|
РАДИСЛАВ ПП. I РИМСКО-РУССКИЙ
RADISLAV PP. I ROMANO-RVTHENICVS
О Гра́де Христия́нскомъ
De Civitate Christiana
On the Christian Civilisation
I. Introduction
The human heart, created for divine communion,
cannot find peace in anything less than God Himself. As St. Augustine
confessed, thou hast made us for Thyself, O Lord, and our heart is
restless until it rests in Thee.[1] This restlessness is not a flaw but
a sign of man’s divine vocation. It is a sacred hunger implanted in us
by Almighty God, the perfect Creator. Indeed, it is the echo of
paradise within the soul, the memory of Eden calling man home.
From age to age, humanity has sought to fill
this longing through systems of its own making — empires and ideologies
promising peace, prosperity, or liberation. Yet every attempt to build
the City of Man apart from the City of God ends in collapse. Wealth
cannot heal the poverty of the spirit; power cannot bestow holiness;
liberty without truth becomes another form of bondage. History itself
bears witness to this law: when man worships the work of his hands
rather than the hand that made him, his civilisation inevitably
crumbles into dust, even if it shines with gold for a time and appears
filled with power. Such is merely a veneer, masking an underlying
corruption.
Against this restless striving, the Gospel
proclaims a different beginning. The Christian commonwealth, the true
order of peace and justice, does not begin in the external structures
of society but in the interior renewal of the human heart. As the
Prophet Ezekiel foretold, I will give you a new heart, and a new spirit
I will put within you.[2] The Kingdom of God, Christ tells us, is
within us, and from the transfigured heart flows the healing of
families, communities, and nations.[3]
To know oneself as a creature is the
foundation of all wisdom. Man is not an autonomous maker of meaning but
a receiver of being, a vessel of divine grace. Made in the image of
God, he is called to grow into His likeness through love, humility, and
communion. When this truth governs his soul, he can rightly order the
world entrusted to his care. When he forgets it, the world becomes a
theatre of pride and conflict. We have seen this countless times in
history, including in the present.
The Holy Church, as both Mother and Teacher,
calls the nations back to this first truth. Indeed, the Church is the
superior to all earthly powers. Yet, she does not speak as their rival,
but as their conscience and their healer. Her mission is not to offer a
specific political programme, but to reveal the divine image in man and
to lift all human endeavour toward its true end: union with God. In her
sacraments, the heart of man is renewed; in her teaching, his mind is
illumined; in her worship, the world itself is sanctified.
Though in certain times and lands the
Church has borne temporal authority, including the titular patrimony
claimed by Our See by Divine Right, such arrangements were and are but
instruments of providence, not the pattern of her mission. For her
sovereignty is spiritual, her law is love, and her kingdom is not of
this world. She seeks not to rule the nations, but to transfigure them,
until all authority and power are offered back to Christ, the true King
of kings.
We must also make plain and clear that it is a
thorough error, yet one that is often perpetuated, that the Church
cannot and ought not have anything to say about or to do with civil
affairs. Quite the contrary. The Kingdom of God includes all people,
and therefore all must submit to the will and the power of God and the
Holy Church.
Thus, she proclaims, in every age and against
every false hope, that no society can endure apart from the Cross of
Christ; for the Cross is the measure of all justice, the revelation of
all love, and the only source of true peace. No man can be a peacemaker
without placing the Cross of Christ above all else, for from it flows
the grace that renews creation and reconciles all things in heaven and
on earth.
II. The Human Person: Image and Steward
Man stands at the summit of creation, not as
its tyrant, but as its steward. Endowed with intellect and free will,
he alone among creatures can know, love, and glorify the Creator
consciously. He is both part of the world and yet set apart from it,
fashioned from the dust of the earth yet bearing the breath of God. In
him, heaven and earth meet; he is the bridge between the visible and
invisible realms.
To say that man is the crown of creation is
not to grant him absolute dominion, but a sacred responsibility. He is
called to stewardship, to till and keep the garden[4]; not to exploit,
but to offer the world back to God in thanksgiving. When man blesses
creation, it flourishes; when he abuses it, the harmony of creation is
wounded. The Fall of Mankind was not merely moral disobedience, but a
rupture in this cosmic liturgy. It was the refusal to serve as priest
and steward of creation and the attempt to become its god.
Every social question, whether economic,
political, or ecological, must begin with this mystery of the human
person. The dignity of man cannot be reduced to material or utilitarian
measures. When society forgets that man is made in the image of God, it
inevitably begins to treat him as a means to an end: a consumer to be
manipulated, a producer to be exhausted, a mere number to be managed,
worth only what money he can generate. The consequence is spiritual
desolation, in which we see work that enslaves rather than ennobles,
property that hoards rather than shares, power that oppresses rather
than serves. Hypocrisy becomes the norm, while duty, responsibility,
and love are pushed away.
Yet in the divine order, work is not a
punishment but a vocation. From the beginning, God invited man to
participate in His creative act, bringing forth the fruits of the
earth, ordering chaos into beauty. That is a great cooperation with
grace. In Christ, we must remember, work is further sanctified. The
Carpenter of Nazareth has made the labour of human hands a path to
holiness. Every honest task, offered in love, becomes an altar of
transfiguration.
Property, too, has its rightful place. It
expresses man’s freedom and his capacity for responsibility. But the
right to possess land, buildings, and physical objects carries within
it a moral commandment: to use all things in charity as a steward
rather than an exploitative or avaricious owner. The earth and its
bounty were given not for accumulation, but for communion. St. Basil
the Great reminds us that the bread you keep belongs to the hungry, for
private property must always serve the common good.[5]
And finally, the State, though necessary in
its proper form for order and justice, must remember its true purpose
and above all its true limits. It is not the source of moral law but
its servant. Law does not create good and evil. Properly derived law,
however, recognises them. When the State seeks to define what only God
can ordain, such as life, marriage, conscience, or the nature and
dignity of the person, it steps beyond its vocation and becomes an
idol. A just polity therefore acknowledges a law above itself: the
eternal law of God, written both in Scripture and in the human heart.
And we must also remember that there are those who drape themselves in
the mantle of Christ while serving only themselves; whose lips speak of
truth, but whose hearts are hollow and their aims corrupt. They use the
light of the Gospel as a mask for the darkness within, exploiting the
Holy Name of Christ to serve their own pride and thirst for dominion.
Thus, man’s social and economic life finds its
true harmony only when it reflects the divine order. The renewal of
society begins not in ideology but in sanctity, when man once again
understands himself as priest of creation, image of the Creator, and
servant of his neighbour. In such a world, work becomes worship,
property becomes generosity, and power becomes service.
III. The Two Idols: Collectivism and Unrestrained Capital
In every generation, fallen man fashions new
idols from the materials of his own pride. The names and forms may
change, yet the spirit that animates them is ancient. It is the same
rebellion that whispered in Eden, “You shall be as gods.” Our own age,
though clothed in the garments of modern progress, bows before several
such idols. The most pervasive and dangerous of these are collectivism
and unempathetic, unrestrained capitalism. Both promise salvation in
this world, yet both enslave the soul. And so many other problems trace
their roots to one of these to false idols.
1. The Idol of Collectivism
Collectivism is known by various names and
comes in diverse forms, such as communism and socialism. It seeks unity
without love and equality without freedom. It dreams of a perfect
society yet builds it upon the ruin of the person. By denying the
spiritual nature of man, it reduces him to a mere function of the State
or the Party, a mere instrument of production and obedience. Conscience
is replaced by command, and the family, that little domestic church, is
dissolved in favor of social machinery.
In place of the image of God, collectivism
enthrones ideology. It is a false religion that demands absolute
devotion but offers no redemption. It promises heaven on earth yet
produces only the grey monotony of spiritual exile. As the Fathers
teach, man’s dignity lies in his personal communion, not in absorption
by the collective. The true unity of humanity is found only in Christ,
for all are made one not by coercion but by grace. The only true Union
that we can recognise as Christians is that we are members of the
Corporate Body of Christ.
2. The Idol of Unrestrained Capital
Yet on the opposite pole stands another idol,
no less destructive though gilded in freedom, the idol of unrestrained
capitalism. Filled with its own ideology, it exalts gain as the highest
good and competition as the first principle of life. Winning at the
expense of others is glorified as accomplishment. Wealth becomes the
measure of worth. Indeed, material success becomes the new virtue. In
such a world, man ceases to be brother to man and becomes instead his
rival or his prey.
This system forgets that property is a gift
meant for stewardship, not domination; that the abundance of the earth
was given to all, not to the few. When profit becomes an end in itself,
it corrodes the heart. The pursuit of limitless accumulation breeds not
liberty but loneliness, not progress but spiritual decay. As Christ
warned, you cannot serve God and Mammon.[6]
The hoarding of riches, just like the
abolition of property common to collectivist systems, both spring from
the same poisoned root: the loss of God as the measure of man. When the
divine image is forgotten, wealth becomes either an idol to be
worshiped or a sin to be destroyed. Yet in both errors, man ceases to
be seen as a person and is reduced to a means.
And observe how many devotees to such a system
of greed still proclaim their faith! Yet faith, severed from love and
humility, becomes a banner for pride. So often we see false doctrine
used to sanctify injustice, teaching that those with greater wealth are
favored by God, and that material success is a sign of His blessing. In
such a creed, the Gospel is inverted: the poor are blamed for their
poverty, and the Cross is replaced by the market.
But Scripture speaks otherwise. And the Church
has always spoken for the poor and the marginalised, proclaiming the
truth that those with great wealth should use it for good in charity.
The Lord, however, though the Son in the Holy Trinity, the King of
kings, and in his earthly form of royal Davidic descent, was born not
in a palace but in a manger. He blessed the poor in spirit, warned the
rich of their danger, and judged societies not by their prosperity but
by their mercy.
But neither can we nor should we condemn
riches. Indeed, the Gospel teaches neither envy nor indulgence. Wealth
itself is not sin, nor are the rich and materially comfortable
inherently called to cast away all they possess, but to sanctify what
they possess through generosity, gratitude, and just stewardship. For
when Christ calls a man to sell all and follow Him, He commands not
universal dispossession but the renunciation of the heart’s bondage to
earthly things.[7] The Patriarchs of Israel, the holy Tsars, and the
Christian Princes, as well as many saints of the Church held great
estates. Yet they used their abundance as faithful stewards, such as
building temples, feeding the hungry, and preserving the peace of their
people. Their treasure became a means of service, not of vanity.
The danger lies not in gold, but in the heart
that clings to it. Wealth that becomes an idol enslaves. However,
wealth that is consecrated to God becomes a ministry. The question is
not how much one has, but how one gives and whether one sees
possessions as personal glory or as the material of mercy.
True faith thus restores the right order: man
as a steward, not a master, wealth as a tool, not an idol. When this
order is remembered, prosperity becomes thanksgiving, and even great
riches can shine with the light of divine charity.
3. The Common Root and the Church’s Witness
Though these two systems appear to be enemies,
they are in truth mirror images of the same error: the rejection of a
moral order rooted in God. Both replace divine truth with human will.
Both forget that society is not a machine, but a moral organism, an
icon of communion modeled on the Holy Trinity, where unity and
diversity coexist in love.
The Holy Church stands between these extremes.
The Church is not a compromise but rather is a living alternative. She
proclaims that the worth of man lies not in what he produces nor in
what he possesses, but in what he is: a being called to communion with
God. She teaches that true freedom is found in virtue, that justice
without mercy is tyranny, and that charity without truth becomes mere
sentimentality.
A society that would endure must therefore
begin at the altar, not the marketplace, with repentance, not reform
alone. Only when the heart is converted can the structures of the world
be healed. The Church, as Mother and Teacher, calls all systems and
rulers to this repentance: to remember that no economy, no state, no
political party, no worldly leader, and no ideology can stand apart
from the Cross of Christ, which alone reveals the measure of man and
the justice of God.
IV. Labour, Property, and the Social Bond
From the beginning, we recall, man was called
not to idleness, but to creative labour, even before sin entered the
world. Again, work is not the punishment of a fallen race, but part of
man’s vocation: to participate in the divine act of creation, to shape
the world into an offering of beauty and love.
Yet after the Fall, toil became mingled with
sweat and sorrow. What was once pure collaboration became burden. What
was joy then became necessity. But again, we say that in Christ, the
meaning of labour is restored and transfigured. Our Lord took upon
Himself the tools of human toil, and on the Cross He sanctified
suffering itself. Now, every honest task, done in love, in patience,
and in justice, can become a share in the Cross of Christ. Work thus
unites man to redemption, and it transforms necessity into offering and
weariness into worship.
Every worker, as a bearer of the divine image,
possesses an inalienable dignity. He is not a tool in the hands of
another, but a fellow worker in the vineyard of our Lord. Therefore, he
has the right to a just wage, sufficient for a life worthy of human
dignity; to rest, which reflects the divine Sabbath; to safe and humane
conditions, that his labour may ennoble and not degrade; and to
organise with others for the pursuit of justice and the common good.
These rights are not concessions from the powerful, but rather they are
the demands of conscience written in the moral law of creation.
More specifically, a just wage as defined here
should permit a person to live decently, care for dependents
responsibly, have sufficient time to participate without difficulty in
society and the Church, save for the future, and avoid servitude to
debt or hunger. Thus, a just and living wage in Orthodox and Catholic
understanding is one that allows a person and family to live free from
destitution and dependence, with sufficient means for a dignified and
participatory life in accordance with human nature and divine image.
And, the purpose of human labour is not endless toil, but likewise
includes participation in God’s creative rest. Therefore, when people
must hold two or three jobs just to afford food and rent, especially
when those jobs themselves are not secure, the situation is not simply
unfortunate but rather is a distortion of the divine order of work. It
deprives the human person of time for prayer, family, community, and
rest, all of which are essential to salvation and sanctification.
Those who hold wealth or power are likewise
bound by sacred duty. Employers sin when they hoard profit at the
expense of their workers, when they grind down their brethren in
pursuit of gain, or when they view human beings as mere instruments of
production. The parables of Christ remind us that the Lord of the
vineyard will call every steward to account. Ownership is not absolute;
it is stewardship. All that we possess — lands, talents, enterprises,
property, and other material items — are entrusted to us for service,
not domination. Property must serve the purposes of creation, not defy
them.
In the ordering of society, two great
principles stand as twin pillars of the Christian social order:
solidarity and subsidiarity. Solidarity affirms that all men are bound
together in mutual charity. The rich must see the poor not as a burden
but as brothers, and the strong must bear the weak, as Christ bore us.
Nations, too, are called to this fraternity; to seek not selfish
domination, but cooperation for the good of all; to seek not to be the
foremost and strongest, but to be fellow members in the community of
nations. In this solidarity, the Gospel overturns the law of selfish
competition and replaces it with the law of Christian charity.
Subsidiarity, on the other hand, guards the
dignity and freedom of the person and the smaller community. It teaches
that what individuals, families, or local bodies can do for themselves
should not be taken over by higher powers, whether it be by the state,
by corporations, or by some other force. This helps ensure that liberty
does not dissolve into bureaucracy and that the warmth of human
responsibility is not replaced by cold an distant administration.
Together, these principles preserve the
balance of the Christian commonwealth: liberty sustained by justice,
fraternity animated by charity, and authority tempered by service. For
a society is not truly healthy when it is merely efficient, but when
its structures reflect the divine order, each part serving the other in
love, as members of one Body whose head is Christ.
Therefore, the Holy Church continually calls
all men to sanctify their labour, to use their possessions in mercy,
and to build communities where every person can work, rest, and live in
the dignity of a child of God. In the sweat of honest toil,
transfigured by grace, the world itself becomes a living offering, as
bread and wine to be lifted up before the altar of the Lord. And
so we promote the general concept of what we term distributism as
a broad framework of economic systems.
In that framework, as in every just order,
property must serve communion, not domination. The Church has always
upheld the right to private property as part of man’s freedom and
responsibility before God. To possess something, however, is to be
entrusted with it; to hold it rightly is to use it for the good of
others as well as oneself.
When ownership becomes concentrated in the
hands of the few, whether of individuals, corporations, or the state,
the moral and spiritual fabric of society is wounded. Both collectivism
and unfettered, unempathetic capitalism lead to the self-same
alienation. Man loses his sense of stewardship, the family loses its
independence, and communities become dependent on distant powers,
whatever they may be.
1. On Wealth, Beauty, and the Use of Luxury
The Holy Orthodox and Catholic faith and
Christ’s Holy Church, again, do not condemn wealth or beauty in
themselves, for all creation is good and radiant with the glory of God.
When human skill shapes material things with love, reverence, and
generosity, such works become reflections of divine beauty; indeed,
very icons in matter. The goldsmith, the painter, the tailor, the
architect, and even the craftsman who builds a fine sailing vessel all
participate in God’s creative energy. Their labour, rightly ordered,
expresses gratitude for the gifts of creation and provides for families
and communities.
Yet the Church also teaches that the measure
of such things is not their splendour, but the spirit in which they are
possessed and used. Wealth that becomes self-indulgent or isolating
turns to vanity and sin. Wealth that serves love, hospitality, and the
adornment of what is sacred becomes a means of grace. The Church’s
temples, chalices, vestments, and icons often use precious materials
not to glorify human pride, but to confess the beauty and majesty of
the Kingdom of God. Likewise, the faithful may rightly enjoy the fruits
of their labour and the beauty of the world, provided their hearts
remain free from attachment and their hands open to the needs of others.
It is likewise understood that splendour and
privilege entail responsibility. Therefore, we see not hypocrisy in
such properly expressed, but the recognition that beauty and wealth,
when duly consecrated, can lift the hearts of others toward heaven.
And, therefore, the Orthodox and Catholic
vision is not one of forced equality or ascetic uniformity, but of
transfiguration. Whatever we possess, whether simple or splendid, is to
be offered back to God in thanksgiving. In this way, the beauty of the
world is not an idol, but a hymn proclaiming the glory of the Creator
through the skill, generosity, and reverence of His people.
2. On the Moral Limits of Wealth
It should be noted that we do not measure the
goodness or sinfulness of wealth by numbers, but by the heart’s
relationship with it and the justice of its acquisition and use. Yet,
we have proclaimed and continue to proclaim that excess wealth, i.e.,
that which is beyond what one can use responsibly for one’s needs and
the good of others, becomes spiritually perilous.
Our Lord warns: How hard it is for those who
have riches to enter the kingdom of God.[8] This, of course, does not
condemn wealth outright, but rather reveals that immense personal
control over resources tends to enslave the heart. The Church Fathers
consistently teach that abundance is entrusted to us for stewardship,
not possession. Therefore, when wealth grows so vast that it cannot
possibly be directed toward meaningful personal stewardship, when it
consolidates power far beyond the sphere of family, community, or the
Church, it ceases to be personal and becomes an impersonal domination
of others’ lives. At that point, wealth no longer serves communion but
instead distorts it.
From an authentic Christian standpoint, no one
explicitly needs a vast amount of money, for to need implies something
essential for human dignity and vocation, e.g., food, shelter, rest,
the ability to care for others, and to honour God in beauty and
generosity. Beyond that, the problem is not the numerical value of
money itself but the disproportion. When one person’s surplus
accumulates to the point that it denies others their sufficiency, it
becomes a form of theft. When those who employ others deny them their
just wages proportionate to their skills, training, and function, for
example, while simultaneously growing ever wealthier from the labour of
their employees, it is truly a sin crying to Heaven for vengeance.
Thus, while there is not a numerical cap on
wealth as such, there is nevertheless a spiritual ceiling. The moment
wealth no longer serves Christian love, it ceases to be a blessing and
becomes a burden before God. Again, the Church does not call for forced
equality, but for voluntary generosity born of communion. Wealth may be
great, but it must always be shared, sanctified, and oriented toward
the good of others. As wealth increases, so too must vigilance ever
increase proportionately. Beyond a certain abundance, moral stewardship
demands redistribution, not by coercion, but by love of one’s fellow
man.
3. Distributism
Against these distortions, the Holy Church
proclaims an order grounded in personal responsibility and local
community; an order in which property is widely distributed so that
families, parishes, and small associations may live with dignity and
creative freedom. This vision, known as distributism, is part of the
Orthodox Old Catholic understanding of life as koinonia, i.e.,
communion.
a. The Orthodox and Catholic Roots of Distributive Justice
The Fathers of the Church spoke of property
not as an absolute right, but as a ministry. Possession is thus a
vocation to generosity. The true Christian does not ask, “What may I
claim as mine?” but “How may I serve with what I have been given?”
A healthy society, therefore, seeks to
multiply owners rather than dependents. It encourages families to have
land, homes, and means of livelihood sufficient to sustain them. It
values small farms, crafts, and local enterprise, not as nostalgic
relics but as living expressions of human creativity and
responsibility. Economic scale must serve the person, not consume him.
b. The Balance of Freedom and Communion
This distributive vision rests upon two
inseparable principles: freedom and solidarity. Freedom without
solidarity breeds greed and division. Solidarity without freedom leads
to coercion and apathy. The Christian social order seeks to unite both,
by ensuring that each person and community has real participation in
the goods of creation.
Such participation is not achieved through
confiscation or enforced equality (which is not a true equality at
all), but through moral reform and wise policy that favors small
ownership, cooperative enterprise, and just labour conditions. It is a
vision that echoes the Apostolic life where no one said that any of the
things he possessed was his own, but they had everything in common,[9]
not by compulsion, but by love.
3. The Role of the State and the Church
The state has a role, but not a monopoly. It
must safeguard authentic justice, restrain greed, and ensure fair and
just opportunity. However, it cannot create or define virtue. Neither
can it replace the family and the parish, or the Holy Church as a
whole. Economic renewal must begin at the level of the heart through
conversion, charity, and the practice of almsgiving.
The Church, meanwhile, serves as the absolute
conscience of society. She teaches with authority that wealth is a tool
for service, not self-worship; that the poor are not objects of pity,
but bearers of Christ’s presence; and that the true economy of
salvation is not measured in silver but in grace.
4. The Transfiguration of Economic Life
The distributive vision points beyond mere
economics to the transfiguration of work and property in Christ. When
man labours in faith and shares in love, even the simplest material
goods become sacraments of communion. Every field cultivated, every
craft perfected, and every meal shared all become icons of the Kingdom,
where each gives and receives in the joy of divine fellowship.
5. Orthodox and Catholic Principles of Economic Social Doctrine
Distributism, being an economic and social
philosophy well-grounded in the tradition of Christian social teaching,
has at its core an emphasis on the widespread ownership of productive
property (land, tools, small businesses) and on decentralised economic
life, rather than concentration of wealth in a few hands, whether that
concentration be via large corporations or the State. In distributism,
private property is affirmed as a natural right, but its purpose is
service, stewardship, and the common good rather than mere
accumulation; the principle of subsidiarity is central, i.e., decisions
and ownership should lie at the most local viable level, with higher
authorities intervening only when necessary; and solidarity is
essential, i.e., economic structures should serve the human person, the
family, the community, instead of treating people as mere production
units or consumers. Indeed, distributism is distinct from unbridled
capitalism and state-based socialism or communism.
In distributism, the state and economic
system must remember that human beings are created in the image of God,
endowed with freedom, and called to communion. Economic life must
always respect that dignity. The purpose of the emphasis on many people
owning productive property is to help prevent alienation, dependency,
and the loss of human agency. When families, small communities, or
cooperatives own their means of livelihood, they have the distinct
opportunity to live more truly as persons, not as instruments of
capital or state.
Property and work, of course, are not ends in
themselves but means of cooperating in God’s creative and redeeming
action. Following as well from the principle of subsidiarity, the local
community, family, parish, and smaller associations are primary, and
larger state and community institutions serve them, not the other way
around. In economic life this means support for small enterprises,
family farms, worker-cooperatives, local credit unions, associations of
craftsmen and the like so that individuals and communities are not
overladen by large impersonal systems. Truly, the renewal of society
begins in the heart and in local communion, not in distant centralised
structures.
Nevertheless, centralised structures and
larger corporations have their purpose. At the heart of Orthodox and
Catholic social teaching is personal communion, not collectivism or
radical individualism. Society should reflect the structure of the Body
of Christ: many members, distinct in function, united in love. Thus,
the Church affirms both the dignity of small, local communities and the
necessity of larger structures that serve their well-being. Large
organizations are not inherently evil; they become problematic when
they erode personhood, e.g., when workers, customers, or communities
become impersonal units in a machine rather than participants in a
living network of relationships. And where the smaller is powerless,
the greater may assist, always to restore, not to dominate. Thus,
large-scale systems, whether economic or governmental, have a diaconal,
i.e., servant role. They exist to support, not replace, local and
personal life.
For example, a large business can serve
legitimate purposes. For example, it may provide access to affordable
goods in areas where smaller economies cannot sustain variety or
supply. It may create stable employment, infrastructure, and sometimes
even reinvest in community development. It can provide efficient
logistics for goods like food and medicine, which are genuine social
goods. When this happens without destroying local livelihoods or
degrading workers, such a corporation can, in principle, serve the
common good, fulfilling a type of diakonia in the marketplace.
However, large corporations become destructive
when they eradicate local enterprise, replacing human relationships
with impersonal transactions; exploit workers or suppliers to minimize
costs; extract wealth from local communities to often-distant
shareholders rather than circulating it in the community; and displace
meaning, reducing labour to profit rather than vocation. Such effects
are symptoms of the passion of greed, the endless desire for more. Such
passion infects not only individuals but institutions.
In all such cases, the key questions for Christian ethics are always:
Does this structure serve communion, or destroy it?
Does
it raise the human person toward freedom, or reduce them to dependency?
And thus, we are reminded that the social
doctrine of the Church insists that economics must serve the person and
not reduce persons to economic functions. Again, work, property, and
enterprise all exist for the transformation of human life and
communion, not mere profit. The goods of creation are destined for all.
Following social doctrine, a distributist economic arrangement supports
this by avoiding concentration of wealth which often excludes the weak
or marginalised.
6. Church and State: Moral Order before Structures
No just society can stand apart from the Cross
of Christ and the moral order it reveals. By ensuring that ownership
and responsibility are widely held, the moral order of the person and
community is strengthened. The State’s role is supportive and
protective but not dominative. It should help ensure that economic life
respects human dignity but not become the principal owner of property
or the principal organiser of all enterprise. On a wider societal
level, economic policies that favour decentralisation, breaking up
economic monopolies, protecting small business, encouraging
family-owned farms, and preserving the subsidiarity principle are
essential elements of Christian social doctrine. And yet, it must be
remembered that the Church does not prescribe a single economic system
but rather provides examples and principles of what a just and
Christian economy should embrace and incorporate. Distributism is an
expression of the principles of the social doctrine of the Church, not
a precise and rigid mandate for a specific economic system design.
V. Government as Minister of the Common Good
Authority is not self-created; it is a trust
from God, given for the service of man and the cultivation of
righteousness in the world. From the smallest household to the throne
of an empire, every form of rule derives its legitimacy not from force
or consent alone, but from its fidelity to the divine order. St. Paul
teaches that there is no authority except from God,[10] yet rulers
become tyrants when they cease to be ministers of good.
While there is divine origin of all
legitimate authority, this does not, at the same time, sanctify every
ruler’s personal behaviour or policies. Rather, it affirms that the
very principle of political authority, i.e., the ordering of society to
justice and the common good, comes from God. As such, government, in
its essence, is a participation in divine providence, for it orders
human affairs toward peace and virtue.[11]
In traditional society from the ancient world
even unto recent times, this authority was most always vested in
emperors, kings, or other princes. These are rightly viewed as God’s
anointed, and indeed the very ritual of coronation includes an
anointing of the sovereign by the Holy Church, just as she anoints
priests. The true and Christian monarch is viewed as a minister of
God[12], not because of any personal holiness, but because he is
entrusted with the task of safeguarding the moral order. When a ruler
ceases to serve that end, when he turns against justice and becomes a
tyrant, he ceases, in effect, to be the minister of God. St. Augustine
observed that without justice, kingdoms become nothing more than great
robberies.[13] Thus, tyranny is not true government but a corruption of
it.
Modern democracy, on the other hand, in its
myriad forms, is not inherently Christian, especially the manner in
which it emerged during the Enlightenment of the 17th and 18th
centuries. It was largely built upon the philosophy of secular
humanism, i.e., the belief that human reason, rather than divine
revelation, is the supreme guide for moral and political life. This is
a profound departure from classical and Christian understanding of
authority. Whereas the Christian worldview saw man as a creature made
in the image of God, subject to divine law and dependent on grace,
Enlightenment humanism placed man at the center, not as a steward under
God, but as the autonomous master of his own destiny. The philosophical
foundation of modern democracy grounds political authority not in God
but in the general will of the people, with natural rights detached
from any ecclesial or theological foundation. This vision assumes that
man, by reason alone, is capable of constructing a just and moral
order. It is, in fact, a sort of secular faith in human perfectibility.
Yet, from the Orthodox and Catholic faith,
this belief in the self-sufficiency and superiority of humanity is
inherently and tremendously flawed because it forgets original sin and
the necessity of grace. We cannot say as Christians that public
authority is nothing more than the will of the people, for such denies
the divine origin of law and order.[14] Indeed, such is a system that
exalts human reason above divine wisdom and continually aims to build a
purely natural order without Christ.[15]
Now, many modern Christians have unconsciously
absorbed the Enlightenment and theologically liberal assumptions, that
political legitimacy comes from “the people,” that freedom means doing
whatever one wills, and that religion is a private affair with no
binding claim on public life. These ideas are incompatible with the
Orthodox and Catholic understanding of society. When certain professed
Christians call for a Christian nation, they often do so not from a
sacramental or theological sense of Christ’s Kingship over all
creation, but from a moral or cultural nationalism, i.e., an attempt to
use religion as a tool to preserve social order or personal liberty.
This is, at its core, the same Enlightenment project, man-centered
rather than God-centered, only painted with biblical colours and
“baptised” with a flawed theology.
We must not mistake secular democracy for a
Christian order. While Christians can be faithful under a secular
system, we cannot take secular notions, such as separation of Church
and State, as ideal to be imitated,[16] for the Church cannot endorse
any regime that excludes Christ from public life or that employs a
false theology to exploit Christ to promote that which is inherently
un-Christian.
At its core, the flaw is a form of naturalism,
the belief that man can achieve order and happiness by natural means
alone, without grace and without the Kingship of Christ.[17] When
Christians support democracy as if it were the moral ideal rather than
merely a contingent system that can be good or evil depending on
whether it serves the divine law, they risk worshiping a political form
instead of the Divine Lawgiver. It is a kind of civil religion, with
God sometimes invoked as a symbol of freedom rather than obeyed as Lord
and King.
However, democracy can be Christianised. That
is, it can be ennobled when it recognises that true freedom is ordered
to truth and virtue, not to moral relativism. The right to rule can
only be correctly gained from God, not from the people, and the method
of selecting rulers and the specific form of government must always
uphold justice and divine law.[18]
As authority is from God only insofar as it
seeks the good of man under God’s law, in a democracy, this divine
commission is shared among the people and their elected
representatives. Yet, the legitimacy of such a system still depends
upon conformity to the moral law. When the will of the people departs
from the will of God, it becomes as corrupt as any monarchy that falls
into tyranny. Democracy, too, must be judged by its fruits: does it
uphold truth, justice, and the dignity of the human person?
St. Thomas Aquinas teaches that while
sedition, i.e., rebellion against just authority, is sinful, resistance
to tyranny may be not only lawful but even a duty, when done for the
sake of the common good and without greater harm ensuing.[19] There is,
of course, a difference between overthrowing a tyrant, which may lead
to chaos, and restoring the right order of justice, which is itself a
moral good. The faithful must never act from hatred or revenge, but
from a love for justice and the welfare of souls.
Thus, as rulers remain legitimate only insofar
as they serve the divine purpose for which authority exists, i.e., the
temporal and moral good of their subjects, when they turn from that
purpose, the faithful must discern their duty carefully: to obey God
rather than men[20] and to work for the restoration of just order in
accordance with charity and right reason.
Authority as a Divine Trust
In the light of the Orthodox and Catholic
faith, governance is not an act of domination but of stewardship. The
ruler governs rightly when he protects life, upholds virtue, defends
the freedom and sovereign autonomy of the Holy Church, and seeks
justice for the poor and powerless. He governs unjustly when he exalts
ideology over truth, power over mercy, or when he places the State
above the soul. For the soul belongs to God alone, and no earthly power
may claim it.
The Orthodox and Catholic tradition speaks of
a sacred harmony — symphonia — between the spiritual and temporal
powers. The Church and the State are distinct in office but united in
purpose, each serving the same divine plan for the salvation and
sanctification of the world. When this harmony is kept, peace and
righteousness flourish. When it is broken, such as when the State
suppresses the Holy Church or the Church is exploited for worldly
power, disorder and injustice soon follow.
The State may not command faith, for faith is
born of freedom; yet it must not oppose faith, for without the moral
law of God, civil law loses its soul. The ruler who governs as though
God were absent becomes a law unto himself, and his rule turns swiftly
to tyranny. A just ruler, by contrast, acknowledges a higher tribunal,
the eternal law of God that transcends every decree. Laws contrary to
that law bind no conscience. They may be endured for a time, but they
must never be embraced. In such moments, again, Christians must obey
God rather than men, as the Apostles did before the Sanhedrin.
Freedom, in itself, is a holy gift, but when
severed from truth it decays into license, into the very anarchy of
appetite masquerading as liberty. Likewise, power without humility
becomes despotism, for only the meek can rule justly. As our Lord
taught: He who would be great among you must be your servant.[21] True
authority imitates the Lord who washed His disciples’ feet. The crown
and the Cross must never be separated. Indeed, the crown without the
Cross becomes idolatry.
The ruler who remembers that he will give
account before God governs with fear and wisdom. Such a ruler does not
seek to be adored but to bless; not to possess but to serve. His
justice is tempered by mercy, his strength by humility, and his
policies by prayer. Under such authority, the people find peace, the
Church flourishes, and even the law of the State becomes an instrument
of grace.
But when rulers forget God, their decrees
become hollow, and their empires pass away like dust. History bears
witness to the fact that no kingdom can endure whose foundation is not
righteousness. For the true measure of a nation is not its power or
wealth but the holiness of its people and the reverence of its leaders
for the law of God. Indeed, even the wealthiest nation on earth, full
of material and worldly power, cannot call itself great without the
proper foundation of moral doctrine with Christ as its head.
Therefore, the Church prays for kings and
magistrates, not to flatter them but to recall them to their sacred
vocation: to be servants of truth, guardians of peace, and fathers to
their people. And she proclaims to every age that only in the service
of God is man truly free, and only in the fear of God is power truly
just.
VI. Nations and the Society of Peoples
Nations, like persons, stand before God and
bear moral responsibility. They are not accidents of geography nor
idols of blood and soil, but rather they are moral communities, formed
by divine providence for the fulfillment of a purpose. Each people has
its own gift and vocation, a particular note in the great symphony of
creation, yet all are called to harmony in the service of the one Lord
of all.
A nation is truly great not by its armies, its
navies, or its wealth but by its righteousness, its reverence for God,
and its compassion toward the weak. As individuals must answer for
their deeds, so must nations answer for their collective sins: for
injustice, oppression, and cruelty. The prophets spoke not only to
persons but to kingdoms, warning that the pride of empires will fall
when they forget the poor and despise the law of God.
True patriotism is therefore not an ideology
but an act of love for one’s neighbour. It is a love that gives thanks
to God for the inheritance of one’s culture, whether it is the place
where one was born or the land(s) of one’s heritage and ancestors – for
the two are not always the same. Such love is humble and reverent; it
seeks not to exalt one’s nation above others, but to offer its gifts in
service to the world. For as St. Paul teaches, what do you have that
you did not receive?[22]
But when this love becomes self-exaltation,
when a nation worships itself, its race, or its destiny, it falls into
idolatry. Nationalism, in its fallen form, denies the brotherhood of
man and mocks the Fatherhood of God. It replaces the Cross with the
sword, the Gospel with the flag, and grace with blood. It forgets that
Christ died for all, that in Him there is neither Greek nor Jew,
barbarian nor Scythian,[23] but a new humanity reconciled in love.
In our own time, as in all ages, nations are
tempted to assert themselves through domination and fear to seek glory
through unjust conquest, wealth through exploitation, or influence
through propaganda. Such sins take many forms: economic enslavement of
poorer peoples, cultural imperialism that erases the soul of nations,
and ideological warfare that divides humanity into camps of hatred.
These are not simply political errors. They are sins, wounds inflicted
on the unity of mankind, which Christ came to heal.
The Church, Mother of all nations, calls each
people to purify its patriotism through repentance and charity. She
blesses the love of one’s home and culture, but not the hatred of
another’s. She honours heroes who defend the innocent, but not those
who wage unjust war. She teaches that peace among nations is not born
of treaties or balance of power but of conversion of heart, when rulers
and citizens alike submit their ambitions to the will of God.
For peace is not merely the absence of
conflict but the presence of righteousness. It is the fruit of justice
and mercy. It occurs when truth and love meet upon the earth. The Cross
must therefore stand higher than every flag, not to erase the nations
but to transfigure them. Indeed, the Church does not permit a national
flag to fly higher than the Cross or higher than any flag of the Holy
Church herself. For in Christ, every people and tongue finds its
fulfillment, not its abolition. The nations do not vanish in the
Kingdom. Rather, they bring their treasures to the New Jerusalem,
sanctified by grace and united in worship.
Thus, the Church calls the nations to their
true vocation: to be servants of God’s purpose in history, each bearing
its unique gift, wisdom, courage, compassion, and faithfulness to the
common altar of humanity. When this offering is made, then will the
prophecy be fulfilled: The kingdoms of this world have become the
Kingdom of our Lord and of His Christ, and He shall reign forever and
ever.[24]
VII. Charity: The Soul of Civilisation
Laws may restrain evil, but only charity can
create the good. Law can draw the boundaries of justice, but it cannot
kindle the love that fulfills it. Charity, that divine love poured into
human hearts by the Holy Spirit, is the soul of all true civilisation.
Without it, even the most just institutions grow cold, and the most
perfect order becomes lifeless machinery. With it, every fragment of
human life is warmed and made luminous with grace.
Charity is neither mere sentiment nor the
philanthropy of comfort. Rather, it is the very energy of God, the fire
that burns in the heart of the Holy Trinity and in the saints in
Heaven. It is the love that moved the Son to be sent to earth and
become flesh and to choose to bear the Cross; and it is the love that
descended at Pentecost to make of many nations one Church. This love
transforms justice from obligation into joy, and authority from
coercion into service. In its light, every command becomes a gift,
every duty an offering, and every act of obedience an act of freedom.
The family is the first school of charity,
where the mystery of self-giving is first learned. In its daily
sacrifices, love is tested and refined; in its forgiveness, the Gospel
is lived anew. The parish is its hearth, where charity becomes
communion and strangers are made brothers by the sharing of the Most
Blessed Sacrament. And the Church is its sanctuary, where love is
purified into prayer for the whole world, embracing all of creation.
Yet charity must not remain confined to churches or
homes; it must animate every corner of society. Christians in public
life are called to sanctify their work by this same love: for example,
the legislator, by letting conscience guide every law; the judge, by
tempering justice with mercy; the scientist, by seeking truth with
reverence for creation; the merchant, by serving the common good
through honest trade; and the artist, by revealing beauty as a window
to the divine.
Each baptized person is thus an apostle of
charity in his sphere. No task is too humble, no vocation too secular,
to become a ministry of divine love. When the baker kneads his bread,
the teacher instructs her students, or the nurse tends the sick in the
name of Christ, the Kingdom of God is already at work in the world.
A civilisation animated by charity reflects
the very life of the Holy Trinity: unity without coercion or confusion,
authentic diversity without division, and righteous order without
oppression. Such a society is not built upon fear or rivalry but upon
communion: the strong serving the weak and the wise guiding the simple,
all members joined together in mutual gift. This is not a utopia of
human design but the fruit of grace working through converted hearts.
For where charity reigns, hierarchy is harmonious, law yields true
liberty, and even human labour becomes a form of liturgy. The city that
lives by love becomes an icon of the New Jerusalem, where every act of
justice is illumined by mercy, and every relation mirrors the eternal
communion of Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Only such a civilisation
endures, for it is built not on the shifting sands of power, but on the
uncreated love that no force of history can overthrow.
VIII. Conclusion and Exhortation
Let every nation remember that its greatness
is not measured by its armies and navies, the strength of its markets,
or its conquests, but by its reverence for God and its care for the
least of His brethren. For what profits a people to gain the world and
lose its soul? The strength of a civilisation lies not in the might of
its weapons nor in the abundance of its wealth but in the righteousness
of its hearts and the mercy of its laws.
Let the employer see in the worker not a
servant, but a brother, a co-labourer in the vineyard of the Lord. Let
him remember that wages are not mere contracts but covenants, and that
the cry of the oppressed reaches unto Heaven.
Let the ruler see in every citizen the image
of God and govern not as master but as shepherd. Authority finds its
true dignity only in service. Power is justified only when it protects
the weak, defends truth, and honours the freedom and sovereignty of the
Holy Church.
Let the people see in their civil leaders not
great hypocrites and idols of power but stewards of justice. Let them
obey not from fear but from conscience and hold their civil rulers to
account not in anger but in truth.
Let nations see one another not as rivals to
be overcome, but as members of one human family, each bearing a
distinct calling from God. The peace of the world will not come through
the balance of terror or the commerce of advantage but through the
mutual recognition that all men are brethren and that the earth belongs
to Almighty God.
When the Church teaches and her children live
what she proclaims, when the faithful practise charity, when the mighty
walk humbly in Christ, when society remembers its Creator, then justice
and peace shall indeed embrace one another. The City of Man, purified
by grace, will begin, however faintly, to resemble the City of God.
And though its fulfillment awaits the age to
come, every act of mercy, every work of justice, every prayer uttered
in love prepares the way for that Kingdom where Christ shall be all in
all, and every nation shall bring its glory before the throne of the
Lamb.
Until that day, let every home, parish, and
people strive to live by the law of divine charity so that the kingdoms
of this world may more and more reflect the Kingdom that is not of this
world, yet already dawns within the hearts of the faithful.
Given at Rome-Ruthenia in the House of Saints Peter, Andrew, Stephen,
and Mark, this 29th Day of October, in the 2025th year of the
Incarnation.
Радислав Пп. I
[1] Confessions. Book I. Chapter 1.
[2] Ezekiel 36.26
[3] Luke 17.21
[4] Genesis 2.15
[5] St. Basil the Great. Homilia in illud dictum evangelii secundum
Lucam: «Destruam horrea mea, et majora ædificabo:» itemque de avaritia
[6] Matthew 6.24
[7] Matthew 19.21
[8] Luke 18.24
[9] Acts 4.32
[10] Romans 13.1–4
[11] St. Thomas Aquinas. Summa Theologica, I-II, q.90–97
[12] Romans 13.4
[13] St. Augustine. The City of God, Book IV, Ch. 4.
[14] St. Pius IX. Quanta Cura.
[15] Leo XIII. Humanum Genus.
[16] Leo XIII. Longinqua.
[17] St. Pius XI. Quas Primas.
[18] Leo XIII. Diuturnum Illud.
[19] St. Thomas Aquinas. Summa Theologica, II-II, q.42, a.2; De Regno, Book I, Ch. 6.
[20] Acts 5.29
[21] Matthew 20.26
[22] I Corinthians 4.7
[23] Colossians 3.11
[24] Revelation 11.15
[Chancery]
[Curia]
[Main
Page]
DISCLAIMER, LEGAL, AND COPYRIGHT NOTICES
|