Igor Manannikov

Orthodox Anarchism

Paper presented at the conference “The Paths of the Church’s Development” (2024)

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Why should we even speak about Christian politics — and, specifically, about anarchism?

I will speak primarily from the standpoint of Orthodoxy rather than Catholicism or Protestantism, although their influence cannot be ignored. In the Middle Ages, Orthodoxy’s excessive preoccupation with dogmatics led to a neglect of its political dimension. As a result, the Orthodox Church fell into the hands of politicians and was often used for political manipulation — without the awareness or consent of its members.

The same thing happens today. While Catholics and Protestants have developed their own political models for interacting with the state and society, the Orthodox Church has not. The much-celebrated “Symphony” of Church and State has, in practice, often meant nothing more than servitude to secular power, whatever form that power may take (monarchy or Soviet government).
The average Orthodox believer considers politics something dirty, unspiritual, and unworthy of a Christian — and thus avoids expressing any political opinions. The hierarchy generally encourages such an attitude, interpreting it as a form of Christian obedience. It is, of course, convenient when people do not ask too many questions and do not create problems.

But this is only a deceptive façade. In reality, the Orthodox Church continues to rely on archaic political models — for example, treating monarchy as the most desirable form of government — and almost always sides with the state, offering the authorities a submissive and reliable electorate.

Simply put: everything is political. Every human community is political, whether it admits it or not. The Christian community, too, inevitably has a political dimension. If we do not engage with politics, politics will engage with us.
When, out of false piety, we avoid political participation, we merely surrender ourselves and our voices to church hierarchs who then “sell” those voices to the state according to their own interests.

That is why it seems important to me to become aware of the political significance — or political gravity — of the Orthodox Church within the social and political cosmos. Especially now, when political awareness is so closely tied to the Christian perception of reality. Political ignorance leads people to believe anti-Christian statements made by their own hierarchs, mistaking them for authentic Christian teaching.

We also witness today a global crisis of ideas. The familiar division of the world into “left” and “right,” into reformers, liberals, conservatives, and fundamentalists is no longer adequate. It fails to describe the complexity of the reality we inhabit. We need new coordinates — and Orthodoxy, surprisingly, offers them clearly.

Orthodoxy shows us a third way. It is not a struggle for a “left” or a “right” ideology but a rejection of all ideology in the name of freedom and truth.

Is There a Distinctly Orthodox Political Form?

In my view — yes.
Spoiler: that form is anarchy, though it is traditionally and mistakenly assumed to be monarchy.

Whenever Orthodoxy addresses political questions, it has traditionally been associated with monarchy. Sergei Bulgakov once wrote:

“To link Orthodoxy — which is the religion of freedom — with reactionary political or class interests is a glaring contradiction, explicable historically but not dogmatically. For centuries, Orthodoxy was connected with monarchy, which offered invaluable services to the Church while also inflicting grievous wounds upon it. The ‘Christian’ statehood that secured Orthodoxy’s ‘dominant’ position also became its fetters, hindering its free development. Much in Orthodoxy’s historical tragedy — in the fall of Byzantium and in modern Russia — arises from this disrupted balance between Church and State.”ⁱ

The traditional Orthodox political ideal is monarchy. Church figures such as Filaret Drozdov and John of Kronstadt defended it. Indeed, both the later and the ancient Fathers — and even the Apostles Paul and Peter — spoke about kings. Yet this does not mean they endorsed monarchy as the only legitimate form of government. In their time, monarchy was simply the most common form, so it served as a convenient reference. Their real concern was not monarchy as such but the principle of order (taxis), which may be realized in many political forms.

Of course, those words about obedience to kings were especially pleasing to kings themselves — and they eagerly incorporated them into their political ideology.

The love of monarchy in contemporary Orthodoxy is, in my opinion, a rudiment of a conservative mindset typical of “canonical” Orthodoxy — an attitude that seeks to preserve every old form, whether of ecclesial organization, canon law, liturgy, or medieval political ideals.

In reality, true Orthodoxy corresponds more closely to anarchism — as a form of spiritual, social, and political liberation.

I am not the first to notice this connection. The Serbian theologian Davor Džalto, in his book “Anarchy and the Kingdom of God: From Eschatology to Orthodox Political Theology and Back” (2021), explores the link between Orthodoxy and anarchism. Aristotle Papanikolaou, in his “The Mystical as Political”, likewise questions the assumption of Orthodox monarchy.

What Kind of Anarchism Are We Talking About?

In modern culture, anarchism is usually caricatured.
For many post-Soviet people, the image of an anarchist comes from Soviet films about Bat’ko Makhno or the nihilist characters of the 19th century — Bazarov or Kirillov. In the West, the stereotype is that of a bomb-throwing terrorist or “anarcho-fascist.”

This is understandable: if anarchists oppose the state, the state — whatever its nature — will always portray anarchism negatively.

But I understand anarchism as a worldview of maximal freedom — presupposing the absence of coercive power, grassroots self-organization, non-violence, and autonomy.

The Spiritual Roots of Anarchism

Anarchism is a worldview grounded in an acute sense of freedom and human dignity.
It is not a branch of socialism or communism, which primarily regulate economic relations and may remain indifferent to the spiritual realm.

Anarchism is spiritual by nature — it addresses the deepest human questions about freedom and self-determination.

Although early anarchism was linked with atheism and materialism, it always transcended materialism by insisting on the dignity of the human person and thereby touching the spiritual dimension.

It is no coincidence that in the 19th century, two foundational anarchist works appeared almost simultaneously:

• Pierre-Joseph Proudhon’s “What Is Property?” (1840) — a materialist text, and
• Max Stirner’s “The Ego and Its Own” (1844) — a nihilist-existential one.

Thus anarchism was born with two faces:
one transformative and social, the other nihilistic and metaphysical — directed toward the Nothing (das Nichts) and absolute freedom.

To summarize their concerns in a few words:
Proudhon declared, “Property is theft”, while Stirner wrote, “Nothing — that is what I build my cause upon.”
Two very different domains — yet both integral to anarchism.

The question of ultimate freedom always leads to the question of human nature — of the depth of human longing — and thus to the spiritual quest. Stirner pondered this, though his direction was later eclipsed by the growing social-economic discourse of the 19th century.

Within the materialist context of that century, spiritual questions found no satisfying answers.
Hence, anarchism struggled with its philosophical foundations. Stirner’s individualism was forgotten until the late 19th century, when Nietzsche revived similar themes — now addressed directly to Christianity, recognizing the spiritual nature of the question of freedom.

For most of the 19th century, however, materialist anarchists simply rejected metaphysics altogether. Peter Kropotkin, himself a scientist, insisted that anarchism must be anti-metaphysical.

Christian anarchism, however, once again raises these spiritual questions — and offers its own answers.

By Christian anarchism, I mean the thought of figures such as Henry David Thoreau, Leo Tolstoy, Nikolai Berdyaev, Sergei Bulgakov (to a degree), Georgy Chulkov’s “mystical anarchism,” Dorothy Day and the Catholic Worker movement, Jacques Ellul, Ivan Illich, and Vasily Nalimov.

The Difference Between Anarchism and Nihilism

Let us return to the image of the anarchist in popular culture: Bazarov, Kirillov, Nechaev, bomb-throwing “anarchists.” In short, these are not anarchists but nihilists. Anarchism is often confused with nihilism.

To understand anarchism correctly, one must realize that it is not merely an anti-state doctrine but a theory and practice of human liberation from all forms of oppression. Many people are misled by the early anarchists’ strong anti-state rhetoric, which was actually only a particular expression of a broader philosophy of total emancipation.

According to anarchist thought, human consciousness and society evolve toward greater freedom, and sooner or later anarchy will prevail. Summarizing the ideas of Proudhon and Kropotkin, one might say that “anarchy is the mother of order” — meaning that order does not descend from above by means of coercive power but emerges naturally, from below, as the spontaneous result of human association.

In other words, if you remove presidents and police, people will not automatically start killing and robbing one another, as Hollywood films suggest. They will continue living according to their habits and customs, and where those are insufficient, they will self-organize into new forms.

Thus Proudhon’s phrase “anarchy is the mother of order” should not be understood as a call to chaos but as a call to true order — an order not imposed by rulers, but arising organically, stable and peaceful.

Atheistic anarchism holds that human beings are good by nature — remove authority, and everything will arrange itself.
Christians, however, understand that this is not entirely true. The human heart harbors mechanisms and desires for domination that are not easily eradicated. Later philosophies such as neo-Freudianism, neo-Marxism, and postmodernism have in this sense agreed with Christianity: power structures penetrate deeper into human relations than early anarchists imagined.

Hence, today we speak of post-anarchism, which takes such insights into account (see Saul Newman, Postanarchism).

In simpler terms:
there is positive anarchism, directed toward self-organization and non-violent order;
and there is nihilism, directed toward destruction, chaos, and the worship of Nothingness.

For Christians, that God-opposing pathos of chaos and Nothing can exist only as a transitional phase of seeking God, not as something productive in itself. Yet any form of authority is interested in discrediting anarchism — equating it with chaos and nihilism.

Anarchism and Democracy

In its concept of liberation, anarchism largely overlaps with liberalism. Up until the mid-19th century they were, so to speak, fellow travelers. In their struggle against monarchy, aristocracy, and feudal order, thinkers such as Thomas Paine (a liberal) and William Godwin (an anarchist) stood side by side.
But when the issue of economic liberation arose in the 19th century, the paths of liberalism and anarchism diverged.

Nikolai Berdyaev wrote:

“Anarchism is in deep ideological kinship not with socialism but with liberalism, even identical to it in its ideal essence. I compare anarchism not with the historical distortions of liberalism, not with the bourgeois exploitation of liberal principles, but with the true principles of liberalism. At the root of both anarchism and liberalism lies the idea of the self-determination of the person, of personal rights that limit all social power, and in both burns the same passion for freedom.”ⁱⁱ

He further wrote:

“Pure and honest liberalism is always anti-statist, never defiles itself through communion with state violence, and is inwardly identical with anarchism.”

The anarchist Lev Cherny likewise stated:

“Democracy stands halfway to anarchy, which is its logical conclusion… But history will compel democrats to become more consistent. Many signs already indicate that democracy moves toward its own limit, granting the individual ever more rights. The individual has already gained certain freedoms — of religion, of education in some countries. Go on, go further, individual! Win all your rights!”ⁱⁱⁱ

If we use Isaiah Berlin’s theory from his essay “Two Concepts of Liberty,” we can see the kinship of anarchism and liberalism in their shared emphasis on negative liberty — “freedom from.”

Anarchism is, in essence, radical liberalism.
Both strive for liberation from — from oppression in matters of human rights, gender, family, and national self-determination.
The question is one of extent:
How much freedom does liberalism grant — and how much does anarchism demand?

Here the difference appears.
Liberalism halts before the boundary of property. It gives a person freedom to act but fails to see that money quickly becomes a new form of power — and thus, of oppression.

As Lev Chernyi remarked:

“The property owner is a monarch, and it is hard to come to terms with him.”
(Lev Chernyi, “A New Direction in Anarchism: Associational Anarchism,” New York: Workers’ Self-Education Union, 1923, p. 154.)

Anarchism, by contrast, does not stop at economics but extends the idea of freedom even there.
It seeks to liberate humanity from the power of money and from the power of market relations — not by abolishing them, but by depriving them of authority.
Money should serve life, not power.

This is the root of anarchism’s socialist component: socialist ideas were adopted by anarchists precisely to separate property, power, and money.

Why Anarchism?

Some might ask why I continue to use the concept of anarchism, given that the term is ambiguous and, for many, suspicious.

Even Berdyaev, despite his sympathy for anarchism, eventually avoided the word — as did Chomsky and Bookchin, who coined the substitute term “libertarian socialism.”

But such an emphasis on the social-political aspect excludes the spiritual dimension of anarchism.

I consider the essential traits of anarchism to be self-organization, decentralization, the primacy of liberation, and resistance to power, including ideological power.

In my view, anarchism appears not as one possible social order among others, but as a methodology of liberating action in the world — one that corresponds profoundly to the Orthodox understanding of reality.

Anarchism is a point of convergence where the metaphysics of human freedom, the freedom of thought, and concrete socio-political practice unite into a coherent worldview and way of life.

Only this concept can encompass both the spiritual dimension of personal freedom and its political dimension, while maintaining maximum critical distance from all ideology.

This constant skepticism of anarchism toward any conceptual system prevents me from identifying it too closely with theologies of liberation or with the various versions of Christian socialism.

Furthermore, I believe that anarchism provides a key for constructing a new vision of church reality in its socio-political aspect.

Why, then, do I emphasize Orthodox anarchism rather than the broader Christian anarchism of today?

Because Christian anarchism has reached an impasse. Contemporary Christian anarchism is largely a form of pacifism — in other words, a renewal of Tolstoyanism.

Not that I oppose pacifism, but in this case it means that from Christianity only the moral dimension is retained — as Tolstoy himself once did, removing everything from the Gospel except morality.

The result is a moralism that is not uniquely Christian. Similar moral codes are found in other religions — and some, such as Buddhism or Jainism, are even more ethically rigorous, extending compassion to all living beings.

Christian morality, then, is not Christianity’s greatest treasure.

I therefore seek within the Gospel message those specific features that possess genuine liberating power — the elements that make Christianity truly unique.

Anarchism as a Method

I would like to emphasize that anarchism is not a doctrine or a conventional social theory, but a particular mode of thinking, based on a particular logic.
In other words, anarchism is not about what but about how — a method, not a concept.

If we treat the ideas of Bakunin, Proudhon, or Kropotkin as static blueprints for a specific social order, we inevitably find such an order utopian. Political economists can easily criticize these visions as unrealistic — and they would, in many respects, be right.

Indeed these anarchist teachings are not really about society’s structure or form (those are secondary), but about the methodology by which society should be built.

Kropotkin’s examples, for instance, are not prescriptions for new institutions — as socialist and communist theorists tend to offer — but illustrations or possible precedents that might emerge along the path of liberation.

The actual outcomes are not dictated by theory but revealed by life itself.
Anarchism is realism: it is reality that dictates what to do and how to proceed on the path of liberation — not abstract doctrines or ideal goals.

Anarchism is therefore not an abstract doctrine but a fluid engagement with the fabric of life, aiming to maximize freedom at each concrete stage of history.

If we view anarchism as a method, it proves to be a fully workable method.
The best description of this method comes not from politics or economics, but from the philosophy of science, stripped of emotional and political elements.

The most articulate representative of this approach was the philosopher of science Paul Feyerabend with his concept of epistemological anarchism.

His anarchist method consists in the competition and constant alternation of methods for understanding reality and practice.

Anarchist thinking does not strive for unity, consistency, or logical coherence.
It does not aim to create a single, contradiction-free picture of the world.
It is aware of its limits — and is content with that.
I would call this attitude freedom from pan-logism (the obsession with total rational coherence).

Feyerabend wrote:

“My intention is not to replace one set of general rules by another; rather, I want to convince the reader that every methodology — even the most obvious one — has its limits.”^iv

Thus, the anarchist must remain critical of any theory that claims to offer a complete description of the world.

When an anarchist adopts Marx’s theory of class struggle or his economic model as universally valid for all times, he ceases to be an anarchist.
He becomes a slave to a monopolistic theory, thinking in clichés and falling under the power of ideology.

An anarchist must therefore oppose all totalizing models of reality — especially those that claim universal validity.
This does not mean he cannot use such models; he can use them instrumentally, while remaining aware of their limitations.

If we now shift to the religious dimension, we can see something analogous to Feyerabend’s methodology within Christianity — particularly within Orthodoxy.
This is repentance (metanoia).

Orthodoxy places great emphasis on repentance as a practice of questioning one’s own rightness.
We have countless prayers of repentance.
But if we go beyond its moral sense — the analysis of personal sins — we see that repentance also concerns all of our worldview assumptions.

Personal sins are only a particular case of repentance, which should ultimately embrace our entire consciousness and way of life.

This is what Christ meant when He called the Pharisees to repentance — those who may have been personally virtuous yet possessed a monolithic worldview, an ideology in which they were firmly convinced.
They were orthodox in the narrow sense.

In essence, repentance stands in opposition to orthodoxy.
Repentance continually challenges orthodoxy — not to abolish it, but to find a new orthodoxy, again and again.

These are the “hungry and thirsty for righteousness” who will find satisfaction only in God, never on earth.
This is the kind of continual repentance spoken of by the Holy Fathers.

Repentance (metanoia, Greek μετάνοια — “change of mind”) begins by questioning the correctness of our current worldview and convictions.
Thus repentance undermines our personal ideology in order to free consciousness for new questions and new answers.

Repentance, therefore, undermines every ideology — including religious ones.

In this sense, Feyerabend’s methodological anarchism, when viewed religiously, is a form of repentance.
When we repent, we do not merely regret our personal sin or imperfection; ideally, we restructure our entire way of thinking so that sin becomes impossible in the future.

The perceptive Christian reader might ask:
“What, then, about religion — and Christianity in particular? Has it not created a majestic and internally coherent worldview that theologians claim to be complete and non-contradictory?”

Here we come to the very heart of Christian anarchism.

Orthodox Anarchism

Does the Bible give us grounds to speak about anarchism?
I believe it does.

The most common and superficial objection to anarchism that I hear is this:
“How can anarchy be divine, if throughout Bibel God is called the King of Kings, He reigns, and He made man ruler over the animal world? Doesn’t this establish a divine hierarchy?”

To this I offer one general answer — a hermeneutical key that places all such scriptural references to God as King in their proper light.

Every theologian knows about biblical anthropomorphism. Volumes have been written about it. Anthropomorphism is a literary device by which human qualities are attributed to God.
When Scripture says, “God became angry,” or “God walked there,” or “He looked upon the earth,” these are all anthropomorphisms — figures of speech. It is assumed, of course, that God has neither hands nor eyes, and does not literally search for Adam or rage like a man. Such expressions merely help the human mind to grasp divine realities.

But for some reason, metaphors of power and kingship have been absorbed into political language and have taken root in our consciousness as something “real” and self-evident.

Saint John Chrysostom wrote:

“When you hear of ‘wrath’ or ‘anger’ in relation to God, do not understand anything human by them: these are words of condescension. The Divinity is alien to such things; it is said this way only to bring the subject closer to the understanding of simpler minds.”^v

Following traditional Orthodox exegesis, we cannot ascribe literal anger or wrath to God.
Why, then, should we ascribe to Him a desire to rule or punish?

Here, I see a methodological sleight of hand by later interpreters — one conditioned by history.
As the Church entered the service of the state, Scripture was interpreted so as to sanctify political power.

The Holy Fathers constantly addressed the problem of "how to speak about God"; apophatic theology — the recognition of the limits of all speech about God — lies at the very foundation of Orthodox thought.
Symbolic and imprecision of language was always understood as the background of theology.
Yet in the imperial-ideological version of Christianity, this nuance was conveniently lost.
The subtleties of biblical language vanished, and God’s power came to be understood as the rule of a heavenly feudal monarch who delegates authority to earthly rulers.

In short, all biblical passages that speak of God as King and of His supposed royal power are anthropomorphic metaphors, not literal prescriptions or commandments.
We may therefore confidently state that the two-thousand-year doctrine of “sacred royal authority” and “power from God” rests upon biblical metaphors — literary figures appropriated by the powerful for their own benefit.

Anarchy in the Book of Judges

The only biblical book that depicts divinely instituted anarchy is the Book of Judges.
It is a unique book — seldom commented upon by the Fathers, rarely used in sermons, and once even discouraged from being read by beginners or children, lest they be scandalized.^vi

Yet it is the most anarchic book in Scripture — a direct challenge to all forms of ecclesiastical imperialism.
Here we encounter a confederation of free tribes, the anarcho-individualist Samson, the armed bands of the chieftain Gideon, the matriarchal warrior Deborah, and many peaceful judges.

Usually, Judges is studied in the context of all the historical books of the Old Testament, and little attention is paid to its political aspect.
The period of the Judges is commonly dismissed as a transitional, even shameful, phase — a prelude to the “glory” of the kingdoms of David and Solomon.

But I suggest reading this book not as transitional, but as the culmination of the Pentateuch.
The situation described in Judges is in fact the goal toward which the Exodus was directed — the social order to which God was leading Israel.
The covenantal dream of Moses is realized here: the life of Israel under the Judges is precisely the free life God intended for His people in the Promised Land.
Seen this way, the book takes on an entirely new meaning.

Tradition attributes its authorship to Samuel, but the biblical scholar Martin Noth demonstrated that it was more likely written by a Deuteronomistic chronicler (6th–7th century BC).^vii
This chronicler, writing in the age of kings, naturally wished to glorify monarchy. Hence, throughout the narrative he expresses dissatisfaction with Israel’s earlier, kingless order.

The refrain of the book is well known:

“In those days there was no king in Israel; everyone did what was right in his own eyes.” (Judg. 21:25)

The chronicler believes that without a monarch, the people of Israel lived in a state of chaos, timelessness, and anarchy. The author saw this as chaos and disorder, but in reality, this verse describes a divine ideal of freedom — a people guided by conscience rather than coercion.

The biblical scholar M. Mangano writes: “It seems that the author presents the book as an apology intended to legitimize the introduction of monarchy.”^viii
However, if we look at the book without this monarchic bias, we can see a very different story.
The socio-political structure of Israel during the period of the Judges can confidently be described as anarchic. Yet few have noticed that God Himself regarded this form of organization in Israel as the most preferable.

First of all, after the entry of the Israelite tribes into the land, Joshua did not appoint a successor, nor was it intended that he should, since Joshua was a military leader only during the campaign.
God did not establish a prophet like Moses, nor a king, nor any other ruler or governmental institution.
Having settled in the land of Palestine, Israel was left to govern itself. Each tribe and each city lived autonomously, dependent on no one and subject to no one.
God’s only reproach toward the people was that Israel, or some of its tribes, from time to time turned to other gods.

Secondly, in 1 Samuel, chapter 8, God very clearly and explicitly expresses His political preference.
In this passage, the people demand to appoint a king for themselves, and in response, God says:

“They have rejected Me, that I should not reign over them.” (1 Samuel 8:7)

The pagan nature of monarchy is also mentioned in chapter 12 of the same book.

Here we see a direct and unmistakable divine preference for a particular form of social organization — precisely the one that existed during the time of the Judges.
In political terms, the period of the Judges strongly resembles an anarchic order: there was no sacred earthly authority, no king, no priest holding political power; the land was fairly distributed; communities were governed by councils of elders; and everyday life followed customary law grounded in the Law of Moses.
In times of crisis, leaders recognized by the people arose to unite them in resistance.
The era of the Judges, according to God’s view, was the ideal form of society — though, as it turned out, not in the eyes of human beings.

Josephus Flavius was the first to describe this form of government in Israel as a theocracy.
However, the period of the Judges does not, by its characteristics, fit the description of a true theocracy.

Flavius — like many after him — mistakenly assumed that Israel was governed by priests.
In fact, theocracy presupposes the presence of a king as God’s viceroy, or at least as His “son,” as we see among the pharaohs and nearly all Eastern monarchs of that time.
Alternatively, it requires some kind of spiritual hierarchy that holds power in its hands.
Even the charismatic leader in Max Weber’s sense must exercise power over an extended period — but in the Book of Judges, nothing of the sort exists.

There is no hierarchy. The caste of Levites and priests does not hold real authority; even the high priest has no decisive power, though his opinion is respected.
In difficult and critical times, charismatic leaders — the Judges — arise, solve the immediate problem, and then lay down their authority or return to ordinary judicial service.
In anarchist terminology, this would be called a natural authority.

We are accustomed to viewing the Book of Judges as a kind of biblical action story. Indeed, it describes in detail only the most dramatic and critical events, giving the impression that the entire period consisted of wars, heroic deeds, and internal strife.

In reality, however, this was a largely peaceful era, interrupted only occasionally by brief conflicts.
We simply overlook the short verses that tell us that between these heroic episodes and battles there were long years of peace.
For example:

• “And the land had rest for eighty years under Ehud.” (Judg 3:30)
• “And the land had rest for forty years under Othniel.” (Judg 3:11)
• “And the land had rest for forty years under Deborah.” (Judg 5:31)
• “And the land had rest for forty years under Gideon.” (Judg 8:28)

In fact, the peaceful era of the Judges was the longest period of peace in the history of Israel.
For comparison, consider Solomon, who reigned peacefully for forty years — a period regarded as the model of a warless kingdom.
Under all the other kings, however, wars and internal conflicts were constant.
Thus, we can say that the time of the Judges was an age of prosperity and well-being.

Yet one thing must be noted: although God has a special love for anarchy, He nevertheless allowed people to choose a king for themselves.
In other words, He entrusted the choice of political order to human freedom.

The New Testament

I will not now discuss the anarchic character of the early Christian communities — that is a vast topic. Instead, let us turn to the famous phrase:

“All authority is from God.”
“Let every soul be subject to the governing authorities, for there is no authority except from God; the authorities that exist are appointed by God.” (Romans 13:1)

This verse is often cited as proof against anarchism.
Yet, as John Chrysostom explained, Paul was not speaking of any specific ruler or regime, but of the principle of order itself.

Chrysostom writes:

“What then? Is every ruler appointed by God? Not so, says the Apostle. I am speaking not of each individual ruler but of the very existence of authority. The fact that there are rulers and subjects, and that human affairs do not drift about like waves — this I call the work of God’s wisdom. Therefore the Apostle did not say there is no ruler not appointed by God, but that there is no authority — that is, no principle of order — except from God.”
(Homilies on Romans, Homily 23)

This comparison with the waves, which signify chaos, convinces me that the primary subject here is order rather than a hierarchy of rulers. Order must exist in society, and it is from God. As we can see, in Chrysostom we find this characteristically classical identification of authority with order. At that time, order was understood as something that was established exclusively by the intervention of some external authority or Demiurge.

Here, the meaning refers to the order or balance of powers in society, the structure of society. God does not have a preferred form of government or social structure. People themselves must decide these questions. This is why it is said that all authority, every form of governance, is accepted by God, so long as it serves an orderly and peaceful life.

Paul often spoke of this principle:

“Let all things be done decently and in order.” (1 Cor 14:40)

The Greek word τάξις here means “order.”
Order signifies a stable, predictable social equilibrium.

Even anarchists advocate order. As Proudhon famously paraphrased:

“Anarchy is the mother of order.”

This is what the Apostles meant when they spoke of submission to authority: not blind obedience to rulers, but cooperation with the principle of divine order.

Indeed, the Apostles themselves often disobeyed concrete authorities — both the Jewish priestly hierarchy and the Roman state.

Why Orthodoxy?

One may ask: why do I speak only of Orthodoxy, and not of Catholicism or Protestantism?

I believe that Orthodoxy is simply Christianity itself — Christianity without unnecessary additions (as in Catholicism) and without the amputations that have removed what is essential (as in Protestantism).

To move forward, we must define the distinctive characteristics of Orthodoxy compared with other Christian confessions.
Why, then, is Orthodoxy anarchic in its very essence?

At this stage, I propose two key concepts without which Orthodoxy would cease to be itself: Repentance (μετάνοια) and the Trinity.
The Trinity and repentance — these are our theory and practice.
The Trinity defines our ontology, and repentance forms the foundation of our praxis.

Some may object: does not Orthodoxy also possess other beautiful doctrines — such as sobornost’ (conciliarity), Palamism, eschatology, and theosis (θέωσις, deification)?
These are all good concepts, but I think they are too idealistic; they are ideals that are currently unattainable and abstract.

If we translate the Trinity and repentance into political terms, an intriguing picture emerges.
In its political dimension, the Trinity is nothing less than the anarchy of God.
If we place the Trinity and repentance in a political plane, an interesting picture emerges. In a political aspect, the Trinity is the anarchy of God. Our God is not a single-ruler monarch sitting in heaven. Our God is a community of three persons, a communion of equals—though not identical—who love one another. And this community sets the parameters of our reality.

What better example could there be? In the Trinity, there is no "head." Of course, we have heard of the problem of the "monarchy of the Father," and the Father is considered the cause of the Son and the Spirit. But causation or causality is not a justification for authority; on the contrary, the justification for authority is differing honor—and in terms of honor, the persons of the Trinity are equal.

In the Trinity there is no ruler.
Thus, God is anarchy in His very being — a non-hierarchical self-organization in love.

And all creation, in Christ, is invited to share in this Trinitarian life.
Therefore, to live in anarchy is our calling already here and now.

Repentance as Liberation

In political terms, the striving for salvation means the liberation of all regions of reality from oppression — not merely liberation from personal sin.
When Jesus quotes Isaiah, saying that He came “to proclaim liberty to the captives,” He refers first to spiritual liberation.
Yet spiritual freedom inevitably awakens awareness of all other forms of bondage — political, economic, patriarchal — and kindles the desire to be free from them as well.

Repentance (metanoia) is the method of critique — the self-critique of our foundations, our ideologies, and our inner tyrannies.
For this reason, Orthodox anarchism seems to me a promising way of living as a Christian in the modern world, capable of offering meaningful responses even to political questions in a changing age.

If the Trinity provides our ontology, then repentance is our method of liberation.
As the Apostle Paul says: “Repentance unto salvation.” (2 Cor. 7:10)
We are freed through repentance.

What does this mean?
It means that we seek evil — capitalism, greed, violence, and every other sin — first and foremost not in others, not in society, not in the neighbor, but within ourselves.
For I am the capitalist, I am the greedy one, I am the betrayer, I am Judas who betrayed Christ.
That is why before Communion we say: “I will not give Thee a kiss as did Judas.”
Each of us is a potential source of evil in the world; the beginning of every form of oppression lies within me.
Therefore, liberation must begin with oneself.

The beginning of every liberation from any form of oppression is repentance — the liberation of the mind from the tyranny of sin, from which all evil deeds and all other oppressions in the world arise.
When we repent, we penetrate to the very essence of evil, renounce it, and strive to bring forth the fruits of repentance — transforming our lives, first personally, then socially.

After true repentance come the works of repentance — its fruits: this is the work of liberation, the release of “those who are oppressed.” “Set the oppressed free” — that is our program of political action in the world.
That, indeed, is revolution.
Authentic revolution is the fruit of genuine repentance.

I understand that I have not yet addressed all the problems of Orthodox anarchism.
There remain questions of dogmatic authority, the authoritarian temptation of monotheism, and the issue of truth and dissent.
But these, I will leave for another time.

i Bulgakov, S. N. Orthodoxy. Essays on the Teachings of the Orthodox Church — Minsk: Publishing House of the Belarusian Exarchate, 2011. — p. 222.)

iiBerdyayev, N.A. New Religious Consciousness and Society. St. Petersburg: Published by M.V. Pirozhkov, 1907. pp. 136–137.

iiiLev Cherny. A New Direction in Anarchism: Associative Anarchism. New York: Published by the Samoobrazovanie Workers' Union, 1923. p. 280.

ivPaul Feyerabend. Against Method: An Anarchist Theory of Knowledge. Moscow: Khronitel, 2007. p. 52.

vSt. John Chrysostom. Discourse on Psalm VI.-2. Works. Vol. V. Book 1. St. Petersburg. 1899. p. 49.

viDaniel Isaac Block: Judges, Ruth (= The New American Commentary. Bd.6).Broadman & Holman Publishers, Nashville 1999, S.69.

viiNoth, Martin Überlieferungsgeschichtliche Studien; die sammelnden und bearbeitenden Geschichtswerke im Alten Testament. Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft Darmstadt, 1963, s.47.

viiiM. Mangano. Introduction to the Old Testament. With notes on the history of Old Testament interpretation and the history of biblical archaeology. Moscow: Apostle Paul Spiritual Academy, 2007 — p. 166.