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"Hell? No": against Thomistic arguments for perdition
Like many universalists, I find the doctrine of eternal torment utterly abhorrent and contrary to the God of love who was revealed in Jesus Christ. Over the history of Christianity, though, many believers in this doctrine have offered justifications for why eternal torment – despite appearances to the contrary – is actually compatible with the Christian doctrine of God, and possibly even necessitated by it! The most well-known one today is C. S. Lewis’ free-will defense of hell, which I think is incredibly weak, but many other defenses have been given which aren’t so weak.
In my opinion, the strongest defense of hell is the one associated with Thomas Aquinas and his followers, since it relies on an Aristotelian metaphysical framework which I broadly agree with (see my posts on that topic). This argument has been presented in a modern context by Ed Feser (2016a; 2024) and James Dominic Rooney (2024a; 2024b), and a related argument is given by Wahlberg (2022). In this post, I’ll show that these Thomistic arguments fail to make hopeless damnation for any person plausible. The failure of these arguments points to the plausibility of universal salvation, given certain fundamental Christian (and specifically Thomistic) commitments about God and humanity.
Background metaphysics
In a previous post on arguments for God’s existence, I tried to show that we can know from reason alone that (1) God desires our good and (2) God himself is our ultimate good. This grounds a solid belief in the fact that he “desires all people to be saved and to come to knowledge of the truth” (1 Tim. 2:4). Thomistic infernalists agree with this point. However, they argue that while God desires, all other things being equal, the salvation of each individual person, wider considerations could allow God to permit the hopeless damnation of some people. Specifically, they claim that the post-mortem repentance of a sinning person is a metaphysical impossibility, which even God couldn’t bring about.
To understand this claim, we have to first consider the relevant metaphysics. For Aristotelians, goodness is defined as the fulfillment of a thing’s “appetite,” which is the actualization of a potential within a thing’s nature. A thing’s potentials are only actualized to the extent that it exists, so goodness is interconvertible with existence, which is also interconvertible with truth (something is only true insofar as it exists in reality). These properties (existence, truth, goodness) are referred to as transcendentals, since they are shared by all being. Whatever is not good (i.e., evil) has no existence in reality; evil is the failure of a potential to be actualized when it should be (Oderberg 2019).
Moreover, for Aristotelians, what distinguishes rational beings like humans and angels from other creatures is our intellect and will. The intellect is what abstracts universals out of their particular contexts, thus allowing us to understand abstract concepts like triangularity and dog-ness which don’t correspond to any particular, material being. In order to abstract universals from their material contexts, the intellect itself must be immaterial. The will (also called the rational appetite) is what orders our actions toward ends that we choose, according to the intellect. If the will didn’t exist, then we would still be able to know things with our intellect, but we could never use this knowledge to do anything.
Our intellects are ordered toward (universal) truth; otherwise it would forever be tied down to particular contexts. This would be contrary to the intellect’s ability to abstract universals out of particular contexts. Furthermore, if the intellect were ordered toward anything other than truth – for example, survival – then we could never know something as true, merely as it is good for survival. This view is self-refuting, since someone who claims that the intellect is ordered toward survival is making a truth-claim – that it is true that the intellect is ordered toward survival.
Likewise, the will is ordered toward (universal) goodness; otherwise it would be tied down to some particular good. In that case, the will would be unable to order the multiple goods associated with human flourishing (friendship, sensory pleasure, bodily health). Moreover, the will can’t desire something that it doesn’t perceive to be good in some way (the “guise of the good”), for then we would be acting toward something we know to be nothing at all in reality. Since the intellect and will are ordered toward (universal) truth and goodness, it follows that the rational natures of humans and angels can only be completely fulfilled by truth in itself and goodness in itself, which is God. However, no created intellect can naturally comprehend the divine nature in itself (what some Christians refer to as the “beatific vision”); this requires God’s supernatural intervention to achieve.
So far, so good. I agree with all of this metaphysical background, and in the following sections I’ll take it for granted. To sum up: being, goodness, and truth are interconvertible transcendentals; rational beings like humans and angels have an immaterial intellect and will, which are ordered toward (universal) truth and goodness, respectively; therefore rational beings can only be completely fulfilled by God, who (as pure existence) is truth-itself and goodness-itself, and this requires supernatural intervention.
Post-mortem cognition and repentance
Why do Aquinas and modern Thomistic infernalists hold that repentance after death is impossible? First, let’s consider why Aquinas thought that angels – which in his view are immaterial – could never in principle repent after falling.
It belongs to the angels’ nature to have actual knowledge of everything they can know naturally, as we by nature have actual knowledge of first principles, from which we by a process of deductive reasoning proceed to acquire knowledge of conclusions. But angels do not have such a process of reasoning, since they intuit in the principles themselves all the conclusions proper to natural knowledge of them. And so as we are permanently disposed regarding knowledge of first principles, so the angels’ intellect is permanently disposed regarding everything it knows by nature. And since the will is proportioned to the intellect, it follows that their will is also by nature irrevocable regarding what belongs to the natural order. But it is also true that they have potentiality regarding movements to supernatural things, whether by turning toward them or by turning away from them. And so they can only have the change of moving from the order of their nature to things transcending their nature by turning toward or away from them. But since everything added to something is added to it according to the mode of its nature, it follows that angels persist irrevocably in turning from or toward a supernatural good. (De Malo 16.5)
This needs more than a little clarification. First, consider how we humans know things by our intellect: we observe things in multiple particular contexts, abstract out information about universals (e.g., that 2 + 2 = 4, that grass is green), and use this knowledge to reason our way to conclusions. This mode of knowledge is essentially embodied because it relies on sensory input. If angels are immaterial, then their reasoning isn’t temporally extended like this. They immediately have whatever knowledge is natural for them to have, including perfect self-knowledge.
Since the angelic intellect knows all natural things in a single act, the angelic will also chooses its end in a single act. Once an angel chooses its ultimate end, it can’t naturally gain any more knowledge that could cause it to reconsider its choice. Moreover, having perfect self-knowledge, the angel can’t be mistaken about its desires, and must identify with all of them and integrate them all toward its chosen end (Rooney 2024a, 4–6). Therefore, if it chooses an ultimate end other than God, it will be unable to reconsider or desire anything other than what it has chosen.
But if an angel has all natural knowledge, how could it choose something other than God, if a rational being can only choose what it perceives to be good? Simply put, because it has all natural knowledge, not supernatural knowledge. The angel doesn’t have perfect knowledge of goodness itself (i.e., God), since the beatific vision requires supernatural intervention. Unless it chooses union with God, no angel possesses the beatific vision. If it chooses otherwise, then the (now fallen) angel doesn’t gain the supernatural knowledge that would be necessary for it to reconsider its choice.
Therefore, even having all natural knowledge, it’s possible for an angel to wrongly choose some derivative (spiritual) good for itself as its ultimate end in place of God. At that point its choice is ‘locked in’ (so to speak) forever. Even God couldn’t alter its choice without destroying its personal identity, since the fallen angel, having perfect self-knowledge, fully identifies with its desires which have been fully integrated toward its perverted end. This is why it is impossible, in Aquinas’ view, for a fallen angel to ever repent.
What does this have to do with humans? According to Aristotelian anthropology, when a human dies (i.e., her matter and form separate), her form naturally continues to exist immaterially, due to its immaterial operations of intellect and will. Aristotle and Aquinas refer to the form of the living human as her “soul,” although it better corresponds to the Scriptural category of “spirit” (as I argued elsewhere). After her death, the human’s spirit is relevantly like an angelic spirit: it no longer knows via sensory input and discursive (temporally extended) reasoning – since that requires a body – but it instead immediately possesses all its natural knowledge, including perfect self-knowledge.
In the moment immediately after a person’s death, therefore, her spirit perfectly knows and identifies with all of her desires, and the will integrates those desires to the ultimate end that she chose before she died. Like the fallen angel, her choice becomes ‘locked in’ to the extent that even God couldn’t change it. The basic orientation of the will, either toward or away from God, is fixed at death. For some people, there will be a mixture of good and evil desires (since in our bodily state, without perfect self-knowledge, our desires may conflict). In that case, some desires will have to be modified, but in a state of perfect self-knowledge one’s desires will ultimately be made consistent.
For those who choose an ultimate end other than God, they will forever suffer evil (in the Aristotelian sense), since their rational nature will forever fail to fulfill its ultimate end. In addition to this terrible privation, they will suffer positive punishment. Consider that a failure to fulfill our nature, by acting in a disordered way, often results in some kind of unpleasantness: sickness results from overeating, a guilty conscience results from violating a moral duty, and so on. This usually serves the good purpose of directing us away from evils. However, for those who have fixed their will against goodness, they are also fixed in a state of unpleasantness that corresponds to the faulty end they have chosen for themselves. Since it’s God who orders things according to their natures, this punishment is “from God” in an ultimate sense (Aquinas, Summa contra Gentiles III.140; Feser 2016b).
This line of argumentation is used by Aquinas and modern Thomistic infernalists to prove the reality of hell and purgatory (for those whose desires are ‘mixed’ between good and evil at death). If people’s wills truly are fixed at death, then universalism might still be true – it’s theoretically possible that God leads each person to repentance just before they die. But this certainly seems unlikely, and ruling out the possibility of post-mortem repentance would strike a massive blow against Christian universalism.
Why the argument fails
First of all, I disagree with Aquinas that angels are wholly immaterial beings. This doesn’t have much bearing on his argument for hell, since we could simply consider what it would be like for immaterial creatures without conceding that any such beings exist. In fact, I’m perfectly willing to concede that if wholly immaterial creatures did exist, it would be impossible for them to repent after falling – I see no issue with this part of the argument. But because I don’t think angels are wholly immaterial, I disagree that it’s impossible in principle for them to repent (Case 2021). With Origen and Gregory of Nyssa, I hold that all created rational beings, up to and including the satan, can and ultimately will repent.
I also don’t necessarily agree with Aquinas and modern Thomists that the human spirit is conscious or active apart from the human body. It seems at least as likely to me that my spirit, although it continues to exist after my death, will be no more active than it is during deep sleep or syncope. (That would also account for the metaphor of death as “sleep” throughout the Scriptures.) In that case, the argument for hell fails because a person’s spirit after death won’t be in a state to set its final end, integrate its desires, and thereby become ‘stuck’ in that orientation. However, I’m willing to grant for the sake of argument that the human spirit is relevantly active after death, since I think the argument still fails.
The possibility of new experiences
First, as Rooney (2024a, 7) points out,
all that is fundamentally required for someone to persist in sin forever is simply that they make up their mind about what they want (where what they want is something incompatible with love of God) and never to encounter any reason sufficient to make them reconsider that decision, thereby prompting a potential new volition.
Both conditions are necessary for someone to persist in sin forever. While the first condition is fulfilled by the perfect self-knowledge of the post-mortem spirit, the second condition is much harder to fulfill. The very logic of the infernalist position requires that people undergo new (if unpleasant) experiences after death, which can form the basis of new knowledge and allow people to reconsider their choice. It seems like it would only be possible for a mind to have all natural knowledge all at once if it were completely atemporal and impassible, such that it could have no new experiences.
For this reason, the Thomist view of the fixity of the will after death seems like a merely Aristotelian holdover which doesn’t fit well into Christian theology. Aristotle believed that the mind, “when it is separated, is just as it is, and this alone is immortal and eternal, though we do not remember, because this is impassible” (De anima III.5). In other words, the mind after death is totally impassible and has no memories or new experiences. Aquinas and modern Thomists hold this idea in tension with Christian theology, since they believe that the human will is fixed after death and that people have new post-mortem experiences. But these views look like they’re mutually exclusive.
Moreover, this merely Aristotelian view doesn’t square well with the Christian doctrine of bodily resurrection. Even if the spirit is immutable when it’s disembodied, it will be embodied again in the future, and its re-embodiment will bring new perceptual experiences that should restore its mutability. Ed Feser (2016) argues against this conclusion:
But might not the resurrection of the body restore the possibility of a course correction? Aquinas answers in the negative [De veritate q. 24, art. 11]. The nature of the resurrection body is necessarily tailored to the nature of the soul to which it is conjoined, and that soul is now locked on to whatever end it opted for upon death. The soul prior to death was capable of change in its basic orientation only because it came into existence with its body and thus never had a chance to “set,” as it were. One it does “set,” nothing can alter its orientation again.
Feser’s (and Aquinas’) argument here is sound, based on his view that human spirits after death (like immaterial angels) gain all natural knowledge all at once. If that’s the case, then being embodied wouldn’t change a thing, since the person would already have all the knowledge they could possibly use to make a choice. But that’s precisely what I’m arguing against here. The human experience is essentially temporal and open to new experiences, so a human, unlike a wholly immaterial being, couldn’t possess all natural knowledge all at once. That’s just not within the realm of logical possibility.
Goodness and evil
This brings us to an even deeper problem with the Thomistic argument for hell: it implies that good and evil are on an ontological par. The human will can rest in good or evil eternally, depending on which one it chooses. Feser (2018) actually says this explicitly:
If the wills of the damned could change after death, then so too could the wills of the saved. Thus, they wouldn’t truly be saved any more than the former would truly be damned. They would forever be in danger of falling again into evil and facing punishment for doing so. The travails and instability of this life would never end. Hence, no hell, no heaven either.
This argument assumes an ontological equivalence between good and evil. If the human will can’t rest eternally in evil, then it can’t rest eternally in goodness either.
But this is totally contrary to the fact that evil is nothing in itself, being merely a privation of goodness – which Thomists agree with. This logically leads to the classical doctrine of “the guise of the good,” that people only desire what they perceive to be good in some respect. No one could choose that which they know to be nothing at all in reality. Thomists like Feser agree with this; in fact, they’re some of the strongest defenders of this view in the modern day (e.g., Feser 2014)!
To be sure, this doesn’t mean that people can’t be culpable for sinning. A person can do something that they perceive to be good in some respect, even if they know that it’s evil in other respects. Someone can culpably sin by voluntarily failing to consider the evil in an action, and only considering the good they perceive therein (Rooney 2024a, 2–3; citing Aquinas, ST I-II, q. 73). However, no one could be perfectly culpable in the way required for eternal damnation – that is, having perfect knowledge of the good and choosing something else as one’s end – it’s simply impossible. Because of the ontological imbalance between good and evil, someone who (culpably or not) chooses evil could always encounter or consider new knowledge that would lead them to repent.
Rooney (2024a, 8) argues against this conclusion on the basis that the only “decisive” reason that could bring a fallen spirit to repent is perfect knowledge of Goodness itself, the beatific vision, which “constitutes salvation and is not a necessary condition for salvation to occur.” I actually agree with this. However, my argument for universalism doesn’t rely on anyone encountering a decisive reason to repent. As long as there’s a non-zero chance of repentance, over a potentially infinite amount of time, the chance that any individual won’t repent will become infinitesimally small (Reitan 2022).
The “Autonomy Defense” and hell
Another Thomistic defense of hell has been offered by Mats Wahlberg (2022) in response to David Bentley Hart (2019). Wahlberg and Hart rightly reject the “free will defense” of hell (popularized by C. S. Lewis). According to the “free will defense,” in order for God to create a world with creaturely free will, he had to allow for the real possibility – outside of his control – that some people will reject God and choose evil forever. This defense is hugely problematic for a few reasons:
1. By casting creaturely free will as the freedom to choose evil, this defense implies that God (and the saints), who can’t choose evil, are radically unfree. But this is clearly wrong; God isn’t unfree, but the most free being, since nothing apart from him can constrain his action. Thus, freedom doesn’t imply the possibility to choose evil.
2. It’s incompatible with Jesus’ own statement that “the truth will make you free... everyone who does sin is a slave of sin” (John 8:31-35). This means that freedom is precisely the freedom to choose good, and those who choose evil are thereby unfree.
3. It ignores the metaphysics of good and evil, and the “guise of the good.” Rational beings can only choose what we perceive to be good in some way; moral evil is a result of the failure to (culpably or not) know and/or consider certain facts, and this comes from our finitude. This supports Jesus’ claim that those who do evil are unfree, and undermines the free will defense.
4. According to classical theism, God is the primary mover of all change in the world, and concurrently actualizes the being of everything that exists. God’s concurrent causality is not only compatible with freedom, but is necessary for anyone to do anything freely (Koons 2002; Grant 2010). Thus, there’s nothing contradictory with the idea of God causing someone to freely choose him, and classical theism is incompatible with the free will defense (De La Noval 2024).
5. Even if the free will defense succeeded in showing how someone’s choice to reject God could possibly be forever un-reversed, it doesn’t show that anyone’s choice would be irreversible. That would negate the concern for freedom that underlies the entire defense. But since the irreversibility of the choice is precisely what’s being debated, the free will defense is a red herring.
For these reasons, no Thomist or classical theist (or, for that matter, any Christian) should find the “free will defense” very convincing.
However, Wahlberg provides an alternative defense of hell – which he calls the “autonomy defense” – that seeks to sidestep these issues. First of all, this defense relies on the Aristotelian-Thomistic concern for preserving creaturely causality. God is the primary cause of all change, but created beings act as real (if instrumental) causes and have causal powers according to their natures. If creatures aren’t real causes, then this is occasionalism – the view that only God is a real cause – which leads to pantheism (that only God is real). Thus, there must be some measure of creaturely autonomy in order for us to say that there is a creation at all.
Due to our finiteness, every rational creature has the potential to fail to know and/or consider some moral facts, and as a result desire evil. The possibility of sin follows from God’s decision to create rational beings that aren’t himself. “Not even God could create rational creatures that are infallible or indefectible by nature” (Wahlberg 2022, 54). God could supernaturally intervene to remove this possibility of sin in two ways: by providing every rational being with the beatific vision from the start, or by actively and directly frustrating people’s choices to sin. Both of these options, however, deny creaturely autonomy. In order to avoid occasionalism, rational creatures must be able to sin. Otherwise, God hasn’t really created a new being at all; he’s simply play-acting with himself.
So far, I agree with this argument. I think the concern for creaturely autonomy provides a very plausible theodicy of moral evil which avoids the pitfalls of the free will defense. But Wahlberg goes further: he argues that friendship with God, like friendship with other humans, relies on the autonomy to be or not to be friends. If my friendship with another person is a sheer metaphysical necessity, then – Wahlberg claims – it is “gravely deficient” because it lacks the autonomous self-giving that characterizes friendship. Thus, if (as David Bentley Hart argues) every person will necessarily choose friendship with God, it’s really no friendship at all. There must be the real metaphysical possibility of eternal rejection of God, although this leaves open the possibility of hopeful universalism (Wahlberg 2022, 55–60).
Why I disagree
There are a couple reasons I disagree with this argument. First, I’m not sure I agree that friendship, even with other humans, relies on the autonomy to be or not to be friends. Suppose that there are two people who are just so compatible that in every possible world where they meet, they’re best friends. Would this make their self-gift to each other any less real and valuable? My intuition says no. Moreover, consider that on some accounts of social trinitarianism, the relationship between divine persons is precisely a metaphysically necessary interpersonal friendship. There are many valid critiques of social trinitarianism, but would anyone say that the divine persons aren’t really friends on such an account?
Second, even if it were the case that friendship with humans must be autonomous, it doesn’t follow that friendship with God could be autonomous. Wahlberg (2022, 62) responds to this critique:
we all agree that self-determination is a value-enhancing or good-making property of human friendships. It would therefore be very odd if our friendship with God lacked this characteristic. While friendship with God is certainly different from intra-human friendships, it cannot be different in the sense of lacking some fundamental property (compatible with God’s nature) that makes human friendships more valuable than they would be without it.
However, our relationship with God is so different from our relationship with humans that it could not be autonomous. God, unlike other humans, isn’t a being among beings, the kind of person who we might or might not love. God is the ultimate efficient and final cause of everything that exists, the one by whom and for whom are all things (Rom. 11:36). Simply because we exist, we’re already in a relationship with God, whether we like it or not. As David Bentley Hart (2019, 183) points out, “It is hard to exaggerate how large a metaphysical solecism it is to think of God... as an option that can be chosen out of a larger field of options”.
Within the “autonomy defense” is hidden the same mistaken assumption we saw earlier: that good and evil are on an ontological par. God is Goodness itself, and to say that someone might ultimately choose God or something else is to say that they might ultimately choose good or not. But this is a mistaken sort of voluntarism that assumes the human will might just latch onto anything whatsoever as its ultimate end. The human will is naturally oriented toward the good, and chooses evil only as a result of some defect (which might be culpable or not). Wahlberg (2022, 67) recognizes this, but simply holds it in “paradoxical” (contradictory??) tension with his autonomy defense.
Conclusion
Both of the Thomistic defenses of hell that I looked at here are problematic in their own way, but they share the fundamental error of implicitly assuming that goodness and evil exist on an ontological par. If evil has no real existence in itself and is merely a privation of the good, as Thomists believe, then the idea of a human’s will being ‘fixed’ upon evil without even the possibility of repentance is a metaphysical impossibility. The chance of anyone eternally choosing evil without ever reconsidering is incredibly low, and even less credible when we consider that God himself desires all people to ultimately repent and be saved.
To be sure, it’s logically possible that someone might choose evil forever, just not that they can be left without even the possibility of repenting. The question of whether anyone will choose evil forever is one that likely can’t be answered by philosophy alone; for this we have to turn to revelation. I believe that, whether or not an eternal hell is possible, revelation tells us that this world is not one in which any rational being will abide in evil forever. God will defeat sin and death and reconcile with every person (1 Cor. 15:20-28).
Yes, the early church was communist
...and that probably doesn’t mean what you think it does. In my recent post on Christian anarchism, I said that the early church, at least in Jerusalem, practiced “libertarian communism,” and that there’s a lot of evidence that this was widespread and long-lasting within the church. But I anticipate some confusion (‘libertarian communism’? isn’t that a contradiction in terms?) and pushback on this point. Here I will clarify my claim and provide further evidence in its support.
“Communism” defined
Most people, at least in the West, think of states like the U.S.S.R., Maoist China, and modern-day Cuba when they hear “communism.” Strictly speaking, this is incorrect. As an economic system, communism is an economy which is conducted on the principle “from each according to their ability, to each according to their needs.” Within the Marxist framework, a fully communist society would be classless and therefore stateless; although I’m not a Marxist, I would agree that communism implies a horizontal, and therefore stateless, society. None of the authoritarian leftist, Marxist-Leninist regimes listed above have ever reached full communism, nor did they ever claim to have done so, although they are said to be “Communist” in ideology because they claimed to be working toward such a society.
Socialism, on the other hand, refers to a system of property rights in which workplaces (or “means of production” to use the outdated leftist phrase) are owned by the workers themselves. This definition presupposes development from a modern economy with a worker/owner distinction, so it can’t really be applied to pre-modern economies (which were primarily feudal or slave-based). However, we can apply the term “communist” to pre-modern economic relationships. As anthropologist David Graeber points out, in every society there is always some amount of “baseline communism” — that is, economic relationships conducted on the communist principle — even if this is just sharing between family and friends. [1]
In addition to communism, Graeber identifies two other types of economic relationships which are found (to varying degrees) in nearly every human society: exchange and hierarchy. “Exchange” refers to relationships where some kind of equivalence is expected between traded items; this tends to predominate in societies where most relationships are impersonal and/or violence is widespread, so long-term relationships based on trust between parties are not expected. [2] “Hierarchy” refers to relationships where there is formal inequality between parties, and so there is no reciprocity; one party (the ‘superior’ one) comes out ahead by design. [3] This is usually based in violence which becomes systematized over time.
We can make a distinction between “formal” and “informal” communism, following Roman Montero. [4] Formal communism refers to economic relationships in which the principle “from each according to their ability, to each according to their needs” is regulated by formal rules, whereas informal communism refers to communist relationships that are not formally regulated. In modern society, communism is usually encountered informally (e.g., between family, friends, and coworkers). We can also make a distinction between “authoritarian” and “libertarian” communism, where the former is regulated by some centralized (human) authority and the latter is regulated, if at all, by decentralized relationships between people.
With these definitions in mind, we can consider which economic relationships predominated in the early church. If communist relationships predominated over exchange and hierarchy among early believers, and their beliefs and practices actively cultivated communism, then we can truly say that the early church was “communist” in their economic structure. If the early church was communist, then we can also look into how formal or informal, and how authoritarian or libertarian, this economic structure was.
Internal evidence from the early church
We can begin with the paradigmatic case of communism in the early church: the first community of believers in Jerusalem as described by the book of Acts.
Now all the believers were together and had all things in common; they were selling their possessions and goods and distributing the proceeds to all, as each had need. Every day, as they continued together in the temple, they broke bread at home and ate their food with glad and sincere hearts, praising God and having favor with all the people. (Ac 2:44–47)
Now the whole group of believers were of one heart and soul, and no one said that anything he possessed was his own, but all things were in common for them... There was no one in need among them, for as many as owned lands or houses were selling them and bringing the proceeds of what was sold. They were laying it at the apostles’ feet, and it was distributed to each as anyone had need. (Ac 4:32, 34–35)
It’s fair to say that this is an idealized depiction of the early Jerusalem church, but it does present this community of believers as fully communistic. In fact, the slogan “to each according to their need” plausibly originated from this very passage. [5] As depicted by Luke, this was an informal communism, because each person’s property remained formally under their authority (Ac 5:4) but “no one said that anything he possessed was his own” (4:32). It was also more libertarian than authoritarian, since the contributions were apparently voluntary (grounded in ethical obligations rather than any threat of force). Even so, there was also a formal aspect to the communism, whereby a centralized group of apostles received the proceeds and distributed them according to need (4:34–47; but cf. the plural verbs at 2:45).
Some, in an attempt to avoid the radical implications, have suggested that this was an “unusual moment in the life of the early church” which “[f]or all we know... lasted six months”, which was certainly never normative or prescriptive for believers. [6] The problem with this assertion is that it’s simply false. In fact, communism is prescribed for believers in two other first-century Christian writings:
You shall not hesitate to give, nor shall you grumble when giving, for you should know who is the good paymaster of your wages. You shall not turn away from someone in need, but share all things with your sibling, and do not say that anything is your own. For if you are partners in what is immortal, how much more in what is mortal? (Didache 4:7–8)
You shall have all things in common with your neighbors, and do not say that anything is your own. For if you have the corruptible in common, how much more the incorruptible? (Epistle of Barnabas 19:8)
Both of these documents were held in high regard in the early church, and were even considered to be Scripture by some. The Didache (also known as the Teaching of the Twelve Apostles) is thought to have been written in the mid-to-late first century, most likely from Syria. The Epistle of Barnabas was written some time between AD 70 and the mid-second century from Alexandria in Egypt. This shows that communist economic practices were considered normative among early believers for at least several decades after the beginning of the church, and over a widespread area.
The commandments in the Didache and Epistle of Barnabas share some phrases with Acts, specifically that “all things” are held in common and that believers “do not say that anything is [their] own” (Ac 4:32). However, they also have a common rationale for this practice — that believers share an immortal and incorruptible hope, so they should also share mortal and corruptible things — which isn’t found in Acts. This points to a shared tradition (whether written or oral) independent of Acts which goes back to the very early church, that believers should share all things with their brethren in need and not regard anything to be their own. [7]
These practices continued to be widespread among Christians well into the second century. The mid-second-century Christian apologist Justin Martyr states,
[We] follow the only unbegotten God through his Son... we who formerly delighted in fornication, but now embrace chastity alone; we who formerly used magical arts, dedicate ourselves to the good and unbegotten god; we who valued above all things the acquisition of wealth and possessions, now bring what we have into a common stock, and communicate to everyone in need (First Apology 14)
In an apologetic context, this could just be an idealized depiction of the church. But Justin later describes in detail the ceremony that took place in the churches on every Sunday, where (recalling Acts 4:34–37) those who are present deposit their belongings before the deacons, who distribute them to “all who are in need” (First Apology 67).
Similarly, the early church father Tertullian wrote in AD 197 from Carthage: “One in mind and soul, we do not hesitate to share our earthly goods with one another. All things are common among us but our wives” (Apology 39). The extent to which this informal communism was practiced is evident from the fact that Tertullian is careful to distinguish it from pagan cults which shared even their wives. Like Justin, he gives a detailed description of the formal communism practiced on each Sunday, where a voluntary donation would be made to support any brethren in need, prompting even the pagans to remark, “See how they love one another!” (Apology 39)
If Paul’s writings are any indication, communism was practiced not only within each church, but between churches as well — at least, that was the ideal. Throughout much of his ministry, he took up a collection from the gentile churches for the relatively poorer Judean churches (Rom 15:25–27; 1 Cor 16:1–4; 2 Cor 8–9; Gal 2:10). This was following a decision by the apostles that “according to their ability, each would send relief to the brethren in Judea” (Ac 11:29). Paul gives his rationale for the collection as follows:
For you know the generosity of our Lord Jesus the Messiah, that being rich, for your sake he became poor, so that you may be made rich through his poverty... Not that there should be relief for others and hardship for you, but equality. Your present abundance will be for their need, so that their abundance may be for your need, so that there may be equality. As it is written, “The one who had much did not have too much, and the one who had little did not have too little.” (2 Cor 8:9, 13–15)
For Paul, the early Christian communism follows the paradigmatic case of Jesus’ own sacrifice, the perfect expression of agapē (cf. especially 1 John 3:16–18, which makes the exact same point). He also quotes Exodus 16:18 about the gathering of manna in the wilderness, which shows that his vision of economic equality extends back to Israel’s very origins. Paul is careful to emphasize that the collection for the Judean churches is voluntary, not based in a commandment (2 Cor 8:8; 9:6ff), which means that this communism was informal and libertarian. For me, this is reminiscent of the libertarian communism that was implemented by the Catalonian anarchists during the Spanish Civil War, in which different villages created regional federations to share resources with one another. [8]
Our clear, direct evidence for early Christian communism dries up around the end of the second century. However, there are tantalizing hints in the later church fathers that this continued into the fourth century. Basil of Caesarea in his Sermon to the Rich says that the rich unjustly seize goods which are rightly “for the benefit of all in common”; in an ideal society,
if we all took only what was necessary to satisfy our own needs, giving the rest to those who lack, no one would be rich, no one would be poor, and no one would be in need.
John Chrysostom, the late fourth century archbishop of Constantinople, makes a similar point: “the rich... possess things which belong to the poor, even if their property be gained by inheritance; in fact, from whatever source their substance is derived” (Discourse on Lazarus II.4). He held that the rich are parasitic on society, and a society of all poor people would end up far more successful than a society of all rich people (Homily 34 on 1 Cor 13:8). St. Ambrose held the same view: the rich “are usurping what was given in common for the use of all. The earth belongs to everyone, not to the rich” (On Naboth). Sadly, this traditional Christian view dwindled as the church became entangled in the politics of empire.
External evidence from the pagan world
If all we had were testimonies from within the church, it might be rightly objected that this is just an idealized picture which wasn’t actually practiced. Fortunately, we have hostile witnesses from the outside pagan world who confirm that early believers did practice communism, and this was ridiculed by outsiders! The second-century Syrian satirist Lucian wrote an entire satire, called “The Death of Peregrinus,” about a traveling huckster who takes advantage of Christian communism to live affluently without working. Here’s an excerpt:
...their first lawgiver [i.e., Jesus] persuaded them that they are all brothers of one another after they have transgressed once for all by denying the Greek gods and by worshiping that crucified sophist himself and living under his laws. Therefore they despise all things indiscriminately and consider them common property, receiving such doctrines traditionally without any definite evidence. So if any charlatan and trickster, able to profit by occasions, comes among them, he quickly acquires sudden wealth by imposing upon simple folk. (Peregrinus 13)
For Lucian, communism is not only a practice of Christianity, but the defining practice, which to him is ridiculous; they’re “despising all things” and inviting charlatans to take advantage of them! Thanks to their generosity, Peregrinus was able to “live in unalloyed prosperity” (16), what simpletons!
Whether or not this is a true tale, it’s clear that the early Christians did have to be on guard against those who would take advantage of their communism. Paul himself faced this problem with the Thessalonian church, where some believers were living in idleness off of the church proceeds; the solution was that “anyone unwilling to work should not eat” (2 Thess 3:6–15). Likewise, the Didache says that churches should receive and care for any travelers who come in the name of the Lord, but “beware” of those who stay for long periods of time without being willing to work (12:1–5). The fact that this was even a danger shows the extent to which informal communism was practiced.
Well into the fourth century, hostile witnesses still confirm that at least some Christian communities were practicing communism. The pagan emperor Julian “the Apostate” writes in a letter that the Christians “are bidden to sell all they have and give to the poor,” and orders that the collective funds of the church of Edessa should be confiscated so that “poverty may teach them to behave properly” (Letter 40). In another letter he takes this matter more seriously:
For it is disgraceful that, when no Jew ever has to beg, and the impious Galileans [i.e., Christians] support not only their own poor but ours as well, all men see that our people lack aid from us. (Letter 22)
The generosity of the Christians, both for their fellow believers and apparently others, made the Roman Empire look bad by comparison, which caused a PR problem for Julian. As a result, he orders the high priest of Galatia to teach the pagan temples to also contribute to the poor “by teaching them that this was our practice of old,” so as to “not... allow others to outdo us in good works” (Letter 22). This is an example of how radical movements like early Christianity can effect change in the wider system without becoming ingrained in that system (in other words, being in the world without being a part of the world).
The basis for early Christian communism
The historical evidence clearly shows that the early Christians practiced informal and formal communism on a large scale, over a widespread area, for over a century after the beginning of the church. But to what extent was this a deliberate result of their theological beliefs vs. a mere historical accident? Let’s look at the influences that led the early church to practice communism on an unprecedented scale.
The Essenes were another second-Temple Jewish sect that intentionally practiced full communism, although not as successfully as the Christians. Josephus describes their communism in detail, saying that those who joined them gave up their possessions to be “common to the whole order,” whence they were distributed by the “stewards” of the community “for the uses of them all”; this was a formal process regulated by rules (Wars 2.8.3, 6). There was also an informal communism whereby “every one of them gives what he has to him who wants it, and receives from him again... what may be convenient for himself” (Wars 2.8.4). Philo says that their communism extended to food and clothing (Apology for the Jews).
This is confirmed in the writings of the Essenes at Qumran. Their Community Rule describes the same strictly regulated, formal communism depicted by Josephus; participation was contingent on a rigorous entry process into the community, and goods were distributed by the community leaders (1QS 5–6). The Damascus Document provides a different perspective: there was an aspect of formal communism (a tax levied for the needy members of the community), but also informal communism, where members were expected to provide for each other without holding back (CD 6–7; 18–19). The same combination of formal and informal communism was practiced in the early church, but there it was more libertarian, as the leaders of the church played a lesser role than the leaders of the Essenes.
Some Greek philosophers also envisioned communism, but only between fellow virtuous philosophers, whom they considered to be the only people capable of real friendship. [9] A common saying was that “what friends have is common property” (koina ta tōn philōn), and for Aristotle, “brothers and comrades have all things in common” (Nicomachean Ethics 8.9). But freely sharing between social classes was considered a vice, not a virtue (e.g., Plautus, Trinummus 2.2). Between social classes, the proper economic relationship was patronage, which was a form of hierarchy (to use Graeber’s terminology), where wealth was transferred down in exchange for honor and subservience from the lower classes. [10]
Based on this, the most likely origin of Christian communism (which crossed social and cultural boundaries) is from its Jewish roots and not from outside Greek culture. Indeed, Acts 4:34 (“there was no one in need among them”) is likely an allusion to Deut 15:4 LXX (“there shall be no one in need among you”), which was a prophecy of the Sabbatical year when all debts would be forgiven (Deut 15:1–4). Jesus viewed his own arrival as the coming of the eschatological Sabbath (e.g., Mk 2:23–3:6; Lk 4:16–21; 13:10–17; John 5:1–18; cf. Heb 4:1–11). [11] This meant the permanent forgiveness of debts, and an end to relationships of exchange and hierarchy (which are fundamentally based in debt).
The Lukan Jesus makes this rejection of exchange and hierarchy explicit:
“If you lend to those from whom you expect to receive payment, what credit is that to you? Even sinners lend to sinners, to receive as much again. Instead, love your enemies, do good, and lend, expecting nothing in return.” (Lk 6:34–35)
“The kings of the gentiles lord it over them, and those in authority over them are called benefactors. But not so with you; rather, the greatest among you must become like the youngest and the leader like one who serves.” (Lk 22:25–26)
David Graeber notes that communism (as opposed to exchange) is found precisely where giving isn’t associated with any expectation of return. [12] Jesus also rejects the hierarchical patronage relationships found in the pagan world (i.e., “benefactors”), where wealth was given in exchange for subservience. In the Lord’s prayer and elsewhere in the gospels, Jesus associates the Sabbatical practice of forgiving debts with God’s own forgiveness of our sins (Matt 6:12; 18:23–35; Lk 7:42–43; 11:4; cf. Didache 1:5–6). It’s clear that early Christian communism goes all the way back to the teachings of the historical Jesus.
In addition to Jesus’ explicit teachings, we shouldn’t lose sight of his actions. Love (agapē) was central to the ethic of the early Christians, and for them it was exemplified in Jesus’ ultimate self-sacrifice for our sins (John 15:13; Rom 5:8; 1 Jn 3:16). The two most prolific writers of the New Testament, Paul and John, explicitly connect Jesus’ self-sacrifice to the informal communism that they practiced (2 Cor 8:8–15; 1 Jn 3:16–18). It’s not hard to see how “love your neighbor as yourself” translates practically to “from each according to their ability, to each according to their needs.” If we desire to love others as we love ourselves, then we shouldn’t withhold from them what we have that they need.
A few common objections
There are a few common critiques of the view that the early church was communist (for example: Sean McDowell; Kevin DeYoung; Jay W. Richards). For the most part, I think these critiques result from a failure to properly understand the concepts being discussed. It’s not a question of whether the early church was socialist (it wasn’t), or Marxist (of course not), or whether non-Christians were thrown into gulags (LOL). Rather, it’s a question of the extent to which the early church actively practiced and cultivated economic relationships according to the principle “from each according to their ability, to each according to their need.”
For one, many of these critiques confuse communism with socialism, or assume that communism is just the most extreme version of communism. (“Socialism is when the government does stuff, communism is when the government does all the stuff.”) This is not how these terms are used by political theorists. It would be utterly anachronistic to attribute socialism (i.e., worker ownership of workplaces) to the early church, since there was no widespread working class at that time. Socialism and communism may go hand-in-hand in a modern economy, but in pre-modern feudal and slave economies, communism could be (and was) implemented on a large scale without socialism.
These critiques also often assume that “communism” and “socialism” refer only to the statist, authoritarian socialism associated with Marxist-Leninist regimes. As such, they think that it’s a slam-dunk rebuttal to point out that the early church’s economic relationships were voluntary. But this only shows that the early church practiced libertarian (rather than authoritarian) communism, not that they didn’t practice communism at all. Rather than the U.S.S.R., a better modern parallel to the early church would be rural Catalonia during the Spanish Civil War, where anarchist revolutionaries established full (libertarian) communism on a large scale. [13]
Another critique, made by Jay W. Richards, is that the practice of communism was an unusual and very short-lived stage in church history (possibly as little as six months in Jerusalem only!). This is simply an ignorance of historical reality. As I have shown, both formal and informal communism were normative and widespread within Christianity until at least the end of the second century.
Finally, a more nuanced critique points to Acts 5:4, which says that the proceeds of Ananias’ sale of land were still at his authority. If his proceeds weren’t immediately owned by the community, it is argued, then the church wasn’t practicing communism. But this ignores the distinction between formal and informal communism. Ananias wasn’t legally obligated to provide all his proceeds to the church, but he clearly had a social and moral obligation to do so. (He’s obviously not portrayed in a good light in the rest of the passage, Acts 5:1–11). In our modern world, where there’s thought to be such a stark distinction between the personal realm and the political realm, this may be hard to grasp; but in the ancient world, the political was considered an extension of the moral, personal realm.
In summary, the critiques of early Christian communism either result from a failure to understand the terminology, an ignorance of the historical evidence, or a failure to recognize the distinctions between formal vs. informal and authoritarian vs. libertarian communism. I haven’t yet found a critique which doesn’t fall into one of these errors. There are very good historical and theological grounds for thinking that the early church practiced and actively cultivated libertarian communism on a large scale, and so it can be truly said to be “communist.”
What are the implications?
I think there are two big implications of this, one for modern-day Christians and the other one for modern-day leftists (of all stripes, not just Christian). First, Christians who uphold and support the capitalist structure of the modern world are compromising with the world, and to that extent are not leading ideal Christian lives. I’m a bit loathe to say this, since the majority of Christians aren’t economic leftists, but I don’t see any way around it. To be clear, I’m not saying that non-leftists aren’t Christian, but to the extent that they support capitalism they aren’t ideal Christians (as no one but Christ truly is). If we are Christian, we should be economically leftist.
Another implication is for modern-day leftists. State socialists and anarchists often disagree about who has been more ‘successful’ in the past at implementing communism. (In my opinion, the anarchists win the debate hands down; no Marxist-Leninist state has ever achieved full communism, whereas anarchists have done so, for example in the Spanish Civil War). But by this metric, the most successful one is Jesus, who initiated and guided the early church in their successful practice of full communism for more than a century. For this reason, if they're really concerned with the viability and successfulness of a movement, every socialist should not just be an anarchist, but a Christian anarchist.
______________________________
[1] David Graeber, Debt: The First 5,000 Years (Melville House, 2011), 97–102.
[2] David Graeber, Debt, 103–108.
[3] David Graeber, Debt, 109–113.
[4] Roman Montero, All Things in Common: The Economic Practices of the Early Christians (Wipf and Stock, 2017), 25–26.
[5] Luc Bovens and Adrien Lutz, “’From Each according to Ability; To Each according to Needs’: Origin, Meaning, and Development of Socialist Slogans,” History of Political Economy 51, no. 2 (Apr 2019): 237–257.
[6] Jay W. Richards, Money, Greed, and God: Why Capitalism Is the Solution and Not the Problem (HarperOne, 2009), 22–24; “After Pentecost, was the Church Communist?,” The Stream (5 June 2017).
[7] Roman Montero, All Things in Common, 62–64.
[8] Sam Dolgoff, The anarchist collectives: workers’ self-management in the Spanish revolution 1936-1939 (Black Rose Books, 1990), 121–128.
[9] Roman Montero, All Things in Common, 35–42.
[10] Ibid., 42–45.
[11] N. T. Wright, Jesus and the Victory of God (Fortress Press, 1996), 294–296, 390–396.
[12] David Graeber, Debt, 99.
[13] Sam Dolgoff, The anarchist collectives.
The Bible and the State (part 2 of 2)
Part 1: https://thechristianuniversalist.blogspot.com/2025/07/the-bible-and-state-part-1-of-2.html
The early church and anarchy
We might have a better idea of how to act out agapē if we look at how the early church did so. There are a few interesting passages in the book of Acts which relate how the church in Jerusalem was structured during its earliest days:
Now all the believers were together and had all things in common; they were selling their possessions and goods and distributing the proceeds to all, as each had need. Every day, as they continued together in the temple, they broke bread at home and ate their food with glad and sincere hearts, praising God and having favor with all the people. (Ac 2:44–47)
Now the whole group of believers were of one heart and soul, and no one said that anything he possessed was his own, but all things were in common for them... There was no one in need among them, for as many as owned lands or houses were selling them and bringing the proceeds of what was sold. They were laying it at the apostles' feet, and it was distributed to each as anyone had need. (Ac 4:32, 34–35)
These texts show that the early church was communist in its economic structure; that is, in the technical sense of “from each according to their ability, to each according to their need,” not in the popular sense of totalitarianism. In fact, the socialist slogans, “from each according to his ability,” “to each according to his need,” and “to each according to his work,” all find their origin in Scripture (Bovens and Lutz 2019). It seems that this structure was harshly enforced in the Jerusalem church, not by human authority but by God, since Ananias and Sapphira were struck dead for lying and failing to contribute their whole wealth (Acts 5:1–11).
There’s considerable evidence that the early Christian practice of libertarian communism was widespread and continued well into the second century (Montero 2017). Moreover, the first churches across the Mediterranean provided economic support to each other when they were in need. During a famine, the disciples decided that “according to their ability, each would send relief to the brethren in Judea” (Ac 11:29). Paul relates the same event in one of his letters, saying that the other apostles asked him “to remember the poor, which was actually what I was eager to do” (Gal 2:10). This collection took up much of Paul’s ministry, and he mentions it in three other letters (Rom 15:25–27; 1 Cor 16:1–4; 2 Cor 8–9). Paul is concerned that there should be economic parity between churches, and he sees this as following Jesus’ own self-sacrifice in which he became “poor” so that we could be “rich” (2 Cor 8:9–16).
Both the internal economic structure of the Jerusalem church and the collection among the gentile churches reflect a concern for economic equality, which can be seen in other New Testament writings. As noted already, Jesus himself blesses the poor and curses the rich (Lk 6:20, 24); he also says that one cannot serve both God and money (Matt 6:19–24) and promises rewards for those who serve the poor (Matt 19:20–26; Lk 14:12–14; etc.). James condemns those who show any partiality to the rich (Jas 2:1–7) and even condemns the rich for exploiting their laborers (5:1–5). John says that if a person sees someone else in need and doesn’t help them, “how does God’s love abide in [them]?” (1 Jn 3:17–18). It’s clear that concern for the poor was an important part of early Christianity and reflects God’s character.
What about the political structure of the early church? As Jesus taught: “You know that the rulers of the gentiles lord it over them, and their great ones have authority over them. It will not be so among you, but whoever wishes to be great among you must be your servant” (Mk 10:42–45; Matt 20:25–28; Lk 22:24–27). He contrasts the very hierarchical structure of the Roman Empire to the ideal structure of the church, in which leaders must be servants. Jesus modeled this type of leadership to his disciples by washing their feet (John 13:1–17). This is very similar to the anarchist view, which doesn’t reject leadership altogether, but decouples it from the notions of hierarchy and ‘power-over’.
A few leadership positions are mentioned in the letters of the New Testament: “apostles,” “bishops / overseers,” and “deacons / helpers” (cf. Phil 1:1). These people should have modeled servant leadership within the early church (in fact, “deacon” literally means “servant”). Furthermore, these positions were delegated “with the consent of the whole church” (Didache 15.1; 1 Clem 44.2). Based on our limited view into the earliest churches, they seem to have been very horizontal, with every person allowed to speak up and teach in an ordered manner (1 Cor 14:26–33). Each believer was to be treated as an equal and indispensable member of the body of Christ, and leadership positions were for the purpose of strengthening the other members of the body (Rom 12:3–5; 1 Cor 12:12–26; Eph 4:11–16).
The earliest Christians also approached the social issues of their day in an anti-hierarchical way. This is clearest in Paul’s statements about our status in Christ:
There is neither Jew nor Greek, slave nor free, male and female, for you are all one in the Messiah Jesus. (Gal 3:28)
Here there is neither Greek and Jew, circumcised and uncircumcised, barbarian, Scythian, slave or free, but the Messiah is all and in all. (Col 3:11)
For in one Spirit we were all baptized into one body, whether Jews or Greeks, slave or free, and we were all given one Spirit to drink. (1 Cor 12:13)
For there is no difference between Jew and Greek, for the same Lord of all is rich toward all who call on him. (Rom 10:12)
One of the biggest social issues plaguing the earliest church was the status of gentile believers. Paul is clear that their status is no different than Jewish believers, because they all are one in Christ, and he wasn’t afraid to condemn other apostles for discriminating against gentiles (Gal 2:11–14). He applies this same ethic to the distinction between enslaved and free people (cf. 1 Cor 7:21–23; Philem 10–18 says that a slave is to be treated like an apostle!), and between men and women.
Like parts of the Hebrew Bible, there are parts of the New Testament that appear to accommodate and even uphold (for example) slavery and gender hierarchies (1 Cor 14:34–46?; Eph 6:5–6; Col 3:22; 1 Tim 2:11–15; 6:1–2; Tit 2:9–10; 1 Pet 2:18). I won’t try to defend or rationalize away these passages here, but the important thing to note is that if they are upholding such hierarchies, they run contrary to the overall ethic of the New Testament which is about horizontal agapē between persons. Treating each other as we would treat ourselves is, ultimately, not compatible with enslaving other persons or treating women as subservient.
It’s also worth looking at the post-apostolic church. Although historians disagree on just how widespread pacifism was in early Christianity, it’s clear that many of the early church fathers held that any killing was unjust, and so advised against Christians serving in the military (e.g., Justin Martyr, 1 Apol 39; Athenagoras, Plea 1; Tertullian, Apol 36–37; De Idol 19; Hippolytus, Apostol Trad 16.9–11; Lactantius, Divine Inst 16.20). Canon 12 of the Council of Nicaea (AD 325) condemns those who leave the military to become Christians and later rejoin the military, even applying Proverbs 26:11 to them. The pagan writer Celsus criticized Christianity for ‘betraying their nation’ in this way (Origen, Against Celsus 8.68). While this is, of course, not the modern ideology of anarchism, it naturally lends itself to anarchism by undermining the state’s monopoly on violence.
The kingdom of God
Most of the New Testament’s social teachings deal with the day-to-day life of the earliest believers. Because the early Christians were in no position to reform wider society, they didn’t really talk about their view of an ideal society. However, they did look forward to a time when God would bring about such an ideal society, the ‘Kingdom of God’. Very few passages in the New Testament deal directly with God’s consummated kingdom, but Paul does talk about it in the middle of an argument about the future resurrection:
...then comes the consummation, when [Jesus] will hand over the kingdom to God the Father, when he will abolish all rule and authority and power. For he must reign until [God] has “put all his enemies under his feet.” The last enemy to be abolished is death. For [God] has “put all things in subjection under his feet”; but when it may be said that all things have been subjected, it is clear that the One who subjected all things to him is excepted. When all things have been subjected to him, then the Son himself will be subjected to the One who subjected all things to him, so that God may be all in all. (1 Cor 15:24–28)
For Paul, human hierarchies are portrayed as “enemies” on par with death itself, and the fulfillment of God’s kingdom will involve the abolition of “all [human] rule and authority and power.” This certainly looks like the anarchist vision of society without hierarchy. Paul quotes Psalms 8:6 and 109:1 (LXX) to show that all things, including Jesus’ enemies, will be subjected to him and ultimately to God; as several ancient commentators noticed, this must be a voluntary submission, because Christ is subjected in the same way. Origen, Gregory of Nyssa, and other early church fathers marshaled this passage in support of a powerful argument for the eventual salvation of all people in and through Christ (see especially Gregory’s In illud).
Paul’s brief treatise in 1 Cor 15 is the only New Testament passage that deals explicitly with the structure of God’s consummated kingdom. Still, as I noted earlier, Jesus rejects the association between leadership and hierarchy, instead teaching (and demonstrating) that leaders should be servants; this is explicitly connected to the theme of the Kingdom of God (Matt 20:20–28; Lk 22:24–30). The book of Revelation contrasts God’s kingdom with a supremely evil government represented by “the beast,” whose number “666” is likely an intertextual allusion to Solomon’s kingdom (1 Kgs 10:14; Rev 13:18) — a point which is unfortunately missed by most commentators (Bodner and Strawn 2020). God’s kingdom will not be like the ancient Israelite kingdom, which turned out to be tyrannical.
Some of my fellow anarchists are likely concerned that the Kingdom of God, as presented by the New Testament, is highly exclusive, which seems contrary to anti-hierarchical ideals. However, I think it’s false that exclusivism is contrary to anarchism. Many people are indeed excluded from God’s kingdom (1 Cor 6:9–10; Gal 5:19–21; Eph 5:5; Rev 21:7–8, 27; 22:14–15), and this is because they oppose agapē by their actions. When faced with the harsh reality of human sinfulness, it becomes necessary to do something about those who actively oppose love; the most humane option, and the one most in line with anarchist ideals, is simply exclusion. The flip side of the anarchist slogan of “free association” is free disassociation.
Moreover, the writers of the New Testament emphasize that exclusion need not be a permanent state, and those who are now excluded can freely join God’s kingdom through faith in Christ (1 Cor 6:11; Eph 5:7–9; Rev 21:24–27; 22:14–17). If those who were opposed to the Kingdom of God were nonetheless subjected to it, then God’s kingdom would be much more like a tyrannical state. The fact that such people are excluded from God’s kingdom, yet can still join it freely, actually makes it more like the ideal society that anarchism postulates.
The hard one: Romans 13 (and 1 Peter 2)
Inevitably, a passage that is brought up against every Christian anarchist is Romans 13:1–7, where Paul tells the congregation at Rome to “be subject to the higher authorities”. A similar passage that isn’t as well known is 1 Peter 2:13–17, which says to “be subject to every human institution”! Here are the relevant passages in full:
Let everyone be subject to the higher authorities, for there is no authority except from God, and those that exist are appointed by God. Therefore whoever resists the authority opposes God’s ordinance, and those who oppose it bring judgment on themselves. For rulers are not a terror to good works, but to evil. Do you wish to have no fear of the authority? Then do good, and you will receive its praise, for it is God’s servant for your good. But if you do evil, be afraid, for it does not bear the sword in vain. It is God’s servant to execute wrath on the evildoer. Therefore one must be subject, not only because of wrath but also because of conscience. You pay taxes for the same reason, for they are God’s ministers devoted to this very thing. Render to everyone their dues: taxes to whom taxes are due, revenue to whom revenue is due, respect to whom respect is due, and honor to whom honor is due. (Rom 13:1–7)
Be subject to every human institution for the Lord’s sake, whether to the emperor as supreme or to the governors sent by him to punish evildoers and praise good-doers. For it is God’s will that by doing good you should silence the ignorance of foolish people. Live as free people, and do not use freedom as a pretext for evil, but live as God’s servants. Honor everyone: love the brethren, fear God, and honor the emperor. (1 Pet 2:13–17)
These passages are often read as saying that Christians shouldn’t oppose authority, because authorities are put in place by God to reward good people and punish evildoers. That’s certainly the most straightforward interpretation if these passages are read in isolation. But it should give us pause to remember that both Paul and Peter were murdered by the Roman authorities for doing good, not evil. Moreover, as N. T. Wright and other NT scholars argue strongly, Paul’s message was itself subversive (in a nonviolent way) of the Roman Empire (e.g., Wright 1998).
Thus, the hyper-statist view of Romans 13 — that it legitimates all authorities in all their activities — must be wrong. Every Christian should agree that the apostles wouldn’t advise submission to the state in extreme cases where it would involve denying Christ. This leaves some ambiguity as to which authorities, and which of their activities, are in line with God’s will. Although every authority is subject to God’s sovereignty in an absolute sense (cf. Dan 4:17), there is a very real sense in which authorities may be set up against God’s will (cf. Hos 8:4), and Paul warned the Roman authorities that they too were subject to God’s judgment (e.g., Acts 24:24–25).
The context of both Romans 13:1–7 and 1 Peter 2:13–17 is important. Crucially, both passages are flanked by injunctions to love one’s enemy, not to take vengeance on one’s enemy, and to be willing to submit to persecution rather than return evil for evil (Rom 12:14–21; 1 Pet 2:18–21). It’s in this context that we should understand Paul’s and Peter’s command to “be subject to” (Gk: hypotassō) — not to “obey” (Gk: hypakouō) — the state. The state is arguably being presented as an enemy, at the least an entity which could be an enemy, and Christians should treat it like any other enemy: by not taking vengeance, even being willing to suffer persecution, and subverting it with love (Rom 12:14–21).
Furthermore, both Paul and Peter only legitimate a limited range of activities for the state, specifically punishing evildoers and praising good-doers (Rom 13:3–4; 1 Pet 2:14). This provides no justification for any activities outside of this range. It only legitimates the state insofar as its activities are legitimate, which includes bearing “the sword” against “the evildoer”. Evidently this doesn’t even include retributive punishment, which Paul rejects wholesale in the immediate context, on the grounds that evil should be overcome with good and not further evil (Rom 12:17–21; cf. 3:8). As anarchists have long maintained, it’s possible for non-state entities to maintain justice, so this provides no justification for the necessity of the state, only a legitimation of some of its activities.
Finally, let’s look at Paul’s statement about taxes (Rom 13:6–7). He says that taxes should be paid “to whom taxes are due,” but like Jesus’ very similar statement (Matt 22:15–22), this leaves ambiguity about to whom they are owed, and what exactly is owed. N. T. Wright (1992, 502–7) makes a compelling case that Jesus’ statement is actually a reference to 1 Macc 2:67–68 and a coded subversive message. Paul goes on to say, “Owe [Gk: opheilete] no one anything except to love one another” (Rom 13:8), which bears on his earlier statement to “render to everyone their dues [Gk: opheilas]” (13:7). I would submit that for Paul, taxes aren’t properly owed to the state (the only thing owed to anyone is agapē), but because Christians are supposed to “be subject to” the state (as to an enemy), they must be willing to pay taxes or face the consequences.
It must be admitted that if this is the correct reading of Rom 13 and 1 Pet 2, it’s a pretty odd way for Paul and Peter to convey this message. But that may be expected, considering that Romans was written to the believing community in Rome, and 1 Peter is traditionally considered to have been written from Rome (“Babylon” at 1 Pet 5:13 is likely a code for Rome). If Paul and Peter were trying to convey a nonviolent yet subversive message, they would have to do so in a way that wasn’t immediately obvious to the Roman authorities. For this reason, it would actually be expected on an anarchist reading of these passages for the true message to be conveyed in a somewhat coded manner.
In this article, I presented the Scriptural case for Christian anarchism. Beginning with the Hebrew Bible, I showed that the polity form prescribed in the Mosaic Law (specifically, Deut 16–18) is much more horizontal than a typical ancient Near Eastern kingdom, with nearly all political power belonging to the whole community. The Deuteronomistic History presents the establishment of the Israelite monarchy as a terrible mistake which set Israel down the path to her exile. In his sermon on the mount, Jesus went even further and rejected retribution and hierarchy altogether in favor of horizontal relationships between persons (i.e., treating all people as you would want to be treated). The logic of agapē, which is central to the Christian ethic of the New Testament, is inherently horizontal and is most compatible with a left-wing anarchism within the modern political landscape.Conclusion
The horizontal logic of agapē can be clearly seen in the structure and actions of the earliest church. Economically, the early believers were concerned with maintaining parity of wealth, and in at least one case (the Jerusalem church) actually instituted a form of libertarian communism (Ac 2:44–47; 4:32–35). Politically, the earliest church rejected hierarchical leadership in favor of the servant leadership that Jesus advocated. Socially, the early believers opposed slavery, racial, and gender hierarchies, and refused to participate in the state’s monopoly on violence. Eschatologically, the earliest church looked forward to the ultimate consummation of God’s kingdom when human hierarchy would be abolished.
In conclusion, Christians who wish to consistently apply agapē across their lives, including their political views, should be anarchists. The church should not be focused on upholding or strengthening human hierarchies, but on subverting those very hierarchies using the logic of love. To be sure, believers shouldn’t be involved in violent revolution against the state, because the law of agapē forbids us from returning evil for evil. Fortunately, the “revolution” which is envisioned by most anarchists is not a violent one, but a transformation of society by creating new, horizontal institutions of mutual aid. This is a worthwhile revolution, which a consistent reading of the New Testament favors, which the earliest believers were involved in, and which Christians today should also support.
The Bible and the State (part 1 of 2)
There are a wide variety of views about the relationship between Christianity and the state. Some Christians strongly support a nationalistic partnership with the state, while others hold to a strict separation between church and state and deny that believers should have anything to do with the state at all. Most Christians exist somewhere on a continuum between these two views. But what if the correct view doesn’t lie on this spectrum at all – what if Christians should actually be opposed to the state as an institution? This is the view of Christian anarchism.
Admittedly, Christian anarchism seems very counterintuitive. The early anarchist theorist Mikhail Bakunin was avowedly anti-theistic and saw religion and the state as twin unjustified hierarchies that propped each other up. Most anarchists aren’t Christians, and anarchism is underrepresented within Christianity. Even so, people like Leo Tolstoy, Jacques Ellul, and Gary Chartier have argued that anarchism is not only compatible with Christianity, but is actually the fullest political expression of Christian values (especially love). I too am a Christian anarchist, and in this post, I’ll present the Scriptural case for anarchism.
The state in the story of Israel
First, let’s look at the role that the state plays in the story of the Hebrew Bible (HB). From a Christian perspective, the HB tells the story of God’s people, Israel, which will culminate in the arrival of Israel’s Messiah Jesus. For the most part, this story is a story of failure, which is the perspective that the HB itself takes, along with most second-Temple period Jews. Israel is sent into exile for her sins, and the exile is seen as continuing even after many Judeans return to their homeland. (For a summary of the second-Temple literature on this topic, see N. T. Wright, Paul and the Faithfulness of God, chap. 2.)
Let’s go back to the high point of Israel’s history, according to the HB: the exodus from Egypt. This was the point at which the people of Israel were rescued from slavery by their God YHWH and given the law that defined them as a polity. The Mosaic Law was certainly not anarchistic, since it upheld social hierarchies (for example, foreigners were allowed to be enslaved for life; Lev 25:39–46) and promoted the genocide of Canaanite peoples. Even so, the extent to which the role of the state is reduced in the Mosaic Law is remarkable.
The key section of the Mosaic Law which describes the roles of governing officials is Deuteronomy 16–18. This legal code makes no provision for any legislative role, which is unsurprising, since the Law had already been set down. As for judicial roles, the community as a whole was expected to “appoint judges and officials” in each of their towns to “justly govern the people” (Deut 16:18–20); if they couldn’t reach a decision in their town, they could appeal to the priests, who were the final authority (17:8–13). The executive role was given to the people of the community themselves, who would carry out a punishment of summary execution if necessary (17:2–7). The role of king is only given as a concession to the people, since they desire to be like other nations; but the king isn’t allowed to acquire excessive sexual or economic power for himself, and isn’t regarded as above the law, “so that his heart isn’t exalted above his brethren” (17:14–20). The most important role is that of “the prophet”, who is to be regarded as Moses’ successor and recognized by the truth of his statements (18:15–22).
This model of the Israelite polity isn’t an anarchist one, to be sure, but it’s far less hierarchical than the typical ancient Near Eastern polity. The people as a whole are given the role of appointing judicial positions, the people as a whole take on the executive function, and the people are the ones expected to recognize the prophet. The king isn’t even prescribed a role by the Law, and if the people do choose to have a king anyway, there are numerous brakes on his power. The only office that has unambiguous authority over the entire land is the Levitical priesthood, and this is only a judicial role that follows from a voluntary appeals process; everything else belongs to the communities of the individual towns.
Moreover, there is no compulsory taxation prescribed by the Mosaic Law, unlike in other ancient Near Eastern polities. There is instead a voluntary “tithe”, ten percent of each household’s produce which provides a social safety net for Levites (who aren’t involved in agricultural work), migrants, the poor, widows, and orphans (Lev 27:30–33; Num 18:20–32; Deut 14:22–29; 26:12–15). There’s no punishment given for those who fail to provide a tithe, but there’s clearly social and religious pressure to do so. The later prophets consistently rebuke Israel for failing to provide for these at-risk groups, even after they’re exiled (cf. Mal 3:8–12).
According to the HB, this model seems to have been followed for the most part during the period of the judges, and at least two prophets, Deborah and Samuel, are said to have led Israel (Judg 4:4; 1 Sam 7:15–17). But because of corruption in the priestly and prophetic offices (1 Sam 2:12–26; 8:1–3; which may indicate the dangers of even these limited hereditary positions), the “elders” of Israel ask for a king to govern them “like other nations” (1 Sam 8:4–5). Samuel’s response is worth quoting in full:
“These will be the ways of the king who will reign over you: he will take your sons and appoint them to his chariots and to be his horsemen, and to run before his chariots, and he will appoint for himself commanders of thousands and commanders of fifties and some to plow his ground and to reap his harvest and to make his implements of war and the equipment of his chariots. He will take your daughters to be perfumers and cooks and bakers. He will take the best of your fields and vineyards and olive orchards and give them to his courtiers. He will take one-tenth of your grain and of your vineyards and give it to his officers and his courtiers. He will take your male and female slaves and the best of your cattle and donkeys and put them to his work. He will take one-tenth of your flocks, and you shall be his slaves. And on that day you will cry out because of your king, whom you have chosen for yourselves, but YHWH will not answer you on that day.”
Clearly Samuel (and the author of this history) takes a low view of the king, which is remarkable for the ancient Near East where kings were regularly divinized. Choosing a human king was even viewed as abandoning YHWH as king (1 Sam 8:7). There are no possible upsides to the monarchy; it’s an entirely parasitic office which will only enrich itself through conscription and taxation. The author of the Deuteronomistic History goes on to make it very clear that Samuel’s speech is much more than an empty warning.
Only two years after the monarchy is established, the king Saul already begins to unlawfully aggregate power to himself by taking over some of the responsibilities of the prophetic office, which causes him to be rejected by YHWH (1 Sam 13:8–14). His successor David uses his position of power to rape Bathsheba and murder her husband (2 Sam 11), and finishes out his reign by calling a census for war contrary to the will of YHWH (2 Sam 24) — although the historian takes a more positive overall view of David’s reign. His son Solomon, however, used forced labor to build his cities, and aggregated massive amounts of sexual, political, and economic power, all contrary to the law (1 Kgs 9:15–21; 10:14–11:8; cf. Deut 17:14–20). The harsh slavery under which Solomon and his son placed Israel caused the northern tribes to secede and choose their own king (1 Kgs 12), but their kings also turned out to be evil. In retrospect, it was primarily the kings (of both north and south) who led Israel into sin and caused her exile (2 Kgs 17:7–23; 23:26–27; 24:1–4).
It’s not an exaggeration to say that, from the perspective of the Deuteronomistic historian, the turning point for Israel was when the people chose a monarchy. He explicitly refers to this decision as “sin” and an “evil” (1 Sam 12:19). By rejecting the (much more horizontal) structure of the Israelite polity prescribed by YHWH in favor of a typical ancient Near Eastern monarchy, Israel set the stage for her own downfall. As soon as he was given power, the king began to aggregate more and more power and lead the people into sin. (Within the second-Temple period, the monarchy began to be viewed in a more favorable light, but that’s not the perspective taken in the HB itself.)
The sermon on the mount
The HB isn’t univocal in its perspective on the state. While the Deuteronomistic History clearly takes a low view of the monarchy, other parts of the HB seem to have a more favorable view, and much of the HB takes a pretty nationalistic tone (with the exception of some prophets, esp. Isaiah 40–66). Fortunately, as Christians, we don’t just have the HB but also the New Testament to guide our beliefs. Where the HB accommodated, upheld, and even supported some human hierarchies, many of Jesus’ teachings repudiate these hierarchies and point in an implicitly anarchist direction.
Jesus’ sermon on the mount (Matt 5–7; Lk 6) has been a primary focus for many Christian anarchists, such as Leo Tolstoy and Alexandre Christoyannopoulos. It’s easy to see why: in this sermon, Jesus reinterprets much of the Mosaic Law in a direction that looks very anarchistic. He didn’t regard himself as having overturned any of the Law, but instead having brought it to fulfillment (Matt 5:17–20). Let’s briefly look at some of his teachings in this sermon.
First, he reinterprets the commandment not to murder as a command not to be angry at one’s brethren (Matt 5:21–24). But this applies not only to one’s siblings; it even applies to one’s “legal adversary” (Gk: antidikos; 5:25–26). You should reconcile with your adversary before bringing them to be judged in court, lest you be judged — by God. This ties into Jesus’ later teaching, “Do not judge, so that you may not be judged” (7:1–5). He rebukes his audience for judging a “speck” in someone else’s eye while they have a “log” in their own, directing them away from petty moralism and toward their own improvement.
Of course, if no sinful person can judge others, they can’t delegate the ability to judge others to other sinful people. This means that Christians should reconcile with their adversaries outside of the government judicial system. In fact, Paul says this explicitly in his letter to the Corinthian church! “To have lawsuits at all with one another is already a defeat for you. Why not rather be wronged? Why not rather be defrauded? But you yourselves wrong and defraud” (1 Cor 6:1–8). This mentality of non-judgment overturns the basis for a government judiciary in the first place.
Christian anarchists have also emphasized Jesus’ repudiation of the lex talionis, the law of retribution. “You have heard it said, ‘An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth.’ But I say to you, do not resist an evildoer” (Matt 5:38–39). In context, Jesus isn’t renouncing all opposition to evil, but his instructions are paradoxical. Instead of resisting evil by fighting back, his disciples are supposed to resist evil by giving further to the evildoer, and thereby breaking the cycle of violence (5:39–42). Jesus isn’t concerned with whether retribution is ‘just’ in some abstract sense, but whether it reflects the character that we should be cultivating in the world, and he’s clear that it does not. He perfectly lived out this teaching by giving up his very life to evildoers, and in doing so, he paradoxically defeated evil once and for all.
Jesus goes on to interpret Lev 19:18 (“You shall love your neighbor as yourself”) to include even one’s enemies: “Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you” (Matt 5:43–44). Once again, he isn’t concerned with the abstract ‘justice’ of it all, but whether it reflects God’s character; since God loves his enemies, we should too (5:45–48).
Another teaching which is anarchistic in its implications is the golden rule: “In everything do to others as you would have them do to you, for this is the Law and the Prophets” (7:12). This teaching, which Jesus makes central to the (reinterpreted) law, explicitly places each person on an equal footing and thereby repudiates human hierarchy. Robert Ellsberg, a member of the anarchistic Catholic Worker movement, says that the golden rule is at “the root of anarchist morality... If you would not be exploited, then you must not exploit others. If you would not be ruled, then you must refuse to rule others.”
This repudiation of hierarchy can be seen in the ‘beatitudes’ at the beginning of Jesus’ sermon. He blesses those at the bottom of social hierarchies — the poor in spirit, the mourners, the meek, the peacemakers, those who are persecuted for righteousness — thereby bringing them up to a higher status in God’s eyes (Matt 5:3–10). Luke’s account goes even further, as Jesus blesses the poor, hungry, and mourners, and condemns the rich, the full, and the mockers (Lk 6:20–26). Although this isn’t as explicit as the golden rule, it clearly relates Jesus’ desire to flatten human economic and spiritual hierarchies.
Finally, a common concern about anarchy is whether and how a non-hierarchical society would function. We could give many examples which show that anarchy can and does work even better than hierarchy. But Jesus rejects the logic of this concern altogether; instead, he says, as long as people “seek first God’s kingdom and his righteousness,” they shouldn’t worry about the future (Matt 6:33–34). Just as God takes care of the grass and flowers of the field, he will also take care of us (6:25–32). Rather than worrying about the future of society, we should simply seek righteousness in the present.
Taken together, Jesus’ teachings in the sermon on the mount repudiate the whole logic of hierarchy and the state. If retribution is wrong, if we are supposed to love our enemies and treat everyone as we would treat ourselves, then there’s no justification for asymmetric, hierarchical relationships between people. None of this means that, as some Christian leftists have suggested, Jesus was the “first socialist” or “first anarchist.” It would be anachronistic to attribute to him any modern political ideology, right- or left-wing. But if we consistently apply Jesus’ teachings within the modern political landscape, it ends up looking a whole lot like anarchism, with its refusal of human hierarchies and retribution (Meggitt 2017).
The political significance of agape
A concept central to the New Testament is love, agapē in Greek. In Matthew and Mark, when Jesus is asked about the most important commandments, he responds that the Law is summed up in the two commands, “You shall love [agapēseis] the Lord your God with all your heart, and all your soul, and all your mind,” and “You shall love [agapēseis] your neighbor as yourself” (Matt 22:34–40; Mk 12:28–34). In Luke’s account, he asks someone else to sum up the Law, they respond with these two commands, and he says, “You have given the right answer” (Lk 10:25–28).
In John’s gospel, Jesus gives his disciples a “new command,” to “love [agapate] one another as I have loved you,” and says that this is how they will be known as his disciples (13:34–35). He goes on to tell them that if they keep his commandments, they will “abide in my love [agapē],” and that he gives them these commands “so that you may love [agapate] one another” (15:10–17). In his letters, John actually makes this — love for one another — the test of whether someone is a true child of God (1 Jn 2:8–11; 3:10–24; 4:7–5:2; 2 Jn 5–6). John even asserts that “God is love [agapē], and those who abide in God abide in love, and God abides in them” (1 Jn 4:16).
Paul tells the believers in the Roman church to “owe no one anything, except to love [agapan] one another, for the one who loves another has fulfilled the law” (Rom 13:8–10). No spiritual gift is worth anything if it isn’t accompanied by agapē (1 Cor 13:1–3). Love binds together every other virtue (Col 3:14). To the Galatian church, he writes, “in Messiah Jesus... the only thing that matters is faith working through love... For the whole law is summed up in a single command: ‘You shall love your neighbor as yourself’” (Gal 5:6, 13–14). Likewise, the author of 1 Timothy says that “the aim of [the law] is love [agapē] which comes from a pure heart, a good conscience, and a sincere faith,” but he warns that “some people have deviated from this and turned to meaningless talk, desiring to be teachers of the law without understanding what they are saying or the things they confidently assert” (1:5–7).
In his letter to the diaspora, the apostle James writes, “If you really fulfill the royal law according to the scripture, ‘You shall love your neighbor as yourself,’ you are doing well” (Jas 2:8). The apostle Peter, in his own letter to the diaspora, agrees: “Above all, maintain constant love [agapēn] for one another, for love covers a multitude of sins” (1 Pet 4:8).
This brief summary makes it clear that agapē was central to the Christian ethic of the New Testament authors. Nearly all of them, with the exception of Jude, the Hebraist, and the authors of 2 Peter (?) and Revelation (?), explicitly say that love is the greatest commandment and even sums up the whole law. But what exactly does agapē look like? Paul and John paint a clear picture:
- “agapē does not do evil to a neighbor” (Rom 13:10)
- “Through agapē serve one another... bear one another’s burdens, and you will fulfill the law of Messiah” (Gal 5:13; 6:2)
- “agapē is patient and kind; agapē is not envious; agapē is not boastful or arrogant or rude; it does not seek its own way; it is not irritable; it keeps no account of wrongs; it does not delight in injustice but rejoices in truth” (1 Cor 13:4–6)
- “No one has greater agapē than this, to lay down one’s life for one’s friends” (Jn 15:13)
- “God demonstrates his agapē to us, in that while we were still sinners, the Messiah died for us... while we were enemies” (Rom 5:8)
- “We know agapē by this, that he laid down his life for us” (1 Jn 3:16)
We can see that agapē involves a notion of self-giving, which at its greatest extent is the self-gift of one’s very life to another, whether a friend or an enemy. Moreover, agapē between humans is a fundamentally horizontal relationship; after all, the commandment is to “love your neighbor as yourself.”
By reflecting on agapē, we can see what kinds of politics are most compatible with Christianity. A politically conservative view, which accepts certain hierarchies because they are traditional, seems to be least compatible; we shouldn’t accept institutions based on their conventionality, but whether they are conducive to agapē. The logic of agapē calls us to be in the world without being a part of it, which is contrary to political conservatism. But neither is agapē a wishy-washy, ‘do as thou wilt’ kind of love that’s conducive to political liberalism and/or right-wing libertarianism. It provides us with the real social obligation to serve one another. Thus, in the context of modern politics, agapē is most conducive to a social, left-wing libertarianism.
The early church and anarchy
We might have a better idea of how to act out agapē if we look at how the early church did so. There are a few interesting passages in the book of Acts which relate how the church in Jerusalem was structured during its earliest days:
Now all the believers were together and had all things in common; they were selling their possessions and goods and distributing the proceeds to all, as each had need. Every day, as they continued together in the temple, they broke bread at home and ate their food with glad and sincere hearts, praising God and having favor with all the people. (Ac 2:44–47)
Now the whole group of believers were of one heart and soul, and no one said that anything he possessed was his own, but all things were in common for them... There was no one in need among them, for as many as owned lands or houses were selling them and bringing the proceeds of what was sold. They were laying it at the apostles' feet, and it was distributed to each as anyone had need. (Ac 4:32, 34–35)
These texts show that the early church was communist in its economic structure; that is, in the technical sense of “from each according to their ability, to each according to their need,” not in the popular sense of totalitarianism. In fact, the socialist slogans, “from each according to his ability,” “to each according to his need,” and “to each according to his work,” all find their origin in Scripture (Bovens and Lutz 2019). It seems that this structure was harshly enforced in the Jerusalem church, not by human authority but by God, since Ananias and Sapphira were struck dead for lying and failing to contribute their whole wealth (Acts 5:1–11).
There’s considerable evidence that the early Christian practice of libertarian communism was widespread and continued well into the second century (Montero 2017). Moreover, the first churches across the Mediterranean provided economic support to each other when they were in need. During a famine, the disciples decided that “according to their ability, each would send relief to the brethren in Judea” (Ac 11:29). Paul relates the same event in one of his letters, saying that the other apostles asked him “to remember the poor, which was actually what I was eager to do” (Gal 2:10). This collection took up much of Paul’s ministry, and he mentions it in three other letters (Rom 15:25–27; 1 Cor 16:1–4; 2 Cor 8–9). Paul is concerned that there should be economic parity between churches, and he sees this as following Jesus’ own self-sacrifice in which he became “poor” so that we could be “rich” (2 Cor 8:9–16).
Both the internal economic structure of the Jerusalem church and the collection among the gentile churches reflect a concern for economic equality, which can be seen in other New Testament writings. As noted already, Jesus himself blesses the poor and curses the rich (Lk 6:20, 24); he also says that one cannot serve both God and money (Matt 6:19–24) and promises rewards for those who serve the poor (Matt 19:20–26; Lk 14:12–14; etc.). James condemns those who show any partiality to the rich (Jas 2:1–7) and even condemns the rich for exploiting their laborers (5:1–5). John says that if a person sees someone else in need and doesn’t help them, “how does God’s love abide in [them]?” (1 Jn 3:17–18). It’s clear that concern for the poor was an important part of early Christianity and reflects God’s character.
What about the political structure of the early church? As Jesus taught: “You know that the rulers of the gentiles lord it over them, and their great ones have authority over them. It will not be so among you, but whoever wishes to be great among you must be your servant” (Mk 10:42–45; Matt 20:25–28; Lk 22:24–27). He contrasts the very hierarchical structure of the Roman Empire to the ideal structure of the church, in which leaders must be servants. Jesus modeled this type of leadership to his disciples by washing their feet (John 13:1–17). This is very similar to the anarchist view, which doesn’t reject leadership altogether, but decouples it from the notions of hierarchy and ‘power-over’.
A few leadership positions are mentioned in the letters of the New Testament: “apostles,” “bishops / overseers,” and “deacons / helpers” (cf. Phil 1:1). These people should have modeled servant leadership within the early church (in fact, “deacon” literally means “servant”). Furthermore, these positions were delegated “with the consent of the whole church” (Didache 15.1; 1 Clem 44.2). Based on our limited view into the earliest churches, they seem to have been very horizontal, with every person allowed to speak up and teach in an ordered manner (1 Cor 14:26–33). Each believer was to be treated as an equal and indispensable member of the body of Christ, and leadership positions were for the purpose of strengthening the other members of the body (Rom 12:3–5; 1 Cor 12:12–26; Eph 4:11–16).
The earliest Christians also approached the social issues of their day in an anti-hierarchical way. This is clearest in Paul’s statements about our status in Christ:
There is neither Jew nor Greek, slave nor free, male and female, for you are all one in the Messiah Jesus. (Gal 3:28)
Here there is neither Greek and Jew, circumcised and uncircumcised, barbarian, Scythian, slave or free, but the Messiah is all and in all. (Col 3:11)
For in one Spirit we were all baptized into one body, whether Jews or Greeks, slave or free, and we were all given one Spirit to drink. (1 Cor 12:13)
For there is no difference between Jew and Greek, for the same Lord of all is rich toward all who call on him. (Rom 10:12)
One of the biggest social issues plaguing the earliest church was the status of gentile believers. Paul is clear that their status is no different than Jewish believers, because they all are one in Christ, and he wasn’t afraid to condemn other apostles for discriminating against gentiles (Gal 2:11–14). He applies this same ethic to the distinction between enslaved and free people (cf. 1 Cor 7:21–23; Philem 10–18 says that a slave is to be treated like an apostle!), and between men and women.
Like parts of the Hebrew Bible, there are parts of the New Testament that appear to accommodate and even uphold (for example) slavery and gender hierarchies (1 Cor 14:34–46?; Eph 6:5–6; Col 3:22; 1 Tim 2:11–15; 6:1–2; Tit 2:9–10; 1 Pet 2:18). I won’t try to defend or rationalize away these passages here, but the important thing to note is that if they are upholding such hierarchies, they run contrary to the overall ethic of the New Testament which is about horizontal agapē between persons. Treating each other as we would treat ourselves is, ultimately, not compatible with enslaving other persons or treating women as subservient.
It’s also worth looking at the post-apostolic church. Although historians disagree on just how widespread pacifism was in early Christianity, it’s clear that many of the early church fathers held that any killing was unjust, and so advised against Christians serving in the military (e.g., Justin Martyr, 1 Apol 39; Athenagoras, Plea 1; Tertullian, Apol 36–37; De Idol 19; Hippolytus, Apostol Trad 16.9–11; Lactantius, Divine Inst 16.20). Canon 12 of the Council of Nicaea (AD 325) condemns those who leave the military to become Christians and later rejoin the military, even applying Proverbs 26:11 to them. The pagan writer Celsus criticized Christianity for ‘betraying their nation’ in this way (Origen, Against Celsus 8.68). While this is, of course, not the modern ideology of anarchism, it naturally lends itself to anarchism by undermining the state’s monopoly on violence.
The kingdom of God
Most of the New Testament’s social teachings deal with the day-to-day life of the earliest believers. Because the early Christians were in no position to reform wider society, they didn’t really talk about their view of an ideal society. However, they did look forward to a time when God would bring about such an ideal society, the ‘Kingdom of God’. Very few passages in the New Testament deal directly with God’s consummated kingdom, but Paul does talk about it in the middle of an argument about the future resurrection:
...then comes the consummation, when [Jesus] will hand over the kingdom to God the Father, when he will abolish all rule and authority and power. For he must reign until [God] has “put all his enemies under his feet.” The last enemy to be abolished is death. For [God] has “put all things in subjection under his feet”; but when it may be said that all things have been subjected, it is clear that the One who subjected all things to him is excepted. When all things have been subjected to him, then the Son himself will be subjected to the One who subjected all things to him, so that God may be all in all. (1 Cor 15:24–28)
For Paul, human hierarchies are portrayed as “enemies” on par with death itself, and the fulfillment of God’s kingdom will involve the abolition of “all [human] rule and authority and power.” This certainly looks like the anarchist vision of society without hierarchy. Paul quotes Psalms 8:6 and 109:1 (LXX) to show that all things, including Jesus’ enemies, will be subjected to him and ultimately to God; as several ancient commentators noticed, this must be a voluntary submission, because Christ is subjected in the same way. Origen, Gregory of Nyssa, and other early church fathers marshaled this passage in support of a powerful argument for the eventual salvation of all people in and through Christ (see especially Gregory’s In illud).
Paul’s brief treatise in 1 Cor 15 is the only New Testament passage that deals explicitly with the structure of God’s consummated kingdom. Still, as I noted earlier, Jesus rejects the association between leadership and hierarchy, instead teaching (and demonstrating) that leaders should be servants; this is explicitly connected to the theme of the Kingdom of God (Matt 20:20–28; Lk 22:24–30). The book of Revelation contrasts God’s kingdom with a supremely evil government represented by “the beast,” whose number “666” is likely an intertextual allusion to Solomon’s kingdom (1 Kgs 10:14; Rev 13:18) — a point which is unfortunately missed by most commentators (Bodner and Strawn 2020). God’s kingdom will not be like the ancient Israelite kingdom, which turned out to be tyrannical.
Some of my fellow anarchists are likely concerned that the Kingdom of God, as presented by the New Testament, is highly exclusive, which seems contrary to anti-hierarchical ideals. However, I think it’s false that exclusivism is contrary to anarchism. Many people are indeed excluded from God’s kingdom (1 Cor 6:9–10; Gal 5:19–21; Eph 5:5; Rev 21:7–8, 27; 22:14–15), and this is because they oppose agapē by their actions. When faced with the harsh reality of human sinfulness, it becomes necessary to do something about those who actively oppose love; the most humane option, and the one most in line with anarchist ideals, is simply exclusion. The flip side of the anarchist slogan of “free association” is free disassociation.
Moreover, the writers of the New Testament emphasize that exclusion need not be a permanent state, and those who are now excluded can freely join God’s kingdom through faith in Christ (1 Cor 6:11; Eph 5:7–9; Rev 21:24–27; 22:14–17). If those who were opposed to the Kingdom of God were nonetheless subjected to it, then God’s kingdom would be much more like a tyrannical state. The fact that such people are excluded from God’s kingdom, yet can still join it freely, actually makes it more like the ideal society that anarchism postulates.
The hard one: Romans 13 (and 1 Peter 2)
Inevitably, a passage that is brought up against every Christian anarchist is Romans 13:1–7, where Paul tells the congregation at Rome to “be subject to the higher authorities”. A similar passage that isn’t as well known is 1 Peter 2:13–17, which says to “be subject to every human institution”! Here are the relevant passages in full:
Let everyone be subject to the higher authorities, for there is no authority except from God, and those that exist are appointed by God. Therefore whoever resists the authority opposes God’s ordinance, and those who oppose it bring judgment on themselves. For rulers are not a terror to good works, but to evil. Do you wish to have no fear of the authority? Then do good, and you will receive its praise, for it is God’s servant for your good. But if you do evil, be afraid, for it does not bear the sword in vain. It is God’s servant to execute wrath on the evildoer. Therefore one must be subject, not only because of wrath but also because of conscience. You pay taxes for the same reason, for they are God’s ministers devoted to this very thing. Render to everyone their dues: taxes to whom taxes are due, revenue to whom revenue is due, respect to whom respect is due, and honor to whom honor is due. (Rom 13:1–7)
Be subject to every human institution for the Lord’s sake, whether to the emperor as supreme or to the governors sent by him to punish evildoers and praise good-doers. For it is God’s will that by doing good you should silence the ignorance of foolish people. Live as free people, and do not use freedom as a pretext for evil, but live as God’s servants. Honor everyone: love the brethren, fear God, and honor the emperor. (1 Pet 2:13–17)
These passages are often read as saying that Christians shouldn’t oppose authority, because authorities are put in place by God to reward good people and punish evildoers. That’s certainly the most straightforward interpretation if these passages are read in isolation. But it should give us pause to remember that both Paul and Peter were murdered by the Roman authorities for doing good, not evil. Moreover, as N. T. Wright and other NT scholars argue strongly, Paul’s message was itself subversive (in a nonviolent way) of the Roman Empire (e.g., Wright 1998).
Thus, the hyper-statist view of Romans 13 — that it legitimates all authorities in all their activities — must be wrong. Every Christian should agree that the apostles wouldn’t advise submission to the state in extreme cases where it would involve denying Christ. This leaves some ambiguity as to which authorities, and which of their activities, are in line with God’s will. Although every authority is subject to God’s sovereignty in an absolute sense (cf. Dan 4:17), there is a very real sense in which authorities may be set up against God’s will (cf. Hos 8:4), and Paul warned the Roman authorities that they too were subject to God’s judgment (e.g., Acts 24:24–25).
The context of both Romans 13:1–7 and 1 Peter 2:13–17 is important. Crucially, both passages are flanked by injunctions to love one’s enemy, not to take vengeance on one’s enemy, and to be willing to submit to persecution rather than return evil for evil (Rom 12:14–21; 1 Pet 2:18–21). It’s in this context that we should understand Paul’s and Peter’s command to “be subject to” (Gk: hypotassō) — not to “obey” (Gk: hypakouō) — the state. The state is arguably being presented as an enemy, at the least an entity which could be an enemy, and Christians should treat it like any other enemy: by not taking vengeance, even being willing to suffer persecution, and subverting it with love (Rom 12:14–21).
Furthermore, both Paul and Peter only legitimate a limited range of activities for the state, specifically punishing evildoers and praising good-doers (Rom 13:3–4; 1 Pet 2:14). This provides no justification for any activities outside of this range. It only legitimates the state insofar as its activities are legitimate, which includes bearing “the sword” against “the evildoer”. Evidently this doesn’t even include retributive punishment, which Paul rejects wholesale in the immediate context, on the grounds that evil should be overcome with good and not further evil (Rom 12:17–21; cf. 3:8). As anarchists have long maintained, it’s possible for non-state entities to maintain justice, so this provides no justification for the necessity of the state, only a legitimation of some of its activities.
Finally, let’s look at Paul’s statement about taxes (Rom 13:6–7). He says that taxes should be paid “to whom taxes are due,” but like Jesus’ very similar statement (Matt 22:15–22), this leaves ambiguity about to whom they are owed, and what exactly is owed. N. T. Wright (1992, 502–7) makes a compelling case that Jesus’ statement is actually a reference to 1 Macc 2:67–68 and a coded subversive message. Paul goes on to say, “Owe [Gk: opheilete] no one anything except to love one another” (Rom 13:8), which bears on his earlier statement to “render to everyone their dues [Gk: opheilas]” (13:7). I would submit that for Paul, taxes aren’t properly owed to the state (the only thing owed to anyone is agapē), but because Christians are supposed to “be subject to” the state (as to an enemy), they must be willing to pay taxes or face the consequences.
It must be admitted that if this is the correct reading of Rom 13 and 1 Pet 2, it’s a pretty odd way for Paul and Peter to convey this message. But that may be expected, considering that Romans was written to the believing community in Rome, and 1 Peter is traditionally considered to have been written from Rome (“Babylon” at 1 Pet 5:13 is likely a code for Rome). If Paul and Peter were trying to convey a nonviolent yet subversive message, they would have to do so in a way that wasn’t immediately obvious to the Roman authorities. For this reason, it would actually be expected on an anarchist reading of these passages for the true message to be conveyed in a somewhat coded manner.
In this article, I presented the Scriptural case for Christian anarchism. Beginning with the Hebrew Bible, I showed that the polity form prescribed in the Mosaic Law (specifically, Deut 16–18) is much more horizontal than a typical ancient Near Eastern kingdom, with nearly all political power belonging to the whole community. The Deuteronomistic History presents the establishment of the Israelite monarchy as a terrible mistake which set Israel down the path to her exile. In his sermon on the mount, Jesus went even further and rejected retribution and hierarchy altogether in favor of horizontal relationships between persons (i.e., treating all people as you would want to be treated). The logic of agapē, which is central to the Christian ethic of the New Testament, is inherently horizontal and is most compatible with a left-wing anarchism within the modern political landscape.Conclusion
The horizontal logic of agapē can be clearly seen in the structure and actions of the earliest church. Economically, the early believers were concerned with maintaining parity of wealth, and in at least one case (the Jerusalem church) actually instituted a form of libertarian communism (Ac 2:44–47; 4:32–35). Politically, the earliest church rejected hierarchical leadership in favor of the servant leadership that Jesus advocated. Socially, the early believers opposed slavery, racial, and gender hierarchies, and refused to participate in the state’s monopoly on violence. Eschatologically, the earliest church looked forward to the ultimate consummation of God’s kingdom when human hierarchy would be abolished.
In conclusion, Christians who wish to consistently apply agapē across their lives, including their political views, should be anarchists. The church should not be focused on upholding or strengthening human hierarchies, but on subverting those very hierarchies using the logic of love. To be sure, believers shouldn’t be involved in violent revolution against the state, because the law of agapē forbids us from returning evil for evil. Fortunately, the “revolution” which is envisioned by most anarchists is not a violent one, but a transformation of society by creating new, horizontal institutions of mutual aid. This is a worthwhile revolution, which a consistent reading of the New Testament favors, which the earliest believers were involved in, and which Christians today should also support.
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