Anarchy and the Kingdom of God

From Eschatology to Orthodox Political Theology and Back

Davor Džalto

• Publisher: Fordham University Press
• Year: 2021
• ISBN:
  9780823294404
• Edition: 1
• Topic: Theologie & Religion
• Subtopic: Christliche Konfessionen

Anarchy and the Kingdom of God reclaims the concept of "anarchism" both as a political philosophy and a way of thinking of the sociopolitical sphere from a theological perspective. Through a genuinely theological approach to the issues of power, coercion, and oppression, Davor Džalto advances human freedom—one of the most prominent forces in human history—as a foundational theological principle in Christianity. That principle enables a fresh reexamination of the problems of democracy and justice in the age of global (neoliberal) capitalism.

PART I

(UN)ORTHODOX POLITICAL THEOLOGIES

HISTORIES

THE SYMPHONIA DOCTRINE: INTRODUCTION

The history of the church is a history of art,

wars, conflict and the persecution of dissidents,

and to find in the history of Christianity

the true history of the Church with a capital “c,”

is an art form and it is not an easy task.

—Alexander V. Men

One concept dominates the history of Orthodox Christian thinking about the socio-political sphere: the concept of the so-called Byzantine Symphony (hereafter symphonia). This concept implies a “harmony”—close and even organic ties—between the state and the church, between state authorities (i.e., emperors) and church representatives (i.e., patriarchs of Constantinople). This “harmony” was meant to contribute to the well-being of the empire and the well-being of the Roman people (populus), satisfying both their “material” and “spiritual” needs. The model thus affirms the imperial office and strengthens, at the same time, the political and institutional role of the episcopate within the state.

The interesting thing about the phrase “Byzantine Symphony” is that both concepts, “Byzantium” and “Byzantine Symphony,” represent later inventions that were applied to the state and its political ideals (symphonia) after the actual state had already ceased to exist.¹

Nevertheless, many Orthodox Christians still consider the symphonia doctrine the most authoritative, if not the only authentic expression of Orthodox Christian political theology. Even many contemporary authors who admit that symphonia cannot be realized in the modern world, or that it cannot be realized at all, still hold it as a noble ideal and refer to it with certain nostalgia.²

As soon as one starts to think about the history of Orthodox Christian political theology, several issues arise that need to be clarified at the outset in order to avoid, or at least to minimize, later confusions.

First of all, particular concepts and theories found in historiography, meant to define “ideal” church-state relations (such as the symphonia concept) have been changing over the course of history. It may seem, from a modern (Western) perspective, that there was only one symphonia model of the church-state relations throughout the more-than-a-millennium-long history of the New Roman (Byzantine) Empire. However, as will become clear in the following chapters, there was never only one “ideal” model of church-state relations, only one symphonia. Instead, there have been many different models and ideas about the “proper” place of the state and the church in the “grand scheme” of history and salvation that have been collectively, and somewhat simplistically, named “symphonia.” The concrete models of church-state relations have depended on the historical circumstances in which they were developed. Thus, the concept of symphonia appears as a highly dubious one, which is normally used in a vague, general sense to imply the (pre)supposed harmony between the church and the state. When this abstract, normative concept is used in a descriptive sense, it embraces many different, more specific models that have been developed. I will return to these nuances later in this chapter.

Excurse I

“ROMAN,” “EASTERN,” “BYZANTINE,” OR “GREEK” EMPIRE?

An explanation is needed at this point as to the concept of the “Byzantine” Empire and its derivatives, such as “Byzantium” or “Byzantine” (or, in German, “Byzanz” and “byzantinisch”). I use this concept reluctantly, as I find it highly problematic for a couple of reasons. The first is the obvious one: the fact that the concept (although not the term) was invented and promoted by early modern scholarship after the political entity that this concept was meant to describe had already disappeared from the historical stage. As it is generally known, this concept was not used within the political entity that now bears its name to describe the state/empire. The inhabitants of this empire called themselves “Romans” (Greek: Ρωμαῖοι; Latin: Romani), and their state the “Roman Empire” (Greek: Βασιλεία τῶν Ῥωμαίων; Latin: Imperium Romanum), “Roman Republic” (Greek: Πολιτεῖα τῶν Ῥωμαίων; Latin: Res Publica Romana) or just “Romania” (Greek: Ῥωμανία).

There is, however, another reason why this concept should be revisited. This reason has to do with the ideological baggage that the term “Byzantine” has traditionally carried, influencing the way in which many social and political phenomena that characterized this empire have been interpreted. One of the purposes of the concept (and that is how it is still used in many German sources) was to delegitimize the Eastern Empire as a continuation of the (classical) Roman Empire (which it was), and to, consequently, legitimize the translatio imperii to the German-dominated West, several centuries after the abdication of the last “legitimate” Western Roman emperor. This period between “the fall” of the empire in the West (476) and the advent of the “Holy Roman Empire” (Latin: Sacrum Imperium Romanum) is normally interpreted as the period of transition, during which the (late) “Roman Empire” in the East became medieval, Greek-dominated “Byzantium.” Although the general approach of scholarly literature in interpreting the character, procedures, and culture of the Eastern empire has changed significantly over the course of the twentieth century, it is still not uncommon to find scholarly texts that repeat some of those stereotypes and prejudices (see Canning 2003, 1–15). It seems that the term “Byzantine” still obscures many important features of the empire that continued to be “classical (Roman),” much more than distinctly medieval, well into the history of this state.

Another dimension of the problem is that no one can say when this “Byzantium” came into existence as an entity distinct from the “Roman Empire.” The reason is not the lack of documents but rather the artificial nature of the very attempt to separate the “Roman Empire” proper from the “Byzantine” (“not quite Roman”) Empire. What should be taken as the basis for this demanding ideological project? Is it the foundation of the new imperial capital on the Bosporus? Or the abdication of the last emperor in the “West” (meaning Italy)? Is it the post-Justinian period? Or the time of Heraclius? Maybe the time of the Macedonian dynasty? The obvious problem is sometimes resolved by introducing a couple of steps that bridge the empire of “late antiquity” (still “Roman,” but already somewhat deficient in its too “Eastern” character), and the predominantly Greek-speaking empire of the “late Byzantine” period, during which the (Greek) “East” was becoming more and more alienated from the (Latin, Germanic) “West.”

In actual reality, there was no discontinuity between the “East” and the “classical” Roman times. The earliest meaningful date that can be taken as the end of the empire that drew its identity from the ancient Res Publica is the fall of Constantinople under the Crusaders in 1204. However, already Georgije Ostrogorski refers to this problem when he claims that a new, culturally distinct “Byzantine” identity had emerged during the reign of Heraclius (610–41), when the ancient Roman (predominantly Latin) empire had slowly begun to change into the medieval Byzantine (predominantly “Greek”) state (see Ostrogorski 1998, 122). Ostrogorski lists many changes that had taken place in the seventh century that had contributed to a different administrative organization of the empire, changed cultural/ethnic landscape, etc.

The change was quite real, and one should not minimize it. However, the problem is that there never was a “transubstantiation” of the Roman into some other empire, but rather constant changes (of a greater or lesser significance) within the political entity that continued to exist based on the “classical” Roman political heritage. There is no doubt that the empire, with Constantinople as its capital, was very different in the thirteenth century compared to the empire, with the same capital, in the fifth century. However, the same is true of the ancient Roman empire in various periods of its history. The social and political landscape in the time of Augustus was very different from the one under Diocletian or Constantine. Even if we take the change under Heraclius (together with all the other elements that transformed the religious, cultural, and economic life of the empire in the previous centuries) as decisive, it is unclear why this emerging “medieval” state should be called “Byzantium,” which implies a clear discontinuity with the Roman cultural and historical context out of which it, gradually, grew. Is the fact that this state, in the course of its history, became predominantly “Greek” (although this word meant something else for the “Byzantine” Romans) sufficient to treat it as a separate political entity, let alone to alienate it from its (archaic and classical) Roman heritage?

Of course, part of the problem is that the very concept of “state” as a concrete political phenomenon with a distinct “identity,” whose existence simply stretches over a long period of time, is fictional. In any state, the actual people, territories, social, and cultural circumstances change all the time. Calling present-day Great Britain basically the same entity as the Kingdom of Great Britain of two hundred years ago would also be problematic if one is interested in concrete social realities. The same is true of most of the concepts that supposedly describe the existence of particular products of human culture over a long period of time. And yet, we use the concepts such as “Russian,” “Persian” or “Roman” Empire partly because they allow us to discuss particular political entities and processes in a more efficient way, and partly because these concepts indicate the existence of certain continuities, in spite of many (sometimes dramatic) changes. If acceptance of dynamic growth is true of other cases, it should also be true of the “Roman Empire”: a political entity that went through many significant changes, from the “classical” times of the “Republic” (which, let us not forget, also relied on the concept of imperium), via the “Principate” and “Dominate” through to the “Tetrarchy” and the “Vasileia.”

One criterion that many would affirm as decisive and, for example, the reason why the France of 2017 and the France of the end of the eighteenth century (or, maybe, even before) are both political entities called “France” would be language. This, so the argument goes, cannot be applied to the “Greek” empire in the East since it, at one point, stopped using Latin as the language of its administration, and, the argument continues, a Roman empire without Latin is the same as France without the French language. What this logic overlooks is that our focus on language as a distinct criterion in defining political entities is the result of the Romanticist obsession with (one, codified, “proper”) language and its almost (secular) mystical role in the process of (modern) nation-building. One (national) language as the common denominator of one (national) state and one national identity (which then stretches back in time as far as possible) is a typically modern construct that cannot be applied to earlier times, at least not without the use of many parentheses. (In addition to this, this logic is also oblivious of the fact that it was not uncommon to use a different language at modern European courts from the languages spoken by the majority of the population.)

To conclude: If we recognize, on the one hand, the need to point to the changing character of this empire that had Constantinople as its capital, and that, definitively, collapsed in 1453 (bearing in mind that this change was a long, gradual, and multifaceted process), and, on the other hand, the need to also acknowledge the undeniable administrative, cultural, and legal continuities that connected the empire of, say, the Macedonian dynasty with pre-fourth-century Roman traditions, the question remains: What shall we call this political entity? Given the fact that there were important changes over such a long period of time, such as the spread of Christianity, or the gradual Hellenization of the empire (which was a process that, actually, had started much earlier, and was increased with the spread of the Roman state over the eastern, Greek-dominated parts of the Mediterranean), it would be, indeed, deficient to call it simply the “Roman state” or “Roman Empire.” I object to the word “Byzantine” as a highly ideologically charged concept that in my view creates more problems than it solves. However, the term has gained such prominence that it is, by now, used to characterize entire disciplines, thus making it difficult to simply reject it.

Several alternative names—such as the “Roman Empire of the East,” or the “New Roman Empire” (to reflect the reality of the new capital, “New Rome”)—would, perhaps, more correctly describe the historical and political reality of this empire, both in terms of its continuities and changes.

As the general acceptance of any of these alternative names is unlikely to happen any time soon, I will use in this study both the term “Byzantine” and “New/Eastern Roman” Empire interchangeably, to refer to the state that had Constantinople as its capital but that, at th...