IN SEARCH OF A COSMIC ORTHODOXY

A THOUGHT EXPERIMENT ON WHAT CHRISTIAN COMMUNION LOOKS LIKE FOR HUMANITY IF THE LORD TARRIES AND WE COLONIZE THE STARS

“And other sheep I have, which are not of this fold: them also I must bring, and they shall hear my voice; and there shall be one fold, and one shepherd.” - St. John 10:16

“We know where the Church is: We cannot know where the Church is not.” - Common Eastern Orthodox Saying 

By Bp. Joseph (Ancient Church of the West)

INTRODUCTION

A thousand years ago, information travelled slowly and inaccurately. It was completely possible for the Western mind to conceive of a Christendom far beyond their own, in the Kingdom of Prester John, all equally Catholic and Orthodox, but also known only through myth and legend, due to the separation of time and space. When Rabban Bar Sauma came from the Far East, he was embraced with open arms in Constantinople and Rome, and communed and was communed, based on a simple statement of faith, which formed a bond beyond their cultural, linguistic, historical and imperial differences. The East and West, due to the challenges of travel, the fragility of information in transit, and the obvious overwhelming differences in culture and language, both recognized that the visible, Apostolic and Catholic Church, which was spread throughout the world, may be invisible to them – meaning that this was an incarnate, real Church, while never becoming a Gnostic abstraction, could be a communion of faith maintained by the Holy Spirit, while the lines of communion and communication were obscured by human frailty, limitations, and our lack of omniscience.

This model of ecclesiology has dramatically changed in modernity, where ease of travel and communication make us come to the hilariously erroneous conclusion that the whole totality of the Church is known, canonically defined, universal, and without any leeway for error, interpretation or recognition. Our internal reality is no more transparent to one another than during the medieval period, but now we assume that we know everything and that no “true Christians” exist beyond our universalized jurisdictional definitions that encompass the whole world. From Roman Catholics to the vying Moscow and Constantinopolitan Patriarchates, all assume their own universality, the sufficiency of their knowledge, and the breadth of their institutional embrace. So much so, now, that the Church has been falsely convoluted with God, has become a “canonical idol” instead of an icon of the Kingdom to Come, and assumes a kind of knowledge that is impossible for us fallen mortals to have, the limits of God’s grace and the complete economy of salvation.

However, this model falls apart when examined in a future of multi-planetary humanity. If the Lord does not return, and there are humans on Mars, the moons of Jupiter, the Kuiper Belt, and on Proxima Centuri, humanity ceases to have this false sense of certainty and knowledge based on instant communication. Due to the limits of communication, continued cultural and biological change, and the struggle to understand humanity overall in such a situation, the realities of medieval Christianity arise yet again. A Bishop from Alpha Centuri concelebrates after a thousand years of separation from their Martian brethren, based, not upon a universal pope, but upon a mutually recognized statement of faith. Their rites would be different. Their languages mutually incomprehensible. But, once translated and agreed, their succession, the faith, and the basic substance of their faith would be understood to be the same, and as such, they would be in the same Church, held together by the same Holy Spirit, and in communion with one another, even though they had developed in different cultures and environments, separated by a journey of hundreds of years in sub-lightspeed generation vessels.

THE STORY BEGINS: THE BISHOP FROM PROXIMA

In the year of our Lord AD 3000, a small starship entered Earth’s orbit. Its passenger was no ordinary pilgrim. He was a bishop of the Catholic Church of Proxima Centauri, the canonical Legate and representative of the Holy Synaxis of Planets, vested in strange but resplendent robes woven from alien silks, carrying with him an ancient and solemn letter sealed with red wax: the command of the “Universal Pope” of Proxima.

The Great Church of Proxima

For nearly a thousand years, humanity had lived beyond the solar system. On Proxima Centauri, cut off by centuries of distance, the Church had flourished in isolation, preserving the Creed, the sacraments, and the succession of bishops. Yet in that isolation, a new order had arisen, a papacy of Proxima, claiming primacy among the stars. Their theologians argued that the Holy Spirit had long ago abandoned Earth, whose churches they regarded as decayed, apostate, and impure. In their minds, the true continuity of grace belonged to Proxima, and all other communions, on Earth, Mars, and the outer colonies, were mere shadows of the past. Zealous for Orthodoxy, the bishops of the Holy Synaxis proposed that a letter should be sent back to Earth, calling the fallen and apostate Christians of Earth to repentance.

The bishop came as envoy of this “Universal Pope,” bearing a letter for the pope of Earth, now an artificial intelligence, a vast and living memory of a thousand years of human pontiffs, still revered by Earth’s faithful as the “Holy Father,” but now realized to be a mere figurehead that informed the living synod of the Holy Magisterium, which was the ultimate ruling authority for the New Holy Roman Empire.

The letter requested that Earth submit canonically to Proxima, and confess a statement of faith acceptable to the Proximan communion, so that the churches of Earth might once more be commemorated in the diptychs of the faithful across the stars.

SHOCK AND RESENTMENT ON EARTH

The reaction of the earthly bishops was one of outrage and grief. Could it be that brethren in Christ (those who confessed the same Lord, preserved apostolic succession, and celebrated the Eucharist), now dared to claim that Earth itself was apostate and cut off from grace by their synodal decree?

They recalled the words of St. Paul: “One Lord, one faith, one baptism, one God and Father of all” (Eph. 4:5–6). They remembered the words of Christ: “Lo, I am with you alway, even unto the end of the world” (Matt. 28:20). If the Lord Himself promised His presence, how could any world, especially the world of the Incarnation itself, be cut off?

The Martian Church joined them in their indignation. For Mars had long claimed canonical equality with Earth, and now both found themselves demeaned by the pride of Proximal Papacy. After much deliberation, the bishops of Earth and Mars drafted a reply. Their letter declared that Proxima had severed itself from the universal Church by presumption and arrogance, and had fallen into the sin of schism. They wrote with canonical clarity, citing the Council of Nicaea’s principle that bishops should remain within their appointed spheres (Canon 6), and the Council of Chalcedon’s warning against those who usurp authority beyond their bounds. They accused Proxima of making itself a “canonical idol,” confusing primacy with supremacy, and mistaking their isolation for purity.

The Legate Ship of the Proximal Papacy

Their words were harsh: an anathema pronounced, a declaration of schism. The Proximan bishop, grieved but resolute, took their reply. It would be three hundred years before the message reached his homeworld, three centuries in which Earth, Mars, and Proxima would all change beyond recognition. It was, by definition, at its issuance, a “dead letter.” 

DOES THE ANATHEMA HOLD?

And so the question rises for us: What is the meaning of such a letter? What is the power of an anathema pronounced across light-years, when its recipients may never hear it, or when centuries will pass before they do? Can grace be withdrawn by decree, when the Spirit blows where He wills (John 3:8)?

Here the limits of canon are revealed. For canons are pastoral, not ontological; they are remedies for order, not chains upon the work of the Spirit. St. Cyprian taught that “there is one God, one Christ, one Church, and one chair founded by Christ” (Epistle 43.5). Yet he also confessed that the Spirit is not bound by our divisions, writing that “the Church is one which spreads far and wide into a multitude by an increase of fruitfulness” (On the Unity of the Church).

St. Irenaeus declared that though the Church is scattered throughout the world, it “carefully preserves” the faith “as if occupying but one house” (Against Heresies I.10.2). St. Vincent of Lérins insisted that universality is found in “what has been believed everywhere, always, and by all” (Commonitorium II), not in the decrees of one jurisdiction against another.

A synod may bind and loose (Matt. 18:18), but only within the limits of its flock. Beyond that, it may testify to truth, but it cannot limit God. For “the foundation of God standeth sure, having this seal, The Lord knoweth them that are His” (2 Tim. 2:19).

THE LIMITS OF HUMAN KNOWLEDGE

The tale of the Proximan bishop thus unmasks our current illusions. We think we know the whole Church because we can send messages in seconds. Yet our communication is not omniscience, and our synods are not the eschaton. We cannot see man’s heart transparently, as God does. Councils are necessary, but they are local, temporal, and fragile. They can testify, but they cannot encompass. Their authority lies in reception by the Church, not merely in declaration.

What does it mean if an anathema arrives three centuries too late? Does it cut the faithful off from Christ? Or does it reveal that our judgments are provisional, that they belong to the time of pilgrimage, and that their truth will only be revealed in the final judgment of Christ?

St. Maximos the Confessor reminds us that “all the ages and the beings within them receive their beginning and end in Christ” (Ambigua 7). The final council is not of men, but of God, when Christ gathers all into one. Until then, our decrees are signs and aids, but are not the Kingdom itself.

CONCLUSION: THE COSMIC CHURCH AS CHRIST'S BODY

The story of the Proximan bishop, then, is not science fiction but a parable. It reveals what has always been true: that the Church is larger than our maps, that the Spirit is freer than our canons, and that communion is a mystery, not a possession. This does not free us from the pastoral reality of the local church, accountability, obedience to one another, and the absolute necessity of faith in Christ and obedience to His commands. But, it does move our understanding of authority back to that which is truly apostolic.

Christ the Lord of the Universe

Whether on Earth or Mars, Proxima or beyond, the Church is one because Christ is one. Our synods may testify, our canons may guide, but it is the Eucharist that makes the Church, and the Spirit that binds it together in our shared confession of faith. The cosmic Body of Christ is never bounded by distance, decrees, or the arrogance of men, but always revealed as a gift of grace and as the profound mystery of Christ’s incarnation into this created realm.

COLLECT

O God, whose Spirit filleth all creation, and whose Word sustaineth the worlds: Deliver Thy Church from pride and presumption, that we may not mistake our canons for Thy Kingdom, nor our judgments for Thy truth. Teach us to see Thy Body where Thou dost preserve it, and to love all who call upon the Name of Thy Son; that, when the ages are gathered into one, we may rejoice with all Thy saints in Thy eternal Kingdom; through the same Jesus Christ our Lord, who liveth and reigneth with Thee and the Holy Ghost, one God, world without end. Amen.