early Modernity (Chicago, IL:  University of Chicago Press, 2012), p.  2. The potentiality to make political authority legitimate has been noticed also by Robert N.  Bellah (see Bellah and Hammond, Varieties of Civil Religion, p. viii). 32 Weed and von Heyking, Civil Religion in Political Thought, p. 2.

261

Civil Religion in the Orthodox Milieu

261

feeling of their uniqueness and mission. It fed patriotism, which led to obesity of nationalism. In the case of modern Russia, both political establishment and the Church endorsed a different model of legitimization of the current regime. With elections and other instruments of representative democracy being increasingly deficient in Russia, the Russian civil religion legitimizes the regime on the basis of other factors. These factors include conservative values, patriotism, which can be interpreted as nationalism, and adherence to the Orthodox identity understood in cultural and political terms. Civil religions tend to reduce the Trinitarian or Christological languages to the Unitarian language of one powerful God. The archetypical theological language of the civil religion was used, for instance, by Benjamin Franklin in his Autobiography: I never was without some religious principles. I never doubted, for instance, the existence of the Deity; that he made the world, and govern’d it by his Providence; that the most acceptable service of God was the doing of good to man; that our souls are immortal; and that all crime will be punished, and virtues rewarded, either here or hereafter. These I esteem’d the essentials of every religion.33

The quintessence of civil religion, according to Franklin, is the moral code. Rousseau believed the same: “The spiritual strength of state is a religiously centered and institutionally endorsed external morality.”34 Civil religion, thus, is moralistic. It reduces metaphysics to ethics. Moreover, it employs moral issues as a weapon to attack the other. This is particularly the case in modern Russia, where civil religion is used to justify isolationism and conflict with the West. It does so on the basis of some selected moral issues, such as human sexuality. It also prefers the language of the powerful God to the language of the saving Christ. Civil religion features another reductionism: a dualistic one. It tends to reduce the colorful world to a black-and-white picture. Robert Bellah observed this feature in the American and Soviet civil religions: “The American tendency to divide the globe between ‘the free world’ and the Communists, and the Communist tendency to reverse the picture, are only recent versions of the same thing.”35 This dualism certainly survived the end of the Cold War, in the case of both the United States and Russia. In Russia, it polarizes the world to Russian and anti-Russian and expresses this polarization in religious terms, such as a counter-position between Orthodox and Catholic, for instance. Civil religion, as any religion, has its orthodoxies and heresies. It can demonstrate significant intolerance to what it considers unorthodox, even when it preaches tolerance. It often happens that when civil religion endorses what it considers to be orthodox, this orthodoxy becomes cheaper, more primitive, and

33 Benjamin Bigelow (ed.), Autobiography of Benjamin Franklin (Philadelphia:  J. B. Lippincott, 1868), p. 211. 34 Rousseau, The Essential Rousseau, p. 109. 35 Bellah, Varieties of Civil Religion, p. ix.

262

262

Cyril Hovorun

uniformed. In the case of the Russian civil religion, in its current form it considers conservatism as a sort of orthodoxy and liberalism as a sort of heresy. Both are different from the normative orthodoxies and heresies, as they are traditionally upheld in Eastern Christianity. In the extreme forms of intolerance and reductionism, civil religion can become totalitarian and end up as a dictatorship. A common feature of all totalitarian civil religions is that they tend to ignore human will and freedom: they use propaganda and coercion to force people to subscribe to their credos. This is an essential feature that differentiates totalitarian civil religions from any proper religion. In conclusion, civil religions may play a positive role in uniting people—they shape them as “one nation under God.” At the same time, they may incur social, political, and theological problems. They particularly affect the Church, which thus gets infected by ideologies and political agendas. Under the influence of civil religion, the Church in Russia has become instrumentalized by the political regime for the purpose of its own legitimization. Civil religion makes the Church reduced to what can only be considered as elements of religion. For instance, it makes the Church ultimately moralistic, though its moral code is very limited:  it emphasizes sexual sins and neglects corruption, social injustice, and so forth. Civil religion replaces traditional Orthodoxy with patriotism and ideological agenda. In Russia, it features a Manichean style of dualism that propagates a strict distinction between “America-EU” and Russia, which makes the Church endorse hostility between Christian East and West. It reportedly features elements of totalitarianism and makes them penetrating to the life of the Church. This religion dramatically reduces traditional freedoms and diversities that the Church always enjoyed.

263

Part V S YMPHONIC P OLITICAL T HEOLOGY

264

265

Chapter 15 O RT HO D OX T H E O L O G Y, P O L I T IC S , A N D   P OW E R Elena Namli

One of the most challenging issues raised by recent developments in Russia is the growing political and social role of the Russian Orthodox Church. Following a relatively long period of invisibility, the Russian Orthodox Church has reemerged in a number of areas as a significant political agent. State authorities and church leaders appear together at official ceremonies, the patriarch comments on political issues, and the Church asserts its right and obligation to be a substantial moral voice in society. What do these developments represent? How should we evaluate them? Recent developments can be seen as an expression of what scholars often describe as “the return of religion.” This term is best understood as a contrast to the old axiom that the political role of religion diminishes in tandem with social modernization. Today, however, the world faces an increase in the political visibility of religion. The return of religion is a multifaceted phenomenon in that different religious actors frame their involvement in politics in various ways. One crucial difference refers to either framing political agency explicitly in terms of a political ethic or in terms of personal morality that is claimed to be relevant for the political. The case of the Russian Orthodox Church can be described as a form of political agency based on such moral norms that are supposed to guide personal behavior rather than critically evaluate social institutions. The aim of this chapter is therefore to suggest a critical theological analysis of such political involvement. For several historical and political reasons Russian Orthodox thought has avoided explicit political analysis when addressing political issues. In an illuminating interview in a special issue of the Russian journal State, Religion, Church, devoted to political thinking within the Russian Orthodox tradition, theologian Konstantin Antonov rightly highlights that modern political theology understood as theological reflection about the political emerged in Russia when the tsarist state banned public political discussion. Antonov reminds us of Ivan Kireevsky (1806–1856), who famously opens his political reflection in “The

266

266

Elena Namli

Nineteenth Century” with the statement, “I am not talking about politics.”1 One important exception from the tradition of “apolitical” theorizing about politics that Antonov mentions in his interview is the period in between the Russian Revolutions of 1905 and 1917 when several former Marxists, such as Sergei Bulgakov (1871– 1944) and Nikolai Berdyaev (1874–1948), developed their theological reflection about politics. This reflection was explicitly critical of existing political institutions and related to the ethical evaluation of competing ideologies. Needless to say, the Soviet state reinforced the traditional Russian paradigm of religious actors avoiding transparent and theologically informed political criticism. One obvious consequence of the strong political censorship and self-censorship on behalf of the Church is that the Russian Church tends to remain uncritical to the power that happens to be in place and focuses on issues of personal morality that do not challenge existing political institutions and political culture. Does the current situation allow us to claim that the Russian Orthodox Church makes great efforts to break this tradition and to find more transparent and critical approaches to political power? I will address the issue from a theological point of view and demonstrate that for the time being the Russian Orthodox Church acts as a partner of the state rather than making proper use of its own theological tools and turning itself into an independent political agent. My analysis focuses on the social doctrine of the Russian Orthodox Church.2 This document is scrutinized and related to some alternative theological positions within the Russian Orthodox tradition. It will be argued that this tradition can enrich political life and become a platform for legitimate political agency of the Church, which according to my argument demands a critical approach toward power.

The Church Presents Its Social Concept Contemporary developments in Russia indicate that the Russian Orthodox Church has chosen to connect its identity to the image of an important partner of the Russian state. Church leaders and political leaders alike have noted that the Russian Orthodox Church plays a very special role in the Russian Federation. Article 14 of the Russian Constitution stipulates that the state shall have a secular character and prohibits the institution of a state religion. This principle is repeated in Article 4 in the federal law “On freedom of conscience and on religious associations.” At the same time the preamble of this law stipulates that the legislator “recognizes 1 Konstantin Antonov, “Политическое измерение русской религиозной философии” [The Political Dimension of Russian Religious Philosophy], Gosudarstvo, religiia tserkov’ 32, no. 3 (2014): 264–94 (268). 2 The Bishops’ Council of the Russian Orthodox Church, “Основы социальной концепции Русской Православной Церкви” [The Foundations of the Russian Orthodox Church’s Social Concepts], Official Website of the Moscow Patriarchate, https://mospat.ru/ ru/documents/social-concepts/ (accessed July 13, 2016).

267

Orthodox Theology, Politics, and Power

267

the special role of the Russian Orthodox tradition in Russian history and in the formation and development of Russia’s spirituality and culture.”3 This marking of the special importance of the Russian Orthodox tradition is further confirmed by the Russian state that encourages the Church to act as its partner. How does the Russian Orthodox Church respond to the temptation of being publicly recognized as a key partner of the state, and what does this response mean in theological terms? As I see it, the Church has two options. The first is to reject the state’s “invitation” and act as an independent political and cultural agent alongside other such agents in society. The second is to embrace the role of a close partner of the Russian state, and of a symbolic marker of “the Russian identity.” There would be nothing new about this relationship, which has existed on many occasions in the past. It is well known historically and sometimes described in terms of a symphony-like relation between church and state. The present tendency toward closer cooperation between church and state has been articulated in a policy document intended to guide the Church’s social and political activities— “Bases of the Social Concept of the Russian Orthodox Church”—that was adopted by the Council of Bishops in 2000.4 Let us examine this document more closely. Chapter one of the document establishes some basic theological principles, including that “[the] Church is called to act in the world in the image of Christ, to bear witness to Him and His Kingdom.” The metaphor of the Kingdom of God reappears in the following passage (I.4): Christian participation in [the world] should be based on the awareness that the world, socium and state are objects of God’s love, for they are to be transformed and purified on the principles of God-commanded love. The Christian should view the world and society in the light of his ultimate destiny, in the eschatological light of the Kingdom of God.

Here the document identifies an eschatological issue of critical importance for Orthodox theology, namely, the idea that the Church belongs simultaneously to the fallen world and to the Kingdom of God. In his Introduction to Orthodox Systematic Theology, the Metropolitan Hilarion (Alfeyev) explains that the Orthodox tradition understands the Church as a unity of the earthly Church and the Church in heaven.5 The idea that the Church “already” belongs to the Kingdom 3 Russian Federation, Федеральный закон от 26 сентября 1997 г. N 125-ФЗ “О свободе совести и религиозных объединениях” [Federal Law No. 125-F3 from 26 September 1997: “On the Freedom of Conscience and Religious Associations”], Official Internet-Portal of Legal Information, http://pravo.gov.ru/proxy/ips/?docbody=&nd=102049359 (accessed July 18, 2016). 4 The Bishops’ Council of the Russian Orthodox Church, Основы социальной концепции Русской Православной Церкви. 5 Metropolitan Ilarion (Alfeev), Таинство веры:  Введение в православное догматическое богословие [The Mystery of Faith: An Introduction to Orthodox Dogmatic Theology] (Moscow : Bratstvo Sviatitelia Tikhona, 1996), pp. 108–12.

268

268

Elena Namli

of God is well developed in the liturgical praxis of the Russian Church. But what does it mean in terms of social ethics and politics? The history of religion shows that eschatological perspectives have the potential to inspire political theology and to enable a critique of power. Social injustices become more visible when contrasted with Christian visions of the Kingdom of God. Moreover, a theological critique of social injustices can inspire or even guide political practices of resistance and liberation. I am thinking of Protestant theologians such as Karl Bart and Dietrich Bonhoeffer who used eschatology in order to consolidate Christian resistance against National Socialism in Germany. The critical social and political dimension of Christian eschatology is neither developed in the “Bases of the Social Concept,” nor discussed in the Church’s official policy statement on human rights.6 Rather, both documents almost completely replace an eschatologically informed social ethic by a strong focus on individual morality. Issues such as social justice and just institutions are absent or firmly subordinated to the aim of the personal salvation of Christians. In both documents the Church seems to view the political as a sphere where individuals relate to God as private persons and where social justice lacks any theological relevance. The Church argues in support of conservative private morality and supports politics that facilitate such an agenda. It does not believe that ideological differences, which in the political sphere often are articulated through different visions of social justice, have any theological significance. This corresponds to the profound deficit of social-ethical reflection in contemporary Russian academic theology. While different writers identify various moral principles and norms, mostly relating to individual behavior, as important for an Orthodox ethic, and published studies of Orthodox moral teachings list numerous positive norms and prohibitions, there is a striking absence of general theoretical reflection. For example, a textbook on moral theology by Archimandrite Platon (Igumnov) that features many curricula contains no chapter on social ethics.7 According to “Bases of the Social Concept of the Russian Orthodox Church,” for the Church to fulfill its mission it must serve God and humanity while following “the principles of Christian ethics” and promoting human salvation (I.1.3.). However, the document does not clarify the meaning of these moral principles. Let us delve deeper into the document to see whether it is possible to explicate these principles. Chapter two, “Church and Nation,” asserts that “the Church unites in herself the universal with the national.” The Church is now required to confront a familiar

6 The Bishops’ Council of the Russian Orthodox Church, “Основы учения Русской Православной Церкви о достоинстве, свободе и правах человека” [The Foundations of the Russian Orthodox Church’s Doctrine on Human Dignity, Freedom, and Rights], Official Website of the Moscow Patriarchate, June 26, 2008, https://mospat.ru/ru/documents/ dignity-freedom-rights/ (accessed July 13, 2016). 7 Arkhimandrit Platon (Igumnov), Православное нравственное богословие [Orthodox Moral Theology] (Sergiev Posad’: Sviato-Troitskaia Sergieva Lavra, 1994).

269

Orthodox Theology, Politics, and Power

269

ambiguity in Christian faith: on one hand, it addresses itself to all humanity; on the other, it operates in a world of different cultures and states. Christian Churches handle this ambiguity differently, and these variations have both historical and theological explanations. Further, these variations constitute different political and theological challenges. While the Roman Catholic Church emphasizes its universal character, one that to some extent transcends national borders, Protestant Churches often highlight the importance of their respective national identities. How does the Russian Orthodox Church handle the tension between its universalistic claims and its cultural identity? Clearly, the tension is recognized: the “Basis of the Social Concept” attempts to incorporate both approaches. However, the document downplays the universalistic claims and thereby fails to offer any check to nationalistic interpretations of the Russian Orthodox tradition. What needs to be stressed here is that the anti-universalist tendency is implicit rather than a result of direct theological argument. For example, the document emphasizes that patriotism is an important part of the Church’s teaching and practice. The Church encourages Christians to love their homeland (II.3): The patriotism of the Orthodox Christian should be active. It is manifested when he defends his fatherland against an enemy, works for the good of the motherland, cares for the good order of people’s life through, among other things, participation in the affairs of government. The Christian is called to preserve and develop national culture and people’s self-awareness.

Where the document comments on the restriction of national sentiments, it points out that “aggressive nationalism, xenophobia, national exclusiveness and interethnic enmity” must be seen as sinful phenomena (II.4). The Church thereby seems to discriminate between a nonaggressive, inclusive nationalism on one hand, and a nationalism that deserves to be condemned, morally and theologically, on the other. But the document is vague about how such a nonaggressive nationalism is to be encouraged. Moreover, it is unclear which definition of “nation” the authors have in mind. In section II.3 they claim that “when a nation, civil or ethnic, represents fully or predominantly a monoconfessional Orthodox community, it can in a certain sense be regarded as the one community of faith—an Orthodox nation.” The formulation is vague and therefore problematic. It can be read as a description of the fact that some people do regard the Orthodox community as a (Russian) nation. But it can also be interpreted as justifying such an understanding of the relation between church and nation. Yet another ambiguity in the document concerns its use of the word “Orthodox” as applied to either a community of faith or a cultural tradition. For the most part the authors refer to the faith community, but sometimes— especially when arguing for the significance of Orthodoxy for society—they instead have in mind Orthodox culture. I submit that, in a political context, this distinction between religion and culture is important. For example, many Russian citizens who view Orthodox culture as an important part of their cultural heritage regard the Church’s social teaching as neither binding nor relevant. A number of

270

270

Elena Namli

sociological surveys have shown that this holds especially true for respondents who identify themselves as Orthodox Christians.8 The confusion between Orthodoxy as a culture and a faith community is just one of many ambiguities in the document. Turning to the section that deals with the issue of church and state, we find several statements and terms that contradict each other. The elaboration starts by confirming the theologically central idea that the state is “an essential element of life in the world distorted by sin” (III.2). As the authors explain, “the state arose not because God willed it for the primitive Adam, but because of the Fall and because the actions to restrict the domination of sin over the world conformed to His will” (III.2). Here we can remark on a difference between Orthodox and Catholic views of the state. As is well known, Catholic theology teaches that the state is a part of the natural order and has its origin in God’s creation. In the words of Leo XIII: But, as no society can hold together unless someone be over all, directing all to strive earnestly for the common good, every body politic must have a ruling authority, and this authority, no less than society itself, has its source in nature, and has, consequently, God for its Author. Hence, it follows that all public power must proceed from God.9

Natural law is seen as both the main ground and the main restriction of the state as a body, and this law should govern relations between church and state. Natural law derives from God; it is universal and rationally comprehensible. From a theological point of view, this offers the Church tremendous possibilities for developing an independent political agency by means of rational moral and religious criticism of the state and its policies. Such a critique would not presuppose any revealed knowledge and, at least potentially, it could be understood by everyone. Even so, the Catholic Church teaches that natural law contradicts neither Christian revelation in general nor the Bible in particular. This means that religious ethics, understood as ethics revealed by God, can be applied in the political sphere. We will return to the issue of different conceptions of natural law and its role in social ethics. For now, let us consider a tradition that differs significantly from the Catholic. How does Lutheran theology view the state? This tradition, which is theologically more pluralistic than Catholicism, tends to view the state not as a natural part of Creation, but as part of a postlapsarian order. This does not entail a rejection of natural law but rather a highlighting of the need to view the world

8 Russian Academy of Sciences Institute of Sociology, Готово ли Российское общество к модернизации:  Аналитический доклад [Is Russian Society Prepared for Modernization?: An Analytical Report] (Moscow : Institut Sotsiologii Rossiiskoi Akademii Nauk, 2010), pp. 103–08. 9 Leo XIII, Pope, “On the Christian Constitution of States:  Immortale Dei,” Papal Encyclicals, November 1, 1885, http://www.papalencyclicals.net/Leo13/l13sta.htm (accessed July 15, 2016): §3.

271

Orthodox Theology, Politics, and Power

271

(and humans) as profoundly deformed by sin. In his most illuminating work on Christian faith and the modern state, published in 1937 and therefore reflecting the theological drama of the German Church, Nils Ehrenström argues that the Lutheran tradition contains “recognition of the fact that the world is ‘possessed’ by a devil, which makes a supreme and invincible authority, and strict loyalty towards it an indispensable guarantee against social self-destruction”.10 Ehrenström continues, “As a rule, Lutheran thinkers regard power and law as the constitutive elements of political authority, with the power of coercion as an inseparable element, logically issuing from them.”11 Ehrenström rightly criticizes the Lutheran tendency to provide theological confirmation of political authority on the basis of holding power. He sees very clearly the inherent danger of this view, especially when combined with the modern tendency “to interpret the state in terms of the national community (Volksgemeinschaft).”12 Ehrenström’s critique of the Lutheran tradition does not mean that he favors a kind of return to the Catholic theology of natural law. I agree with Ehrenström that the abandonment of natural law in its Catholic shape as an important part of the Christian view on the state does not mean the end of theological discourse on social and political justice. A  number of interesting approaches within the Lutheran tradition have suggested ways to secure legitimate political agency for the Christian Church. One such approach is an attempt to use Christology and the Gospel in order to create a theological theory of social justice. As some Lutheran theologians have shown, it is possible to challenge universalism and rationalism of natural law by means of central ideals in the Gospel such as the ideal of self-giving love. A theological ethic of this kind challenges Luther’s own doctrine of the two kingdoms by asserting that the Church can and should adopt a critical stance toward political power and the state.13 The authors of “Bases of the Social Concept” seem well aware of the variety of comprehensive theological approaches to the issue of relations between church and state, since they explicitly mention the different strategies adopted by other Christian Churches when dealing with it. Yet they regard all these strategies as unsuited to the Russian Orthodox Church. The authors of “Bases of the Social Concept” instead assert that the Russian tradition has its theological roots in Byzantium; even recognizing that the state is an element of a postlapsarian world, they call for a symphonic relation between church and state. This tradition must somehow be harmonized with modern politics and legislation. Section III.3 of the document stipulates that the “state is normally secular and not bound by any

10 Nils Ehrenström, Christian Faith and the Modern State (London: SCM Press, 1937), p. 163. 11 Ibid. 12 Ibid., p. 167. 13 Carl-Henric Grenholm, Protestant Work Ethics:  A  Study of Work Ethical Theories in Contemporary Protestant Theology (Uppsala:  Acta Universitatis Upsaliensis, 1993), pp. 265–67.

272

272

Elena Namli

religious commitments. Its cooperation with the Church is limited to several areas and based on mutual non-interference in each other’s affairs.” This could have been interpreted and used as a sustainable model for church-state relations in which both parties would retain a distinct and clearly defined role. However, the document is inconsistent in its use of the ideal of the symphonic relationship between church and state. In section III.4 we read that there is such a thing as an Orthodox state and that this kind of state is connected to the ideal of symphony: The Orthodox tradition has developed an explicit ideal of church-state relations. Since church-state relations are two-way traffic, the above-mentioned ideal could emerge in history only in a state that recognizes the Orthodox Church as the people’s greatest shrine, that is to say, only in an Orthodox state.

The document observes that this relation is an ideal and, as such, not applicable to all Orthodox Churches in all circumstances. For example, the legal status of the Church prior to the October Revolution is described as a mix of the legacy of this symphony-tradition and the tradition of state religion in the Protestant world. The document does not clarify to what extent the Church in contemporary Russia adopts the ideal of symphony. On one hand, the document notes that church and state have different natures and functions, and confirms that the state has “religio-ideological neutrality.” On the other hand, the Church regrets the modern development of the principle of freedom of conscience, which, the authors of the document explain, “turned the state into an exclusively temporal institution without religious commitments” (III.6.). My reading of the chapter dealing with church-state relations leads me to conclude that the document in practice revises the principle of the secular state by claiming that the Russian Orthodox Church has a special obligation with regard to Russian statehood. As it declares (III.6): The religio-ideological neutrality of the state does not contradict the Christian idea of the Church’s calling in society. The Church, however, should point out to the state that it is inadmissible to propagate such convictions or actions which may result in total control over a person’s life, [. . .] as well as erosion in personal, family or public morality, offense to religious feelings, damage to the cultural and spiritual identity of the people and threats to the sacred gift of life.

Further, the document identifies no fewer than sixteen different areas in which church cooperation with the state can be justified, including “concern for the preservation of morality in society; spiritual, cultural, moral and patriotic education and formation; care of the military and law-enforcement workers and their spiritual and moral education; opposition to the work of pseudo-religious structures presenting a threat to the individual and society.” The spheres excluded are political struggle, civil or aggressive external war, and “direct participation” in

273

Orthodox Theology, Politics, and Power

273

intelligence activity. What is important and most problematic is that this extended cooperation restricts itself to issues of individual morality and behavior rather than addressing the norms of social justice. In this way it can be seen that the Russian Orthodox Church is seeking a means to cooperate closely with the state in drawing up the legislation of the Russian Federation as well as in its own theology. Recent developments show that cooperation between state authorities and the Moscow Patriarchate are growing stronger, and it seems that, while having an ecclesiology that looks very much like that of the Catholic Church, the Russian Orthodox Church is attracted by the traditional Lutheran ideal of a state church. But an even more interesting matter, which warrants serious political and theological scrutiny, is the fact that the Church is seeking closer cooperation with the state even as it denies harboring any ideological ambitions. In chapter five of the document the authors state that the Church refrains from political struggle as well as distances itself from all ideological and political programs. Representatives of the Church are not allowed to be involved in political parties, and ordinary members of the Church may act politically only if they refrain from connecting their political activities to their Orthodox faith. The Church issues a moral injunction against its members engaging in political activity via the following formulation: In the face of political differences, contradictions and struggle, the Church preaches peace and cooperation among people of different political views. She also acknowledges the presence of various political convictions among her episcopate, clergy and laity, excepting those that clearly lead to actions which contradict the faith and moral norms of Church Tradition.

Here we find two ideas that deserve further consideration. The first is the idea, already mentioned, of nonpolitical cooperation between church and state. The second is the notion that there exist fundamental and unchangeable norms of individual morality within the Orthodox Tradition that must be used as critical instruments in the public sphere. I argue that, while both ideas are intrinsically problematic, when combined they are extremely vulnerable to political misuse.

Social Ethics and Legitimate Political Agency What difficulties are entailed by the ideal of nonpolitical cooperation between church and state? One obvious difficulty, which crops up frequently in church documents and its practice, is the danger of hidden political agendas. Such agendas can serve specific political interests even if they have not been consciously formulated. This is true of any attempt to act within the political sphere without having a transparent ideological platform. Another risk connects more directly to the Church’s political agency, namely, the risk of becoming an important legitimizing factor in relation to power as such. It is of course possible to maintain this approach while claiming that a Church to which the majority of the population

274

274

Elena Namli

belongs should support whatever state authority happens to be in place.14 On the other hand, historical evidence and theological reflection argue strongly against this position. One tragic, but far from unique, example is the “non-political” support extended to Nazi regimes in the twentieth century by many Christian Churches in Europe. As a representative of the Russian majority of the Russian Federation, it devolves on the Russian Orthodox Church to exercise caution when faced with the temptation of exclusivity and, in particular, to join the state as an apolitical partner. My own view is that mere rejection of “aggressive nationalism” is inadequate. A  responsible political agency demands either a clearly formulated political program or an explicit social ethic. The latter can be used to scrutinize different political alternatives and to identify some of them as unacceptable. Currently the Church is focusing very heavily on issues of private—mostly sexual—morality, and patriotism. I  believe that this focus prevents the Church from developing as a legitimate political agent in Russian society. One serious consequence is that its conservative and reductionist view of morality indirectly connects the Church to extremist, nationalistic, and racist groups that frequently incorporate conservative sexual morality and traditional views on women into their agendas. Further, the Church contributes to the trend of framing Russian political discourse in terms of identity rather than an open discourse on reasonable political alternatives for the future. Indeed, Russian society is justified in its skeptical views on current forms of western cultural and political colonialism that often are framed in terms of democracy and human rights,15 but this skepticism is often misused in order to prevent constructive attempts to suggest political visions of a just society and to reduce the political debate to that of “the Russian identity.” The Russian Church has stated its concerns about the value of the traditional family, an issue that it represents as an important, perhaps the most important, social issue of the present moment.16 I  believe that in contemporary Russia the danger of political pragmatism, which is often connected to moral nihilism and even cynicism, exceeds any putative devaluation of traditional family values. Such pragmatism leaves a great deal of political space for nationalistic sentiments. These are now becoming the main ideological driving forces in the political sphere, where they are invoked by various actors, including the state. Recalling the historical experiences of the Russian Church, thinking of the tragic success of the Deutsche Christen on Hitler’s accession to power in Germany, Russian theology needs a clear social and political doctrine to counteract the nationalist trend in Russian

14 In the Russian case this is connected to a profound weakening of the very institution of the state as a result of developments in the 1990s. 15 See Elena Namli, Human Rights as Ethics, Politics, and Law (Uppsala:  Acta Universitatis Upsaliensis, 2014), pp. 9–34. 16 In numerous textbooks, on websites and in the media, representatives of the Russian Orthodox Church highlight the fact that the traditional family and “traditional values” are of crucial importance for the survival and development of Russian society.

275

Orthodox Theology, Politics, and Power

275

political life. Such a doctrine should not be an eclectic list of “traditional values” in the domain of individual morality, but a well-formulated and theologically processed exposition of the basic principles of Christian social ethic. In many regards my position is supportive of theological efforts as that of Greek-American theologian Aristotle Papanikolaou, who in his most recent book argues in favor of a clearly articulated and principle-based Orthodox political theology. Papanikolaou offers “[an] attempt to draw out the implications for the political theology of the Christian claim that humans were created for communion with God.”17 He demonstrates how the Christian commandment to love can be interpreted in terms of ascetic praxis and applied to the political sphere. Although I  find Papanikolaou’s approach promising, I  do not believe that there must be one principle, or one fundamental value as that of communion with God suggested by Papanikolaou. Rather it can be reasonable to elaborate on various theologically tenable principles that might guide a political theology of today. Moreover, I am critical of Papanikolaou’s statement that “the core principle of divine-human communion [. . .] must be one that unequivocally endorses a political community that is democratic in a way that structures itself around the modern liberal principles.”18 Contrarily to his own aspiration to overcome the apologetic Eusebian trend in Orthodox theology, Papanikolaou offers an apologetic for the dominant political culture of today, namely, that of Western liberalism. He is right that we do need a principle-based political theology, but such theology, I  claim, must be critical of political traditions that happen to be dominant in those contexts where it is practiced. American Orthodox theologians need tools for critiquing the shortcomings of liberalism while Russian Orthodox theologians need tools in order to uncover problems with politics that are framed in terms of Russian identity.

Theological Resources for a Tenable Orthodox Social Ethic Is it possible, then, to create a tenable Orthodox social doctrine? Its absence may indicate that there are, beyond the immediate historical and political factors, inherent obstacles of a theological nature to the emergence of a coherent social ethical model in the Russian Orthodox tradition. One such obstacle might be the traditional Russian discrimination between theology (bogoslovie) and religious philosophy. As is well known, the Russian tradition discriminates between theology in the Western sense of the term and Orthodox theology (bogoslovie). While the former is viewed as related to the academy and bound by scientific reason, the latter is viewed as part of the internal reasoning of the Church. As a result of this

17 Aristotle Papanikolaou, The Mystical as Political:  Democracy and Non-radical Orthodoxy (Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press, 2012), p. 4. 18 Ibid., p. 12.

276

276

Elena Namli

division, those Orthodox thinkers who engage themselves in a dialogue with Western theology and philosophy are perceived in the Russian tradition as “mere religious philosophers.” One very unfortunate consequence of this essentially unclear distinction is the fact that critical arguments of those “philosophers” are not regarded as worth answering. Theological development in Russia is seriously slowed because of this. I believe that it is time to revise or even reject the division between theology and Orthodox religious philosophy. This is especially timely now when the Russian Orthodox Church tries to establish theological education and research at Russian universities. Another challenge that should be faced when elaborating on social doctrine is that of theological criteria of the Tradition (predanie). The Russian Orthodox Church says that values that contradict the Tradition cannot be accepted by the Church. However, it is unclear how to find out whether something belongs to the Tradition or contradicts it. There is no firm textual corpus of the Tradition and it is somehow expected that the Church as a trans-timely community recognizes its own tradition in liturgical, practical, and other forms. In the words of Sergei Bulgakov, “Existence of the Church Tradition originates from the integrity (самотожества) of the Church and from the unity of the Spirit living in it. The Tradition is external, phenomenal manifestation of the inner, noumenal unity of the Church.”19 When it comes to norms of social morality, this very often means that “older” norms are more likely to be recognized as traditional in this Orthodox theological sense. Another, and even more problematic option, is that those in power within the Church tend to arbitrarily judge which conventional norms belong to the Tradition. As Kristina Stoeckl demonstrates in her most clarifying analysis of the Russian Orthodox Church’s view on human rights, Marxist conventions of the Soviet society determined how the Church hierarchy judged the international human rights regime.20 Despite these and other challenges there exist a number of resources within Orthodox theology that might be used to create coherent social ethics and thereby counter the prevailing tendency to attempt yet another transformation of the Russian Orthodox Church into an uncritical servant of the Russian state and a source of symbolic legitimacy for Russian nationalism. One such resource is the theological critique of power. This critique has been developed in different forms throughout the history of the Russian Orthodox Church. Let us consider one relatively recent example. Among those who have contributed extensively to the Russian tradition of theological critique of power is the famous ethicist Boris Vysheslavtsev (1877– 1954). In a study titled The Dilemma of Power Vysheslavtsev argues against utilitarianism by claiming that from a theological perspective no power should

19 Sergei Bulgakov, Православие:  Очерки учения православной церкви [Orthodoxy: Essays on the Doctrine of the Orthodox Church] (Moscow : Terra, 1991), p. 75. 20 Kristina Stoeckl, The Russian Orthodox Church and Human Rights (London: Routledge, 2014), pp. 19–26.

277

Orthodox Theology, Politics, and Power

277

be viewed as a neutral instrument for normatively differentiated goals. For Vysheslavtsev, all power is “essentially sinful”: power is always about coercion and hence opposed to freedom.21 This holds true even for legitimate forms of power such as the institutional “protection of legal freedoms.”22 It is therefore wrong to view any earthly power as comparable with the Kingdom of God: “God’s Kingdom is a kingdom of freedom and as such excludes any coercion.” It is, of course, both possible and desirable to discriminate between the legitimate and the illegitimate possession and exercise of power, but it is equally important to realize that the highest good is not “incarnated in the form of power.”23 This is so because freedom and love, not victory and domination, are the highest values in Christianity. Vysheslavtsev uses the term “dialectics of evaluation” and claims that a Christian ethic combines the dialectics of the Old Testament, what he calls “a capability to unveil the worthless in what is powerful and triumphant” with the dialectics of the New Testament that entail “a capacity to value the highest even when it is humiliated.”24 As he sees it, Christian ethics offers a basic norm that runs contrary to the ideal of exercising power. Where the latter holds that “the victors are beyond any judgment,” the former promises that “the victors will be judged.” Vysheslavtsev reverses the Russian adage победителей не судят (the victors are not to be judged) in order to arrive at the eschatological promise of the Last Judgment (of victors). It is important to highlight that he believes that this eschatological dimension can and should be applied as a critical instrument in social life. I have already pointed out that the social doctrine of the Russian Church, as presented in “Bases of the Social Concept,” includes an eschatological dimension yet without making full use of it. By invoking God’s kingdom as a realm of ideal love and justice, Vysheslvatsev shows very clearly how Christian eschatology relativizes worldly power. This relativity offers a means against political conformism and can inspire the Church to stay critical in relation to political power that happens to be in place. Despite a great critical potential of this eschatologically based social ethics, it is obvious that this kind of critique alone will not suffice if we are to locate a theological ethic capable of shedding light on the concrete political agency of a Christian church. The weakness of the critique as developed by Vysheslavtsev and some other Russian Christian philosophers lies in its habit of focusing on the sinfulness of power as such and thereby overlooking the difference between legitimate and illegitimate uses of power. To create a sustainable theology of political participation it is therefore crucial to elaborate principles of social morality in a traditional sense, ethically speaking, which is to say by means of a normative theory. Such theory seeks to present a clearly articulated set of criteria for discriminating between right and wrong actions, legitimate and illegitimate

21 Boris Vysheslavtsev, Этика Преображенного Эроса [The Ethic of the Transfigured Eros] (Moscow : Respublika, 1994), p. 204. 22 Ibid., p. 212. 23 Ibid. 24 Ibid., p. 227.

278

278

Elena Namli

forms of power, and so on. There is an obvious lack of normative ethical theory in the Russian tradition.25 To develop such a theory, or to prove that there exists a normative theory compatible with the Russian Orthodox tradition, lies beyond the scope of this chapter. My point is that the social program of the Church as presented in “Bases of the Social Concept” and as practiced by the Church, is dysfunctional in that it focuses on private morality while at the same time seeking a legitimate social and political role for Orthodoxy. This contradiction derives not only from shortterm political pragmatism on the part of the Church, but also from the lack of a theological reflection on social ethics. It is therefore worth reviewing a number of theological approaches that might help to develop a coherent social ethic or set of norms with guiding priorities that might both inspire and restrict the political agency of the Church. A promising candidate for such a guiding set of norms, in my opinion, is Christian humanism. In the late 1980s, when the Russian Orthodox Church was actively looking for a new social role, many people hoped that it would take direction from some form of Christian humanism. Alexander Men (1935– 1990), one of the most famous and respected Orthodox theologians at that time, articulated this hope very clearly. Men argued that the absolute value of human personality is the very essence of the Christian message.26 Accordingly, humanistic Christian theology must be developed in a dialogue with society, culture, and science. For Men, treating a handful of concrete conventional norms adopted by Church Fathers centuries previously as an unchangeable basis for the Orthodox tradition is a gross betrayal of the Christian message. In this respect he echoes one of the most prominent Russian theologians of the twentieth century, Georges Florovsky (1893–1979), who used to criticize theologians for claiming that fidelity to tradition was a way “back to the Church Fathers.” Florovsky emphasized that the development should be “forward to the Church Fathers.” The real challenge is to understand the meaning of this heritage, not to collate individual opinions on specific issues.27 Men encouraged readers to embrace theological creativity and critical thinking.28 What is important here is the fact that Men recognized the crucial role of humanism in the social sphere and politics:  “Christianity considers the division between the Church and the state to be the optimal situation for the faith and recognizes a great danger in the very idea of the state religion.”29 He concluded his reflection on the relation between Christianity and the political sphere by stating that “the value of any

25 This is true even in relation to the Russian philosophical tradition. 26 Aleksandr Men’, Культура и духовное восхождение [Culture and Spiritual Ascent] (Moscow : Iskusstvo, 1992), p. 21. 27 Georges Florovsky, Пути русского богословия [The Way of Russian Theology] (Vilnius: Vil’tis, 1991), p. 506. 28 Men’, Культура и духовное восхождение, p. 28. 29 Ibid.

279

Orthodox Theology, Politics, and Power

279

politics should be measured by what it brings to human beings: by humanism and appropriateness.”30 In developing his Christian humanism, Men was relying on the heritage of Orthodox theologians such as Nikolai Berdyaev and Sergei Bulgakov. At that time it appeared that the Church might continue to develop a vital and convenient theological ethic based on ideas of Christian humanism. Today, when Metropolitan Bishop Hilarion comments on the issue of Christian humanism, he confirms that it is much less developed in the Orthodox tradition than in Catholicism. Unfortunately, he does not believe that it is time to develop an Orthodox form of humanism. Rather, he submits that Christianity is by nature humanistic and Orthodoxy is “more humanistic than secular humanism.”31 This statement should be questioned on theological as well as historical grounds. We know that Christian theology could be, and often has been, developed as a critique and an alternative to humanism. For this reason, Christian theologians should either distance themselves from humanism or apply its norms when formulating the social ethics of the Church. I believe that it is both possible and desirable to revitalize Russian theological humanism in order to use it as the foundation for a sustainable social doctrine. Other concepts suited to the development of an Orthodox social ethic include the notion of natural law. The doctrine of natural law, with its characteristic belief in the universal capacity of human reason to discriminate between right and wrong, is recognized as a part of the Orthodox tradition,32 but has not been used in the current theological discussion of social morality. It is worth mentioning that many Russian philosophers and theologians have been critical of the rationalism of the Western natural law tradition. While this critique is valuable in highlighting various shortcomings of rationalism, critique should not prevent us from trying to use the natural law tradition, or some of its elements, in the domain of social ethics, where the very rationalism and universalism of natural law offer effective tools for productive ethical analysis. As Konstantin Antonov states in the previously mentioned interview about Russian religious thought and politics, Vladimir Solov’ev (1853–1900) utilized the resources of natural law in his vision of Christian political ethics.33 In the heritage of Solov’ev a natural lawbased approach to the political is complemented and rightly restricted by a wellarticulated Christian eschatology.

Toward Universalistic Orthodox Social Ethics How then to combine my defense of the potential of the natural law tradition with the aforementioned critique of Western rationalism? I  agree with both

30 31 32 33

Ibid., p. 30. Ilarion (Alfeev), Таинство веры, p. 309. Arkhimandrit Platon (Igumnov), Православное нравственное богословие, p. 38. Antonov, “Политическое измерение,” pp. 272–73.

280

280

Elena Namli

Russian and Western critics who highlight the obviously colonialist character of the universalistic claims of natural law and its rationalism. As Italian philosopher Gianni Vattimo has demonstrated, to pronounce any norm as natural (and thus universal and rational) is to suppress the potential questioning of this norm by the other. Vattimo claims that “violence is the fact of shutting down, silencing, breaking off the dialogue of questions and answers.”34 He believes that there is a connection between what he describes as the metaphysics of ultimate foundation, rationalism, and violence. Vattimo defines this metaphysics “as the violent imposition of an order that is declared objective and natural and therefore cannot be violated and is no longer an object of discussion.”35 However, listening to this kind of critique and learning from it does not oblige us to reject the very possibility of a rational normative theory. Nor does it prove the absence of any constructive potential in rationalistic ethics. Vattimo himself does not advocate irrationalism nor does he approve of moral relativism, but proposes a kind of interpretative (hermeneutic) reason as an alternative to the reason of natural law. He describes this reason as nonviolent and responsible in relation to one’s own heritage. Commenting on the meaning of traditional values, he explains: Seen for what they are, a cultural legacy and not nature or essence, such rules can still hold good for us, but with a different cogency—as rational norms (recognized through dis-cursus, logos, reason: through a reconstruction of how they came about), rid of the violence that characterizes ultimate principles (and the authorities who feel themselves entrusted with them). Whether or not they still hold good is something to be decided in light of the criterion that, with a responsible interpretation, we take to be characteristic of whatever “really” forms part of the legacy to which we feel ourselves committed.36

To follow Vattimo and develop a more hermeneutic approach to practical rationality is one possible avenue. There are, of course, others. In any case, it would be wrong to use the postcolonial experience of oppressive universalistic projects as a justification for the exclusivity of one’s own position. Unfortunately, this is precisely what is happening in the Russian context today. The representatives of the Church, uncritically and without argumentation, identify different foreign traditions as incompatible with Orthodox Christianity. Liberalism is very often presented as one such “foreign and non-Orthodox” tradition. Hostility toward liberalism is today becoming entrenched in the Russian Church, where it overlaps with a hostility toward Protestant Churches that incorporate liberal values in their social policies.37

34 Gianni Vattimo, “A Prayer for Silence,” in After the Death of God, ed. John D. Caputo and Gianni Vattimo (New York: Columbia University Press, 2007), pp. 89–113 (93). 35 Ibid. 36 Gianni Vattimo, Nihilism and Emancipation:  Ethics, Politics, and Law (New York: Columbia University Press, 2004), p. 46. 37 Ilarion (Alfeev), Таинство веры, p. 127.

281

Orthodox Theology, Politics, and Power

281

The phenomenon is not new. Already the Dostoevskian intellectual legacy reveals a marked tendency to combine the Orthodox Christianity “of the Russian people” with a complete rejection of liberal freedom as a foreign value. I  have shown elsewhere that Fyodor Dostoevsky’s critique of “Western rationalism” offers valuable insights.38 But what is equally important is that Dostoevsky exemplifies a dangerous habit of uncritical rejection of liberalism, one that he combines with the most problematic acceptance of nationalistic sentiments. In Winter Notes on Summer Impressions (1863), he draws on a critique of liberal freedoms in order to stress the distinctiveness and superiority of Russian Orthodox culture. Rightly criticizing the individualism and consumerism of European capitalist society, he distorts that critique in order to identify a cultural opposition between that European individualism and the Russian people’s capacity for solidarity and self-sacrifice.39 His last novel, The Brothers Karamazov (1881), evinces the same ambivalence in its critique of liberal values. On one hand, Dostoevsky delivers a devastating critique of the ideal of freedom as liberation from responsibility for the other; on the other, this critique degenerates into a nationalistic admiration of Russianness. Westernized liberal doctors and lawyers, Poles and Jews are all depicted as embodying a lack of solidarity with suffering people and animals. It is not difficult to read Dostoevsky’s masterpiece against the grain of his nationalism. Emmanuel Levinas’s ethics of responsibility is just one example of such reading. But it is also important to appreciate this nationalistic dimension, which to a large extent consists of transforming a moral controversy into a discourse on identity. Tragically, history seems to repeat itself. Instead of developing a clearly articulated social ethic that might respond to the problems of society, the Russian Church is constructing its political agency in terms of identity and by distancing itself from other traditions, above all, that of European liberalism. Instead of searching for theologically sustainable criteria for social norms, the Church chooses to assert a kind of normative priority for its “traditional norms.” The weakness of this strategy is obvious. There are many norms that might lay claim to be traditional. In order to discriminate between relevant moral norms and outdated conventional norms we need clearly formulated criteria. In their absence, the exercise of power tends to become the sole criterion. The temptation of power goes beyond material benefits; it rests ultimately on the desire to make one’s own judgment binding. All political agents are vulnerable in this regard and for this reason must be held accountable to society. There is no other way to address what I call “the temptation of power” than by engaging in dialogue with society. To do this, the Church will need to develop a social doctrine with clearly articulated guiding principles that will allow everyone

38 Elena Namli, Kamp med förnuftet:  Rysk kritik av västerländsk rationalism (Skellefteå: Artos, 2009), pp. 253–60. 39 Fedor Dostoevskii, “Зимние заметки о летних впечатлениях” [Winter Notes on Summer Impressions], Полное собрание сочинений [Complete Collection of Works], Vol. 5 (Leningrad: Nauka, 1973).

282

282

Elena Namli

to evaluate the position of the Church. At the beginning of this chapter, I stated that the Russian Orthodox tradition combines a universalistic approach with a very strong connection to Russian culture and statehood. I  believe that in the current situation it is of great importance to utilize the universalism of this tradition. Such universalism should not be that of Dostoevsky, who claimed that Russian people already possess the universal truth. Rather, we should look for what I  call an “open universalism.” Universalism of this kind functions as a deconstructive tool in relation to every concrete norm that claims to be universal. It counteracts relativism by seeking values that cannot be justified on exclusively traditional grounds. By the same measure, its consistent injunction that we attend to the arguments of the other prevents us from claiming that we already possess universal norms. An open universalism cannot lead to a stable set of unchangeable concrete norms. It must call for social justice, but this justice uncovers injustices rather than stipulating “the just order.” On these grounds, it would make a fine instrument for the critical investigation of any political agency. In my view Sergei Bulgakov’s idea of the dialectics between universal Christianity and Christian nations is an example of open universality of a Christian tradition. According to Bulgakov the universal is never “pure” but is embodied in the national. At the same time the national is never truly universal. In Bulgakov’s own words, “God transcends the national and unity in God transcends national unity [. . .] creative relation to one’s own culture does not allow exclusivism.”40 Analogically, an openly universal social and political ethic cannot but be a concrete ethic that is conscious of this “concreteness” and thus open to challenges. This openness is based on both the urge for universality and the recognition of contextual imperfection of every norm. My view is that an open universalism of moral doctrine is compatible with the distinctiveness of the Russian tradition, which rests on neither a single text nor a single theologian whose statements are considered mandatory in the field of social ethics. It is thus possible both to develop a doctrine with core moral principles and to give different interpretations of those principles in light of rational and critical discussions. Such a doctrine will offer the Russian Orthodox Church a political platform in the contemporary Russian society that is morally justified and politically constructive.

40 Sergej Bulgakov, “Нация и человечество” [Nation and Mankind], Novy Grad (Paris) 8 (1934): 32–33.

283

Chapter 16 O RT HO D OX Y A N D D E M O C R AC Y I N P O S T- 1 9 8 9 R OM A N IA Radu Preda

The place of the Orthodox Church in postcommunist Romanian democracy is highly contested. For some, to make a connection between religion and democracy is equivalent to undermining the foundations of modern political culture. For the defenders of this secular type of fundamentalism, the dialogue between religion (generally speaking) and democracy is a one-way street:  religious actors must pay attention to the rules of public life, and any other form of involvement is nothing less than an impending danger of the inauguration of “the Orthodox Republic of Romania,” as one journalist recently stated. Such an approach makes an obvious confusion between modern secularity and secularism, between the virtue of the clear separation of the political power from the spiritual authority and the ideological and judicial struggle against religion tout court. For others, Romania’s post-Decembrist democracy features a series of immoral laws and even blasphemies, from those regarding abortion to those accepting sexual minorities. When including the debates surrounding the presence of religious symbols in public schools or those related to biometric passports, we see how contested the place of religion is in today’s Romanian society. It is no surprise that the past two decades have generated and amplified theories of antireligious conspiracy as well as theories defining Romania as the unofficial center of a new spiritual world order. A range of positions falls between these two extremes, some more nuanced than others. It is these in-between manifestations that define statistical normality and tendencies of a more general character. For this reason, I focus on them rather than on the extremes. In this chapter, I investigate public statements and official documents that have contributed to defining the institutional position of the Romanian Orthodox Church (or Orthodox Church in Romania [OCR]) vis-à-vis the democratization of the country and its sociotheological discourse (with the exception of the activist-nationalistic discourse). Before turning to the Romanian case, however, and by way of introduction, I briefly outline my theoretical approach, which proceeds from the “Böckenförde paradox” to the “Diogenes paradox” to Jürgen Habermas’s thought reconsidering the role of religion in a pluralist and secular society.

284

284

Radu Preda

The Post-Secular Paradigm After nearly three centuries, the struggle of Western modernity with religion has reached a point of exhaustion in its argumentation. From country to country, European secularization has found various patterns of relating to religion, from strict separation to a systematic cohabitation that tests the formulation of a state religion.1 This illustrates each nation’s local historical experiences and, fortunately, makes the imposition of an utterly unique model impossible, since the minimum standard is set by the judicial context (ideological neutrality, freedom of religion and consciousness, pluralism of faith, and so on). Moreover, in the past three centuries, after an initial resistance to modernism and especially to its excesses, the Catholic Church, as well as Protestant denominations, has managed to incorporate the challenges brought about by the changing times into their theological systems and to accept modernity as a given.2 Finally, an apologetic-missionary adaptation, especially in Catholic theology and praxis—mainly through committed laypeople— went so far as to give impetus to define Christian-democracy as a viable political alternative.3 Agreeing on the fact that human dignity is an inalienable value, this theology contributed massively to the formulation of the United Nations’ 1948 Universal Declaration of Human Rights.4 In short, we find ourselves today in a moment of concluding a conflict that, over time, has resulted in a cautious collaboration between European modernity and religion. Naturally, the history of secularization has not been forgotten. Europe bears the indelible hallmark of its own cultural constructions and deconstructions, making it unique in comparison with America, for example. Even though it is the product of religious effervescence, Europe is living, at least at the ideological level of relativistic elites, in a long-term schizophrenia, stubbornly denying its own identity or reducing it to its negative aspects. With respect to the historical religious ethos that fuelled jurisprudence, the arts, and education, on one hand, and the

1 On the diversity of the patterns of relations between the state and religious confessions in Europe, see the discussion concerning the series, Essener Gespräche zum Thema Staat und Kirche, which began in 1966: Essener Gespräche zum Thema Staat und Kirche, Official Website, http://www.essener-gespraeche.de/ (accessed July 3, 2010). 2 Peter Neuner, Der Streit um den katholischen Modernismus (Frankfurt am Main: Verlag der Weltreligionen, 2009). 3 Pierre Letamendia, La démocratie chrétienne (Paris: Presses Universitaires de France, 1977); Jacques Maritain, Christianisme et Démocratie (New  York:  Editions de la Maison Française, 1943); Steven Van Hecke and Emmanuel Gerard (eds.), Christian Democratic Parties in Europe since the End of the Cold War (Leuven:  Leuven University Press, 2004); Günter Buchstab and Rudolf Uertz (eds.), Christliche Demokratie im zusammenwachsenden Europa. Entwicklungen—Programmatik—Perspektiven (Freiburg: Herder, 2004). 4 Konrad Hilpert, Die Menschenrechte. Geschichte, Theologie, Aktualität (Düsseldorf: Patmos, 1991); George Newlands, Christ and Human Rights: The Transformative Engagement (Burlington, VT: Ashgate, 2006).

285

Orthodoxy and Democracy in Post-1989 Romania

285

Inquisition, on the other, many Europeans tend to point solely toward the latter.5 Acting in this manner, they ignore the fact that liberal democracy, the hallmark of modernity, can no longer define itself in opposition to religion. The stubborn conviction of a danger arising exclusively from a possible revival of religion, especially visible in the emotion-fueled ideological attitudes after “9/11,” hides a more serious fact. Simply put, modernity itself is questioned by the history of the past decades. The religious problem here is just a symptom that can help to identify the impasse of the old paradigm, according to which only reason, not religion, has the capacity to subdue the forces of nature, organize society, and guarantee prosperity. Given the horrors of the “short twentieth century” (Eric Hobsbawm)— from the two world wars to the totalitarian communist experiment, and from the ecological impasse to bioethical dilemmas—it is clear that rationalism as a unique agent of social cohesion, “a supreme principle of morality,” or an infallible arbiter of the public sphere can no longer be supported. In taking a systematic stand against religious dogma, usually understood in a caricature fashion, modernity risks becoming a dogma itself. An eloquent case can be made concerning the experience of religious communities under Communism, with the underground religiosity in Russia and Poland making a strong contrast with the mass atheism in the German Democratic Republic or in today’s Czech Republic. In various countries and across cultural spaces, theological faithfulness acted in different and often surprising ways. The fact that religious humanity continues to exist despite the path taken by modernity proves that reason does not exclude faith. The journey from the emancipation from the medieval church and its totalitarian impulses to the religious rebirth of a person fully enjoying his or her legally guaranteed freedoms is a dialectical relationship and not merely a simple progression. The “Böckenförde paradox” captures precisely this dialectic. In 1964, ErnstWolfgang Böckenförde, a German legal philosopher and former judge of the Karlsruhe Constitutional Court, stated: Der freiheitliche, säkularisierte Staat lebt von Voraussetzungen, die er selbst nicht garantieren kann. (The liberal secular state lives on premises that it cannot itself guarantee.)6

Böckenförde states here that, in comparison with the premodern state, the modern state has a different type of legitimation of its own authority. The dynamic is no longer top-down, passed from God to the people via the monarch, but it is bottom-up via all levels and social categories of people giving power to their government authorities. This change of direction in power dynamics implies

5 José Casanova, Europas Angst vor der Religion (Berlin: Berlin University Press, 2009). 6 Ernst-Wolfgang Böckenförde, “Die Entstehung des Staates als Vorgang der Säkularisation,” Recht, Staat, Freiheit:  Studien zur Rechtsphilosophie, Staatstheorie und Verfassungsgeschichte (Frankfurt am Main: Suhrkamp, 1991), pp. 92–114 (111).

286

286

Radu Preda

that those in authority should take into account all public groups with their particular convictions and preferences that, taken together, form the substance without which the legitimacy of those in power would be impossible. It is only to the extent that those in power are able to represent a sizeable proportion of this humanity, that they retain legitimacy; we can thereby conclude that ignoring these Voraussetzungen signifies a lack of legitimacy. The liberal (democratic) state should take these conditions into account, not as a top-down production of its own making, but as a cultural reflection of the political sovereignty of the people. The founding paradox of modern rule of law resides in its never-fully-delegated sovereignty. Yet another paradox, far more explicit, was formulated by Josef Kirchhof, another German jurist, and like Böckenförde a former judge of the Karlsruhe Constitutional Court. Kirchhof stated this “paradox of Diogenes” at a conference in the 1990s, paraphrased in the following sentences. The liberal state guarantees each citizen individual freedom, including the freedom to choose self-isolation— Diogenes’s way of life. At the same time, the very existence of the state depends on the will of its citizens to engage in society, to procreate, and to raise and educate their children to become future citizens. The liberal state by itself does not provide a culture of values that would foster either the first behavior or the second; individual motivation toward self-isolation or societal engagement is beyond state control. Kirchhof concludes that the ethos that informs each citizen’s life choices is of direct interest to the state of tomorrow. Religions, he argues, are an ally of the democratic state inasmuch as they can foster an ethos of engagement rather than of self-isolation.7 Both the Böckenförde and Kirchhof paradoxes form the backdrop to discussions concerning the post-secular paradigm put forward by Jürgen Habermas.8 Unlike Böckenförde or Kirchhof, who are directly or indirectly in favor of strengthening churches’ socio-normative role, Habermas recognizes that religions as repositories of normative views on humanity and society are just as valuable as secular perspectives advanced by civil organizations, parties, and so on. They all potentially contribute to the public good. For Habermas, the two models of secularization practiced by modernity so far, that of replacement and that of discrediting of religious reference, have reached an impasse. A  way out of this impasse is the idea of a post-secular society.9 Here, post-secular means the recognition by both the liberal state and religious institutions that multiple compatibilities between religious and nonreligious worldviews exist. In the Romanian case, the post-secular perspective that religion (generally speaking) is a “reservoir of meaning” holds great significance. Going beyond the 7 Josef Kirchhof, Die Erneuerung des Staates—eine lösbare Aufgabe (Freiburg: Herder, 2006). 8 See also Peter L. Berger, The Desecularization of the World:  Resurgent Religion and World Politics (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1999). 9 Jürgen Habermas, Glauben und Wissen:  Friedenspreis des deutschen Buchhandels (Frankfurt am Main: Suhrkamp, 2001).

287

Orthodoxy and Democracy in Post-1989 Romania

287

model of fundamentalist secularization, religion can be recognized as a meaninggiver in the modern state, as a middle ground between one’s understanding of oneself and modernity’s antireligious affect. In this sense, not only would modernity have an opportunity to self-correct, but religious institutions also would be called to perceive the potential of the post-secular moment and to prepare to step out of the walls of their institutions in order to engage more fully with the wider society. Such a dynamic, however bold (hence the vigorous attacks against it), must not be confused with “restoration,” or with throwing the positive achievements of modernity overboard. This approach—understanding religion as an important “ground” for modern politics without abandoning the separation of the spiritual authority from the political power—informs my reading of the Romanian situation.

A New Experience: Religion and Democracy in Eastern Europe after 1989 The hope of churches and denominations in Eastern Europe, that once religious freedom had been regained after the fall of Communism they would reconnect with a supposedly glorious past, soon proved to be illusory. Nothing was like it as before, for four significant factors. First, societies that had earlier become accustomed to decades of state censorship were unprepared for the technological innovations in the postcommunist, information-consuming society. Even before the full implementation of the democratic transition, the free market, and the freedom of movement to the West, citizens of post-totalitarian Europe hastened a visual recovery, in order to “open their eyes.” The inflation of newspapers and magazines and new radio and television stations in the early 1990s, followed a decade later by the explosion of the Internet, created a completely different social atmosphere, another type of perception that did not always favor stringent analysis and good taste. For the churches and denominations, therefore, the fall of Communism meant more than an exit from the ghetto they had been encapsulated in for half a century by an atheist state. The liberation returned them to a society beyond parish limits, which became a public reference point for both the believer and the nonbeliever. This position of a double opening, on one hand toward its own laypeople and on the other toward the “other,” was fairly difficult. The widespread mentality of having one’s own reference system and the still stronger clerical tendency to underestimate the effort required to articulate a social message along with a pastoral one complicated this process even further. In the case of the OCR, this new situation has meant that its public communication oscillates between adaptation to modern means of communication and a stubborn cultivation of a mono-directional message that verges on propaganda.10

10 For an overview, see Irina Vainovski-Mihai (ed.), Pentru o democrație a valorilor:  Strategii de comunicare religioasă într-o societate pluralistă [For a Democracy

288

288

Radu Preda

A second difference with respect to pre-communist religious history was more difficult to overcome than the difficulties in addressing the public. After 1989, no church in the formerly communist space escaped the accusation of having failed to speak up against the communist regime and its human rights violations. Church hierarchs (regardless of their denomination) had collaborated with the dictatorial regimes in a frail balance between survival strategies and systemic complicity, heroism and guilt, evangelical courage and non-evangelical cowardice. Even the Catholic Church in Poland, represented by Pope John Paul II and often taken as a positive example of anticommunist resistance, did not escape painful revelations of past collaboration. In Romania, the opening of Securitate files did not produce any noticeable effects, even from an ethical perspective; judicial criteria and laws were intentionally confounded, thus managing to compromise almost irrecoverably any effort to discover the truth. In Romania—as in most of the former communist countries—religion (generally speaking) did not prove to be an ally of a moral reform that was repeatedly announced yet purposefully postponed.11 The slow and difficult renewal of the political scene constitutes the third factor of historical disillusionment. Romanian politics were, and in part still are, dominated by opportunism and individual ambitions to climb the career ladder, populism and demagogy, corruption and cynicism, rather than by the commitment to the rule of law, balance of power, and responsibility. The lack of personal maturity and ethics, as well as the indiscriminate aping of foreign models, even by the most promising politicians, have led to chaotic relations between the religious and the political spheres. Political candidates’ adoption of religious causes for electoral purposes has, moreover, led to a change of paradigm from a secularization through oppression under Communism to a secularization through political instrumentalization. Among Romanians, the trust placed in the Church for two decades after the Fall of Communism seemed to correlate to the lack of trust placed in democratic institutions, such as the parliament. The Church appeared to “compensate,” at least partially, for civic disappointment. Evidently, religiosity managed to keep its place on the scale of values.12 The high trust in the OCR notwithstanding, the Church has failed to make a substantial contribution

of Values:  Strategies for Religious Communication in a Pluralist Society], Conference proceedings (Bucharest:  Ludwig Boltzmann, New Europe College, 2002). See also Radu Preda, “Ortodoxia şi dilemele dialogului cu lumea:  Pastorala Patriahului Ecumenic la Duminica Ortodoxiei” [Orthodoxy and the Dilemmas of Dialogue with the World:  The Pastoral Letter of the Ecumenical Patriarch on the Feast of Orthodoxy], Tabor 4, no. 1 (2010): 19–28. 11 See Johann Marte et al. (eds.), Religion und Wende in Ostmittel- und Südosteuropa 1989–2009 (Innsbruck: Tyrolia, 2010). 12 See Paul M. Zulehner, Miklós Tomka, and Inna Naletova, Religionen und Kirchen in Ost(Mittel)Europa: Entwicklungen seit der Wende (Ostfildern: Schwabenverlag, 2008); Gert Pickel and Olaf Müller (eds.), Church and Religion in Contemporary Europe: Results from Empirical and Comparative Research (Wiesbaden: VS-Verlag, 2009).

289

Orthodoxy and Democracy in Post-1989 Romania

289

by clarifying its relationship with political decision-makers; ambiguity is preferred over univocal definitions. Finally, the existence of new ideological and judicial conditions helps to explain why, after 1989, the OCR could not simply turn back to historical models. Unlike the period before 1945, today Romanians are confronted with a heightened sensitivity regarding religious pluralism, which is solidly established and encapsulated by national laws and international treaties and conventions. Throughout Europe, most national churches and denominations have lost their privileges (e.g., Catholicism in Italy) or have willingly changed their statute (e.g., Lutheranism in Sweden). Questions of pluralism and social peace, despite religious diversity, have proven explosive in Eastern Europe in the wake of the disappearance of the firm arm of communist “domination.” In the Balkans, the shedding of blood and the committing of heinous crimes against humanity in both interdenominational conflicts (such as that between Catholic Croats and Orthodox Serbs) and interreligious conflicts (such as that between the Orthodox Serbs and Muslim Kosovars) has demonstrated the explosive nature of such debates. Interdenominational conflicts, especially between Greek-Catholics (who now have legal status) and the Orthodox dominate the religious scene in western Ukraine, Transylvania and eastern Poland (where the Orthodox were systematically persecuted by the Catholic hierarchy immediately after 1989). All these conflicts share in common a weak acceptance, if not a full-scale rejection, of religious freedom as an essential aspect of human rights. Although there are differences between countries, one cannot state in good conscience that the religious factor has played a pacifying role. It has rather encouraged ethnic maximalisms and a generally critical attitude toward the European unifying project by those trying to solve current crises by referring to the past. It is, therefore, important to recognize that the major “unknown” after 1989 was democracy as such. With few exceptions, the countries of Eastern Europe, previously taken prisoner by Communism, did not have a lengthy and exemplary democratic experience. So to what form of democracy should religion have related after 1989? Could anybody really talk about continuing a democratic tradition? Were we not more likely dealing with a democracy in statu nascendi? And if this were true, could one expect from the essentially dogmatic and antidemocratic Church a real contribution in terms of the culture of freedom, private initiative, and community responsibility? Could one really expect religion in Eastern Europe in general and the OCR in particular to become a possible laboratory of virtues that could support the new civic culture of democracy? To these questions, which admittedly carry a negative connotation, we cannot give an answer until we discover mechanisms that would offer a minimum of credibility to the democratic exercise. The great problem of postcommunist democracies remains a deficit of seriousness in their devotion to democracy. This thereby leads to a perpetuation and exacerbation of the deficit of loyalty held by political figures, who do not strongly identify with the political project to which, willingly or not, they belong. The democratic institutions being weak,

290

290

Radu Preda

the only institutional body still present is the Church. In the end, this is the great entrapment to which religion can fall victim:  the desire to save the world by ruling it.

The Orthodox Church in Romania: Involvement or Noninvolvement? Against this post-secular and postcommunist backdrop, let us now see which path the OCR has taken in its attempt to find a place in the public square since 1989, in the context of the sinuous process of political democratization. Given the complexity of the topic and the diversity of approaches, I confine my analysis to a few highly relevant documents: the statements of the Synod in Bucharest regarding the political involvement of the clergy between 1990 and 2008.13 From the OCR’s initial statements in December 1989 and January 1990, one observes the Church’s concern for building up her legitimacy with the new political power, which at that time belonged to the National Salvation Front (Frontul Salvării Nationale [FSN]).14 After waiting to see how the revolution would play out, without having the courage to choose sides, the Church at that time still did not condemn Communism and its horrors, the theological and ethical magnitude of the moment being addressed in only a few words about Nicolae Ceauşescu’s dictatorship. Instead, the Church put all its emphasis on one message:  the population should support the FSN and its ramifications in the country. This topic was at the core of Patriarch Teoctist’s Christmas (1989) and new year (1990) messages. Before the 1990 provisional elections, organized in the absence of a new constitution, the OCR’s attitude toward politics began to get defined. Despite voices in favor of reinstating the interwar tradition of making hierarchs and leaders of religious groups rightful members of the Senate, the general tendency was against the political involvement of the clergy. Consequently, the Synod’s decision advised neutrality and noninvolvement: Like any other citizen, the priest has the right to political options. It is good for them to be expressed through voting. [. . .] The Holy Synod, in the spirit of the holy canons, advises the clergy to abstain from being active members of various

13 Iulianei Conovici, Ortodoxia În România postcomunistă:  Reconstrucția unei identități publice [Orthodoxy in Romania: Reconstructing a Public Identity], 2 vols. (ClugNapoca: Eikon, 2009–2010). 14 Radu Preda, „Das Jahr 1989 in der Geschichte und im Bewusstsein der rumänischen Gesellschaft und Kirchen,” in Falling Walls: The Year 1989/1990 as a Turning Point in the History of World Christianity // Einstürzende Mauern: Das Jahr 1989/1990 als Epochenjahr in der Geschichte des Weltchristentums, ed. Klaus Koschorke (Wiesbaden:  Harrassowitz, 2009), pp. 57–75.

291

Orthodoxy and Democracy in Post-1989 Romania

291

political parties that have been founded or will be founded in Romania, as they [the clergy] are the spiritual parents of all believers.15

Beyond the somewhat challenging syntax of the text, the message is clear. There is no mention of the involvement of either the controversial Archimandrite Tatu (who received much media attention) or His Holiness Calinic Argeşeanul (who was far more discreet) in the first Parliament/Constitutional Assembly. Despite this inconsistency, the Church maintained this principle of neutrality and clerical noninvolvement in the following election years. In the 1996 elections, the Synod repeated the generic canonical argumentation (yet without precise reference to the canons) for noninvolvement of the clergy in partisan politics. After a plenary assembly in February 1996, the OCR’s Holy Synod gave a press release regarding Romania’s upcoming local and presidential elections, stating, “As a divine-human institution called to keep and preach the living and true faith, the Orthodox Church sees its duty to responsibly watch over the welfare, liberty and dignity of its country and its believers.”16 The message continued by emphasizing that the Church respects political pluralism, which is fundamental to democracy. For this reason, given that it must undertake pastoral work beyond ideological partisanships, the members of the clergy are advised to abstain from party politics: The Church, mother of all believers and a factor of unity and conciliation, respects the diversity of the political options of her children In this spirit and in accordance with the Holy Canons, bishops, priests and deacons, as spiritual fathers of all believers, will abstain from running in elections to be members of the Chamber of Deputies or the Senate. Clerics, as well as monks, are called to carry out their spiritual mission, and this is not compatible with a systematic, partisan political commitment. Faithful to this canonical principle of political neutrality and respect towards the right to political options held by every believer and every citizen of Romania, the Romanian Orthodox Church will abstain from advising or recommending the election or support of a certain party or individual involved in electoral confrontation.17

The clergy’s active noninvolvement in politics should, however, not be understood as a general refusal of political involvement or, worse, of civic duties. The authors of the document, therefore, wrote, “The Romanian Orthodox Church, exerting its 15 Conovici, Ortodoxia În România, p. 417. 16 Hotărâri ale Sfântului Sinod al Bisericii Ortodoxe Române referitoare la activitatea bisericească [Decisions of the Holy Synod of the Romanian Orthodox Church on Church Activity], Vol. I: 1986–2002 (Galati: Editura Episcopei Dunării de Jos, 2003), pp. 56–66. All translations in this chapter are by the author. 17 Ibid.

292

292

Radu Preda

role as the moral conscience of Romanian society, invites all believers to exercise their electoral right and to choose with all responsibility before the voting ballots.”18 The 1996 press release argued the necessity to fight against all forms of degradation of human dignity, such as abortion, sins against nature, prostitution, corruption, violence, drugs, pornography, and others. Moreover, the OCR stressed the importance of belief and religious education in school. It further demanded the restoration of church property, so the Church could carry out its social and pastoral work in a wide range of social institutions. The text is, in fact, a cleverly captured summa of convictions, projections, and grievances. The human-divine definition of the clergy depends on the neutrality of the Church, which is strengthened by reclaiming its status as “the moral conscience of the society.” Once this postulate has been set forth, the document presents the Church’s expectations and, seizing the opportunity presented by the elections, makes them known to the public. In other words, though refusing party engagement, the synodal statement did not hesitate to indicate the main points of her relationship with political institutions. Regardless of who would win the elections, the Church wanted to assert that some values must be defended while others must be denounced. In addition, it encouraged certain initiatives, including the establishment of religion classes in schools (which was then uncertain), the restoration of church properties confiscated by the communist regime, social assistance, and the building of new churches. The Church’s “political programme” was thus quite detailed. It included the “reject[ion of] atheist totalitarian communism” and “any other form of extremism.” Given the context of the late 1990s, when radical parties were exploiting the frustrations of Romanians who were confused by the transition, the Synod’s position represented one of the most evident demarcations from tendencies by politicians who then (as now) have attempted to co-opt the Church ideologically and symbolically and to exploit it in their struggle for power. Though one must be careful to avoid practicing counterfactual history, one wonders what might have happened had this moment resulted in the Church separating itself from those who, during and after Communism, proved not to be friends of freedom. But the archives of the former Securitate were not yet accessible in 1996; and from the perspective of recent history, the Church and the state had a sort of “truce.” No one knew how long this truce might have lasted and, in hindsight, it would have proven an astute intuition and a penchant for prophecy had the Church approached the topic of guilt motivated not by the past, but by potential dangers in the future. The “atheist totalitarian communism” and “forms of extremism” were still present precisely because no minimal moral and structural order and consensus existed. The beginning of Romanian democracy was visible, but it was scarred by a remnant of communist, totalitarian thinking. The next elections brought about a shift in policy. If the OCR had remained completely independent in the 1990s (notwithstanding the limited inconsistency mentioned above), during the 2000 elections, the Church allowed the clergy to

18 Ibid.

293

Orthodoxy and Democracy in Post-1989 Romania

293

engage politically at the local level. A Synodal statement from February 25, 2000, states: The Holy Synod maintains the recommendation made to the clergy in 1996 [. . .] to abstain from making militant politics within parties. Clerics may run in elections for a place in the local councils, both in rural and in urban areas, but solely as independent candidates and with the approval of the hierarch. [. . .] Clerics who, despite these recommendations, run in elections and win seats, even as independent candidates in the state administration (mayor, prefect, etc) or in the Parliament will be temporarily suspended from priestly activity for the time of their [political] mandate.19

Thus a contradiction existed between the rules set by the canons, which remained unchanged, and the permission given to the clergy to run in elections, even as independent candidates. An even more surprising aspect of the statement was an encouragement of laypeople to become actively involved in politics, without concluding that as long as the laity can engage in politics without the risk of infringing on the canons, then the clerics have no reason to take this risk and go beyond their usual spiritual mission. Instead of pleading exclusively for laypeople to assume their role in society, which would have been an unprecedented support for civic duties in postcommunist Romania and a strong signal (theologically also), the Synod sent both the clergy and the laity into political battle. It appears that the members of the Synod did not realize that, by acting in this manner, they were transferring the electoral struggle into the Church. The second major contradiction of the 2000 Synodal decision was the limitation of clerical political engagement to the local level, with the consequent suspension of priests who gained access to political posts, either by election or by appointment (according to the Romanian Constitution, prefects are appointed). In other words, during their time in public office, the politician-priests would not be allowed to exercise their role as parish priests or spiritual counsellors. The statement considered priests who served as state officials in breach of Synodal decisions and thus as acting without a hierarch’s blessing. In this way, the Synod de facto limited its own authority, accepting the possibility that these clerics would not respect its recommendations. Four years after this controversial generosity, the same OCR Synod enacted a new decree in order to end the ambiguity brought on from the 2000 statement. The Holy Synod’s Decision No. 410 from February 2004 stated: In his capacity as a citizen of the country and a spiritual father of all his parishioners regardless of their political orientation, the priest has the freedom, blessing and duty [. . .] to take part in the life of the polis by supporting activities that are meant to promote the common good and by standing against all measures

19 Hotărâri, Vol. 1, pp. 118–19.

294

294

Radu Preda

and activities that counter Christian teachings and morals. His political option is expressed through voting.20

Given that the citation of the main canons on this topic is of outmost importance, since only in this way can a Synodal decision be argued and proven as legitimate when breached, the Synod cited the following canons: In keeping with the Holy Canons of the Universal Church (6 Apostolic, 7, Ecumenical Synod VI, 10 Ecumenical Synod VII, 11 Local Synod in Cartagena), which stipulate that among the activities incompatible with the clergy is that of “accepting worldly positions or works”, the bishop, the priest, the deacon and the monk are forbidden from engaging in party politics; being a member of a political party; participating in electoral campaigns; running for public office; becoming a member of the parliament or of local councils, a mayor, a vicemayor; or being in public office in local or central administration. The one who goes against these rules and against the oath taken when becoming a priest will be subject to Art. 3, “d”, “e” from the Rules of Procedure of the disciplinary and judicial forums of the Romanian Orthodox Church, [and must] choose between his political career and his priestly mission forever, without the right to return to the clergy. Such offences will be subject to judgment in parish consistories.21

The Church, knowing the faults of Romanian politicians, but also the weaknesses of its own clergy, especially in the context of the confusion that dominates the Romanian public space, ends the document with an appeal to reason and respect: At the same time, the Holy Synod appeals to all leaders of political parties in Romania not to allow recruitment from members of the clergy, nor to allow the use of the people, spaces, religious services and symbols [of the Church] for political purposes. The Holy Synod assures them that the Church—keeping equal distance from all parties—will continue to be involved in the general politics of the country [. . .] to defend democracy, freedom, belief in God and the independence and integrity of the country, and to reject all forms of atheist totalitarian Communism, as well as any other form of extremism.22

The 2004 statement demonstrates that the Synod had undergone a radical change of perspective. For the first time, the canons prohibiting the political involvement of clerics are clearly mentioned, making it possible to move beyond the previously vague references. This reminder of the canonical argument in

20 Hotărâri ale Sfântului Sinod al Bisericii Ortodoxe Române referitoare la activitatea bisericească [Decisions of the Holy Synod of the Romanian Orthodox Church on church activity], Vol. 2: 2003–2006 (Galati: Editura Episcopiei Dunării de Jos, 2007), pp. 73–74. 21 Ibid. 22 Ibid.

295

Orthodoxy and Democracy in Post-1989 Romania

295

such a precise manner made no form of permission or clemency possible. After years of oscillating between involvement and noninvolvement, the Synod finally seemed to have reached a conclusion. It is regrettable, however, that the forward progress made in 2000—that of encouraging lay participation—was lost in the process. However positive the clarity regarding the status of the clergy, the silence regarding the role of the lay person was toxic in equal portions. The appeal to political parties was helpful, but in practice, almost no member of the Synod acted on it. With the exception of the silence concerning the laity, the 2004 decision could have acted as a stable framework for the following years, regardless of the number of elections. Things did not play out this way, however, and the Synod reopened the discussion in 2008. Since it is the most recent decision on this topic, as well as the most debatable, we shall analyze it here in further detail. The Synod of March 2008 offered an unusual exegesis of the 2004 Synodal decision. The latter formulated in unequivocal terms the incompatibility between priesthood and politics, in order to put an end to the confusion fueled by the lack of a unitary and coherent strategy. The decision of 2008 reintroduced ambiguity: Maintaining the decision of the Holy Synod no 410/2004 regarding the prohibition of the involvement of clergy in politics [. . .] [and] applying the principle of oikonomia (management, dispensation), the Holy Synod has decided that, on a case-by-case basis, priests who express in writing their desire to be independent candidates in elections for local and county councils (and only in these elections) may receive the approval of their bishop. The approval will be given after a close analysis of their requests, in a meeting of the Council of the Dioceses, and only for those considered capable of promoting the interests of the community in local and county councils.23

This 2008 decision leaves room for serious doubt that the Church knows what it wants in the political and public arena. The words used to formulate this decision betray not only the uncertainty of arguing on the basis of one’s own canonical tradition, but also the lack of a minimal civic culture, of an organic perspective on the role and the place of the Church in a democratic state. Instead of clearing the ambiguities that characterized its relationship with the worldly power and were the subject of repeated criticism, the Synod’s decision created even more confusion. The latest Synodal decision is characterized not only by a strategic lack of consistency, but also by a problematic use of the term oikonomia—the principle of prudent management and flexibility—precisely where the Church ought to remain inflexible if it does not want to transform its servants into mere pawns in a political game. Is Romania in danger of not having enough local counselors,

23 Holy Synod of the Romanian Orthodox Church, “Ultimele hotarari ale Sfantului Sinod” [The Latest Decisions of the Holy Synod], CrestinOrtodox, March 10, 2008, http:// www.crestinortodox.ro/stiri/ziarul-lumina/ultimele-hotarari-sfantului-sinod-78539.html (accessed July 8, 2016).

296

296

Radu Preda

or does the Church feel so discriminated against that it must be present directly through its servants in the decision-making process? What do the members of the Synod hope to gain that is worth the risk of seeing their own priests on magazine covers, accused (rightly or wrongly) of corruption in the fight between parties? These questions demand answers, but the lack of a truly Christian-Democratic Romanian political party or, at the very least, of a moral and cultural component in the political programs of the other parties, regardless of their orientation, makes finding workable answers next to impossible. After nearly three decades of freedom, Romania still experiences the paradox of having a majority religion without such a social reality reflected in political decisions.

Can Romania Rely on Orthodoxy in the Process of Democratization? Romania is an exemplary case for the difficulty of reconciling Orthodoxy and democracy. I  call this “the Orthodox paradox.” The relationship between the church and the rule of law can become fruitful only under the conditions of a double reflective shift from both church and state. On the side of the church, faith ought to come to be seen as a depository of the legitimacy of the liberal, ideologically, and religiously neutral state. On the side of the state, religious content should be welcomed as “value surplus” offered by the majority church. Where the Böckenförde and Diogenes paradoxes highlight the need for a reflective shift on the side of the liberal state, the Orthodox paradox lays open the necessity of a reflective shift inside the Church. In the Romanian case, both sets of paradoxes are visible. The Church does not seem capable of promoting its own ideal of common good. Meanwhile, the state has not managed to be consistent with legislation aimed at its own electoral-religious base. In other words, not only does the Church struggle with its refusal to accept modernity, but the state does as well. In the end, it is this shared lack that spontaneously unites the clerical hierarchy with the political leadership. Leaving aside the problem of the renewal of the political scene, we witness that with every passing day, the Church loses the opportunity to contribute to the realization of the Christian understanding of the common good in Romania, other than through philanthropic projects. The post-secular paradigm should spur the Church to reflect on the way it is involved in society. As noted above, such an engagement in the Romanian context means primarily the confession of one’s own guilt (which is only aggravated by silence or defensive strategies) and transparency regarding the various financial relationships between the Church and the political power. Only by using its prophetic function can the Church become a critical mirror to the ruling class. As long as church-state relations are ambiguous, we have little reason to hope for a positive contribution of Orthodoxy in defining a democratic ethos, either in Romania or in other parts of Eastern Europe. The current financial crisis, for which financial actors have not taken responsibility, brings us to the shocking conclusion that in the midst of rational and technical modernity, systems of organized irresponsibility have

297

Orthodoxy and Democracy in Post-1989 Romania

297

been allowed to develop and prosper. In the same vein, the political actors in Eastern Europe since 1989 have shown themselves to be unprepared to take their role and responsibility seriously. And, if this is how things are, both in the global capital market and among political power groups, in Romania and all over the world, who, if not the churches, should sound the alarm? Yet, in Romania, before this happens, the alarm must sound for the Church itself. As we have seen, from an institutional and hierarchal perspective, the OCR is still in the midst of defining its social horizon and position toward politics. How long this process will last is hard to say. However, we can easily observe that the Church’s socio-theological delay is, in essence, a delay of Romanian society on its road toward democratic normalization, toward Romania becoming herself once again.

298

299

Chapter 17 T H E C H U R C H A N D T H E B U L G A R IA N M O D E R N I T I E S Mariyan Stoyadinov

Some Words about Modernity in the New Social and Political History of Bulgaria In this chapter I try to analyze the issue of modernity as a background of existence or nonexistence of political theologies in the specific context of contemporary Bulgarian Orthodox Christianity. At the beginning I  would agree with the statement of Jürgen Habermas that modernity as a term with variable content consistently expresses the consciousness of an age placed in relation to the past to grasp itself as a result of the transition from old to new.1 Modernity is a Eurocentric concept, and therefore impulses for the varieties of modern waves and periods can be traced in the cultural history of Europe from the end of the fifteenth century to the second half of the twentieth century. Southeastern Europe remained away from these waves for a relatively long period of time—almost four centuries, from the fifteenth to the nineteenth centuries. The obvious reason was the Ottoman domination of the Balkans that radically separated all the local peoples from the European orbit and immersed them in a totally different sociocultural atmosphere. In this period Orthodox Christianity was more than church or credo; it was an ethnic marker and a pillar of the national identity. Everything that we can cite for this period as an expression of modernity in a European context, including secularism, came from the southeastern corner of the continent centuries later. The majority of Bulgarians as well as Greeks and Serbs looked at the Ottoman Empire as a retrograde factor in their development. These views became dominant in the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries and resulted in a variety of local national enlightenments— some of them had Orthodox Christianity at the center (as Kolivades in Mount Athos and Greece), another was pro-secular, but the main stream was pro-Western and pro-European as an antithesis of the Oriental despotism.

1 Jürgen Habermas, Kleine politische Schriften I–IV (Frankfurt am Main: Suhrkamp, 1981).

300

300

Mariyan Stoyadinov

At the final stage the ethnic enlightenments resulted in the creation of new independent states. These states were new only in formal aspect; substantively they were an incarnation of the historical memory and were restored on the ruins of the Medieval Christian kingdoms in this part of Europe. The state identity of Orthodox peoples in the Balkans in the centuries after the fifteenth century was destroyed to such an extent that everything had to be built anew, almost from ground zero. The national states that emerged in this century gave the Orthodox Christians in the Balkans not only a chance to restore the state entities they had centuries ago, but also to build new forms of social relationships: new monarchical institutions, new political parties, and new social life in general. And last but not least, they gave them a unique opportunity to get out from a dark medieval period that lasted until the nineteenth century in the Balkans and so went directly into the European modernity of this century. Generally speaking there is something characteristic of European modernity in the nineteenth century, and this is the optimism, based on the philosophy of the Enlightenment and on the scientism of the time. This optimism was shared by protagonists of the local Enlightenments combined with a national romanticism inherent to all the Balkan Orthodox nations. The role of the Church in the beginning of these processes was significant, this being the first collision between Orthodox Christianity and modernity in the Balkans. Our interest in Bulgarian modernity (or Bulgarian modernities) lies primarily in modernity as a “state-political” orientation rather than in it as a “sociocultural” phenomenon. The political orientation and geopolitical choices of the state’s establishment de facto have predetermined the type of modernity in Bulgaria in the last century and a half. Modernity was imported in nineteenth-century Bulgaria as a result of the War of Liberation (1877–1878) and was a revolutionary rather than a gradual process. The development of modernity in the twentieth century also occurred as a result of war (the Second World War) and the system change to Communism together with the social cataclysms, and as a third phase the democratic reforms after the collapse of Soviet dominance (1989). Here it is appropriate to quote Max Weber, who underlines that the process of social modernization is accelerated in tandem with the state (as a government) and the capitalist economy.2 To paraphrase Weber, we can distinguish at least three Bulgarian modernities:  the modernity of newly acquired independence (1878–1944), the modernity of Communism (1944–1989), and the modernity of democratic reforms (since 1989). In every one of these periods in the new social and political history of Bulgaria the Orthodox Church was a constant factor. This fact gives us opportunity to analyze Orthodox attitude toward at least three political constructs in a short period of time: monarchy, communism, and plural democracy. There is no other way to answer the question of how Orthodox Christianity today understands and

2 Jürgen Habermas, Die Postnationale Konstellation:  Politische Essays (Frankfurt am Main: Suhrkamp, 1998).

301

The Church and the Bulgarian Modernities

301

relates to the political without keeping in mind the social and political background, at least in the recent past.

The Three Bulgarian Modernities The three Bulgarian modernities are similar in their compensational character. The Monarchy, the People’s Republic, and nowadays Republic are formed with strong imitation attitudes. In nineteenth-century Bulgaria, the civilization and political order of Europe were a source of samples and solutions. In the border between the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, Simeon Radev wrote in his Builders of Modern Bulgaria: The past from which Bulgaria has received streams of his new life is the Renaissance. There we should look for the virtues of the spirit and the will by which the Bulgarian people vanquished over the difficulties of a young country and over the risks of a turbulent history. The first feature of this Renaissance is that it was enlightening. [. . .] The other two features of our Revival were nationalism and democratic sense.3

But the modern steps of the young Balkan state were steps of compensation—to catch up with what other nations had already achieved. The modernization of the new Bulgarian Kingdom included the newly established political parties (Liberal and Conservative), a new constitutional order (with the Belgian Constitution as a model), gradual industrialization, and, last but not least, a new dynastic (SaxeCoburg-Gotha) establishment. And despite the positive results, in essence this leap into modernity remained imitative and compensative. The same phenomenon occurred in modernity of the People’s Republic established right after the Second World War. In the mind of Georgi Dimitrov, the leader of the Bulgarian Communist Workers’ Party, the great leap forward should be achieved through industrialization and electrification of the country and mechanization of agriculture, in order to achieve within 15–20  years what other countries under other conditions had achieved in the course of a century. Industrialization, electrification, and mechanization became an ultimate goal carried out through a total nationalization of all kind of properties. Almost everything in the social organism was changed and reordered. The New Life had to be constructed on the ruins of the old one. This was a real modernity oriented as an opposition to the Capitalist system and inspired by the idea of superiority and perfection. The victorious workers class in the majority of the Eastern European countries constructed qualitatively new states through proven templates and ready-made

3 S. Radev, Строителите на съвременна България [The Builders of Modern Bulgaria], 3 vols. (Sofia: Bulgarskii pisatel, 1973), p. 31.

302

302

Mariyan Stoyadinov

solutions. This kind of ideological modernity was also compensative and imitative. If a source of the modernization of post-Ottoman Bulgaria seventy years ago was Europe, in this new one the source was the Soviet Union. All the ready-made solutions came from the know-how of the communists’ experiment that was built on the ruins of the Russian Empire. The third and the last of the modernities—that of a democratic republic—is imitative as well. Since 1989 it has been a permanent compensatory effort of the Bulgarian society to reject the previous communist era. The affiliation of Bulgaria to the European democratic order, and application for membership in the European Union and North-Atlantic defense system, were initiated by President Peter Stoyanov (1997–2002) as a civilizational choice. On the ruins of the communist’s Bulgaria a new Bulgaria now had to be built. And again, through proven templates and ready-made solutions. I have reasons to call the last modernity “a modernity of disintegration” of the society in Bulgaria. First, the modernity of disintegration came as a reaction of the obligatory (communist) solidarity in previous decades when the system did not tolerate any individualization or differentiation in thinking. Second, it was established at a time when optimism so typical to the philosophy of the Enlightenment and the scientism of the nineteenth century had already lost its relevance in the West—from where in the last 140  years we have taken a lot of samples and turnkey solutions. Due to the catastrophes experienced in the twentieth century, the attitude of Western man to the time, particularly to the future—at least in the view of Sebastien Charles—is marked by skepticism.4 After the discrediting of the past and the future there are trends to think of the present as a key to which democratic individuals relate, as they have no more connection with traditions swept away by modernity and have lost their belief in the future, which no longer carries the promise of something better. In the second half of twentieth century, while generations in Eastern European communist countries were engaged in the building of a Developed Socialist Society, modernity in the West was on the way to being transformed into postmodernity. As is well known, postmodernity represents that historical moment when all the institutional obstacles that have hindered individual emancipation collapse and disappear, giving way to the expression of individual desires and individual fulfillment. The big socializing structures lose credibility, the big ideologies are no longer seen as being able to make a contribution, the historical projects no longer mobilize people, and the social and political are no longer anything but prolongations of the private sector: an era of emptiness is established but without any sense of “tragedy or apocalypse.”5 And here is the specificity of the last Bulgarian modernity—in its rapid transition from the status quo of a communist modernity into a dreamed

4 Gilles Lipovetsky, with Sebastien Charles, Les Temps Hypermodernes (Paris:  Grasset & Fasquelle, 2004). 5 Ibid., p. 22.

303

The Church and the Bulgarian Modernities

303

democratic, European modernity, it has to come face to face with the pessimism of postmodernity, where the big socializing structures have lost their credibility, the big ideologies have contributed nothing, and so forth.

The Role of the Church The role of the Bulgarian Church in the last 140 years of Bulgarian history can be discussed if we answer the general question:  Was there any collaboration between Church and modernity in our context? This is a way to answer the other question: Was there any possibility for political theologies in the Bulgarian context? First we have to face the fact that for a major part of Bulgarian history the Church remained a permanent link between a variety of segments of Bulgarian society. During the long period of the Ottoman domination in the Balkans— where Orthodox kingdoms were deleted from the historical map—the Church remained the only social, cultural, and institutional factor of unity, self-awareness, and enlightenment for Orthodox Christians, not only for Bulgarians, but also for Greeks and Serbs. And in the Bulgarian case, the struggle for political independence started with a struggle for the autonomy of the Bulgarian Church whereby the result—acquired through the Schism with Constantinople (1872)— was the obtaining of political independence (1878). After the liberation of Bulgaria in 1878 from Ottoman rule, and the establishment of the independent Bulgarian state, a large part of Bulgarians still lived outside its borders and remained under Ottoman domination. The Bulgarian Church was present in both the Bulgarian Kingdom and the Ottoman Empire, and the situation remained so until the end of the First World War. Operating in two states—one of them pro-modern and the other premodern—the Bulgarian Church remained the only visible realization of the national ideal, national unity of all Bulgarians in one state. In the face of the Saxe-Coburg-Gotha dynasty in Sofia, it was able to insist on the principle of Symphony between church and state—a principle of coexistence in the medieval Bulgarian Kingdom; in the face of the Ottoman sultans the Church remained the only institutional defender of Bulgarian Christians, a role that the Church had in the previous five centuries. The national ideal was never realized at the level of politics, and the Second World War was the final stage when this idea faced its own non-feasibility. It is remarkable that Bulgaria then did not develop an ideology, based on Orthodox Christianity. Perhaps the reason was that almost all the countries with which it fought in the name of its national ideal of unity were also Orthodox.6 But through this paradox the Bulgarian Christians and the society in general were protected 6 If we exclude Turkey (in the first Balkan War, 1912)  all the rest of the opponents were local Orthodox kingdoms (in most cases as tools for policy of the Great Powers in the Balkans): Serbia (in the Serbian-Bulgarian War of 1885); Serbia, Greece, and Romania (in the second Balkan War, 1913); and Serbia, Greece, Romania, and Russia (in the First World War, 1914–1918).

304

304

Mariyan Stoyadinov

from the temptation to mix religious with political messianism. In addition the schism imposed on the Bulgarian Church by the Council of Constantinople in 18727 further complicated the situation of the Bulgarian Orthodox Church and its relations with other Orthodox Churches.8 There were more opened doors in the West than in the East or in the close surroundings of Orthodox neighbors. After the wars in the second decade of the century, the Bulgarian Church lost all its dioceses outside the state borders, and this was one of the main reasons of tensions between the church hierarchy and the political elite. The Church has relied much more on enlightenment as an evolutionary process of consolidation of the separated people, than on a military solution of the problem. But not only was the national ideal at the center of the turbulent relations between church and state, or between theology and politics in this period. The Church expected to reconstruct the glorious time of pious Bulgarian tsars with their Christolybivoe voinstvo (Christ-loving warriors) and all the rest from the specter of Medieval Christian Monarchy. The main line of separation passed between a pro-European (i.e., pro-liberal) intelligence and the political class at that time with weathering values and a strong and conservative (in the cultural and social sense of the word) Church, having as a solid base the majority of the country rural masses. In fact, for the Church in Bulgaria the tendency to modernity (with a whole spectrum of “destructive” ideas such as Marxism, liberalism, anarchism, and so on) was not an acceptable alternative. The Bolshevik Revolution from 1917 and its consequences for the Orthodoxy in Russia are vivid examples of how catastrophic such kind of modernity tendencies could be. The main opponents of the Church were not new, but internal—in the face of liberal trends and communist propaganda—weaker in the nineteenth century, but increasingly growing in the twentieth. The majority of these trends were not limited to the level of ideas or political debate—they were agressive in a revolutionary way.9

7 The reason for this schism was the desire of Bulgarians in the Ottoman Empire to have an autocephalous Church. The process started at the beginning of nineteenth century in many local communities where Bulgarians insisted on having church services in their own language. The rejection of these demands by the Greek clergy provoked more radical insistence—for ordination of more Bulgarian-speaking clerics. Since this insistence did not achieve any effect, the idea of forming an independent or autonomous Bulgarian Church matured. The last step was the proclamation of the Bulgarian Autocephalous Church. The latter was condemned by the Ecumenical Patriarchate as a manifestation of ethno-phyletism. Cf. James L. Hopkins, The Bulgarian Orthodox Church: A Socio-Historical Analysis of the Evolving Relationship between Church, Nation, and State in Bulgaria (New York: Columbia University Press, 2008). 8 The period of the schism lasted from 1872 to 1953. 9 The bomb assault in Sofia’s cathedral “Sveta Nedelya” (April 16, 1925, the day of the Great and Holy Thursday), when dozens of the government and army elite were killed or

305

The Church and the Bulgarian Modernities

305

Those were the main challenges in the first part of the twentieth century for the Church in Bulgaria, adamantly defending the traditional values from the Medieval Bulgarian kingdoms in a context of fast-changing political, industrial, and social realities. The cracks in the symphony between church and state, between church preaching and political developments, were visible, but not to a critical or dramatic level. The monarchy as institution—and the orthodox Tsar Boris III himself—was the only link of Symphony in the period between the World Wars. And after 1934, when political parties were banned, this link becomes even stronger. The dynasticpolitical position of the tsar—always with Germany and never against Russia—and the protection of approximately 50,000 Bulgarian Jews from being deported to the camps were the most obvious results of this link. Because of this the Bulgarian Church hierarchy was “trapped” by the temptation of the “sacralisation [of] the status quo.” The monarchy, capitalism, and national character of Christianity (as a pillar of the national ideal) were never discussed. In the eyes of the radical political opponents of the status quo the Church was part of a political order and nothing more. An open question is: would there have been any specific, nonpolitical way in a society dramatically separated in two mutually exclusive camps with two opposed ideological options—pro-Bolshevik and pro-Western/capitalistic (or pro-Nazi)? Of course, speaking of the Church we have to say that the Christian testimony was present and vivid. But the Symphony10 (and even Sympathy) with the sociopolitical establishment was also there. The following decades illustrated how dramatic the consequences for the Christians could be if the Church was recognizable as a political subject by an extreme political order. The next period—of the communist’s dictatorship—was destructive for Bulgarian Orthodoxy. The very first years after the communist coup was a period of physical destruction of the most prominent representatives of the Church and the intellectual elite of the nation. A cursory review of the periodicals published by the Bulgarian Church during this period is sufficient to feel the loss of that freedom of thought and expression, so clearly present in previous decades. After the initial bloody repression, the state and the Communist Party gradually changed its policy toward the Church; from physical violence and destruction, repression was transformed into total control and internal demoralization.11

crippled by activists of the Bulgarian Communist Party is just an illustration of the trends. In fact this was the first bomb assault in a church in human history. 10 As an essential aspect of medieval church-state relations. 11 Cf. Daniela Kalkandjieva, Българската православна църква и “народната демокрация” (1944–1953) [The Bulgarian Orthodox Church and the “People’s Democracy” (1944–1953)] (Silistra: Demos, 2002); Momchil Methodiev, Между вярата и компромиса:  Българската православна църква и комунистическата държава (1944–1989  г.) [Between Faith and Compromise:  The Bulgarian Orthodox Church and the Communist State (1944–1989)] (Sofia:  Institut za blizkoto minalo i izdatelstvo Siela, 2010).

306

306

Mariyan Stoyadinov

In the second part of the period—after the 1960s—the state seemed to show concern for the Church as a representative body for the “human face” of the communist’s dictatorship. A  step in this direction was the effort to restore the patriarchal dignity of the Bulgarian Church.12 In the following decades the state took care of the restoration of a number of religious monuments. But in both cases the researchers see other than pious intentions. The restoration of the Patriarchate was in harmony with the new line of Joseph Stalin, who—after the Second World War— was looking at the Orthodox Church as a tool of achievement of foreign policy tasks, and the restorations of the church buildings were de facto conservations and nationalizations. On one hand the state restricted theological education and even access to it, and there was a obvious crisis for priests; on the other hand when a church building remained without services it was immediately closed by the state institutions for restoration as a “cultural inheritance with national importance.” And these restorations or conservations have continued for decades. Was there any attempt to create political theologies in Bulgarian Orthodox Christianity these years? Definitely, yes! At the international level the Church was a protagonist in a way of the “Struggle for Peace” in harmony with the other churches from the communist commonwealth. And a specific theological trend of eirinology was developed accompanied by solid investigations in the social(istic) contributions of the Fathers of the Church. Of course all this was not authentic political theology or even theology but mainly a means of survival, and no one was surprised by their disappearance right after the changes at the end of the 1980s. The changes inspired or assisted by the perestroika of Mikhail Gorbachev happened in almost all the socialist countries in the Soviet bloc. In some countries the churches were at the center of these processes and this was very obviously the case in Poland. In Bulgaria, however, it was not so obvious. On the contrary, the church leaders were not ready and did not expect these changes. Engaged in survival as an ultimate goal—a policy perceived as the only appropriate one in previous decades—the hierarchy remained in the position of an external observer, waiting to see what would happen in the society. The main activity in the first years after 1989 was manifested only in the process of privatization of nationalized church property. At that time almost all the initiatives in the sphere of Christian enlightenment and re-evangelization came from the laity. A lot of young people engaged in this revival as laymen in the following years became priests and monks. The place of the Church in this new stage of Bulgarian history was (and is) unique; at least, for the first time after six centuries, the local church has the freedom to fulfill its evangelical responsibility without restrictions. If in the decades after the Ottoman yoke the Church in Bulgaria was limited by the schism and isolation from the rest of the Orthodox Churches and in the decades after the coup of 1944 by the communist authorities, since 1989 there has not been an external constraint comparable to the previous ones.

12 The Bulgarian Patriarchate was destroyed by the Ottomans in 1393 after the capture of Tarnovo, the capital of the kingdom.

307

The Church and the Bulgarian Modernities

307

Nevertheless the processes in the Bulgarian Church right after 1989 have developed in full consonance, with the transformation of modernity to postmodernity. In parallel with the positive changes, the transformation of regime in 1989 did not lead to consolidation in the name of some greater purpose, but to decay of society in all its sectors. All the achievements of previous modernity were either totally destroyed or revalued. Social benefits such as free health care and education were swept away by the logic of the free market. De-communization was accompanied by deindustrialization and the gradual deepening of the gap between the very poor and very rich. And as it is, paradoxically, before the ideological projects of de-communization could reach the level of pessimistic selfassessment, the Church in Bulgaria became a model of (or even synonymous with) failed unity. The postcommunist society expected the Church to act as a bearer of evangelical transfiguration of social relationships. Instead, some of the leaders of the Church proclaimed themselves as bearers of de-communization. This was (at least an official) motive and reason for the internal split among the hierarchy of the Bulgarian Church from 1992 to 1998.13 Contrary to assumptions, the schism was not born out of any political theology, although it was politically motivated. In fact the process of de-communization in Bulgaria had and still has formal rather than political dimensions. And this is logical, as far as the former communist elites transformed themselves successfully into economic (and new political) elites and replaced pro-Soviet clichés with pro-European ones. As a result the Left and Right in politics became and still are relative concepts. The political competition was (and still is) rather between new and old or between the protagonists of one or other geopolitical standards, but not between real political projects and visions. The events of 1992 actually showed an internal understanding of the church identity at the level of political speculators. In the months and years right after 1989 the political platforms inspired and united hundreds of thousands in the perspective of a new line. At the same time—at the burst of the Bulgarian last modernity—the Church has become a model of division. The short period of the Church division (six years only) was enough for a production of the image of relativity and inconsistency in the sphere of the most sacred values. Since the split in the Church, each division, irrespective of the sphere (sports federations, trade unions, or political fractions) was seen as a replica of the administrative twodimensionality of Orthodoxy in Bulgaria.

Final Words How can we determine the way in which Orthodox Christianity in Bulgaria today understands and relates to the political? It is easier to define what is missing. First, it is the lack of any engagements in the inter-church dialogue or inter-Orthodox

13 The year of the Pan-Orthodox council held in Sofia, when the First Hierarchs of the local Orthodox churches ended the schism in the Bulgarian Church.

308

308

Mariyan Stoyadinov

solidarity in the bilateral theological debates. At the end of the twentieth century, the Bulgarian Church left all the international bodies and in fact any form of interconfessional dialogue. There is no direct connection to the relationship of the Church with the political as a system of power, but this is a symptom for isolationistic tendencies in the very esse of Orthodox Christianity in Bulgaria. The Church in Bulgaria today is not committed to anything beyond its borders. Second, there is no attitude or pressure, or even a recommendation to the political powers to adhere to a particular internal or foreign policy. The church leaders commented publicly, with great relish, on the date of Madonna’s concert in Sofia or how impious it is to celebrate Halloween than on the situation of Christians in the Middle East or the civil war in Ukraine. There are no interests in the internal political debate as well. Orthodox Christianity in fact has no representation in the political specter. After 1989 there were a few attempts of establishing such political subjects, but the lack of traditions and perseverance predetermined the results of these projects. The Bulgarian Church is in constant dialogue with the contemporary government of Bulgaria. That dialogue takes place not with the state as such, but with the variety of ruling parties or coalitions. When a state is in constant political crisis and experiences the change of five governments in two years (2013–2014) no one is able to lead a dialogue with strategic perspectives. However, the Church has its place in the public ceremonies, something that no one disputes, and at this stage we must consider this sufficient. Attempts to reach some agreement with the government on the issue of teaching religion in public schools ended without a result. And yet the Church in Bulgaria is still hoping to achieve a Symphony of church and state. The latter can be seen in any official document that the Holy Synod has published in recent years. The Church always speaks of the Bulgarian people as we—despite all the diversity of contemporary Bulgarian society—and in this sense tradition is sustainable. The Church in Bulgaria has spoken this way for nearly a thousand years. The contemporary state, however, in the face of its institutions, prefers talking about the Church as they instead of we. As a result there is an obvious tendency for self-isolation of the Church in Bulgaria from public and political debate. The trend is not new. The first symptoms have been present already in the first half of the twentieth century, and although not obvious, the prerequisites in emerging Bulgarian modernity were already available. The communist regime turned the Church into a ghetto and for decades totally isolated it from all the political and social mechanisms. The highest level of the hierarchy was the only exception, and “a kind of a Symphony” between state and church leaders was manifested. After the 1950s, the communist state needed loyal church leaders and to some extent met an understanding with the opposite side. But this was not the case at the lower levels. In the last decades we can say that a specific “syndrome of the ghetto” occurred. The walls have fallen, but the inhabitants are accustomed to their forced confinement to such an extent that this has been converted into self-confined and self-sufficient. A  possible reason is purely generational. But even we accept this hypothesis as good news or as a

309

The Church and the Bulgarian Modernities

309

contemporary paraphrase of the biblical forty years of wandering in the desert. Time as a factor cannot be bypassed and any development is going to happen at least a generation later. What could be the theological basis for a possible involvement of our Church in the contemporary (or future) political—or at least social—debate? The question could be, “Is there something that our Church can proffer to the contemporary person, society, political establishment, except the existential triumph of Resurrected Life over death?” If the answer is a Symphony in a Byzantine manner, then such a kind of proffering could not be “the only possible” as far as the civilizational bed of Procrustes could not be a metric system for Christ and the Gospel. The Church has experienced and has outgrown many civilizational models in its history and not one of them was the one to come.14 Knowing that no political solution, social construct, or ideological model could be a realized eschatology, we have a chance to keep the balance between the continuing city in which we live and the one to come for whom the Church is an icon. The situation of the Orthodox Church in Bulgaria is indicative of the absence of a specific political theology in a particular segment of Orthodox Christianity today. Whether the lack of political theologies in itself can be a policy or even theology is a question of interpretation.

14 “For here have we no continuing city, but we seek one to come” (Heb 13:14).

310

311

BIBLIOGRAPHY “A Christian Call in a Time of Crisis in Europe,” Volos Academy for Theological Studies, July 10, 2015, http://academia.org/index.php/en/news-announcement/652-a-christiancall-in-a-time-of-crisis-in-europe/ (accessed July 12, 2016). Afanasiev, Nikolai. Церковь Духа Святого [The Church of the Holy Spirit] (Paris: YMCA Press, 1971). Afanasiev, Nikolai. Трапеза Господня [The Feast of the Lord] (Riga: Balto-Slavianskoe obshchestvo kul’turnogo razvitiia i sotrudnichestva, 1992). Afanasiev, Nikolai. Церковные Соборы и их происхождение [The Church Councils and Their Origins] (Moscow : Sviato-Filaretovskii institut, 2003). Agourides, Savas. “Η Ελπίδα Του Ορθόδοξου Χριστιανού: Σχέσεις Παρόντος καί Μέλλοντος” [The Orthodox Christian’s Hope: The Relationship between the Present and the Future], Synaxis 52 (1994): 99–104. Alexis-Baker, Andy. “Violence, Nonviolence and the Temple Incident in John 2:13–15,” Biblical Interpretation 20 (2012): 73–96. Althaus, Paul, Emil Brunner, and V. A. Demant. Die Kirche und das Staatsproblem in der Gegenwart, 2nd ed. (Geneva: Forschungsabteilung des Oekumenischen Rates für Praktisches Christentum, 1935). Amerise, Marilena. “Monotheism and the Monarchy: The Christian Emperor and the Cult of the Sun in Eusebius of Caesarea,” Jahrbuch für Antike und Christentum 50 (2007): 72–84. Anastasakis, Panteleymon. The Church of Greece under Axis Occupation (New York: Fordham University Press, 2015). Angenendt, Arnold. Toleranz und Gewalt: Das Christentum zwischen Bibel und Schwert (Münster: Aschendorff, 2007). Angrosino, Michael. “Civil Religion Redux,” Anthropological Quarterly 75, no. 2 (2002): 239–67. Ankersmit, Franklin. Aesthetic Politics: Political Philosophy beyond Fact and Value (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 1997). Ankersmit, Franklin. Political Representation (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 2002). Antonov, Konstantin. “Политическое измерение русской религиозной философии” [The Political Dimension of Russian Religious Philosophy], Gosudarstvo, religiia tserkov’ 32, no. 3 (2014): 264–94. Aristotle. Nicomachean Ethics (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009), NE I, 1: 1094b. Arjakovsky, Antoine. The Way: Religious Thinkers of the Russian Emigration in Paris and Their Journal, 1925–1940, translated by Jerry Ryan (Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press, 2013). Asproulis, Nikolaos. “Pneumatology and Politics: The Role of the Holy Spirit in the Articulation of an Orthodox Political Theology,” Review of Ecumenical Studies Sibiu 7, no. 2 (2015): 184–97.

312

312

Bibliography

Athanasopoulou-Kypriou, Spyridoula. Όχι εγώ. Κείμενα πολιτικής θεολογίας με αναφορές σε θέματα φύλου, θρησκείας και ιδεολογίας [Not I: Essays on Political Theology with Reference to the Issues of Gender, Religion and Ideology] (Athens: Armos, 2011). Badiou, Alain. Saint Paul: The Foundation of Universalism (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 2003). Baird, Catherine. “Religious Communism? Nicolai Berdyaev’s Contribution to Esprit’s Interpretation of Communism,” Canadian Journal of History 30, no. 5 (1995): 29–47. Barker, Ernest. Social and Political Thought in Byzantium from Justinian I to the Last Palaeologus (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1957). Barnes, Timothy David. Constantine and Eusebius (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1993). Bartholomew, Ecumenical Patriarch. Encountering the Mystery: Understanding Orthodox Christianity Today (New York: Doubleday, 2008). Bartholomew, Ecumenical Patriarch. In the World, Yet Not of the World: Social and Global Initiatives of Ecumenical Patriarch Bartholomew, edited by John Chryssavgis (New York: Fordham University Press, 2010). Bellah, Robert N. “Civil Religion in America,” Daedalus 96, no. 1 (1967): 1–21. Bellah, Robert N. Beyond Belief: Essays on Religion in a Post-Traditional World (New York: Harper & Row, 1970). Bellah, Robert N. The Broken Covenant: American Civil Religion in Time of Trial (Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press, 1992). Bellah, Robert N., and Phillip Hammond. Varieties of Civil Religion (San Francisco: Harper & Row, 1980). Bennetts, Marc. “Who’s ‘Godless’ Now? Russia Says It’s U.S.,” The Washington Times, January 28, 2014, http://www.washingtontimes.com/news/2014/jan/28/whos-godlessnow-russia-says-its-us/ (accessed August 3, 2016). Benson, Robert L. The Bishop-Elect: A Study in Medieval Ecclesiastical Office (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1968). Benvenisti, Eyal. “Margin of Appreciation, Consensus, and Universal Standards,” International Law and Politics 31 (1999): 843–54. Berman, Harold Joseph. Law and Revolution: The Formation of the Western Legal Tradition (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1983). Berdyaev, Nicolas. Dostoevsky: An Interpretation, translated by Donald A. Attawater (London: Sheed & Ward, 1936). Berdyaev, Nicolas. Slavery and Freedom, translated by R. M. French (New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1944). Berdyaev, Nicolas. The Origin of Russian Communism (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1960). Berger, Peter L. (ed.). Between Relativism and Fundamentalism: Religious Resources for a Middle Position (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2010). Berger, Peter L. (ed.). The Desecularization of the World: Resurgent Religion and World Politics (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1999). Berger, Peter L., Grace Davie, and Effie Fokas. Religious America, Secular Europe? A Theme and Variations (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2008). Berman, Marshall. All That Is Solid Melts into Air: The Experience of Modernity (London: Verso, 1983). Bettenson, Henry, and Chris Maunder (eds.). Documents of the Christian Church (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1999).

313

Bibliography

313

Bielefeldt, Heiner. Menschenrechte in der Einwanderungsgesellschaft: Plädoyer für einen aufgeklärten Multikulturalismus (Bielefeld: Transcript, 2007). Bielefeldt, Heiner. “Misperceptions of Freedom of Religion or Belief,” Human Rights Quarterly 35 (2013): 33–68. Bigelow, Benjamin (ed.). Autobiography of Benjamin Franklin (Philadelphia: J. B. Lippincott, 1868). Biggar, Nigel. “Not Translation but Conversation: Theology in Public Debate about Euthenasia.” In Religious Voices in Public Places, edited by Nigel Biggar and Linda Hogan (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009), pp. 151–93. Bigović, Radovan. The Orthodox Church in the 21st Century, translated by Petar Šerović (Belgrade: Konrad Adenauer Stiftung, 2009). Bigović, Radovan. Црква у савременом свету [The Church in the Modern World] (Belgrade: Službeni glasnik, 2011). The Bishops’ Council of the Russian Orthodox Church. “Основы социальной концепции Русской Православной Церкви” [The Foundations of the Russian Orthodox Church’s Social Concepts], Official Website of the Moscow Patriarchate, https://mospat.ru/ru/documents/social-concepts/ (accessed July 13, 2016). The Bishops’ Council of the Russian Orthodox Church. “Основы учения Русской Православной Церкви о достоинстве, свободе и правах человека” [The Foundations of the Russian Orthodox Church’s Doctrine on Human Dignity, Freedom, and Rights], Official Website of the Moscow Patriarchate, June 26, 2008, https:// mospat.ru/ru/documents/dignity-freedom-rights/ (accessed July 13, 2016). Böckenförde, Ernst-Wolfgang. Recht, Staat, Freiheit: Studien zur Rechtsphilosophie, Staatstheorie und Verfassungsgeschichte (Frankfurt am Main: Suhrkamp, 1991). Böckenförde, Ernst-Wolfgang. Geschichte der Rechts- und Staatsphilosophie (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2002). Boff, Leonardo. Trinity and Society, translated by Paul Burns (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis Books, 1988). Bonhoeffer, Dietrich. Ethics, edited by E. Bethge, translated by N. Smith (London: Collins, 1964). Bowersock, Glen W. Martyrdom and Rome (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002). Bria, Ion. The Liturgy after the Liturgy: Mission and Witness from an Orthodox Perspective (Geneva: WCC, 1996). Bringmann, Klaus. “Imperium und Sacerdotium: Bemerkungen zu ihrem ungeklärten Verhältnis in der Spätantike.” In Imperium Romanum, Festschrift Karl Christ, edited by Peter Kneissl and Volker Losemann (Stuttgart: Franz Steiner Verlag, 1998), pp. 61–72. Brown, Peter. The Rise of Western Christianity (Malden, MA: Blackwell, 2005). Brown, Raymond E. The Gospel According to John XIII–XXI: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary, Vol. 2 (New York: Doubleday, 1970). Buchstab, Günter, and Rudolf Uertz (eds.). Christliche Demokratie im zusammenwachsenden Europa: Entwicklungen—Programmatik—Perspektiven (Freiburg: Herder, 2004). Bulgakov, Sergei. Social Teaching in Modern Russian Orthodox Theology, 20th Annual Hale Memorial Sermon (Evanston, IL: Seabury-Western Theological Seminary, 1934). Bulgakov, Sergei. Православие: Очерки учения православной церкви [Orthodoxy: Essays on the Doctrine of the Orthodox Church] (Moscow : Terra, 1991).

314

314

Bibliography

Bulgakov, Sergei. Sergii Bulgakov: Towards a Russian Political Theology, edited and translated by Rowan Williams (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1999). Bulgakov, Sergei. “Dogma and Dogmatic Theology.” In Tradition Alive: On the Church and the Christian Life in Our Time, edited by Michael Plekon (Lanham, MD: Sheen & Ward, 2003), pp. 67–80. Bulgakov, Sergei. “Relativism and Fundamentalism: An Eastern Church Perspective from the ‘Paris School’ and Living Tradition.” In Between Relativism and Fundamentalism: Religious Resources for a Middle Position, edited by Peter L. Berger (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2010), pp. 180–209. Bulgakov, Sergei. “Нация и человечество” [Nation and Mankind], Novy Grad (Paris) 8 (1934): 32–33. Byrnes, Timothy A., and Peter J. Katzenstein (eds.). Religion in an Expanding Europe (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006). Caputo, John D. “Spectral Hermeneutics: On the Weakness of God and the Theology of the Event.” In After the Death of God, edited by John D. Caputo, Gianni Vattimo, and Jeffrey W. Robbins (New York: Columbia University Press, 2007), pp. 47–87. Casanova, José. Public Religions in the Modern World (Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press, 1994). Casanova, José. “Public Religions Revisited.” In Religion: Beyond the Concept, edited by Hent de Vries (New York: Fordham University Press, 2008), pp. 101–19. Casanova, José. “Immigration and the New Religious Pluralism: A European Union– United States Comparison.” In Secularism, Religion, and Multicultural Citizenship, edited by Geoffrey Brahm Levey and Tariq Modood (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2009), pp. 139–64. Casanova, José. Europas Angst vor der Religion (Berlin: Berlin University Press, 2009). Casanova, José. “The Secular, Secularizations, Secularisms.” In Rethinking Secularism, edited by Craig Calhoun, Mark Juergensmeyer, and Jonathan Vanantwerpen (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2011), pp. 54–74. Casiday, Augustine. “Neagoe Basarab.” In The Orthodox Christian World, edited by Augustine Casiday (London: Routledge, 2012), pp. 310–17. Cassedy, Steven. Dostoevsky’s Religion (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 2005). Cavanaugh, William. Torture and Eucharist: Theology, Politics, and the Body of Christ (Oxford: Blackwell, 1998). Cavanaugh, William. “Religious Violence as a Modern Myth,” Political Theology 15, no. 1 (2014): 486–502. Chatzopoulos, Marios. “Μεσσιανισμός και Μοναρχία: Σχετικά με τους όρους νομιμοποίησης της δυναστικής εξουσίας στην Ελλάδα τον ύστερο 19ο αιώνα” [Messianism and Monarchy: The Conditions under which Imperial Authority Was Established in Late 19th-Century Greece]. In Διακυμάνσεις του νεοελληνικού πολιτικού στοχασμού από τον 19ο στον 20ο αιώνα [Ripples of Modern Greek Political Thinking: From the 19th to the 20th Century], edited by Paschalis M. Kitromilides and Marios Chatzopoulos (Athens: Ethniko Idryma Erevnon, 2014), pp. 13–45. Chesterton, G. K. What I Saw in America (New York: Dodd, Mead, 1922). Chidester, David. Patterns of Power: Religion and Politics in American Culture (Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice Hall, 1988). Chomsky, Noam. “The Kind of Anarchism I Believe in, and What’s Wrong with Libertarians,” Chomsky.Info, Interview with Michael S. Wilson, Alternet, May 28, 2013, http://chomsky.info/interviews/20130528.htm (accessed July 13, 2016).

315

Bibliography

315

Christoyannopoulos, Alexandre. Christian Anarchism: A Political Commentary of the Gospel (Exeter: Imprint Academic, 2011). Chryssavgis, John, and Konstantinos Delikostantis. The Patriarch of Solidarity: Ecological and Global Concerns of Ecumenical Patriarch Bartholomew (Istanbul: Istos, 2013). Cicero. Epistuale ad familiares XII, 3 (Leipzig: Teubner, 1885). Clauss, Manfred. “Die συμφωνία von Kirche und Staat zur Zeit Justinians.” In Klassisches Altertum, Spätantike und frühes Christentum, Festschrift Adolf Lippold, edited by Karlheinz Dietz, Dieter Hennig, and Hans Kaletsch (Würzburg: Der Christliche Osten, 1993), pp. 579–93. Clément, Olivier. “Orthodox Reflections on ‘Liberation Theology,’ ” St. Vladimir’s Theological Quarterly 29 (1985): 63–72. Clément, Olivier. On Human Being: A Spiritual Anthropology, translated by Jeremy Hummerstone (London: New City, 2000). Cohen, Gerald A. Why Not Socialism? (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2009). Connolly, William E. Why I Am Not a Secularist (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1999). Conovici, Iulianei. Ortodoxia În România postcomunistă: Reconstrucția unei identități publice [Orthodoxy in Romania: Reconstructing a Public Identity], 2 vols. (ClugNapoca: Eikon, 2009–2010). Contos, Leonidas (trans.). The Services for Holy Week and Easter in the Original Greek with a New English Translation (Redfern, Australia: Narthex Press, 1994). Crouch, Colin. Post-Democracy (New York: John Wiley, 2004). Cullmann, Oscar. Christ and Time: The Primitive Christian Conception of Time and History (London: SCM Press, 1962). Cunningham, Mary B., and Elizabeth Theokritoff (eds.). The Cambridge Companion to Orthodox Christian Theology (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2008). Cvetković, Vladimir. “St. Justin the New (Popovic) on the Church of Christ.” In The Body of the Living Church: The Patristic Doctrine of the Church, edited by Nicholas Marinides and Seraphim Danckaert (Crestwood, NY: St. Vladimir’s Seminary Press: forthcoming). Davie, Grace. Religion in Britain since 1945: Believing without Belonging (Oxford: Blackwell, 1994). Davis, Creston, John Milbank, and Slavoj Žižek (eds.). Theology and the Political: The New Debate (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2005). Davis, Derek H. “Editorial: Russia’s New Law on Religion: Progress or Regress?” Journal of Church and State 39 (1997): 645–56. Delikostantis, Konstantinos. Der moderne Humanitarismus: Zur Bestimmung und Kritik einer zeitgenössischen Auslegung der Humanitätsidee (Mainz: Grünewald, 1982). Delikostantis, Konstantinos. “Human Rights and Orthodoxy: Remarks on Christian Freedom and Autonomy.” In The Idea of Human Rights: Tradition and Presence, Proceedings of an International Conference held in Prague, edited by Jindřich Halama (Prague: Charles University of Prague, 2003), pp. 67–84. Delikostantis, Konstantinos. Ο Πολιτισμός της Αλληλεγγύης [The Culture of Solidarity] (Athens: Ennoia, 2013). de Lubac, Henri. The Drama of Atheist Humanism (San Francisco: Ignatius Press, 1995). De la Potterie, Ignace. Die Passion nach Johannes: Der Text und sein Geist (Einsiedeln: Johannes Verlag, 1987). De la Potterie, Ignace. Corpus Mysticum: The Eucharist and the Church in the Middle Ages (Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press, 2007).

316

316

Bibliography

Dignitatis Humanae. Declaration on Religious Freedom (Vatican: Archive, 1965), http:// www.vatican.va/archive/hist_councils/ii_vatican_council/documents/vat-ii_decl_ 19651207_dignitatis-humanae_en.html (accessed November 30, 2016). Djogo, Darko. “Trinity, Society and ‘Political Theology,’ ” International Journal of Orthodox Theology 3, no. 2 (2012): 89–112. Dostoyevsky, Fyodor. The Devils, translated by David Magarshack (London: Penguin, 1971). Dostoevskii, Fedor. “Зимние заметки о летних впечатлениях” [Winter Notes on Summer Impressions]. In Полное собрание сочинений [Complete Collection of Works, Vol. 5] (Leningrad: Nauka, 1973). Downey, John K. (ed.). Love’s Strategy: The Political Theology of Johann Baptist Metz (Harrisburg, PA: Trinity Press International, 1999). Drouilly, Jean. La pensée politique et religieuse de F. M. Dostoievski (Paris: Librairie des cinq continents, 1971). Durham, W. Cole, and David M. Kirkham. Introduction to Islam, Europe, and Emerging Legal Issues, edited by W. Cole Durham, Rik Torfs, David M. Kirkham, and Christine Scott (Burlington, VT: Ashgate, 2012), pp. 1–15. Dvornik, Francis. Early Christian and Byzantine Political Philosophy: Origins and Background, 2 vols. (Washington, DC: Dumbarton Oaks Center for Byzantine Studies, 1966). Džalto, Davor. “Nationalism, Statism and Orthodoxy,” St. Vladimir’s Theological Quarterly 57, nos. 3–4 (2013): 503–23. Ehrenström, Nils. Christian Faith and the Modern State (London: SCM Press, 1937). Eisenstadt, Shmuel N. (ed.). Multiple Modernities (New Brunswick: Transaction, 2002). Elliot, Thomas G. The Christianity of Constantine the Great (Scranton: University of Scranton Press, 1996). Ellul, Jacques. Anarchy and Christianity (Eugene, OR: Wipf and Stock, 1991). Engels, Frederick. Socialism: Utopian and Scientific (Chippendale: Resistance Books, 1999). Essen, Georg (ed.). Verfassung ohne Grund? Die Rede des Papstes im Bundestag (Freiburg im Breisgau: Herder, 2012). Essener Gespräche zum Thema Staat und Kirche. Official Website, http://www.essenergespraeche.de/ (accessed July 3, 2010). Eusebius. The History of the Church: From Christ to Constantine, translated by G. A. Williamson (London: Penguin, 1989). Evans, Carolyn. Freedom of Religion under the European Convention on Human Rights (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2001). Evans, Carolyn, and Christopher E. Thomas. “Church-State Relations in the European Court of Human Rights,” Brigham Young University Law Review 3 (2006): 699–725. Ferrari, Silvio. “The Strasbourg Court and Article 9 of the European Convention of Human Rights: A Qualitative Analysis of the Case Law.” In The Lautsi Papers: Multidisciplinary Reflections on Religious Symbols in the Public School Classroom, edited by J. Temperman (Leiden: Brill, 2012), pp. 11–34. Ferrari, Silvio. “Teaching Religion in the European Union: A Legal Overview.” In Religious Education and the Challenge of Pluralism, edited by A. Seligman (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2014), pp. 25–44. Field, Lester L., Jr. Liberty, Dominion, and the Two Swords: On the Origins of Western Political Theology (180–398) (Notre Dame, IN: Notre Dame University Press, 1998). Florovsky, Georges. Bible, Church, Tradition: An Eastern Orthodox View, Vol. 1 in The Collected Works of Georges Florovsky (Belmont, MA: Nordland, 1972).

317

Bibliography

317

Florovsky, Georges. Пути русского богословия [The Way of Russian Theology] (Vilnius: Vil’tis, 1991). Fokas, Effie. “ ‘Eastern’ Orthodoxy and ‘Western’ Secularisation in Contemporary Europe (with Special Reference to the Case of Greece),” Religion, State and Society 40, nos. 3–4 (2012): 395–414. Fokas, Effie. “Pluralism and Religious Freedom in Majority Orthodox Contexts,” ELIAMEP, Working Paper No. 49, June 2014, http://www.eliamep.gr/wp-content/uploads/2014/06/ 49_2014_-WORKING-PAPER-_Effie-Fokasfinal.pdf (accessed July 13, 2016). Fokas, Effie. “Directions in Religious Pluralism in Europe: Mobilisations in the Shadow of the European Court of Human Rights Religious Freedom Jurisprudence,” Oxford Journal of Law and Religion 14, no. 1 (2015): 1–21. Fotiou, Stavros. The Church in the Modern World, translated by Bruce Gottfried (Berkeley, CA: InterOrthodox Press, 2004). Friedrich, Martin. Kirche im gesellschaftlichen Umbruch: Das 19. Jahrhundert (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2006). Gabriel, Ingeborg. “Christianity in an Age of Uncertainty: A Catholic Perspective.” In Between Relativism and Fundamentalism, edited by Peter L. Berger (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2010), pp. 124–51. Gabriel, Ingeborg, Ulrich Körtner, and Alexandros Papaderos. Trilogy of Social Ethics: Orthodox—Catholic—Protestant (Philadelphia: Ecumenical Press, 2012). Gallaher, Brandon. “Christos Yannaras: Orthodoxy and the West: Review,” Logos: A Journal of Eastern Christian Studies 50, nos. 3–4 (2009): 537–42. Ganas, Evangelos. “Κοινωνική Δικαιοσύνη και Βασιλεία του Θεού” [Social Justice and God’s Kingdom], Synaxis 131 (2014): 69–79. Gauchet, Marcel. The Disenchantment of the World: A Political History of Religion (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1997). Gaudium et Spes. Pastoral Constitution on the Church in the Modern World, Section 43 (Vatican: Archive, 1965), http://www.vatican.va/archive/hist_councils/ii_vatican_council/ documents/vat-ii_cons_19651207_gaudium-et-spes_en.html (accessed August 3, 2016). Gebhardt, Jürgen. Americanism: Revolutionary Order and Societal Self-Interpretation in the American Republic (Baton Rouge: Louisiana State University Press, 1993). Gebhardt, Jürgen. Religious Cultures—Communities of Belief (Heidelberg: Winter, 2009). Gebhardt, Jürgen. Political Cultures and the Culture of Politics: A Transatlantic Perspective (Heidelberg: Winter, 2010). Gennadios, Metropolitan of Sassima, and Archimandrite Evdokimos Karakoulakis (eds.). Οικουμενικός Πατριάρχης Βαρθολομαίος: Πατριαρχικός Λόγος και Πολιτική (1991–2011) [Ecumenical Patriarch Bartholomew: Patriarchal Address to the Political World (1991– 2011)] (Athens: Eptalofos, 2011). Geréby, György. “Political Theology versus Theological Politics: Erik Peterson and Carl Schmitt,” New German Critique 105 (2008): 7–33. Gibson, Boyce. The Religion of Dostoevsky (Philadelphia: Westminster Press, 1974). Goethe, Johann W. von. Gesammelte Werke in acht Bänden, Bd.1, Gedichte (Gütersloh: Gütersloh Verlag, 1976). Goppelt, Leonhard. “Die Freiheit zur Kaisersteuer—zu Mk. 12,17 und Röm. 13,1–7.” In Christologie und Ethik. Aufsätze zum Neuen Testament, edited by by Leonhard Goppelt (Göttingen:Vanderhoeck & Rupprecht, 1968), 208–19. Gregory XVI, Pope. “Mirari Vos, On Liberalism and Religious Indifferentism,” Papal Encyclicals, August 15, 1832, http://www.papalencyclicals.net/Greg16/g16mirar.htm (accessed July 13, 2016). Saint Gregory Nazianzen. Letter 101, Patrologia Graeca, Vol. 37 (Paris: J. P. Migne, 1862).

318

318

Bibliography

Grenholm, Carl-Henric. Protestant Work Ethics: A Study of Work Ethical Theories in Contemporary Protestant Theology (Uppsala: Acta Universitatis Upsaliensis, 1993). Greider, William. One World, Ready or Not: The Manic Logic of Global Capitalism (New York: Simon & Schuster, 1997). Grigore, Mihai-Dumitru. Neagoe Basarab—Princeps Christianus: Christianitas-Semantik im Vergleich mit Erasmus, Luther und Machiavelli (1513–1523) (Frankfurt am Main: Peter Lang, 2015). Gunn, Jeremy. “Religious Symbols in Public Schools: The Islamic Headscarf and the European Court of Human Rights Decision in Sahin v. Turkey.” In Islam, Europe, and Emerging Legal Issues, edited by W. Cole Durham, Rik Torfs, David M. Kirkham, and Christine Scott (Burlington, VT: Ashgate, 2012), pp. 111–46. Guroian, Vigen. Incarnate Love: Essays in Orthodox Ethics (Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press, 1987). Gvosdev, Nikolas K. Emperors and Elections: Reconciling the Orthodox Tradition with Modern Politics (Huntington, NY: Troitsa Books, 2000). Gvosdev, Nikolas K. “St. John Chrysostom and John Locke: An Orthodox Basis for the Social Contract?,” Philotheos: International Journal for Philosophy and Theology 3 (2003): 150–53. Habermas, Jürgen. Kleine politische Schriften I–IV (Frankfurt am Main: Suhrkamp, 1981). Habermas, Jürgen. Die Postnationale Konstellation: Politische Essays (Frankfurt am Main: Suhrkamp, 1998). Habermas, Jürgen. Glauben und Wissen: Friedenspreis des deutschen Buchhandels (Frankfurt am Main: Suhrkamp, 2001). Habermas, Jürgen. “Religion in the Public Sphere,” European Journal of Philosophy 14, no. 1 (2006): 1–25. Habermas, Jürgen. “Secularism’s Crisis of Faith: Notes on Post-Secular Society,” New Perspectives Quarterly 25 (2008): 17–29. Habermas, Jürgen. The Structural Transformation of the Public Sphere: An Inquiry into a Category of Bourgeois Society (Cambridge: Polity Press, 1992). Hammill, Graham, and Julia Reinhard Lupton (eds.). Political Theology and Early Modernity (Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press, 2012). Hartmann, Wilfried, and Kenneth Pennington (eds.). The History of Medieval Canon Law in the Classical Period, 1140–1234: From Gratian to the Decretals of Pope Gregory IX (Washington, DC: Catholic University of America Press, 2008). Hauerwas, Stanley. The Peaceable Kingdom: A Primer in Christian Ethics (Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press, 1991). Hauerwas, Stanley. Toward a Community of Character: A Constructive Christian Social Ethics (Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press, 1991). Hauerwas, Stanley. “Can Democracy Be Christian? Reflections on How to (Not) Be a Political Theologian,” ABC Religion and Ethics, June 24, 2014, http://www.abc.net.au/ religion/articles/2014/06/24/4032239.htm (accessed December 19, 2014). Hauerwas, Stanley, and Romand Coles. Christianity, Democracy, and the Radical Ordinary: Conversations between a Radical Democrat and a Christian (Cambridge: Lutterworth Press, 2008). Hehir, J. Bryan. “The Modern Catholic Church and Human Rights: The Impact of the Second Vatican Council.” In Christianity and Human Rights: An Introduction, edited by John Witte, Jr. and Frank S. Alexander (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2012), pp. 113–34. Heer, Friedrich. The Medieval World: Europe 1100–1350 (London: Phoenix, 1998).

319

Bibliography

319

Hengel, Martin. “Reich Christi, Reich Gottes und Weltreich im Johannesevangelium in Königsherrschaft Gottes und himmlischer Kult.” In Königsherrschaft Gottes und himmlischer Kult im Judentum, Urchristentum und in der hellenistischen Welt, edited by Martin Hengel and Anna Maria Schwemer (Tübingen: Mohr, 1991), pp. 163–84. Herrin, Judith. Byzantium: The Surprising Life of a Medieval Empire (London: Penguin, 2008). Heun, Werner, Martin Honecker, Martin Morlok, and Joachim Wieland (eds.). Evangelisches Staatslexikon (Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 2006). Hilpert, Konrad. Die Menschenrechte: Geschichte, Theologie, Aktualität (Düsseldorf: Patmos, 1991). Himmelfarb, Gertrude. The Roads to Modernity: The British, French and American Enlightenments (London: Vintage Books, 2004). Hollerich, Michael J. “Religion and Politics in the Writings of Eusebius: Reassessing the First ‘Court Theologian,’ ” Church History 59 (1990): 309–25. The Holy and Great Council of the Orthodox Church. “The Mission of the Orthodox Church in Today’s World,” Official Website of the Holy and Great Council (Pentecost 2016), https://www.holycouncil.org/-/mission-orthodox-church-todays-world?i nheritRedirect=true&redirect=%2Fhome&_101_INSTANCE_VA0WE2pZ4Y0I_ languageId=en_US (accessed July 12, 2016). Holy Synod of the Church of Greece. “Θεολογική Θεώρηση της Οικονομικής Κρίσεως” [Theological Considerations on the Financial Crisis], Official Website of the Church of Greece (Encyclical Letter No. 2894, March 15, 2010), http://www.ecclesia. gr/greek/holysynod/egyklioi.asp?id=1181&what_sub=egyklioi (accessed July 13, 2016). Holy Synod of the Church of Greece. “Η Εκκλησία Απέναντι στη Σύγχρονη Κρίση” [The Church Facing the Current Crisis], Pros ton Lao 44 (November 2010): 1–4. Holy Synod of the Romanian Orthodox Church. “Ultimele hotarari ale Sfantului Sinod” [The Latest Decisions of the Holy Synod], CrestinOrtodox, March 10, 2008, http://www. crestinortodox.ro/stiri/ziarul-lumina/ultimele-hotarari-sfantului-sinod-78539.html (accessed July 8, 2016). Honecker, Martin. Das Recht des Menschen: Einführung in die Evangelische Sozialethik (Gütersloh: Mohn, 1978). Hopkins, James L. The Bulgarian Orthodox Church: A Socio-Historical Analysis of the Evolving Relationship between Church, Nation, and State in Bulgaria (New York: Columbia University Press, 2008). Horkheimer, Max, and Theodor W. Adorno. Die Dialektik der Aufklärung: Philosophische Fragmente (Frankfurt: Fischer, 1984). Hotărâri ale Sfântului Sinod al Bisericii Ortodoxe Române referitoare la activitatea bisericească [Decisions of the Holy Synod of the Romanian Orthodox Church on Church Activity], Vol. 1 (1986–2002); Vol. 2 (2003–2006) (Galati: Editura Episcopei Dunării de Jos, 2003, 2007). Hughes, Michael. “ ‘Independent Gentlemen’: The Social Position of the Moscow Slavophiles and Its Impact on Their Political Thought,” The Slavonic and East European Review 71 (1993): 66–88. Hughes, Michael. “State and Society in the Political Thought of the Moscow Slavophiles,” Studies in East European Thought 52 (2000): 159–83. Huntington, Samuel. “The Clash of Civilizations,” Foreign Affairs 72, no. 3 (1993): 22–50. Iacob, Radu Costin. Sophia, the Wisdom of God: An Eastern Christian Political Theology in the Sophiology of Sergei Bulgakov, MA Thesis, Katholieke Universiteit Leuven, 2011.

320

320

Bibliography

Ilarion (Alfeev). Metropolitan, Тайнство веры: Введение в православное догматическое богословие [The Mystery of Faith: An Introduction to Orthodox Dogmatic Theology] (Moscow : Bratstvo Sviatitelia Tikhona, 1996). Inglehart, Ronald. “Modernization, Sociological Theories Of.” In International Encyclopedia of the Social and Behavioural Sciences, edited by J. Smelser Neil and Paul B. Baltes (Amsterdam: Elsevier, 2001), pp. 9965–71. Inglehart, Ronald, and Pippa Norris. Sacred and Secular: Religion and Politics Worldwide (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004). Inowlocki, Sabrina, and Claudio Zamagni (eds.). Reconsidering Eusebius: Collected Papers on Literary, Historical and Theological Issues (Leiden: Brill, 2011). Jäger, Lorenz. Unterschied. Widerspruch. Krieg.: Zur politischen Theologie jüdischer Intellektueller (Vienna: Karolinger, 2013). Joas, Hans. The Sacred of the Person: A New Geneology of Human Rights (Washington, DC: Georgetown University Press, 2013). John Chrysostom. “Commentary on the Second Epistle to the Corinthians: Sermon 20.” Patrologia Graeca, Vol. 61 (Paris: J. P. Migne, 1862). John Chrysostom. “Sermon 6: That the Fear of the Authorities Is Good.” Patrologia Graeca, Vol. 49 (Paris: J. P. Migne, 1862). John of Damascus. An Exact Exposition of the Orthodox Faith, III. 6, Patrologia Graeca, Vol. 94 (Paris: J. P. Migne, 1862). Jun, Nathan J., and Shane Wahl (eds.). New Perspectives on Anarchism (Lanham: Lexington Books, 2010). Junker-Kenny, Maureen. “Between Postsecular Society and the Neutral State: Religion as a Resource for Public Reason.” In Religious Voices in Public Places, edited by Nigel Biggar and Linda Hogan (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009), pp. 58–81. Kalaitzidis, Pantelis. Ορθοδοξία και Νεωτερικότητα: Προλεγόμενα [Orthodoxy and Modernity: An Introduction] (Volos Academy for Theological Studies; Athens: Indiktos, 2007). Kalaitzidis, Pantelis. “Challenges of Renewal and Reformation Facing the Orthodox Church,” The Ecumenical Review 61, no. 2 (2009): 136–64. Kalaitzidis, Pantelis. “From the ‘Return to the Fathers’ to the Need for a Modern Orthodox Theology,” St. Vladimir’s Theological Quarterly 54 (2010): 5–36. Kalaitzidis, Pantelis. “Orthodoxy and Hellenism in Contemporary Greece,” St. Vladimir’s Theological Quarterly 54 (2010): 365–420. Kalaitzidis, Pantelis. Orthodoxy and Political Theology, translated by Fr. Gregory Edwards Doxa and Praxis: Exploring Orthodox Theology Series (Geneva: WCC, 2012). Kalaitzidis, Pantelis. “L’Orthodoxie grecque face aux défis de la crise économique, de la pauvreté et de la mondialisation: du conservatisme politico-social à la nouvelle version du discours ‘révolutionnaire’ et anti-impérialiste.” In Les religions et le droit, edited by Christine Mengès-Le Pape (Toulouse: Presses de l’Université Toulouse 1-Capitole, 2012), pp. 625–40. Kalaitzidis, Pantelis. “The Eschatological Understanding of Tradition in Contemporary Orthodox Theology and Its Relevance for Today’s Issues.” In The Shaping of Tradition: Context and Normativity, edited by Colby Dickinson with Lieven Boeve and Terrence Merrigan (Leuven: Peeters, 2013), pp. 297–312. Kalaitzidis, Pantelis. “Orthodox Theology and the Challenges of a Post-Secular Age: Questioning the Public Relevance of the Current Orthodox Theological ‘Paradigm.’ ” In Proceedings of the International Conference “Academic Theology in a Post-Secular Age” (Lviv : Institute for Ecumenical Studies, 2013), pp. 4–25.

321

Bibliography

321

Kalaitzidis, Pantelis. “The Image of the West in Contemporary Greek Theology.” In Orthodox Constructions of the West, edited by G. Demacopoulos and A. Papanikolaou (New York: Fordham University Press, 2013), pp. 142–60. Kalaitzidis, Pantelis. “Populistische Diskurse in der Orthodoxen Kirche von Griechenland,” Religion & Gesellschaft in Ost und West 6 (2013): 14–18. Kalaitzidis, Pantelis. “Η εσχατολογική προοπτική στη θεολογία του Πέτρου Βασιλειάδη και οι συνέπειές της για την πολιτική θεολογία” [Eschatology in the Work of Petros Vassiliadis and Its Relevance for Political Theology]. In Ο Οικουμενικός Διάλογος στον 21ο Αιώνα [Ecumenical Dialogue in the 21st Century], Festschrift Petros Vassiliadis, edited by Ioannis Petrou, Stylianos Tsompanidis, and Moschos Gkoutsioudis (Thessaloniki: Vanias, 2013), pp. 381–426. Kalaitzidis, Pantelis. “Ethique évangélique et politiques de dette dans l’Europe postchrétienne.” In La dette, les religions, le droit?, edited by Christine Mengès-Le Pape (Toulouse: Presses de l’Université Toulouse 1-Capitole, 2014), pp. 501–09. Kalaitzidis, Pantelis. “Η οικονομική κρίση και ο ανέξοδος ριζοσπαστικός λόγος” [The Economic Crisis and Cheap Radical Rhetoric], within an article by Maria Topaln, “Εκκλησία και Αριστερά σε νέους δρόμους” [The Church and the Left in New Ways], Kathimerini, October 5, 2014, http://www.kathimerini.gr/786331/article/epikairothta/ ellada/ekklhsia-kai-aristera-se-neoys-dromoys (accessed July 9, 2016). Kalaitzidis, Pantelis. “Church and State in the Orthodox World: From the Byzantine ‘Symphonia’ and Nationalized Orthodoxy, to the Need of Witnessing the Word of God in a Pluralistic Society.” In Religioni, Libertà, Potere: Atti del Convegno Internazionale Filosofico-Teologico sulla Libertà Religiosa, Milano, Università Cattolica del Sacro Cuore e Università degli Studi, edited by Emanuela Fogliadini (Milan: Vita e Pensiero, 2014), pp. 39–74. Kalaitzidis, Pantelis. “Πολιτική Θεολογία στο Εργο του Nίκου Νησιώτη” [Political Theology in the Work of Nikos Nissiotis]. In Νίκος Νησιώτης: Ο Οικουμενικός Θεολόγος της Ορθοδοξίας [Nikos Nissiotis: Orthodoxy’s Ecumenical Theologian], edited by N. Asproulis and G. Vlantis (Volos: Ekdotiki Demetriados), forthcoming. Kalkandjieva, Daniela. Българската православна църква и “народната демокрация” (1944–1953) [The Bulgarian Orthodox Church and the “People’s Democracy” (1944– 1953)] (Silistra: Demos, 2002). Kallis, Anastasios. Das hätte ich gerne gewußt: 100 Fragen an einen orthodoxen Theologen (Münster: Theophano Verlag, 2003). Kalyvas, Stathis N. The Rise of Christian Democracy in Europe (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1996). Kant, Immanuel. Fortgesetzte Betrachtung der seit einiger Zeit wahrgenommenen Erderschütterungen (1765). In Kants Werke, Akademie Textausgabe I: Vorkritische Schriften 1747–1756, edited by Wilhelm Weischedel (Berlin: Suhrkamp, 1968), pp. 465–72. Kantorowicz, Ernst H. The King’s Two Bodies (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1997). Kardamakis, Michail. Οι Πειρασμοί της Ιστορίας και η Μαρτυρία της Εκκλησίας [The Temptation of History and the Witness of the Church] (Athens: Armos, 2001). Kasper, Walter. Einführung in den Glauben (Mainz: Grünewald, 1972). Kasper, Walter. “L’Eglise et les processus modernes de la liberté,” Istina 49 (2004): 115–23. Kazhdan, Alexander P. (ed.). The Oxford Dictionary of Byzantium (New York: Oxford University Press, 1991).

322

322

Bibliography

Kelsen, Hans. What Is Justice? Justice, Law, and Politics in the Mirror of Science: Collected Essays (Berkeley : University of California Press, 1957). Khodr, Georges. L’appel de l’Esprit: Eglise et société, edited by Maxime Egger, translated by Raymond Rizk, Georges Ghandour, Youakim Moubarac, A. Manzi, and Adeline Asfour (Paris: Cerf, 2001). Khodr, Georges. “Eucharistie et libération,” Service Orthodoxe de Presse 338 (2009), Suppléments 330A. Kirchhof, Josef. Die Erneuerung des Staates—eine lösbare Aufgabe (Freiburg: Herder, 2006). Kisoudis, Dimitrios. Politische Theologie in der griechisch-orthodoxen Kirche (Marburg: diagonal-Verlag, 2007). Kitsikis, Dimitris. Τό Βυζαντινό πρότυπο διακυβερνήσεως καί τό τέλος τοῦ Κοινοβουλευτισμοῦ [The Byzantine Administrative Model and the End of Parliamentarism] (Athens: Esoptron, 2001). Koenig, Matthias. “Governance of Religious Diversity at the European Court of Human Rights.” In International Approaches to the Governance of Ethnic Diversity, edited by Jane Bolden and Will Kymlicka (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2015), pp. 51–78. Kolstø, Pål. “Power as Burden: The Slavophile Concept of the State and Lev Tolstoy,” The Russian Review 64 (2005): 559–74. Kondylis, Panagiotis. Πλανητική Πολιτική Μετά τον Ψυχρό Πόλεμο [Global Politics after the Cold War] (Athens: Themelio, 1992). Kondylis, Panagiotis. “Nur Intellektuelle behaupten, dass Intellektuelle die Welt besser verstehen als alle anderen,” Interview by Marin Terpstra, Deutsche Zeitschrift für Philosophie 42 (1994): 683–94. Kondylis, Panagiotis. Η παρακμή του αστικού πολιτισμού [The Decline of Bourgeois Culture] (Athens: Themelio, 1995). Kondylis, Panagiotis. “Jurisprudenz, Ausnahmezustand und Entscheidung. Grundsätzliche Bemerkungen zu Carl Schmitts ‘Politische Theologie,’ ” Der Staat 34 (1995): 325–57. Kostjuk, Konstantin. Der Begriff des Politischen in der russisch-orthodoxen Tradition: Zum Verhältnis von Kirche, Staat und Gesellschaft in Rußland (Paderborn: Schöningh, 2005). Kostjuk, Konstantin. История социально-этической мысли в Русской Православной Церкви [The History of Social-Ethical Thought in the Russian Orthodox Church] (St. Petersburg: Aleteiia, 2014). Krindatch, Alexei D. “Research on Orthodox Christian Communities in the United States,” Hartford Institute for Religion Research, http://hirr.hartsem.edu/research/ orthodoxindex.html (accessed December 16, 2014). Krstić, Zoran. Православље и модерност: теме практичне теологије [Orthodoxy and Modernity: Themes for a Practical Theology] (Belgrade: Službeni glasnik, 2012). Krstić, Zoran. Црква у друштву: у прошлости и садашњости [The Church in Society: Past and Present] (Požarevac: Eparhija Braničevska, Odbor za prosvetu i kulturu, 2014). Kyrlezhev, Alexander. “Постсекулярное: Краткая интерпретация” [The Postsecular: A Concise Interpretation], Logos 3, no. 82 (2001): 100–06. Laborde, Cécile. “Three Theses about Political Theology: Some Comments on Seyla Benhabib’s ‘Return of Political Theology,’ ” Critical Review of International Social and Political Philosophy 17, no. 6 (2014): 689–96. Laiou-Thomadakis, Angeliki. “Οἱ δύο ἐξουσίες: Ἡ διαμάχη μεταξὺ Παπῶν καὶ Αὐτοκρατόρων καὶ οἱ θεωρίες τῶν Βυζαντινῶν” [The Two Powers: The Conflict

323

Bibliography

323

between the Popes and the Emperors and Byzantines’ Theories], Thisaurismata 15 (1978): 106–18. Lammert, Norbert. “Politik und Religion: Erwartungen und Ansprüche,” Ökumenische Rundschau 62 (2013): 309–19. Langlaude, Sylvie. “Indoctrination, Secularism, Religious Liberty, and the ECHR,” International and Comparative Law Quarterly 55 (2006): 929–44. Lategan, Bernard. “Romans 13:1–7: A Review of Post-1989 Readings,” Scriptura 110, no. 2 (2012): 259–72. Lautsen, Carsten Bagge. “Studying Politics and Religion: How to Distinguish Religious Politics, Civil Religion, Political Religion, and Political Theology,” Journal of Religion in Europe 6 (2013): 428–63. LeBeau, Bryan F. Religion in America to 1865 (New York: New York University Press, 2000). Leithart, Peter J. Defending Constantine: The Twilight of an Empire and the Dawn of Christendom (Downers Grove, IN: IVP Academic, 2010). Lenin, Vladimir I. “Sozialismus und Religion.” In Werke 10: November 1905—Juni 1906 (4. Auflage, Dietz Verlag: Berlin 1958), pp. 70–75. Leo XIII, Pope. “On the Christian Constitution of States: Immortale Dei,” Papal Encyclicals, November 1, 1885, http://www.papalencyclicals.net/Leo13/l13sta.htm (accessed July 15, 2016). Letamendia, Pierre. La démocratie chrétienne (Paris: Presses Universitaires de France, 1977). Leustean, Lucian N. (ed.). Eastern Christianity and the Cold War, 1945–91 (London: Routledge, 2010). Leustean, Lucian N. (ed.). Eastern Christianity and Politics in the Twenty-First Century (London: Routledge, 2014). Levinson, Sanford. Constitutional Faith (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1988). Lipovetsky, Gilles, with Sebastien Charles. Les Temps Hypermodernes (Paris: Grasset & Fasquelle, 2004). Lipowatz, Thanos. “Πολιτική θεολογία και νεωτερικότητα” [Political Theology and Postmodernism]. In Θρησκείες και πολιτική στη νεωτερικότητα [Religions and Politics in Postmodernism], edited by Thanos Lipowatz, Nikos Demertzis, and Vasiliki Georgiadou (Athens: Kritiki, 2002), pp. 117–41. Liu, Hin-Yan. “The Meaning of Religious Symbols after the Grand Chamber Judgment in Lautsi v. Italy,” Religion and Human Rights 6 (2011): 253–57. Louth, Andrew. “Some Recent Works by Christos Yannaras in English Translation,” Modern Theology 25, no. 2 (2009): 329–40. Luckmann, Thomas. The Invisible Religion: The Problem of Religion in Modern Society (New York: Macmillan, 1967). Luhmann, Niklas. Funktion der Religion (Frankfurt am Main: Suhrkamp, 1977). Lumen Gentium. Dogmatic Constitution on the Church (Vatican: Archive, 1964), http:// www.vatican.va/archive/hist_councils/ii_vatican_council/documents/vat-ii_const_ 19641121_lumen-gentium_en.html (accessed August 3, 2016). Maier, Hans. Revolution und Kirche: Zu Frühgeschichte der christlichen Demokratie (Munich: DTV Deutscher Taschenbuch, 1975). Maier, Hans. Wie universal sind die Menschenrechte? (Freiburg: Herder, 1997). Makrides, Vasilios N. “Orthodoxes Christentum und westeuropäische Aufklärung: Ein unvollendetes Projekt?” Ökumenische Rundschau 57, no. 2 (2008): 303–18. Makrides, Vasilios N. “Die politische Aufgabe der Kirche: Bemerkungen anhand der Sozialkonzeption der Russischen Orthodoxen Kirche.” In Die politische Aufgabe von

324

324

Bibliography

Religion: Perspektiven der drei monotheistischen Religionen, edited by Irene Dingel and Christiane Tietz (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2011), pp. 219–43. Makrides, Vasilios N. “Orthodox Christianity, Change, Innovation: Contradictions in Terms?” In Innovation in the Orthodox Christian Tradition? The Question of Change in Greek Orthodox Thought and Practice, edited by Trine Stauning Willert and Lina Molokotos-Liederman (Farnham: Ashgate, 2012), pp. 19–50. Makrides, Vasilios N. “Why Does the Orthodox Church Lack Systematic Social Teaching?” Skepsis: A Journal for Philosophy and Interdisciplinary Research 23 (2013): 281–312. Mancini, Susanna. “The Crucifix Rage: Supranational Constitutionalism Bumps against the Counter-Majoritarian Difficulty,” European Constitutional Law Review 6, no. 1 (2010): 6–27. Manemann, Jürgen. Carl Schmitt und die Politische Theologie: Politischer Antimonotheismus (Münster: Aschendorff, 2002). Manoussakis, John Panteleimon. God after Metaphysics: A Theological Aesthetics (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2007). March, Andrew F. “Genealogies of Sovereignty in Islamic Political Theology,” Social Research: An International Quarterly 80 (2013): 293–320. Maritain, Jacques. Christianisme et Démocratie (New York: Editions de la Maison Française, 1943). Marshall, Peter. Demanding the Impossible: A History of Anarchism (London: Harper Perennial, 2008). Marte, Johann, Vincenc Rajsp, Miroslav Polzer, and Karl W. Schwarz (eds.). Religion und Wende in Ostmittel- und Südosteuropa 1989–2009 (Innsbruck: Tyrolia, 2010). Martin, David. A General Theory of Secularization (Oxford: Blackwell, 1978). Marty, Martin E. Righteous Empire: The Protestant Experience in America (New York: Dial Press, 1970). Marty, Martin E. A Nation of Behavers (Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press, 1976). Marty, Martin E. The Public Church: Mainline, Evangelical, Catholic (New York: Crossroad, 1981). Marty, Martin E. Modern American Religion (Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press, 1986). Marty, Martin E. Religion and Republic: The American Circumstance (Boston: Beacon Press, 1987). Marty, Martin E. Civil Religion, Church and State (Munich: K. G. Saur, 1992). Marx, Karl. “Zur Kritik der Hegelschen Rechtsphilosophie: Einleitung.” In Karl Marx; Friedrich Engels, Werke. Bd. 1. (Berlin: Aufbau Verlag, 1964), pp. 378–91. Matsoukas, Nikos. Οικουμενική Θεολογία [Ecumenical Theology] (Thessaloniki: Pournaras, 2005). Maximus the Confessor. Mystagogy, Patrologia Graeca, Vol. 91 (Paris: J. P. Migne, 1862). McGuckin, John A. “The Theology of Images and the Legitimation of Power in Eighth Century Byzantium,” St. Vladimir’s Theological Quarterly 37, no. 1 (1993): 39–58. McGuckin, John A. “The Legacy of the 13th Apostle: Origins of the East Christian Conceptions of Church and State Relation,” St. Vladimir’s Theological Quarterly 47, nos. 3–4 (2003): 251–88. McGuckin, John A. The Orthodox Church: An Introduction to Its History, Doctrine, and Spiritual Culture (Malden, MA: Blackwell, 2008). McGuckin, John A. (ed.). The Encyclopedia of Eastern Orthodox Christianity, Vols. 1–2 (Oxford: Wiley-Blackwell, 2011).

325

Bibliography

325

McPartlan, Paul G. The Eucharist Makes the Church: Henri De Lubac and John Zizioulas in Dialogue (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1993). Men’, Aleksandr. Культура и духовное восхождение [Culture and Spiritual Ascent] (Moscow : Iskusstvo, 1992). Metallinos, Georgios. “ ‘Θεολογία Απελευθερώσεως’ καί ‘Θεολογία Ἐλευθερίας’ ” [‘Liberation Theology’ and ‘Freedom Theology’], Koinonia 52 (1981): 51–61. Metallinos, Georgios. “Das Problem der deutschen Einflüsse auf die griechische akademische Theologie in der Gründungsphase der Athener Universität,” Orthodoxes Forum 3 (1989): 83–91. Methodiev, Momchil. Между вярата и компромиса: Българската православна църква и комунистическата държава (1944–1989 г.) [Between Faith and Compromise: The Bulgarian Orthodox Church and the Communist State (1944–1989)] (Sofia: Institut za blizkoto minalo i izdatelstvo Siela, 2010). Metz, Johann Baptist. Zum Begriff der neuen politischen Theologie: 1967–1997 (Mainz: Grünewald, 1997). Meyendorff, John. “Does Christian Tradition Have a Future?”, St. Vladimir’s Theological Quarterly 26 (1982): 139–54. Milbank, John. Theology and Social Theory: Beyond Secular Reason (Cambridge, MA: Blackwell, 1990). Milbank, John, and Adrian Pabst. “The Anglican Polity and the Politics of the Common Good,” Crucible: The Christian Journal of Social Ethics 1 (2014): 7–15. Miller, Timothy S. The Birth of the Hospital in the Byzantine Empire (Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1997). Minkenberg, Michael, and Ulrich Willems (eds.). Politik und Religion (Politische Vierteljahresschrift, Sonderheft 33/2002; Wiesbaden: Westdeutscher Verlag, 2003). Moltmann, Jürgen. Politische Theologie—Politische Ethik (Munich: Kaiser, 1984). Moltmann, Jürgen. Was ist heute Theologie? (Freiburg: Herder, 1998). Mureşan, Dan Ioan. “The Hesychasts: ‘Political Photianism’ and the Public Sphere in the Fourteenth Century.” In The Orthodox Christian World, edited by Augustine Casiday (London: Routledge, 2012): 294–302. Namli, Elena. Kamp med förnuftet: Rysk kritik av västerländsk rationalism (Skellefteå: Artos, 2009). Namli, Elena. Human Rights as Ethics, Politics, and Law (Uppsala: Acta Universitatis Upsaliensis, 2014). Nellas, Panayiotis. “Τρεις βιβλικές προϋποθέσεις στο πρόβλημα: Ορθοδοξία και Πολιτική” [Three Biblical Presuppositions in the Issue of Orthodoxy and Politics]. Μαρτυρία Ορθοδοξίας [Witness of Orthodoxy] (Athens: Hestia, 1971), pp. 155–86. Nellas, Panayiotis. Deification in Christ: Orthodox Perspectives on the Nature of the Human Person, translated by N. Russell (Crestwood, NY: St. Vladimir’s Seminary Press, 1987). Neuner, Peter. Der Streit um den katholischen Modernismus (Frankfurt am Main: Verlag der Weltreligionen, 2009). Newlands, George. Christ and Human Rights: The Transformative Engagement (Burlington, VT: Ashgate, 2006). Nichols, Aidan. Theology in the Russian Diaspora: Church, Fathers, Eucharist in Nikolai Afanas’ev (1893–1966) (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1989). Niebuhr, Reinhold. Moral Man and Immoral Society: A Study in Ethics and Politics (New York: Scribner, 1947).

326

326

Bibliography

Nikolaidis, Apostolos. Κοινωνικοπολιτική Ἐπανάσταση καί Πολιτική Θεολογία [Sociopolitical Revolution and Political Theology] (Katerini: Tertios, 1987). Nikolaou, Theodor. “Der Mensch als politisches Lebewesen bei Basilios dem Grossen,” Vigiliae Christianae 35 (1981): 24–31. Nissiotis, Nikos. “Church and Society in Greek Orthodox Theology.” In Christian Social Ethics in a Changing World, edited by J. C. Bennet (London: SCMP, 1966), pp. 78–104. Nissiotis, Nikos. “Réflexions sur le sens de la solidarité de l’Eglise avec le monde,” Contacts XIX, no. 57 (1967): 35–47. Nissiotis, Nikos. Η απολογία της ελπίδος [An Apology for Hope] (Athens, 1975). Nissiotis, Nikos. “Ecclesial Theology in Context.“ In Doing Theology Today, edited by Choan-Seng Song (Madras: Christian Literature Society, 1976), pp. 101–24. Nissiotis, Nikos. “L’home image de Dieu et pécheur: L’humanisme contemporain et la théologie de la libération,” ΕΕΘΣΠΑ [Academic Yearbook of the Faculty of Theology of Athens University] 25 (1981): 331–60. Nissiotis, Nikos. “Secular and Christian Images of the Human Person,” Theologia 53 (1982): 947–89. Nissiotis, Nikos. “Secular and Christian Images of the Human Person,” Theologia 54 (1983): 90–122. Nietzsche, Friedrich W. The Antichrist, translated by H. L. Mencken, The Project Gutenberg E-book, 2006, § 13, http://www.gutenberg.org/files/19322/19322-h/19322h.htm (accessed August 3, 2016). Oort, Johannes van. Jerusalem and Babylon: A Study of Augustine’s “City of God” and the Sources of His Doctrine of the Two Cities (Leiden: Brill, 2013). Panaite, Ovidiu. “The Theological Background of Political Philosophy in Early Christianity: An Essay on Orthodox Political Theology,” International Journal of Orthodox Theology 4, no. 1 (2013): 127–49. Papaderos, Alexandros. “Liturgical Diaconia.” In An Orthodox Approach to Diaconia: Consultation on Church and Service, edited by George Tsetsis (Orthodox Academy of Crete; Geneva, WCC, 1980), pp. 17–46. Papaderos, Alexandros. “Aspekte Orthodoxer Sozialethik.” In Perspektiven ökumenischer Sozialpolitik: Der Auftrag der Kirchen im größeren Europa, edited by Ingeborg Gabriel, Alexandros Papaderos, and Ulrich H. J. Körtner (Mainz: Grünewald, 2005), pp. 23–126. Papaderos, Alexandros. “Aspects of Orthodox Social Ethics.” In Trilogy of Social Ethics: Orthodox—Catholic—Protestant, edited by Ingeborg G. Gabriel, Ulrich J. Körtner, and Alexandros K. Papaderos (Philadelphia: Ecumenical Press, 2013), pp. 21–132. Papanikolaou, Aristotle. “Byzantium, Orthodoxy, and Democracy,” Journal of the American Academy of Religion 71, no. 1 (2003): 75–98. Papanikolaou, Aristotle. “Integrating the Ascetical and the Eucharistic,” International Journal for the Study of the Christian Church 11, nos. 2–3 (2011): 173–82. Papanikolaou, Aristotle. The Mystical as Political: Democracy and Non-Radical Orthodoxy (Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press, 2012). Papanikolaou, Aristotle. “Political Nestorianism and the Politics of Theosis,” Public Orthodoxy, October 12, 2015, http://publicorthodoxy.org/2015/10/12/politicalnestorianism-and-the-politics-of-theosis/ (accessed July 13, 2016). Papathanasiou, Athanasios N. Ανεστιότητα και Παραπεμπτικότητα: Κριτικές Προσεγγίσεις στα Θεολογικά Δρώμενα [Itinerancy and Referentiality: Critical Approaches to Theological Events] (Athens: Armos, 1998).

327

Bibliography

327

Papathanasiou, Athanasios N. Ορθόδοξη Θεολογία και Κοινωνική Δικαιοσύνη [Orthodox Theology and Social Justice] (Athens: Akritas, 2001). Papathanasiou, Athanasios N. “Αn Orphan or a Bride? The Human Self, Collective Identities, and Conversion.” In Thinking Modernity: Towards a Reconfiguration of the Relationship between Orthodox Theology and Modern Culture, edited by Assaad E. Kattan and Fadi A. Georgi (Balamand: St. John of Damascus Institute of Theology, 2010), pp. 133–63. Papathanasiou, Athanasios N. “The Church as Mission: Fr. Alexander Schmemann’s Liturgical Theology Revisited,” Proche-Orient Chrétien 60 (2010): 6–41. Papathanasiou, Athanasios N. “Liberation Perspectives in Patristic Thought: An Orthodox Approach.” Festschrift John Zizioulas (Patras: Hellenic Open University, 2011), pp. 419–38. Papathanasiou, Athanasios N. “Χαμένοι στην Ηθική: Στάσεις της Σύγχρονης Ορθόδοξης Θεολογίας” [Lost in Ethics: Stances of Modern Orthodox Theology]. In Η Επιστροφή της Ηθικής: Παλαιά και Νέα Ερωτήματα [The Return of Ethics: Old and New Questions], edited by Stavros Zoumboulakis (Athens: Artos Zoes, 2013). Papathanasiou, Athanasios N. “Voices of Shared Responsibility: Some Problems of Current Eucharistic Theology in Dialogue with the Dynamics of Tradition.” In The Primacy of the Pope in the Catholic-Orthodox Ecumenical Dialogue, edited by Simon Marincak and Anthony O’Mahony (Kosice, Slovakia: Orientaliaet Occidentalia, 2013). Papathanasiou, Athanasios N. Η Ρήξη με το Μηδέν: Σφηνάκια Πολιτικής Θεολογίας [The Clash with the Null: Some Sips of Political Theology] (Athens: Armos, 2015). Papkova, Irina. “Saving the Third Rome: ‘Fall of the Empire,’ Byzantium and Putin’s Russia,” Institute for Human Sciences (2009), http://www.iwm.at/publications/5junior-visiting-fellows-conferences/vol-xxiv/saving-the-third-rome/ (accessed July 13, 2016). Papkova, Irina. The Orthodox Church and Russian Politics (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2011). Parry, Ken, David J. Melling, Dimitri Brady, Sidney H. Griffith, and John F. Healey (eds.). The Blackwell Dictionary of Eastern Christianity (Oxford: Blackwell, 2001). Payne, Daniel. “The Clash of Civilisations: The Church of Greece, the European Union and the Question of Human Rights,” Religion, State and Society 31, no. 3 (2003): pp. 261–71. Payne, Daniel. The Revival of Political Hesychasm in Contemporary Orthodox Thought: The Political Hesychasm of John S. Romanides and Christos Yannaras (Lanham: Lexington Books, 2011). Pelikan, Jaroslav. Interpreting the Bible and the Constitution (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2004). Pera, Marcello, and Joseph Ratzinger. Senza radici: Europa, relativismo, cristianesimo, islam (Milano: Mondadori, 2005). Pera, Marcello, and Joseph Ratzinger. Without Roots: The West, Relativism, Christianity, Islam (New York: Basic Books, 2006). Peterson, Erik. Der Monotheismus als politisches Problem: Ein Beitrag zur Geschichte der politischen Theologie im Imperium Romanum (Leipzig: Hegner, 1935). Petrunin, Vladimir V. Политический исихазм и его традиции в социальной концепции Московского Патриархата [Political Hesychasm and Its Traditions in the Moscow Patriarchate’s Social Concepts] (St. Petersburg: Aleteiia, 2009).

328

328

Bibliography

Petrunin, Vladimir V., Kristina Stöckl, and Sergei S. Horuzhii. “О политическом исихазме” [On Political Hesychasm]. In Феномен человека в его еволюции и динамике: Труды Открытого Семинара Института Синергийной Антропологии [The Human Phenomenon in Its Evolution and Dynamic: Works of the Open Seminar of the Institutue of Synergetic Anthropology], edited by Sergei S. Horuzhii (Velikii Novgorod: Novgorodskii Gosudarstvennyi Universitet, 2013), pp. 190–245. Pfeiffer, Achim. Religion und Politik in den Schriften Papst Benedikts XVI: Die politischen Implikationen des Joseph Ratzinger (Marburg: Tectum, 2007). Phillips, Elizabeth. Political Theology: A Guide for the Perplexed (London: T&T Clark International, 2012). Pickel, Gert, and Olaf Müller (eds.). Church and Religion in Contemporary Europe: Results from Empirical and Comparative Research (Wiesbaden: VS-Verlag, 2009). Pius IX, Pope. “Syllabus Errorum,” Papal Encyclicals, December 8, 1864, http://www. papalencyclicals.net/Pius09/p9syll.htm (accessed July 13, 2016). Platon (Igumnov), Arkhimandrit. Православное нравственное богословие [Orthodox Moral Theology] (Sergiev Posad’: Sviato-Troitskaia Sergieva Lavra, 1994). Plekon, Michael. “Eastern Orthodox Thought.” In The Blackwell Companion to Political Theology, edited by Peter Scott and William Cavanaugh (Malden, MA: Blackwell, 2004), pp. 93–106. Plekon, Michael. “Relativism and Fundamentalism: An Eastern Church Perspective from the ‘Paris School’ and Living Tradition.” In Between Relativism and Fundamentalism: Religious Resources for a Middle Position, edited by Peter L. Berger (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2010), pp. 180–209. Pierard, Richard, and Robert D. Linder. Civil Religion and the Presidency (Grand Rapids, MI: Academie Books, 1988). Podskalsky, Gerhard. Byzantinische Reichseschatologie: Die Periodisierung der Weltgeschichte in den vier Grossreichen (Daniel 2 u. 7) und der tausendjährigen Friedensreiche (Apok. 20), Eine motivgeschichtliche Untersuchung (Munich: Fink, 1972). Podskalsky, Gerhard. Theologie und Philosophie in Byzanz: Der Streit um die theologische Methodik in der spätbyzantinischen Geistesgeschichte (14./15. Jahrhundert), seine systematischen Grundlagen und seine historische Entwicklung (Munich: Beck, 1977). Podskalsky, Gerhard. “Orthodoxe und westliche Theologie,” Jahrbuch der Österreichischen Byzantinistik 31 (1981): 513–27. Podskalsky, Gerhard. “Die griechisch-byzantinische Theologie und ihre Methode: Aspekte und Perspektiven eines ökumenischen Problems,” Theologie und Philosophie 58 (1983): 71–87. Podskalsky, Gerhard. Zur Hermeneutik des theologischen Ost-West-Gesprächs in historischer Perspektive (Erfurt: University of Erfurt, 2002). Podskalsky, Gerhard. Von Photios zu Bessarion: Der Vorrang humanistisch geprägter Theologie in Byzanz und deren bleibende Bedeutung (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2003). Pollis, Adamadia. “Eastern Orthodoxy and Human Rights,” Human Rights Quarterly 15, no. 2 (1993): 339–56. Popović, Justin. “Унутрашња мисија наше Цркве (Реализација Православља)” [The Inner Mission of Our Church (The Realization of Orthodoxy)], Хришћански живот [Christian Life] 2, no. 9 (1923): 385–90. Popović, Justin. “В. Зењковски: Руски мислиоци и Европа” [V. Zenkovsky: Russian Thinkers and Europe], Хришћански живот [Christian Life] 2, no. 12 (1923): 571–75.

329

Bibliography

329

Popović, Justin. На богочовечанском путу [On the Way of the God-Man] (Belgrade: Monastery Ćelije, 1980). Popović, Justin. Светосавље као философија живота [Saint-Savahood as Philosophy of Life] (Belgrade: Monastery Ćelije, 1993). Popović, Justin. Философске урвине [Philosophical Crevasses] (Belgrade: Monastery Ćelije, 1999). Popović, Justin. Философија и религија Ф. М. Достојевског [The Philosophy and Religion of F. M. Dostoevsky] (Belgrade: Monastery Ćelije, 1999). Popović, Justin. Достојевски о Европи и слaвенству [Dostoevsky on Europe and the Slavs] (Belgrade: Monastery Ćelije, 1999). Popović, Justin. Проблем личности и познања по учењу светог Макарија Египатског [The Problem of Personhood and Cognition according to St. Macarius of Egypt] (Belgrade: Manastir Ćelije, 1999). Popović, Justin. Гносеологија Исака Сирина [The Gnoseology of St. Isaac of Syria] (Belgrade: Manastir Ćelije, 1999). Popović, Justin. Православна Црква и екуменизам [The Orthodox Church and Ecumenism] (Belgrade: Monastery Ćelije, 2001). Popović, Justin. Догматика Православне Цркве II [Dogmatics of the Orthodox Church II] (Belgrade: Monastery Ćelije, 2004). Popović, Justin. Notes on Ecumenism, edited by Bishop Athanasius Yevtich, translated by Aleksandra Stojanovich (Alhambra, CA: Sebastian Press, 2013). Preda, Radu. “Die orthodoxen Kirchen zwischen nationaler Identität und ‘babylonischer Gefangenschaft’ in der EU.” In Politik und Theologie in Europa: Perspektiven ökumenischer Sozialethik, edited by Ingeborg Gabriel (Ostfildern: MatthiasGrünewald-Verlag, 2008), pp. 285–312. Preda, Radu. „Das Jahr 1989 in der Geschichte und im Bewusstsein der rumänischen Gesellschaft und Kirchen.” In Falling Walls: The Year 1989/1990 as a Turning Point in the History of World Christianity // Einstürzende Mauern: Das Jahr 1989/1990 als Epochenjahr in der Geschichte des Weltchristentums, edited by Klaus Koschorke (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2009), pp. 57–75. Preda, Radu. “Ortodoxia şi dilemele dialogului cu lumea: Pastorala Patriahului Ecumenic la Duminica Ortodoxiei” (Orthodoxy and the Dilemmas of Dialogue with the World: The Pastoral Letter of the Ecumenical Patriarch on the Feast of Orthodoxy), Tabor 4, no. 1 (2010): 19–28. Prodromou, Elizabeth. “International Religious Freedom and the Challenge of Proselytism.” In Thinking through Faith: New Perspectives from Orthodox Christian Scholars, edited by Aristotle Papanikolaou and Elizabeth Prodromou (Crestwood, NY: St. Vladimir’s Seminary Press, 2008), pp. 247–78. Prokhorov, Gelian M. “Исихазм и общественная мысль в Восточной Европе в XIV в.” [Hesychasm and Social Thought in Fourteenth-Century Eastern Europe], Trudy Otdela Drevnerusskoi Literatury 23 (1968): 86–108. Putnam, Robert. Democracies in Flux: The Evolution of Social Capital in Contemporary Society (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2004). Rabow-Edling, Susanna. Slavophile Thought and the Politics of Cultural Nationalism (Albany : State University of New York Press, 2006). Racu, Alexandru. “From Ecclesiology to Christian Populism: The Religious and Political Thought of Russian Slavophiles,” South-East European Journal of Political Science 2, no. 1 (2014): 39–70.

330

330

Bibliography

Radev, Simeon. Строителите на съвременна България [The Builders of Modern Bulgaria], 3 vols. (Sofia: Bulgarskii pisatel, 1973). Ramet, Sabrina. “The Way We Were—and Should Be Again? European Orthodox Churches and the ‘Idyllic Past.’ ” In Religion in an Expanding Europe, edited by T. Byrnes and P. Katzenstein (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006), pp. 148–75. Ramsey, A. M. Sacred and Secular: A Study in the Otherworldly and This-Worldly Aspects of Christianity (London: Longmans, 1966). Rapp, Claudia. “Imperial Ideology in the Making: Eusebius of Caesarea on Constantine as ‘Bishop,’ ” The Journal of Theological Studies 49 (1998): 685–95. Rauscher, Anton (ed.). Handbuch der Katholischen Soziallehre (Berlin: Duncker & Humblot, 2008). Rawls, John. A Theory of Justice (revised ed.; Cambridge, MA: Belknap Press, 1999). Rawls, John. “The Idea of Public Reason Revisited.” The Law of Peoples (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2001), pp. 129–80. Rawls, John. Political Liberalism, 2nd ed. (New York: Columbia University Press, 2005). Reinhard, Wolfgang. “Pressures towards Confessionalization? Prolegomena to a Theory of the Confessional Age.” In The German Reformation, edited by C. Scott Dixon (Malden, MA: Blackwell, 1999), pp. 169–92. “Religion Statistics by Country.” Religion Facts, http://www.religionfacts.com/religion_ statistics/religion_statistics_by_country.htm (accessed December 16, 2014). Rensberger, David. “The Politics of John: The Trial of Jesus in the Fourth Gospel,” Journal of Biblical Literature 103 (1984): 395–411. “Response of Assembly of Bishops to Obergfell v. Hodges.” Official Website of the Assembly of Canonical Orthodox Bishops of the United States, July 2, 2015, http:// assemblyofbishops.org/news/2015/response-of-assembly-of-bishops-to-obergefell-v.hodges (accessed August 3, 2016). Richards, Edward B., and William R. Garner. “The Political Implications of Nicholas Berdyaev’s Philosophy,” Journal of the History of Ideas 31, no. 1 (1970): 121–28. Richardson, James T., and Jennifer Shoemaker. “The European Court of Human Rights, Minority Religions, and the Social Construction of Religious Freedom.” In The Centrality of Religion in Social Life: Essays in Honour of James A. Beckford, edited by E. Barker (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2008), pp. 103–16. Ringelheim, Julie. “Rights, Religion and the Public Sphere: The European Court of Human Rights in Search of a Theory?” In Law, State and Religion in the New Europe: Debates and Dilemmas, edited by L. Zucca and C. Ungureanu (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2012), pp. 283–306. Ritter, Adolf Martin. “Kirche and Staat” im Denken des frühen Christentums: Texte und Kommentare zum Thema Religion und Politik in der Antike (Bern: Peter Lang, 2005). Rorty, Richard. “Religion in Public Square: A Reconsideration,” Journal of Religious Ethics 31, no. 1 (2003): 141–49. Roudometof, Victor. “The Orthodox Church of Cyprus.” In Eastern Christianity and the Cold War, edited by Lucian Leustean (London: Routledge, 2010), pp. 271–81. Roudometof, Victor. Globalization and Orthodox Christianity: The Transformations of a Religious Tradition (New York: Routledge, 2014). Rousseau, Jean-Jacques. The Essential Rousseau: The Social Contract, Discourse on the Origin of Inequality, Discourse on the Arts and Sciences, the Creed of a Savoyard Priest , translated by Lowell Bair (New York: Penguin, 1975). Rowland, Christopher (ed.). The Cambridge Companion to Liberation Theology (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999 [1st ed.]; 2007 [2nd ed.]).

331

Bibliography

331

Roy, Olivier. Holy Ignorance: When Religion and Culture Diverge (New York: Columbia University Press, 2009). Runciman, Steven. The Byzantine Theocracy (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1977 [1st ed.]; 2003 [paperback]). Russian Academy of Sciences Institute of Sociology. Готово ли Российское общество к модернизации: Аналитический доклад [Is Russian Society Prepared for Modernization? An Analytical Report] (Moscow: Institut Sotsiologii Rossiiskoi Akademii Nauk, 2010). Russian Federation. Федеральный закон от 26 сентября 1997 г. N 125-ФЗ “О свободе совести и религиозных объединениях” [Federal Law No. 125-F3 from 26 September 1997: “On the Freedom of Conscience and Religious Associations”], Official InternetPortal of Legal Information, http://pravo.gov.ru/proxy/ips/?docbody=&nd=102049359 (accessed July 18, 2016). Russian Orthodox Church. “Слово Святейшего Патриарха Кирилла на открытии XVIII Всемирного русского народного собора” [Words of His Holiness Patriarch Kirill at the Opening of the 8th All-Russian People’s Congress], Offical Website of the Moscow Patriarchate, www.patriarchia.ru, 11 November 2014, http://www.patriarchia. ru/db/text/3367103.html (accessed August 3, 2016). “Russians Return to Religion but Not to Church.” Pew Research Center, February 10, 2014, http://www.pewforum.org/2014/02/10/russians-return-to-religion-but-not-to-church/ (accessed December 16, 2014). Ryan, Alan. “John Rawls.” In The Return of Grand Theory in the Human Sciences, edited by Quentin Skinner (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005), pp. 101–20. Sandoz, Ellis. A Government of Laws: Political Theory, Religion, and the American Founding (Baton Rouge: Louisiana State University Press, 1990). Sandoz, Ellis. Political Sermons of the American Founding Era, 1730–1805 (Indianapolis: Liberty Press, 1991). Sandoz, Ellis. The Politics of Truth and Other Untimely Essays: The Crisis of Civic Consciousness (Columbia: University of Missouri Press, 1999). Sandoz, Ellis. Republicanism, Religion, and the Soul of America (Columbia: University of Missouri Press, 2006). Savramis, Demosthenes. “Max Webers Beitrag zum besseren Verständnis der ostkirchlichen ‘außerweltlichen’ Askese,” Kölner Zeitschrift für Soziologie und Sozialpsychologie 7 (1963): 334–58. Schilling, Heinz. “Confessionalization: Historical and Scholarly Perspectives of a Comparative and Interdisciplinary Paradigm.” In Confessionalization in Europe, 1555– 1700: Essays in Honor and Memory of Bodo Nischan, edited by John M. Headley, Hans J. Hillerbrand, and Anthony J. Papalas (Burlington, VT: Ashgate, 2004), pp. 21–35. Schlier, Heinrich. “Der Staat nach dem Neuen Testament.” In Besinnung auf das Neue Testament: Exegetische Aufsätze und Vorträge, edited by Heinrich Schlier (Freiburg: Herder, 1956), pp. 193–211. Schmemann, Alexander. The Eucharist: Sacrament of the Kingdom of God, translated by Paul Kachur (Crestwood, NY: St. Vladimir’s Seminary Press, 1987). Schmemann, Alexander. “Worship in a Secular Age.” In An Eerdmans Reader in Contemporary Political Theology, edited by William T. Cavanaugh, Jeffrey W. Bailey, and Craig Hovey (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2012), pp. 105–17. Schmidt, Helmut. Religion in der Verantwortung: Gefährdungen des Friedens im Zeitalter der Globalisierung (Berlin: Ullstein, 2012). Schmitt, Carl. Politische Theologie: Vier Kapitel zur Lehre von der Souveränität (1922; repr. 7th ed. Berlin: Duncker und Humblot, 1996).

332

332

Bibliography

Schmitt, Carl. Römischer Katholizismus und politische Form (Munich: Theatiner, 1925). Schwartländer, Johannes. Menschenrechte-eine Herausforderung der Kirche (Munich: Grünewald, 1979). Scott, Peter, and William T. Cavanaugh (eds.). The Blackwell Companion to Political Theology (Malden, MA: Blackwell, 2004). Shumskij, Aleksandr. “Наступит ли эпоха «просвещенного сталинизма’?” [Will There Come an Epoch of “Enlightened Stalinism?”] Russkaya Narodnaya Linia, December 16, 2013, http://ruskline.ru/news_rl/2013/12/16/nastupit_li_epoha_prosvewennogo_ stalinizma/ (accessed August 3, 2016). Simone, Raffaele. Il Mostro Mite: Perché l’ Occidente non va a sinistra (Milan: Garzanti, 2008). Sinelina, Yulia. Секуляризация в социальной истории России [Secularization in Russia’s Social History] (Moscow : Akademiia, 2004). Singh, Devin. “Eusebius as Political Theologian: The Legend Continues,” The Harvard Theological Review 108 (2015): 129–54. Skidelsky, Robert, and Edward Skidelsky. How Much Is Enough? Money and the Good Life (New York: Other Press, 2012). Söding, Thomas. “Die Macht der Wahrheit und das Reich der Freiheit: Zur johanneischen Deutung des Pilatus-Prozesses (Jn. 18:28–19:16),” Zeitschrift für Theologie und Kirche 93 (1996), pp. 35–58. Sölle, Dorothee. Politische Theologie (Stuttgart: Kreuz-Verlag, 1982). Spektorowski, Alberto. “Maistre, Donoso Cortés, and the Legacy of Catholic Authoritarianism,” Journal of the History of Ideas 63 (2002): 283–302. Staniloae, Dimitru. Theology and the Church, translated by Robert Barringer (Crestwood, NY: St. Vladimir’s Seminary Press, 1980). Stoeckl, Kristina. Community after Totalitarianism: The Russian Orthodox Intellectual Tradition and the Philosophical Discourse of Political Modernity (Frankfurt: Peter Lang, 2008). Stoeckl, Kristina. “Political Hesychasm? Vladimir Petrunin’s Neo-Byzantine Interpretation of the Social Doctrine of the Russian Orthodox Church,” Studies in East European Thought 62 (2010): 125–33. Stoeckl, Kristina. The Russian Orthodox Church and Human Rights (London: Routledge, 2014). Stout, Jeffrey. Democracy and Tradition (Princeton, NJ: University of Chicago Press, 1994). Strickland, John. The Making of Holy Russia: The Orthodox Church and Russian Nationalism before the Revolution (Jordanville, NY: Holy Trinity, 2013). Stringer, Daniel. “The Political Theology of Eusebius Pamphili, Bishop of Caesarea,” The Patristic and Byzantine Review 2 (1982): 136–50. Sturzo, Luigi. Church and State (Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press, 1962). Szakolczai, Arpad. The Genesis of Modernity (London: Routledge, 2003). Szuromi, Szabolcs Anzelm. Pre-Gratian Medieval Canonical Collections: Texts, Manuscripts, Concepts (Berlin: Frank & Timme, 2014). Tataryn, Myroslaw. “Sergei Bulgakov: Eastern Orthodoxy Engaging the Modern World,” Studies in Religion/Sciences Religieuses 31 (2002): 313–22. Taylor, Charles. A Catholic Modernity? (New York: Oxford University Press, 1999). Taylor, Charles. A Secular Age (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2007). Taylor, Charles. “Religion Is Not the Problem: Secularism and Democracy,” Commonweal (February 25, 2011), pp. 17–21.

333

Bibliography

333

Terpstra, Marin. “ ‘God’s Case on Earth’: Notes on Theocracy and the Political Theology of Vladimir Solov’ëv.” In Vladimir Solov’ëv: Reconciler and Polemicist, edited by William Peter van den Bercken and Manon de Courten (Leuven: Peeters, 2000), pp. 411–29. Terpstra, Marin. “The Political Theology of a Potestas Indirecta,” Religion, State and Society 41 (2013): 133–51. Tertullian. Apologetische, Dogmatische und Montanistische Schriften (übers. Heinrich Kellner, Bibliothek der Kirchenväter, 1. Reihe, Band 24. Kempten & München 1915), chapter 24. The Mission of the Orthodox Church in Today’s World, Official Website of the Department for External Church Relations of the Moscow Patriarchate, January 28, 2016, https:// mospat.ru/en/2016/01/28/news127353/ (accessed August 3, 2016). Théraios, Dimitrios. Le malaise chrétien: Archétypes marxistes de la théologie de liberation (Geneva: Georg, 1987). Thielicke, Helmut. Menschein-Menschwerden: Entwurf einer christlichen Anthropologie (Munich: Piper, 1976). Thiemann, Ronald. Religion in Public Life: A Dilemma for Democracy (Washington, DC: Georgetown University Press, 1996). Tomka, Miklós, and Paul M. Zulehner. Religionen und Kirchen in Ost(Mittel) Europa: Entwicklungen seit der Wende (Aufbruch 2007; Tabellenband; Wien, Budapest: Pastorales Forum/Renovabis/REVACERN, 2008). Tsironis, Theodosis Ath. Εκκλησία πολιτευομένη: Ο πολιτικός λόγος και ρόλος της Εκκλησίας της Ελλάδος (1913–1941) [The Church in Politics: The Political Discourse of the Church of Greece (1913–1941)] (Thessaloniki: Epikentro, 2010). Tsompanidis, Stylianos. Εκκλησιολογία και Παγκοσμιοποίηση: Οι Εκκλησίες στην Οικουμενική Πορεία για μια Εναλλακτική Παγκοσμιοποίηση στην Υπηρεσία των Ανθρώπων και της Γης [Ecclesiology and Globalization: Churches in the Ecumenical Process for an Alternative Globalization Addressing People and Earth (AGAPE)] (Thessaloniki: Pournaras, 2008). Tsompanidis, Stylianos. “Οικουμενική Διαδικασία της AGAPE (=Εναλλακτική Παγκοσμιοποίηση στην Υπηρεσία των Ανθρώπων και της Γης): Η Ορθόδοξη Προοπτική” [The Ecumenical Process of AGAPE (=Alternative Globalization Addressing People and Earth): An Orthodox Perspective], A Testimony to the Nations: A Vigintennial Volume Offered to the Ecumenical Patriarch Bartholomew (Thessaloniki: Aristotle University of Thessaloniki, School of Theology, 2011), pp. 905–23. Tsompanidis, Stylianos. “Από την Ελεημοσύνη στην Καταπολέμηση των Αιτιών της: Το Χρέος της Εκκλησίας Μπροστά στις Προκλήσεις της Οικονομικής Παγκοσμιοποίησης” [From Charity to Combatting Its Causes: The Duty of the Church in the Face of the Challenges of Economic Globalization], Theologia 83, no. 4 (2012): 71–80. Uertz, Rudolf. Vom Gottesrecht zum Menschenrecht: Das katholische Staatsdenken in Deutschland von der Französischen Revolution bis zum II Vatikanischen Konzil (1789– 1965) (Paderborn: Ferdinand Schöningh, 2005). Uspenskij, Boris A., and Victor M. Zhivov. Tsar and God and Other Essays in Russian Cultural Semiotics, translated by Marcus Levitt (Boston: Academic Studies Press, 2012). Uthemann, Karl-Heinz, and Alexander P. Kazhdan. “Theology.” In The Oxford Dictionary of Byzantium, edited by Alexander P. Kazhdan, Vol. 3 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1991), pp. 2057–60. Uzlaner, Dmitry. “The ‘Pussy Riot’ Case: Arguments, Rhetorical Strategies and the Peculiarities of Post-Secular Society in Russia,” Paper presented at the Conference on Orthodoxy and Human Rights, Catholic University of Leuven, Belgium, April 2013.

334

334

Bibliography

Vainovski-Mihai, Irina (ed.). Pentru o democrație a valorilor: Strategii de comunicare religioasă într-o societate pluralistă [For a Democracy of Values: Strategies for Religious Communication in a Pluralist Society], Conference proceedings (Bucharest: Ludwig Boltzmann, New Europe College, 2002). Valliere, Paul. “Introduction to the Modern Orthodox Tradition.” In The Teachings of Modern Orthodox Christianity on Law, Politics, and Human Nature, edited by John Witte Jr. and Frank S. Alexander (New York: Columbia University Press, 2007), pp. 1–32. Van Hecke, Steven, and Emmanuel Gerard (eds.). Christian Democratic Parties in Europe since the End of the Cold War (Leuven: Leuven University Press, 2004). Van Steenwyk, Mark. That Holy Anarchist: Reflections on Christianity and Anarchism (Minneapolis: Missio Dei, 2008). Varshavskii, Vladimir S. Незамеченное поколение [The Unnoticed Generation] (New York: Chekhov, 1956). Vassiliadis, Petros. Βιβλικές ερμηνευτικές μελέτες [Biblical Hermeneutical Studies] (Thessaloniki: Pournaras, 1988). Vassiliadis, Petros. Preface to “Παγκόσμια Οικονομία και η Χριστιανική Αντίδραση” [The World Economy and the Christian Reaction], Deltion Biblikon Meleton 27A (2009): 9–16. Vassiliadis, Petros. “Η βιβλική θεώρηση της οικονομίας” [A Biblical Approach to the Economy], Theologia 83, no. 2 (2012): 25–36. Vassiliadis, Petros. “The Responsibility of World Religions for Ecology, the World Economic System, and the International Law,” Paper presented at the Inter-faith Conference on “The Social Dimension of the Monotheistic Religions,” Istanbul, March 3–4, 2013, https://www.academia.edu/2952054/THE_RESPONSIBILITY_OF_ WORLD_RELIGIONS_FOR_ECOLOGY_THE_WORLD_ECONOMIC_SYSTEM_ AND_THE_INTERNATIONAL_LAW (accessed July 9, 2016). Vassiliadis, Petros, and Stylianos Tsompanidis. “Economia Mondiale—cambiamenti climatic—dibattito interreligioso: la testimonianza Christiana nell’ era della globalizzazione.” In La Testimonianza della Chiesa nel mondo contemporaneo, Atti del XII Simposio intercristiano Tessalonica, 30 agosto–2 settembre 2011 (Padova: San Leopoldo, 2013), pp. 63–86. Vattimo, Gianni. After Christianity, translated by L. D’Isanto (New York: Columbia University Press, 2002). Vattimo, Gianni. Nihilism and Emancipation: Ethics, Politics, and Law (New York: Columbia University Press, 2004). Vattimo, Gianni. “A Prayer for Silence.” In After the Death of God, edited by John D. Caputo and Gianni Vattimo (New York: Columbia University Press, 2007), pp. 89–113. Velimirović, Nikolaj. “Изнад Истока и Запада” [Beyond East and West]. Сабрана дела [Collected Works], Vol. 5 (Himmelsthür: Diocese of Western Europe of the Serbian Orthodox Church, 1977), pp. 794–810. Veniamin (Novik). Православие, Христианство, Демократия: Сборник статей [Orthodoxy, Christianity, Democracy: A Collection of Articles] (St. Petersburg: Aleteiia, 1999). Ventura, Marco. “Law and Religion Issues in Strasbourg and Luxembourg: The Virtues of European Courts,” European University Institute, ReligioWest Kick-Off Meeting Conference Paper; Robert Schuman Centre for Advanced Studies, November 2011, http://www.eui.eu/Projects/ReligioWest/Documents/events/conferencePapers/ Ventura.pdf (accessed July 13, 2016).

335

Bibliography

335

Vletsis, Athanasios. „Die letzte Bastion einer byzantinischen Symphonie? Die Deklaration der Russisch Orthodoxen Kirche zu Menschenrechten (2008) als Ausdruck einer vormodernen Kirche-Staat Beziehung,” Ökumenische Rundschau 59, no. 3 (2010): 346–62. Voegelin, Eric. Die politischen Religionen (Stockholm: Bermann-Fischer Verlag, 1939). Volf, Miroslav. After Our Likeness. The Church as the Image of the Trinity (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1998). Vries, Hent de, and Lawrence E. Sullivan (eds.). Political Theologies: Public Religions in a Post-Secular World (New York: Fordham University Press, 2006). Vryonis, Speros, Jr. “The Patriarchate of Constantinople and the State.” In Orthodoxy and Western Culture: A Collection of Essays Honoring Jaroslav Pelikan on His Eightieth Birthday, edited by Valerie Hotchkiss and Patrick Henry (Crestwood, NY: St. Vladimir’s Seminary Press, 2005), pp. 109–23. Vysheslavtsev, Boris. Этика Преображенного Эроса [The Ethic of the Transfigured Eros] (Moscow : Respublika, 1994). Wacker, Bernd, and Jürgen Manemann. “ ‘Politische Theologie’: Eine Skizze zur Geschichte und aktuellen Diskussion des Begriffs,” Jahrbuch Politische Theologie 5 (2008): 28–65. Wagner, Peter. “Modernity: History of the Concept.” In International Encyclopedia of the Social and Behavioural Sciences, edited by J. Smelser Neil and Paul B. Baltes (Amsterdam: Elsevier, 2001), pp. 9949–54. Wagner, Peter. Theorizing Modernity: Inescapability and Attainability in Social Theory (London: Sage, 2001). Walzer, Michael. Interpretation and Social Criticism (Harvard: Harvard University Press, 1987). Wannenwetsch, Bernd. “Liturgy.” In The Blackwell Companion to Political Theology, edited by Peter Scott and William T. Cavanaugh (Oxford: Blackwell, 2004), pp. 76–90. Ward, Graham. “Intercultural Theology and Political Discipleship.” In Intercultural Theology: Approaches and Themes, edited by Mark J. Cartledge and David Cheetham (London: SCM Press, 2011), pp. 29–42. Ware, Kallistos. “Sobornost and Eucharistic Ecclesiology: Aleksei Khomiakov and His Successors,” International Journal for the Study of the Christian Church 203, no. 11 (2011): 216–35. Wasmuth, Jennifer. “Russian Orthodoxy between State and Nation.” In Eastern Orthodox Encounters of Identity and Otherness: Values, Self-Reflection, Dialogue, edited by Andrii Krawchuk and Thomas Bremer (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2014), pp. 17–27. Weed, Ronald, and John von Heyking (eds.). Civil Religion in Political Thought: Its Perennial Questions and Enduring Relevance in North America (Washington, DC: Catholic University of America Press, 2010). Willert, Trine Stauning. New Voices in Greek Orthodox Thought: Untying the Bond between Nation and Religion (Farnham: Ashgate, 2014). Williams, Rowan. Christ on Trial: How the Gospel Unsettles Our Judgment (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2000). Witte, John, Jr., and Frank S. Alexander (eds.). The Teachings of Modern Orthodox Christianity on Law, Politics, and Human Nature (New York: Columbia University Press, 2007). Wolterstorff, Nicholas. “An Engagement with Rorty,” Journal of Religious Ethics 31, no. 1 (2003): 129–39. Yannaras, Christos. Κεφάλαια πολιτικῆς θεολογίας [Chapters on Political Theology] (Athens: Grigoris, 1983).

336

336

Bibliography

Yannaras, Christos. “A Note on Political Theology,” St. Vladimir’s Theological Quarterly 27 (1983): 53–56. Yannaras, Christos. The Freedom of Morality, translated by Elizabeth Briere (Crestwood, NY: St. Vladimir’s Seminary Press, 1984). Yannaras, Christos. “Apophatik und politisches Handeln.” In Gottes Zukunft—Zukunft der Welt, Festschrift Jürgen Moltmann, edited by Hermann Deuser, Gerhard Marcel Martin, Konrad Stock, and Michael Welker (Munich: Kaiser, 1986), pp. 374–79. Yannaras, Christos. The Elements of Faith: An Introduction to Orthodox Theology (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1991). Yannaras, Christos. Προτάσεις Κριτικής Οντολογίας [Proposals for a Critical Ontology] (Athens: Domos, 1995). Yannaras, Christos. Η Απανθρωπιά του Διακιώματος [The Inhumanity of the Right] (Athens: Domos, 1998). Yannaras, Christos. “Εις Μικρόν Γενναίοι”—Οδηγίες Χρήσεως [“Generous in Little”: A User’s Guide] (Athens: Patakis, 2003). Yannaras, Christos. “Human Rights and the Orthodox Church.” In The Orthodox Churches in a Pluralistic World: An Ecumenical Conversation, edited by E. Clapsis (Geneva: WCC, 2004), pp. 83–89. Yannaras, Christos. Postmodern Metaphysics, translated by N. Russell (Brookline, MA: Holy Cross Orthodox Press, 2004). Yannaras, Christos. Orthodoxy and the West, translated by P. Chamberas and N. Russell (Brookline, MA: Holy Cross Orthodox Press, 2007). Yannaras, Christos. Person and Eros, translated by Norman Russell (Brookline, MA: Holy Cross Orthodox Press, 2008). Yannaras, Christos. Relational Ontology, translated by Norman Russell (Brookline, MA: Holy Cross Orthodox Press, 2011). Yannoulatos, Anastasios. Facing the World: Orthodox Christian Essays on Global Concerns, translated by Pavlos Gottfried (Geneva: WCC, 2003). Zabolotskii, N. A. “Русская Православная Церковь в новых социальных условиях” [The Russian Orthodox Church in New Social conditions], Zhurnal Moskovskoi Patriarkhii 7 (1967): 33–38. Zizioulas, John. “The Development of Conciliar Structures to the Time of the First Ecumenical Council.” Councils and the Ecumenical Movement, WCC Studies 5 (Geneva: WCC, 1968), pp. 34–41. Zizioulas, John. “Ordination—A Sacrament? An Orthodox Reply,” Concilium 4 (1972): 33–39. Zizioulas, John. “The Ecclesiology of the Orthodox Tradition,” Search 7 (1984): 42–53. Zizioulas, John. “The Nature of the Unity We Seek: The Response of the Orthodox Observer,” One in Christ 24 (1988): 342–48. Zizioulas, John. “The Church as Communion,” St. Vladimir’s Theological Quarterly 38 (1994): 7–19. Zizioulas, John. “Communion and Otherness,” Sobornost 16 (1994): 3–16. Zizioulas, John. “Το Δίκαιον του Προσώπου” [The Right of the Person], Πρακτικά Ακαδημίας Αθηνών 72, B (1997): 585–602. Zizioulas, John. Being as Communion: Studies in Personhood and the Church (Crestwood, NY: St. Vladimir’s Seminary Press, 1997). Zizioulas, John. “Primacy in the Church: An Orthodox Approach.” In Petrine Ministry and the Unity of the Church: Toward a Patient and Fraternal Dialogue, edited by James F. Puglisi, SA (Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 1999), pp. 115–25.

337

Bibliography

337

Zizioulas, John. Eucharist, Bishop, Church: The Unity of the Church in the Divine Eucharist and the Bishop during the First Three Centuries (Brookline, MA: Holy Cross, 2001). Zizioulas, John. Communion and Otherness: Further Studies in Personhood and the Church (London: T&T Clark, 2006). Zizioulas, John. The One and the Many: Studies on God, Man, the Church, and the World Today, edited by Fr. Gregory Edwards (Los Angeles: Sebastian Press, 2010). Zizioulas, John. “Εκκλησία και Έσχατα” [The Church and the Eschaton]. In Εκκλησία και Εσχατολογία [The Church and Eschatology], edited by Pantelis Kalaitzidis (Volos: Ekdotiki Demetriados, 2014). Zoja, Luigi. La morte del prossimo (Torino: Giulio Einaudi Editore, 2009). Zolo, Danilo. Democracy and Complexity: A Realistic Approach (University Park: Pennsylvania State University Press, 1992). Zouraris, Kostas G. Εἰσαγωγὴ στὴν ἀπογείωση τῆς πολιτικῆς: Τὸ σὸν πολίτευμα Ἰορδάνου τοῦ νεομάρτυρος καὶ Ἁγίου Γρηγορίου τοῦ Παλαμᾶ [An Introduction to the Launch of Politics: The Constitution of Jordan the New-Martyr and St. Gregory Palamas] (Athens: Armos, 2001). Zouraris, Kostas G. Φιλοκαλοῦμεν μετ’ ἀνταρσίας: Προπονητικὴ γιὰ τὸ πολίτευμα τῆς ὑπεραναρχίας [We Philokalize in Rebellion: An Exercise in the Political System of Ultra-Anarchy] (Athens: Armos, 2010). Zouraris, Kostas G. Ἑλληνικὴ Δημοκρατία [Hellenic Democracy] (Athens: Armos, 2012). Zulehner, Paul M., Miklós Tomka, and Inna Naletova. Religionen und Kirchen in Ost(Mittel)Europa: Entwicklungen seit der Wende (Ostfildern: Schwabenverlag, 2008).

338

LIST OF CONTRIBUTORS Ingeborg Gabriel is professor of social ethics at the Faculty of Catholic Theology, University of Vienna. Aristotle Papanikolaou is professor of theology, holder of the Archbishop Demetrios Chair in Orthodox Theology and Culture, and codirector of the Orthodox Christian Studies Center, Fordham University. Kristina Stoeckl is assistant professor and principal investigator of the project Postsecular Conflicts at the Department of Sociology, University of Innsbruck. Vasilios N. Makrides is professor of religious studies (specializing in Orthodox Christianity) at the Faculty of Philosophy, University of Erfurt. Effie Fokas is principal investigator of the project Directions in Religious Pluralism in Europe:  Examining Grassroots Mobilisations in Europe in the Shadow of European Court of Human Rights Religious Freedoms Jurisprudence at the Hellenic Foundation for European and Foreign Policy, Athens. Athanasios N. Papathanasiou is lecturer at the Hellenic Open University (Athens) and editor in chief of the journal Synaxis. Davor Džalto is associate professor of art history and religious studies at the American University of Rome, and president of the Institute for the Study of Culture and Christianity. His fields of professional interest include Orthodox political theology and aesthetics, religious philosophy, and history and theory of modern and contemporary art. Andrey Shishkov is director of the Center for Studies on Ecclesiology and Political Theology of the St. Cyril and Methodius Post-Graduate Institute of the Russian Orthodox Church (ROC), and secretary of the Synodal Biblical and Theological Commission of the ROC. Brandon Gallaher is lecturer of systematic and comparative theology at the Department of Theology and Religion, University of Exeter. Pantelis Kalaitzidis is the director of the Volos Theological Academy, research fellow at KU Leuven, and visiting professor of systematic theology at St. Sergius Institute of Orthodox Theology, Paris.

339

List of Contributors

339

Alexander Kyrlezhev is a research fellow of the St. Cyril and Methodius PostGraduate Institute of the ROC and member of the Synodal Biblical and Theological Commission of the ROC. Bogdan Lubardić is assistant professor of philosophy at the Faculty of Orthodox Theology, Belgrade University. Konstantin Delikostantis is professor of philosophy and systematic theology at the Faculty of Theology, University of Athens. Cyril Hovorun is a senior lecturer at Sankt Ignatios Academy/Stockholm School of Theology. He is also a research fellow at Loyola Marymount University, Los Angeles, and an international fellow at Chester Ronning Centre for the Study of Religion and Public Life, University of Alberta. Elena Namli is professor of ethics at the Faculty of Theology and codirector at the Uppsala Centre for Russian and Eurasian Studies, both at Uppsala University. Radu Preda holds the chair of social ethics at the Faculty of Orthodox Theology, Cluj-Napoca. He is the executive president of the Institute for the Investigation of Communist Crimes and the Memory of Romanian Exile. Mariyan Stoyadinov is associate professor of Orthodox theology at the Faculty of Orthodox Theology and program coordinator of Orthodox Theology and Art, St. Cyril and St. Methodius University, Veliko Tarnovo.

340

341

INDEX Adorno, Theodor 41, 319 Afanasiev, Nicolas 190, 191, 194–7, 199–200, 202, 204 Agamben, Giorgio 41 Agourides, Savas 156, 164 Alevism 20 alter Christus 198, 201 Ambrosius of Milan 31, 60, 117 American Revolution 64, 74 anarchism 41, 117–18, 122, 129–32. See also eschatological anarchism; sacred anarchy Anastasios I, 31 Anastasios, Archbishop of Albania 249 Ankersmit, Franklin R. 203, 204 anthropology 9, 104, 108, 111, 114, 125, 128–30, 132–3, 229, 240, 244, 250 Antichrist 58, 117, 182, 186 anti-modernism 138, 176–8, 186–7 antisemitism 107 apophatic, apophatic tradition 22, 34, 38, 47, 130 apostasy, apostatic 5, 23–4, 74, 101, 183–5, 211 Apostolic Canons 105, 294 Aristotle, 11 Aron, Raymond, 254 ascetic ascetical, the 239–40, 242 asceticism 217, 239–40 ascetic(s), the 118 elements 201–2 ethos 167, 177 practices 34, 275 prayer 219 process 149 spirit 145 atheism 43, 67, 142, 147, 210, 285 atheist, the 79, 83, 176, 233 atheist: humanism 184 militant 220 movement 109

“Orthodox” 142 secularization 185 state 257, 287 totalitarian communism 292, 294 Augustine of Hippo 30, 35–7, 40, 62, 107, 136, 239 authority 98, 122, 131, 140, 144, 160–9, 238, 260, 270, 293 of Christ 57–8 Church 106, 142, 146, 174 ecclesial 146 imperial 36, 43, 117 political 26, 56–60, 65, 182, 260, 271 public 65, 82, 92 sacred 31 spiritual 283, 287 state 274, 285 supreme 56, 271 autocracy 43, 70, 74, 112–13, 117–18, 121, 237 autonomy 9, 31, 32, 142, 243–5, 248–50, 303 functional 168 religious 87, 90, 102 Bacon, Francis 259, 260 Balkans, the 9, 33, 42, 138, 154, 224, 253, 256, 258–60, 289, 299–301, 303 baptism 19, 143, 154, 198, 200, 237, 238, 257 Bart, Karl 152, 268 Bartholomew I, Ecumenical Patriarch 152, 157, 158, 174 Bellah, Robert N. 255–6, 260, 261 Benjamin, Walter 41 Berdyaev, Nikolai A. 44, 108, 118, 130, 161–2, 266, 279 bishop(s), the 37, 63, 71, 105, 116, 145, 165, 175–7, 191, 194–9, 237–8, 291, 294–5 Assembly of Canonical Orthodox Bishops in the United States 236 Bishops’ Council of the Russian Orthodox Church 266–8. See also episcopate

342

342

Index

Böckenförde, Ernst-Wolfgang 63, 73, 283, 285, 286, 296 Body of Christ 142, 146, 154, 162, 165, 189–91, 193–4, 197, 200, 217, 235, 239, 257 Boff, Leonardo 159 Bolshevik Revolution 155, 156, 304. See also October Revolution; Russian Revolution Bonhoeffer, Dietrich 146, 147, 149, 152, 268 Bulgakov, Sergei 3, 4, 44, 51, 113, 155, 160, 190, 266, 276, 279, 282 Bulgaria 10, 48, 75, 80, 86, 90, 91, 118, 260, 299–309 bureaucracy 63, 97, 120, 217 Byzantine Empire 30, 42, 100, 112, 117, 127, 153, 247. See also Byzantium Byzantium 26–31, 34, 48, 49, 63, 72, 105, 117, 140, 152, 154, 247, 271. See also Byzantine Empire Caesaropapism 3, 29, 49, 247 capitalism 16, 73, 100–4, 107, 109, 158, 172, 216, 305 Cappadocian Church Fathers 34 Casesar, the 56, 59, 61, 63, 68, 123, 126–7, 132, 162, 165, 168, 177, 182. See also emperor Catholic Church. See Roman Catholic Church Catholicism 34, 38–41, 92, 121, 214, 270, 279, 289. See also Roman Catholic Church catholicity 151, 154, 166, 168, 195, 200, 212, 215, 217 Chomsky Noam 131 Christian humanism 278, 279 christology 159, 191, 208, 224, 271 Church Fathers 34, 70, 105, 154, 157, 172–3, 178, 190, 211, 220–1, 278 Church of Bessarabia 84, 85 Bulgarian Orthodox 10, 299, 304–6 Catholic. See Roman Catholic Church of Cyprus 47 Greek Orthodox 8, 50, 51, 86, 135, 157, 171, 173, 176, 257 Lutheran 271, 273, 289

Protestant 32, 39, 60, 185, 193, 269, 280 Romanian Orthodox 10, 283, 291, 294, 295 Russian Orthodox Church in Exile 186 Russian Orthodox 8, 10, 19, 21, 23–4, 37, 43–8, 52, 54, 142, 186–7, 212, 258, 265–82 Serbian Orthodox 8, 207, 210, 224 Ukrainian Autocephalous Orthodox Church 259 Ukrainian Orthodox Church of the Moscow Patriarchate 259 Ukrainian Orthodox Church of the Patriarchate of Kiev 259 church-state relations 9, 25, 28, 32, 40, 75, 122, 162, 192, 218, 225, 231, 248, 272, 296, 305 in the ECtHR 78, 82, 88, 90–2 symphonic model of 118 civil disobedience 107 civil religion 9, 24, 26, 133, 253–62 clericalism 217, 237 collectivism 101, 202, 223 colonialism 274, 280. See also postcolonialism common good 58, 60, 71, 73, 74, 110, 137, 141, 149, 159, 175, 216, 270, 293, 296 Communism 43, 118, 155, 216, 219, 223, 225, 254, 285, 288–90 anticommunism 155 atheist totalitarian 292–4 Christian 41 Communist Party 257, 305 fall of 1, 2, 27, 44–5, 73, 113, 287, 288, 293 modernity of 300 post-Communism vii, 10, 49, 283, 287, 289, 290, 293, 307 religious 118, 130 community 4, 45, 58, 81, 128, 137, 198, 235, 238, 250, 255, 276, 289, 295 baptismal 154 Christian 7, 55, 109, 149, 182 Church 7, 102–3, 106, 108, 185, 192, 194–5, 202 early Christian 163, 165 ecclesial 187, 240, 249 eschatological 119 international 55

343

Index interpretative 256 human 169, 181 national 271 Orthodox 269–70 political 4, 6, 55, 120, 128, 182, 184, 185, 254, 260, 275 tripersonal 160. See also Eucharistic community confession 17, 22, 76, 108, 109, 149, 165, 172, 225, 269, 284, 296 confessionalization 39 Constantine I, 30, 46, 115, 116, 120, 182, 183 Constantinian era 62, 68, 170 post-Constantinian 116 pre-Constantinian 108, 182, 183 Constantinople 28, 48, 191, 303, 304 contextual theology 8, 135, 154 conversion 20, 21, 102, 182 corporate personality 197, 198, 201 Cortés, Donoso 39, 40, 51 Council of Constantinople 304 Council of Europe 79, 80, 91 council 27, 195, 238, 239, 257, 293–5, 304 bishops 198, 237, 238, 266–8 Ecumenical 34, 140, 220, 258 First Ecumenical 198, 238 Fourth Ecumenical 105, 151, 161 Pan-Orthodox 152, 236, 307 World Council of Churches, 191. See also Vatican II (Second Vatican Council) creationism 225 crisis 9, 47, 81, 84, 89, 97, 193, 211, 250, 306, 308 financial 173 ecological 139, 160 economic 8, 97, 135, 151, 152, 170–7 Crusades, the 107 Cyprus 46, 47, 90 Damaskinos, Archbishop of Greece 46 de Maistre, Joseph 39 Democracy Christian 41, 158, 284 direct 105 liberal 2, 8, 135, 138, 146, 147, 149, 159, 186, 193, 194, 201, 202, 204, 235, 285

343

representative 137, 261 Russian 233 denomination 87, 114, 187, 284, 287–9 desacralization, 58, 60, 64 diakonia 145, 161, 165, 166, 169 diaspora 5, 43, 113, 152, 158, 185, 190, 242, 246 dictatorship 83, 121, 158, 193, 253, 262, 288, 290, 305, 306 Dignitatis Humanae (encyclical) 69 diocese 196, 210, 258, 295, 304 discrimination 62, 68, 75, 78, 80, 82, 84, 85, 87, 88, 91, 92, 152, 158, 275 divine economy 197 divine plan 21, 22, 24 dogma, the 122, 132, 140, 159–60, 225, 285 Dostoevsky, Fyodor 161, 199, 211–14, 224, 256, 257, 281, 282 Early Christianity/Church 5, 26, 28, 51, 61, 62, 99, 129, 163, 165, 183, 196, 242 ecclesia extra ecclesiam 182, 184 ecclesiology 9, 42, 43, 119, 125, 140, 165, 174, 184. See also Eucharistic ecclesiology; public ecclesiology ecology 22, 73, 114, 158 Ecumenical Council see Council ecumenicity 102, 215 ecumenism 207, 209, 213–15, 219 education 35, 63, 66, 73, 74, 84, 131, 168, 212, 221, 225, 226, 284, 307 and national identity 86, 272 religious 71, 86, 93, 234, 292 right to 82–3 Saint Savian philosophy of 216–18 theological 225, 276, 306 egoism 97–9, 127, 138, 144 eirinology 306 emperor, the 28–31, 46, 49, 60, 62, 105, 112, 115–17, 127, 145, 165, 182, 183, 247, 248. See also Caesar, the Engels, Friedrich 66, 110, 219, 257 Enlightenment 4, 5, 66, 68, 137, 154, 167, 221, 224, 226, 243–50, 259, 299, 300–6 episcopate 112, 198, 273. See also bishop, the eschatological anarchism 135–49

344

344

Index

eschatological community 119, 181, 197 eschatology 33, 60, 74, 119–20, 126–8, 130, 133, 151, 154–7, 165–7, 175, 177–8, 197, 233, 239, 247, 267–8, 277–9, 309 Christian 30, 49, 268, 277, 279 de-eschatologization 119–20, 122, 127 historicized 98 political 42 presentist 61 eschaton, the 106, 119, 125, 127, 145–6, 162–6 ethics 7, 11, 40, 73, 87, 98, 102, 106, 141, 147, 176–7, 243–5, 261, 268, 273–82, 288 Christian 6, 70, 71, 103, 167, 185, 241, 268, 277 political 6, 71, 279 religious 231, 270 ethno-religious nationalism 42 Eucharist, the 59, 105, 119, 138, 142, 144, 149, 152, 156, 164–6, 189–205, 231, 235, 237–40 Eucharistic assembly 191, 192, 194, 196, 197, 202, 203, 237–9 Eucharistic community 8, 49, 139, 192–4, 199, 200, 204 Eucharistic Ecclesiology 8, 189–205, 237–9 European Convention of Human Rights (ECHR) 76, 80 European Court of Human Rights (ECtHR) 76, 78–80 European Union (EU) 1, 5, 50, 75, 77, 80, 174, 234, 302 Eusebius of Caesarea 30, 36, 46, 49, 115, 275 Evangelicals 20, 234, 235 Evdokimov, Paul 51 evil 3, 53, 72, 115, 124–5, 127, 130, 147, 163, 166, 176–8, 208, 215, 226, 248 institutional 144, 169 “lesser” 33 Feast of Triumph of Orthodoxy 183 Feuerbach, Ludwig 210 Florovsky, Georges 99, 135, 139, 155, 278 freedom of conscience, 20, 21, 24, 64, 121, 225, 234, 237, 266, 267, 272 Freedom human 21, 35, 114, 128, 132, 133, 169, 249, 251

religious 4, 6, 7, 18, 20, 21, 23, 24, 38, 64, 67–70, 74–93, 142, 168, 232, 287, 289. See also liberty French Revolution 38, 41, 53, 64, 74 fundamentalism 5, 20, 138, 139, 218, 220, 248, 249, 283 Fyodorov, Nikolai, 159 Gaudium et Spes (encyclical), 72 Gelasius I, 31 gender 51, 75, 176 geopolitics 11, 51, 171, 209, 224, 233, 234, 300, 307 Georges, (Khodr) Metropolitan of Mount Lebanon 156 German Democratic Republic 285 Germany 41, 50, 71, 193, 254, 258, 268, 274, 305 globalization 4, 47, 50, 102, 114, 154, 156, 173, 174, 176, 248 God-man, god-humanhood 147, 208, 209, 211–18, 222, 225, 226 Gospel, the 7, 10, 38, 55–9, 68, 74, 98–102, 106–9, 124, 130, 132, 136, 139, 141, 143, 146, 149, 154, 157, 175, 178, 185, 221, 271, 309 Greece 8, 20, 42–3, 46, 47, 50, 75, 80–1, 83, 84, 88, 90–2, 138–9, 141, 151–78, 207, 233, 235, 241–2, 260, 299, 303 Gregory Nazianzus 161 Gregory Palamas 48, 50 Habermas, Jürgen 1, 6, 16, 17, 23, 41, 64, 104, 143, 167, 193, 283, 286, 299, 300 Hauerwas, Stanley 46, 98, 109, 235, 241 Hegel, Georg W. H. 40, 66, 219, 260 heresy 139, 172, 262 panheresy 214 heretic(s), the 70, 107, 136 Hesychasm movement 48 political 48, 49 Hilarion, (Alfeyev) Metropolitan of Volokolamsk 267, 279 history of salvation 183 Hobbes, Thomas 40, 64 Holy and Great Synod of the Orthodox Church. See under synod

345

Index homosexuality 9, 229, 236; and marriage 9, 229, 234–6, 240 human dignity 64, 65, 69, 70, 74, 130, 133, 144, 160, 268, 284, 292 human rights 4, 9, 42, 64, 67, 69, 70, 71, 73–4, 76, 78–80, 85, 87, 102, 121, 136–8, 142, 159, 168, 175, 229, 233, 235, 240, 243–5, 248–51, 268, 274, 276, 284, 288, 289 hymnography 108, 135 hypostasis 125, 126, 164, 200, 201, 212 icon, the 51, 90, 119, 144, 165 of God 166, 197 of the Kingdom of God 119, 125, 144, 163, 309 of the Pentecost 106 identity 44, 60, 83, 101, 103, 137, 177, 214–5, 260, 281, 284, 290, 300 cards numbers 217 of the Church 60, 76, 163–6, 220, 307 of Christ 159 Christian 100, 154, 212 crisis 97 cultural 19, 154, 162, 175, 246, 269, 272 eschatological 145 ethnic 142, 168 Eucharistic 178 Greek 139 national 85–6, 90, 92, 233, 235, 259, 299 Orthodox 19, 248, 261 politics 221 religious 19, 92, 233–4 Russian 266–7, 274–5 immigration 1, 78, 176, 221, 314 imperialism 112, 257 imperium 28, 29, 40, 63, 116, 123 incarnation 55, 60, 102, 124, 146, 149, 151, 159, 160, 161, 178, 300 individualism 17, 102–3, 137–8, 178, 197, 212, 216, 244, 250, 281 Investiture Controversy 31 Isaac of Syria 211 Islam 18, 20, 25, 52, 79, 80, 88, 92, 153, 193, 221, 240. See also Muslim Israel 56, 62, 109, 117, 126, 223 Joas, Hans 235 John (the evangelist) 7, 55, 56, 58, 181

345

John Chrysostom 53, 71, 100, 106 Judaism, jewish 17, 41, 56–8, 102, 126, 153 Justinian I, 28, 29, 62, 116 Kalaitzidis, Pantelis 8, 10, 24, 27, 42, 49, 106, 111–13, 135, 136, 138–46, 151–87, 245, 247 Kant, Immanuel 64, 106, 243 kenosis, kenotic 108, 143, 146–9, 160, 177, 213 kerygma 216 kingdom of God, the 61, 74, 105, 117, 119–20, 123–30, 132–3, 144, 157, 162–4, 267–8, 277 kingship 56–8, 105, 163 Kingdom of Yugoslavia 218 Kirill, Patriarch of Moscow and All Russia 19 Kondylis, Panajotis 50, 171 laity 187, 196, 217, 237, 238, 273, 293, 295, 306 Latin America 38, 39 Law canon 35, 37, 47, 145 natural 270, 271, 279, 280 Roman 35, 62, 105 Lenin, Vladimir 66, 257 Leninism 257 liberalism 20, 45, 121, 140, 193, 202, 220, 262, 275, 280, 281, 304 democratic 235–7, 240 economic 73 neoliberalism, neoliberal 97, 103, 128, 129, 156, 173, 174. See also democracy political 4, 6, 64, 65, 68, 70, 73, 103, 176, 236 Liberation theology 8, 38, 112, 135, 144, 145, 152, 154, 155, 158 liberty 18, 20, 21, 23, 30, 88, 121, 192, 232, 291 liturgy, the 119, 125, 135, 145, 152, 166, 192 Locke, John 53, 64, 260 Macarius of Egypt 211 magisterium 196, 257 Makarios III, Archbishop of Cyprus 46 Manichaeism 123, 161, 262 Marcus Terentius Varro 36

346

346

Index

Marcus Tullius Cicero 70, 71 Martyr Acts 108 martyrdom, martyr 50, 58, 62, 68, 102, 108, 109, 129, 256 Marx, Karl 23, 66, 219, 257 Marxism, marxist 38, 39, 47, 50, 51, 68, 104, 136, 158, 219, 257, 266, 276, 304 Maximus Confessor 163 Messiah 70, 126 metanoia 99, 208 Metz, Johann Baptist 39, 112, 152 Meyendorff John 163 Middle Ages, the 19, 32, 35, 37, 48, 72, 190 Middle East 138, 308 migration 1, 4 Milbank John 46, 141, 189, 235 Millet system 33, 153, 154 ministry 165, 170, 172, 195, 196, 198, 199, 238 minority, minorities 25, 76, 78–80, 82, 86, 90, 91, 146, 173, 174, 176, 283 religious 64, 75, 83, 84 Mirari Vos (encyclical) 121 modernity, modernization 3–10, 13, 15–24, 27 political vii, 1, 2, 4, 5, 7, 18, 24, 45, 55 Postmodernity 36, 50, 103, 133, 137, 169, 178, 187, 230, 302, 303, 307 Moltmann, Jürgen 40, 47, 152, 167, 244 monarchy 30, 36, 43, 105, 113, 117, 118, 121, 129, 256, 300, 301, 304, 305 monasticism 7, 68, 117, 118, 135, 145, 157 Morality law and 17, 42 moral voice 10, 265 public (social) 23, 235–7, 241, 242, 272, 276, 277, 279 private (personal, individual) 22, 265, 266, 268, 273–5, 278, 285 profane, anthropocentric 17, 18, 21–4 religious (Orthodox) 23, 24, 154, 177, 233, 237, 240, 241, 242, 249, 261 Moscow 19, 43, 258 Moscow as “Third Rome” 49, 256 Mount Athos 145, 299 multiculturalism 45, 158, 176, 221 Muslim 79, 93, 154, 193, 289. See also Islam mysticism 34, 46, 112

National Salvation Front (FSN) 290 National Socialism 41, 140, 254, 268 Nazi regimes 274, 305 nationalism 9, 42–3, 112–13, 121, 129, 142, 154–5, 158, 168, 176–7, 215, 223–4, 249, 253, 259–61, 269, 274, 276, 281, 301 nation-state 29, 38, 39, 42 Neagoe Basarab 33, 48 neo-patristic synthesis 135, 139, 159, 216 Neoplatonism 124 New Testament 6, 55, 56, 62, 119, 122, 124, 160, 162, 277 Nietzsche, Friedrich 23, 58 nihilism 210, 256, 274, 280 Nissiotis, Nikos 105, 140, 156, 247 nomos, 51 Nongovernmental Organizations (NGOs) 72, 75, 88, 140 norm, the 7, 20–4, 70, 75–93, 118, 217, 230, 248, 254, 265, 268, 273,276–82 obedience 58, 169, 260 October Revolution 54, 186, 257, 272. See also Bolshevik Revolution; Russian Revolution Old Testament 55, 56, 62, 117, 166, 197, 257, 277 ontology 114, 128–30, 138, 160, 211 Orthodox Churches. See Church Ottoman Empire, Ottoman rule 20, 33, 153, 154, 177, 299, 302–4, 306 paganism 62, 102, 183, 225 pan-Slavism 223 Papaderos, Alexandros 73, 157, 248 papal supremacy 31 Papanikolaou, Aristotle ii–v, 1–11, 21, 24, 28, 46, 80, 105, 113, 136, 139, 149, 159, 161, 185–6, 191–2, 201–2, 229–42, 275 Papathanasiou, Athanasios N 7, 24, 97–110, 152, 157, 172–3 parish 196, 246, 287, 293, 294 Parousia 61 Patriarch, the 10, 19, 49, 152, 157, 158, 174, 247, 265, 288, 290, 306. See also Bartholomew I; Ecumenical Patriarch; Kirill, Patriarch of Moscow and All Russia

347

Index Patriarchate of Bucharest 85 of Constantinople 29, 33, 49, 116, 139, 160, 304 of Kiev 259 of Moscow 20, 48, 85, 236, 259, 266, 268, 273 of Sofia 306 patriotism 261, 262, 269, 274 ecclesial, 217 patristics 5, 10–01, 15–8, 29–30, 42, 53, 135, 151, 155, 170, 173–4, 215 Paul (the apostle) 101, 107, 126, 184, 189, 194, 197 Pelikan, Jaroslav 29, 116, 255, 256 Perestroika 187, 306 persecution 10, 34, 43, 62, 67, 68, 73, 115, 155 personhood 102, 119, 142, 159, 160, 190, 197, 201, 211, 212, 213, 216, 217, 225, 237 Peterson, Erik 40 Philosophy politica, 18, 26, 40, 45, 51, 56, 99, 112, 129, 131, 203, 230–1 Scholastic 40 Photius 34, 49 Political Photianism 49 Pieper, Josef 223 plutocracy 121 Poland 80, 231, 234, 285, 288, 289, 306 polis 48, 138, 181–5, 216, 293 political liberalism. See liberalism political messianism 304 Pope Benedict xvi, 41 Pope Francis 145 Pope Gregory xvi, 37, 121 Pope John Paul II, 288 Pope Leo xiii, 270 Popović, Justin 8, 24, 118, 119, 207–26 postcolonialism 136, 280. See also colonialism post-communist era. See under Communism Postmodernity. See under modernity post-Soviet era 8, 44, 181, 186 poverty 73, 158, 172, 173, 177, 178 presider 190, 191, 194–7, 199, 202

347

privatization of religion 8, 142, 170, 192, 200, 229, 245 propaganda 9, 99, 155, 187, 204, 229, 234, 235, 241, 262, 287 proselytism, proselytization 21, 80, 83, 92 Protestantism 5, 20, 34, 39, 40, 214, 225, 255 Protestant Church. See under Church public: the 229, 230, 234 ecclesiology 9, 229, 231, 234, 242 norm, 23 space 86, 104, 169, 204, 225, 230, 231, 232, 234, 235, 240, 241, 250 sphere 49, 64, 79, 87–8, 91, 103, 129, 141–3, 152, 167–8, 170, 172, 189, 192, 230, 241, 273, 285 Ramsey, Michael 148 Rawls, John 103, 104, 142, 167, 230, 235, 236, 321 Reformation, 16, 32, 39, 107, 141 relativism 5, 210, 222, 280, 282 religio licita 3 religious pluralism 1, 3, 17, 78, 79, 289 resurrection 108–10, 124, 145, 164, 165, 208, 212, 213 revelation 2, 11, 34, 35, 59, 147, 248, 257, 270, 288 revolution. See American Revolution; French Revolution; Russian Revolution; October Revolution; Bolshevik Revolution Roman Catholic Church 5, 7, 32, 34, 41, 46, 53, 55, 69, 72, 87, 92, 159, 191, 193, 225, 234, 240, 242, 269–70, 273, 284, 288 Roman Empire 28, 30, 62, 68, 115–16, 122, 123 Romania 48, 75, 85, 86, 89–91, 260, 283–97, 303 Romanian Orthodox Church. See Church Romanides, John S 48, 136 romanticism 66, 118, 300 Rousseau, Jean-Jacques 254, 255, 260, 261 Russia 19–21, 42–5, 49, 52, 54, 75, 80, 85, 86, 117–18, 135, 142, 155, 159, 162, 184, 186–7, 190–1, 207, 209, 212–13, 223–4, 233–5, 241, 242, 253, 256–62, 265–82, 285, 302–5

348

348

Index

Russia, Tsarist (Empire) 29, 42, 43, 54, 265 Russian Federation 20, 44, 90, 266, 267, 273, 274 Russian Orthodox Church in Exile. See Church Russian Orthodox Church. See Church Russian Revolution 113, 266. See also October Revolution; Bolshevik Revolution sacerdotium 28, 29, 63 sacrament 59, 105, 144, 149, 157, 165–6, 182, 184–5, 196, 199, 201, 209, 237, 239 sacred anarchy 99, 101, 106, 110. See also anarchism sacredness of the person 9, 229, 235, 240 salvation 2, 10, 17, 24, 61, 74, 136, 137, 151, 162, 183, 184, 221–2, 225, 247, 268, 290 schism, schismatics 10, 107, 303, 304, 306, 307 Schmemann, Alexander 105, 106, 152, 153, 191 Schmitt, Carl 2, 18, 26, 39, 40, 49, 50, 51, 111, 139, 140, 152, 201 Scholasticism 136. See also under theology Schönborn, Christoph, 73 Second World War 39, 46, 111, 155, 218, 224, 300, 301, 303, 306 secularism 8, 65–7, 88, 132, 135–7, 141–3, 146–7, 149, 175, 187, 221, 244, 248, 283, 299 secularization 1–3, 6, 16, 20, 24, 25, 38, 92, 119, 120, 122, 133, 155, 167–70, 178, 182–7, 192, 193, 214, 243, 246–8 Christian 132, 146 post-secularization 67, 85, 138, 143, 169, 187, 189, 193, 232, 284, 286, 287, 290, 296 Serbia 24, 45, 118, 119, 209, 215, 216, 218, 223–6, 260, 303 Serbian Orthodox Church. See under  Church sin 33, 70, 130, 174, 208, 211, 213–14, 222, 244, 262, 270–1, 292 Skobtsova, Maria 51 Sobrino, Jon 157 Social Darwinism 73, 98 social rights 4, 250

Society civil 1, 4, 7, 9, 10, 45, 55, 65, 71–3, 141–3, 146, 149, 168, 185, 193, 245 modern 5, 16, 17, 133, 168, 255 pluralistic 2, 113, 153 postsecular 85, 104, 193, 232, 286 secular 15, 103, 121, 132, 141, 149, 182, 185, 187, 192, 193, 283 solidarity 97, 100, 106, 148, 152, 160, 170, 172–4, 176, 247, 250, 251, 281, 302, 308 Solov’ev, Vladimir 43, 279 sovereignty 18, 31, 36, 52, 84, 97, 105, 136, 201, 216, 286 Soviet Union 21, 54, 113, 257, 302 Spirit (Holy) 61, 109, 143, 147, 159, 162, 190, 197, 239 spirituality 160, 213, 246, 267 Stalin, Joseph 97, 258, 259, 306 Staniloae, Dimitru 105 state authority 274 secular 42, 64, 65, 67, 69, 72, 74, 174, 182, 226, 243–51, 272, 285 Strauss, Leo 41 subsidiarity 76–8, 84, 89 Sweden 91, 289 symphonia, symphonic model 7, 112, 115–18, 135, 153, 174 synallelia 153 synod 86, 173, 175, 218, 242, 290–5, 308 Holy and Great Synod of the Orthodox Church 152 Taubes, Jacob 41 Taylor, Charles 19, 69, 146, 229, 231, 232 technocratism 217 Tertullian 35, 68, 70, 115 theocracy 104, 107, 119, 163, 168, 175, 178 theodrama 209, 226 theohumanity 209 theology academic 35, 135, 268 Byzantine 34 contemporary Greek 135–49 humanistic 34 Lutheran 270 sacra scientia 35 Scholastic 35

349

Index theologia tripertita 36 theological discourse 35, 113, 114, 271, 283 See also Liberation theology ; contextual theology theosis 46, 161, 204 Thomas Aquinas 36, 136 Tillich, Paul 254, 255 tolerance 38, 45, 72, 104, 116, 140, 142, 158, 168, 261 Tolstoy, Leo 7, 43, 118, 130 Torah 56 totalitarianism 45, 122, 136, 175, 221, 262 totalitarian system 70, 119 totalitarian ideologies 254 traditionalism 2, 34, 45, 46, 48, 52, 61, 113, 162, 163, 186 trinity 98, 110, 138, 159, 160 Trotsky, Leon 99, 258 Tsar Boris III 305 Tsar Nicholas II Romanov 258 Turkey 81, 88, 93, 303 Ukraine 80, 259, 289, 308 Ukrainian Autocephalous Orthodox Church. See under Church Ukrainian Orthodox Church of the Moscow Patriarchate. See under Church Ukrainian Orthodox Church of the Patriarchate of Kiev. See under Church United Kingdom 79, 80, 84, 89, 91 United States 1, 2, 40, 46, 67, 71, 231, 233–6, 241, 242, 254, 255, 261

349

Universal Declaration of Human Rights 4, 284 universalism 17, 103, 257, 271, 279, 282 Vatican II (Second Vatican Council) 5, 7, 39, 55, 59, 69, 193. See also council violence, 10, 57, 58, 60, 60, 63, 67, 71, 74, 100, 107, 108, 128, 139, 175, 193, 220, 241, 251, 280, 292, 305 Voegelin, Eric 2, 254 Volos Academy for Theological Studies 113, 138, 139, 145, 151, 174, 247 Vysheslavtsev, Boris, 276, 277 Ware, Kallistos 159, 237 wars of religion 63, 64 wealth 100, 114, 122, 128, 156, 173, 174, 241 Werfel, Franz 254 westernization 25, 246 World Council of Churches. See under council World Russian People’s Council, 258 Yannaras, Christos 8, 20, 47, 48, 106, 135–9, 152, 153, 158–60, 186, 244, 249, 250 Zizek, Slavoj 41 Zizioulas, John 119, 125, 139, 142, 157, 159, 160, 163–5, 175, 176, 190, 191, 194, 196–202, 204, 237–9, 249 Zolo, Danilo 203, 204

350