The Log House Has Not Burned Down - It is Still Burning. Part 1 #

V.V. Buzhinsky

Two thousand years have passed since the Nativity of Christ, and a thousand years since the Baptism of Rus’. And the Lord has removed the delusion — the godless regime collapsed, doomed and with hardly any resistance. As has often been the case, we did not perceive what had happened as a sign from God. We failed to notice that these three events — the Nativity of Jesus Christ, the Baptism of Rus’, and the end of the Bolshevik system — are remarkably intertwined. They are linked by time spans of a thousand years. Does this not mean that we are under the watchful gaze of God, and that He has not yet forsaken us?

But we “threw the baby out with the bathwater” — we destroyed the nation that our forefathers had built over the course of a millennium, and once again found ourselves at square one.

Watching these drastic changes, Russia’s enemies “across the border” rubbed their hands with satisfaction, clearly stunned by the suddenness of it all — but of course, claiming it as their own achievement. Their agents of influence, together with separatists, were likewise convinced that it was all the fruit of their clever manipulation.

Now we are once again trying to build something — but not according to our own designs, and not with our own minds. Once again, there are no prophets in our homeland. What is the reason? Is it some deep-rooted pathology? Is there truly no way out for us?

“What profit have we gained, having forsaken the ordinances of God? Hath not the Lord scattered us over the face of all the earth? Have not our cities been taken? Have not our mighty princes fallen by the sword? Have not our children been led into captivity? Have not the holy churches of God been laid waste? Are we not daily oppressed by the godless and impure pagans? All these things have come upon us because we have not kept the rules of our holy and venerable fathers.”

This is a passage from the Rule of Kirill III, Metropolitan of Rus’.[1] It was adopted in 1274 at a council of bishops in Vladimir, under the leadership of Kirill — about forty years after the Mongol invasion under Batu Khan. What does it mean, “we have not kept the rules of our holy and venerable fathers”? And what are these rules? Perhaps they were indeed necessary in those times, but in our enlightened age, are they no longer needed? Is there no longer any reason to preserve them?

Yet here is what one of our contemporaries writes — Metropolitan Ioann of Saint Petersburg, known for his steadfast patriotic stance[2]:

“But do we remember — do we even know — what it means to be Russian? What is required for that? And if something is required, then what exactly? To answer these questions is to find a point of support for the restoration of our national-religious self-awareness — to wake up from decades of atheistic cosmopolitan oblivion, to recognize ourselves — our path, our duty, our purpose.
For this, above all, we must restore to the people their historical memory. Only by remembering ‘whence the Russian land has its origin,’ where and in what soil the grace-filled roots were strengthened that nourished the life of the people over the course of ten centuries, can we correctly answer the questions — without answering which, we cannot live, but only rot away.”

As though echoing the Rule of Kirill III. So then — have we truly not remembered even once since those ancient days? No — we have remembered. Otherwise, we would have long since become Tatars or started speaking French. But afterward, we kept forgetting again and again. Our affliction is a long-standing one — forgetfulness. We have forgotten something very important — perhaps the most important thing.

Let us try to remember at least a part of it.

It may be said that our creative spiritual life began with the Baptism of Rus’ under Prince Vladimir. The first commandments of God — to love Him and one’s neighbor — began to work toward the transformation of the Rus’, who had only recently been pagans, bold and merciless (history abounds with examples of this). The new worldview was not immediately and not universally understood or accepted. The pagan past, in its various manifestations, continued to make itself known for a long time. It had not been eradicated even among the princes of Rus’, quick as they were to engage in internecine conflict. As though foreseeing their coming strife, the Lord sends to the land of Rus’ saints — the passion-bearers Boris and Gleb.

Immediately after the death of Prince Vladimir, his son Sviatopolk resolved to eliminate his brothers by force and seize the grand princely throne. Boris and Gleb, offering no resistance, humbly submitted to the will of God and accepted death. This took place in 1015. Their brother Sviatoslav attempted to flee, but was overtaken and likewise killed.

Think on it — the son of a saint equal to the apostles murders his own brothers! Is this not a Biblical scene? A discerning person, even then, might have sensed that, in so doing, we became in a special way involved in the Creator’s plan — and that nothing would come easily for us from that moment on.

Our venerable father, the chronicler Nestor, perceived this keenly:

“They were united not only in body, but even more in soul, dwelling with the Master and King of all in endless joy, in inexpressible light, granting gifts of healing to the land of Rus’ and to all who come with faith from foreign lands.”
“They are intercessors for the land of Rus’, shining lamps, praying unceasingly to the Lord for their people. This is why we too must worthily praise these Christ-loving passion-bearers and pray to them with fervor.”
“The land of Rus’ is blessed by your blood, and your relics resting in the church illumine that church with the divine Spirit; there you pray with the martyrs, as martyrs yourselves, for your people. Rejoice, bright stars rising with the dawn! Christ-loving passion-bearers and our protectors! Subdue the pagans beneath the feet of our princes by your prayers to the Lord our God, that they may dwell in peace, unity, and health, being delivered from civil war and the wiles of the devil. Grant us also the same, who sing to you and honor your glorious triumph, forever unto the end of the world.”

This event is emblematic, if only because Boris and Gleb are the first saints of Rus’. It is difficult to overstate the significance of what took place. Everything is suffused with a certain sacred light, which stirs the soul and does not leave one indifferent.

“In his universal-historical prologue to the lives of the saints, Nestor evokes the whole story of humanity’s redemption in order to present, ‘in the last days,’ the Russian people as workers of the eleventh hour, newly brought into the Church. These workers, with a childlike simplicity, were captivated by the image of Christ and the pure beauty of the Gospel path.
We see the same — though a fainter — reflection of Gospel light in the holy hesitation of Prince Vladimir to execute robbers.
The Greek bishops who resolved St. Vladimir’s doubts — ‘It is right for you to execute robbers’ — would hardly have demanded from his sons a pointless sacrificial death. The holy passion-bearers Boris and Gleb did what the Church did not require… but they did what the Lord of the Vineyard expected of them — the last-hour laborers — and thus removed reproach from the sons of Rus’.
Through the lives of the holy passion-bearers, just as through the Gospel, the image of the meek and suffering Savior entered the heart of the Russian people forever as its most cherished sanctity…

Saints Boris and Gleb thus created in Rus’ a unique — though not fully liturgically defined — rank of ‘passion-bearers’ (страстотерпцы) — the most paradoxical rank among Russian saints… The final paradox of the cult of the passion-bearers is this: these saints, “non-resisters,” become after death the leaders of the heavenly hosts defending the land of Rus’ from her enemies… But this paradox, of course, is the expression of the fundamental paradox of Christianity. The Cross — the symbol of all passion-bearers — from an instrument of shameful death becomes a sign of victory…” [3]

According to S. I. Ozhegov’s explanatory dictionary, a “paradox” is “a strange opinion or statement that diverges from commonly accepted views or scientific principles, and sometimes only seemingly contradicts common sense.”

Among the commonly accepted views being imposed upon us today is the idea that Russians are a nation of slaves and barbarians, incapable of self-governance; that there is nothing in our history worth attention; that democracy, with its much-touted human rights, is the pinnacle of social organization; that the Western way of life is the only possible path to prosperity, and therefore it should be imposed by any means — even by force — upon all nations. Unfortunately, these stereotypes lie at the foundation of our own state policy today. But the paradox is this: neither these stereotypes, nor the political and economic systems born from them, nor the ruling structures that sustain them, determine the earthly or heavenly paths of Rus’, of Russia. Rus’ has her own way of the Cross — the path she is destined to follow in order ultimately to triumph.

The sacrifice of the holy passion-bearers Boris and Gleb would echo centuries later in the lives of millions of ordinary Christian people — the Old Believers — who, without guile and in Gospel meekness, accepted the will of God in the form of persecutions that fell upon them for their faith in Christ. The recognition of the greatness, and more importantly the necessity, of this spiritual struggle is an urgent task for all of us. “The feat of non-resistance is a national Russian feat — a genuine discovery of the newly-baptized people” [3].

But let us return to the history of ancient Rus’.

The struggle for the grand princely throne lasted four years. Yaroslav, the eldest son of Vladimir — called “the Wise” — succeeded in restoring the unity of Rus’. He ruled until 1054. The years of his reign became a time of political flourishing for Kievan Rus’. The Cathedral of Holy Wisdom (St. Sophia) was built, and in total, there were 400 churches in Kiev [4]. Yaroslav was a devoted Christian and a proponent of enlightenment. But during his lifetime he divided his dominion among his sons, enjoining them to preserve the unity of the Russian land together. At first, that is how it was. But the heirs quickly forgot their father’s commandments — soon came discord and internecine wars. This forgetfulness did not pass without consequences for the Russian people — the Polovtsians appeared at the borders of Rus’. The southern lands of Rus’, weary of pagan raids and internal strife, were only reunited in 1101 by Vladimir Monomakh. Soon after his death, civil wars broke out again with renewed intensity. And by 1132, “all the land of Rus’ was torn asunder.” The fragmentation of the princely dominions began. By the middle of the 12th century, there were 15 principalities and territories in Rus’; by the following century, on the eve of Batu Khan’s invasion, there were already 50, and during the reign of Ivan Kalita, the number had surpassed two and a half hundred [4].

These civil wars were often accompanied by cruelty and sacrilege. For example, in 1169, eleven princes entered Kiev. They began to plunder “Podol and the Hill, and the monasteries, and the Church of Sophia, and the Church of the Tithes of the Mother of God. And there was no mercy for anyone, from anywhere. The churches were set ablaze, Christians were killed, others were bound, women were led into captivity, torn by force from their husbands, infants wailed, looking at their mothers. And they seized great riches, and in the churches they plundered icons, books, vestments, and bells. And in Kiev, among all the people, there was lamentation and sorrow, inconsolable grief, and unceasing tears.” The ancient capital, the “mother of Russian cities,” finally lost its significance. In the years to come, Kiev was ravaged two more times. Then, in the early 13th century, Prince Rurik Rostislavich, together with his Polovtsian allies, captured Kiev and committed a terrifying massacre there [4].

Even then, the true cause of misfortune was known — apostasy from the faith. This is exactly what Metropolitan Kirill wrote about. It was not only the princes who turned away from the faith, but also their retainers — Christian warriors who convinced themselves and one another that they could live by pillage; that one could grow used to ignoring spilled blood, to the tears of women and children; that killing was normal. In truth, part of the nation lived by robbery. One wonders — did their wives and children rejoice in the plunder when their “breadwinner” returned from campaign? One wonders — did anyone ever repent for their deeds? Or did they only repent when someone stronger came and killed them and their children, and violated their wives? There was no fear of God.

That people in those times knew how one ought to live is powerfully shown in “The Instruction of Monomakh” [5], written by him for his children:

“The devil, our enemy, is overcome by three good deeds: repentance, tears, and almsgiving. For God’s sake, my children, do not be lazy, do not forget these three deeds. They are not burdensome: this is not solitude, nor monasticism, nor hunger, which some virtuous people endure. With such a small thing you may gain the mercy of God…
Listen to me: if you cannot fulfill everything, then at least half.
Ask God for the forgiveness of sins with tears — not only in church, but even as you lie down to sleep. Do not forget to make prostrations every night, for by night prostrations and prayer, a man overcomes the devil and receives the forgiveness of sins.
Even when riding on horseback and speaking to no one, instead of thinking foolish thoughts, repeat constantly in your mind: ‘Lord, have mercy!’ If you know no other prayer, this one surpasses all.
Above all, do not forget the poor. As much as you are able, feed them according to your strength. Give more to the orphan; defend the widow with your own mouth; do not allow the strong to destroy a man. Kill no one — neither innocent nor guilty — and do not order anyone to be killed.
In conversation, whatever you say, never swear by God; there is no need for it. And when you are required to kiss the cross in oath to a brother, do so with thought — can you keep the oath? Having kissed, take care not to lose your soul.
Receive blessings with love from bishops, priests, and abbots; do not turn away from them. Love and support them according to your ability, so they may pray to God for you.
Above all, have no pride in your heart or mind. Say to yourself: we are all mortal — today alive, tomorrow in the grave. All that the Lord has given us is not ours, but His, entrusted to us for a few short days. Bury nothing in the ground — it is a great sin.
Honor the old as fathers, the young as brothers. In your own household, do not be lazy; oversee everything yourself. Do not rely on your steward or servant, lest guests mock your house or your table.
When going to war, likewise do not be lazy. Do not rely on your generals. Do not give yourself over to drinking, eating, or sleeping. Appoint the watchmen yourself. Having made all arrangements, go to bed, but rise early and keep your arms close — laziness brings sudden death.
Guard against lying, drunkenness, and fornication — these vices destroy both soul and body.
If you travel across your lands, do not let your servants wrong the people — neither your own nor others — neither in villages nor in fields, so that curses may not follow you.
On the road, or wherever you stop, give drink and food to the poor. Above all, honor the guest, no matter who they are — whether common or noble, or an ambassador. If you have nothing else to give, at least offer a good meal. Travelers spread the fame — good or bad — of a man across all lands.
Visit the sick and go to the dead, for we are all mortal. Do not pass a man without greeting him; say a kind word to everyone.
Love your wives, but do not let them rule over you.
Whatever good you know — do not forget it. And whatever you do not yet know — learn it. Do not be lazy in anything good.
Above all, do not be lazy in going to church — let not the sun find you still in bed…”

Note this well: it is not a clergyman speaking these words—someone for whom such sermons are a professional obligation—but a layman, burdened with the affairs of state, active in the unification of Rus’, and constantly engaged in military campaigns. And yet he still found time to pray to God! Perhaps that is why much of what Vladimir Monomakh envisioned met with success, just as it had for his grandfather Yaroslav the Wise and great-grandfather Vladimir the Great.

The very existence of this document testifies that part of the population, in spite of everything, strove to live according to the faith. And the Russian land bore forth a host of saints, who through their prayerful labor created a unique stronghold of the Faith: the Kiev Caves Lavra (Kievo-Pecherskaya Lavra), which no one has been able to destroy throughout all the centuries. It is difficult to trace the chronology of the saints who appeared at the Lavra [6], but it can nevertheless be noted that the highest peak occurred during the golden period — the first 100 to 150 years of Christianity in Rus’.

It is said that the Lord sends saints at times when their spiritual struggles can serve as examples, when they are needed by the people, when society is capable of recognizing a miracle — and of taking part in the miracle itself. Apparently, this is what happened: Orthodoxy was accepted by the people.

This was the beginning of Holy Rus’.

But the backsliding from the commandments of God continued — for paganism was too deeply rooted in the Slavic soul. Strife and civil wars, raids by the Polovtsians, forced people to flee their homelands. In search of refuge, they migrated north and northeast — to places where life was still relatively peaceful. This was the first exodus of the Russian people. And at the same time, somewhere far off, beyond the bounds of our imagination, a monstrous pagan power of the steppe was maturing. That power grew stronger the further we strayed from the covenants of our holy fathers.

Here we must pay attention to the first milestone in a sorrowful pattern — the punishments for our sins, in which we can trace the living involvement of the Lord, as though He wants us to recognize His hand: the punishment for our paganism came at the hands of pagans. Later, in the same meaningful way, came the Poles, the French, the Jews, and the Germans. For couldn’t the Poles, Swedes, or Germans—or all of them together—have ripened for an invasion just as early? And yet it was the Tatars who came. The point is that even in this time of harsh trial, the Lord had not abandoned us. He protected us from the Latins.

And what of the Tatars? Yes, it was shameful to beg for princely charters, to journey to the Horde, to abase ourselves, to pay tribute. Yes, the Tatars mixed their blood with ours, ravaged our cities and villages, and carried off captives.

But the Tatars did not meddle with the soul!

A completely different matter were the Catholics, with their “missionary” activities.

Thus, during Batu’s campaigns in Rus’ from 1237 to 1240, to reinforce the Order of the Swordbearers, which had entrenched itself in the Baltic lands and was preparing for “missionary” work in Rus’, detachments of Teutonic knights were sent in. A stab in the back was being prepared for a Russia already lying in ruins. The Swedes, not waiting for the Order’s support, launched an invasion on their own in 1240. Evidently, they wanted to reap the spoils of victory for themselves. But the seventeen-year-old Prince of Novgorod, Alexander, decisively defeated the Swedes. And during this, a miracle occurred. Pelgusy, an Izhorian who had converted to Christianity, was on night watch several days before the battle and saw the holy passion-bearers Boris and Gleb, riding in a boat among rowers “cloaked in mist,” with their hands laid on each other’s shoulders… “Brother Gleb,” said Boris, “command the rowers, that we may go to help our kinsman Alexander.” And after the battle, a great number of enemy corpses were discovered in a place that Alexander’s army could not possibly have reached [1].

The people gave Alexander the name “Nevsky,” and the Church later glorified him as a saint. He would go on to fight the German knights on the ice of Lake Peipus in 1242. And once again, there was a glorious victory.

The Roman Pope, with no hesitation, proposed an alliance to this same Alexander in 1248—on the condition, of course, that the prince recognize the supremacy of the Vatican. Not just a Christian offer of help, though not long before they had belonged to the same Church. No—there was a condition! And if you refuse, we will not help at all. History knows many examples that demonstrate that Rome would not have helped Rus’ in any case. One of the most striking examples is its “help” to Byzantium against the Turks in 1204, which ended in the sack and devastation of Constantinople by the Crusaders. According to one version of the story, they even seized the icon of Christ Not-Made-by-Hands from Constantinople, but the Lord did not allow such sacrilege: the ship carrying the icon sank during a storm.

And what was Prince Daniil Romanovich of Galicia-Volhynia thinking, when he was crowned and anointed by a papal legate in 1253? After all, he had promised the Pope to place his lands under papal ecclesiastical authority (read: the Unia) in exchange for help in the fight against the Tatars. Surely the prince could not have been unaware that Constantinople was still in the hands of the Latins (it would only be liberated by Michael Palaiologos in 1261). Or were thirteen years enough time to forget that divine sign—the miracle on the Neva? Perhaps that is why the Lord withdrew His protection from Rus’ for so long, and the Tatars returned for another 230 years? As for the Galician-Volhynian principality (or was it a kingdom?), it did not last long after that, and was partitioned between Poland, Lithuania, and Hungary [4].

It was the same old mistake all over again in 1439, when a fading Byzantium accepted the Union of Florence. A few years later, the Turks took Constantinople, and Byzantium ceased to exist forever.

To warn the Russians against accepting union with Rome, the Lord continued to give signs, sending saints to the Kiev Caves Lavra. Two examples may serve to illustrate this [6].

Venerable Theodor Danilovich, Prince of Ostrog, a descendant of Daniil of Galicia who lived in the first half of the 15th century, was known for his zeal in defending Orthodoxy. At that time, the Grand Duchy of Lithuania was locked in intense struggle with Poland. For Orthodox Christians, it was advantageous to avoid dependence on Poland, and Theodor became well known for his role in this cause. After handing over his princely power and honor to his brother Vasily, Theodor entered the monastic life at the Caves Monastery. There, “laboring diligently for his salvation and to please God, he adorned his soul with every virtue.”

Venerable Theophilus, Archbishop of Novgorod from 1472, became renowned not only for his piety, but also for defending Orthodoxy during the 1478 uprising in Novgorod, when some of the rebels wanted to place the city under the protection of Lithuania. Shortly before his death, as he arrived at the Dnieper River, the Lord appeared to him and foretold his death, promising to receive his soul and commanding that his body be laid in the cave of the Kiev Caves Lavra.

There seems to be a kind of law of holiness, somewhat resembling the law of conservation of mass or energy. Only this law does not mean that if holiness decreases slightly in one place, it will increase by the same amount elsewhere. No — if holiness diminishes even slightly in one place, then in that same place a great deal of corruption immediately appears. Or, more simply: “A holy place is never empty.” When did this proverb arise? Probably in those same distant times — but we constantly forget its spiritual meaning.

If we follow this proverb, then the Tatar-Mongol invasion was entirely consistent. With the Lord, nothing is accidental. Everything follows a divine order. The devastation of the first wave of the Tatar invasion was so horrific that it became clear: Rus’ did not yet have the strength to liberate herself.

And then — a miracle occurred! Moscow began to rise. The ascent of Moscow was unexpected to contemporaries and remains difficult to explain for later historians [4]. Scholars have identified several major contributing factors [5, 7]. First, a demographic one — as people from southern Rus’ continuously migrated to the north and northeast during the Polovtsian raids. Second, Moscow’s advantageous geographic location, with its control of river routes. Third, the resulting economic benefits. Some theories suggest that the favor of the Golden Horde, influenced by the personalities of the Moscow princes, played a role. Another opinion is that Moscow, where in 1325 the residence of the Metropolitan of All Rus’ was transferred, became the spiritual center of the Russian lands. However, this explanation was not taken very seriously, for it raised a reasonable question: why then did Kiev — which had once been the Metropolitan’s seat — not regain, but rather lose, its former significance?

Vasily Klyuchevsky [7], asserting that there is insufficient data to fully explain Moscow’s rise, writes that there are certain “indirect indications,” “in which we detect mysterious historical forces at work in preparing the Moscow principality from the very moment of its appearance. The activity of these forces is expressed primarily in the economic conditions that sustained the city’s growth, and these conditions derive from its geographical position in connection with the course of Russian colonization of the Volga-Oka river region.”

What are these “indirect indications” and “mysterious forces”? Klyuchevsky does not say. But evidently the historian sensed some mystery, since he wrote as much. And it is all the more striking to read other pages of his research, where it seems he came very close to uncovering the truth. Let us quote several excerpts from his writings.

While studying the issue of monastic landholdings in Rus’, Klyuchevsky noted the following phenomenon [7]:

“From the 14th century, we observe an important shift in the pattern of monastic expansion, particularly in the north. Previously, almost all monasteries — in both southern and northern Russia — had been built in cities or in their immediate outskirts. It was rare to encounter a pustyn’ (hermitage) — a small monastery founded far from cities, in wild, uninhabited areas, typically in dense forest.
In the early centuries of our Christian history, the eremitic lifestyle developed very slowly among us; such forest monasteries appeared only sporadically among the more common urban and suburban establishments. Of the more than 100 monasteries known to have existed before the end of the 13th century, we count fewer than ten pustynki (small hermitages), most of which date from the 13th century itself.
But starting in the 14th century, the movement into the forest wilderness began to grow rapidly and vigorously among northern Russian monasticism.
The number of wilderness monasteries founded in that century equaled the number of new urban monasteries (42 and 42). In the 15th century, they outnumbered the urban ones by more than two to one (57 and 27), and in the 16th century by one and a half times (51 and 35).
Thus, over these three centuries, in the territory of Muscovite Rus’, as far as is known, 150 wilderness monasteries and 104 urban or suburban ones were founded.”

On the inside back cover of the referenced volume, a map shows the spread of monasteries [4]. It is evident how Moscow “surrounded” itself with monasteries on all sides.

“Some founders of these wilderness monasteries became hermits straight from the secular world, even before taking monastic vows — such was the case of Venerable Sergius of Radonezh. But the majority underwent monastic training in an existing monastery, usually also a hermitage, and then withdrew into the forest to found new remote communities, which served as ‘colonies’ of the older ones.
Three-quarters of the hermitages of the 14th and 15th centuries were such colonies, established when their founders left other monasteries — mostly hermitages themselves.
The hermitage fostered in its brethren, at least among the most spiritually sensitive, a particular disposition; a unique outlook on the calling of monasticism developed there.
The founder had once gone into the forest to save his soul in silent seclusion, convinced that it was impossible to do so amidst the noise and clamor of the world. Others who also sought silence would gather around him and establish a pustynka.
The severity of life and the glory of ascetic feats drew not only pilgrims and donors from afar, but also peasants who settled around the now-wealthy monastery, seeing it as both a spiritual and economic anchor. They cleared the surrounding forest, founded settlements and villages, cultivated fields, and, in the words of the Life of Venerable Sergius of Radonezh, ‘made the wilderness fruitful.’
Here, monastic colonization met peasant settlement and served as its unwitting guide. Thus, in the place of a solitary hermit’s hut, a populous, wealthy, and bustling monastery would arise.
But among the brethren, there was often a disciple of the founder who was burdened by the noise and riches unbecoming to monastic life. Faithful to the spirit and legacy of his teacher, he would receive his blessing and leave for another untouched wilderness — and there, by the same pattern, a new hermitage would arise.
Sometimes, even the founder himself would do this — not once, but multiple times — abandoning his own monastery to repeat the same spiritual labor in a new forest.
Thus, from isolated and scattered local events, a vast colonization movement took shape, which, radiating from a few central locations, over the course of four centuries, penetrated the most inaccessible wildernesses and filled the dense forests of central and northern Russia with monasteries.”

“First of all, the forest hermitage monastery — in its wooden or stone enclosure — was, in and of itself, a kind of agricultural settlement, though unlike worldly peasant villages. The monks cleared forest, planted gardens, ploughed, and mowed hay, just like the peasants. But the monastery’s influence extended beyond its walls, to the population living outside it.

We soon observe how worldly peasant settlements began to form around hermitage monasteries. These, together with the monastic brethren, became a single parish centered on the monastic church. Later, the monastery might vanish, but the parish with its monastic church remained. Thus, the movement of hermitage monasteries also became the movement of future rural parishes — most of which were the first in their region.

Secondly, where the monks went, the peasant population followed. For both, the path lay in the open wilderness of the north and northeast — where the peasant could clear the wild forest for tilling, and the monk could practice silence and prayer. It’s not always possible to tell whether the monks led the peasants, or the peasants the monks, but the connection between the two movements is clear.
Thus, the directions taken by the forest hermitages serve as indicators of those unknown paths by which the peasant population spread.”

Here we must pause and make a small but, it seems, very important clarification. Along those same routes, the Faith also spread. And this was a purely popular movement — uncontrolled by any institution, and not imposed by force. This meant that the people were drawn to the Faith, followed it, saw in it not only salvation for the life to come, but salvation even here on earth, in the midst of wild nature.

It turns out that miracles really do happen if you believe: there, all around, are strife, civil wars, Tatars, and Latins — but here in Muscovy it is quiet and peaceful; one can work, raise children, and no one will take them, no one will kill them. Everything is done rightly, everything is just. Klyuchevsky notes [7] that “after the Tatar devastation, for over a century — until Olgerd’s first raid in 1368 — the land of Moscow was perhaps the only region of Northern Rus’ that did not suffer, or suffered very little, from destruction. At the very least, during all that time — aside from the Tatar invasion of 1293, which did seize Moscow — the chronicles record no such disasters.” The Tatar invasion of 1293 was more devastating for Rus’ than Batu’s. Moscow also suffered. In 1368, Olgerd did not take Moscow but only plundered its surroundings [5]. Tokhtamysh burned Moscow in 1382, but, upon learning that reinforcements were approaching [5], he withdrew — meaning it was more of a raid than a full invasion. In 1408, the Golden Horde ruler Edigu besieged Moscow for three weeks but, after receiving alarming news of rebellion in the Horde, lifted the siege. Thus, from 1293 until the stand on the Ugra River in 1480 — nearly 200 years (!) — there was relative peace.

Can we name any other such blessed period of time in our history?

And this was during the Tatar Yoke!

This was the continuation of Holy Rus’!

SOURCES

1. V.A. Keltuyala. Course in the History of Russian Literature. Part I, Book Two. St. Petersburg: M. Stasyulevich Press, 1911.

2. Metropolitan Ioann. The Russian Knot. St. Petersburg: Tsarskoye Delo, 2000. 405 pages.

3. G.I. Fedorov. Saints of Ancient Rus’. Series: “Historical Silhouettes.” Rostov-on-Don: “Phoenix,” 1999. 384 pages.

4. Children’s Encyclopedia. Vol. 5, Part 1: History of Russia and Its Neighbors. Compiled by S.T. Ismailova. Moscow: Avanta+, 1995. 670 pages, illustrated.

5. S.M. Solovyov. Collected Works in 18 Volumes: History of Russia from the Earliest Times. Moscow: Mysl’, 1988. 765 pages.

6. The Kiev Caves Patericon. Kiev: Lybid’, 1991. 256 pages.

7. V.O. Klyuchevsky. Course in Russian History. Collected Works in Nine Volumes. Vol. 2, Part 2. Moscow: Mysl’, 1987. 447 pages.

8. N.M. Karamzin. History of the Russian State. In 4 books. Moscow: Kniga, 1989.

9. N.I. Kostomarov. Sketch of Domestic Life and Customs of the Great Russian People in the 16th–17th Centuries. Moscow: Respublika, 1992. 303 pages.

10. N.I. Kostomarov. Russian History in the Biographies of Its Major Figures. Moscow: Kniga, 1990.

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