Dogma and Economy

Fr. Andria Saria

From a distance, church life seems to be made up of many rules and

prohibitions. Modern thinking does not like this very much, because we see

ourselves as free people. We are especially afraid that someone might limit our

ability to think. Church dogmas often appear to us as laws that restrict our

thinking.

For this reason, this topic has been chosen for today’s discussion. I will

begin from a broader perspective and then move step by step to explain the key

terms.

First of all, I want to tell you that church dogmas speak only about God.

There are no dogmas that define rules for human actions in culture or science. All

our dogmas are about God.

Second, of course, these dogmas are difficult to understand. They are not

simple, and sometimes they may seem contradictory or antinomic. But as

Chesterton said, just as scientists are proud of their science, believers are proud of

the difficulties of their Church’s dogmas.

Dogmas are limits; they are walls. But walls can be different. There are

prison walls, and there are fortress walls. Weak walls are easy to break and destroy,

and they make security weaker. Strong and solid walls, however, protect what is

inside. Dogmatic boundaries are such strong walls. They protect the Church from

foreign poisons, from thieves, and from destruction.

I would say that dogmatic theology is, in a way, the protection of God’s

rights—like a constitution—in human life. It protects God from being reshaped or

reinterpreted according to human ideas. From the first centuries, many people tried

to break these walls and introduce their own views. That is why it was necessary to

preserve the Gospel’s original spirit and sweetness in the form in which Christ left

it to us. For this reason, the canons of the Apostles, the books of the New

Testament, and the main principles of their interpretation were needed.

A house that has nothing valuable inside does not need an alarm system. But

when wealth appears, the desire to protect it also appears. The same is true in the

history of the Church.

It is also important to know that Orthodoxy has very few dogmas. The

dogma of our Church fits on one page: the Nicene Creed. Every believer in our

Church knows this dogma by heart. We began the previous lecture with the Creed

and spoke about the Church. Now I want to focus on the words “I believe.” Notice

that we say “I believe,” not “we believe.” Today this may sound strange, because it

is sung in the Church, yet we still say “I believe,” not “we believe.”

This shows that faith is a personal choice: to say, “I believe.” This choice,

however, was often denied and violated. In the first centuries, the main struggle of

Christians with the state was exactly this: the state should not interfere in matters

of faith with force or imperial ambition. That is why Tertullian said in the third

century that it is not natural for one religion to use violence against another.

Later, in the fourth century, Gregory the Theologian addressed Emperor

Julian the Apostate. Before him, there was Emperor Constantine, who supported

Christianity. After him came Julian, who tried to restore paganism and began new

persecutions of Christians. Gregory wrote to him: our destiny has changed many

times. We Christians were persecuted, and we were also in positions of power. But

when Christians were in government, did we arrest pagans, kill them, or take their

property? Did we silence them so they could not spread their beliefs? Why, then,

are you doing this now?

At that time, the Church could say this truthfully. Sadly, later in history, the

Church lost this moral right and could no longer use this argument. The Creed was

born precisely in the time when faith was a personal and martyrdom-filled choice

for each human being.

My second comment is this: I say “I believe” not because I do not know.

Faith does not stand against knowledge. Faith is a personal ability and a response

to the knowledge that I already have. I know many things that I do not believe in.

For example, I may turn on the television, listen to the news, and hope to gain

something meaningful. During the advertisements, I also hear sports news and

learn that tomorrow there will be an American football game, the Super Bowl. But

if I am not a football fan, why should I care? The information comes and then goes

away. It has no effect on my life.

But it is very different if I am a sports fan. Then I start thinking about the

game tomorrow. I change my whole daily schedule, go to the stadium, support my

team loudly, and maybe even lose my voice from cheering. This is what it means to

believe that your team will win.

Today, there is almost no person who believes in nothing. People may say

something exists—at least in their hearts, even if they do not say it aloud. The

question is: how does this “something” affect your life? A religious person is

someone who has taken a step because of their belief.

Faith is an act of the will. It means that I move information from the edge of my

life to the center and make it part of how I live. Faith is knowledge with values, not

the absence of knowledge.

There is also another important point. The fact that Christian dogmatics

begins with the word “faith” is a sign of the high philosophical culture of the

Church Fathers. A person who comes to the Church only with their own intellect

will not say, “I believe.” They will say, “I know everything.” People who think

they know everything often fail to see what others know. My knowledge and

another person’s knowledge do not always meet, and here the greatest difficulty

appears: our subjective views.

Christianity is the only religion that openly speaks about faith. Other

religions are mostly silent about this. Judaism is more about practice than belief—

it focuses on keeping the law. A Buddhist or a Hindu “knows” in a way similar to a

shaman: through insight or foresight. Christians, however, are connected to faith.

Why is this so? The Gospel story itself is, in some ways, surprising and even

scandalous. One of its main messages is that God came in a hidden way. He hid

His divinity from people. When Jesus healed the sick, He ordered them not to

speak about it. The reason is that Jesus came into the world in order to suffer. He

came to give Himself for humanity and to offer Himself as a sacrifice.

If Jesus had walked in full glory and openly shown His divinity—except in

moments like the raising of Lazarus or the Transfiguration—people would not have

dared to crucify Him. That is why Christ came in the form of a human being. A

person cannot see in Christ what God Himself has hidden. If God hides His

divinity, a human being is not guilty for failing to recognize it.

This is why Christ does not judge those who do not believe in Him. This is also

why Christ prays on the cross: “Father, forgive them, for they do not know what

they are doing.” As I mentioned in a previous lecture, Jesus Himself chose the

apostles; the apostles did not choose Him.

Many examples could be given from the Gospel, but I remember one story

told by a priest about another priest he knew. When this priest was a small child, in

first or second grade, he was a good student. His grandmother was a believer.

During Holy Week she became very ill and could not go to church before Pascha.

She asked her educated grandson to read from the Gospel the passages about

Christ’s Passion.

The scene was this: the grandmother was sitting in a chair, her face turned

toward the icons. The child stood next to her and read the Gospel. When he

reached the place where the people in Jerusalem shout, “Crucify Him! Crucify

Him! His blood be on us and on our children,” the grandmother used her last

strength, leaned forward toward the icons, and said: “Thank you, Lord, that You

did not come to us Russians, because how shameful it would have been for us.”

But this is a wrong understanding of the Gospel. Christ did not come to become a

king or the head of a theological school. He clearly said why He came—and He

fulfilled it.

Why are there so many religions in the world that do not agree with each

other, yet all claim to have the truth? Where do they lead us? Do they truly save

people, or are they only incomplete human ideas about ultimate reality? Where did

this great variety of beliefs and systems come from? If humanity comes from one

common root, why does it not have one shared worldview?

A modern person, who is used to thinking about moral and philosophical

questions from a humanistic point of view, finds it difficult to answer these

questions. And yet, these questions trouble the conscience. An agnostic answer like

“I don’t know” cannot fully satisfy the soul. The source of religious pluralism lies in the fall into sin itself. In human sin, inner division already appears: a person believes in God and at the same time

listens to Satan as a new and “good” god. Sin brings separation—both inside the

person and in the outer world. This separation damages the human structure: the

soul and the body lose their former harmony. The soul still looks toward heaven,

but the body becomes more strongly tied to the earth.

Sin turns the natural order of the human person upside down: the body

begins to rule over the soul. The inner light of knowing God grows weak, and

direct experience is replaced by symbols. Religion then depends more on external

words, teachings, and rituals, especially sacrifice. Religion changes from seeing

God clearly to searching for God in darkness.

Sin also separates the powers of the soul—mind, feelings, and will—and cuts them

off from spiritual intuition. Human beings lose the true measure of reality: direct

vision of the truth.

The killing of a brother led to new changes, decline, and a distortion of

spiritual and bodily powers. The bodily, instinctive forces became reactive and

took on new aggressive impulses. Because of this, they became even more foreign

to the soul.

The Bible clearly mentions that Cain’s descendant, Lamech, took two wives.

Here we already see the corruption of the marital bond, which changes from a

means of bringing children into the world into a way of satisfying desire. The

emotional side of the body—often called emotions, though not always correctly—

can no longer feel not only heavenly beauty, but even earthly harmony.

This part becomes the weakest and most easily wounded area of the human person,

through which dark forces are able to influence human beings.

Just as an enemy takes control of foreign territory, establishes his rule there,

and sets new laws and rules, so the bodily side of the person, after breaking the

hierarchy of the soul and taking power over the human being, creates its own

imitations and substitutes for religion.

In the same way that a blind person, without sight, replaces reality with

personal imagination, the bodily side, without spiritual light, fills the emptiness

with its own dreams and desires.

For us, the appearance and growth of new religions mean the loss of the

original tradition—the tradition whose guardian was the awakened human

conscience. In the period after the Flood, religions multiplied like mushrooms after

rain. We see them as the result of the creative imagination of the bodily side of the

person and of the wandering of the human mind. By their own powers, people tried

to see and reach what the soul can receive only through the grace of God.

Religious fantasy, as the aggression of the passionate and sinful bodily nature

entering the sphere of the soul, always remains religious illusion. It always gives

dark powers the opportunity to influence a soul that is not protected by the grace of

God.

Every religion, except Orthodoxy, tries to rely on external forces. But the

soul does not need an external foundation, because it is directed toward eternity.

The bodily side of the person, however, is directed toward this world, and therefore

its actions depend on external factors. Bodily religions look for a physical base or

external support.

In Judaism, this support is national solidarity; without it, Talmudism would

disappear. Islam spread through expansion and was based on the power of the

sword. Catholicism relies on organization and discipline, on external authority,

which is embodied in the Pope. Protestantism is based on a literal understanding of

Holy Scripture, where not the spirit but the human intellect stands in the

foreground; therefore, the Bible itself becomes an external authority. Sects rely on

systems of mutual support and confessional solidarity as a form of social stability.

I really like the words of the Greek philosopher Heraclitus. He said: “Only

one is truly one. It should not and cannot be called by the name of Zeus. The One

is nameless.”

There is a very interesting apocryphal story in the Acts of Mark the Apostle.

According to it, the Apostle Mark travels to Alexandria, a city in Egypt. While

walking through the city, his sandals break, so he goes to the nearest cobbler to

have them fixed. While sewing, the cobbler pricks his hand with a needle and

shouts, “O God!” or “Theos!” Mark asks him: “What did you just say? God?

Singular? You did not call Zeus, Mercury, or Amon. How do you know about the

God who is one, truly one, and has no name?”

That cobbler becomes Mark’s student and later the first Patriarch of

Alexandria.

A similar, slightly amusing story happened in the 19th century. Saint

Macarius Glukheriev, also called Macarius the Altai, a missionary, wrote a letter to

a priest giving instructions for welcoming Altai visitors. He said: prepare a bath at

home (in Russia called a parnaya), give them hot tea, and then when they enter the

bath, lightly tap the tribal chief on the head so that he involuntarily says, “Maiku

tai! Oh my God! What did you just say? God? Singular?”

Another true story involves followers of Krishna. They sang “Hare Krishna”

in Sanskrit as they went to worship. Once, their car tire burst, and the vehicle

rolled over. Everyone involuntarily shouted, “Lord, forgive us!” Missionaries used

examples like these to show that humans have a natural, instinctive belief in God.

Early Christian apologists also noticed that in times of crisis, people forget pagan

gods and their names, but instinctively turn to the true God and say, “O God.”

Michelangelo was once asked: “Is it easy to make a statue?” He answered:

“It is very simple. You take the material and remove everything that is not part of

the statue.”

Faith is like this. When you take the symbol of faith, it is arranged so that

studying it gradually removes non-Christian beliefs and gives your soul a true form

in faith. This is how true Christianity is formed in a person.

The first boundary of faith is the Creed. It is not about multiple gods, but

about one God—not gods, but God.

A more important point in faith is that we call God Father. Not a judge, not

someone who condemns or destroys, but a Father. When God creates the world, He

says it is good. When God creates people, He says they are made in His image and

likeness, and He likes them. What God creates cannot be bad.

But what does it mean that God is Father? Imagine a serious man sitting in

his office with a secretary. If someone wants to meet him, they first ask the

secretary about his mood and are careful not to upset him. But there is one person,

a child, who does not care about the father’s mood. The child can even walk in and

say: “Father, you promised me $50 for lunch, now give it to me!” A child can be

capricious, cry, or be stubborn in front of a parent.

In the same way, Christians have this right with God. We can bother Him

with small things, and maybe even annoy Him. Saint Theophan the Recluse, a

great Russian theologian, said: God has only one care—to show mercy, again and

again. Even at the final judgment, God will not look for reasons to condemn us, but

for reasons to save us.

Because of this, we can pray to God about small things.

One student shared a story. He grew up in a village and then went to a

university in the city. In his class were students of many different faiths, some

charismatic Christians. They often said “Hallelujah” and once invited him to pray

with them. He refused, saying: “I cannot come. My family is Orthodox.” They told

him: “Your church is wrong. You have no miracles, but we have many miracles at

every meeting. Our pastor can wave his hand and everyone falls unconscious.”

He tried to resist, but one day he went home for the university holidays. He asked

his mother: “Mom, you are a believer, right? You never miss Sunday services. Tell

me, are there miracles in our church?” She said: “Of course, there are.” Then he

asked: “Give me an example.”

She said: “Last September, I was drinking tea in the evening. Suddenly, the

radio said frost was coming. I had not yet harvested all the potatoes. From

morning, I worked in the garden to take out as many as I could. By the time I

looked at the sun, it was going down, and I still had half to harvest. I said to God:

‘Lord, You know, if I don’t get these potatoes now, I will be hungry in winter.’ I did

not pray long, I just kept working—and you know, the sun stayed longer, and I

managed to finish harvesting all the potatoes.”

Philosophically, it seems strange. Why does this woman ask God about

potatoes? God, the creator of everything, the source of all doctrine and existence, is

being asked about a simple vegetable? An educated person might think God should

be asked only for spiritual things: “Lord, give me patience and respect for others.”

But a Christian has the same right to ask God about both spiritual matters

and everyday, practical things—even potatoes.

The Creed goes deeper and says: “Almighty.” But this raises a big question:

if God is the creator of everything, does that mean God created evil too? It is a

question to think about. If God is one, does evil come from what God created?

These are difficult ideas. To understand why evil is not created and why it has no

real being takes deep reflection.

A 20th-century philosopher, Vasily Rozanov, said something interesting: in

the Church’s interest, the Gospel should not be taught in churches, schools, or

universities to children under 40. He believed that very young and successful

people cannot fully understand the cross or the truth of the Gospel. I could give

arguments against this, but it is still worth thinking about. I do not necessarily

agree with this idea, but it is thought-provoking.

Karl Marx has a famous phrase: Religion is the opium of the people. You

may have heard it. Some may think it is fair to say that. In this context, “opium”

means something a person takes for themselves, not something forced upon them.

These words do not belong only to Marx. A bishop in the 15th century said

something very similar. Also, the context matters a lot.

Marx was criticizing Hegel’s philosophy. He said religion is like the spirit of

a soulless world. Religion is the heart of a heartless system. Religion is the breath

of a dying soul. Religion is the flower that decorates the Church. Religion is the

opium of the people. You see, Marx used different words—heart, soul, breath,

flower, and opium—to explain the same idea.

In the 19th century, “opium” did not mean the drug we think of today. It

meant a painkiller, something that helped people endure pain. Religion gives

people strength to bear suffering and understand its weight.

God controls everything, but He also allows freedom. Evil exists because we have

free will.

Then comes another important word: “Creator.” In Greek, this word sounds

even richer: “poietes”—which means poet. This is very important. In some cases,

the words Father and Creator can even be opposites.

Later in the Creed, we hear this contrast clearly: “begotten, not created.” To

be begotten means to be born, not made. Birth is a natural process. Creation,

however, is an act of will and thought. The world is created, not born. That is why

we say: what the Father has, the Son has. The world is not God. Christianity is not

pantheism. The cosmos itself is not God.

The word poet is important here. In the Bible, words are not used in a

romantic or sexual way. They are used through images and poetic symbols. What

does a poet do? A poet creates poems. In the same way, the biblical God creates—

like a poet. There is an ancient prayer that says: “O God, You created all creation

from four verses.” This is not just poetry—it is part of the Church’s prayer

tradition.

The Greek word “stoicheia”(სტოიქია) is also important. In Georgian,

Russian, or French, this word often means disaster or destructive natural forces.

But in Greek, stoicheia comes from the verb “stoicheo,”(სტოიქიო) which means

to walk in order or to move in sequence. It means harmony, not chaos.

A literary verse is built on rhythm, order, and harmony. In the same way, the four

elements—water, air, earth, and fire—are used by God, the Creator and Poet, to

form the world. God creates balance and proportion in creation.

God is free from the laws of our world. That is why God’s actions appear as

miracles in our lives and in the world.

The work of the Church Fathers, as Church history clearly shows, has

always been defined by two main elements in every period. These are dogma and

economy.

Dogma means the true teaching given by God. This teaching is without error

and does not change. It is the only foundation for the salvation of humanity, for

human redemption, and for freedom from sin.

Economy, on the other hand, shows how the Church acts in real life.

Through its practical work, it clearly proves that the Church is not only a strict

judge. It is not quick to cut off evil or people who are willingly enslaved by sin. At

the same time, the Church is a natural teacher, an educator, and a guide like a

loving parent.

The Church, as the guardian of truth, is dogmatic.

The Church, as a teacher, is a great steward of souls.

But even this pastoral care has only one goal: to bring people to the same

true dogma, which is the only way to salvation.

That is why the Church cannot accept sin and exposes it immediately. But

the same Church does not immediately cut off the sinner or the person enslaved by

sin. Instead, it makes great efforts. It shows special care and a teaching attitude

toward the sinner. According to the situation, it shows true mother-like mercy, so

that those who are being swallowed by the waves of error may slowly be saved

from destruction.

Error itself has two main forms. One is blindness caused by passions.

The other is doctrinal or confessional error (in modern words, a wrong

worldview).

Our discussion here is about this second kind.

Throughout the centuries, many evil teachings have risen against the truth.

However, the Church, like a wise ship guided by God, has always escaped

danger without harm. It has saved those who sought salvation without loss. Those

who were leaning toward error were patiently taught with fatherly care. Those who

repented were welcomed back with love. But those who freely and fully chose

destruction were finally removed from the Church.

Excommunication, also called cutting off, anathema, curse, or public

separation (this last term was also used in the Gelati school), is an extreme

measure. The Church uses it only when all its pastoral work of economy has been

fully exhausted. This happens when, on the one hand, a person is willingly sick in

spirit and completely beyond healing, and, on the other hand, there is a danger that

this sickness may spread to others.

In such a case, just like an incurable and fully decayed part of the body, the

Church removes from itself those who are conscious enemies of the truth. But we

must stress again that before this extreme action, the Church always gives many

warnings, teachings, and calls to repentance. This long and patient work is exactly

what is meant by economy, or in old Georgian terms, providential care.

On the path of establishing saving teaching, the greatest obstacle and the strongest

enemy of truth, as the Church Fathers unanimously teach, is force, coercion, and

pressure. Therefore, if we want to plant the saving teaching among people, we

must use the opposite of violence, and that is economy.

Saint John Chrysostom explains: “God never brings anyone to Himself by force or violence. Although He desires the salvation of all, He forces no one. As Paul also says: ‘He desires all people to

be saved and to come to the knowledge of the truth.’

Then why are not all saved, if He wants everyone to be saved? Because not

everyone chooses to follow God’s will, and God forces no one.”

When a person falls into error, it is the duty of spiritual pastors to warn them again

and again, to help them understand how dangerous this error is, and to teach and

guide them.

But if this person, with full awareness and clear intention, deliberately turns

away from the right path and stubbornly and freely opposes the saving teaching of

the Church, then this person separates and cuts himself off from the Church. In this

case, it is not surprising that the Church only confirms the existing reality: that

such a person, by conscious and free choice, is already separated from her.

However, we must clearly say again that exposing an error and

excommunicating a person as a heretic do not happen at the same time. Very often,

a long period of time stands between them. This period lies between the exposure

of the error and the moment when the same person, now fully hardened and

beyond healing, is officially named and declared a heretic.

The reason is this: a person who holds the same doctrinal error may, for a

time, be considered mistaken or confused, but later, after persistence and refusal to

repent, may be considered a heretic.

The starting statement is this: If we call someone a heretic, we must immediately separate from them,

because it is enough to remain in communion with a heretic for us also to become

participants in heresy. If this were always applied immediately, then the Church would have to cut

off every person with doctrinal error at once. But Church history clearly shows the

opposite. We often find people who were not excommunicated even after many

years. This proves that the Church, as a divine teacher, continues to act with

educational economy and does not use extreme measures until all other ways to

correct the error have been exhausted.

The Great Canon Law clearly defines the degree of sin for both laypeople

and clergy and also determines the proper form of penance for each case.

Among doctrinal or confessional errors, one issue that is especially relevant today

is joint prayer. This means a conscious and shared prayer to God by an Orthodox

Christian together with a member of a magicians or people who openly claims they

dined’t believe in God. The Church clearly condemns this practice, not only for

clergy but also for laypeople.

The situation becomes especially serious if the one who commits this sin is a

bishop or Priest. In such a case, the Holy Synod must call the bishop to repentance

and suspend him from priestly service. This does not mean that, after repentance

and correction, he cannot be restored to his episcopal rank.

It is known, for example, that Saint Lucian of Antioch, a great hieromartyr, was

suspended from priestly service for three years. After completing this period, he

continued his service as a bishop and later became one of the great lights of the

Orthodox Church.

But a question arises: if the process of correction and admonition of a

mistaken bishop lasts a long time, are the other members of the church, during this

time, considered participants in his error because they remain in communion with

him?

The answer is absolutely and clearly no. They are not considered

participants in his error. The reason is what we have already said: a mistaken

person is one thing, and a heretic is another. Even if both the mistaken person and

the heretic hold exactly the same doctrinal error, a person is considered mistaken

and correctable as long as there is still hope of repentance and a return to saving

teaching. A person is considered a heretic and excommunicated only when, with

full awareness, he is incurably hardened in doctrinal error and no hope of

correction remains.

If a doctrinally mistaken bishop had to be recognized immediately as a

heretic—if there were no interval at all between recognizing a doctrinal error and

declaring it heresy—then a bishop who fell into error would instantly become a

heretic. In that case, all of us would also be heretics simply because we shared the

Chalice with him. Even more, the Orthodox Church itself would have been

heretical throughout its entire history (God forbid!), because in every century there

have been doctrinally mistaken bishops within the Orthodox Church who retained

their episcopal rank and Eucharistic communion with other bishops for a long time

before final excommunication.

Let us turn to a striking historical example. It is known that one of the leaders of the Arian error was Eusebius of Nicomedia. At the same time, Saint Athanasius of Alexandria was serving as

bishop in Alexandria. For many years, Athanasius certainly shared Eucharistic

communion with Eusebius, because the Arians had not yet separated into a distinct

church at that time. Moreover, on May 22, 337, it was precisely this Eusebius of

Nicomedia—then the leader of the Arian movement and a greater Arian even than

Arius himself—who baptized and gave communion to Saint Constantine the Great

while the emperor lay on his deathbed.

It is true that the Church does not rebaptize everyone who comes from

certain different faith groups, because it considers that those groups have preserved

the external rite of baptism correctly. But this does not mean that a person baptized

in such a group would be considered baptized if he died as a member of that group.

According to the unchanging teaching of the Orthodox Church, a person

“baptized” in any different faith group—whether or not that faith correctly

preserves the baptismal rite—is completely unbaptized until he comes to the

Orthodox Church.

Yes, even someone who, upon entering the Orthodox Church, does not need

to repeat the water rite is still considered unbaptized until he enters the Orthodox

Church and formally renounces, in writing, the his former teaching and church to

which he previously belonged. Only after such renunciation is a person freed from

the bonds of wrong teaching. Only then can he receive the grace of baptism and be

called baptized.

Therefore, if Eusebius of Nicomedia had already been an excommunicated

and anathematized for wrong teaching at the time he baptized Constantine the

Great, then Constantine would have died unbaptized, because he died on the same

day he was baptized by Eusebius. And, as we have said, a person baptized by a

different faith and dying within a heretical baptism is not considered baptized at

all. But if this were so, how could the Orthodox Church have recognized

Constantine as a saint, and why would he be called “the Great”?

Thus, it is absolutely certain that Eusebius of Nicomedia, despite his extremely

serious doctrinal error, was considered at the time of Constantine’s baptism not as

an anathematized heretic, but as a doctrinally mistaken bishop. Other bishops,

including Saint Athanasius of Alexandria, continued tirelessly to admonish him.

The same pattern appears with Nestorius, Patriarch of Constantinople. When he

began to preach an extremely impious teaching, he was not immediately

excommunicated as a heretic. He was cut off only years later, when he became

incurably hardened in his error. Before this—before he was declared a heretic and

excommunicated—even though Nestorius’s teaching already had the same content

it would later have, his greatest opponent, Saint Cyril of Alexandria, addressed him

with titles such as “most godly” and “most holy,” because he still hoped to heal and

correct him.

The same situation can be seen in all other similar cases, and they are very

numerous. Therefore, it is absolutely certain that a bishop’s doctrinal error becomes

shared by others only when Eucharistic communion with him continues even after

he has been declared a heretic. Moreover, other bishops also become participants in

a hierarch’s doctrinal error when they fail to admonish and correct him, instead of

calling him to repentance.

This discussion about a mistaken bishop and the attitude of other bishops

toward him can also be applied to the relationships between autocephalous

Orthodox Churches.

Unfortunately, a completely false and unchurchly understanding of

autocephaly is common. It is often thought that autocephaly means the spiritual

self-sufficiency or independence of a church. In reality, autocephaly does not mean

spiritual independence or separation from other Orthodox Churches (God forbid!).

It means only that a church, firmly grounded in canon law, governs its own

ecclesial life in a particular region.

We must clearly remember that the plural form “Churches” is only a

conditional term, which expresses the regional and territorial organization of

church life. In reality, in essence and by nature, there exists only one Holy

Orthodox Church, as a single, united body. Each local church is a member of this

one body—a part of the whole—and not an independent body by itself.

Anyone who understands the autocephaly of the Church as independence in

the literal sense is in a very serious spiritual error, because independent Orthodox

Churches do not exist in the strict meaning of the word. If this were the case, the

saving Church would no longer exist in the world. By its very nature there exists

and abides “one, holy, catholic, and apostolic Church” (the Creed). This means that

the Orthodox Church is one body, because it has one Head—Christ Himself. The

individual parts of this one body are self-governing, that is, “autocephalous,” only

in the performance of their specific functions, but they have no essential

independence from one another (God forbid!).

The plural expression “Orthodox Churches” means only that the one

indivisible Church lives and acts in the same way in many places, in many

languages, and among many different peoples. Not even the smallest essential

difference is permitted in faith, teaching, confession, or sacramental ministry.

This means that all Orthodox Churches are completely identical, one and the same.

There is only one Orthodox Church, reigning “in heaven and on earth,” while

plurality and autocephaly apply only to territorial, regional, and linguistic

organization. Autocephaly—that is, self-governance—is granted to a regional

church by a conciliar decision, when the infallible synod of Orthodox hierarchs

discerns that the local clergy faithfully and fully preserve the saving truth, the

canonical and grace-filled celebration of the seven holy sacraments, through which

God Himself—the incarnate Lord—acts in that regional church, as in the whole

Orthodox Church, through the visible ministry of local clergy as holy and pure

vessels.

Accordingly, if an autocephalous church understands its self-governance as

literal independence from other Orthodox Churches—that is, if it considers itself

authorized to determine its own form of ministry and to introduce elements into

church life that are foreign to Orthodoxy—then such an autocephalous church,

standing on the path of destruction, becomes in the strict sense truly independent,

that is, separated and cut off from the one body of the Orthodox Church. After

appropriate admonitions, if these prove fruitless, such a church will lawfully be cut

off and separated from the other Orthodox Churches, because it is no longer

Orthodox, no longer truly orthodox, but false-believing, heterodox, and heretical.

From the Orthodox perspective, this is precisely what happened to the

Catholic Church, which was once Orthodox but later inclined toward essential

independence and was cut off from Orthodoxy as a foreign body.

Therefore, since by nature there exists only one Church as one body, when

any regional Orthodox Church falls into error, this error causes great pain to the

entire ecclesial body and to all its members. For this reason, the need to heal the

disease stands not only before the sick part, but before the whole Church.

In different historical periods, different circumstances have made it necessary to

reflect on the relationships among Orthodox Churches. Today, such an issue is non

magicians and nonbelievers.

As is known, many church strict with this movement. What should be the

attitude of the Church toward them? If participation in the magician movement means doctrinal error, then the present course of the Church should be to admonish and instruct the all Orthodox

Christians involved in magical approaches, calling them to abandon this error. But

if participation in magician does not mean doctrinal error, then it is unclear why the

Church withdrew from it in the beginning.

Indeed, there is an opinion that Orthodox Churches participate in muslim

and other tradition not sacramentally, but only in the mode of dialogue, and that the

purpose of such participation—so it is said—is not compromise, but rather

teaching and mission: that through the efforts of Orthodox Churches within

ecumenism, representatives of other religions and confessions may be drawn

toward Orthodoxy and brought into the truth.

Certainly, dialogue—that is, speaking with those in error in order to explain

to them the seriousness of their deviation and to call them back to the truth—is a

divine action of the Church. Without such a converting mission, the Church would

not even exist. But if this is truly the goal that motivates Orthodox Churches

participating in ecumenism, then—we say this clearly once again—it remains

completely unclear why the some Church withdrew from it.

Moreover, according to this view, we are led to the conclusion that by

withdrawing from non effective dialogue.

Why do we not say more sharply that the way for the Church to escape this

error must be the immediate breaking of communion with Orthodox Churches that

remain in ecumenism or other connections?

We do not say this because such an action would directly contradict the

dogma of the Church’s pedagogical mission.

This means the following: while firmly confessing the one-body nature of

the Orthodox Church, and fully rejecting the ungodly idea that the spiritual

condition of one Orthodox Church cannot affect another, we must also avoid

falling into the opposite extreme, namely, claiming that those in error must be

immediately excommunicated and anathematized.

We repeat that the road leading to anathema is quite long, and its length

largely depends on the number of people involved in the error. In general, the

greater the number of those inclined toward error, the longer and more patient the

Church’s work of admonition and instruction must be. Indeed, if correcting even

one person in error often takes years—or, on the contrary, reaching the point where

all hope of correction is lost and anathema is declared—what can we say about

thousands or millions?

When Saint Cyril of Alexandria examined the roots of the Nestorian heresy,

he encountered figures who at that time (the first half of the 5th century) were

highly respected and considered pillars of Orthodoxy: Diodore of Tarsus and

Theodore of Mopsuestia. Yet Saint Cyril, although he had the authority as a bishop

to pronounce anathema, limited himself to exposing them in his famous work

Against Diodore and Theodore (written in 438). He took into account the situation

of their many followers, who sincerely believed that Diodore and Theodore were

lights of Orthodoxy and would never accept their anathema—indeed, they would

strongly resist it.

This means that immediate anathema would have caused separation not only

of Diodore and Theodore, but also of many sincere Christians from the saving

body of the Church. Moreover, even the Third Ecumenical Council (431), which

condemned Nestorianism, showed economy toward this large number of believers

and did not declare Diodore and Theodore heretics or cut them off, although their

Nestorian errors clearly deserved such judgment. Much time passed, and only in

499, about 109 years after Diodore’s death, when the situation had become clear to

all, did a local council in Constantinople confirm their anathema.

In the same way, the final anathema of the Origenists and their removal from

the Orthodox Church took place at the Fifth Ecumenical Council (553)—almost

three centuries after Origen’s death.

The Arians, as is well known, remained in communion with the Orthodox

for many decades, as did the Nestorians, the Monophysites, the Monothelites, the

Iconoclasts, and others. Among these heresies, we can especially point to Iconoclasm,

because here the dignity of the Church is clearly shown. When almost all of Greece inclined

toward iconoclasm, as documented in The Life of John of Gothia and the Great

Synaxarion, the Church of Kartli (Georgia) completely separated itself from this

heresy. For this reason, John of Gothia (8th century) was consecrated bishop in

Mtskheta. As is clear, the Georgian Church, while not breaking unity with

Constantinople and the Greek churches, nevertheless remained completely

untouched by iconoclasm. This would not have been possible if it had not

immediately recognized the nature of the error and protected itself from it.

There is no doubt that the hierarchs of the Georgian Church repeatedly

exposed this error. If they had not done so, the error would inevitably have entered

the Church of Georgia as well. Through this exposure, they certainly admonished

the erring bishops and churches about the seriousness of the heresy.

What shall we say about the doctrinal errors of Catholicism? Signs of these

errors appear in the Church of Rome already in the 2nd–3rd centuries, more clearly

in the 4th–5th centuries, yet the final separation of the Orthodox from the papists

occurred only in the 11th century. Moreover, even after this separation, up to the

18th century—that is, for nine centuries—the Greek Orthodox Church still showed

economy, as Saint Nikodimos the Hagiorite notes in the Pedalion, when receiving

Catholics into the Orthodox Church.

Therefore, it is completely clear—indeed, it is dogma—that when one or

several Orthodox bishops, or one or several regional Orthodox Churches, fall into

doctrinal error, and in order to prevent this error from spreading to others (which is

always a danger because of the one-body nature of the Church), it is necessary for

the Holy Synod to immediately expose the error. At the same time, toward the

bishops or churches in error, the Church must carry out necessary, tireless, and

long-term admonition and instruction, aiming to heal and remove the error before

reaching the final step of excommunication and anathema.

I can say one thing with confidence: in Orthodox dogmatics and faith, there

is nothing unclear, unconscious, or humiliating to the human mind or personality.

Problems begin when God is imagined in the wrong way. For example,

when God is treated like a television: I look at it when I want, I turn it off when I

want, and then I go to the kitchen to cook.

Origen had a somewhat similar idea. He believed that God created angels,

and at some point the angels became tired of looking at God and turned their backs

on Him. To turn your back on God means to create a space of emptiness. This

emptiness then enters a person, and little by little it begins to destroy them.

Origen explained this through a kind of symbolic theology. He connected the word

“psyche” with the idea of cooling down. The angelic souls, he said, became cold

toward God. They began to search for something that was not God.