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.
11. Children’s Encyclopedia. Vol. 1: World History. Compiled by S.T. Ismailova. Moscow: Avanta+, 1996. 704 pages.
12. F.E. Melnikov. A Brief History of the Ancient Orthodox (Old Believer) Church. Barnaul: Barnaul State Pedagogical University Press, 1999. 557 pages.
13. S. Denisov. The History of the Fathers and Martyrs of Solovki. Moscow: 2000.
14. S. Fomin. Rus’ Before the Second Coming. Zhytomyr: SMP / Riko-Press-Reklama, 1995. 576 pages.
15. N.I. Kostomarov. The Schism: Historical Monographs and Studies. Moscow: Charli, 1994. 608 pages.
16. B. Bashilov. The History of Russian Freemasonry. Issues 7 and 8. Moscow: Nash Sovremennik, 1995. 128 pages.
17. St. John Chrysostom. Selected Homilies: A Collection of Homilies on the Ten Commandments. Reprint by the Transfiguration Mhar Monastery, 2001. 589 pages.

source

The conquest of Siberia cannot be explained by anything other than a miracle — it occurred so easily and naturally, as if in reward for the unity of the people with God: “Be fruitful and multiply!” A great movement of Russians eastward began. The Russian state stretched immeasurably across the vast taiga. This was no longer an exodus, but a settlement. In time, there was also a reunification with Orthodox Little Russia.

Yet unfortunately, there always seemed to be two peoples. One prayed for salvation, was saved, and saved others. The other, with every vice, dragged the nation into the abyss.

The events of the Time of Troubles at the beginning of the 17th century had their roots as far back as the reign of Ivan III, but more so in that of his son, Vasily III. Under Ivan, there were merely signs; Vasily, by his actions, made a decisive turn toward infatuation with foreign customs.

N.M. Karamzin [8] writes:

“European arts were transplanted to us with astonishing ease, for Ivan and Vasily, inspired by truly great minds, diligently sought to adapt them to Russia, having neither the prejudice of superstition nor fear nor stubbornness; and we, obedient to the will of our rulers, quickly learned to esteem these fruits of civil education, which are not the property of any one faith or language, but of humanity.”

Such enthusiasm is understandable coming from Karamzin, who for a time had Masonic affiliations. In his era, “Enlightenment” as imported from the West was received with enormous hope — even servility. Of Vasily III, Karamzin further writes [8]:

“He followed the path laid out for him by his father’s wisdom, and did not stray from it, moving forward with prudence, without fits of passion. Drawing near to the goal — the greatness of Russia — he left his heirs neither the burden nor the glory of correcting his mistakes. He was no genius, but a good ruler; he loved the state more than his own exalted name, and in that regard, he deserves true, eternal praise — a distinction few crowned heads can claim. Ivans III create, Ivans IV glorify (and often destroy); Vasiliys preserve and secure the state, and are given to peoples whose long endurance and integrity please Providence.”

Let us ask: was it pleasing to the Lord that “wishing to be a father, the sovereign resolved upon a deed cruel from a moral point of view — mercilessly rejecting from his side his innocent, virtuous wife, who for twenty years had lived only for his happiness, casting her into grief, shame, and despair; breaking the sacred law of love and gratitude” [8]? Vasily confined his wife Solomonia to a convent and married… Elena Glinskaya, “to the astonishment of our boyars, who never imagined that the family of foreign traitors could be honored with such a match” [8]. “Loving his young wife, Vasily wanted to please her not only by kindness, but by a youthful appearance that was fading — he shaved his beard and took pains with his looks” [8]. He was around 50 years old. And who could be born of such a union? Of course — the “continuator” of his father’s legacy, the future Tsar Ivan IV. Vasily III died of a putrid abscess, leaving his three-year-old son under the regency of Elena. “During her four years of rule, in the name of the young Grand Prince, two of his father’s full brothers and an uncle on his mother’s side were executed; a cousin was thrown into prison, and many noble families were disgraced” [8].

And what of the people? “Even the common folk — some out of natural compassion, others following the Nomocanon — condemned Vasily” [8]. Still others, as shown in the materials of the Stoglav Council of 1551 [8], “crowd into taverns, gamble, ruin themselves. Men and women bathe together in public baths, which even monks and nuns shamelessly attend. They eat blood and sausages against the canons of the Ecumenical Councils; following Latin custom, they shave their beards, trim their mustaches, wear foreign clothes, swear falsely by the name of God and blaspheme; and worst of all — for which God punishes Christians with war, famine, and plague — they fall into the sin of Sodom.” We have found no specific source attesting to widespread Polish influence at the time, but considering that during the Time of Troubles the Poles came to us, it stands to reason that Polish clothing, hairstyles, and customs had already begun to be adopted.

The Bible speaks clearly and directly: “Ye shall not mar the corners of your beard” (Leviticus 19:27). If an Orthodox tsar disregards such a stern command, it clearly cannot be without consequence. The outward appearance of a beardless ruler reflects his inner corruption. Unlike us, contemporaries could not help but perceive this connection. And perhaps the brutal reign of his son Ivan the Terrible and the subsequent long Time of Troubles were seen as entirely logical outcomes.

Is it really so important — to shave or not to shave the beard? There’s little point in overthinking it if one treats the Bible as the God-inspired Book. He who shaves his beard seems to imply that the Creator made a mistake in creating man with one. It is a kind of defiance toward God. And punishment is inevitable. We are not told in what form it will come. The idea that an entire nation, even future generations, could pay for the “indiscretions” of a vain king seems strange to us. We say, “Now the whole world shaves with triple blades and nothing happens.” But things do happen — we just no longer see the connection. We look for causes on the surface, like “reasonable” people. And even when we look deeper, we look in the wrong direction. Then again, even on the surface we often fail to notice what is obvious. Perhaps the constant desire of men to have smooth, feminine faces distorts their very nature — and it is not by chance that the number of sodomites continues to grow? Perhaps women, too, having come to love the convenience of short haircuts, acquire masculine traits of willpower and gradually push men out of their traditional spheres? Are we not, then, paying the price for having abandoned what seem like minor Biblical instructions?

Many events, through which we are given signs from the Most High, appear deliberately emphasized — vivid and tangible. Perhaps this is so that later, when we find ourselves in historical dead ends, we may still easily re-establish cause and effect — and, more importantly, find the saving path. He who thinks that, just because we are not permitted to fully comprehend God’s Providence, we need not even try — he is deeply mistaken. The signs God sends are filled with Divine Simplicity — and it is that simplicity that reveals the meaning of what takes place.

The spiritual corruption of the father and the mortal sin of the mother were passed down to the future Ivan IV. Yet the first period of his reign was marked by the beneficial influence of his beloved wife Anastasia — prayerful, wise, and merciful. The state grew stronger, and important and necessary reforms were carried out. But with Anastasia’s death, “he lost not only a wife, but his virtue as well” [8]. The tsar’s moral character changed. “Toward his slaves, given him by God, he was exceedingly hard-hearted, bold and merciless in shedding blood and murder” — such is how contemporaries saw him. Moreover, Ivan the Terrible increasingly venerated foreign ways, claiming descent from German blood, and excused his atrocities to foreigners by saying that he “ruled not over men, but over beasts” [9].

Kostomarov also suggested that it was Ivan IV who invented the practice of enriching the treasury by promoting drunkenness [10].

All of this led to the end of the Rurik dynasty.

Boris Godunov failed to learn from history. In his pursuit of the tsarist throne, he committed numerous crimes. But let us note one particular detail [10]: “None of the former Moscow tsars showed as much favor to foreigners as Boris did.”

Thus began the Time of Troubles…

It seems that every nation has its own “time of troubles.” But here, we must turn our attention to events in Byzantium — a nation spiritually akin to our own — during the early centuries of the second millennium.

After the death of Emperor Basil II in 1025, Byzantium was the strongest state in Europe [11]. But internal discord between the capital’s elite and the provincial nobility led to civil strife, and Byzantium suffered a crushing defeat in the war against a new wave of Muslim invaders — the Seljuk Turks. In 1071, the empire lost control over all of Asia Minor. The emperors of the Komnenos dynasty (1081–1180) managed to consolidate forces and revived imperial glory for nearly another century. The Komnenoi entered history as “Westernizing” emperors. Despite the schism between the Orthodox and Catholic Churches in 1054, they appealed to Western European kingdoms for aid in their fight against the Turks — the first time in imperial history such a thing occurred. Constantinople became the assembly point for participants in the First and Second Crusades. Surrounded by Western knights, the Komnenoi came to resemble Western European monarchs. But their century-long reign ended in turmoil and civil war.

The new dynasty of the Angeli (1185–1204) only deepened the crisis. Their patronage of Italian merchants dealt an irreparable blow to native Byzantine craft and commerce. The catastrophe was inevitable: in 1204, the Latins captured Constantinople, and for nearly fifty years, the Latin Empire of the Crusaders was established in place of the Roman Empire.

Could our rulers of the 16th and early 17th centuries have learned from Byzantium’s fate? Of course they could. But they did not. As a result, a Catholic — the pretender False Dmitry — ascended the throne. He had a Catholic Polish woman, Marina Mniszech, crowned as tsarina without converting to Orthodoxy. The Poles were secretly admitted into Moscow, and even the Polish prince Vladislav was offered the Russian throne.

The apostasy at that time was flagrant, yet the Lord still gave us time to draw conclusions from the recent Time of Troubles. But again, we missed our chance. Mikhail Romanov — and especially his son Alexei — only increased the influence of foreign customs.

Speaking from a secular standpoint, one might try to justify these rulers. Perhaps their intentions were good. Perhaps it seemed that a modern army could only be formed with the help of foreign mercenaries; that granting privileges to foreign merchants at the expense of native traders could boost commerce; that inviting foreign doctors could protect the health of the royal family and court; that sending the most talented children to the German Quarter might advance education, culture, and so forth. But as the saying goes, “the road to hell is paved with good intentions.” What happened alongside these choices was the adoption of customs, manners, and habits that were not always morally upright. Even if the signs of reverence for foreign Catholic and Protestant ways were still minor — and mostly confined to the cities — the threat to Orthodoxy was already visible.

And then the Lord permitted a Schism in the Church.

What followed defies human reason. It surpasses human understanding. A reform of the Church was conceived and carried out by Patriarch Nikon and Tsar Alexei Mikhailovich Romanov. The pretext was a familiar one — the correction of books, the clarification of rites. There is nothing inherently wrong in this, of course: books had always been corrected, since errors could creep in during copying. All participants in the events to come — even those who would later become opponents — agreed that some reform was necessary.

But the hidden mechanisms, and especially the methods by which the reform was imposed, raise the question: was it sabotage? Of course, it is unlikely that Nikon or Tsar Alexei deliberately sought to sabotage the Church — but evidently, their weaknesses were skillfully exploited. Nikon’s vanity, ambition, and harsh character, and Alexei’s poor governance and shortsightedness, were manipulated. One imagined himself as a universal patriarch, the other — as the protector of the entire Slavic world.

At the Council of 1666–1667, the old rites were anathematized. The goal of the reform was to unify the liturgical practice of the Russian Church with that of the Greeks. In the eyes of the people, this newly reformed Orthodoxy came to be known as “Nikonianism.”

The illogic of the “reformers” is best illustrated by the following examples:

1. The two-finger sign of the cross — with which, unquestionably, all Russian saints had blessed themselves, beginning with St. Olga — was anathematized. Yet, theologically, the two-finger sign is more grounded in dogma, and it is also the more ancient. It was replaced by the three-finger sign. Thus, all Russian saints fell under the anathema. F.E. Melnikov, a noted 19th–20th-century Old Believer historian and writer [12], comparing the two-finger and three-finger signs, wrote:

“In the two-finger sign, the index finger represents the human nature of Christ, while the next — the great middle finger — represents the divine nature of the Son of God. According to catechetical instruction, this finger must be bent at the top joint, signifying the belief that ‘the Lord bowed the heavens and came down to earth.’
The remaining fingers — the thumb and the last two — are joined together to represent the Holy Trinity.
As we see, the two-finger arrangement involves all five fingers: it proclaims both the Holy Trinity and the two natures of Christ. But in the act of crossing oneself or blessing, only two fingers touch the forehead, abdomen, and shoulders.
Theologically and dogmatically, the two-finger sign is a fully Orthodox confession. Most importantly — it clearly and explicitly expresses, and, if we may so say, demonstrates or manifests the central essence of Christianity: the crucifixion and death of the God-Man on the cross, and with Him the co-crucifixion of all mankind.
‘We preach Christ crucified,’ proclaims the Apostle Paul (1 Corinthians 1:23). The same is said — and shown — by the two-finger sign. It is essential and visual: a Gospel and apostolic proclamation.”

The three-finger sign, by contrast, contains neither this central Christian confession nor the apostolic preaching. The 1667 Council dogmatized:

“The sign of the precious and life-giving Cross shall be made upon oneself with the first three fingers of the right hand: the thumb, the index finger beside it, and the middle finger, joined together in the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit; the other two — the little finger and the ring finger — shall be bent and idle.”

Not a single word is said about the Son of God as the God-Man, as Jesus Christ, who suffered on the Cross. There is no confession of Him in the three-finger sign. It is a sign devoid of the God-Man, devoid of Christ the Savior. Not even a statement is made that in the Holy Trinity, He is confessed in two natures.

How could pious people of that time renounce the two-finger sign — the true sign of Christ — and accept the three-finger sign, which entirely omits the confession of Christ the God-Man? With such a sign, stripped of Christ, the cross is drawn upon a person. In this way, the Holy Trinity is symbolically crucified on the cross without Christ, without His humanity, without Man. At the very least, in this perverse sign, we see the rejection of the essence of Christianity itself — its heart, its central meaning and purpose. Such a three-finger sign could only be accepted either by those who did not understand the meaning of Christianity or by those compelled through force.

2. The corrections to the service books were not carried out using ancient manuscripts, but with whatever texts were at hand — including newly printed Greek editions, sometimes even published in Venice. As it turned out, the new books were significantly worse than the old ones. This was stated not only by Old Believer historians. Similar research was undertaken even by supporters of Nikon, such as B.P. Kutuzov, precentor of the Spassky Cathedral at the Andronikov Monastery. His work Church Reform of the 17th Century: Its True Causes and Goals was first published in two volumes by the Old Orthodox Pomorian Church in Riga in 1992. Kutuzov argues that the textual revisions amounted to a kind of sabotage, operating on the principle “the worse, the better.” He points out numerous errors and inaccuracies, writing:

“There were ‘mistakes’ of a more serious kind — the presence of which plainly indicates that under the guise of correction, an ideological diversion was being carried out.”

Here is one example.

An old baptismal prayer read:

“We pray Thee, O Lord, let not the evil spirit descend upon the one being baptized.”
The new version read:
“Let not the evil spirit descend upon the one being baptized, we pray Thee.”
This alteration remained in use until 1915.

3. Another question arose: in what had the Greeks actually succeeded, if Byzantium no longer existed and the Ecumenical Patriarch of Constantinople now resided under Turkish rule?
4. Even if all of the above were false, the unchristian methods of enforcing the “reforms” would still be inexcusable.

The fate of the Solovetsky Monastery is especially telling in this regard. It was described by the renowned 18th-century Old Believer author Simeon Denisov [13]. We summarize this tragic yet remarkable story using Denisov’s account.

The newly printed service books were brought to the Solovetsky Monastery from Kholmogory in 1657 by the elder Joseph. At that time, the first archimandrite of the Solovetsky community, Elias, said:

“Fathers and brethren! Let my advice be pleasing to you. Let us accept the books sent by the patriarch, lest we provoke his anger needlessly. But having examined their inconsistencies and opposition to the laws of God, we shall have a firm basis for our resistance.”

The monastery did not accept Nikon’s reform. Services were conducted according to the old books and rites. Word of the monastery’s careful preservation of liturgical piety spread throughout Russia. Many monks and laypeople flocked to the monastery. Archimandrite Nicanor, formerly the tsar’s confessor who had retired to the monastery in 1660, was summoned to Moscow by the tsar.

“But the Solovetsky fathers, having taken counsel together, wrote a prayerful petition to the tsar, in which they begged the sovereign to permit them to live according to the ancient rules and traditions of their fathers.”

As support, they cited not only the old-printed and manuscript books of Moscow and Belarus, but also the Serbian and Ostrog editions, and conciliar and personal affirmations from Russian hierarchs — many of whom had affirmed the old rites in their own handwriting — as well as the testimony of Greek holy teachers. They invoked the memory of wonderworking saints, both Solovetsky and others across Rus’, who had likewise transmitted and commanded the unaltered preservation of these traditions in their monasteries. They referred to the universal pious practice of the Russian Church, which had been received from the Greeks under Prince Vladimir (the Holy) and preserved without deviation to the present day — this, they declared, was affirmed by the icons with Greek inscriptions. Regarding these unchanged traditions and holy customs, the monks begged, pleaded, and exhorted the sovereign to let them preserve them unaltered. They swore before God that they would never accept the new decrees established by Nikon, lest they fall under the curses of the holy fathers:

“And if the wrath of the tsar be greatly kindled against us, we are ready not only to endure hardship and tribulation, but to seal the statutes of the holy fathers with our own blood and the laying down of our lives.”

With this prayerful petition, Archimandrite Nicanor and Archimandrite Bartholomew of Solovki traveled to Moscow, “to pacify the tsar’s anger which had been kindled against the monastery.” Archimandrite Nicanor made many appeals to the tsar, but he was unrelenting — “the tsar’s anger only grew.” A council was convened in 1666–1667.

Afterward, the monks were repeatedly “advised, entreated, coaxed, and threatened” to accept the new books. “But they stood firm as adamant, upholding ancient ecclesiastical piety; against all persuasion they stood like a tower against the wind. They desired to fulfill in deed what they had declared in word in their petition to the tsar: ‘Better to desire death for the sake of piety than to accept anything from the innovations.’”

And so, troops were sent to Solovki. This happened in 1670. A nearly seven-year siege of the monastery began. For those who wish to know the details, we recommend reading Denisov; we will only continue the account briefly. As always happens in such cases, a Judas appeared. It was a certain monk named Theoktist, who revealed a secret passage to the besiegers. On January 22, 1676, the attackers broke into the monastery. Voivode Meshcherinov sent a messenger to Moscow, joyfully announcing the fall of the stronghold.

It is painful to read the accounts of executions and tortures inflicted upon the monks and defenders of the monastery. We will quote only one passage:

“…the voivode interrogated Khrisanf, a master woodcarver, and Theodor, a wise icon painter, along with his disciple Andrei — men as renowned in the monastery as they were fervently devoted to piety. Seeing that they stood firm and unwavering in the traditions of the fathers, he ordered them to be executed in the most brutal manner: their hands and feet were to be severed, and then their heads. These blessed ones, who received such a death with holy zeal and divine sweetness, were beheaded and thus departed by this most bitter death to the all-sweetest bliss.
The voivode then ordered that around sixty other monks and laybrothers be brought from under guard. Having interrogated them in various ways, and finding them firm and steadfast in ancient ecclesiastical piety, he boiled over in furious wrath and prepared for them diverse executions. Some he ordered hanged by the neck, others by the feet, and the majority — after slitting their sides with sharp iron and hooking them through the ribs — were suspended, each upon his own hook.
The blessed martyrs, with joy, placed their necks into the nooses, prepared their feet for the path to heaven, and offered their ribs to be cut, even urging the executioners to cut them deeper. Suffering these inhuman torments with such unheard-of courage and unspeakable zeal, they ascended to eternal rest in heaven.
Others, the merciless tormentor ordered bound by the legs and dragged across the island behind horses until they expired. Yet they, though dragged with such cruelty and torment, showed no cowardice, no childish weakness, but repeated the Jesus Prayer and had the name of Christ the Son of God upon their lips. Thus, with holy and righteous struggle, they released their souls to eternal peace.
The voivode, having interrogated the remaining inhabitants of the monastery — monks, laybrothers, servants, and laborers — found them all strong in spirit and of one mind, standing in the old ecclesiastical piety, ready to die for the traditions of their fathers. Subjecting them to many tortures and wounds, various torments and afflictions, he deprived them of this earthly life with the most bitter and painful deaths.”

Among those tortured was Archimandrite Nicanor, the former confessor of the tsar.

In total, around 400 monks and laybrothers were martyred. A few survived — by miracle.

At that very time in Moscow, a week before the executions — which coincided with the fall of the monastery — Tsar Alexei unexpectedly fell ill. Evidently realizing the cause of his affliction, he dispatched a messenger to Solovki to lift the siege. But, as you might guess, it was too late. On January 29, the tsar died. Denisov writes:

“And when the voivode wrought such bloodshed, ravaging the assembly of wonderworkers, when he offered up this bloody sacrifice — then, at the eighth hour of that day, the sovereign gave up the crown of his reign, relinquished his power over the world, and died from this life.”

He was 47 years old and had never complained of poor health.

The two messengers met in Vologda.

The fate of the traitor Theoktist was dreadful. After the monastery was taken, he was sent to the administrative offices in Vologda, and — by God’s judgment — lost his mind, fell into vile passions and lewd defilements. Then he was struck with an incurable illness — corpse-like leprosy. His whole body, from head to toe, became covered in festering sores. Tormented by this severe affliction, wracked with unbearable pain, he suffered long and grievously and gave up his wicked soul in terror.

The bodies of the martyrs were not buried — perhaps due to the winter, or perhaps the Lord willed that the crime be publicly revealed. In any case, those who arrived on the island in June saw a miraculous sight:

“…on the sea ice near the shore, where the bodies of the fathers lay, the ice had neither melted nor decayed under the warmth of the sun and the summer heat. It remained unmoving, like solid rock, like unbreakable adamant. It stood firm and unshaken, and by this supernatural sign — a miracle manifest — it declared more loudly than any trumpet the pious suffering of the fathers and the holiness of their remains, striking with awe the hearts of all who beheld it.
In those spring days, under such scorching sunlight, not only did the ice beneath the saints remain firm, but the blessed martyrs’ bodies — lying upon the sea ice, hanging on gallows, or scattered across the island — showed no decay, no stench as is common with corpses. Instead, they lay as if alive, as though peacefully sleeping — like blossoms in a field, like lilies in the valleys — blooming with heavenly grace.
The new overseers of the monastery, astonished at these signs and wonders, wrote to the tsar requesting permission to remove and bury the bodies of the holy fathers, which had lain exposed for so long.
Those who were there recount that the blessed martyrs appeared in dreams to some of the commanders, saying: ‘If you wish to see the ice melt, then bury our bodies. Until they are interred, the ice will not thaw.’
When the tsar’s decree arrived, ordering that the bodies of the holy martyrs be buried, they were carefully gathered from all over the island.”

Denisov was almost a contemporary of these events (he was born in 1682 — the same year Archpriest Avvakum and his companions were burned at the stake in Pustozersk). The memory of these tragic and miraculous events was still fresh among the people; they were still being lived and felt. This is reflected in the author’s style — one believes him from the first lines.

How lacking in faith one must have been, to ignore the signs sent to the Romanovs! But they did not heed them. They began burning those who resisted the innovations. It seemed they had found a way to erase them without a trace. According to F.E. Melnikov [12]:

“In Moscow itself, cabins and pyres blazed.”

He continues:

“At the insistence of Patriarch Joachim, Princess Sophia issued, in 1685, twelve fearsome articles against the people of ancient piety, rightly known in history as the ‘Draconian Articles.’ In them, followers of the ancient Russian Church — the Old Believers — were labeled ‘schismatics,’ ‘thieves,’ and enemies of the Church, and were sentenced to the most dreadful punishments.
Those who spread the old faith were to be ‘tortured and burned in a cabin, and their ashes scattered.’”

And the holy ashes scattered, covering the Orthodox lands in a thick layer. Is it not for this reason that we are unable to understand ourselves — neither with our own minds nor those of others — because each day we trample the sacred underfoot? Our blood wanders, our minds grieve. And nothing we do prospers. We begin to build, and never finish; what we do build, we later tear down. We drink from an unknown sorrow, blaspheme, commit abortions, abandon our children. And we do not understand, do not realize, that we are “doomed” — either to become truly Russian, that is, truly Orthodox, or to vanish into oblivion [4].

It was the Lord who ordained it so and covered our land with holiness. And it is forever — unlike volcanic ash, holy ash is not consumed…

Yet things are not entirely bleak. The illogicality, the absurdity of our historical upheavals seems almost predestined. They are explained by a special participation in the Divine Plan. Remember Judas. Can the actions of a man — a disciple of God who sold God for thirty pieces of silver — be grasped by the human mind? And yet, the idea that “Russia cannot be understood with the mind” may indeed be justified. Only then will we fulfill our mission. And for that, we must understand something — even with our minds.

In Europe, another religious war would have long since erupted, with methods of persuasion far from evangelical. Perhaps this is why the Lord chose us — because it is with evangelical meekness that true Russians could walk by the thousands, even joyfully, to the rack and the stake, simply to avoid breaking the Faith, to avoid renouncing Christ and their ancestors — to go in the name of Christ. How can one not recall Boris and Gleb, and marvel at the depth of the Creator’s Plan? For the spiritual example of those passion-bearing saints raised up a strong and numerous people.

F.E. Melnikov described the true causes of the tragedy as follows [12]:

“The new Church, like the new Russia that arose at that time among the royal and governmental elites, firmly and irreversibly embarked on the path of fascination with Westernism, with a new European culture — which, even then, was essentially anti-Christian and godless. ‘Oh, oh, poor Rus’, why did you yearn for German customs and habits?’ — cried the far-seeing Avvakum in sorrow.”

The Faith given by the Lord, accepted by Saints Olga and Vladimir, reverently borrowed from the Greeks in their golden age, and made radiant by a host of saints — the Faith that united scattered tribes into the Russian people and bestowed upon them vast lands and boundless riches — came to seem burdensome, outdated. Other nations, who had long since transgressed, appeared more “civilized,” more intelligent, more educated.

Thus began a trial of civilizations.

How many Russians perished, how many were scattered — no one can now calculate. We can assume it was a great many. Kostomarov estimates half. The position of the Old Believers in Russia was sometimes worse than that of the Jews, who, beyond the Pale of Settlement, were permitted to build synagogues, while Old Believers were forbidden to build churches or even place a cross atop their prayer-houses. There is likely not a single inhabited continent where Old Believers do not live today. This was the second exodus of the Russian people.

There were no prophets in their own homeland. German experts were invited to teach us to wear wigs. That proved insufficient — so we learned French and excelled to such a degree that even learned Frenchmen were astonished. But as we delved into the subtleties of pronunciation and the “depths” of French manners and fashion, a powerful French force was also growing. The Napoleonic invasion had to be repelled by the entire nation. Yet even this taught us nothing.

From the second half of the 19th century, a specter began prowling Europe — the specter of communism. The Lord taught quite clearly how to handle specters:

“This kind cometh not out but by prayer and fasting.”

We did not remember this. On the contrary — we began to study demonic philosophies. And received “full service,” as one well-known missionary aptly remarked about flirting with demons.

Do we truly have no immunity?

As we immersed ourselves in the doctrines of the ghostly theory of “Marxism-Leninism,” our chronic illness of forgetfulness entered a critical phase. The revolutions of 1905 and 1917, the Civil War, famine — all followed, along with the third exodus of Russians.

The famine of the early 1930s occurred in peacetime, during collectivization. The number of human victims was enormous — especially great in Ukraine and the European part of Russia. Repressions followed.

SOURCES

8. N.M. Karamzin. History of the Russian State. In 4 volumes. Moscow: Kniga, 1989.
9. N.I. Kostomarov. Sketch of Domestic Life and Morals of the Great Russian People in the 16th–17th Centuries. Moscow: Respublika, 1992. 303 pp.
10. N.I. Kostomarov. Russian History in the Biographies of Its Principal Figures. Moscow: Kniga, 1990.
11. Children’s Encyclopedia. Vol. 1: World History. Compiled by S.T. Ismailova. Moscow: Avanta+, 1996. 704 pp.
12. F.E. Melnikov. A Short History of the Ancient Orthodox (Old Believer) Church. Barnaul: Barnaul State Pedagogical University Press, 1999. 557 pp.
13. S. Denisov. The History of the Fathers and Martyrs of Solovki. Moscow: 2000.

To learn more about the disasters of the 1920s and 1930s, one can consult the works of modern historians. Some place the blame for all misfortunes on the Bolshevik regime. Others—those with nationalistic leanings—blame Moscow and the Russians.

Yet, several millennia before the events in question, Holy Scripture described in minute detail precisely what would befall us. This astonishingly photographic accuracy of events occurring thousands of years later may cause even the unbeliever to pause and reflect. In the Scriptures, God names both the true culprits of all calamities and their true causes…

“But it shall come to pass, if thou wilt not hearken unto the voice of the Lord thy God, to observe to do all His commandments and His statutes which I command thee this day; that all these curses shall come upon thee, and overtake thee” (Deuteronomy 28:15). “Cursed shalt thou be in the city, and cursed shalt thou be in the field. Cursed shall be thy basket and thy store. Cursed shall be the fruit of thy body and the fruit of thy land, the increase of thy cattle and the flocks of thy sheep. The Lord shall send upon thee cursing, vexation, and rebuke, in all that thou settest thine hand unto for to do, until thou be destroyed, and until thou perish quickly; because of the wickedness of thy doings, whereby thou hast forsaken Me” (Deut. 28:16–20). “The Lord shall make the pestilence cleave unto thee” (Deut. 28:21). “The Lord shall smite thee with consumption, and with a fever, and with an inflammation, and with extreme burning, and with the sword, and with blasting, and with mildew” (Deut. 28:22). “And thy carcase shall be meat unto all fowls of the air” (Deut. 28:26). “Thou shalt betroth a wife, and another man shall lie with her; thou shalt build an house, and thou shalt not dwell therein; thou shalt plant a vineyard, and shalt not gather the grapes thereof” (Deut. 28:30). “The fruit of thy land, and all thy labors, shall a nation which thou knowest not eat up; and thou shalt be only oppressed and crushed alway” (Deut. 28:33). “The Lord shall bring thee, and thy king which thou shalt set over thee, unto a nation which neither thou nor thy fathers have known; and there shalt thou serve other gods, wood and stone. And thou shalt become an astonishment, a proverb, and a byword, among all nations” (Deut. 28:36–37). “Thou shalt beget sons and daughters, but thou shalt not enjoy them; for they shall go into captivity” (Deut. 28:41). “The stranger that is within thee shall get up above thee very high; and thou shalt come down very low. He shall lend to thee, and thou shalt not lend to him: he shall be the head, and thou shalt be the tail” (Deut. 28:43–44). “The Lord shall bring a nation against thee from far, from the end of the earth, as swift as the eagle flieth; a nation whose tongue thou shalt not understand; a nation of fierce countenance, which shall not regard the person of the old, nor show favour to the young” (Deut. 28:49–50). “And thou shalt eat the fruit of thine own body, the flesh of thy sons and of thy daughters, which the Lord thy God hath given thee” (Deut. 28:53).

And all of this has come upon us. The ritual murder of the Tsar, ruin, typhus, dekulakization, famine, cannibalism. We served idols of stone and bronze; sons and daughters were taken captive by the godless, by those of another faith. Foreigners were exalted—and are still exalted—above all. They have taken over the markets, seized oil, aluminum, and so forth. Foreigners are already in power. We are captives to them in our own land. “And he shall besiege thee in all thy gates, until thy high and fenced walls come down, wherein thou trustedst, throughout all thy land: and he shall besiege thee in all thy gates throughout all thy land, which the Lord thy God hath given thee” (Deut. 28:52). No wonder our people say: “Sow the wind—reap the whirlwind.”

The fate of Solovki is particularly telling. That place of prayerful monastic struggle was turned into a concentration camp. Did anyone then recall the tragedy of 1676? Back in the 17th century, some 1200 to 1500 defenders perished there due to our forgetfulness—about 400 were killed, the rest died during the siege from scurvy and disease. How many perished in the camp? God alone knows. Over two decades, hundreds of thousands passed through the Solovetsky Special Purpose Prison (STON!). Few returned.

History repeats itself—but always for us, it seems, as tragedy. Why is it that it repeats itself as tragedy only for us? Or has it already become mere farce?

Eventually, as the builders of socialism and communism developed a new ideology, and as a punishment for the Revolution and the Civil War, a satanic force matured—fascism. Then came the Great Patriotic War of 1941–1945. And then, finally, they remembered God. Churches were reopened, processions were held, icons were carried around Moscow and Leningrad. With God’s help, we stood firm. Though 20–25 million were lost. And how many maimed, how much grief, how many unborn?

The war ended. Stalin seemed to leave the Church alone. But then Khrushchev came—and again began a worse time: more than half of the surviving parishes were shut down. It was apparently under these circumstances that the Council of the Russian Orthodox Church of the Moscow Patriarchate, in 1971, repealed the anathemas on the old rites and resolved:

1. To confirm the decree of the Patriarchal Holy Synod of April 10 (23), 1929, recognizing the old Russian rites as salvific, just as the new ones, and of equal worth with them.
2. To confirm the decree of the Patriarchal Holy Synod of April 10 (23), 1929, concerning the rejection and annulment, as if they had never been, of condemnatory expressions directed against the old rites, and especially against the two-finger sign of the cross, regardless of where they might appear or by whom they might have been uttered.
3. To confirm the decree of the Patriarchal Holy Synod of April 10 (23), 1929, abolishing the anathemas of the Moscow Council of 1656 and the Great Moscow Council of 1667, which were pronounced against the old Russian rites and the Orthodox Christians who observed them—and to regard these anathemas as if they had never existed (Local Council of the Russian Orthodox Church, May 30 – June 2, 1971. Documents, Materials, Chronicle. Published by the Moscow Patriarchate. Moscow, 1972).

Thus—“as if they had never been!”

In the report read at the council, Nikon’s reforms were described as a “harsh and hasty destruction of Russian liturgical tradition,” undertaken due to the mistaken belief that ritual differences constituted differences in faith.

And that’s all?

This belated recognition of the “equal worth” of the old rites obliges modern-rite followers to treat the Old Rite Christians with sensitivity and to avoid displays of disrespect, arrogance, and the like toward them. In general, it seems that the number of cases that touch upon the still-sensitive wounds of the Old Believers has declined. But such cases still occur. Thus, in 1991, with the blessing of Patriarch Alexy II of Moscow and All Rus’, the Solovetsky Paterikon was published by the INTO publishing house at the request of the Synodal Library of the Moscow Patriarchate. It recounts the lives of 35 ascetics of the Solovetsky Monastery: 17 from before the schism and 18 from after. Among the latter is the life of a former Old Believer who was arrested and placed under supervision at the Solovetsky Monastery for “correction.” For ten years he could not be broken—but in the end, they succeeded, and he renounced his beliefs and began to attend services. That is, according to the text, his asceticism consisted in the fact that he renounced the Old Rite! One cannot help but exclaim: “Clearly, the builders of the Solovki concentration camp had learned from someone!”

If such disregard is permitted, it means that this issue is of little significance for the Russian Orthodox Church; it means that its hierarchs have not reflected on the Schism as a fateful moment in history. Even many non-Old Believers—such as Solzhenitsyn—believe that the fall of Russia began with the Schism. And that is true. But it is also true that, as a result of the Schism, there emerged a remnant of people with firm faith, ready to stand for it to the end. Thus was preserved the Church of Christ, even as apostasies loomed ever nearer. In this way, the preservation of Holy Rus’ became possible.

One might try to ignore the Old Believers—they are few, scattered across the world, and even among themselves are unable to overcome internal divisions and schisms. But try ignoring a splinter. The moment you move the wrong way and brush against it—pain. And what if it festers? And it has not been possible to pull it out for 350 years, despite all efforts. The first victims of Nikon’s reform—Archpriests Login of Murom, Ioann Neronov, Daniil of Kostroma, and others—were tortured in the very first year of the reform in 1653, and Bishop Pavel of Kolomna the following year [12]. Incidentally, it is known that Bishop Pavel of Kolomna was burned alive on Holy Thursday.

Clearly, the “splinter” was not driven into the body, but into the soul. And it could not be removed because the Lord did not permit it. And the ruling dynasty paid the price for this sin. And so did Russia—in this, Solzhenitsyn is surely right.

But perhaps we need that “splinter.” It reminds us of something. It reminds us of the circumstances under which it was embedded. The Lord sees that our memory is poor—so He drove the splinter in. Now would be the time to cast aside politics, to repent, and to confirm repentance with deeds—perhaps then the punishment would be delayed. Or are there not enough signs sent from the Lord? Is it not frightening to behold the weeping icons? In the 1920s, churches and domes were being repainted on a mass scale, and at Optina Hermitage blood flowed from a cross [14]. Might this not have been one of the causes for the aforementioned Synodal decision of 1929? If we compare the early 1920s—when these signs occurred—with the start of the Great Patriotic War, we can see how little time we had left. One ought to reflect on this fact: the icons among the Old Believers do not weep.

Scripture says: “…for I the Lord thy God am a jealous God, visiting the iniquity of the fathers upon the children unto the third and fourth generation of them that hate Me” (Exodus 20:5). But there is also a way out: “Yet say ye, Why? doth not the son bear the iniquity of the father? When the son hath done that which is lawful and right, and hath kept all My statutes, and hath done them, he shall surely live” (Ezekiel 18:19). The phrase “Children do not bear the guilt of the fathers” undoubtedly pertains only to the spiritual sphere. Each person may be saved for eternity.

Physically, however, we suffer greatly—for both the sins of our ancestors and our own. Around us live many childless families; infants die—though of course they are innocent of any sin; strong and healthy young people perish for various reasons; children are born with severe physical disabilities. Some are born who will never be able to recall anything at all—that is, a spiritual degradation of society is taking place, and a spiritually degraded society will also degenerate physically. This means that parents—and grandparents, the ancestors—did something wrong; they squandered the grace that their own ancestors had once earned through prayer.

There are examples when one who sins grievously against God finds his own continuation in descendants cut off. Our history is full of such names: Vasily III, Boris Godunov, Lenin, and so on. Nikon, it turns out, had three children, all of whom died in early childhood [15]. True, this happened while Nikon was still young and had no inkling of his future patriarchate. But that changes nothing. The Lord knew everything about him, just as He knew about Judas’s betrayal. As for Tsar Alexei Mikhailovich, his male line endured for only three generations. And this despite the fact that he had five sons by Maria Ilyinichna Miloslavskaya! Of the five sons by his first wife, three died even before Alexei’s sudden death. After the Tsar’s death, the throne passed to Fyodor Alekseevich. But he was frail, having suffered an accident in childhood, and died in 1682 at the age of twenty-one. His reign lasted only about seven years. Under him, Polish customs and fashions began to be introduced: hair was cut in the Polish style, and Polish was taught [10]. Zealous defenders of the Old Rite were persecuted with renewed cruelty. On Great Friday, April 14, 1682, in Pustozersk, Archpriest Avvakum, Priest Lazar, Deacon Feodor, and Monk Epiphanius were executed by burning in a log cabin—and two weeks later, on April 27, Tsar Fyodor Alekseevich died.

A tragic, yet not accidental, convergence in the fates of father and son. The son did not reflect upon his father’s end and, poor soul, followed in his very footsteps. A fatal forgetfulness fell upon the House of Romanov—the very kind of forgetfulness that causes great dynasties to come to an end, great nations and powerful civilizations to pass from the stage of history. Forgetfulness, like a disease, infects both individuals and entire peoples.

One could say that Tsar Fyodor died suddenly, as roughly two and a half months before his death he had entered into a second marriage. His first wife died in childbirth. The infant outlived her by only six days [5].

After the death of Tsar Fyodor Alekseyevich, of his five uterine brothers only Ioann Alekseyevich remained. He had three daughters, one of whom—Anna—would later become Empress. This came about as a result of a dynastic crisis, since the forgetfulness of the heirs of Alexei Mikhailovich continued. Thus, Peter I, son of Tsar Alexei and Natalya Naryshkina, resolutely turned toward “enlightened” Europe. He had no patience for those who resisted his course. For this reason, he executed his own firstborn son, Alexei. The young son of Peter I, Tsarevich Peter, soon died. The son of the slain Alexei Petrovich, the briefly reigning Peter II, died in youth from smallpox. The throne then passed to Anna Ioannovna. She had no children and, shortly before her death, named as her heir the infant son of her niece Anna Leopoldovna—this child was Ioann VI, who was later murdered by order of Catherine II. Anna Leopoldovna became regent during his minority. However, as a result of a palace coup, power was seized by Elizaveta Petrovna, daughter of Peter I, who exiled Anna Leopoldovna, her husband, and their children—including the heir to the throne—into banishment. Elizaveta Petrovna had no children, and she bequeathed the imperial throne to her nephew Karl Peter Ulrich (Peter III), the son of Duke Karl Friedrich of Holstein-Gottorp and Elizaveta’s elder sister Anna. She married him to his own second cousin, Sophie Augusta Frederica of Anhalt-Zerbst, who later became Empress Catherine II. Incidentally, Orthodox canon law forbids marriages between second cousins.

Thus, in fact, the Romanov line in the male lineage came to an end as early as the beginning of the 18th century. Paul I had 1/8 Romanov blood through the female line. His sons—who later became emperors, Alexander I and Nicholas I—had only 1/16, as Paul was married to the German princess Wilhelmine. Finally, Nicholas II had only 1/128 Romanov blood, and his children only 1/256 Russian blood.

As a result of the “reforms” of Nikon and Alexei Mikhailovich, the Church became one of the departments of the state machinery for morality and public order. The peasantry was firmly bound in serfdom, and Russia received foreign emperors, some of whom cared little, if at all, for her interests. In the end, we reaped what we had sown.

To be fair, it must be noted that at times our rulers became far more Russian than many of us. Everyone remembers Alexander III’s remark that Russia has only two allies: her army and her navy. Here is another vivid and little-known testimony to the idea that one is not born Russian, but becomes Russian—a case in which one can see the clear hand of God. According to the logic of the narrative, it might seem that Catherine II, by killing both her second cousin and husband Peter III, and the more legitimate heir to the throne, Ioann VI¹, should have cut short not only the Russian (1/4 through the female line) branch of the Romanovs, but also her own. Nevertheless, her son Paul I had four sons and six daughters, and the Romanov dynasty was thereby strengthened. This may also have been due to the fact that during his reign there was a struggle against the influence of French freethinking. He imposed strict censorship, closed private printing presses, and banned the import of foreign literature that promoted revolutionary ideas. And although, as B. Bashilov claims [16], Paul I had joined a Masonic lodge even before ascending the throne and for some time supported the Masons, by the end of his reign they had fallen out of favor. The Masons’ hopes for Paul I were not realized—and this may have led to his eventual assassination. He was deeply religious, and the same can be said of his wife. B. Bashilov notes that “among the Old Believers, he was able first and foremost to see Christians worthy of all respect.” Under Paul I, they were not persecuted [16].

Even Catherine II herself may have had merits before God, for under her, the Old Believers were able to breathe more freely. Moreover, some sources report that the Empress compelled both governing structures—the Senate and the Synod—to sign a manifesto prohibiting the persecution of Old Believers. This occurred at a joint conference of the Senate and Synod on September 15, 1763, where Catherine II delivered a famous speech. This speech was reproduced from archival sources by the Edinoveriye priest Ioann Verkhovsky and was first published in Volume III of Historical Studies Serving to Justify the Old Believers by V.M. Karlovich.

Here is an excerpt from her [Catherine II’s] speech: “‘You,’ says the Holy Synod to us, ‘are destroying the throne.’ But, gentlemen, we have already seen what service the Russian high episcopate has rendered to the throne since the time of Nikon—what a chasm it dug between throne and people. All that was best, most noble, most lively and energetic in the Russian people in those times took the side of protest. And the rulers who followed Nikon burdened themselves with gullibility and made the people see them as tyrants and, as we have said, antichrists. Gentlemen! The righteousness of the protest is clear to you. Your own conscience tells you that it was not the new Synodal Church but the people’s protest that stood firm; that it was not the protesting people who became schismatics, but rather the archpastors who ignored the protest and severed communion with the faithful. They became the schismatics. And, finally, that all accusations leveled against the Old Rite are lies, slanders born of the wounded pride of the archpastors.

“But perhaps you are troubled by this thought: if the people’s protest was just, then why did Christ abandon it—leaving it without a single bishop and, therefore, outside the Church—while the party of troublemakers and schismatics retained the hierarchy and the right to be called the Church? How could the Lord, contrary to His promise to remain with the faithful, forsake the true bearers of the Church’s essence, the true defenders of the Church itself, and thus allow the gates of hell to prevail?

“O Providence! I thank Thee, I thank Thee, I thank Thee!

“Your confusion, gentlemen senators, I hope to clarify with a few words. In leaving the protest without bishops, the Lord did not abandon it. First, He granted the protest the honor of preserving the invincibility of His bride—the Russian Church, our holy mother. Had there been no protest, the Church-essence of the Russian Church would have utterly crumbled, presenting the world with a spectacle of complete ruin, such as we see now. Though her churchliness has decayed and lies in ruins, as long as the people’s protest lives, no one has the right to say the Russian Church has entirely fallen or ceased to live. It is not she—the Russian Church, a member of the one, holy, apostolic Church—who has sinned, but rather her hierarchy alone.

“Secondly, the entire hierarchy fell. Practically speaking, only the people—and even only a part of the people—remained faithful to the Church. Have you understood, gentlemen, the full significance, dignity, and sanctity of this great popular steadfastness? Do you see its tremendous merit before our national Church and the Church universal?

“Yes, the common folk, the unlettered people, have given the greatest lesson in Church-mindedness to their archpastors. The latter have proved stubborn and malicious. Upon the protest, they poured forth curses, tortures, and executions. But the people—be amazed, gentlemen senators—stood firm and unshaken for centuries! A spectacle of majestic grandeur, a vision worthy not of earth but of heaven.

“In our national Russian Church, hell and Christ stand in open battle: on the one side, all power, all malice, and every worldly intrigue—through spiritual governments, deceived tsars, and archpastors; on the other side, silent endurance and patient wordlessness. Who will triumph in this struggle?

“I would not be a sincerely believing daughter of the Church; I would be unworthy of the great Russian people, who bear the name of Holy Rus’, if I doubted for even a moment the victory of Christ, the victory of the people, the victory of the protest, the victory of the Old Rite.

“O Providence! Let the tsars deceived by the archpastors, together with those very archpastors, multiply their fury and plots tenfold! Let this battle—the battle between primordial evil and eternal good, between hell and heaven—go on another hundred, another two hundred years! The heavier the trials, the longer the suffering, the more awe-inspiring the victory, the more memorable and instructive the lesson, the more radiant the glory of Christ, the Church, and the protest…

“But one thing, gentlemen senators: we pledge ourselves never to become tools of hell against the people loyally devoted to us, against the voice of the great Russian Church, against Christ Himself.”

During her speech, Catherine II, demonstrating confidence in her position and the falsehood of the anathemas imposed nearly a century earlier, several times crossed herself using the two-finger sign—to the horror of the assembled clergy. Perhaps this is why the Lord extended Catherine’s lineage, forgiving her mortal sins? But for us, one thing is clear: perhaps it was due to this single episode—this sign that she had understood and embraced in her heart the great tragedy of the Russian people—that the German-born Sophie Augusta Frederica of Anhalt-Zerbst became Catherine II, a true Russian Tsarina.

To Catherine’s merits, one might also add that by the end of her reign, nearly all the known Freemasons were imprisoned. Unfortunately, the period of tolerance toward the Old Believers was short-lived. During the reign of Nicholas I, Catherine’s grandson, the repressions against them became especially severe.

Nicholas II, the last Russian emperor, twelve years before the revolution, signed the “Supreme Decree on the Strengthening of the Principles of Religious Toleration.” Seals were removed from the altars of Old Believer churches. During this period, according to F.E. Melnikov, more than a thousand new churches were built by the Old Believers. They also carried out active educational and charitable work. Yet as Melnikov wrote: “The golden age in the history of Old Belief was not entirely golden; it was filled with all kinds of impurities. Alongside the newfound freedom came growing coercion, violence, and persecution for religious beliefs, deeds, and facts. The dominant church was unwilling to part with its former persecution of Old Belief and continued to revert to the old path—the pre-Nicholas path—when Old Believers in their own native land had no rights at all.”

“The Supreme Decree of April 17 did not even grant the Old Believers the rights that had already been enjoyed in Russia before this act by heterodox and even non-Christian confessions: Muslim, Jewish, and pagan. But against these rights, neither the Synod, nor the hierarchy, nor the missionaries, nor the Church protested. As for the meager rights received by the Old Believers, they caused widespread fear and horror, and an aggressive campaign against them began from the very first year those rights were made public.”

“In December 1907, the Synod issued a resolution ‘On Legislative Proposals Concerning the Implementation of Freedom of Conscience’ (No. 8198). The rather long document of the Synod may be reduced to the following points:”

1. The state status, freedom of action, and freedom of religious propaganda belong exclusively to the Synodal Church. All other confessions may only exercise such freedoms as are granted them by the dominant Church.
2. Anyone departing from the dominant confession is subject to a forty-day period of admonition and may only be permitted to convert to another confession upon presentation of a certificate from the spiritual authorities confirming the failure of admonition.
3. Old Believers and members of other confessions have no right to disseminate their doctrines. Governors and the police suppress all such activities, arresting and prosecuting Old Believer and other preachers, and assisting the clergy of the dominant Church in missionary efforts.
4. The construction of Old Believer churches and prayer houses, as well as the performance of processions and similar acts, is permitted only with the approval of the diocesan authority of the dominant Church.
5. Religious communities are forbidden from spreading their teachings among members of the dominant confession.
6. Clergy of other confessions are prohibited from wearing vestments and clerical garments that resemble those of the clergy of the dominant Church.
7. To these points, the Kiev Missionary Congress added a further demand: that religious legislative proposals be removed from the jurisdiction of legislative bodies and instead be subject solely to review by the Governing Synod, after which they would be submitted for approval by His Imperial Majesty.

These points constituted the Synod’s ecclesiastical-political program. Even the official newspaper Novoye Vremya acknowledged that it “expresses a zealous and partisan spirit, to some extent that of the prince of darkness, which has overtaken certain churchmen.” All notions of freedom were utterly eliminated by this Synodal program.

However, the Synod could not change the 1905 Constitution, according to which laws were made not by the Synod but by the State Duma and the State Council. It must be noted, however, that the process of drafting and passing legislation took considerable time and faced fierce resistance, while at the local level bureaucracy and arbitrariness prevailed.

Melnikov [12] cites numerous examples of the extremely humiliating conditions in which Old Believers often found themselves: “Especially outrageous in its lack of principle, its anti-national and anti-state character, was the Synod’s demand that Old Believers not be commissioned as officers. We have already noted that in the Russian army there were officers and generals—some even in the highest ranks—from various confessions (Catholics, Lutherans, Muslims) and from various nations (Poles, Germans, Frenchmen, Armenians, Tatars, Turks, etc.), and only the Old Believers—most loyal sons of their Fatherland, pillar-like Russians—were denied the right to serve in the officer corps of their own native army. After April 17, 1905, this situation should have changed. And indeed, Old Believers began to be promoted to officer ranks. But the Governing Synod launched a campaign against this new development.

In early 1910, Metropolitan Vladimir of Moscow, in response to a Synodal inquiry into the ‘character and distinguishing features of the doctrine’ of the Old Believers of Rogozhskoye and Preobrazhenskoye cemeteries, described these distinctions in a missionary tone and concluded that it was ‘inappropriate to promote Old Believers of both cemeteries to officer ranks.’ Based on this, in February of the same year, the Synod, in decree No. 1746, ‘deemed it dangerous to commission into officer ranks all Old Believers of the Austrian persuasion [3], including those belonging to the Rogozhskoye Cemetery.’ In March of the same year, the Synod issued decree No. 2401 stating: ‘To recognize the entire schism and all sectarianism as phenomena both harmful and unlawful; therefore, all schismatics, regardless of their groups or alignments, must be denied the right to be promoted to officer ranks.’ This ruling was addressed to the General Military Headquarters.”

The All-Russian Congress of Old Believers in 1913 was described in Old Believer journalism as a “Congress of sorrow and grief, of groans and lamentation.” Articles appeared with titles such as: “Ominous Shadows,” “Ominous Shadows Gather,” “The Grave of Religious Freedom,” and so on.

Melnikov writes: “Some articles of this sort rose to the level of prophetic foresight. ‘Our freedom lies in the grave,’ says one of these articles. ‘Only there is the free confession of our faith permitted, only there its widest and even unpunished preaching. But… are the enemies of freedom not digging their own grave?’ At that time, many Old Believers were troubled by a sense of impending catastrophic events. At the 1913 All-Russian Congress, P. P. Ryabushinsky declared: ‘If the day of justice does not come, then the day of necessity will.’ ‘A historical wave is carrying us toward events hidden in the great mystery of the future,’ wrote the journal Church the same year. ‘What God gives, that we shall receive. But for now, we are being prepared for something. And we must be ready.’ Already in 1910, the same journal wrote: ‘It is hard to answer for the future. It is always so mysterious and enigmatic, and so often surprises us with shocks—sometimes very deafening, terrifying in their blows and catastrophes.’ That future came very soon—in 1917, when the great all-Russian revolution broke out, drenching the entire vast land in blood.”

As St. John Chrysostom once said [17], God subjected Adam to the punishment of death so that “having through disobedience become guilty of sin, he might not continue to sin forever. And I might add something else. What is that? That by subjecting him to this punishment, God did not stop the benefit with Adam alone, but willed that his descendants might be instructed by his fate.”

Judging by the ongoing—and especially recent—moral degradation of society, it appears we have not yet taken the lesson to heart.

REFERENCES

2. Melnikov, F.E. A Brief History of the Old Orthodox (Old Believer) Church. Barnaul: BGPU Publishing, 1999. 557 pp.
3. Denisov, S. A History of the Fathers and Martyrs of Solovki. Moscow, 2000.
4. Fomin, S. Rus’ Before the Second Coming. Zhytomyr–RIKO–PRESS–REKLAMA, 1995. 576 pp.
5. Kostomarov, N.I. The Schism: Historical Monographs and Studies. Moscow: Charly, 1994. 608 pp.
6. Bashilov, B. A History of Russian Freemasonry, Issues 7 & 8. Moscow: Nash Sovremennik, 1995. 128 pp.
7. St. John Chrysostom. Selected Homilies: A Collection of Sermons on the Ten Commandments of God. Reprint by the Transfiguration Mhar Monastery, 2001. 589 pp.

So where is the way out? The solution lies, first and foremost, in the spiritual healing of society. In such cases, people often speak of repentance—including repentance on the part of the dominant Church. However, if we follow our usual logic, then truly: must a believing Nikonian repent for the sins of distant ancestors, especially when it is unknown whether they themselves participated in murders, burnings, tortures, persecutions, and the like? Most likely, those who did participate and commit these things already paid the price across three or four generations—through the extinction of their line in epidemics, wars, or natural disasters—unless their descendants awakened from their forgetfulness. The state, after all, is faceless, and it is no longer quite the same state. The Church? One patriarch today, another tomorrow. It would seem there is no one to hold accountable. And yet, for the deeds of the 17th century, the descendants have now been paying the price for over three centuries. If there was blood and sorrow, and it remains unrepented, then all of it has been stored up in the “coffer” of national sins.

What is it, then, that keeps us from shedding this centuries-old burden? Could it be some fundamental deficiency in ourselves? And if so, how does it manifest?

The answer, perhaps, is disarmingly simple. Nikonians—every day, many times over—in morning and evening prayers, during services, in churches and monasteries, confirm the choice of their ancestors through the sign of the cross made with three fingers. They confirm both their ancestors’ choice and their own indifference, apathy, laziness of mind, and forgetfulness. Are such people of use to the Lord? Will He help them?

There is yet another, seemingly crucial, matter. Do you remember the two unused fingers in the three-finger sign of the cross, which are described as “bent and idle”? Why did the “reformers” write it that way? How could such an egregious phrase have been allowed? It could have been worded differently—“pressed to the palm,” or something else. One could think of many alternatives, but why did they write precisely this: “bent and idle”?

Indeed, it turns out these fingers are treated as if they are unnecessary, dispensable. And this, in the sign of the cross—a mystical act, and perhaps the most important act of spiritual protection—where nothing should be idle! This means that something in us is defective if we are incapable of engaging those two fingers. It means we are somehow incomplete. Even the deaf and mute, in this regard, seem more whole—for in their language, all fingers are engaged. But we address God in a deficient language!

Could this be a hint, whispered to us from the depths of the centuries?

It seems the Council could not phrase it otherwise. It HAD to be written precisely this way: “bent and idle!”

So concisely and vividly were enshrined, for all future generations, our subservience to foreign influence and our idleness—traits that have come to characterize the national spirit. In describing the unused fingers, the Council was actually describing us, here and now—issuing judgment on itself, on the religion it had violently established in blood, on the Romanov dynasty that made the new religion its state religion, and ultimately on the state itself, called Russia. And after all, this is a proven route into oblivion—for Byzantium too, at one point, adopted the three-finger sign of the cross.

But it is written: “No man that hath a blemish… shall come nigh to offer the offerings of the Lord… he shall not come nigh to offer the bread of his God” (Leviticus 21:20).

And what defect could be greater than a physical one—surplus fingers?

Of course—a spiritual one! Physical defects are but the visible result of spiritual ones. The physical is needed to make visible the inward corruption. It turns out this is the most reliable way.

And in this “defect upon us” lie fatal, tragic components: the unrepented sin of ancestral indifference and forgetfulness, embodied in the continued confirmation of their choice through the three-fingered sign; our infamous negligence and sloth, which stem from idleness—for we do not even pause to ask why such things happen to us.

Indifference… One must admit, we have walked right into this “trap” beautifully. Having carried this corruption from generation to generation for three and a half centuries, we now no longer recognize ourselves. The events of recent years are vivid proof of this. In just ten years, our great country has been reduced to a raw materials appendage of the “golden billion,” and we have met this with astonishing apathy. This phenomenon astonishes everyone today and remains incomprehensible.

Indifference and apathy greatly grieve the Lord: “I know thy works, that thou art neither cold nor hot: I would thou wert cold or hot” (Revelation 3:15).

Forgetfulness, it seems, has always been with us—but now, magnified by apathy and indifference, it threatens to lead us to the irreversible. Soon there may be no one left who is able—or willing—to remember who he is, or where he comes from.

Nearly everyone who considers themselves a Christian knows—and true believers actively make use of—the protection against “demonic arrows” (as one prayer calls them) that comes from making the sign of the cross. And naturally, the sign of the cross must be made correctly. Clearly, there is a difference between the two-finger and three-finger form.

Anticipating future objections, denials, or accusations of incompetence, we can respond as follows: “If people were killed for making the sign of the cross with two fingers, then how you cross yourself must have enormous and fundamental significance.”

Thus, the act of crossing oneself with three fingers—enshrined in blood—has acquired a special mystical and sacred meaning and now bears two independent and fateful aspects:

• the absence of reliable spiritual protection (that is, the three-fingered sign is inherently defective);
• the affirmation and acceptance of the sin of one’s ancestors.

And indeed, Archpriest Avvakum was right. A new church—the Nikonian church—was effectively created. We may call it something else, but it changes nothing. After all, there are Lutherans, Calvinists, and so forth—why not Nikonians?

When did the fatal schism between the Catholics and Orthodox truly occur? Was it in the 11th century? No, it was later—when Constantinople was captured and plundered, and when blood was spilled between the churches. The reunification of Catholics and Protestants likewise became impossible because of bloodshed.

Is our own Schism destined to be healed?

“Behold, your house is left unto you desolate.”
God abandons those who forget—and then the devil takes over. Forgetfulness is itself a crime against God. Forgetfulness is a kind of murder—but even more dreadful. A murderer destroys only his own soul. But through forgetfulness, we destroy the souls of our descendants as well, who will find it even harder to remember. This creates a terrifying chain: forgetfulness → unbelief (soul-murder) → death. We must begin to feel ourselves connected to the past. Only then can we be connected to the present and the future. Only then will we begin to know who we are.

How many generations of forgetfulness (read: unbelief) does it take to initiate the self-destruction of a lineage? We do not know. Perhaps the same three to four generations. We can only guess. We cannot comprehend the providence of God. But we must decipher His signs. And we must do it quickly—for judging by the rapid decline in our population, the process is already underway.

Theoretically, there is a way out. But it requires pain for the Fatherland, goodwill, and the rejection of politics in matters of religion.

Two thousand years have passed since the Nativity of Christ.

One thousand years have passed since the Baptism of Rus’.
Yet we still sit with our mouths open, listening to smooth-talking preachers.
No prophet is accepted in his own country.

How beautiful are the words: “Liberty, equality, fraternity, democracy.” But now let us remember the commandments: “Love God, love thy neighbor, do not kill, do not steal, do not commit adultery,” and so on. Where is the place here for the freedom and democracy they preach to us? The freedom to kill? The freedom to commit adultery? The freedom to steal? What other kind of freedom is being pushed on us through television and other media? Freedom of speech? But even speech can be used to kill or to corrupt.

Now more than ever, we find ourselves in a critical situation.
We are slow to introduce our children to Church Slavonic—the liturgical language to which we are genetically close, the language in which our ancestors prayed to God for a thousand years, the language of spiritual defense.
But we eagerly teach them international English, believing it will ensure their worldly success.
And yet, without prayerful labor, success may never come—or it may prove false.
We refuse to consider this.

Not every student of English even knows the Our Father.
The problem is not with English, but with our neglect of our own native heritage.
And that, as history shows, is a national calamity.

Meanwhile, as we absorbed Western liberal wisdom—with its spiritual barrenness and moral depravity—the “golden billion” fully ripened, led by the foremost “defender of human rights,” the English-speaking USA.

Judging by the pattern of history, we should expect misfortune to come from the Anglosphere.
They may not even need to bomb us.
We are already under a “velvet” occupation.
This is no longer a pagan deception—it is a demonic cunning.

We ourselves extract our resources for them.
We educate our children from their textbooks.
Their mass culture is becoming our own.
And in this way, our God-chosen Orthodox people may sink into oblivion without honor.

What gave the Old Believers the strength to preserve their national identity and their faith under centuries of persecution?

The answer is simple: faith.

The leaders of that time grievously underestimated their people.
The faith of the people turned out to be far deeper than that of the elites—and this, it seems, is the chief lesson of our history, a lesson that may yet serve us, if we are not too late.

We must acknowledge that this great spiritual feat of the Old Believers has not yet been properly recognized.
And from that recognition follows a vital conclusion:
There are prophets in our land.
We are capable of creating our own civilization.
Mindless imitation is destructive.
We have our own path.

What matters now is that we take a few precise, righteous steps.
On our own, without anyone else’s prompting.
No one will help us—but ourselves.

And for that—we must be with God.

In each of us, to one degree or another, an Old Believer lives. It is already imprinted in us genetically. A people could not have forgotten its own great feat, begun in Kievan Rus’, in the Kyiv Caves Lavra, and continued in the forests of Muscovy and in the Solovki. This is affirmed by our glorious victories in every war that followed. It is proved by the act of a young Russian soldier in Chechnya who refused to remove his cross, paid for it with his life, but showed himself to be truly Russian.

It is astonishing how ancient and simple the methods of testing for Russianness are. In those days, they would order: “Make the sign of the cross!” The one who crossed with two fingers was sent to the stake or the rack; the one who used three fingers was released. No lie detector needed. And by today’s standards, one might think: why not cross oneself with three fingers in public, then go behind a corner and cross with two all you like? But still, the world is upheld by those who cannot stoop to such deceit. It reeks too much of betrayal. Russians know that one cannot deceive God.

Kostomarov [15] was unable to find a convincing explanation for the rise of the Old Believers, claiming that the Russian people were ignorant and indifferent to the faith. Yet he also noted the widespread literacy among the Old Believers, in contrast to the rest of the population. Nevertheless, he was convinced that with the spread of education, the Old Belief would disappear on its own: “…the schism is sustained by the absence of education.”

Today, with “enlightenment” having progressed significantly, the opinion that Old Believers are ignorant fanatics seems nearly unchallenged. But by that measure, nearly all early Christian saints and martyrs were fanatics. Nearly all of them had an escape route. So the young soldier in Chechnya, then—was he also an ignorant fanatic? And what of the thief who confessed Christ on the cross while the frenzied crowd mocked Him? Did that thief have a university degree—or even basic schooling?

The grace once earned by our ancestors is being depleted. Today, we are consuming its final remnants. It is time to turn decisively toward our own path. It is time to proclaim the national idea of the Russian people—Ukrainians, Belarusians, Great Russians—arising from an honest reappraisal of our history:

The national idea is Holy Rus’.

We must understand that “Russian” was originally an adjective, signifying both a title and a duty; that we were meant to be Russian; that Russian is not a composition of blood but a condition of the spirit. One is not born Russian—one becomes Russian. And then, there will be no need to divide Crimea or Kuban, no need to distort history. In the face of looming danger, the task for all true patriots of Ukraine, Belarus, and Russia is the same: to create a common spiritual space from the Carpathians and Brest to the Pacific Ocean, where Orthodoxy is understood as a way of life.

The more believers there are, the greater the holiness of society. Each believer builds a paradise in his own soul—Holy Rus’. On this sinful earth, not all can be believers. There may be more or fewer. But as our history has shown, there is a certain “critical threshold” of holiness, beyond which things begin to work out for us, and the efforts of our enemies simultaneously and inevitably collapse.

How do we achieve this? Where do we begin?

We must begin with repentance. We must remember our history.

We must remember who we are and where we come from—and come to our senses. We must understand that our thousand-year history is filled with both good and evil, holiness and filth; that our world is one unified world, divided by the Providence of God into three epochs—beginning, continuation, and preservation of Holy Rus’.

Yes, we have forgotten something very important—perhaps the most important thing. We have forgotten that “neighbor” means not only a relative, but also the stranger standing beside you on the tram. Even if you never see him again, you must love him as yourself—and in doing so, you yourself will benefit.

Where is this taught? Certainly not in school.

We have forgotten many essential, originally Russian words: conscience, honor, dignity, chastity, kindness, mercy, grace. Worse still, we often do not find in ourselves—or in our children—those qualities denoted by these words. The indifferent do not possess such qualities. One could go on. The word “love,” the foundation of life, has today been filled with a completely different, base meaning.

But we have learned new words: presentation, summit, contraception, exclusive, and many others. Is that not a recipe for disaster?

Look at your children’s school curricula. Will you find lessons on mercy, love of goodness, chastity? No. But your children will be taught “safe sex.”

Everything happening to us is happening because we are as we are. It is not the fault of the Freemasons, or the notorious “box” (television). They have been permitted to us. But the corruption lies within us—within each of us. The stick has two ends. It is quite possible to make your television a window into our own Russian world. After all, we have already proven that we are capable of forming our own civilization. Our ancestors did everything necessary for this. We are neither better nor worse than other nations—we are simply different, and we must live with our own mind.

History shows that only the people themselves make history. The hope that we will one day receive an Orthodox, believing ruler will arise only when we become worthy of one—when we establish a “critical threshold of holiness.”

There must be repentance—ecclesiastical, state, and civil. The Nikonian Church must reflect on this and take the lead in a process of repentance.

The state recognizes the continuity of the former Tsarist Russia—but only in regard to its financial debts. But what of the spiritual debts, which seem far more important? Restitution of monetary debts to the Old Believers could take the form of exempting all of their religious communities, of every confession, from taxation for the next 300–350 years, in reparation for the persecutions, ruin, the second poll tax, and so forth. In the spiritual realm, the entire activity of the state—its foreign and domestic policy alike—must be directed toward increasing the “holiness of society.” In this direction, many already know what needs to be done first and what will immediately bear fruit: introduce strict spiritual and moral censorship in mass media. In schools for Russian children—mandatory instruction in the foundations of Orthodoxy and Orthodox culture.

It is astonishing: there are ministries of health, emergency situations, social protection, and so forth—ministries designed to mitigate misfortunes rather than eliminate their causes. And few stop to think that if even a portion of the funds allocated to these structures were wisely invested in the spiritual health of the people, these very ministries would find their work much easier.

Civic repentance, it seems, lies in the return to the two-finger sign of the cross. Such a return must occur gradually and of one’s own free will.

And then the Lord will help us.

Holy Russian Land awaits Russian plowmen—those whose hands and thoughts are clean. We must be cleansed and begin to till the soil. Then an unseen garden will bloom and bear unimaginable fruit. Then the bedbugs and cockroaches will vanish, the Colorado beetles and rats, the blight and the mildew, and so on.

Of course, paradise on earth is impossible—but we must build it nonetheless. Otherwise, hell reproduces itself. “A holy place is never empty.”

The path ahead is lit by the light of truth from centuries past—including our own millennium. It does not shine behind us. We do not walk in our own shadow. It shines from the future. A new turn in history has begun. On this turning point we are awaited—either by the blessing of God, or by nonexistence and utter hell.

Glory to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit, now and ever, and unto the ages of ages. Amen.

Viktor Buzhinsky

REFERENCES

15. Kostomarov, N.I. The Schism: Historical Monographs and Studies. Moscow: Charly, 1994. 608 pp.

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