If I lived in Russia, I would be an Old Believer
A Word on the Old Faith “If I lived in Russia, I would be an Old Believer” [Djordje Trifunović] [From a publication in the newspaper Old Believer, No. 76, October–December 2019]:
In September 2019, we had the opportunity to visit Serbia on business. We were invited to speak at the Department of Old Slavic Literatures at the Faculty of Philology of the University of Belgrade about Russian Old Belief. We delivered our presentation, accompanied by a slideshow of photographs from field expeditions and the singing of spiritual hymns. The reception was very warm, and we were greatly inspired to see such lively interest among our Serbian brothers in the history and culture of ancient Orthodoxy.
The most authoritative figure in the department is its senior professor, Djordje Trifunović, an outstanding Slavist and author of numerous works on medieval studies. He opened the meeting, and his speech was not merely an introduction but a passionate address that highlighted to the audience the grandeur of the feat of the defenders of ancient piety and the significance of Old Belief for Slavic culture. We present this speech by the professor (in abridged form) to the readers of the newspaper.
“What does it mean to be an Old Believer? It means adhering to the old rite, preserving it. That is the essence. From the moment Christianity was adopted, under the significant influence of the Ecumenical Patriarchate, all liturgical practices in the Orthodox world were brought to near-complete uniformity. There was a clear стремление toward unity in the field of book writing—to avoid deviating into heresy. Printing had not yet been invented, and the significance of handwritten texts was immense. What is most important here? It is the sign of the Honorable Cross. In Christianity, it is by no means a formality. It carries profound meaning; it is the foundation. It encompasses all seven Ecumenical Councils. What does this mean? In brief: after all the disputes, discussions, and difficulties, the dogma of the two natures (in Christ—L.G.)—divine and human—was established. This was affirmed by dogma, and in the Middle Ages, we all crossed ourselves this way: for the sign of the Honorable Cross, two fingers were joined (as the two natures are united in Christ). When I was a second-year student at Hilandar, I remember there was a monk who crossed himself with one finger… He was a Monophysite. Monophysites believe in one nature, but here we are talking about two natures, and this was the practice throughout the Orthodox world. If we look at ancient frescoes depicting Saint Sava (St. Sava, ca. 1270–1336, the first Serbian archbishop, the primary teacher of the Serbs—L.G.)—with the two-finger sign—we will understand: his hand is raised not for blessing. He holds it with the sign of the Honorable Cross. This is also indicated by the portrait of the saint in Mileševa, painted in the last years of his life (see the image on the left). Now, briefly about liturgical books. This occurred before the mid-17th century. The Russian Tsar Alexei Mikhailovich, who was a Grecophile, decided, together with his patriarch, Nikon, to carry out a reform—to correct the books and thereby bring uniformity to worship (Greek and Russian—L.G.). They decided to compare Russian books with medieval Greek ones and also to use ancient Serbian ones—to determine which models to rely on. A monk named Arseny Sukhanov, who had extensive experience in searching for and collecting Greek and Slavic manuscripts, was enlisted for this task. He traveled to the Holy Mountain and beyond in the East. From the Holy Mountain, he brought many authentic Byzantine manuscripts, and from Hilandar, a considerable number of valuable Serbian manuscripts. He carefully packed them and took them to Moscow, where they became the foundation of the future Synodal Library. And here lies the crux of the matter. During the reform, these manuscripts were not used; they remained unopened until the mid-19th century. The first to untie these bundles and examine the manuscripts was Father Gorsky, a remarkable figure and professor at the Theological Academy. So, these manuscripts were not consulted, and the correction of the books was carried out not based on the ancient manuscript tradition. Instead, Alexei Mikhailovich insisted on speeding things up and using already corrected printed books as the basis. What happens next? A reform is carried out, conceived on one basis but implemented on another. Can you imagine what a blow this was to the Church, starting with the fact that they were told: ‘You cannot cross yourself this way. You cannot.’ But resistance began, great resistance. As a result, the Church was split. What does this mean? People could not and would not reconcile with this. They urged the authorities not to touch the old rite, saying it was unacceptable. And how many outstanding figures were among its defenders! These were ordinary priests, monks, great fighters, great sufferers, great martyrs… First and foremost, we recall Archpriest Avvakum and those who suffered with him—Lazar, Epiphany, and many others. They were thrown into prisons, shackled in chains. And—it is hard for me to speak of this—their tongues were cut out, and the tongues grew back… There are many horrific things here. Avvakum, along with his comrades, was burned in a log cabin. Burned… It is not without interest for us that Avvakum was a writer; through his works, he is present not only in Russian but also in world literature, with numerous editions. He left a vivid mark on 19th-century Russian literature. Without knowing Avvakum’s writings, you cannot fully understand Dostoevsky. Dostoevsky read him and wept while reading, constantly. Nor can you fully understand Tolstoy: in his story Father Sergius, there is a motif present in Avvakum’s work. He (Avvakum) wrote an autobiographical Life, which has its own manuscript tradition. Although he was in the harshest conditions, he still managed to refine and revise his work. There are several editions of the Life, following one another chronologically. This is a great work, and I strongly recommend you read it. Speaking of Serbia, it is important to remember that, due to certain circumstances, it lost its statehood but, to a greater or lesser extent, preserved its Church. Although this reform did not have such severe consequences for Serbia, we know of the sufferings of people connected with it. For example, we know of Damaskin of Hilandar, who lived in the 17th century and suffered on the Holy Mountain because he adhered to the double Alleluia, crossed himself with two fingers, and performed services according to the old rite. … So, what is Old Belief? It is the once-existing, authentic, true Russian Church, which was mutilated. With the onset of persecutions against the Old Believers, many began to leave Russia. Some headed north to cold lands, others to the Balkans, including Bulgaria and Romania. And the Russian Old Believer tradition lives on to this day. If this interests us, we can study manuscripts, frescoes, miniatures…”
To this speech, we add two remarks. One came from a listener, shocked by the professor’s account of the tortures inflicted on the defenders of ancient piety in the 17th century: “This is simply the Inquisition!” The other came from the professor himself: “If I lived in Russia, I would be an Old Believer.” Naturally, during the meeting, we had to answer numerous questions regarding the history of Old Belief and the life of modern Old Believers. The audience expressed a desire to meet again. In conclusion, we provide an excerpt from an article by Professor Trifunović dedicated to the aforementioned Serbian adherent of ancient Orthodoxy, Damaskin of Hilandar. Many readers may not yet know that even on the Holy Mountain of Athos, one could suffer for the Old Faith—not from Grecophiles, but from the Greek inhabitants of the mountain. Damaskin of Hilandar. On the Question of Greek-Slavic Relations on Mount Athos in the 17th Century [See: D. Trifunović, Damaskin of Hilandar (On the Question of Greek-Slavic Relations on Mount Athos in the 17th Century), Studies in Ancient and Modern Literature, Leningrad 1987, pp. 316–319; see also D. Trifunović, History of Serbian Literature, Old Serbian Literature, Belgrade 1991, pp. 217–218.] [From the website: http://www.portal-credo.ru/site/index.php?act=lib&id=1384] The question of Russian-Greek relations as one of the main factors in the Nikonian church reform has long been discussed in scholarly literature. A significant role in strengthening these relations belongs to the Holy Mountain and the well-known activities of Arseny Sukhanov on Athos in 1654, which are thoroughly described in the monumental work of S. A. Belokurov. However, the question of how the Nikonian reform resonated on Mount Athos and in the South Slavic lands has not yet been sufficiently explored. Although we lack a sufficient number of sources, it can still be said that the wave of reformist aspirations of Tsar Alexei Mikhailovich quickly reached Athos, where, at a certain point, it took the harsh form of Greek intolerance toward Slavs. These events on Athos can be illustrated through the life and sufferings of one Serbian monk. This was the authoritative Hilandar hieromonk Damaskin, a skilled expert in Church Slavonic, who visited Russia in the 1630s. The earliest information about Damaskin comes from 1633, in a colophon to the Hexameron of John Chrysostom, where he provides highly interesting details about the translation of this book from Russian into Serbian. Five years later, Damaskin traveled to Russia. In a petition sent by Hilandar monks to the Russian court in 1638, the name “Father Damaskin” is mentioned among the five representatives of the Hilandar Monastery. Throughout the 16th and 17th centuries, the Holy Mountain was an important center for the copying of Serbo-Slavic books. Here, for example, fine and sometimes richly decorated Manuscripts were produced for distant Serbian monasteries. Serbian scribes and editors enjoyed a good reputation beyond Serbian lands. Valuable information about this is found in the Colored Triodion (Pentecostarion), printed in Târgoviște, Wallachia, in 1648–1649, funded by Princess Elena, wife of the Wallachian voivode Matei Basarab. In the afterword, the printer John of the Holy Mountain emphasizes the efforts he put into working on the text of the book. Naturally, he was among the best Athonite scribes and editors, among whom our Damaskin particularly stood out. Princess Elena, who valued books, likely received information about the work of skilled Serbian editors on Athos, which led to her collaboration with the most prominent among them—Hieromonk Damaskin. Therefore, in the printed preface-letter, directly addressing Damaskin and the Serbian Athonites, she outlines a kind of program for purifying and carefully correcting the text of printed books. It appears that Hieromonk Damaskin was not only well-versed in Russian books but also an admirer of the customs of the Russian Church, which soon brought him great suffering and sorrow. N. F. Kapterev’s research has shown that Tsar Alexei Mikhailovich conceived the church reform even before Patriarch Nikon and, as early as 1649, invited learned Kyiv scholars to Moscow to correct Moscow editions. The Tsar’s plan, shaped by his Grecophile upbringing, quickly found a response on Athos among the Greeks, who, it seems, immediately began to persecute admirers of Moscow editions and the old rites of the Russian Church. Feeling the support of their representatives in Russia, the Greeks, as early as 1650, initiated conflicts over the “sign of the Honorable Cross,” condemning the “two-finger” sign as a heretical habit. Naturally, Greek churchmen of the mid-17th century had long drifted from the roots of Orthodoxy and were unaware that, as N. F. Kapterev demonstrated with extensive evidence, “the two-finger sign is the Orthodox way of crossing.” It was during the persecution of the “two-finger” adherents and the burning of Moscow editions that the Greeks imprisoned our Damaskin, Hieromonk Roman, and their disciple Zachariah. This tragic event is evidenced by an interesting record from 1650, discovered by V. I. Grigorovich in one of the books of the Hilandar Monastery. According to Grigorovich’s reading, the record generally states: “In the year 7157 (1650), there was a dispute about crossing on the Holy Mountain, and the Greeks burned Moscow books in Karyes and imprisoned the confessor Damaskin, Father Roman, and their disciple Zachariah, fining them 60 groschen. Oh, what misfortune from the wicked Greek race. On May 28, they caused great dishonor to all Serbs and Bulgarians.” The authenticity of the record and the events of 1650 were confirmed four years later by Arseny Sukhanov himself, who described the trial of Hieromonk Damaskin in great detail. The elders forced Damaskin to stand in the middle of the church with Moscow books. They called him a heretic who did not cross himself like the Greeks. After numerous insults, they ordered him to throw the books into the fire, but he refused. Only after further threats did he, weeping, comply. Then they forced him to swear that he would no longer use the two-finger sign as he had before and handed him over to the Turks, who released him after a long time for a large ransom. Arseny Sukhanov particularly emphasizes that Damaskin was “a spiritual man and learned in letters. And the Greeks did this out of hatred, because that elder was revered by many, a Serb, not a Greek. The Greeks want to rule over everyone.” The Old Believers soon learned of Damaskin’s views and sufferings. For example, Priest Nikita Konstantinovich Dobrynin, a comrade of Archpriest Avvakum, writes: “And on the Athonite Mountain, an old Serbian book was found, written 130 years before Arseny Sukhanov’s arrival. And in that book, it is written to cross oneself with two fingers.” Of course, the sufferings of Damaskin were also witnessed by the Kratovo Metropolitan Michael, who, fearing the Turks, was forced to leave Serbian lands and take refuge on the Holy Mountain, where he stayed from 1649 until the summer of 1651, when he departed for Russia. In 1653, Hieromonk Damaskin wrote to the metropolitan from the Hilandar skete of Spasova Voda, reminding him of his sufferings due to the two-finger sign: “…we are still found alive, passing through this wretched, fleeting, and mournful life, until the final days of our debt, tested by temptations and slanders for the sign of the Cross…” From all this, it follows that in the Serbian Church of the 17th century, the two-finger sign was practiced, though rarely. As far as we know, the Serbian Church never officially prohibited it. The Serbs, it seems, showed interest in these matters, as can be inferred from an article by St. Maximus the Greek, “On the Sign of the Cross,” preserved in a Serbian miscellany from the 1680s. In this brief article, Maximus the Greek primarily speaks of the “three-finger sign” but does not forget the rarer possibility of the “two-finger sign,” which symbolizes the divine and human natures of Christ: “By extending the thumb and middle finger, the two natures in Christ are united, that is, we confess the Savior Christ as perfect God and perfect man.” It would be interesting to investigate whether the “two-finger sign” is reflected in ancient Serbian painting; this topic remains unexplored to this day. Hieromonk Damaskin spent his final years with his disciples at the Hilandar skete of Spasova Voda. We do not know when he died. Most likely, it was before 1671, as can be inferred from a handwritten testament. Memories of the suffering Hieromonk Damaskin were carefully preserved by Serbian monks on the Holy Mountain for a long time. For example, when in 1703, the Serbian deacon Simeon from the Athonite Monastery of St. Paul spoke in Moscow about the Serbian land, he did not fail to recount the tradition about Hieromonk Damaskin, whom tradition had already begun to depict as a philosopher with a beard reaching the ground: “There was among us on the Athonite Mountain a wise and virtuous elder philosopher, with a beard down to his feet, who read old Moscow printed books and crossed himself as they prescribed. And by this, he stirred up the entire Athonite land, and the Greek authorities gathered and seized him.” In earlier literature, the history of this issue was reduced to Slavic-Greek, or more precisely, Serbian-Greek relations on Mount Athos. This is quite natural, as there are written testimonies of the echoes of the schism, primarily among the Serbian Athonite monastic community (with the central figure of this Serbian-Slavic-Greek conflict being the Serbian hieromonk Damaskin). But the issue is not limited to events on Athos alone. Scholarly literature has long noted the interconnections between Serbian and Russian written traditions, and their study continues. In the rich, centuries-long history of Russian-Serbian relations, the 16th century stands out, when Serbian old printed books left a noticeable mark on Russian liturgical books, manifesting in the preservation of the most ancient customs and features of worship adopted in the Serbian Church. Even in terms of design, Russian old printed books from the 1560s to the mid-17th century took Serbian editions as their model, particularly those from the Venetian printing press of Božidar Vuković. Thanks to this, Russian old printed books gained high authority among Serbian clergy and monastics on the Holy Mountain, where Russian-Serbian cooperation was maintained for centuries. Despite the frequent upheavals experienced by the Hilandar Monastery, several dozen Russian printed books from the first half of the 17th century, from before Patriarch Nikon’s reform, have been preserved there. The tragic story of Hieromonk Damaskin allows us to conclude that the majority of Serbian monks on the Holy Mountain likely practiced the three-finger sign of the cross. However, this does not mean they were opposed to the two-finger sign. It must be said that regarding this issue, we know little or almost nothing about the rest of the canonical territory of the Serbian Church outside the Holy Mountain. Was the two-finger sign of the cross practiced in the Serbian Church, as it was in the Russian Church? If it was practiced, was it later prohibited? As far as we know, there is no evidence of this. At first glance, one might assume that the Serbian Church was indeed against the two-finger sign. It is known, for example, that the Serbian Patriarch Gabriel (1648–1655, 1659) spent his final years in Russia, both for political reasons and to seek material support for his financially strained patriarchate. During this time, in Moscow (1655), a council was held that decided to correct church books. At the same time, a decision was made that the three-finger sign of the cross was the only correct one. This decision, directed against the two-finger sign, signed by Patriarchs Macarius of Antioch and Gabriel of Peć, was immediately published in the Service Book printed in Moscow in 1655. The signatures of Patriarchs Gabriel and Macarius were intended to lend greater weight to the council’s and Patriarch Nikon’s decisions. For the Serbian Church, however, Gabriel’s signature had no significance, as by then he was already a former patriarch, succeeded by the new Patriarch Maxim (1655–1680). Moreover, Russian printed books of that time rarely reached the vast territory of the Serbian Church, where services were conducted using handwritten and printed books in Serbo-Slavonic. However, it appears that the Serbian Church likely resisted Nikon’s prohibition of the two-finger sign of the cross, and this phenomenon has not yet attracted the attention of our researchers. Among Serbian manuscript heritage, the Tale of the Sign of the Cross by St. Maximus the Greek is known, which at one time played a significant role in the struggle of the Old Believers. Two works by St. Maximus the Greek, The Tale of the Sign of the Cross and The Discourse on the Alleluia, a century after their appearance, were used by Archpriest Ivan Neronov, Archpriest Avvakum, Lazar, and others, as they themselves said, to expose “Nikon’s heretical undertakings.” During the most intense struggle against the Old Believers, the official Russian Church expressed its assessment of Maximus the Greek’s writings through the voice of Simeon of Polotsk, who, in his book The Staff of Governance (1666), expressed doubts about Maximus’s authorship, suggesting that the mentioned works were forgeries. The Tale of the Sign of the Cross by St. Maximus the Greek was composed as a letter or response to a friend’s question about how to make the sign of the cross. Nearly a century ago, this Tale was published by Khrisanf Loparev based on a collection of Maximus’s works dated to the 16th century. After a brief introduction, St. Maximus directly answers his friend. Since this part, comprising a third of the entire letter, contains the essence of the response, we present it in modern language: “Let it be known to you that in divine baptism, the threefold immersion in water signifies the three days Christ spent in the tomb and His resurrection. Church tradition, in accordance with divine teaching, offers us a symbol: all of us who were baptized into Christ were baptized into His death. In baptism into death, we were buried with Him (Romans 6:3–4). It is said of ‘into death’: as Christ rose from the dead, so we too shall live a new life (Romans 6:4), filled with all righteousness and holiness. Having put off the old self (Colossians 3:9), we have cast off the evil and godless desires of body and spirit, as apostolic tradition conveys to us in the mystery of baptism. Thus, the sign of the Honorable Cross teaches us the mystery of piety, so that we may secretly confess the Holy Trinity, to whom worship is due, and the descent from heaven of the Only-Begotten, His crucifixion, and His second coming from heaven, when He will judge the living and the dead, that is, the righteous and the sinners. By joining three fingers—namely the thumb, middle, and little finger—we confess the mystery of the three divine hypostases: the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, one God in three Persons. By extending the middle and index fingers—the two natures in Christ—we confess the Savior Christ as perfect God and perfect man, whom we believe in and worship in His two natures and essences. By placing the fingers on the forehead, we confess two things: that He was born of God the Father, as our word proceeds from the mind, and that He descended from above, according to the divine saying, ‘Bow Your heavens, O Lord, and come down’ (Psalm 144:5). By placing the fingers on the navel, we express both His descent to earth and His seedless conception and nine-month sojourn in the most pure womb of the Mother of God. By moving the entire hand from there to the right and left sides, we clearly depict that bitter judgment, which the righteous, standing at the right hand of the Judge, will pronounce upon the wicked and sinners, according to the divine word of the Savior to the rebellious and disobedient Jews.” St. Maximus the Greek sometimes, usually in the margins, explained certain parts of his Russian text with Greek words. He did so here, in the Tale, in two particularly significant instances. When speaking about initially joining the thumb, the “middle” finger, and the little finger, Maximus evidently wants to clarify what “middle” means: “an… xepa. etera mesa. that is, the nameless one.” He wrote the Greek explanation in Cyrillic; in Greek, it could be rendered as anacerateromesato (on the hand, the second middle). In other words, this is the finger located next to the little finger, for which St. Maximus provides the Russian word from colloquial language (in modern spelling, “bezymyanny,” meaning “nameless”). When discussing the extension of the “long” and middle fingers, Maximus the Greek provides an explanation for the word “long”: “lixana, that is, ozheg.” Here, too, the Greek word is rendered in Cyrillic, corresponding to the Greek licanoz (the index finger). As is known, Maximus the Greek’s Tale immediately became a focal point for Russian Old Believers in the 1650s. Not much time passed before this work appeared in Serbo-Slavonic. An unknown Serbian scribe and editor, likely in the late 1650s or 1660s, extracted only one part of the Tale (the third we presented), translated it into Serbo-Slavonic, and added a few sentences at the end (starting with “For this reason…”). Thus, the essence of Maximus’s Tale became present in the Serbian milieu. This new excerpt from Maximus the Greek’s Tale, which we will call the Discourse in this context, is now known to us in two Serbian manuscripts from roughly the same period. The first copy of the Discourse is found in a miscellany of the Serbian Academy of Sciences and Arts (SANU), number 147, from the late 17th century, on pages 245b–247a (let us call it the Academy manuscript). In this intriguing miscellany, we also find works such as “On the Armenian Heresy” (271b–273b) and “On Luther and His Heresy” (267a–271a), to which Maximus the Greek dedicates two separate discourses: Discourse on the Armenian False Belief and Discourse on the Lutherans. To shed fuller light on the circumstances under which Maximus’s Discourse appeared, further research will need to address the interrelationship of these works. The second copy was found in one of the miscellanies of the Patriarchate Library in Belgrade (No. 17, from the late 1680s), on pages 7a–8b (let us call it the Patriarchate manuscript). It bears the following title: “On the Same Sign of the Cross Which We Place on Our Faces, Maximus the Greek Writes in His Book Thus” (in the Academy manuscript, the final word is not thus but so). The Academy and Patriarchate manuscripts clearly derive from a common Serbo-Slavonic prototype of Maximus’s Discourse, which, in its original form, likely retained some Russianisms. In the Patriarchate manuscript, Maximus’s Discourse occupies a very significant place within the miscellany. Specifically, the miscellany begins with a work titled “How to Cross Oneself in the Form of a Cross and Truly” (pages 1a–7a). The introduction discusses the sign of the cross with examples from Scripture. Our Serbian Discourse by Maximus the Greek, slightly modified, is included as a continuation. Following it are discourses on the sign of the cross by St. Theodoret, likely of Cyrus (3b), and St. Cyril of Alexandria (4a). At the end (6b), a brief history of the Antiochian Patriarch Meletius is presented. The core tenets of this work are most concisely and eloquently expressed by St. Cyril’s words: “Whoever does not make the sign with two fingers, as Christ did, let him be accursed.” This work and Maximus’s Discourse form a thematic whole. However, in terms of their time of origin and provenance, they are independent works. If they had been created as a single whole, Maximus’s Discourse would not have been repeated at the beginning of the first work. The Academy and Patriarchate manuscripts, judging by their partially similar content (Maximus’s Discourse and recipes for making ink), likely share distant common ancestors, probably from the Holy Mountain. In the history of vibrant and long-lasting Serbian-Russian cultural and literary connections, the Serbian Discourse of St. Maximus the Greek holds an exceptional place. Its appearance testifies that the schism in the Russian Church quickly resonated among the Serbs. The sorrowful story of Damaskin of Hilandar, the Serbian translation of Maximus’s Discourse, and the special copy in the Patriarchate miscellany confirm the fact that the Serbian Church in the past never condemned the two-finger sign. What the Russian (Nikonian) Church strictly condemned and persecuted was, at the same time, freely studied and transmitted as written testimony in the Serbian spiritual milieu. Knowledge of St. Maximus the Greek existed among the Serbs even before the schism in the Russian Church. One of his polemical and anti-Muslim works (Discourse on the Hagarenes’ Devilishly Contrived and Vile Deception) may have been translated into Serbo-Slavonic during Maximus the Greek’s lifetime (d. 1555). A copy is now known to us, included in the Starostavnik (1567) in the miscellany of Baltazar Bogišić in Cavtat (No. 19). source
“What does it mean to be an Old Believer? It means adhering to the old rite, preserving it. That is the essence. From the moment Christianity was adopted, under the significant influence of the Ecumenical Patriarchate, all liturgical practices in the Orthodox world were brought to near-complete uniformity. There was a clear стремление toward unity in the field of book writing—to avoid deviating into heresy. Printing had not yet been invented, and the significance of handwritten texts was immense. What is most important here? It is the sign of the Honorable Cross. In Christianity, it is by no means a formality. It carries profound meaning; it is the foundation. It encompasses all seven Ecumenical Councils. What does this mean? In brief: after all the disputes, discussions, and difficulties, the dogma of the two natures (in Christ—L.G.)—divine and human—was established. This was affirmed by dogma, and in the Middle Ages, we all crossed ourselves this way: for the sign of the Honorable Cross, two fingers were joined (as the two natures are united in Christ). When I was a second-year student at Hilandar, I remember there was a monk who crossed himself with one finger… He was a Monophysite. Monophysites believe in one nature, but here we are talking about two natures, and this was the practice throughout the Orthodox world. If we look at ancient frescoes depicting Saint Sava (St. Sava, ca. 1270–1336, the first Serbian archbishop, the primary teacher of the Serbs—L.G.)—with the two-finger sign—we will understand: his hand is raised not for blessing. He holds it with the sign of the Honorable Cross. This is also indicated by the portrait of the saint in Mileševa, painted in the last years of his life (see the image on the left). Now, briefly about liturgical books. This occurred before the mid-17th century. The Russian Tsar Alexei Mikhailovich, who was a Grecophile, decided, together with his patriarch, Nikon, to carry out a reform—to correct the books and thereby bring uniformity to worship (Greek and Russian—L.G.). They decided to compare Russian books with medieval Greek ones and also to use ancient Serbian ones—to determine which models to rely on. A monk named Arseny Sukhanov, who had extensive experience in searching for and collecting Greek and Slavic manuscripts, was enlisted for this task. He traveled to the Holy Mountain and beyond in the East. From the Holy Mountain, he brought many authentic Byzantine manuscripts, and from Hilandar, a considerable number of valuable Serbian manuscripts. He carefully packed them and took them to Moscow, where they became the foundation of the future Synodal Library. And here lies the crux of the matter. During the reform, these manuscripts were not used; they remained unopened until the mid-19th century. The first to untie these bundles and examine the manuscripts was Father Gorsky, a remarkable figure and professor at the Theological Academy. So, these manuscripts were not consulted, and the correction of the books was carried out not based on the ancient manuscript tradition. Instead, Alexei Mikhailovich insisted on speeding things up and using already corrected printed books as the basis. What happens next? A reform is carried out, conceived on one basis but implemented on another. Can you imagine what a blow this was to the Church, starting with the fact that they were told: ‘You cannot cross yourself this way. You cannot.’ But resistance began, great resistance. As a result, the Church was split. What does this mean? People could not and would not reconcile with this. They urged the authorities not to touch the old rite, saying it was unacceptable. And how many outstanding figures were among its defenders! These were ordinary priests, monks, great fighters, great sufferers, great martyrs… First and foremost, we recall Archpriest Avvakum and those who suffered with him—Lazar, Epiphany, and many others. They were thrown into prisons, shackled in chains. And—it is hard for me to speak of this—their tongues were cut out, and the tongues grew back… There are many horrific things here. Avvakum, along with his comrades, was burned in a log cabin. Burned… It is not without interest for us that Avvakum was a writer; through his works, he is present not only in Russian but also in world literature, with numerous editions. He left a vivid mark on 19th-century Russian literature. Without knowing Avvakum’s writings, you cannot fully understand Dostoevsky. Dostoevsky read him and wept while reading, constantly. Nor can you fully understand Tolstoy: in his story Father Sergius, there is a motif present in Avvakum’s work. He (Avvakum) wrote an autobiographical Life, which has its own manuscript tradition. Although he was in the harshest conditions, he still managed to refine and revise his work. There are several editions of the Life, following one another chronologically. This is a great work, and I strongly recommend you read it. Speaking of Serbia, it is important to remember that, due to certain circumstances, it lost its statehood but, to a greater or lesser extent, preserved its Church. Although this reform did not have such severe consequences for Serbia, we know of the sufferings of people connected with it. For example, we know of Damaskin of Hilandar, who lived in the 17th century and suffered on the Holy Mountain because he adhered to the double Alleluia, crossed himself with two fingers, and performed services according to the old rite. … So, what is Old Belief? It is the once-existing, authentic, true Russian Church, which was mutilated. With the onset of persecutions against the Old Believers, many began to leave Russia. Some headed north to cold lands, others to the Balkans, including Bulgaria and Romania. And the Russian Old Believer tradition lives on to this day. If this interests us, we can study manuscripts, frescoes, miniatures…”
To this speech, we add two remarks. One came from a listener, shocked by the professor’s account of the tortures inflicted on the defenders of ancient piety in the 17th century: “This is simply the Inquisition!” The other came from the professor himself: “If I lived in Russia, I would be an Old Believer.” Naturally, during the meeting, we had to answer numerous questions regarding the history of Old Belief and the life of modern Old Believers. The audience expressed a desire to meet again. In conclusion, we provide an excerpt from an article by Professor Trifunović dedicated to the aforementioned Serbian adherent of ancient Orthodoxy, Damaskin of Hilandar. Many readers may not yet know that even on the Holy Mountain of Athos, one could suffer for the Old Faith—not from Grecophiles, but from the Greek inhabitants of the mountain. Damaskin of Hilandar. On the Question of Greek-Slavic Relations on Mount Athos in the 17th Century [See: D. Trifunović, Damaskin of Hilandar (On the Question of Greek-Slavic Relations on Mount Athos in the 17th Century), Studies in Ancient and Modern Literature, Leningrad 1987, pp. 316–319; see also D. Trifunović, History of Serbian Literature, Old Serbian Literature, Belgrade 1991, pp. 217–218.] [From the website: http://www.portal-credo.ru/site/index.php?act=lib&id=1384] The question of Russian-Greek relations as one of the main factors in the Nikonian church reform has long been discussed in scholarly literature. A significant role in strengthening these relations belongs to the Holy Mountain and the well-known activities of Arseny Sukhanov on Athos in 1654, which are thoroughly described in the monumental work of S. A. Belokurov. However, the question of how the Nikonian reform resonated on Mount Athos and in the South Slavic lands has not yet been sufficiently explored. Although we lack a sufficient number of sources, it can still be said that the wave of reformist aspirations of Tsar Alexei Mikhailovich quickly reached Athos, where, at a certain point, it took the harsh form of Greek intolerance toward Slavs. These events on Athos can be illustrated through the life and sufferings of one Serbian monk. This was the authoritative Hilandar hieromonk Damaskin, a skilled expert in Church Slavonic, who visited Russia in the 1630s. The earliest information about Damaskin comes from 1633, in a colophon to the Hexameron of John Chrysostom, where he provides highly interesting details about the translation of this book from Russian into Serbian. Five years later, Damaskin traveled to Russia. In a petition sent by Hilandar monks to the Russian court in 1638, the name “Father Damaskin” is mentioned among the five representatives of the Hilandar Monastery. Throughout the 16th and 17th centuries, the Holy Mountain was an important center for the copying of Serbo-Slavic books. Here, for example, fine and sometimes richly decorated Manuscripts were produced for distant Serbian monasteries. Serbian scribes and editors enjoyed a good reputation beyond Serbian lands. Valuable information about this is found in the Colored Triodion (Pentecostarion), printed in Târgoviște, Wallachia, in 1648–1649, funded by Princess Elena, wife of the Wallachian voivode Matei Basarab. In the afterword, the printer John of the Holy Mountain emphasizes the efforts he put into working on the text of the book. Naturally, he was among the best Athonite scribes and editors, among whom our Damaskin particularly stood out. Princess Elena, who valued books, likely received information about the work of skilled Serbian editors on Athos, which led to her collaboration with the most prominent among them—Hieromonk Damaskin. Therefore, in the printed preface-letter, directly addressing Damaskin and the Serbian Athonites, she outlines a kind of program for purifying and carefully correcting the text of printed books. It appears that Hieromonk Damaskin was not only well-versed in Russian books but also an admirer of the customs of the Russian Church, which soon brought him great suffering and sorrow. N. F. Kapterev’s research has shown that Tsar Alexei Mikhailovich conceived the church reform even before Patriarch Nikon and, as early as 1649, invited learned Kyiv scholars to Moscow to correct Moscow editions. The Tsar’s plan, shaped by his Grecophile upbringing, quickly found a response on Athos among the Greeks, who, it seems, immediately began to persecute admirers of Moscow editions and the old rites of the Russian Church. Feeling the support of their representatives in Russia, the Greeks, as early as 1650, initiated conflicts over the “sign of the Honorable Cross,” condemning the “two-finger” sign as a heretical habit. Naturally, Greek churchmen of the mid-17th century had long drifted from the roots of Orthodoxy and were unaware that, as N. F. Kapterev demonstrated with extensive evidence, “the two-finger sign is the Orthodox way of crossing.” It was during the persecution of the “two-finger” adherents and the burning of Moscow editions that the Greeks imprisoned our Damaskin, Hieromonk Roman, and their disciple Zachariah. This tragic event is evidenced by an interesting record from 1650, discovered by V. I. Grigorovich in one of the books of the Hilandar Monastery. According to Grigorovich’s reading, the record generally states: “In the year 7157 (1650), there was a dispute about crossing on the Holy Mountain, and the Greeks burned Moscow books in Karyes and imprisoned the confessor Damaskin, Father Roman, and their disciple Zachariah, fining them 60 groschen. Oh, what misfortune from the wicked Greek race. On May 28, they caused great dishonor to all Serbs and Bulgarians.” The authenticity of the record and the events of 1650 were confirmed four years later by Arseny Sukhanov himself, who described the trial of Hieromonk Damaskin in great detail. The elders forced Damaskin to stand in the middle of the church with Moscow books. They called him a heretic who did not cross himself like the Greeks. After numerous insults, they ordered him to throw the books into the fire, but he refused. Only after further threats did he, weeping, comply. Then they forced him to swear that he would no longer use the two-finger sign as he had before and handed him over to the Turks, who released him after a long time for a large ransom. Arseny Sukhanov particularly emphasizes that Damaskin was “a spiritual man and learned in letters. And the Greeks did this out of hatred, because that elder was revered by many, a Serb, not a Greek. The Greeks want to rule over everyone.” The Old Believers soon learned of Damaskin’s views and sufferings. For example, Priest Nikita Konstantinovich Dobrynin, a comrade of Archpriest Avvakum, writes: “And on the Athonite Mountain, an old Serbian book was found, written 130 years before Arseny Sukhanov’s arrival. And in that book, it is written to cross oneself with two fingers.” Of course, the sufferings of Damaskin were also witnessed by the Kratovo Metropolitan Michael, who, fearing the Turks, was forced to leave Serbian lands and take refuge on the Holy Mountain, where he stayed from 1649 until the summer of 1651, when he departed for Russia. In 1653, Hieromonk Damaskin wrote to the metropolitan from the Hilandar skete of Spasova Voda, reminding him of his sufferings due to the two-finger sign: “…we are still found alive, passing through this wretched, fleeting, and mournful life, until the final days of our debt, tested by temptations and slanders for the sign of the Cross…” From all this, it follows that in the Serbian Church of the 17th century, the two-finger sign was practiced, though rarely. As far as we know, the Serbian Church never officially prohibited it. The Serbs, it seems, showed interest in these matters, as can be inferred from an article by St. Maximus the Greek, “On the Sign of the Cross,” preserved in a Serbian miscellany from the 1680s. In this brief article, Maximus the Greek primarily speaks of the “three-finger sign” but does not forget the rarer possibility of the “two-finger sign,” which symbolizes the divine and human natures of Christ: “By extending the thumb and middle finger, the two natures in Christ are united, that is, we confess the Savior Christ as perfect God and perfect man.” It would be interesting to investigate whether the “two-finger sign” is reflected in ancient Serbian painting; this topic remains unexplored to this day. Hieromonk Damaskin spent his final years with his disciples at the Hilandar skete of Spasova Voda. We do not know when he died. Most likely, it was before 1671, as can be inferred from a handwritten testament. Memories of the suffering Hieromonk Damaskin were carefully preserved by Serbian monks on the Holy Mountain for a long time. For example, when in 1703, the Serbian deacon Simeon from the Athonite Monastery of St. Paul spoke in Moscow about the Serbian land, he did not fail to recount the tradition about Hieromonk Damaskin, whom tradition had already begun to depict as a philosopher with a beard reaching the ground: “There was among us on the Athonite Mountain a wise and virtuous elder philosopher, with a beard down to his feet, who read old Moscow printed books and crossed himself as they prescribed. And by this, he stirred up the entire Athonite land, and the Greek authorities gathered and seized him.” In earlier literature, the history of this issue was reduced to Slavic-Greek, or more precisely, Serbian-Greek relations on Mount Athos. This is quite natural, as there are written testimonies of the echoes of the schism, primarily among the Serbian Athonite monastic community (with the central figure of this Serbian-Slavic-Greek conflict being the Serbian hieromonk Damaskin). But the issue is not limited to events on Athos alone. Scholarly literature has long noted the interconnections between Serbian and Russian written traditions, and their study continues. In the rich, centuries-long history of Russian-Serbian relations, the 16th century stands out, when Serbian old printed books left a noticeable mark on Russian liturgical books, manifesting in the preservation of the most ancient customs and features of worship adopted in the Serbian Church. Even in terms of design, Russian old printed books from the 1560s to the mid-17th century took Serbian editions as their model, particularly those from the Venetian printing press of Božidar Vuković. Thanks to this, Russian old printed books gained high authority among Serbian clergy and monastics on the Holy Mountain, where Russian-Serbian cooperation was maintained for centuries. Despite the frequent upheavals experienced by the Hilandar Monastery, several dozen Russian printed books from the first half of the 17th century, from before Patriarch Nikon’s reform, have been preserved there. The tragic story of Hieromonk Damaskin allows us to conclude that the majority of Serbian monks on the Holy Mountain likely practiced the three-finger sign of the cross. However, this does not mean they were opposed to the two-finger sign. It must be said that regarding this issue, we know little or almost nothing about the rest of the canonical territory of the Serbian Church outside the Holy Mountain. Was the two-finger sign of the cross practiced in the Serbian Church, as it was in the Russian Church? If it was practiced, was it later prohibited? As far as we know, there is no evidence of this. At first glance, one might assume that the Serbian Church was indeed against the two-finger sign. It is known, for example, that the Serbian Patriarch Gabriel (1648–1655, 1659) spent his final years in Russia, both for political reasons and to seek material support for his financially strained patriarchate. During this time, in Moscow (1655), a council was held that decided to correct church books. At the same time, a decision was made that the three-finger sign of the cross was the only correct one. This decision, directed against the two-finger sign, signed by Patriarchs Macarius of Antioch and Gabriel of Peć, was immediately published in the Service Book printed in Moscow in 1655. The signatures of Patriarchs Gabriel and Macarius were intended to lend greater weight to the council’s and Patriarch Nikon’s decisions. For the Serbian Church, however, Gabriel’s signature had no significance, as by then he was already a former patriarch, succeeded by the new Patriarch Maxim (1655–1680). Moreover, Russian printed books of that time rarely reached the vast territory of the Serbian Church, where services were conducted using handwritten and printed books in Serbo-Slavonic. However, it appears that the Serbian Church likely resisted Nikon’s prohibition of the two-finger sign of the cross, and this phenomenon has not yet attracted the attention of our researchers. Among Serbian manuscript heritage, the Tale of the Sign of the Cross by St. Maximus the Greek is known, which at one time played a significant role in the struggle of the Old Believers. Two works by St. Maximus the Greek, The Tale of the Sign of the Cross and The Discourse on the Alleluia, a century after their appearance, were used by Archpriest Ivan Neronov, Archpriest Avvakum, Lazar, and others, as they themselves said, to expose “Nikon’s heretical undertakings.” During the most intense struggle against the Old Believers, the official Russian Church expressed its assessment of Maximus the Greek’s writings through the voice of Simeon of Polotsk, who, in his book The Staff of Governance (1666), expressed doubts about Maximus’s authorship, suggesting that the mentioned works were forgeries. The Tale of the Sign of the Cross by St. Maximus the Greek was composed as a letter or response to a friend’s question about how to make the sign of the cross. Nearly a century ago, this Tale was published by Khrisanf Loparev based on a collection of Maximus’s works dated to the 16th century. After a brief introduction, St. Maximus directly answers his friend. Since this part, comprising a third of the entire letter, contains the essence of the response, we present it in modern language: “Let it be known to you that in divine baptism, the threefold immersion in water signifies the three days Christ spent in the tomb and His resurrection. Church tradition, in accordance with divine teaching, offers us a symbol: all of us who were baptized into Christ were baptized into His death. In baptism into death, we were buried with Him (Romans 6:3–4). It is said of ‘into death’: as Christ rose from the dead, so we too shall live a new life (Romans 6:4), filled with all righteousness and holiness. Having put off the old self (Colossians 3:9), we have cast off the evil and godless desires of body and spirit, as apostolic tradition conveys to us in the mystery of baptism. Thus, the sign of the Honorable Cross teaches us the mystery of piety, so that we may secretly confess the Holy Trinity, to whom worship is due, and the descent from heaven of the Only-Begotten, His crucifixion, and His second coming from heaven, when He will judge the living and the dead, that is, the righteous and the sinners. By joining three fingers—namely the thumb, middle, and little finger—we confess the mystery of the three divine hypostases: the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, one God in three Persons. By extending the middle and index fingers—the two natures in Christ—we confess the Savior Christ as perfect God and perfect man, whom we believe in and worship in His two natures and essences. By placing the fingers on the forehead, we confess two things: that He was born of God the Father, as our word proceeds from the mind, and that He descended from above, according to the divine saying, ‘Bow Your heavens, O Lord, and come down’ (Psalm 144:5). By placing the fingers on the navel, we express both His descent to earth and His seedless conception and nine-month sojourn in the most pure womb of the Mother of God. By moving the entire hand from there to the right and left sides, we clearly depict that bitter judgment, which the righteous, standing at the right hand of the Judge, will pronounce upon the wicked and sinners, according to the divine word of the Savior to the rebellious and disobedient Jews.” St. Maximus the Greek sometimes, usually in the margins, explained certain parts of his Russian text with Greek words. He did so here, in the Tale, in two particularly significant instances. When speaking about initially joining the thumb, the “middle” finger, and the little finger, Maximus evidently wants to clarify what “middle” means: “an… xepa. etera mesa. that is, the nameless one.” He wrote the Greek explanation in Cyrillic; in Greek, it could be rendered as anacerateromesato (on the hand, the second middle). In other words, this is the finger located next to the little finger, for which St. Maximus provides the Russian word from colloquial language (in modern spelling, “bezymyanny,” meaning “nameless”). When discussing the extension of the “long” and middle fingers, Maximus the Greek provides an explanation for the word “long”: “lixana, that is, ozheg.” Here, too, the Greek word is rendered in Cyrillic, corresponding to the Greek licanoz (the index finger). As is known, Maximus the Greek’s Tale immediately became a focal point for Russian Old Believers in the 1650s. Not much time passed before this work appeared in Serbo-Slavonic. An unknown Serbian scribe and editor, likely in the late 1650s or 1660s, extracted only one part of the Tale (the third we presented), translated it into Serbo-Slavonic, and added a few sentences at the end (starting with “For this reason…”). Thus, the essence of Maximus’s Tale became present in the Serbian milieu. This new excerpt from Maximus the Greek’s Tale, which we will call the Discourse in this context, is now known to us in two Serbian manuscripts from roughly the same period. The first copy of the Discourse is found in a miscellany of the Serbian Academy of Sciences and Arts (SANU), number 147, from the late 17th century, on pages 245b–247a (let us call it the Academy manuscript). In this intriguing miscellany, we also find works such as “On the Armenian Heresy” (271b–273b) and “On Luther and His Heresy” (267a–271a), to which Maximus the Greek dedicates two separate discourses: Discourse on the Armenian False Belief and Discourse on the Lutherans. To shed fuller light on the circumstances under which Maximus’s Discourse appeared, further research will need to address the interrelationship of these works. The second copy was found in one of the miscellanies of the Patriarchate Library in Belgrade (No. 17, from the late 1680s), on pages 7a–8b (let us call it the Patriarchate manuscript). It bears the following title: “On the Same Sign of the Cross Which We Place on Our Faces, Maximus the Greek Writes in His Book Thus” (in the Academy manuscript, the final word is not thus but so). The Academy and Patriarchate manuscripts clearly derive from a common Serbo-Slavonic prototype of Maximus’s Discourse, which, in its original form, likely retained some Russianisms. In the Patriarchate manuscript, Maximus’s Discourse occupies a very significant place within the miscellany. Specifically, the miscellany begins with a work titled “How to Cross Oneself in the Form of a Cross and Truly” (pages 1a–7a). The introduction discusses the sign of the cross with examples from Scripture. Our Serbian Discourse by Maximus the Greek, slightly modified, is included as a continuation. Following it are discourses on the sign of the cross by St. Theodoret, likely of Cyrus (3b), and St. Cyril of Alexandria (4a). At the end (6b), a brief history of the Antiochian Patriarch Meletius is presented. The core tenets of this work are most concisely and eloquently expressed by St. Cyril’s words: “Whoever does not make the sign with two fingers, as Christ did, let him be accursed.” This work and Maximus’s Discourse form a thematic whole. However, in terms of their time of origin and provenance, they are independent works. If they had been created as a single whole, Maximus’s Discourse would not have been repeated at the beginning of the first work. The Academy and Patriarchate manuscripts, judging by their partially similar content (Maximus’s Discourse and recipes for making ink), likely share distant common ancestors, probably from the Holy Mountain. In the history of vibrant and long-lasting Serbian-Russian cultural and literary connections, the Serbian Discourse of St. Maximus the Greek holds an exceptional place. Its appearance testifies that the schism in the Russian Church quickly resonated among the Serbs. The sorrowful story of Damaskin of Hilandar, the Serbian translation of Maximus’s Discourse, and the special copy in the Patriarchate miscellany confirm the fact that the Serbian Church in the past never condemned the two-finger sign. What the Russian (Nikonian) Church strictly condemned and persecuted was, at the same time, freely studied and transmitted as written testimony in the Serbian spiritual milieu. Knowledge of St. Maximus the Greek existed among the Serbs even before the schism in the Russian Church. One of his polemical and anti-Muslim works (Discourse on the Hagarenes’ Devilishly Contrived and Vile Deception) may have been translated into Serbo-Slavonic during Maximus the Greek’s lifetime (d. 1555). A copy is now known to us, included in the Starostavnik (1567) in the miscellany of Baltazar Bogišić in Cavtat (No. 19). source