Few words occur more frequently in inter-Orthodox debate on ecclesiology than "canonical" - except perhaps "un canonical." All parties constantly refer to "canons" and to "canon law," though seldom with any sensitivity to or awareness of the nature and history of the Orthodox canonical tradition itself. As a result, misconceptions abound. On the one hand, many people profess a great veneration for the sacred Christian canons, as though the Pedalion fell from heaven on Pentecost, along with the Typikon and other such vital compendia of rules and regulations; and they look to the canons for guidance in every detail of church life. On the other hand, there are some who have an absolute aversion to canon law. For them, canon law is something to be gotten around, an arbitrary system of rules and regulations at best irrelevant to the pastoral task and even to Christianity itself, but more often positively detrimental.

The approaches of the legalist and the anarchist - if they may be so labeled - at first glance appear to be mutually exclusive. But in fact they share certain features. They have the same understanding, or rather misunderstanding, of what the canons of the Church are, and this misunderstanding in turn is based upon a misunderstanding of the nature and task of the Church itself.

Certainly the legalist is subtly but surely reducing the Church to a mere institution. He sees it as a kind of club - like the Benevolent and Protective Order of Elks - or as the spiritual equivalent of a political unit - like the United States of America. He sees the canons in turn as the constitution, by-laws and other regulations proper to this institution. They define the power structure and the competence of the various offices; they indicate the rights and duties of members. Thus, a person is seen as acquiring "membership" in the Church through the sacraments of baptism and chrismation, provided these are validly administered; and as long as he remains "in good standing" he is entitled to certain benefits: he may be married in the Church; he may have his home blessed with holy water at Epiphany and his basket of sausages and fancy breads blessed at Easter; he may receive a Christian burial and prayers for the repose of his soul upon departing this life. All this and more: he becomes eligible, as it were, for membership in the kingdom of heaven. But there are certain requirements that must be met. Not too many years ago, the faithful would typically be reminded each Lent of the importance of fulfilling their "annual obligation" of confession and communion. And there are certain rather arbitrary rules governing behavior and procedures that must be followed. Thus, a member of the Orthodox Church may marry once, twice and, in certain circumstances, thrice; but never four times.

This sketch of the legalist's understanding of the Church is, to be sure, exaggerated. Virtually everyone would admit in principle that the Church is not just another club or political entity. It is, after all, distinguished by its exalted Founder. Few know or care who founded this or that fraternal organization. While we do speak of the "founding fathers" of our country, we do not accord them the honors due the Founder of the Church, Jesus Christ. Further, the Church is distinguished by its exalted purpose. It offers man forgiveness of sins, salvation, eternal life - not just good fellowship or the chance to promote a worthy cause or the myriad benefits of the welfare state. Yet even if the Church's exalted Founder and purpose are duly acknowledged, there is still something lacking in this approach. The Church is still seen above all as an institution, as a society that operates in much the same way as other societies, even though it may be incomparably superior to them. It is seen in terms of its organization, its structure, while its purpose is ignored or misconstrued. After all, man is called to communion with God, not just to have a valid baptism, a nice church wedding and finally memorial services on the ninth day, the fortieth day and the anniversaries of his death. Man is called to participation in God, to be by participation what God is by nature, so that even the salvation offered by the Church is not just so many doses of this grace or that, duly administered through proper channels. It is not some external benefit, whether for this life or the next; much less is it a reward for following all the rules and regulations. It is above all a living personal relationship with God; it is life that is truly life because it is participation in the divine life itself, because it is a life of communion.

We must beware, therefore, of the misconceptions of legalism. But what of that other position, which for the sake of convenience we labeled anarchism? As suggested earlier, many regard canon law as utterly alien to the spirit of the New Testament and to that freedom in Christ of which St Paul often speaks. We live under the gospel, they proclaim, not under the law; under the new dispensation, not the old. This attitude, so widely encountered, does not require elaboration. And that it does not accurately reflect the thought of Saint Paul and of the other writers of the New Testament is, I believe, obvious. When Paul speaks of freedom, he means above all freedom from slavery to sin, death and the devil. While he does reject any reliance on the Mosaic law, particularly in its ritual elements, in almost the same breath he can tell the Galatians to "fulfill the law of Christ" (06:02).

Orthodox Christians today desperately need to rediscover the implications of communion for community, lest our much-vaunted "spirituality" and "mystical theology" degenerate into dilettantish escapism, and our church community into that caricature idolized by the legalist and scorned by the anarchist. In this task of rediscovery, the canonist can play an important role, but only if he learns how to "read" the canons correctly. He cannot imitate the legalism of the classic Byzantine canonists, for whom it was enough to cite the text, chapter and verse, and then resolve any apparent contradictions by wooden application of certain arbitrary hermeneutical rules - the canon of an ecumenical council takes precedence over one of a local council, a later canon takes precedence over an earlier one, etc Nor can he simply ignore the canons when it seems expedient, justifying his actions by appeals to pastoral discretion or "economy." He must read the canons in the light of history, but at the same time he must avoid the occupational hazards of the historian: relativism and cynicism. Above all, he must go beyond "canons" and "canon law" to the "canon" as that word was understood in the early Church. He must search out those norms for structure and conduct that necessarily arise from and conform to the very nature of the Church as the Spirit-filled body of Christ. Only by applying this hermeneutical principle will he be able to go beyond the misconceptions of legalist and anarchist and discover the hidden riches of the Orthodox canonical tradition.

From: The Challenge of our Past by John Erickson, St. Vladimir's Seminary Press, Crestwood, NY, 1991