Mary Mansur

The holy Apostle Paul spelled it out clearly in his epistle to the Romans: the wages of sin is death.  To the Ephesians he wrote a similar word of admonition: no unclean person . . . hath any inheritance in the kingdom of Christ and of God.  Nowadays, the very notion of sin and wrongdoing has been buried under a prevailing philosophy which tells us, “I’m OK, you’re OK,” and if we are not OK, either our genes are at fault or we are victims of some prejudice or societal injustice.  While this has been a boon for defense lawyers, it has had an adverse effect on our spiritual development as Orthodox Christians.  Even as we utter the various excuses and justifications at hand, our souls are ailing, burdened by accumulated sins, and we wonder why we have trouble “connecting” with God. We are told we are well, but we are sick. We have every reason, therefore, to welcome the appearance of this slim volume on the Mystery of Repentance, aptly titled, The Forgotten Medicine.

This is not a theological treatise.  It is a basic, easily read and convincing explanation of why, if we truly desire to be with God, we should eagerly avail ourselves of the Sacrament of Confession.  “Sin,” the author reminds us, “obstructs the way to God . . . [It] is a great evil with immeasurably heavy consequences-eternal torments in hell!  But its cure, established by Jesus Christ, turns out to be so easy!”  Different chapters answer common objections to confession, provide guidelines for “a saving confession,” and describe its desirable results. The author makes his points with the help of citations from holy fathers, reinforcing them with examples from lives of saints and effective, allegorical illustrations, in-telligible to the youngest penitent.  To those who question the need for confession, thinking they have no special sin to confess, the author writes, “When a man stays in a closed room for a long time, he gets used to the bad air.”  By contrast, “a soul which confesses regularly is like a house which is constantly swept.”

A note “About the Author ” states that Archimandrite Seraphim Alexiev (1912-1993) was an assistant professor at the Theological Academy in Sophia (Bulgaria).  His last book was an in-depth criticism of the heresy of ecumenism. The present, much simpler work, reflects his abiding pastoral concern.  (Two companion volumes, The Meaning of Suffering, and Strife and Reconciliation), will be available from the same publisher in January 1995.)  It is a smooth translation, attractively presented.  Some readers may frown at the rather gothic nineteenth-century Russian engravings, but others may argue in favor of such graphic emphasis.  The index appears superfluous.

Repentance used to be an important part of all the Christian confessions. The emphasis has disappeared.  No longer are there lines in front of Roman Catholic confessionals, and the hellfire-and-brimstone which once issued from Protestant pulpits has been replaced by more “comfortable” sermons on grace and charity.  Sadly, even in some Orthodox churches, the importance of confession has been allowed to fade: the particular has given way to general or infrequent confession, and it is often regarded as a formality, part of the rule in preparation for Holy Communion.  It is, in fact, a very powerful Sacrament, and if this book were given the distribution it deserves, it could help to restore a proper appreciation of this Mystery as a vital part of the spiritual life.

M. Mansur

Without doubt, the late Hieromonk Seraphim (Rose) was a most remarkable American convert.  He was a contributing editor for Orthodox America and editor of The Orthodox Word; he was also the author of many books, and the translator and/or editor of many other works, in both English and Russian. In addition, he wrote scores of articles on a wide variety of church subjects, and composed services to four saints.  His death in 1982, at the early age of forty-eight, brought this prolific career to an abrupt close. Those who were privileged to know Fr. Seraphim personally, as this writer did for more than twelve years, also saw something of Fr. Seraphim “the man”: the spiritual director, the monk, and-in his last few years-the priest and confessor.  His brilliant and even splendid intellect was combined with a rare soul and a peaceful outward personality that was self-effacing, quiet, still-a personality that, frankly, loathed controversy and conflict.  Especially would he have disliked the controversy generated by his biography.

Many of us-his spiritual children and his readers-had long wished for a biography of Fr. Seraphim.  Some, assuming that such a work would be only a straightforward account of his remarkable life and thought, were asked to share our personal memories for such a study.  Last summer, Not of This World: The Life and Teachings of Fr. Seraphim Rose, was published. And, indeed, the biographer, Fr. Damascene (Christensen) has managed to integrate a massive amount of material.  He narrates Fr. Seraphim’s life skillfully, and we learn many things about Fr. Seraphim-especially his pre-Orthodox life-that we did not know before. This, in spite of the fact that Fr. Damascene himself hardly knew Fr. Seraphim, and was only baptized at the time of Fr. Seraphim’s death.  The book is also filled with photographs that help to make the man and his times come to life. Not of This World is, however, both a treasure and a disappointment, a joy and a sadness, an inspiration and a scandal.  The purpose of this review is to examine these contradictions.

Some may ask: how can this reviewer-Fr. Alexey Young-possibly give an objective evaluation of Not of This World?  After all, as a spiritual son of Fr. Seraphim (and co-worker with him on a number of projects), Fr. Alexey is perhaps too close to his subject.  Also, Fr. Alexey was for many years closely associated with the St. Herman of Alaska Skete (where Fr. Seraphim lived) in Platina, California.  The third, and, perhaps the most serious criticism of all: five years ago Fr. Alexey left the Russian Church Abroad, and he is no longer in a position to speak with any credibility.

May I say forthrightly that it is precisely because of these objections that I am in a position to write an honest review of this biography. First, while I knew the man, trusted him, and believed he achieved righteousness, I was not blind to his weaknesses-nor would he have wanted me to be.  Fr. Seraphim had a horror of “guru-ism.” He never demanded blind or unquestioning obedience, and he would have been appalled by statements such as one printed on the back of the book jacket: “Without Fr. Seraphim we’d all be dead.”  In a letter to me he once described himself, in an obviously understated way, as only an “elder brother,” one who had taken a few more steps along the path than I had.1  He often made suggestions but always added, “do what you think is best.” He himself always preserved a kind of polite but definite “distance” between himself and others, so that it was possible for us to view him objectively.  He was not a cold or arrogant men, yet he did not permit any kind of what we would now call “co-dependance” between himself and others.

Secondly, I was an outside witness to a number of the events described in this book; most of those I did not personally see, were described to me by Fr. Seraphim himself, either in person or by letter. Although the St. Herman Skete was a very important influence in my life, I found it impossible to support the transient whims and peculiar ecclesiology of the Skete’s then-Abbot, Fr. Herman (Podmoshensky), when, after Fr. Seraphim’s death, he entered into an almost paranoid combat with his ruling hierarch, Archbishop Anthony of San Francisco and Western America.  Fr. Herman was ultimately suspended and then defrocked by the Russian Church Abroad-after a series of provocations by Fr. Herman that would have horrified Fr. Seraphim, and which would never have been tolerated, had he lived. Thirdly, my own departure from the Russian Church Abroad to another jurisdiction had nothing to do with Fr. Herman and the Skete’s troubles, nor did I follow him into his present ecclesiastical affiliation. Nor was I rejecting the priceless spiritual formation I so generously received in the bosom of the Church Abroad.  In fact, in my present-day contacts with clergy and laity of other jurisdictions, I gladly and proudly defend the Church Abroad when she is criticized.

Lastly, since the book’s appearance last summer, I have been contacted by a score of people around the country who, not having known Fr. Seraphim, but seeing that I am quoted in the biography many times, have asked my opinion of the book and its accuracy. I have felt an urgent responsibility to speak truthfully and set the record straight.

In a certain sense, this biography is actually three books in one. The first concerns Fr. Seraphim’s early life and his intellectual and spiritual development up to the time of his conversion to Orthodoxy (approximately 250 pages). The second deals at length with his life as an Orthodox Christian -as a layman, monk, priest, writer, and teacher (more than six hundred pages). The last and, blessedly, shortest section (about 150 pages) concerns events that occurred after his repose-primarily Fr. Herman’s activities and troublesome new directions. The word is not hagiography, but biography, and so it naturally contains much material of a  personal and even seemingly trivial nature-in order to “fill out” the man as completely as possible, especially in his youthful, formative years.

Before discussing these three sections, it is important to note that this biography is at its best when Fr. Seraphim is allowed to speak for himself. Since he left behind a considerable body of published work, was a prolific letter-writer, and also kept a private journal, we can know something of what he was experiencing, thinking, and feeling about many things, both in his own life and in the larger life of the Church.2  In these parts of the book-and they are many-we recognize the Fr. Seraphim we knew and so warmly remember.

But, unfortunately, there are also a number of critical places where we do not hear Fr. Seraphim’s “voice”; nor do we really hear the voice of Fr. Damascene, the author, either.  Instead, we are subject to the views and interpretations of Fr. Herman, the co-founder of the St. Herman Skete and Fr. Seraphim’s monastic brother-and not all these ideas were shared by Fr. Seraphim.  Anyone who knows Fr. Herman can quickly identify these passages-and, unfortunately, there are many.  Fr. Herman’s speaking and writing style is quite distinctive, a style not at all shared by the author or Fr. Seraphim, who wrote and spoke in a very unsentimental and lean manner.  Perhaps these sections were simply dictated to Fr. Damascene, who then edited and corrected them, incorporating them into the text.  In any case, what we get in some passages is not the unadorned Fr. Seraphim, but Fr. Herman’s own version of him.

Fr. Damascene’s use of pseudonyms for certain people-usually bishops and other leading figures in the Church Abroad whom Fr. Herman does not happen to like-is unscholarly, childish, and offensive.  One can understand that it would be appropriate to change the names of less important individuals, to protect their privacy, but to do this with well-known, public figures makes no sense, since most readers know, or can easily discover, who these people really are.  Frankly, it is cowardly to change the names of only those who are being criticized, slandered, and held up to ridicule. In some ways, the first part of this book is the most important and the most positive.  It is refreshing-especially for those who knew the mature Fr. Seraphim only in his last years-to see that as a boy and young man he had a girlfriend, favorite pets and music; he participated in sports, he both smoked and sometimes drank too much-like so many young people.  On a broader level, his is the story of a young man, typically American, middle-class, generically Protestant, who very much reflected the anxious post-World War II soul-searching of many of his generation, and even many today in the post-Vietnam generation.  In fact, most who read this section will find in it a disturbing mirror of their own overly-intellectual, skeptical, and self-destructive lives. It is precisely this that is so inspiring and encouraging for the modern reader: he can see how  a man (the future Fr. Seraphim) can go from the darkness of intellectual pride and agnosticism (at times even atheism) to simple hope and belief.

In his early twenties, he was influenced by the philosopher and writer, Guenon, from whom he learned the meaning and disastrous effect of “modernism” on Western civilization and became convinced “that the upholding of ancient tradition was valid and not just a sign of being unenlightened, as the modernists would claim.  Whereas the modern mentality viewed all things in terms of historical progress, Guenon viewed them in terms of historical disintegration.”3 This discovery actually prepared him for his later encounter with Orthodox Christianity, a traditional religion with a very old but very functional world-view.

When, finally, he discovered True Christianity in his late twenties, he saw quite quickly and lucidly that because Orthodoxy is the Living Truth, it is also “all-or-nothing”-“a scandal and insult to the ‘wisdom’ and instincts of ‘this world’.”4  He particularly saw this in the person of Blessed Archbishop John Maximovitch, with whom he came into frequent contact, but who was regarded by a few as a “scandal” precisely because he took Orthodox Christianity so literally and lived it so uncompromisingly.5

Whereas this first section of the biography is instructive and encouraging, the second is sometimes inspiring but is, at times, deeply troubling and bewildering.  Inspiring because it deals with Fr. Seraphim’s actual entrance into the Church and his ever-deepening discovery of Orthodox piety and practice, patristics and spirituality and-above all-his encounter with and deep love for the rich monastic tradition of Russian Orthodoxy, in particular the Optina and Valaam traditions, which became a constant source of spiritual consolation and encouragement. The events surrounding the founding of The Orthodox Word and the establishment of the St. Herman of Alaska Skete in the mountain wilds of northern California are informative and fascinating.

It was during this period, also, that Fr. Seraphim “hit his stride” in terms of using his intellectual and pastoral talents for the greater good of the Church.  He was able to identify and understand the “convert phenomenon” but, more than this, began to realize that the most important thing about controversies and problems in the Church (a constant temptation for converts, especially) is how to understand and view them from the calm perspective of eternity, without being drawn into passionate  arguments for this or that figure, “party,” or ideology. These are extremely valuable insights and principles by which we can and should life today-and they are all contained in this book.  The tragedy, however, is that in the last several months or so of Fr. Seraphim’s life, his monastic partner and “inspirer,” Fr. Herman, began to go in a quite different direction, a direction that ultimately took him, after Fr. Seraphim’s death right out of the Church.

Much is made in this biography of the “oneness of mind” that existed between Frs. Herman and Seraphim.  Undoubtedly this did exist, especially in their early years together. They certainly shared a common vision of what their life and work should be, and out of this came a constant and fruitful stream of edifying books, articles, translations, etc. many of which have become widely known, and some of which have been translated into other languages (particularly Russian).  Because of their shared commitment, many-possibly hundreds-converted to the Faith.

This biography does not tell us, however, that in the last years this fabled “oneness of mind” began to break down significantly.  substantive disputes about the future of the Skete and its work occurred with more and more frequency as Fr. Herman developed a more idiosyncratic and flamboyant attitude that grieved and worried Fr. Seraphim.  He told me and others about this himself.

On one occasion, about six months before he died, he said that he was never happier than when Fr. Herman was off on one of his many “trips”-for then, he said, “we have peace, quiet, and order at the Skete.”  Clearly, something had gone wrong.  One of their disagreements concerned the question of establishing a monastery in Alaska, on St. Herman’s own island. Although the book says that Fr. Seraphim gave his permission for this on his deathbed, the facts are actually quite different. Regrettably, we must now speak of this episode in detail.

About three months before Fr. Seraphim died, Fr. Herman came to see me at my home.  He was in an extremely agitated state. He took me aside and said that he and Fr. Seraphim had just had a “terrible fight.”  “Fr. Seraphim,” he said, “doesn’t understand me!  I don’t know what will happen, now, in the future.”  He explained that the argument concerned a possible future monastic establishment in Alaska, a venture that Fr. Herman was eager to pursue, but one for which Fr. Seraphim refused to give his blessing, although he did bless Fr. Herman to spend Pascha on Spruce Island, which he did.

Is it possible that Fr. Seraphim on his deathbed finally did give his blessing to proceed with this plan, as the biography maintains? It is very unlikely-for two reasons: first, shortly after Fr. Seraphim was admitted to the hospital he was put on life-support systems, including a respirator-which meant that he was unable to talk.  He was also in and out of consciousness-as all of us who were there can testify. Secondly, and more serious: several months later Fr. Herman himself told me that the very last words spoken to him by Fr. Seraphim were: “I’m finished with you. Damn you!” Fr. Seraphim’s uncharacteristically angry words bespeak a mind deeply troubled over Fr. Herman’s general behavior and suggest that there was more going on than any of us suspected at the time. Needless to say, none of this is in the biography.

This work contains an enormous, almost obsessive, amount of “anti-bishop” talk. Much of this is petty and gossipy and seems to bespeak some kind of unresolved psychological conflict with authority figures on Fr. Herman’s part.  None of these nasty remarks come from Fr. Seraphim himself, however. It appears to be an interpolation by the author and/or Fr. Herman.  Nor did I ever hear during Fr. Seraphim’s lifetime any such talk at the Skete-except, once, around 1973, from Fr. Herman. I had written a series of articles called “What is a Bishop?”  Fr. Herman urged that I not write any more such articles. When I asked why, he only replied: “We shouldn’t make so much of bishops. They can get ‘big heads’.”

I thought very little about this at the time because, in all of my own publication and missionary work, both Fathers had always spoken well of Archbishop Anthony (who also spoke very appreciatively of them to me!). Furthermore, they always insisted that I do nothing without his blessing. But in 1987, on the only occasion I saw Fr. Herman after 1984, when I asked him if he had gone under a bishop of another jurisdiction, he replied tartly: “Who needs bishops?  All they do is cause trouble. They are the enemy of the Holy Spirit!”  When I said that he sounded like an Old Believer he responded, “I don’t need a bishop!”  (As it happened, however, he had already secretly left the Russian Church Abroad and placed himself under the uncanonical and completely unrecognized “Bishop” Pangratios. Interestingly, a few years later when he visited Russia, he did not disdain to accept an award from the Patriarch of Moscow.)

Many of the alleged “encounters” between Vladika Anthony and the Fathers-often described as angry attempts on the Archbishop’s part to control and “squash” them-are simply exaggerations or outright misrepresentations.  Fr. Seraphim himself told me about many specific occasions when Vladika visited the Skete, was “pleased” with them and their work, and was happy to be with them, even if only briefly, in their seclusion and peace.

At other times he mentioned minor and normal disagreements or misunderstandings with their ruling hierarch-but these were always worked out and there was never any sense of enmity in those days, such as this book portrays.  Naturally,the Archbishop had an appropriate responsibility for pastoral oversight, and he wished to be consulted and kept informed about various projects and plans. There may even have been times when he did not completely understand certain goals and aspirations of the Fathers. But this is all quite normal, as anyone who has worked for an employer in the world knows.

In any case, the portrayal of Vladika Anthony as some kind of “ecclesiastical monster” or tyrant does not ring true to anyone who knows him. His own repeated, sincere, and long-suffering attempts to make peace with Fr. Herman for more than four years after Fr. Seraphim’s death-all of which were angrily rejected by Fr. Herman-bear witness to Vladika’s true character and need no further defense or explanation.

Similarly, although Fr. Damascene’s book is filled with sly remarks and attacks against the Church Abroad, I never heard any criticism of the Synod from Fr. Seraphim.  Quite the contrary. Although he did caution against putting too much trust in the outward, external “institution” of the Church, Fr. Seraphim wrote the following to me on October 18/31, 1972: “Our [Synod of] bishops on the whole are better than any others we know about, and probably no different from the bishops of the last 2000 years, through whom the Holy Spirit has led His Church.” He went on to write that we must “become the bishops’ best helpers-for we are working together with them in the true service of the Church’s ‘organism,’ the Body of Christ. If we thereby sometimes suffer misunderstandings and offenses from each other (and we are guilty of this, not just bishops!), the Church gives us the spiritual means to forgive and overcome these.” This is a radically different view from that given in this biography.

The final chapters, which deal with the sad and, frankly, terrible events that occurred after Fr. Seraphim’s repose, and which have no business being in this biography, are a disservice to his memory, and are nothing more than a one-sided apologia for Fr. Herman’s decision to leave the Church. By “one-sided” is meant that he (through the author) simply does not tell the whole truth.  For example, no mention is made of the fact that charges of a moral nature were brought against him about eighteen months after Fr. Seraphim’s death.  The Archbishop treated these accusations against Fr. Herman with utmost discretion, with all his heart he did not want not believe them and did not press these particular charges against Fr. Herman. (It is a fact, however, that Fr. Herman’s alleged problems in this area actually surfaced shortly before Fr. Seraphim’s death, and were known to him, undoubtedly contributing to the overwhelming sense of sadness that precipitated his final illness and repose, and which may explain his last words to Fr. Herman.)

The narrative leads the reader to conclude that Fr. Herman left the Church Abroad because his hierarch “persecuted” him and wanted to “seize” the Skete and its property-something he had supposedly long coveted. Not only is this not true, but the actual charges against Fr. Herman concerned legitimate matters of “insubordination and disobedience,” and it was for these that he was ultimately defrocked.6

In general, this self-serving one-sidedness demonstrates the way in which many incidents have been exaggerated, distorted, and made to serve the private ideology of Fr. Herman.  It is a poison that came into full “flower” only after Fr. Seraphim’s death, when he was no longer present to provide the needed “balance” to Fr. Herman’s exuberant personality-a personality that gave so much to the Church in his healthier, obedient days, and which was greatly valued by so many, but which later came to possess the ugly qualities that he is now so quickly to ascribe to others in the Church Abroad or, indeed, to anyone who does not completely agree with him.7

Finally, what can be said about this biography of Fr. Seraphim? As was pointed out earlier, where Fr. Seraphim is allowed to speak for himself, in lengthy quotations from his writings, the book is magnificent because Fr. Seraphim-his mind, his soul-was so rare, so wonderful and “good” a human being.  In this sense, it is an important work. But the biography is extremely flawed because it has been made to serve the interests of Fr. Herman’s own bitterness, and to justify or excuse his grave and unresolved personal problems. The average reader, who does not know all of the principal people involved, will have difficulty sorting this out, if he even can do so at all.

Archpriest Alexey Young

NOTES:
1. Fr. Alexey saved twelve years of Fr. Seraphim’s letters of spiritual direction, written to him both as a layman and, later, as a priest. Orthodox America is now preparing these letters for publication.

2. N.B: While we can trust the accuracy of all those things published before Fr. Seraphim’s death, we cannot be sure, for obvious reasons, that the excerpts in this book from his private journal are his original and unedited thoughts and jottings.  Nor, because of Fr. Herman’s present anti-Synod bias (which manifests itself only after Fr. Seraphim’s death), can we now ever be sure of this.

3. Christensen, Monk Damascene, Not of This World: the Life and Teachings of Fr. Seraphim Rose.

4. Ibid.

5. The relics of Blessed Archbishop John (who will be canonized by the Church Abroad in the summer of 1994-the same jurisdiction and hierarchy that, according to this biography, “persecuted” him!) were recently found to be whole and incorrupt.  Unfortunately, Vladika John’s struggles are wrenched out of their proper context and given a meaning they actually did not have at the time-a literary “technique” that occurs frequently in this book.  For further information about the alleged “treatment” of Vladika John, see a review of this biography by Novice Sergey in Orthodox Life, Vol. 43, No. 5.

6. For the full text of the Ecclesiastical Court’s decision, see Orthodox Life, op. cit.

7. In a letter Fr. Herman wrote to a layman in Britain during this time, he said that even Fr. Alexey Young had “betrayed” him.  In fact, on the last occasion I visited him at the Skete, in 1984, I begged him on my knees and in tears to make his peace with the Archbishop and not jeopardize all of the work he and Fr. Seraphim had done.

As for that Night… (Job 3:6)

I first became aware-but only vaguely-of the last Romanovs when the film “Anastasia,” was released in 1956.  At that time I knew nothing about Orthodoxy, Russia, or the Romanovs.  I certainly did not know enough to recognize historical errors and outright fantasies in the film-and, I later learned, there were many.  But scenes of a procession at Pascha, Icons with flickering vigil lights tucked away in shadowy corners: none of this was lost on my thirteen-year-old mind.

At the time I didn’t understand why a hideous massacre of the Imperial Family had occurred on “that night” in 1918.  The terrible pathos of this tragedy came through loud and clear in the film-especially in the character of the lonely Dowager Empress Maria Feodorovna, the “Old Icon,” as other characters in the film referred to her.1

I began to read.  And I read, and read: biographies, histories, memoirs-whatever I could find.  Much of it was uncomplimentary.  Tsar Nicholas was usually portrayed as (at best) “weak-willed” and, (at worst) “Bloody Nicholas.”  Tsarina Alexandra was almost always “neurotic,” dominant and “controlling” (when she wasn’t being “controlled” by another mysterious figure, Rasputin).  But even to my adolescent mind this all seemed exaggerated.

I knew that Soviets were capable of vicious propaganda; it was in their interest to give the worst possible “face to the Old Order, personified by the Imperial Family: always discredit your enemies by painting them in the most lurid colors possible, for this gives a semblance of “legitimacy” to your own otherwise despicable actions.  Sadly, “these troubadours of [a] spineless ideology”2 had managed to convince most Western historians that under Tsarist Russia much of the population lived in poverty and despair when, in fact, “Russia, during the reign of Emperor Nicholas II, attained a high level of prosperity.”3  One had to dig deeply to discover that the quality of life in Russia before the Revolution was as high, or higher, than in Europe, that the burden of taxes was many times lighter than in Germany, France, and England, that prior to Communism Russia was “the largest wheat-producing country in the world”4, or that enlightened child labor laws and expenditure on public education far exceeded those of the West.  No, we were given an image of slavery and starvation, inspired by blood-thirsty and venal Tsars.

But then, in 1967, Robert K. Massie’s internationally successful biography, Nicholas and Alexandra, appeared.  Here, for the first time, we had a three-dimensional portrayal of the last Romanovs. Clearly, Massie was not writing an apologia for the Romanovs, but neither was he repeating the usual propaganda.  He did not have full access to secret archives, but he had a personal motive for being fair: he and his wife had a son who suffered from hemophilia, as had the Tsarevitch, Alexey.  This gave Massie’s work a dimension of compassion lacking in works other than memoirs such as Anna Vyrubova’s Memories of the Russian Court, or Pierre Gilliard’s Thirteen Years at the Russian Court.  Massie even put the controversial question of Rasputin in a fresh context: he was divested of his horns, but neither was he whitewashed.5   “As for that night” in July of 1918, when the family was martyred, Massie gave an objective and factual account of the assassination.

In Oxford, in 1976, I made the acquaintance of George Gibbes, the adopted son of Fr. Nicholas Gibbes, who had been the English tutor to the Imperial children.  At his home in Oxford he had preserved not only his father’s personal papers, but many important documents and memorabilia relating to the last Romanovs and “that night” of terror in Ekaterinburg.6  Gibbes is acknowledged in a highly sensationalized book, The File on the Tsar, by British authors Anthony Summers and Tom Mangold.  Although there was a modicum of scholarship in this work-for example the authors documented “the callous roles played by King George V and Kaiser Wilhelm” in the fate of the Romanovs-Summers and Mangold also rekindled speculation and reported rumors about possible survivors of “that night,” presenting supposedly “new and compelling evidence that most of the Romanovs were not massacred…and did survive after July 1918.”7  They acknowledged the assistance of George Gibbes.  But Mr. Gibbes told me they had deceived him and misrepresented his father’s views about the “false Anastasia,” Anna Anderson.  Although they presented themselves as genuine scholars, when their book was published Gibbes realized that they had a hidden and unscholarly agenda.

On the whole, there seemed to be a genuine malice towards the Imperial Family-either by portraying them as unutterably wicked and depraved,8 or by denying them the actual martyrs’ death they had so cruelly suffered.  This malice had not abated more than sixty years after “that night” in Ekaterinburg and “the bloody bacchanalia” of the Revolution.9  Outside the Russian Church in the diaspora (for the Church under the Soviet Yoke was unable to speak freely on this subject), no one seemed able or willing to express the authentic and ancient concept that an anointed Orthodox monarch is much more than politics and systems of government, that he (or she) is “a living incarnation of faith in the Divine Providence that works in the destinies of nations and peoples and directs Rulers faithful to God into good and useful actions”10-and that this, too, is a legitimate way of looking at the question.

Or, as Blessed Archbishop John (Maximovitch) wrote in 1963: “When he [Nicholas II] saw that it had become impossible for him to perform according to his conscience his service as Tsar, he laid down the Imperial Crown, like St. Boris the Prince, not wishing to become the cause of discord and blood-letting in Russia, but on the contrary gave an even greater opportunity for committing crime without punishment, brought inconceivable sorrow and suffering. But he displayed…a greatness of spirit that likened him to the Righteous Job.  The malice of his enemies did not abate.”11

By the late 1980’s the Soviet Empire had begun to collapse: at last, historians started to take a new look at both the Romanovs and the Revolution.  At the same time, headlines and banners appeared overnight in Moscow: “‘Moscow prays for the innocent Tsar.’  ‘The Russians must know the truth about the Tsar’s death’,” etc.12

In 1989 the unthinkable occurred: an Orthodox Constitutional Monarchist Party was founded.  And since this coincided with the startling discovery, the same year, of the skeletal remains of the Romanovs-thought to have been either completely destroyed or long since lost-a move to rehabilitate the Romanovs was on and a healthy spirit of revisionism was born.  It still has a long way to go, but in 1990 there appeared (first in French, then in English) Marc Ferro’s scholarly study, Nicholas II: The Last of the Tsars. This was an important book, for Ferro had more extensive access to Russian archives than had been possible for others. This enabled him to penetrate the Soviet veil of propaganda and evaluate both the character and reign of Tsar Nicholas.

Ferro came to the conclusion that although Nicholas II was at times quite enigmatic, he “was one of those individuals who are burdened with a destiny that they have taken upon themselves as a duty decreed once for all time, and that separates them from a world undergoing change before their eyes. Nicholas II was not blind to this, but he considered that his duty consisted entirely in showing respect for the past and humility before God by yielding up none of his powers.”13  He possessed a consistent “taste for the order, ritual and ceremony identified with the intangible grandeur of autocracy,” and he therefore “hated everything that might shake that autocracy….[However] this ruler who came to be called Nicholas ‘the Bloody’ was not bloodthirsty.”14  Nonetheless, Ferro realized, Nicholas’ reign, “which had begun as an obligation imposed by God…became a nightmare.”15

Having given a fuller and more accurate portrait of the last Romanovs, Ferro is also intrigued by the possibility that one or more members of the Imperial Family may have survived “that night.”16  He examines in some detail the inconsistencies, contradictions, and puzzles in the documentation surrounding the assassination of the Romanovs, all of which, as he says, certainly “arouse[s] our curiosity,” but does not constitute “irrefutable evidence.”17 He believes that more information may still be hidden away in unknown, unrevealed archives, but he adds that there is no reason for secrecy, and hasn’t been for many long decades: on the one hand he says, “the extent to which the family had been exterminated no longer mattered” once the Revolution was secure and, on the other, Lenin himself clearly believed that “the death of Nicholas II called for no explanation or justification…and…was so unimportant that it was not worth spending any time on it.”18 He calls for more research, more evidence. In 1992 there appeared, in both Russian and English, The Last Tsar: The Life and Death of Nicholas II by the Russian playwright and historian, Edvard Radzinsky.  The “artist” comes through strongly: the book’s style is poetic, impressionistic, with little sense of the historian’s careful documentation and scruple.  And yet, partly because Radzinsky had access to normally restricted documents held by the Museum of the Revolution, and also had contact with the friends and families of the last witnesses to the events of “that night,” his book is to be taken seriously.  Also, although he does not seem to be a believer, he is a Russian, and he understands almost intuitively things that others cannot.  For example, he speaks of “the mysticism of history”:

“The monastery whence the first Romanov was called upon to rule was the Ipatiev; the house where the last ruling Romanov, Nicholas II, parted with his life was the Ipatiev house….A Michael was the first tsar from the house of Romanov; a Michael was also the last, in whose favor Nicholas II tried unsuccessfully to abdicate the throne.”19

Few if any non-Orthodox Western writers would even note, as Radzinsky does, the Imperial Family’s devotion to St. Seraphim of Sarov and the miraculous rediscovery of his incorrupt relics a few years ago (as the Saint had predicted); nor would they see the poignancy of the fact that some of the Saint’s prophecies were deliberately “doctored” by the Imperial Department of Police in order to deceive the Tsar concerning the future of Russia and his own fate.

Nicholas is correctly described as “gentle, retiring”-he and his family “lived in nearly idyllic seclusion.  Few knew of their real life.”  From youth the Tsar was a man of “irresolute compassion”: “his tragedy was that, although he was stubborn, he was also unable to say a clear no to a petitioner’s face.  He was too delicate and well bred to be crudely determinate.”20  His last years were ones of “profound loneliness” and “deep sadness.”21  He had no illusions about the provocative excesses of the muzhik, Rasputin, but neither did Nicholas see him as a “holy devil” or a “mad monk,” as the conventional propaganda would have it.  The Tsar told a minister at the court:

“‘The Empress…believes in the power of his [Rasputin’s] prayers for our Family and Alexey, but after all this is our own business, completely private. It is amazing how people love to interfere in all that does not concern them.'”22 

Radzinsky adds significantly: “The Tsar’s religious family and an increasingly atheistic society [especially the intelligentsia] were finding they understood each other less and less.”23

As for the Tsarina, she (and others) had often seen Rasputin’s undeniable ability to stop the frequent and near-fatal illnesses of the Tsarevitch. She was a mother, after all; her children were everything to her.  The Tsar had seen the police reports about Rasputin, and doubtless he had spoken to his wife about them.  But she had read books about Holy Fools and, mistakenly-but quite humanly-ascribed Rasputin’s excesses to Foolishness-for-Christ.

Almost heartbreakingly, Radzinsky reveals (and documents) what no one else has dared to record-that the Tsar’s last words “that night” in Ekaterinburg before being shot, were not “What? What?” (as is usually reported) but “You know not what you do”!24   “His last words.  At that moment it came to pass-the story of the sacrifice.  And forgiveness.”25

As for who, if anyone, survived the massacre, this author is cautious.  He explores the rumors and contradictions in the reports and suggests some possible explanations.  He also makes mention of the various claimants, of whom there were more than most of us in the West had suspected until now. He describes the uncovering of the Imperial remains a few years ago and quotes a participant as saying that the grave was “opened up like barbarians, without a priest….Forensic medical experts cleaned the dirt off the bones and skull, dried them, and assigned inventory numbers.  The martyrs were transformed into an archaeological find.”26

In spite of all the new research, the discovery of long-suppressed files, the unexpected recovery of the sacred remains, there is now a new mystery. Radzinsky records it on the last page of his book; the world’s news media has reported it several times: the forensic experts cataloguing the bones of the Romanovs discovered that “the remains of Alexey and one female skeleton [Anastasia?] are missing.”27 In a recent CNN interview, Radzinsky expressed his conviction that all of the Romanovs had indeed died on “that night” and in the same place.  It was just a matter of time, he said, before the missing remains would be discovered.  In July of 1993, seventy-five years after the martyrdom of the Imperial Family, scientists in Britain announced that DNA tests confirmed that these were indeed the remains of the Last Romanovs.28 They also expressed a conviction that the missing bodies would still be found.29

Although most of the new research and writing has concentrated on Nicholas, his reign and the manner of his death, other significant figures in the Imperial Family have scarcely been noticed.  But here we must make mention of two new books, not from the secular but the Orthodox religious press: Lubov Millar’s Grand Duchess Elizabeth of Russia: New Martyr of the Communist Yoke, and A Gathered Radiance: The Life of Alexandra Romanov, Russia’s Last Empress, by Nun Nectaria McLees.  The first contains original research concerning the sister of the Empress Alexandra, the Grand Duchess, St. Elizabeth. She was wife of the Grand Duke Sergei (uncle of the Tsar), and a woman of exalted Christian spirit and moral refinement, cruelly martyred one day later than the Tsar and his immediate family.  (Oddly, she is not even mentioned in Ferro, but she and her difficult and lonely marriage are frankly discussed in Radzinsky.)  Millar’s biography is a warm yet scholarly tribute to a wonderful twentieth-century model for womanhood, almost completely ignored by the historians.

A Gathered Radiance is a different kind of book. It has no original research and relies almost entirely on the work of other historians and writers.  Yet it is an important (and well-written) biography because it sets the Tsarina Alexandra in her proper context as both a conscious convert to Orthodoxy and one who understood precisely both the spiritual meaning and the heavy burden and responsibilities of the autocracy.  (I know of one American convert who, after reading the Introduction, “Alexandra Romanov and Christian Monarchy,” said that for the first time she understood the value and importance of monarchy!) This biography is both fresh and insightful and a real antidote for those who have not yet shaken off the propagandistic stereotypes of this tragic and greatly misunderstood woman.

The story of Tsar Nicholas II and his family has come a long way since 1918. From utter vilification and slander, to cautions but more honest biog-raphy, to rehabilitation and even respect.  One can only hope that historians-especially in the West-have learned something.  Sadly, for those few that still value spiritual beauty, refinement, and grace, the world of the Last Romanovs has completely disappeared.  Radzinsky saw and lamented this when he wrote the following about a very important and dear friend of the Tsarina’s-who had also been much criticized and slandered-:

“In 1964…an eighty-year-old nun was being buried in a local Orthodox cemetery.  She had become a nun, but she had not lived in a convent, and she had taken her vows in secret.  The secret nun left behind many amazing photographs…the whole antediluvian word [of the Last Romanovs] that had drowned in eternity.  This was Anya.  Having lived more than half the twentieth century, Anna Vyrubova departed this life.  With her went an era.”30

As for that night, let darkness seize upon it; let it not be joined unto the days of the year. (Job 3:6)

Priest Alexey Young

FOOTNOTES

1. The Dowager Empress was the mother of the last Tsar, Nicholas II.  A non-Russian and an Orthodox convert, who had married into the Romanov dynasty, Maria Feodorovna was the sister of Queen Alexandra (wife of King Edward VII) of England. 
2. Brasol, Boris, compiler, The Reign of Emperor Nicholas II in Facts and Figures. 
3. Ibid. 
4. Ibid. 
5. Sadly, the widely-seen Hollywood film, “Nicholas and Alexandra,” based on Massie’s book-so say the credits-was a perversion of Massie’s scholarship.  Many of the old stereotypes about the Tsar and Tsarina were perpetuated.  Soviet propagandists couldn’t have been more pleased if they had produced the film themselves! 
6. J.C. Trewin’s 1975 book, The House of Special Purpose (the code name for the Ipatiev House where the Romanovs were held in Ekaterinburg), written with the cooperation of Gibbes, is a fascinating contribution to the last days of the Romanovs.  In Mr. Gibbes’ possession-inherited from his father-are the boots of Tsar Nicholas, a chandelier from the bedroom of the Grand Duchesses at Ekaterinburg, a personally-inscribed icon from the Tsarina to his father, letters, diaries, heretofore rare and unpublished photographs, etc., etc.. 
7. Anthony Summers and Tom Mangold, The File on the Tsar. 
8. Hollywood films from the 1930’s on, such as “The Scarlet Empress” (about Catherine the Great) and “Rasputin and the Empress,” to name only two, perpetuated these slanders.
9. Brasol, op.cit. 
10. Ibid. 
11. Ibid. 
12. Marc Ferro, Nicholas II: The Last of the Tsars. 
13. Ibid. 
14. Ibid. 
15. Ibid. 
16. Ibid.  In recent years, two books have appeared, unabashedly promoting Anna Anderson, who claimed to be the Grand Duchess Anastasia. The first, which appeared shortly before her death in 1984, is Peter Kurth’s Anastasia: The Riddle of Anna Anderson.  The second, published in 1991, is James Blair Lovell’s Anastasia: The Lost Princess.  Both books are interesting and well-written, but raise more mysteries than they solve, and both make very clear that, whoever or whatever else Anna Anderson was, she was certainly profoundly mentally disturbed. 
17. Ibid. 
18. Ibid. 
19. Edvard Radzinsky, The Last Tsar: The Life and Death of Nicholas II. 
20. Ibid. 
21. Ibid. 
22. Ibid.
23. Ibid. 
24. Ibid. 
25. Ibid. 
26. Ibid. 
27. Ibid. 
28. For comparison tests, they used blood samples from Prince Philip and other living relatives of the Romanovs. 
29. But just to be safe, they also announced that they will soon run DNA tests on a hair sample of the late Anna Anderson. 
30. Radzinsky, op.cit.

      Any Orthodox Christian–indeed, any fairminded person–who has ever watched “Entertainment Tonight” or read People magazine; or who is familiar with the gushing kudos shamelessly bestowed by Time on each new “Man of the Year,” must marvel at the secular world’s disdain for the Church’s veneration of saints and her concomitant publicizing of their lives. Saints are, after all, the heroes of Christianity, suitable role models for those who might otherwise conclude that the imitation of Christ, the process of theosis, is a lovely ideal that lies utterly beyond the boundaries of the possible. And isn’t ours an age starving for role models?

      The modern world not only worships its own idols, it loves to kiss their feet of clay. Social critic P.J. O’Rourke has neatly observed, “You can’t shame…a modern celebrity….If you say [he] is an adulterer, a pervert, a drug addict, all it means is that you’ve read his autobiography.” Adulation is now lavished upon those who, rather than inspire virtue by example, demonstrate that no amount of depravity and self-absorption stands in the way of success (with a capital $), fame, and sexual opportunities that would make de Sade blush.

      The heroes and heroines of Christian piety, by contrast, are notable for the heights, rather than the depths, they’ve reached. And, oh, how the modern Orthodox Christian needs their example! We who fear the possible loss of our second car or our summer cottage if we take the Christian injunction to honesty too literally in our business lives; we who dare not risk a long sought-after promotion by missing too many Saturday evening socials so that we might attend Divine Services and prepare for receiving the Sacred Mysteries; we who couldn’t imagine resigning membership in a vaunted professional association that promotes abortion; we who are eager to obey God, but are at least equally eager never to appear fanatical–how much we can profit from studying the paths taken by these pious predecessors through life’s moral minefields!

      No one can benefit more from the study of saintly precedent than the married Orthodox Christian and the Orthodox parent; for, like the clergy, we have assumed responsibility for the spiritual well being of others, but unlike the clergy, we are generally not credited (even by ourselves) with having any aptitude for such an “otherworldly” duty. Indeed, even the most devout Christian can fall into the unchristian mindset of seeing the marriage chamber and the celestial realm as competing, rather than complementary, scenarios. And so, a hagiography devoted exclusively to the married provides welcome ammunition for contemporary spiritual warfare.

    This easily portable book harvests from the Menaion the spiritual yield of over 300 married saints of the Orthodox Church, summarizing each life in calendrical order and with a complete alphabetical index at the end. The volume’s cover sets the tone with a simple iconographic rendering of the Wedding Feast at Cana, itself an event replete with Christian significance for marriage and parenthood: our Lord worked His first public miracle, in obedience to His Blessed Mother and in Divine representation of His Heavenly Father, to ensure the uninterrupted celebration of the union of husband and wife.

      The author’s introduction comprises one of the loveliest tributes to Christian marriage in modern Orthodox literature, extolling “a wonderful equilibrium between marriage and celibacy, a man-loving Orthodox anthropology, a balance based on the commandment of love.” And later: “Somewhere in the pages below, the married person of today will encounter the very problem which preoccupies him, and will also find its solution there….The excellent spiritual message of these lives is a very useful weapon against the subterfuges and delusions of our day.” And in a proper rebuttal to those who mistake wicked-minded puritanism for the virtue of chastity, Monk Moses reminds the reader that “St. John Chrysostom gave us the important teaching that almsgiving is higher than virginity, and avarice is worse than adultery.” These holy lives make clear that it is love that tames lust, not any pseudo-pious contempt for even the appropriate carnal corollary of love.

      This is important to remember, for while many of the married saints obviously took to heart God’s command in Genesis 2:24 and enjoyed its natural, impurity-banishing consequences in Genesis 2:25, many others forsook conjugal life for virginity, Indeed, the groom at Cana is revealed to be the Holy Apostle Simon the Zealot, who was so impressed by the first Dominical miracle that he forsook home and bride to follow the Bridegroom Christ, Who calls us all to the Great Wedding Feast. And St. John of Kronstadt was not the only saint who prevailed upon his spouse to live a celibate life together.

      But the reader who finds joy in the marriage bed need not feel rebuked by these examples of intra-marital abstinence. There are many cases of saints who lived a more typical married life, as evidenced by the large and happy families they produced. Saints Basil the Elder and Emelia begat nine children, among them Saints Basil the Great of Caesarea and Gregory of Nyssa. Small wonder that Saint Gregory the Theologian declared their marriage a “union of souls and bodies.” And Saints Joachim and Anna were rewarded, not rebuffed, by God in their repeated efforts to conceive; they were made grandparents to our All-loving Saviour.

      One of the most startling aptitudes displayed by so many of these married saints was the ability to rejoice in the martyrdom of spouses and children. To the worldly mind this seems inhuman, an almost barbaric level of religious zealotry. But the Christian with true and lively faith, what could be more natural? Aren’t we thrilled when our children receive worldly honors? And yet, what greater honor can a child receive than to “go to the head of the Christian class” and be immediately graduated into the heavenly ranks, wearing not a tasseled mortarboard bat a martyr’s crown? Read the story of St. Julitta and her son, the youngest voluntary martyr known to the Church, St. Cyricus. It does not require us to reverse our understanding of “a mother’s love,” but it expands that understanding gloriously. Our spiritual fitness demands such stretching exercises.

      These lives are not recounted to discourage those who are nowhere near such astonishing standards of faith and piety. As an Orthodox friend explained when, approaching Baptism, an adult convert expressed grave misgivings about ever being able to keep the rigorous rules of fast, “Don’t worry, the Orthodox Church has guideposts, not whipping posts.” These lives are likewise guideposts, marking the path to eternal life; they should never be used as excuses for self-flagellation or despair, as such reactions are simply cleverly disguised expressions of envy and resentment towards those who truly can help us.

      This uplifting little compendium would make a wonderful engagement, wedding, or anniversary present for any Orthodox couple. We’re never too old for heroes, and our children aren’t the only ones who need constructive rote models to lift them from the cultural sewer this world has become. 

Michael J. Sullivan

Lives of the Northumbrian Saints by S. Baring-Gould; Llanerch Enterprises, 1990; 119 pps., illus,; paper, £4.95*

Lives of the Scottish Saints, W.M. Metcalfe, D.D., translator; Llanerch Enterprises, 1990; 113 pps.; paper, £4.95*

(all Available from S.G.O.I.S., 64 Prebend Grdns. London, W6 0XU)

In Geneva in September of 1952 the great twentieth century “Apostle to the West,” Blessed Archbishop John Maximovitch (Ý1966), initiated a discussion in the Russian Church Abroad concerning the veneration of pre-schism Western saints. On that occasion, Archbishop John presented the specific case of St. Anschar, Enlightener of Denmark and Sweden. After hearing about the saint’s miracles and apostolic labors, the Synod of Bishops agreed that “there are no reasons to doubt the sanctity of his life.” Furthermore:

“If the Lord Himself has glorified him, it would be brazenness on our part not to revere him as a saint…glorified by the Orthodox Church in the West before its falling away [from the Universal Church].”

At that time the Synod also decided to enter the names of fifteen other pre-schism Western saints in the church calendar, including St. Genevieve of Paris, St. Hilary of Poitiers, and St. Patrick, Enlightener of Ireland. The bishops called “upon pastors and flock to revere these saints and hasten to their intercession [through] prayer.”

Thus, Archbishop John and the Synod Abroad were ground-breaking pioneers in the movement to once again “connect” with the authentic Orthodox saints of the West-a movement which has continued to this day and is now also generally recognized by other Orthodox jurisdictions as well. As Fr. Seraphim Rose (Ý1982) wrote in his “Prologue of the Orthodox Saints of the West” (in Vita Patrum):

“From the beginning, the Church has treasured the written Lives of these her saints and has celebrated their memory in her Divine services.” Fr. Seraphim continued:

“The lands of the West, from Italy to Britain, knew both the preaching of the Apostles and the deeds of martyrs; here the Christian seed was planted so firmly that the West responded immediately and enthusiastically….For the Orthodox Christian [these Lives] are fascinating reading…[and] most instructive for our spiritual struggle today; the spirit is entirely Orthodox, and the Orthodox practices described [in these Lives] have remained the inheritance of Orthodox Christians (but not of Roman Catholics) today.”

Accordingly, a growing number of Western Orthodox Saints are appearing both in article and book form as these ancient but nourishing sources of piety continue to be rediscovered. The latest in this effort is a splendid selection of Lives of British saints.

The first in this series, the Lives of the English Saints, contains accounts of eighteen saints, newly selected from S. Baring-Gould’s classic sixteen-volume work of massive scholarship. Profusely illustrated (some drawings come from the enamelled mortuary chest of King Ethelbert [Ý616]), the book begins with the Life of the Protomartyr, St. Alban (Ý304) and includes the Life of King Edward the Martyr (Ý978), whose miracle-working relics today are enshrined by a monastic brotherhood of the Church Abroad near London.

The second book, Lives of the Northumbrian Saints, is also from Baring-Gould, and contains sixteen Lives, including the famous St. Cuthbert and the fascinating royal abbess, Hilda, who governed both a monastery of monks as well as one of nuns in seventh century Whitby. As with the first volume, Baring-Gould uses only the best ancient sources, among them St. Bede, various martyrologies and menologies, and other authentic chronicles. The third in this series, Lives of the Scottish Saints, contains four Lives, including that of the well-known St. Columba; each Life abounds in rich and authentic detail concerning the practice of religion in pre-schism Scotland. Taken from W.M. Metcalfe’s 1895 translations, only the most reliable ancient sources (mostly Latin or Icelandic sermons) were used. Of these four Lives, Queen Margaret of Scotland died after the Schism, in 1093 AD, and so is not “technically” an Orthodox saint. However, her life of evident Orthodox piety, “with vigils, prayers, shedding of tears, and prostration”-she was, after all, born and raised before the Schism-and the likelihood that the errors of the Western Church had not yet consciously penetrated to Scotland, make her worthy of study.

All of these Lives have much to say to us today in this, the most pampered, shallow, and self-satisfied generation of Christians. These saints form part of the Orthodox birthright of the West itself, and until present-day Orthodox (both converts and “cradle Orthodox”) in the diaspora begin to recover the spiritual and psychological reality of these true Western saints, it is unlikely that Orthodoxy will ever send out deep and abiding roots in the West.

Fr. Alexey Young

Treatise on Prayer by St Symeon of Thessalonike; Simmons, H. L. N., translator; Hellenic College Press, 1984; 104 pps.; softcover, $7.

Seven times a day do I praise Thee because of Thy righteous judgments. (Psalm 118:164)

The old Latin axiom, lex orandi, lex credendi-“As we worship, so we believe”-applies most particularly to the Orthodox Church. The word “orthodox” comes from the Greek and means literally “right belief,” but is also correctly translated as “right worship.” This is more explicit in the Slav-onic, pravoslavny-literally “right-praising.” In the Orthodox and patristic view, worship or prayer cannot be separated from belief; instead, they form a unique and wonderful “whole.”

Sadly, it is today characteristic of the heterodox that belief and worship are indeed two different things-and non-Orthodox churches (whether Protestant or Roman Catholic) have suffered greatly from this unnatural, unchristian, and quite unscriptural impoverishment.

Unfortunately, this ancient “oneness” and “wholeness” (i.e., holiness) of belief and worship is also now being rapidly lost among even the Orthodox of North America, where so many jurisdictions (with the notable exception of the “traditional” and, usually, Old Calendar churches) use distorted and truncated versions of the divine services, and where in some cases many services are entirely omitted. Generations have already grown up without the slightest idea of the full liturgical wealth of Eastern Orthodoxy.

This is especially tragic because the Holy Fathers understood and taught that man is most truly himself when he is worshipping God. In other words, mankind can ONLY understand who he is and what he is called to when he is being liturgical.

St. Symeon of Thessalonike’s work, Treatise on Prayer, is for those who wish to better understand the rich symbolism and history of the divine services according to the Byzantine or Eastern Rite.

St. Symeon (Ý1429) was a particularly gifted Father of the Church, canonized in 1981 after centuries of quiet but intense devotion and respect on the part of the Church everywhere. This Treatise on Prayer is actually only one section-about one-fifth-of a much longer “dialogue” between an archbishop (clearly St. Symeon himself) and a cleric.

In his introduction, the translator, Dr. Harry L.N. Simmons, an Orthodox convert and graduate of the patriarchal School of Theology at Chalke, tells us that this “treatise” is of value, first, “as a contemporary and authoritative description of how the various sacramental and worship services were performed [at the time and place of this Saint]…; and [second] as a mystical/allegorical commentary on the whole range of liturgical functions and objects.”

As such, this work “represents the last great systematic…exposition of liturgical matters before the final enslavement of the Byzantine East.” As a young convert myself-nearly twenty-five years ago-I remember asking a priest why we chant the “Lord, have mercy” forty times during certain services. This priest did not know, but assured me that the answer was to be found somewhere in the writings of the Holy Fathers. Indeed, he was right: St. Symeon tells us, in this work, that “‘Lord, have mercy’ is said forty times as a sanctification of each season of our lives. Because forty days is one-tenth of the 365 days, or as some say, because the Great Fast lasts forty days” [and so] we say ‘Lord, have mercy’ forty times to wipe out our indescribable sins at every hour…”

This is only one of sixty-seven such questions or “problems” addressed in this valuable book. And although there are some noticeable but legitimate variations from the Byzantine to the Russian or Slavic Rite, it is doubtful that any serious and thoughtful reader will be confused.

There is nothing accidental in the divine services of the Church. And this is as it should be, since Orthodox worship is not man-made but is inspired by the Holy Spirit. Since nothing is “accidental,” then everything has deep meaning and practical application. The great concern today, even for those Orthodox who follow a “fuller” and more complete observation of the divine services, is that the actual symbolic meaning of our worship can be lost if it is not purposefully explained and taught in each generation. May this little book be one of many “steps” along the path toward conscious “right-worship.”

Spiritual fathers of the stature of an authentic Elder (in Russian, starets; in Greek, gerontas) are so rare today as to be almost non-existent-at least in the West. Nonetheless, we can read about real elders of the past and be edified not only by their lives but by their writings. One such true Greek Elder was Archimandrite Philotheos Zervakos (1884-1980), who was himself the spiritual son of St. Nectarios the Wonderworker.

The biographical note in Paternal Counsels tells us that for nearly seventy years the Elder Philotheos was “spiritual father and guide for thousands of souls of every class, age and level of education”-including many outside Greece. His long life, sweetness of character and soul, and love for the traditions of the Church, make this small volume of his writings (mostly excerpted from letters and sermons) a little treasure.

As with any sober and watchful Orthodox Christian, this Elder saw that the time of the “end of the ages” was already at hand. “All have gone astray,” he lamented, “rulers and hierarchs, ministers and generals, priests and monks, officers and soldiers, learned and unlearned, rich and poor, adults and children, men and women. From such a generation and such people let us not expect progress and improvement, but rather the coming sword and the last great wrath….There are a few exceptions…but the elect are so few that I fear they will not be able to restrain the just wrath and indignation of God against sinners….The end of the present age is at hand.”

While the Elder wrote about the real (as opposed to political) causes of wars, advised students and teachers, and spoke about true repentance, immodest dress, and heresy, his instructions to priests, confessors, and deacons are of particular interest and are based on St. John Chrysostom’s statement that the clergy have “the rank of the heavenly hosts.” He observed soberly that “The majority of hierarchs and priests see to it that their golden altars, vestments and cassocks shine, but not their works.” And he exhorted clergy: “Do NOT pay attention to the majority, but to the few and the elect. Do not walk the wide and spacious road which leads to perdition, but the narrow and sorrowful one, which few walk and which leads to life.”

Such instruction is particularly meaningful because, although the Elder revered and followed the Old Calendar and was by no means a modernist, yet he cautioned against the excesses of certain Old Calendarists, seeing that the Church is a mystery much broader and deeper than we can ourselves grasp:

“I do not agree…that the sacraments of the New Calendarists are invalid because they lack the Old Calendar….It is a great delusion and heresy for one to think that without the Old Calendar a sacrament cannot be performed….The Calendar is not God, in case we should think that only the Old Calendar will save us….When Christ came into the world, He did not teach old and new calendars. He taught love, humility, meekness, patience, righteousness, abstinence and modesty.”

Much of the Elder’s writing is imbued with the sober tone and principles of both Scripture and the Fathers, particularly the Desert Fathers. As befits an Orthodox teacher, there is nothing “innovative” or “original” here-but rather a faithful handing down, albeit in new circumstances, of the ancient wisdom of the Church. Thus, when a student asked him for some “elder’like” instructions, he replied simply:

“I am sending you the will which the Lord left to His disciples, to us and to all people of all generations.” He then proceeded to quote from the Gospels about love for God and neighbor, concluding: “Do not despise the commandment of love, for by it you will become God; if you despise it, you will end up a son of Gehenna”!

As his exceptionally long life began to draw to an end, Elder Philotheos rejoiced that he had been given so many spiritual children, although he felt sad that he was “not able to nourish them spiritually as I ought.” Evidently, however, he had at least a moment of concern about what would happen to them after his death. He resolved this with great-hearted trust in God: “I leave them,” he wrote, “to God, Who nourishes everything that has breath. The Heavenly Father, the All-good, the Lord of mankind, the Merciful One…to such a Father I leave the defense and protection of my spiritual children.”

Without doubt, the Paternal Counsels of Elder Philotheos Zervakos can nurture those of us who never knew him, yet who long for a wise and loving spiritual father. Fr. Alexey Young

The Paternal Counsels  may be ordered from the publisher: 627 Wyncroft Lane, Apt. 11, Lancaster, PA 17603

In OA #88 we took a look at the subject of UFOs, with particular focus on the newest “guru” of this phenomenon, Whitley Streiber, whose books (Communion and Transformation) have become best-selling accounts of his own astonishing on-going contacts with “alien visitors.”

Because “the impact Communion has had on public awareness of [UFO] phenomenon is without comparison, and its effect on popular culture has yet to be measured,” journalist Ed Conroy decided to launch his own in-depth and independent investigation into Streiber’s books and experiences.  Approaching his subject with objectivity and without pre-conceived religious or psychological biases, this detailed study is the fascinating and disturbing outcome of that investigation.  Since our average reader is unlikely to pour through the four hundred-plus pages of this intense book, we feel it’s worthwhile to share, in more detail than usual for a book review, the author’s main points.

Noting that the strange, not to say frightening “image on the dust jacket and paperback cover of Communion, magnetically attractive with its huge, slanted eyes … is now well on its way to becoming something of an icon in American popular culture,” Conroy adds that Streiber’s books brought these “visitors” into “America’s homes with every copy … left open on a coffee table or bedside nightstand.  No doubt more than one reader had to pause while reading the book wondering whether he or she would meet a visitor while sleeping …”

Aware of the fact that Streiber had already made a reputation for himself as a writer of gothic-horror fiction, and discovering (through interviews with his childhood teachers and friends) that he had always had a fascination for the occult and vampires, the author is not quick to dismiss the possibility that Streiber simply let his imagination run away with him – and this could be one possible explanation for Streiber’s experiences.  In fact, the author suggests that it is not “unreasonable to observe that in the face of the mysteries posed by UFO sightings and apparent visitor experiences, the human imagination rushes in to fill the gaps created by our own ignorance, aided by plenty of emotional longing for some kind of relief from life’s tedium.”

Since Streiber had been raised a Roman Catholic, Conroy asked him how his view of that Church had been changed by his experiences.  What he discovered was that Streiber now has an essentially “gnostic” view of Christianity.  He told Conroy:

“I think that organized Christianity is in a period of profoundly healthy evolution. In the Christian churches, the real Christian churches, there is a new determination to understand the words of Christ that has never really been there before [emphasis ours], and it’s very exciting to me … As far as the new paganism is concerned, I’m very excited by it.  I have participated in witch rituals, I have been very involved with people who are deeply  involved in the new paganism and I do not find them to be in any way demonic or evil [!] … I also don’t see a real schism between them and genuine Christians.  The two can certainly live together in harmony … I think that there is room for homosexuality in the church.  I think that there is room for a more feminine Church.  I think there is room for women in the priesthood.”

Elsewhere the author gives us a deeper look at the “theology” Streiber has now developed as a result of his “close encounters.”

“We literally are God – are God in the physical form [!].  And suddenly there is no guilt, there is no evil, there are no demons, there is only life itself, experience, the richness of search … We are at last, some of us, learning how to become conscious companions of God, which is what this species is all about.  That’s what man has been striving for since the beginning.  We seek to become such a companion of God that he’s not something incredible, not a bearded man in the sky, or a great awesomeness before which we prostrate ourselves, but a friend, as ordinary as you or me – a dear friend.  This is what is being looked for by those of us who are in this process of demythologizing the emergence of sacred consciousness into the physical world.  The visitor experience is part of this effort …”

Conroy, sticking to his objectivity, is not taken aback by any of this, thought he does make an intriguing – but unfortunately completely undeveloped – reference to Malachi Martin (the respected ex-Jesuit author of an important book about exorcism, Hostage to the Devil) who, when he first learned about Streiber and his “visitors,” became very agitated and disturbed and seemed to see these “entities” as clearly demonic.  But even Streiber himself accepts that there may be a connection here when he tells Conroy that his most frequent “visitor” is his own “quite real” succubus and adds that he is now “sharing her with many other people.  Maybe that’s because our incubi and succubi have always been real” but we have mistakenly interpreted them as “evil”!*

Without doubt, one of the more interesting chapters is “Little Green Men:  From Ireland – or the Pleiades?”  Here, Conroy suggests that Streiber’s experiences may be explained as psychological phenomena.  He quotes an expert who compared countless stories and concluded that in every case “he or she was undergoing a life crisis at the time or was recovering from a psychological trauma.”  This seems to apply to Streiber too, who now suspects that his “visitors” are probably not real aliens from another planet at all but are a “mode of perception” — in other words, a state of consciousness such as can be induced by drugs (although Streiber says he has never taken mind-altering drugs).

But — and this is very significant – Streiber does admit to having been trained in consciousness-altering techniques during his years of affiliation with the Gurdjieff Foundation in New York – and he adds that “the techniques I learned in that training – particularly a form of double-tone chanting” are what have probably prepared and then opened him up to these experiences.

On his own, the author makes a startling connection with what he calls “the world of Western ceremonial magic, where can be found a formidable tradition of reported communication and/or interaction with nonhuman entities of many descriptions.”  Noting that “some contemporary occultists, particularly those working with the Ordo Templi Orientis, a magical order founded by the controversial Aleister Crowley**, have claimed that there is a relation between the entities with which they are in contact and some UFO phenomenon,” he cites the not-perhaps-surprising fact that in 1919 Crowley summoned a demon “whose resemblance to the image on the cover of Communion is remarkable”!

Also, in a careful textual analysis of Streiber’s books – both the earlier fiction and the non-fiction – Conroy sees a strong behavioral resemblance between Streiber’s chief “visitor” – a female entity with whom he enters into “communion”  — and the “Queen of the Fairies” or the Great Mother goddess of WICCA (the pre-Christian “Old Religion” which is seeing such an astonishing revival in our society today).  In fact, he sees quite a number of curious parallels between the “Old Religion” and the experiences of Streiber and other “contactees” or “abductees”– parallels that are not without deep significance.

Having explored these and other explanations for Streiber’s experiences, and having dismissed the probability that these are really extraterrestrial “visitors” (for lack of objective evidence), Conroy essentially comes down on the side of the psychological explanation, significantly adding that – whatever it is — it is “moving more toward the creation of a New Age religious movement founded upon tenets of irrational belief [emphasis his].”

The Orthodox reader has the sense that Conroy comes very close to a complete and accurate understanding of these experiences, but somehow lacks the “key” that will reveal them for what they REALLY are:  unseen warfare with fallen angels of demons, known to Christ’s Church throughout the ages, prowling about the earth seeking whom they may devour.  Is it just a “coincidence” that as Conroy delved deeper and deeper into this phenomenon and came into frequent and close contact with Streiber himself, he (Conroy) and some of his associates also began to see strange and unexplainable things – not least of which were bizarre and humanly impossible “alien messages” on his telephone answering machine? — to which his own response – a cry of bewilderment — was:

“I have come to deal with the subject matter of my investigation not merely as a question of ‘What in the world is happening with Whitley Streiber?’ but also “WHAT IN THE WORLD IS HAPPENING TO ME AND TO MY FRIENDS?” [Emphasis added.]

We tremble for Ed Conroy, whose “objectivity” may just have led him, completely unprotected, into a Kingdom of Darkness from which he may not be able to escape.

Lord Jesus Christ, deliver us from the Prince of the Powers of the Air!Fr. Alexey Young

*”Incubus” – a demon that descends upon someone while they are sleeping;  “succubus” – a demon of sexuality.

**The self-proclaimed “Great Beast” of the Apocalypse.

Reviewed by  Fr. Alexey Young

            For such a long time it has been the norm for writers and scholars to speak of Byzantium and her Emperors in lurid terms.  We in the West have even made up a whole mythology about that great Orthodox Christian civilization, from which we readily borrow when we want to describe something contemptible.  Thus we speak of politics as “seething with Byzantine intrigue.”  Without even knowing what Byzantium was, the common man will now routinely tell you that that era must have been a “frighteningly dishonest and corrupt” time in which to live.

            A disconcerting twist to this inaccurate portrayal is typified in a comment a Roman Catholic seminarian recently made to me:  “In my view,” he said, “Constantine was the kiss of death for Christianity.”

            Fortunately there seem now to be a few voices raised here and there in protest to this distorted treatment of Byzantium.  Many rejoiced at the splendid cover article on Byzantium in the December ’83 “National Geographic” – a piece which went some way towards undoing many of the popular misconceptions.

            Another contribution is Justinian the Great, the Emperor and Saint, by Fr. Asterios Gerostergios.  Since it was under St. Justinian that Byzantine civilization reached its climax, and since the Orthodox Church honors this emperor (and his wife, the wonderful Theodora) as saints, it is fitting to have a book (more a “study” than a biography) which examines the spirituality of a great man and his great Christian civilization.  Fr. George Florovsky in his essay, “Christianity and Civilization,” says that Justinian’s reign “was the time when a Christian culture was conscientiously and deliberately being built and completed as a system….The magnificent Temple of Holy Wisdom, the great church of Sophia in Constantinople, will ever stand as a living symbol of this achievement.”  Fr. Gerostergios’ book will help the reader to see for himself the glories of Byzantine culture, a culture which was nothing less than the culture of Orthodox Christianity herself.

            Divided into six major areas of concentration, the author first examines the Emperor in the context of his times – both politically and religiously; then he looks at Justinian as an author and theologian, evaluates his relationship with non-Christians and heretics, and finally examines his relationship to the Orthodox Church.

            The author says, “Justinian was a faithful and devoted member of the Orthodox Church and worked not only to protect its dogmatic teachings, but also to elevate the spiritual and moral stature of its representatives.”  Therefore the writer speaks much of Justinian’s “philanthropic-constructive works, which in our opinion are a pure fruit of his Christian faith and an embodiment of the great commandment of Christ to love one’s neighbor.”

                        O Only-begotten Son and Word of God,
                        Thou Who are Immortal, yet didst deign
                        for our salvation to be incarnate throughthe most holy Lady and Ever-Virgin                     Mary, and without change didst become                     Man and wast crucified, trampling upon                     death by death, do Thou, O Christ our                     God, Who are one of the Holy Trinity and                     art glorified, together with the Father                     and the Holy Spirit, save us.

 (A hymn composed by the Emperor Justinian the Great, contained in the Divine Liturgy)

             The book is fascinating.  The reader will be rewarded by many glimpses into the heart and mind of a great follower of Christ, who was also an Emperor, and who used the throne primarily for the benefit of his people and the glory of God.  Fr. Gerostergios shows us a warm, deeply Orthodox personality, thoroughly penetrated by the piety of the Church:  “Astonishment is provoked in us by the endurance of Justinian through long hours of hard mental work and personal deprivations.  Within his magnificent palace, he lived almost as a hermit.  A few hours of sleep were sufficient for the relaxation of his tired body.  Because of this phenomenon, he was named ‘nonsleeper.’  He ate sparingly and worked very hard.”  He was of a “magnanimous” and “non-egotistical” temperament, and “desired to be pious, and to express his piety through his actions.”

            No one can fail to enjoy and be edified by this fine book, whether historian, theologian, student or layman, and all should be urged to make its acquaintance.

Fr. Alexey Young

            When the Apostle Philip asked the Ethiopian Eunuch who was reading Isaiah, “Do you understand what you are reading?”  The Eunuch answered, “How can I, unless someone guides me?” (Acts 8:30-31).  Alas, many of us find ourselves in the position of the Eunuch.  We must be not only hearers of the word, but also doers (James 1:33) – yet how can we, “unless someone guides us?”

            The Holy Fathers prophesied that Christians of the last times, sincerely searching for understanding, wisdom, and salvation, would find guidance in inspired reading material, especially at a time when there are few or even no accessible spiritual guides.  Fortunately, we have available to us today commentaries on the Gospels and various texts on the spiritual life:  the grace-filled writings of St. John Climacus, St. Macarius the Great, Abba Dorotheus, St. Paisius Velichkovsky and others.  One area which has been rather neglected, however, is the Church Year itself, with its rich cycle of seasons, fasts, and feasts.  Here is a treasure so vast, and so dazzling, that lay people sometimes feel overwhelmed and inadequate to even begin to try to understand it.  Thus, the average layman is very much in the position of one who cannot understand the liturgical year “unless someone guides me.”

            There are far too few such guides available in the English language.  One would wish that The Year of Grace of the Lord, by a Monk of the Eastern Church, could be such a “guide”.  The book contains a commentary on and outline of the Church’s yearly calendar of Sundays, feastdays, and fasts.  It contains much information that is both useful and interesting about customs and traditions, the historical background of certain feasts, etc.  Beginning with the Church New Year (September 1/14), the author takes the reader through the Gospel and epistle readings of the year, emphasizing that followers of Christ must lift themselves from the earthly – secular calendar to the eternal Divine Calendar, where “time” has a different meaning, and where events past and future are already contained within the church herself.  From this standpoint, the book is useful.

            There are, however, some troubling aspects.  First, the book was written and produced by the Fellowship of St. Alban and St. Sergius, an ecumenical organization founded within the bosom of the Anglican Church, which believes in the condemned “branch theory”* of Christ’s Church.*  According to the Preface, “the aim of this work is to help the faithful – be they Orthodox or Roman Catholic of the Byzantine Rite – to know the calendar…”  This means that the author sees no essential difference in spirit between Orthodoxy and Roman Catholicism – a very serious error which taints the whole “tone” of the book.

            Thus we find that some historical events in the development of the liturgical year are treated as legend, or are said to be of “secondary importance” – a very scholastic and anti-Orthodox approach to Tradition – and outright errors are to be found (particularly in some of the footnotes).  For example, the author says that the Roman Catholic Church has the best-developed theology of the mystical Body of Christ, with Anglicans and Protestants becoming interested in this a bit later, while, because of the ecumenical movement only now are the Orthodox Churches deepening their understanding of this subject!  This betrays a shocking lack of knowledge about the teaching of the Holy Fathers of the Orthodox Church.  Similarly, many events in the life of St. Nicholas are called “legends”, certain miracles are “attributed” to him, and devotion to his memory is called a “cult.”  These are examples of the way the author uses a false, unOrthodox approach to his subject.

            As a reference book for a clergyman or writer, the book has some uses, as mentioned above.  But the average layman could be easily mis-guided by the book, and could even unwittingly absorb serious errors.  Therefore, from our viewpoint, it is a book best left alone.

                                                                                                            Fr. Alexey Young

____________________

*According to the “branch-theory” Christ’s Church is divided into three major branches, or “Churches”:  the Roman Catholic, the Orthodox, and the Anglican.  Put them altogether by abolishing what are called “man-made” differences and “historical accidents,” and you come up the True Church.  Such a theory, however, contradicts the clear teaching of Scripture about the absolute oneness of Christ’s Church, and also flies in the face of the universal testimony of the Fathers of the Church.