Christian Anarchism: The Forgotten Politics of Jesus’ Rule of Love Alexandre J. M. E. Christoyannopoulos (ajmec_at_kent_dot_ac_uk) PhD Candidate and Sessional Teacher Department of Politics and International Relations University of Kent Canterbury, United Kingdom The author wishes to acknowledge that an earlier draft of this paper was presented as part of a stream of panels convened by the Specialist Group on the Study of Anarchism at the 56th Political Studies Association Annual Conference, hosted by the University of Reading on 3-6 April 2006; and that a revised version has been included in an anthology entitled New Perspectives on Anarchism, edited by Nathan Jun and Shane Wahl, as part of Out Sources: Philosophy-Culture-Politics, a series published by Lexington Press (USA). 1 Christian Anarchism: The Forgotten Politics of Jesus’ Rule of Love Christianity in its true sense puts an end to the State. It was so understood from its very beginning, and for that Christ was crucified. – Leo Tolstoy Where there is no love, put love and you will find love. – St. John of the Cross Christianity and anarchism are rarely thought to belong together. Surely, the argument goes, Christianity is about as hierarchic a structure as you can get, and anarchism is not only the negation of any hierarchy but it is also often stubbornly secular and anti- clerical. Yet as Ciaron O’Reilly warns, Christian anarchism ‘is not an attempt to synthesise two systems of thought’ that are hopelessly incompatible; rather, it is ‘a realisation that the premise of anarchism is inherent in christianity and the message of the Gospels’ (O’Reilly 1982, p. 9). For Christian anarchists, an honest and consistent application of Christianity would result in a political arrangement that would amount to anarchism, and the notion of a ‘Christian state’ is just as meaningless an oxymoron as ‘hot ice’ (Tolstoy 1934a, p. 338). So Christian anarchism is not about forcing together two very different systems of thought – it is about pursuing the political implications of Christianity to the fullest extent. This paper will explore this unusual political vision by conveying some of the observations made by some of its main proponents, which include people like Leo Tolstoy, Vernard Eller, Jacques Ellul, Dorothy Day, Peter Maurin and Dave Andrews.1 First, an opening section will outline one of the Christian anarchist criticisms of the state as a brutal machine that does not protect but enslave its citizens. A second section will analyse the central role that Christian anarchists assign to love. The next section will look more closely at the Christian anarchist reading of some key Biblical passages, including the ‘render unto Caesar’ incident and Romans 13. This will be followed by a brief explanation of why their specific understanding of Christianity is hardly being heard of today. The fifth and final section will contrast the Christian perspective on human nature to the one assumed by much modern political theory, and then offer some concluding remarks on the contemporary relevance of Christian anarchism. State brutality Today’s proverbial man in the street relies on the state to guarantee his freedom and security.2 Without the supervision of the state, human relations would be plagued by 2 disorder and insecurity. Without enforceable laws, the malicious element of human nature would be given carte blanche to poison all social interactions. Therefore human beings are such that they require a state to preserve order in society. Moreover, that state should be democratic, so that the arbiter of these necessary laws is ultimately society as a whole and not some grumpy dictator that could do more harm than the all- out chaos that the state is there to protect us from in the first place. A democratic state is institutionally programmed to govern and design laws such that individual freedoms and collective security remain the highest political priorities. That, in a sketchy and admittedly simplistic nutshell, is the rationale for the existence of the state that one hears from the average citizen of today’s democracies. Having established this rationale early on in his life, this average citizen will then happily move on to concentrate his mind on how to ensure, within this political system, that he makes the most of this freedom while the state keeps an eye on the most serious threats to his security. In fact, Western civilisation as a whole also collectively adopted this same reasoning long ago, when in its adolescent and rebellious years it formulated the political theories that enabled it to reject the dangerous religious bias of its forefathers and grow into the modern, democratic and tolerant civilisation that it now prides itself to be. Thus, both today’s average man in the street and Western civilisation as a collective whole are taking for granted that the democratic state is the best political system to promote liberty while maintaining order in society. Christian anarchists, however, doubt this predominant line of reasoning. (All anarchists doubt it, of course, but the focus here will remain on Christian anarchists specifically.) They claim that the state fails to live up to the very purpose that it claims to fulfil. That is, far from preserving order and security, the state merely distorts injustice and perpetuates organised violence; and in doing so, far from safeguarding individual freedoms, it systematically imprisons its citizens by a clever mix of hypnotism, economic slavery and legitimised brutality. That, at least, is what Leo Tolstoy says in the various political essays that he published during the last thirty years of his life, after he converted to (his very idiosyncratic understanding of) Christianity. For him, the semblance of order achieved through the state is just as unjust as the disorder that it is supposed to save humanity from. Now, the limited scope of this paper makes it impossible to summarise all the criticisms that Christian anarchists level against the state – but Tolstoy’s views are a good taster. Therefore, although much more can be found in some of the sources listed in the bibliography (including in Tolstoy), only Tolstoy’s specific critique of the state as modern slavery will be outlined here. The line of argument is fairly simple: Tolstoy first notes that there are always disagreements within society about proposed laws, and this then implies that some form of coercion or threat of it will always be required in order to enforce any particular law (Tolstoy, n.d.a, p. 148). But for Tolstoy, ‘being compelled to do what other people wish, against your own will, is slavery’ (Tolstoy 1948, p. 120). Hence if violence must always be potentially called upon to enforce laws among defiant minorities, then all laws by definition amount to slavery. For Tolstoy, moreover, the cloak of democracy does not in the least redress this fundamental injustice: When among one hundred men, one rules over ninety-one, it is unjust, it is a despotism; when ten rule over ninety, it is equally unjust, it is an oligarchy; but when fifty-one rule over forty-nine (and this is only theoretical, for in reality it is always ten or eleven of these fifty-one), it is entirely just, it is freedom! 3 Could there be anything funnier, in its manifest absurdity, than such reasoning? And yet it is this very reasoning that serves as the basis for all reformers of the political structure. (Tolstoy 1987, p. 165) So Tolstoy clearly did not consider democracy to escape from his criticism of law as amounting to slavery. Besides, as the parenthesis in this excerpt reveals, Tolstoy anyway did not believe that democracy is truly democratic: for him, it is driven by a small proportion of the population who impose their will upon the majority under a hypnotic pretence of democratic legitimacy (Tolstoy 2001a; Tolstoy, 1987; Tolstoy, 1948). Furthermore, on top of this legislative dimension of slavery, Tolstoy criticised the modern state for perpetuating a cunning form of economic slavery too. Tolstoy’s denunciation of his contemporary economic system in fact continues to ring true today: If the slave-owner of our time has not slave John, whom he can send to the cess-pool to clear out his excrements, he has five shillings of which hundreds of Johns are in such need that the slave-owner of our times may choose anyone out of hundreds of Johns and be a benefactor to him by giving him the preference, and allowing him, rather than another, to climb down into the cess-pool. (Tolstoy 1948, p. 95) Whereas physical violence was once needed to force slaves into carrying out degrading work, today’s more advanced economic system has so successfully transposed the coercive element into the ‘system’ that the employer can portray himself as a benefactor when he offers no less degrading work to the ‘lucky’ employee who was picked out of many candidates who were forced to apply for such a job out of sheer hunger and economic necessity. Such (legislative or economic) slavery, of course, does not appear to be so much of an improvement from the initial ‘state of nature’ that humanity is assumed to have been saved from through the social contract that theoretically established the state. In the place of the lawless disorder, insecurity and injustice of a hypothetical ‘state of nature’, modern political theory has ordained a state machinery that keeps the majority enslaved and behaves exactly like the villain it was supposed to eradicate – only on a much broader, institutionalised scale (Tolstoy, 2001a). The resulting society is no more just or even secure than the presumed original, though it may succeed in projecting a semblance of peaceful order that appears worth clinging to even in the face of other criticisms. And yet even that order is illusory. The state’s violence breeds discontent at home, but so too does its behaviour in international relations. In the domestic sphere, sooner or later enslaved citizens get together and either seek to change the system (be it though boycotts, terrorism or mass revolution) or to work around it but for their own benefit (such as by earning a ‘fair’ living through crime) – either way, the illusory order actually breeds social disorder (Tolstoy 1937a; Tolstoy 1937b; Tolstoy, 1937c). And in the international sphere, where states maintain powerful armies and plunder one another for wealth or to assuage sometimes paranoid feelings of insecurity – in this international sphere even the delusion of order is hard to believe in (Tolstoy 1937d; Tolstoy 2001a; Tolstoy 2001b). The point here is that for Christian anarchists, the very structure of the state and of the international system of states is bound to generate disorder and insecurity. For them, events such as the terrorist attacks on 9/11 were less an interruption from an otherwise just order than the predictable product of a deluded system. Violence generates further violence, and so a political order based on ‘legitimate’ violence is always under (domestic or international) threat from people 4 who feel mistreated and who are embittered enough to use just as violent methods in their struggle to settle any perceived injustice. In sum, the state is a complex machinery that abuses the monopoly over the legitimate use of violence that modern political theory bestows it. It secures obedience to its laws only through the threat and use of violence over its citizens, and thus maintains the people it was designed to save under a systemic kind of slavery. The order that it therefore protects is not just, and because of this, neither can it ever really be secure. Violence breeds more violence, and so sooner or later, the state’s acts of violence and injustice result in retaliatory acts of further violence and injustice. For Tolstoy, the political system instituted by modern political theory fails to truly guarantee freedom, order and security. There must surely be a more humane alternative. Love: the heart of the revolution This alternative, for Christian anarchists, is to be found in Christianity. Where modern political theory deals with injustice and insecurity by force, by giving the monopoly over the legitimate use of force to the state, Christian anarchism argues that the best response to violence and injustice is actually Christian love. That is, Christian anarchists believe that a just social order can only be secured through the stubborn enactment of brotherly love, not through any system of rewards and punishments policed by a scolding father. The ordering principle of society would thus be love, not the threat of violence. According to Tolstoy, the essence of this Christian alternative is best expressed in Jesus’ Sermon on the Mount, and in particular in the following verses: Ye have heard that it hath been said, An eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth: But I say unto you, That ye resist not evil: but whosoever shall smite thee on thy right cheek, turn to him the other also. And if any man will sue thee at the law, and take away thy coat, let him have thy cloak also. And whosoever shall compel thee to go a mile, go with him twain. Give to him that asketh thee, and from him that would borrow of thee turn not thou away. (Matthew 5:38-42, King James Version’s italics removed) Tolstoy thus understands Jesus as spelling out a completely new and wiser method for human beings to deal with evil, with fear, violence or insecurity: when treated unjustly, do not use force or retaliate, but respond with love, forgiveness and generosity. Dave Andrews agrees: Christ is the archetype of compassion – the original model of radical, non-violent, sacrificial love – which humanity desperately needs, now more than ever, if it is to find a way to save itself from the cycles of violence that will otherwise destroy it. (Andrews 1999, p. 100) For all Christian anarchists, therefore, the radical political innovation of Jesus’ message was to put forward a completely different way of responding to whatever may be seen as evil. That is, even in the face of unjust demands, behave like a generous and loving servant; do not rebel, do not get angry, and certainly do not even contemplate using power to enforce your view of justice. In the eyes of Christian anarchists, the political implications are self-evident: the only response to disorder and insecurity in human relations is not to delegate power to a state, but to act as Jesus 5 taught and acted – even if the ultimate price is one’s own death, an act analogous to Jesus’ crucifixion (for an example of such willingness to die, see Camara 2005, p. 6). But this does mean that the Christian (anarchist) has to abandon the apparent effectiveness of social engineering. Inasmuch as he wishes to change the world, in Dorothy Day’s words, he can only do this ‘one heart at a time’ (quoted in Camara 2005, p. 6). Christian anarchists thus believe in persuasion by example, not force. The hope is that love and forgiveness eventually win over the evildoer through the heart. In the face of love and forgiveness, one day the evildoer will repent. But in the meantime, cheeks keep being smitten and coats keep being taken away. The Christian (anarchist), however, does not seek punishment and redress but patiently and generously forgives the wrongdoer. Hence to use Vernard Eller’s words, the Christian anarchist chooses the path of ‘voluntary self-subordination’ as the ‘model of social justice’ (Eller 1987, pp. 239-240, and pp. 237-248 in general). Andrews therefore speaks of treating Christ as a model rather than an idol: The example of Christ […] is so powerful that many of us find it overpowering and, therefore, unfortunately, disempowering, rather than empowering as it ought to be. So we tend to treat Christ as our idol, someone we’d like to be like, but know we never will be like; rather than our model, someone we’d like to be like, and do our best to be sure we are like. But Christ never wanted to be an idol. He never asked anyone to worship him. Christ only wanted to model how to live life to the full. And all he asked of people who wanted to live this way was to follow him. (Andrews 1999, p. 114, Andrews’ emphasis) Christian anarchists thus bemoan the fact that Christianity has evolved into the worship of an idol rather than the personal and collective effort to imitate Jesus and thereby represent him (make him present) in the world. Yet if, instead of delegating government of society to a system that legitimises some violence and punishment, Christians were to choose to govern their lives by love and compassion, then there would be no need for a state. The only thing that would ‘govern’ or steer this stateless society would be love. Humanity would resemble the original meaning of ekklesia as a ‘gathering’ of individuals into community and communion (Eller 1987, p. 49). And gradually, more and more people would indeed gather because ‘the beauty of love and justice embodied in [these] communities will encourage all men and all women of goodwill to continue to do good works as well’ (Andrews 1999, p. 126). Christian anarchists therefore see no integrity in separating ends and means: violence breeds violence, and only love can breed love and gather humanity into a peaceful community. Of course, this goal does appear distant and utopian, and it is easy to accuse Christian anarchists of lack of realism. Love, forgiveness and non-resistance to evil are difficult enough to enact on a personal level, let alone as a whole community. But here, Tolstoy has this to say: It may be affirmed that the constant fulfilment of this rule [of love and non-resistance] is difficult, and that not every man will find his happiness in obeying it. It may be said that it is foolish; that, as unbelievers pretend, Jesus was a visionary, an idealist, whose impracticable rules were only followed because of the stupidity of his disciples. But it is impossible not to admit that Jesus did say very clearly and definitely that which he intended to say: namely, that men should not resist evil; and that therefore he who accepts his teaching cannot resist. (Tolstoy n.d.b, pp. 18-19) So although the practicality of Christian anarchists’ vision can be argued upon, the grounding of it in scripture is harder to dispute. They certainly believe that their 6 interpretation is validated by countless passages of the New Testament, and that any other interpretation that compromises with the state exposes both hypocrisy and a lack of faith in the very essence of Jesus’ teaching. According to Christian anarchists, the political implications of Christianity might be utopian, but they are made clear throughout the bible: Jesus revealed the foundations of a community based on love, a community in which love and forgiveness can be the only response to injustice and insecurity, a community therefore that cannot but reject the state as we know it. The Bible’s rejection of the state Aside from numerous verses on love and forgiveness, Christian anarchists point to several passages in both the Old and New Testament to further validate their interpretation of Christianity. Only the most significant of these can be reviewed here – but many more can be found in the Christian anarchist literature. One example concerns the third of Jesus’ temptations in the desert, which reads as follows: Again, the devil taketh him up into an exceedingly high mountain, and sheweth him all the kingdoms of the world, and the glory of them; And saith unto him, All these things will I give thee, if thou wilt fall down and worship me. Then saith Jesus unto him, Get thee hence, Satan: for it is written, Thou shalt worship the Lord thy God, and him only shalt thou serve. (Matthew 4:8-10) Jacques Ellul argues that according to this text, ‘all powers, all the power and glory of the kingdoms, all that has to do with politics and political authority, belongs to the devil’ (Ellul 1991, p. 58). It is moreover important to note that Jesus does not deny that political power does indeed belong to the devil. Rather, ‘he refuses the offer of power because the devil demands that he should fall down before him and worship him’ (Ellul 1991, p. 58). Jesus refuses political power because it would entail worship of the devil. (Besides, Ellul remarks that etymologically, devil means ‘the divider’ or ‘to divide’, and hence that ‘the state and politics are thus primary reasons for division’ (Ellul 1991, p. 58).) So Jesus declines the possibility of ruling the world politically. He rejects the state because he can only serve one Lord, and it is not possible to serve both God and the state. Ellul notices that a similar point is made in the Old Testament. Until Samuel, Israel had no king. Decisions were taken mostly by popular assembly: ‘people did what was right in their own eyes’ (Ellul 1991, p. 47). But in 1 Samuel 8, people told Samuel that they wanted a king so that they could be like other nations and have more efficient military leadership. As Ellul explains, ‘Samuel protested and went to God in prayer. The God of Israel replied: Do not be upset. The people have not rejected you, Samuel, but me, God. […] Accept their demand but warn them of what will happen’ (Ellul 1991, p. 48). Samuel then warned them of all the abuses of power that would ensue, but they wanted their king. And so they chose an earthly ruler, a state, instead of God. (Note that even though he disapproved, God allowed them to freely reject him (Alexis- Baker 2005, p. 2).) Another important passage in terms of how to respond to fear and insecurity can be found in Matthew 26:51-52. Jesus has just been betrayed by Judas, and is about to be taken away. One of his disciples then draws out his sword and strikes one of the guards. But Jesus famously tells him to put away his sword, because ‘all they that take 7 the sword shall perish with the sword’ (Matthew 26:52). So once again, even in the face of perceived injustice or insecurity, do not resort to any violence, because ‘it can only give rise to further violence’ (Ellul 1991, p. 65). And as Ellul notes, the warning applies quite broadly. On the one hand, ‘since the state uses the sword, it will be destroyed by the sword, as centuries of history have shown us’ (Ellul 1991, p. 65). But on the other, this can also be seen as a caution to Christians: ‘do not fight the state with the sword, for if you do, you will be killed by the sword’ (Ellul 1991, p. 65). Violence should never be used, neither to hold political authority nor to overthrow it. And when violence is used, then no validation for it can be claimed from Christianity, because Jesus explicitly denounces it. So, Christian anarchists understand Christianity to be strictly incompatible with the state and political power; for them, Christianity is the only real alternative for the peaceful ordering of society. However, there are two important phrases from the New Testament that are frequently raised against Christian anarchists as if these self- evidently contradict their political interpretation: ‘render to Caesar’, and Paul’s instructions in Romans 13. These must now be analysed to show why Christian anarchists consider them not as contradicting but as actually confirming their own understanding. It is important to recall the details of the ‘render to Caesar’ episode before commenting on it.3 The story reads as follows: And they send unto him certain of the Pharisees and of the Herodians, to catch him in his words. And when they were come, they say unto him, Master, we know that thou art true, and carest for no man: for thou regardest not the person of men, but teachest the way of God in truth: Is it lawful to give tribute to Caesar, or not? Shall we give, or shall we not give? But he, knowing their hypocrisy, said unto them, Why tempt ye me? Bring me a penny, that I may see it. And they brought it. And he saith unto them, Whose is this image and superscription? And they said unto him, Caesar’s. And Jesus answering said unto them, Render to Caesar the things that are Caesar’s, and to God the things that are God’s. And they marvelled at him. (Mark 12:13-17) Ellul notes that in the first place, if they put this question to Jesus, it must have been because it was already debated, and Jesus must have had ‘the reputation of being hostile to Caesar’ (Ellul 1991, p. 59). But aside from this, it must be borne in mind that ‘in the Roman world an individual mark on an object denoted ownership’ (Ellul 1991, p. 59). Hence the coin actually belonged to Caesar.4 No surprise, then, that Jesus says ‘Give it back to him when he demands it’ (Ellul 1991, p. 60). Nevertheless, Ellul continues, ‘Jesus does not say that taxes are lawful’ (Ellul 1991, p. 60). So the key question is ‘what really belongs to Caesar?’ Ellul replies: Whatever bears his mark! Here is the basis and limit of his power. But where is his mark? On coins, on public monuments, and on certain altars. That is all. […] On the other hand, whatever does not bear Caesar’s mark does not belong to him. It all belongs to God. (Ellul 1991, p. 60) For instance, Caesar has no right over life and death. That belongs to God. Hence while the state can expect us to do what it wishes with its belongings, it has no right to kill dissidents or plunge a country into war (Ellul 1991, p. 61). Therefore the ‘render to Caesar’ episode seems to reinforce, not weaken, the case made by Christian anarchists. Some things do belong to Caesar, but many more essential things belong to God, and the state is overstepping its mark when it encroaches upon God’s domain. 8 But then what about Romans 13? Paul therein does clearly assert: ‘Let every soul be subject unto the higher powers. For there is no power but of God: the powers that be are ordained of God’ (Romans 13:1). It would seem that this finally defeats Christian anarchism. Indeed, this passage has often been used to justify the divine institution of civil government – up to and including the Nazis (Yoder 1994, p. 193). And yet here again, Christian anarchists offer a compelling response.5 For a start, one must realise that Romans 12 and 13 ‘in their entirety form a literary unit’ (Yoder 1994, p. 196). In both chapters, Paul is writing about love and sacrifice, about overcoming evil with good, about willingly offering oneself up for persecution. In doing so, he is mainly repeating the message that Jesus articulated not only in the Sermon on the Mount and other parables, but also in the very way he lived and died – after all, Jesus’ ultimate act of love and sacrifice was to subject himself to Roman crucifixion (Alexis-Manners 2005). But the point is that as John Howard Yoder asserts, ‘any interpretation of 13:1-7 which is not also an expression of suffering and serving love must be a misunderstanding of the text in its context’ (Yoder 1994, p. 196). And in Ellul’s words, once one interprets Romans 12 and 13 as a coherent whole, one notes that ‘there is a progression of love from friends to strangers and then to enemies, and this is where the passage then comes. In other words, we must love enemies and therefore we must even respect the authorities’ (Ellul 1991, p. 81). So Paul’s message in Romans 13 is to call for Christians to subject themselves to political powers in an act of love, forgiveness and sacrifice. It is also worth repeating Eller’s point that to ‘be subject to’ does not mean to worship, to ‘recognise the legitimacy of’ or to ‘own allegiance to’ (Eller 1987, p. 199). Ellul thus comments that ‘we have no right to claim God in validation of this order as if he were at our service. […] This takes away all the pathos, justification, illusion, enthusiasm, etc’ that can be associated with any specific political authority (Ellul 1991, p. 88). So no specific government has any particularly special relationship with God, even though God will use it in his mysterious ordering of the cosmos (Yoder 1994, p. 202). Therefore, according to Ellul, ‘the only one whom we must fear is God’, and ‘the only one to whom honour is due is God’ – not political authorities (Ellul 1991, p. 81). But anyhow, ‘the immediate concrete meaning of this text for the Christian Jews in Rome’, John Howard Yoder indicates, ‘is to call them away from any notion of revolution or insubordination. The call is to a non-resistant attitude towards a tyrannical government’ (Yoder 1994, p. 202). Paul is calling for Roman Christians to act as Jesus did. Besides, if you choose resistance, Eller remarks, ‘you could find yourself resisting the particular use God has in mind for that empire’ (Eller 1987, p. 203). Thus Paul, just as Jesus did before him, is advising against political upheaval and instead calling for love, sacrifice and forgiveness. And so Romans 13, when understood in its context, ends up supporting rather than discrediting Christian anarchists. Christian history If Christian anarchists are so right, however, how come their version of Christianity has hardly ever been heard of? The short answer is that the church colluded with the state and thereby compromised the essence of Jesus’ teaching. For Christian anarchists, 9 it all went downhill after Emperor Constantine, when ‘Christ, who had turned the Roman empire upside down, was turned into a lap-dog for the Roman emperor’ (Andrews 1999, p. 70). The early church had strived to enact Jesus’ teaching. But with Constantine’s ‘conversion’, what had begun as a voluntary, nonviolent movement, a conscious choice of love, forgiveness and sacrifice eventually became a compulsory and hence meaningless tag synonymous with the status quo. And predictably, scriptural exegesis was thereafter reassessed in order to justify unquestioning obedience to the state. Tolstoy uses particularly strong language to condemn this corruption of Christianity.6 Although the following are not his words but Henry George’s, he quotes them at length because they eloquently echo his view: The Christian revelation was the doctrine stating the equality of men, that God is the Father and that all men are brothers. It struck to the core of the monstrous tyranny which inspired the civilized world; it smashed the slaves’ chains and annihilated the enormous injustice whereby a small group of people could live in luxury at the expense of the masses, and ill-treat the so-called working classes. This is why the first Christians were persecuted and why, once it became clear that they could not be suppressed, the privileged classes adopted it and perverted it. It ceased to be the celebration of the true Christianity of the first centuries and to a significant extend became the tool of the privileged classes. (Quoted in Tolstoy 1987, p. 187) When Constantine converted to Christianity, instead of adapting politics to Jesus’ teaching, ‘they arranged a Christianity for him, […] they carefully devised a kind of Christianity for him that would let him continue to live his old heathen life unembarrassed’ (Tolstoy 1934a, pp. 339-340; see also Tolstoy 2001a, p. 164). The resulting paradox, for Tolstoy, was most visible in the army. Before Constantine, Origen had justified Christians’ refusal of military service by arguing ‘that Christians fight more than others for the sake of the Emperor, but they do it through good deeds, prayers, and by setting a good example to others’, not through armed combat (Tolstoy 1987, p. 188). But this changed: Under Constantine the cross had already appeared on the standard of the Roman Legions. In 416 a decree was issued forbidding pagans to join the army. All the soldiers became Christians: that is, all the Christians, with only a few exceptions, renounced Christ. (Tolstoy 1987, p. 190) And so for Christian anarchists, Christianity never recovered from this compromise with political power. Emperors, Crusades, the Inquisition, the Wars of Religion – according to Christian anarchists, none of these really have anything to do with the essence of Christianity. Those dark chapters of history were political power-games in which Christianity was hypocritically used as hypnotic cloak to mobilise the masses; and as a result, the real meaning of Jesus’ teaching remained hidden under thick layers of lies and stupefying rituals (see Andrews 1999; Cavanaugh 1995; and most of Tolstoy’s political writings already mentioned above). In a way, therefore, Christian anarchists would argue that Christianity has never really been tried yet politically on a significant enough scale. The early churches did their best; but they were betrayed by the Roman authorities’ manipulation of their cause. In the late Middle Ages, several millenarian movements and protestant sects (such as the Anabaptists, the Mennonites, the Hussites and the Quakers) endeavoured to apply some of the political aspects of Jesus’ teachings; but although some of these survive today, they often compromised their goals in the face of persecution (Andrews 1999, pp. 71-96; Eller 1987, pp. 25-47; Tolstoy 2001a, pp. 1-33 and 54-93). There are also both ancient and more recent examples of conscientious objectors inspired by 10