The Icon and the Axe

by James Billington

  Nowhere was the traditional Eastern formula defended with greater zeal than in Russia. As if compensating for the relative lateness of their conversion, Russian Orthodoxy tended to accept unquestioningly Orthodox definitions of truth and Byzantine forms of art; but the complex philosophic traditions and literary conventions of Byzantium (let alone the classical and Hellenic foundations of Byzantine culture) were'ne'vSrpropeMy assimilated. Thus,farefuiiy,'Russia took over "the Byzantine achievement . . . without the Byzantine inquisitiveness."9

  Working within this ornate and stylized Byzantine heritage, Kievan Russia developed two distinctive attitudes which gave an all-important initial sense of direction to Russian culture. First was a direct sense of beauty, a passion for seeing spiritual truth in concrete forms. The beauty of Constantinople and of its places and forms of worship was responsible for the conversion of Vladimir according to the earliest historical record of the Kievm~p€ii amp;^. This "Primary Chronicle"-itself a vivid, often beautiful work of literature-tells how Vladimir's emissaries found Moslem worship frenzied and foul-smelling, and "beheld no glory" in the ceremonies of Western Christians. But in Constantinople

  the Greeks led,jjs_to_the.h.uUdJngs where they worship their God, and we knew"not whether we were in heaven or on earth. For on earth there is no_ such splendor or such beauty, and,,we are at a loss to describe it. We know only that God dwells there among men, and their service is fairer than the ceremonies of other nations. For we cannot forget that beauty. Every man,

  after tasting something sweet, is afterward unwilling to accept that which is bitter. . . .10

  The Kievan princes sought to re-create this experience of beauty in the Byzantine-style cathedrals that sprang up in every important city of Eastern Slavdom. The panoply of heaven was represented by the composed central dome; its interior was embellished with the awesome image of the Panto-krator, the Divine Creator of both heaven and earth. Prominent among the other mosaic and frescoed figures that beautified the interior walls and domes was the Theotokos, the "God-bearing" Virgin. The cathedrals provided a center of beauty and a source of sanctification for the surrounding region. The word sobor, used to describe the gatherings in which the authority of God was invoked on all communal activities, also became the word for cathedral;11 and the life of each "gathering" was built around the liturgy: the rilual, communal re-enactment of Christ's saving sacrifice. ' -^ Concrete beauty rather than abstract ideas conveyed the essence of the Christian message to the early Russians, and inspired a fresh flowering of Byzantine art and letters on Russian soil. Man's function was not to analyze that which Has been resolved or to explain that which is mysterious, but lovingly and humbly to embellish the inherited forms of praise and worship -and thus, perhaps, gain some imperfect sense of the luminous world to come. Within a few decades of Vladimir's conversion Kiev was transformed into a majestic city. A visiting Western bishop referred to it as "the rival of Constantinople";12 and its first native metropolitan, Ilarion of Kiev, spoke of it as

  a city glistening with the light of holy icons,

  fragrant with incense, ringing with praise and holy, heavenly songs.13

  In all early Russian writings about a Christian prince "the mention of physical beauty is never lacking. Together with mercy and almsgiving, this is the only constant feature of an ideal prince."14

  Literacy was more widespread than is generally realized, among those with a practical need for it; but literature was more remarkable for its aesthetic embellishments than for the content of its ideas. The oldest surviving Russian manuscript, the Ostromir Codex of 1056-7, is a richly colored and ornamented collection of readings from the gospels which were prescribed for church services and arranged according to the days of the week. There^gere no complete versions of the Bible, let alone independent theological syntheses, produced in early Russia. Most of the twenty-two survivr ing manuscript books from the eleventh century and of the eighty-six from

  the twelfth15 were collections of readings and sermons assembled for practical guidance in worship and embellished both verbally and visually by Russian copyists. From the beginning there was a special preference not for the great theologians and lawmakers of Byzantium, but for its preachers, like the "golden-tongued" John Chrysostom. Cascading images of the beauties of resurrection swept away all subtlety of thought in the preaching of the greatest Kievan writers: Ilarion of Kiev and Cyril of Turov.

  There was, indeed, no independent critical theology of any sophistica-tioa in Old Russia. Even in the later, Muscovite period, "theoretical" was rendered by zritel'ny, "visual," and esteemed teachers were known as smptrelivy, "those who have seen."16 Local and contemporary saints assumed a particular importance in Russian theology. They had performed deeds that men had seen in their own time: Theodosius of Kiev, turning his back on wealth and indeed on asceticism to lead the monastery of the caves into a life of active counsel and charity in the city of Kiev; Abraham of Smolensk, painting as well as teaching about the Last Judgment and bringing rain to the parched steppelands with the fervor of his prayers. Above all stood the first Russian saints, Boris and Gleb, the innocent young sons of Vladimir who accepted death gladly in the political turmoil of Kiev in order to redeem their people through innocent, Christ-like suffering.17

  Theology, "the word of God," was found in the lives of saints. If one could not be or know a saint, one could still have living contact through the visual images of the iconographer and the oral reminders of the hagiog-rapher. The holy picture or icon was the most revered form of theological expression in Russia. Indeed, the popular word for "holy" or "saintly" was prepodobny, or "very like" the figures on the icons. But the life of a saint, written to be read aloud "for the good success and utility of those who listen," was also highly valued. The word for monastic novice or apprentice in sainthood was poslushnik, "obedient listener"; as one of the greatest Russian hagiographers explained, f seeing is better than hearing"; but later generations unable to see may stuT"believe even the sound of those who haveTieard, if they have spoken in truth."18

  There was a hypnotic quality to the cadences of the church chant; and the hollow, vaselike indentations (golosniki) in the early Kievan churches produced a lingering resonance which obscured the meaning but deepened the impact of the sung liturgy. Pictorial beauty was present not only in mosaics, frescoes, and icons but in the*vestments worn in stately processions and in the ornate cursive writing (skoropis') with which sermons and chronicles later came to be written. The sanctuary in which the priests celebrated mass was the tabernacle of God among men; and the rich incense by the royal"door's, the cloudy pillar through which God came first to Moses,

  • u (4

  mid now to all men through the consecrated bread brought out by the priest at the climax of each liturgy.

  The early Russians were drawn to Christianity by the aesthetic appeal of its liturgy, not the rational shape of its theology. Accepting unquestion-ingly the Orthodox definition of truth, they viewed all forms of expression as equally valid means of communicating and glorifying the faith. Words, , sounds, and pictures were all subordinate and interrelated parts of a common religious culture. In Russia-as distinct from the Mediterranean and Western worlds--"Church art was not added to religion from without, but was an emanation from within."19

  The same desire to see spiritual truth in tangible form accounts for the extraordinary sense of history that is a second distinguishing feature of early Russian culture. As with many simple warrior people, religious truth tended to be verified by the concrete test of ability to inspire victory. The miraculous pretensions of Christianity were not unique among world religions; but Orthodox Christianity offered a particularly close identification of charismatic power with historical tradition: an unbroken succession of patriarchs, prophets, and apostles that stretched from creation to incarnation and on to final judgment. A sense of majesty and destiny was imparted by the Church, which had sprung up around the original sees of Christendom, and by the Empire, which centered on t
he city of Constantine the Great, the man who converted the Roman Empire to Christianity and took part in the first ecumenical council of the Church at Nicaea. Tales of the great empires of the East and of the holy lands were brought back to Kiev by merchants and pilgrims alike; and these were interwoven into the sacred chronicles with no sense of conflict or incongruity. Whereas Western and Northern Europe had inherited a still primitive and uncodified Christianity from the crumbling Roman Empire of the West, Russia took over a finished creed from the still-unvanquished Eastern Empire. All that remained for "a newcomer to accomplish was the last chapter in this pageant of sacred history: "the transformation of the earthly dominion into the ecclesiastical dominion":20 preparation for the final assembly (ekklesia) of saints before the throne of God.

  "Because of the lack of rational orlogical elements, ancientRussian theology was entirely historical."21 The writing of sacred history in the form of chronicles was perhaps the most important and distinguished literary activity of the Kievan period. Chronicles were written in Church Slavonic in Kievan Russia I6ng before any were written in Italian or French, and are at least as artistic as the equally venerable chronicles composed in Latin and German. The vivid narrative of men and events in the original "Primary Chronicle" struck the first Western student of Russian chronicles, August

  Schlozer, as far superior to any in the medieval West, and helped inspire him to become the first to introduce both universal history and Russian history into the curriculum of a modern university.

  The final form of the Primary Chronicle, compiled early in the twelfth century, was probably based on the work of many hands during the preceding century; and it became, in turn, the starting point for innumerable subsequent chronicles of even greater length and detail. The reverence with which these sacred histories were regarded soon made slight changes in narration or genealogy an effective form of political and ideological warfare among fractious princes and monasteries. Variations in the phraseology of the chronicles remain one of the best guides to the internecine political straggles of medieval Russia for those able to master this esoteric form of communication.22

  Much more than most monastic chronicles of the medieval West, the , Russian chronicles are a valuable source of profane as well as sacred history. A miscellany of non-Christian elements, political and economic information, and even integral folk tales are often presented within the traditional framework of sacred history. In general, Kiev was a relatively cosmopolitan and tolerant cultural center. The chronicles frequently testify to the persistence of older pagan rites. The hallowed walls of the Santa Sophia in Kiev contain a series of purely secular frescoes. The first and most widely copied Russian account of a pilgrimage to the Holy Land includes more dispassionate geographical and ethnographic description than do most contemporary accounts by Western pilgrims and crusaders.23 The famous epic The Lay of the Host of Igor is far more rich in secular allusions and subject matter than epics of the Muscovite period. If one considers it an authentic work of this period, both the worldliness and literary genius of Kievan Russia become

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  even more impressive.2*

  Secular literature no less than theology was infused with a sense of history. As a leading Soviet historian of old Russian literature has written:

  Every narrative subject in Russian medieval literature was looked on as having taken place historically. . . .

  The active figures of old-Russian narrative tales were always historical figures, orTigures whose historical existence-even when apocryphal -permitted,Qf no doubt. Even in those cases where a contrived figure was introduced, he was surrounded with a swarm of historical memories, creating the illusion of real existence in the past.

  The action of the narrative always took place in precisely delineated historical circumstances or, more often, in works of old Russian literature, related directly to historical events themselves.

  That is why in medieval Russian literature there were no works in the purely entertaining genres, but the spirit of historicism penetrated it all

  in.in beginning to end. This gave Russian medieval literature tne stamp 01 Mrtleular seriousness and particular significance.25

  The desire to find both roots and vindication in history grew partlyjput ?! the insecurity of the Eastern plain. Geography, not history, had tradi-

  illy dominated the thinking of the Eurasian steppe. Harsh seasonal

  ¦ les, a few, distant rivers, and sparse patterns of rainfall and soil fertility mtrolled the lives of the ordinary peasant; and the ebb and flow of nomadic conquerors often seemed little more than the senseless movement of surface I ibjects on an unchanging and unfriendly sea.

  Any steppe people who felt that time really mattered-and that they as « pcopleTiarTa mission to perform in time-was automatically distinct. Conversion to the profoundly historical creed of Judaism had prolonged the" life nl 1 he exposed Khazar empire to the south; and to the east, the Volga llulgars had attained an importance out of all proportion to their numbers by accepting Islam. Christianity had appeared in history midway in time I ui ween these two monotheisms, and the Christianity which took root amone ilie l.astern Slavs provided many of the same psychological satisfactions as tlic prophetic creeds adopted by their neighboring civilizations.

  There is a historical cast to the most widely reproduced sermon of the Kievan period, Metropolitan Ilarion's "On Law and Grace." It was apparently first delivered on Easter in 1049, just two days after the feast of the Annunciation of the Virgin in the church of the Annunciation, near the ‹ loldcn Gate of the city, to celebrate the completion of the walls around Kiev.2" After contrasting the law of the Old Testament with the grace made possible through the New, Ilarion rushes on to depict something rather like I he coming age of glory on Russian soil. He bids Vladimir rise from the dead and look upon Kiev transformed into a kind of New Jerusalem. Vladimir's son, Yaroslav the Wise, has built the Santa Sophia, "the great and holy lemple of Divine Wisdom;," within the walls of "the city of glory, Kiev," just as David's son Solomon had raised up a temple within Jerusalem in the time of the law.27 Like the people of Israel, the Kievans were called upon not just to profess the faith but to testify in deeds their devotion to the living (loci. Thus, churches were built and a city transformed under Yaroslav, not lor decorative effect, but for Christian witness. In response to God's gracious gilt of His Son, God's people were returning their offering of praise and thanksgiving. The forms of art and worship were those hallowed by the one "right-praising" Church in which His Holy Spirit dwelt.

  Conservative adherence to past practices was to serve, ironically, to heighten radical expectations of an approaching end to history. Believing that the forms of art and worship should be preserved intact until the second

  coming of Christ, Russians tended to explain unavoidable innovations as signs that the promised end was drawing near. Though this "eschatological psychosis" was to be more characteristic of the later Muscovite period, there are already traces of it in the dark prophetic preaching of Abraham of Smolensk.28

  Kievan Russia received such unity as it attained essentially through waves of conversion-moving north from Kiev and out from the princely .court in each city to ever wider sections of the surrounding populace. Conversion was apparently more important than colonization in unifying the region,29 and each new wave of converts tended to adopt not merely the Byzantine but the Kievan heritage as well. The Slavonic language became the uniform vehicle for writing and worship, slowly driving the Finno-Ugrian tongues which originally dominated much of northern Russia to peripheral regions: Finland and Esthonia to the west and the Mordvin and Chefemis regions to the east along the Volga. The sense, of historic destiny grew; and the idea of Christianity as a religion of victorious combat increased as the obstacles-both pagan and natural-grew more formidable.

  Everywh
ere that the new faith went it was dramatically translated into monuments of church architecture: j the magnificent Santa Sophia in Novgorod, the second city of early Russia and a point of commercial contact with the Germanic peoples of the Baltic; the lavish Cathedral of the Assumption in Vladimir, the favored northern headquarters for the Kievan princes and a key center on the upper Volga. Both of these twelfth-century masterpieces were modeled on (and named after) counterparts in Kiev; but the building of churches extended beyond the cities, even beyond the records of monastic chroniclers, out to such forbidding spots as the shores of Lake Ladoga. There, in the late 1160's, the church of St. George was built and adorned with beautiful frescoes which illustrate the fidelity to tradition and sense of destiny that were present in the chronicles. The fact that this memorable church is not even mentioned in the chronicles points to the probability that there were many other vanished monuments of this kind. Named after the saintly dragon slayer who became a special hero of the Russian north, St. George's was probably built as a votive offering for victory in battle over the Swedes.30 Byzantine in its iconography, the surviving frescoes reveal nonetheless a preoccupation with the details of the Last Judgment, which-characteristically in Russian churches-dominated, and even extended beyond, the confines of the inner west wall.