Cabasilas,the Divine Liturgy and Political Governance: A Polis as Liturgy

The Charity of Christ: The Governance of Politicians, the Clergy and All Persons

From the overall narrative of the Divine Liturgy shall be chosen a part, which calls upon political and church leaders to imitate the jιλανθρωπία of Christ, in an attempt to draw conclusions about the ethics of governance. However, it must be clear from the very beginning of this article that the discussion of an ethics of governance, a discussion inspired by a fourteenth-century work that seems to concern only the governance of the political or ecclesiastical leaders, makes sense on the ground that it is not confined in a hierarchical understanding of the reality. On the contrary, it concerns all persons in the sense that in the narrative of the Divine Liturgy any hierarchy is understood as a necessary condition for the participation of everybody in the story of the economy of Christ, a participation of a peculiar democratic character—such a ‘democratic’ authority of each individual does not have to serve or coincide with any political programme of any state. Cabasilas’s thoughts traces back to Dionysius the Areopagite according to whom hierarchy is not a particular kind of order within a multiplicity of orders but rather ‘the order of the whole sacred (ἱϵρὰ-hiera) rites collectively, so he who speaks of hierarch, denotes the inspired and godly man’. ¹²

Head of this hierarchy is the fountain of life, the essence of goodness, the one Triad, cause of things that be, from which both being and well-being come to things that be, by reason of goodness… And this is the common goal of every Hierarchy,—the clinging love towards God and Divine things divinely…and deifying every man elevated towards it. ¹³

No one is excluded from the common goal and even of the highest attainment that of deification, the assimilation to, and union with, God, always ‘conformably to ourselves…in proportion to our capacity…according to our measure’. ¹⁴ Therefore, such hierarchy is not a political order but rather the sacred order that shapes human character and makes possible a polis as liturgy, a polis on the way to another kind of polis.

According to the Divine Liturgy of John Chrysostom, the prayer of the people comes after the Gospel reading. The prayer of the people is when the priest, on behalf of the people, prays for the church and political rulers, and in this clear references to the ethos of the governance that they should exercise are made, as well as to the ‘political agenda’ to be applied by them. ¹⁵ In particular, Cabasilas says:

And what prayer could be more fitting for all, after the Gospel, than one for those who keep the Gospel, who imitate the jιλανθρωπία of Christ, the shepherds of the people, those who govern the state. These, if they are faithful to the precepts of the Gospel, as the Apostle says: ‘Achieve after Christ that which is lacking in Christ’ in governing his flock as he would wish. ¹⁶

Thus, the ethos of governance should be characterised by the jιλανθρωπία of Christ as it is signified in the Gospel. For Cabasilas this concerns not only the ethos of the clergy, the shepherds of the Church, but also those engaged in the governance of the state. It could be argued that Cabasilas restricts his admonition to those ‘who keep the Gospel’, clearly indicating that he is addressing politicians who are more than notional Christians. However, he leaves open the possibility that the political leaders, for whom he speaks, are not faithful to the commitments arising from the Gospel (‘These, if they are faithful’). Therefore, we can draw the conclusion that no faithful Christians—we may also include non-Christians on the ground that both notional Christians and non-Christians share no participation in the life of Christ—may also be part of the prayer in the Divine Liturgy. ¹⁷

For our fourteenth-century thinker, the governance of political and church affairs is connected to the life in Christ, and particularly to the narrative of the Divine Liturgy that presents the economy of Christ, the story of Christ. It seems that the Liturgy is the most important recourse for helping us to live out such a story. ¹⁸ For Cabasilas it is clear that Christ inaugurated a new kind of ‘governance’ of human affairs in relation to the BC era. It is the incarnation of Christ that now and forever challenges the way that politics, jurisdiction and power should be exercised. A typical aspect of this new mode of ‘governance’ is the charity that the rulers of the Church and the state must demonstrate towards their flock and citizens respectively.

What, however, are the characteristics of this charity?

A first feature is associated with the public character of Divine Liturgy. To the extent that such character implies public interest, charity is also associated with the public space, particularly the public forum in the modern state. Public forum as open and free to all citizens offers the possibility that ‘they should have a fair chance to add alternative proposals to the agenda for political discussion’. ¹⁹ The Divine Liturgy as public in character ²⁰ can be considered as a real alternative even to the character of public forum to the extend that the Liturgy is the site of the expression of the charity of God, not only to meet or communicate with man in order to solve his problems, but also to share human nature (ἐκoινώνησϵ). ²¹

It is right to assume that Cabasilas’s argument ‘was an admonition of the good shepherd via the preacher, to inform the political shepherds to govern their flock’, an assumption that both restrains and guides the public activity of governing agents in the Middle Ages. However, Cabasilas, though he preaches to the people of his epoch, goes beyond the political circumstances of the time in justifying the diachronic character of Church preaching. Though he belongs to a hierarchical society, he understands the terms in a Christian way where equality is achieved through a participation that presupposes hierarchical distinctions. ²² Undoubtedly, this is something that is found, learned and experienced liturgically by the very arrangement of people in the Divine Liturgy. However, if something is found, learned and experienced becomes a constitutive part of a particular personal story, i.e. the story of a faithful Christian, then such a fact can, or better, must, be testified within the polis.

Now, what happened in the incarnation of God, and that happens in every Liturgy, is the annihilation of the distance between God and man, which is part of what it means to say that Christ shared human nature. Such an annihilation makes sense to the extent that it corresponds to the declaration that the Son of God ‘for us men, and for our salvation, came down from heaven and was incarnate by the Holy Spirit and the Virgin Mary and was made man’. ²³

In a modern democracy, the annihilation or, to be more accurate, limitation of the distance that separates rulers from citizens remains a challenge, in other words, something that must be overcome for a true rule of the people to exist. The distance results not only from different distributions of power, of the sovereignty of an individual, of a group of people (i.e. professionals or clergy) or of a state, but because it seems that such a difference corresponds to a different perception of reality—thinking, priorities, needs, and finally interests—between politicians and citizens, and by analogy, between the clergy and people, the bishops and parish priests, to an extent that the reality is that we often have two different worlds, both within one and the same state or within one local church. Even a ‘politics of the middle’ does not offer a convincing alternative, given that the ‘middle’ cannot but be ‘ broken’, where interests will always collide and where political claims, though necessary, are always incomplete. ²⁴

Instead, the exceeding power of God does not distance him from those who should be ‘referred’ to him, namely the human being. Cabasilas describes the ‘other’ political ethics posited by the Church in a very expressive way in his work The Life in Christ. The extract is here quoted in full despite its length.

He did not send an angel to save the human race, but came in person. It was necessary for men to learn the purposes of His coming. So, He did not stay in His own place and send for those who were to hear, but He Himself went about and sought out those to whom He would impart His words. Bringing on His tongue the greatest benefits, He came to the doors of those who stood in need of health. Thus He healed the sick by coming to them Himself and touching them with His hand. He created eyes for him who was born blind by putting clay on his face, having Himself made it by spitting on the ground and kneading it with His finger and taking it up (Jn 9:6). It says that ‘He came and touched the bier’ (Lk. 7:14), and that He stood by the tomb of Lazarus (Jn 11:38) and uttered his voice nearby. Although, had He so willed, He might have achieved both these things, and even things in every way greater than these, by mere word and gesture from afar, yet He did it in this way. The latter was an evident sign of his power, while the former was a sign of his love which He came to show towards men. ²⁵

This ‘proximity model’, which should characterise relations between ‘rulers’ and ‘subjects’ of any kind, is not an extreme theoretical concept. Rather, it is tied in with the nature of human communication that invests in the immediacy of the relationship. The real union in the person of Christ of divinity and humanity leaves no doubt. Cabasilas says that: ‘True communion consists in this: that the same thing is present simultaneously in both parties. When, however, both parties have it, the one at one time, the other at another time, it is not so much a sharing as a separation.’ ²⁶ If it is only the life of or in Christ that makes such sharing possible, then the ‘broken’ character of any institution or representative of political, and even ecclesiastical, life in the public space seems inevitable, and therefore necessitates at least an awareness of one’s self-limitation regarding any claim in the public arena. The ‘political’ message of the Divine Liturgy is clear. Governance by politicians and clergy that ignores the narrative of the economy of Christ remains but ‘broken’, serving separation and division and not furthering sharing and communion.

The careful reader might notice that neither knowing nor ignorance can heal what is ‘broken’ given that only God, through the Divine Liturgy, is in the position to heal, while politicians and clergy always live in a ‘broken’ or ‘limited’ state. However, the knowledge of the narrative of the economy of Christ is a prerequisite for a development not visible at the moment as far as it concerns the ‘city that is to come’. Cabasilas, commenting on the importance of the knowledge of the narrative of Christ, points out that: ‘Their [the ceremonies performed in the Eucharistic liturgy] purpose is to set before us the Divine Plan… It could not have fulfilled its task and saved mankind if, even after it had been performed, it had remained unknown.’ ²⁷ This knowledge could contribute to the fact that although politicians and clergy always live in a ‘broken’ state, they do not have a clear view of such brokenness since the alternative of a polis as liturgy that would raise such a condition along with its implications is not visible.

The second feature of the charity of Christ is linked to the character of the authority exercised by him. His authority is not an authority of sovereignty and power, but of judgement and justice. ²⁸ Justice is a foundational political principle that is considered a pillar of the modern state. All and everything is judged, as there is nothing human that is not subject or not to be subjected to fair criticism and justice. What makes things different is the kind of justice that is exercised, the particular foundation that gives justice its distinctive character. Foucault, for example, believes that any conception of justice is influenced by the culture and time in which it is formulated, and therefore this limits its use as an absolute criterion for exercising power. Chomsky, in contrast, believes that justice is founded on a strong temporal perception of human nature, and that this perception is likely to eliminate injustice through the struggle of social classes found in the modern western democracy. ²⁹ Rawls, who is more systematic, proposes justice as fairness, as being free from commitments to any inclusive teaching, and thus compatible with a liberal democracy in which people agree to live together as part of a different type of comprehensive doctrines. ³⁰

In such a debate Cabasilas’s first comment would be that justice cannot be defined either by any comprehensive teaching, since any comprehensive teaching is the offspring of the ideological and cultural characteristics of a particular era, nor by human nature itself and its ‘mortality’, nor by freeing man from any restrictions regarding social status. A second point would be to observe that simply to identify a foundation point that aims to ensure that everyone should be given what he or she is entitled to is not enough, at least in terms of the narrative of the Divine Liturgy. The narrative of the economy of Christ goes a step further, and establishes a justice in a way different to any of the above, positing an asymmetric kind of justice and asymmetric charity on the part of the ‘rulers’ towards those under their authority, a justice and charity according to the life of Christ. Thus we see that the presence of Christ, although he is God omnipotent, does not result in the destruction of ‘others’, of those ‘different’ to him, of those under his authority. ³¹ Rather, though omnipotent, he demonstrates a charity that is asymmetric in character. And this asymmetry is of a degree that is clearly unacceptable and unknown in terms of human justice, since it does not lead to the discrimination that persons develop over time.

In the case of Christ, this asymmetrical justice is linked to a particular person, and no longer, and not only with, an institutional definition of justice. This link, on the one hand, does not require a different conception of law to be established, and on the other hand, it establishes, as the principal criterion in the pursuit of justice, the character of the person who exercises justice, namely the person of ‘the ruler’. The ethical character of the ‘ruler’ is therefore no longer an internal matter or a matter of personal choice, since for Christian ethics it is organically integrated into the ethics of the governance exercised. ³² This means that what is given priority, and also highlighted, is not only the ethics of responsibility of the office held that a ‘ruler’ has to assume, but also the link between such ethics and an ethics of conviction, in our case Christian ethics. ³³

For the asymmetrical justice exemplified by Christ there is a connection between the ‘now’ that is under the sovereignty of the political ruler and the ‘not yet’ of the coming Kingdom of God. Then, what is actually implied by such a justice is the transition of those in power from the responsibility of simply implementing the law to the pursuit of a justice that embodies the way Christ lived and acted ³⁴ by going beyond the constraints established by the division of politics from ethics, a division that ignores the unity of human life ³⁵ and makes invisible the ‘world to come’. Particularly, Cabasilas says that any leader must act as to offer only good, i.e. to be good to everyone, and not to cause harm of any kind. And this is ‘asymmetric’ taking into account the fact that ‘the world can present us with situations in which there is no honorable or moral course for a man to take, no course free of guilt and responsibility for evil’ ³⁶ since this is the human condition.

Inclusion and Antinomy

But the narrative of the Divine Liturgy helps us further to identify the best way for governing human affairs: Cabasilas, after stating that the shepherds of the people and those who govern the state should imitate the jιλανθρωπία of Christ, concludes: ‘These, if they are faithful to the precepts of the Gospel, as the apostle says: “Achieve after Christ that which is lacking in Christ,” ³⁷ in governing his flock as he would wish.’ ³⁸ In other words, if politicians and clergy observe, teach and fulfil what is written in the Gospel then they participate in the narrative of the economy of Christ that is not yet fulfilled with a view to governing people along the lines of life in Christ.

It is significant that Cabasilas mentions Church and political leaders by referring to them side by side in the prayer of faithful Christians in the Divine Liturgy. For the narrative of the Divine Liturgy the Gospel is not something that concerns the shepherds of the Church only. It concerns Christian political leaders also. Without neglecting the specific characteristics of each role, it should be recalled that these bearers of political power should ultimately refer themselves to the charity of Christ, which represents a new reality in terms of exercising political power.

However, the charity of Christ, the life of Christ, is not foreign or indifferent to what constitutes the given political reality, the management of human affairs, in any time or place. Moreover, the incarnation of God concerned and concerns all persons, the cosmic reality as a whole, even if this might not be acknowledged. Therefore, the narrative of the Divine Liturgy and its implication for politics also includes all faithful and notional Christians, even non-Christians, and in that way is linked with ‘democracy’ and a polis, namely a polis as liturgy.

It could be argued that Cabasilas lived in Byzantine society, a society in which it was expected that political leaders should show respect for the teachings of the Church. But society in the fourteenth century was already undergoing a process of change, on the way to modernity. ³⁹ Besides, Cabasilas, in his comment ‘if they are faithful to the precepts of the Gospel’, makes it clear that not only politicians but also church leaders do not always respect their commitment and therefore do not respect and teach in a proper manner what the Bible says—it is important that what is called the charity of God is related to what is testified in the Gospel.

The author’s observation that it is possible not only for the leaders of the state, but also for those in the Church not to exhibit proper conformity to the revelation of God in the world even in a ‘Christian’ society, shows that the human condition is characterised by the tendency to exclude God from human affairs ⁴⁰ and to organise the polis in a way irrelevant to the liturgy of the narrative of Christ’s economy. Such reality is a testimony that there is in a way inherent antinomy between the way persons alone and faithful Christians should organise their life, their polis.

To be more precise, since persons of any authority from the very beginning of their existence are characterised by the tendency to rely solely upon their human efforts, ⁴¹ the public sphere of human life ends in a broken condition since there is no narrative as the narrative of the Divine Liturgy that may ‘from beginning to end preserve its order and harmony’. ⁴² This implies a fundamental antinomy between a secular polis and a polis as liturgy, between a broken condition by its very definition ⁴³ and the narrative of the Christ in the Divine Liturgy, a narrative of order and harmony. However, the Christian narrative in the Divine Liturgy considers human actions as a prerequisite for actions according to divine reality as ‘all the philosophy of men and all their labours for true righteousness are no more than preliminaries and preparations’ ⁴⁴ for the life in Christ.

Imperfect Politics and the ‘Incomplete’ Narrative of Christ

In the narrative of the Divine Liturgy, the clergy and politicians and as a consequence all persons, including non-Christians, are called to observe, teach and fulfil ‘that which is written (in the Gospel)’ with a view to continuing the work of Christ. In fact, they are called to fill up ‘what is lacking in the afflictions of Christ’ ⁴⁵ in the sense that any polis is called to become a polis as liturgy. Although assigning such responsibilities to the political leaders of our time and every era seems excessive, we should look a little more closely at what we could say about Cabasilas’s assertion.

If the narrative of Christ is presented as ‘incomplete’ in something, this happens not because of his weakness, and surely not in the sense of the imperfect character of politics due to the human condition. It is proved ‘incomplete’ in order to show, first, that neither his presence in human life led to the fulfilment, the end, of human history, and second to imply that such fulfilment is an open challenge, an invitation to all people in the sense that Christ’s life was the beginning of a story, of the economy of Christ, into which all persons are invited to become part of (ἧμᾶς διαδἐξασθαι τἧν oἱκoνoμίαν). ⁴⁶ Apparently, the continuation of this story is also a story of Christ that continues to act through man, while man will never fulfil ‘what is lacking’. In other words, nobody can argue that he or she has filled up ‘what is lacking in the afflictions of Christ’, that he or she has fulfilled all those things that Christ has left as our responsibilities and obligations.

If the presence of God in the world did not mark the end of human history, it is evident that no other impressive historic event as unexpected or as so beyond the mind’s eye as this could bring such an end. The case of the ‘incomplete’ narrative of Christ implies that human history should not be interpreted by looking for its end in political events on a global scale, since other ‘significant’ events sooner or later always follow, which automatically ‘suspend’ the end of the story. ⁴⁷ This means, quite simply, that the orientation of our objectives and efforts should not be strictly human, even that of political leaders: they should not limit their efforts to the successful management of human affairs, since the telos, either as a culmination of the historical path of man or as a goal towards which it tends, cannot occur only in human terms. It is important for every leader to be aware of the limits on the jurisdiction, power and political goals that he or she can humanly exercise, to be aware, in other words, of the imperfect character of politics.

In terms of the narrative of the Divine Liturgy, Christ’s flock that celebrates the Divine Liturgy has a duty towards human history. In achieving this objective both church leaders and political rulers have a role—even the position of the ruler is linked to a concept of priestly character (‘For this reason you also pay taxes, for the authorities are God’s servants devoted to governing’, Rom. 13:6). ⁴⁸ But if the end of history does not come so simply by human effort, then we should look for a telos in man himself—the man as leader and ruler, the prototype of any persons. ⁴⁹ Such a telos is clearly implied by Cabasilas when he connects ‘what is lacking in the afflictions of Christ’ and participating in such a ‘lack’ through suffering a personal cost, including bodily suffering (‘Now I rejoice in my sufferings for you, and I fill up in my physical body—for the sake of his body, the church-what is lacking in the afflictions of Christ’, Col. 1:24), on the part of the leaders of Church and state and all persons. ⁵⁰

If the model for charity is the charity of God, as expressed in the incarnation of his Son, then charity cannot be separated from personal cost, personal ‘sacrifice’. This being the case, political and church governance is linked to the life of Christ, and what Cabasilas says could be perceived as an invitation to any leader to show charity, which can but be linked to a personal, and not only a ‘political’, cost regarding the preservation of one’s own position. Historical experience shows that the transition from the ethos of exercising political power in general to an ethos of personal sacrifice for the sake of those under a particular authority is not something self-evident, as it requires the cultivation of a particular spiritual condition. What Christ did not suffer should be suffered by any leader.

As an epilogue, that which ‘is lacking in the afflictions of Christ’ poses a never-ending challenge for all persons, ⁵¹ if we understand that every single person possesses by his or her very human nature a degree of authority, and man responds to this challenge to the extent that he consents to participate in such suffering, that is, to participate, mutatis mutandis, in the afflictions of Christ. In responding to this challenge described he will consequently minister successfully to the world, or, in other words, fulfil his role as a leader and as a ruler. In other words, the narrative of the economy of Christ is ‘incomplete’ in order that throughout human history, life lived according to the afflictions of Christ would ‘make up the difference’, would make possible even a polis as liturgy.