In memory of Fyodor Dmitrievich Samarin

Contents Several letters from F.D. Samarina to St. P.A. Florensky I • II • III • IV • V • VI The late Feodor Dmitrievich preferred quiet, friendly conversations to more solemn, and therefore less intimate, public discussions. When remembering him, we should not deviate from the tone of the conversation, although there are more of us than there are in a friendly circle. Sketching out a few impressions from Feodor Dmitrievich is all I dare to do in our meeting. Moreover, neither the mind nor the tongue would turn to think and speak systematically about a person who only today ceased to be “newly deceased” - as someone distant and in need of a scientific restoration of his spiritual appearance. After all, turning to the friends of the deceased, there is no need to explain what unexpected pain his death resonated in the hearts of all those who knew him, who had - I won’t say anything unspoken by the word happiness - who had the great edification to look into his inner life. The newspaper news of his death did not upset him at first, but stunned him, and only many hours later, when the shock subsided, did grief about the loss begin to ache in his soul. And if anything needs clarification, it is rather the exact opposite: why this impression of surprise and pain arose, what particular thread was broken in the souls of those around him, along with the thread of Feodor Dmitrievich’s life. Indeed. After all, if we exclude the relatives and closest friends of the deceased, then the question posed will be in full force. Sick, half-blind, prematurely old, dejected by sorrows, Feodor Dmitrievich stood far from what is commonly called life. And if we add here the lack of official relations, personal isolation, Feodor Dmitrievich’s restraint in expressing his feelings and thoughts and, finally, his rare modesty, then it becomes completely unclear what exactly could have tied so closely to Feodor Dmitrievich the few people who came into contact with him. After all, both personal meetings with him and correspondence, in view of what was just said, were difficult and very limited in quantity. And at first glance, at those relatively rare meetings that happened with him, he seemed cold, too reserved for complete trust in him to be revealed. And yet, something in him could, even with the distance and rarity of direct relationships with him, create a strong connection with him, although it showed up in its fortress only after death. Death is the most impartial Judge, as it often happens that deaths are almost unnoticed, which, according to all data, should have broken the heart! Here it’s just the opposite: one could only expect proper grief, but it turned out... as if one had suffered one’s own death in something important and vital. I speak about myself and from myself; but I also know that my words do not concern me alone, and I know that there will be others who would subscribe to what has been said here. In relations and to one he expressed himself to Feodora Dmitrievich; That’s why we have to, overcoming natural embarrassment, talk about ourselves - in order to talk about the one for whom we have gathered here today. I repeat, the first layer of impressions when meeting Feodor Dmitrievich alienated me from him. It seemed that Feodor Dmitrievich was putting an end to many things, without the expression of which there could be no spontaneity. These impressions were also facilitated by one feature of his face, some kind of fold on the left side, which gave him either a bitter or a skeptical smile. This trait was purely physical, but it could scare off those unaccustomed to it. But behind this first layer another layer was revealed, and it forced us to think differently not only about Feodor Dmitrievich himself, but also about what had confused him so recently... Let me explain my thought with one example. Modern literature, as we know, is replete with plagiarism, passing off something else as one’s own. But in ancient writing, the opposite phenomenon was widespread - pseudepigrapha, when one’s own was passed off as someone else’s. It seems to me that if the understanding of plagiarism and pseudepigrapha is expanded and we understand them as in no way completed works, but as activity and as aspirations, then any literary work can be classified as one of these two types: everything that is not pseudepigrapha is plagiarism. And, moving from works to their creators and further to people in general, we can say that in the sense of aspirations there are people who are plagiarists and there are people who are pseudo-epigraphers. Where the focus of attention is “I,” truth inevitably becomes one of the means to the prosperity of the “I,” one of its decorations. What matters is not that something is true, but that it is my truth. If the emphasis is placed on mine, then the desire to pass off any truth as one’s own is inevitable. Quite the opposite happens when you focus on the truth. If the emphasis is placed precisely on it, then it becomes less interesting whose truth it is; and then, with the deepening consciousness that the truth cannot be someone else’s, and that it is known by the collective consciousness, the feeling of ownership in relation to the truth becomes silent. This is how the pseudepigraph arises, i.e. conditional attribution of knowledge to any person, but not to oneself; This is how the moral companion of the pseudepigraph arises - modesty. I apologize for this digression, but otherwise it would be difficult for me to explain my understanding of the personality of Feodor Dmitrievich. It seems to me that he belonged to the second category of people, namely those for whom truth itself is most precious; This explains his fear, perhaps an exaggerated fear, to show more feeling and understanding than he actually has, and even more so to ascribe to himself and decorate himself with what we should live for. You all know his extraordinary modesty, even in his judgment on those issues on which he pondered very thoroughly, the literature of which he perfectly studied and critically weighed. You all know his exceptional scrupulousness both in scientific work and in assessing life phenomena. No less well known to everyone is his truthfulness, which competed with his caution. I think that all these qualities of Fr. Dm-ch can be reduced to one thing - exceptional in general, and in our time - in particular, honesty of thought. Feodor Dmitrievich resembled a merchant so honest that, for fear of showing his goods, he almost did not open his windows, and only by chance was his true knowledge of many things and his critical thought revealed. I said "thought". But it would be more correct to expand my statement and include both will and feeling. And his will and feeling were also verified and weighed. That is why the caution of his thoughts gave the impression not of weakness, but of restrained strength; that is why, and to an even greater extent, in his coldish appearance one felt not the flabbyness of his inner life, but, on the contrary, a great pressure, but introduced into the channel of conscious possession. Behind the small external manifestations, it was not difficult to notice large, unmanifested movements in him. This is what prompted us to appreciate him and to be disposed towards him not according to the extent of what was manifested, but to the extent of what shone in the manifestation. I cannot forget one incident that once determined my inner disposition towards him. On one of the Thursdays at Mikhail Aleksandrovich Novoselov’s, when some of the visitors had already left, the conversation took on a particularly lively course. But he was talking about some kind of social or political issues, I was bored, and I, sitting on the side of Feodor Dmitrievich, began to peer into his face. Busy with the conversation, Feodor Dmitrievich did not notice my attention and, so to speak, was taken by surprise in those thoughts and experiences that he did not consider possible to show on his face. I spied Feodor Dmitrievich - and I don’t regret it: I saw nothing but good in him. It was a big and deep thought about some kind of suffering and sorrow, some kind of - I would say - almost suppression by fate, if it had not been purified by submission to Providence and not sanctified by a sense of objective Truth. Sharp pity for the sufferer and the suffering and reverence for the vision of the servant of God, devoted to His Master, became so strong that I began to fear that an inappropriate word would escape from me and, it seems, went into another room. Further impressions of Theodore Dmitrievich were always colored by the mixed feeling of pity and reverence described above: once seen, the spiritual appearance of Theodore Dmitrievich was warmed by his face even under less favorable conditions for vision. It is clear from this how significant his judgments, his reviews about people and in particular about themselves were for Feodor Dmitrievich’s friends. It is clear how much they valued his approval and how they thought about his - I won’t say disapproval, for he, out of modesty, almost never expressed any - but his warning, his question, his doubt. His word could not be ignored in the soul. How many people can each of us name whose words he really counts? And if Feodor Dmitrievich’s judgments were weighty in all areas, then in the moral and social areas he could especially be a reliable judge. Everyone who knew him also knew that he was not lying and would resolve the matter according to his conscience. And they relied on him. The external conditions of his life also contributed to this confidence in him. Detached from the bustling public and therefore almost independent of public pressures claiming our freedom; not experiencing external influences - neither financial nor official; not bound by literary or any other professional pride; cleansed by his illnesses and sorrows and from many addictions that entangle other people - this half-blind old man seemed to have received from fate itself the right to moral authority. But for us, this authority was further strengthened and strengthened by the historical place of Feodor Dmitrievich - precisely his place in the history of Slavophilism. Once the youngest of the old, he later became the oldest of the young. This determined its special significance for us. Conciliarity of consciousness, this most important member of the Slavophil confession, manifests itself over time as continuity. And if the continuity of thought and culture in general is for Slavophilism one of the main signs of genuine thought and genuine culture, then the continuity of Slavophilism itself cannot but be an indispensable requirement in this understanding of life, almost a criterion of truth. The living tradition of Slavophilism appeared to us in the person of Feodor Dmitrievich. From his hand, we, the grandchildren, received a thread connecting us with the Slavophile grandfathers, with the Slavophilism of the Golden Age. It’s not that Feodor Dmitrievich told us some secrets that were inaccessible to others, not enshrined in the press. It’s not about them, but about the feeling of confidence and reliability when you examine with your own eyes what you previously knew from books, in the sense of reality, which is strong in every living tradition - in the continuity of tradition. This living tradition of Slavophilism, the connecting link that makes the tradition continuous, was Feodor Dmitrievich for us. By his age, by his former relationships with people who died long ago, and finally, by the ideological traditions of his family, Feodor Dmitrievich possessed exactly what we lacked - living contact with the dead and teachings dear to us, and from him we could feed on these impressions. In this sense, many of the aspects of his personality received special meaning for us, because they became symbolic. Through Feodor Dmitrievich we saw much of the past, even many of the past. In the first place I will put here a trait that may not be very rare, but in Feodor Dmitrievich it was of great significance. This trait is friendliness, attentiveness to friends. The original Slavophilism, relying on a friendly and related core, rightly emphasized the importance of friendship - cognitive and almost dogmatic. In later Slavophilism, friendly ties weakened and sometimes even turned into hostility; It is clear that in parallel with this, the thought of the Slavophiles, which emphasized the essential nature of friendship, weakened. But Feodor Dmitrievich remained faithful to this original element of Slavophilism. He was looking for friendly communication, he wanted a friendly discussion of the theological, philosophical and church-social issues that interested him, not trusting a solitary thought and not relying on printed communication, in which there is no personal communication. But his interest was not limited to the mental area. Despite his reticence, he delved into the personal affairs of his friends, going into even the smallest details, especially when someone fell ill or suffered troubles and misfortunes. Here is one example of his compassion: In 1913, Mikhail Alexandrovich Novoselov fell ill with heart disease. This is what Feodor Dmitrievich writes to him: “Dear Mikhail Alexandrovich, news reached me about your ill health, and then Vladimir Alexandrovich, in response to my request, provided somewhat more detailed information by telegram and at the same time reassured me that you were now much better. I didn’t want to write to you until I received the letter with details promised in Vladimir Alexandrovich’s telegram, but there is still no letter, but I want to tell you that I was extremely worried about you and for Kapitolina Mikhailovna and thank God that your illness has gone to recovery. At the same time, however, I would like to earnestly ask you not to rush to consider yourself completely healthy and to do everything necessary for a complete, radical cure. I don’t know what the doctors will advise you, but judging by what Vladimir Aleksandrovich told me, I think that you will have to lie completely still for a long time. If this is so, then I beg you, do not rebel, maintain yourself pedantically and for as long as possible. Only under this condition can your illness pass without leaving a trace and you will be able to lead your previous lifestyle. I know this from the examples I saw before my eyes. But to achieve this you need a lot of patience, it takes a long time and you need to decide for a certain period of time to completely abandon everything that in your previous habits could be harmful to your health. This is the decision you now have to make for the sake of everyone who loves you and, above all, for the sake of Kapitolina Mikhailovna. I understand how difficult all this is for you, but this renunciation of your habits of restless, fussy activity is only required for a while, even if it’s a long one, and then, God willing, you will again begin to run up the stairs, talk on the phone and fuss in every possible way. Look at this as a temporary test, as a kind of feat or fast. By the way, the time is now right. I have already written in detail to Vladimir Alexandrovich about all this and outlined to him the measures that, in my opinion, need to be taken to facilitate your transition to a new way of life. Maybe I’m mistaken, not having enough detailed information about the state of your health, but it seems to me that we need to act decisively and abruptly. All sorts of half-measures are useless and may even be harmful from the activity that absorbed you so much and ultimately tormented you. You should move on to desk studies and take as your motto: moderation and accuracy. I know that it is easier to preach than to practice, but whoever has sinned against this rule is all the more obligated to warn others against violating it. His own bitter experience should give his advice the necessary weight. So farewell, get well, but do not rush for God’s sake to take advantage of your health. I hug you in a friendly manner and send my heartfelt greetings to Kapitolina Mikhailovna. May the Lord bless you. “Later,” said M.A. Novoselov, - I continued to suffer from the same thing - enlargement and weakness of the heart. Fedora Dmitrievich went abroad at that time, accompanying the patient. But sick himself, under difficult family circumstances, he again carefully remembers me and, wanting to warn me against a hasty and careless step, which, by the way, he feared in vain, but in a friendly manner, writes a letter to the doctor who used me, our mutual friend. In the letter to this latter he encloses another letter, to me, but at the same time asks to convey the letter intended for me, in accordance with the state of my health: Feodor Dmitrievich was worried that his letter would worry me and harm me in my illness. What was intended for me was handed over to me and was for me new proof of Feodor Dmitrievich’s warm friendship for me and his caring love. Afraid of alarming me, he took an unusually soft and delicate approach to the question, which then worried me very much. And, I repeat, he shows such care and attention when he is in foreign lands, himself in the midst of illnesses and personal sorrows. “I also can’t forget how in a friendly and caring way he asked about the state of my health, so as not to bother me with phone calls or even personal visits. “I also remember how more than once, through me, he learned with the same care about the state of health of our mutual friends, if any of them or in their family was sick. Sparing the modesty characteristic of Feodor Dmitrievich, although he is no longer alive, I will not talk about specific cases that testify to his same trait of responding to the sorrows of his neighbors.” – I have given only one piece of evidence here; but the number of such could easily be increased. The friendliness of Feodor Dmitrievich made conversation with him convenient and fruitful. Despite the age difference, he allowed a dispute with himself, and although in any dispute, especially when he is young, a lot of unnecessary things can be said, in an insufficiently restrained tone, Feodor Dmitrievich was never offended by the impetuousness of his interlocutor and with his subtle and sharply posed judgments, he brought the dispute, if not to agreement, then at least to complete clarity of what the actual roots of the differences were. If it is appropriate to speak selfishly here, taking into account our interests, then one cannot fail to note the indispensability of Feodor Dmitrievich in our conversations. And especially how it would be needed now and in the future, when numerous theological, philosophical and social issues increasingly require resolution... Someday in the future, if God wills, I hope to outline the content of our conversations with Feodor Dmitrievich; In the near future I am thinking of publishing several of his letters to show his responsiveness to emerging issues of church life and the church’s understanding of life. But now I don’t dare bother you with reading them. Let me end my quick sketch with one thought that applies to all of us. Currently, much is said about the participation of the laity in the matter of church building; and it seems that little good comes out of these renovationist conversations. But if many lay people had even a small share of that devotion to St. The church where the late Feodor Dmitrievich lived; if they had approached participation in church life with at least part of his awareness, his unselfishness and his humility, then, I think, the very conversation about the admissibility of their participation would not have arisen, for such laymen would have entered church life as active sons of the Church, and not as opponents seeking to snatch from church property. May the pure image of the unforgettable Theodore Dmitrievich be a reminder to us who remain alive of the need for unanimous, friendly, united work to understand the Church’s understanding of life and the world. Let the memory of him encourage us to step out from time to time with greater firmness from the affairs of vanity and not to put off friendly communication in church thought and church activity always until tomorrow, so that it does not work out, as Theodore once wrote to me in a sad foreboding Dmitrievich, - so that it doesn’t turn out according to the Latin proverb: cras, cras et semper cras, et sic consumitur aetas. 1 Priest Pavel Florensky. Several letters from F.D. Samarina to St. P.A. Florensky Without now dwelling on the story of Feodor Dmitrievich Samarin’s acquaintance, I intend in these notes, preparatory to several of his letters, to give only brief explanations, without which the contents of the letters could be incomprehensible. The circumstances surrounding the writing of the first letter are as follows: In one of the conversations with Mikhail Aleksandrovich Novoselov, which took place at the beginning of June 1912, Feodor Dmitrievich expressed favorably both of my articles, which one I can’t remember now, and at the same time asked Mikhail Alexandrovich something about the “Service of Sophia of the Wisdom of God” published by me 2. I understood Feodor Dmitrievich’s question as a desire to receive this “Service” and, of course, hastened to fulfill it. The book was sent with an inscription in which I expressed to Feodor Dmitrievich my pleasure at his approval. I repeat what has already been said earlier that Feodor Dmitrievich’s approval has been until now and, I hope, until the end of my days will be one of my dear encouragements in my work, especially since in some theoretical issues, and significant ones at that, I did not hide my differences of opinion or, perhaps, differences of expression with Feodor Dmitrievich, and even emphasized the lines of our differences. Of course, I did not expect an answer to the few words written, and moreover, on a book, and believed that if Feodor Dmitrievich started talking about “Sofia’s Service,” it would only be during a personal meeting, in the fall; Yes, I didn’t even think that the theological and philosophical questions of our time, all emanating, one might say, from the basic idea about Sophia and again leading to this idea, lay within the spiritual interests of Feodor Dmitrievich, so I was convinced that the “Service of Sophia” would not be internally noticed by him. To my surprise, I soon received the following letter: It was a great and unexpected joy for me to receive a book published by you with a kind inscription that I did not deserve; I thank you from the bottom of my heart for this wonderful gift. Once upon a time, as a result of a conversation with the late V.S. Solovyov, I tried to collect information about the handwritten services of Sophia of the Wisdom of God preserved in our churches and learned that such a manuscript exists, by the way, in Moscow in the St. Sophia Church on Lubyanka. Unfortunately, my search stopped there, as I was distracted in another direction. Now I receive this very service from you in printed form. Reading it in many ways clarified for me the mysterious teaching about Sophia and strengthened me in the idea that this teaching is not the creation of philosophical speculation, but the fruit of a living church consciousness. Even more than before, I now regret that at one time I did not hear what you once read at one of the meetings of our circle in Kornilov’s house 3 . About your articles published on the same subject in “Theological Feodor Dmitrievich’s interest in the idea of ​​Sophia of the Wisdom of God, for this idea, in my opinion, defines Russian religious consciousness at its very origins, and it is precisely in it that the deepest basis of its originality lies. In Feodor Dmitrievich’s kind attitude towards me, I wrote, I would like to see a dear indication of the connection between my beliefs and Slavophilism; ideological rootlessness and cultural arbitrariness seem to me the most undesirable, because it is necessary to connect the present with the past by an unbroken thread of continuity. “That was the meaning of my letter.” After that, the correspondence naturally stopped. But unexpectedly I managed to answer. Here it is: I am very guilty before you, dear Father Pavel, for being so slow in answering the letter with which you brought me great joy. I extremely appreciate your attention and sincerely thank you that, amid your hasty and tedious work, you found time to talk with me. I wanted to answer you as thoroughly as possible, and therefore I put off the letter to you day after day in order to deal with it at my leisure; but it came out according to the proverb: Cras, cras et semper cras, et sic consumitur aetas; in this case, the period of my stay in Sestroretsk has ended or is ending. I am going to Moscow tomorrow and, not wanting to further postpone the letter to you, for fear that in Moscow and in the countryside I will not be able to carry on correspondence from the beginning, I am sending you these lines only to tell you: forgive my mistake and do not take it, for God’s sake, for indifference. I am happy that I entered into somewhat closer communication with you and, if this happened partly through the grace of Mikhail Alexandrovich 5, then I thank him very much for this. But the kindest Mikhail Alexandrovich, apparently, still did not quite accurately convey to you what I told him about your book. As I wrote to you earlier, I do not consider myself in the right to evaluate such works as yours, for in the field of philosophy I am a complete ignorant and incapable of understanding abstract issues. I only told Mikhail Alexandrovich that your work (or rather, those parts of it that I managed to read), since it is accessible to my understanding, made on me the deepest and most beneficial impression of a moral nature and that I have not experienced for a long time what I experienced when reading your book. I cannot tell you how pleased I am that you write about Slavophilism and your attitude towards it. You, it seems to me, are absolutely correct in defining the significance of Slavophilism in the mental life of our society. Its strength, of course, lies in the fact that it was the first vivid manifestation of Russian national self-awareness. Only now are they beginning to understand this, and therefore only now is the time coming for a correct assessment of what was said and done by the Slavophiles. However, even now, unfortunately, there are still few people who are capable, for example, of fully getting used to Khomyakov’s thought and judging it independently. Berdyaev 6 also failed to cope with this, despite the fact that he, apparently, is filled with sympathy for Khomyakov and devoted a lot of work to his study, and Gershenzon 7, with all his literary talent and with all the interest he showed in Slavophilism, does not want to know the founder of this trend at all, and even if he knew, then, apparently, he would not be able to understand anything about him. There is no need to tell you that I deeply sympathize with your thoughts about the importance of tradition in mental life and your negative attitude towards “arbitrariness” in culture. Isolated from tradition, the activity of an individual person, even one of outstanding talent, is for the most part fruitless; This is my deep conviction. In this I see the reason for the phenomenon that is often observed among us, that people who are talented, educated and capable of work do not leave a deep mark on their mental life. Our cultural traditions, if not absent, are extremely weak, and besides, our individual person constantly strives for complete independence from them and thereby ruins his work. A typical example, in my opinion, is K.D. Kavelin. Recognizing your spiritual kinship with Khomyakov and his closest friends, you, of course, without sacrificing your independence in the least, are joining that mental current that turned out to be the most healthy and viable of all our so-called directions. It seemed only recently (and many were sincerely convinced of this) that Slavophilism had long since died, been buried and would not be resurrected. Now even people of a completely different mindset do not dare to assert this; on the contrary, from these same “inveterate” Slavophiles they are looking for and finding much that turns out to be suitable for the revival of spiritual life in our time, filled with all kinds of disappointments. This powerful current, which has thus justified itself, will one day take us, I firmly believe, out of the cycle in which we are captured and which threatens us with spiritual destruction. I also wanted to turn to you for some clarification of what you write about the significance of “Sophia” for Russian life, but my letter has already grown too long: the page has run out, and there is little time left. So let me talk about this important subject another time. As I part with you for now, I thank you once again and ask you not to blame me for my long silence. Deeply respecting you and sincerely devoted to you This is the letter from Feodor Dmitrievich. But imagine my surprise when four days later I again received a letter signed by Feodor Dmitrievich. This letter is insignificant in content, but it is so expressive for Feodor Dmitrievich that I consider it instructive to quote it too: Again, I don’t know how to apologize to you, dear Fr. Paul! Before leaving Sestroretsk, I wrote you a letter in response to yours, which I received a long time ago; but putting the envelope into the mailbox along with a whole pile of other letters, I did not notice that some of them (including the one addressed to you) were without stamps. It will probably still arrive, but you will be charged double the postage. This makes me very angry and ashamed! I am becoming more and more oblivious to all the little things in life. Forgive me generously. Deeply respecting you and sincerely devoted to you After that, our conversations took place orally. It is a pity that the content of the conversations of that time, the most heated and significant ones, which concerned primarily dogmatic and canonical issues, was not recorded in a timely manner. – In the winter of 1918, Feodor Dmitrievich was elected an honorary member of the Moscow Theological Academy, as the official wording says, “in consideration of activities for the benefit of the Holy Church, both through literary and direct participation in the works of the Pre-Conciliar Presence.” In April of the same year, as soon as weather and health permitted, Feodor Dmitrievich came to Posad to personally thank His Eminence Theodore, Rector of the Moscow Theological Academy, and make visits to members of the corporation. “He didn’t find me at home, left cards and, just in case, instructed me to tell me about his arrival. I remember it was on Fomino Sunday, i.e. hence April 21st. Returning home from church, I learned from the cab driver who was taking him to me that he was in the New Lavra Hotel and headed there. From the very first words of the meeting, a lively conversation began about the sacraments - a continuation of the conversation that had once begun in Moscow. In explaining my thought, I referred to St. artos. Here Theodore Dmitrievich reverently takes a package from the table: “Just today I received an artos from the Most Reverend Theodore, but to my shame I don’t know what it is.” I think his “I don’t know” should be understood not in a liturgical, but in a dogmatic and metaphysical sense. We continued to discuss various liturgical and metaphysical issues, Feodor Dmitrievich apparently getting carried away. At this time, the hotel bellhop, knocking on the door, reminds Feodor Dmitrievich that he promised to have dinner with A.A. Neidgardt and that the food is served. Feodor Dmitrievich asks to tell him that he will come now, and again gets carried away by the conversation. The bellhop appears again, this time conveying the annoyance of his offended companion. Feodor Dmitrievich again says something like “okay”, regretting that, not knowing about the possibility of a date, he had bound himself with a promise, and was again going to continue the conversation, which for some reason touched him to the quick; but I hastened to say goodbye and leave. – A few days after this conversation, the following letter arrived: I offer you my deepest gratitude for sending me the Theological Bulletin, although, to tell the truth, I am extremely ashamed to take advantage of the benefits associated with the title of honorary member of the academy. I am fully aware that I have no rights to this honorable title and owe my election only to the name I bear and to the favorable attitude of His Eminence Theodore towards me, and also, perhaps, to my modest participation in the Novoselovsky Circle, to which they wanted to pay attention. I have always dealt with theological issues in fits and starts, and much that is significant in this area is unfamiliar to me. I especially feel my ignorance in the Scriptures of the Holy Fathers. By the way, I would extremely like to fill in one important gap in my information, and I decide to take this opportunity to once again ask you to provide me with some help in this regard. I would be very grateful to you if you found it possible to point out to me, as you promised, books through which I could get acquainted with the history of the disputes about the Tabor light, with the activities of Gregory Palamas, with the teachings of Varlaam and with the Council decrees on this matter. I cannot forgive myself for not staying the night at Trinity and not taking advantage of this opportunity for a detailed conversation with you. I don’t know whether a similar incident will happen again soon, and yet without your explanations I will hardly be able to understand those difficult questions for me that are raised by the books of Hilarion 8 and Bulatovich 9 . Spending the evening with you would be even more prudent than leaving on a train overcrowded with passengers, for which I could barely get a ticket. I was forced to stand most of the way, and the stuffiness was such that it was almost inevitable that I would catch a cold when leaving the carriage. Still, I am glad that at least I saw you on the way and exchanged a few words with you. Farewell. Stay healthy. May God help you in your labors. Then we had personal dates in Moscow. The following letter in chronological order from Feodor Dmitrievich is not of general interest, but again outlines his attentiveness and sincerity. It was sent regarding my master's debate, which took place on May 19, 1914. This is the letter: I heard from M. A. Novoselov that your debate was supposed to take place on May 19. I was going to come to the Lavra on this day to listen to you and to be a witness and, to some extent, a participant in this celebration. Unfortunately, my circumstances were such that I was unable to carry out this intention, and now all I can do is greet you in writing. I hope that obtaining your degree will not encounter any obstacles from the Holy Synod and that the outstanding significance of your work will be recognized not only by the public and the Council of the Moscow Academy, but also by the church authorities. I ask you to accept my heartfelt congratulations and most sincere wishes. Deeply respecting you and devoted to you Finally, there remains one more letter received on this occasion: once, after a number of reservations, in the fall of 1914, Feodor Dmitrievich handed me from M.A. Novoselov’s notebook of manuscripts of his son Dmitry Feodorovich, which contained several philosophical studies criticizing the Marburg school. Feodor Dmitrievich wanted to know my frank opinion about these experiences of his son and then publish them “if they turn out to be worthy.” He was worried that he might be mistaken in his positive assessment of these condensed and abstract treatises. I read what was handed to me with interest on the next free day, but, wanting to re-read them more carefully, I put off my report about them to Feodor Dmitrievich for a long time. In the spring of 1915, after the exams at the Academy, these sketches were returned by me during a personal visit to him in Moscow. We talked about them for quite a long time, and Feodor Dmitrievich, clearly interested in the successes of his son, was especially attentive. The internal struggle between modesty and a feeling of joy about his son’s success was touching; Feodor Dmitrievich’s usual restraint could barely withstand the pressure of fatherly love. In our conversation, I expressed approval for the sketches I had read, as well as pleasure that Cohenianism, a very strong and poisonous system of thought, is overcome here from the inside - by dialectics, standing on the own soil of this system - which is the only thing that can be convincing - and advised Dmitry Feodorovich to publish these experiments. Further, our conversation turned again to questions of liturgical metaphysics and, in connection with this, to some positions of the old Slavophilism. The starting and supporting point of our discussions was the concept of transubstantiation of the Holy Mysteries. Feodor Dmitrievich expressed a characteristic consideration against this concept, although with great reservations, namely that it would be terrible, in the sense of a sense of responsibility, to think about a crumb of the Holy Body that accidentally fell from the Throne or about particles of the Holy Blood washed away from the lips with water - as continuing to be such. I believed that this was no more terrible than the greatest sacred fear of faith - the Descent of God and the Incarnation of God. That the Holy Mysteries can be, willingly or unwillingly, trampled upon and desecrated, while remaining Holy Mysteries, is no more terrible than the entire feat of life and, in particular, the suffering and death of the Lord Jesus Christ. Moreover, the possibility of humiliating the Lord includes the possibility of trampling underfoot His Holy Body and Blood. It is possible, by communing with St. Tain, give a kiss “like Judas”; Why is it impossible, with knowledge or ignorance, willy-nilly or unwillingly, to drop the Holy Body or shed the Holy Blood? In our conversation with Feodor Dmitrievich, I clearly understood his fear of the possibility of “trial and condemnation.” This fear is characteristic of every believer who places himself before the face of the Lord - every person who does not have the concept of the Lord in mind, but who sees Him Himself before him with the eyes of faith. But to run away from the term and concept of transubstantiation on this basis - isn’t this consistent, as if someone, having been transported to the time of the earthly life of Jesus Christ, began to deny His Sonship of God out of fear that, as if by accident, during the rocking of the ship, for example, he would not push the Son of God. I could not agree with Feodor Dmitrievich, no matter how moderate and cautious he was in his judgments. In these and similar conversations, some lines of our divergence, which were unspoken on previous occasions, emerged with greater certainty, so vividly that even after my arrival in Posad, the topics raised were in my mind. The watershed of all such disagreements seemed to me to be determined by the following question: “Is it necessary, or impossible, to have extra-liturgical veneration of the Holy Gifts?” – If we recognize transubstantiation, then it is clear that we not only can, but also must, when entering, for example, the altar, not according to a liturgical requirement, to worship the Holy Mysteries lying on the Throne, as to God Himself. For someone who does not recognize transubstantiation, such worship is, at best, unnecessary, or rather, given the clarity of dogmatic thought, it should not be, for it is idolatry. This, I believe, is a sufficient criterion for distinguishing the church understanding of the Sacrament of the Holy Body and Blood from the Protestant one. The rest is either particulars or ill-conceived. The criterion of worshiping the Holy Mysteries outside the cult stands as a boundary pillar between the church and anti-church interpretation of the Sacrament. It became clear to me that the conversation about Cohenianism and the conversation about the sacraments - not two different conversations, but one, for our disagreements with Feodor Dmitrievich on liturgical-metaphysical issues stem from hidden and unspoken Cohenianism, or a deviation towards it, on the part of Feodor Dmitrievich himself. In this sense, driven by these and similar thoughts, I wrote him a letter. “Therefore,” I wrote approximately, “I would consider it especially timely to publish the experiments of your son, bringing to the end and making an effort to internally overcome that illness, which is much more widespread than is usually believed, and, due to its unconsciousness, is especially dangerous.” - In response to my letter, Feodor Dmitrievich said the following: I sincerely apologize to you for the extreme lateness of my response. Your letter was received too nine days ago, I always tried to answer you, I even started writing; but for me now writing a small note is a whole event and no small effort, and I didn’t want to dictate this letter. Next time it will be easier, I hope. First of all, I thank you warmly for your kind attention to my son’s attempt to justify his differences of opinion with the Marburg school of philosophy. My son, unfortunately, is now in a bad mood and, it seems, does not want to print his “sketches,” probably realizing that they are unfinished. I think, however, that one should not stop at this: the mood may change, and in printed form this little experience will be received more favorably by the author himself. If I understand you correctly, then my son’s small work is of some interest, as an attempt to combat an illness that lurks even in people who apparently have nothing in common with Cohenianism. It seems that you explain some of the thoughts I expressed by such an illness, which I myself am not aware of. Of course, I won’t dare to say that you are wrong. On the contrary, I am ready to admit that with my extremely superficial acquaintance with philosophical teachings, I can easily sin precisely that unconscious philosophizing that you are talking about, and therefore I can unwittingly accept teachings hostile to faith as something given by immediate religious consciousness. I can only say: may God deliver from this! I will, of course, accept the help of people who are more knowledgeable and more spiritually mature with joy and gratitude. In particular, I would be happy to receive from you definite and reasonable indications of my involuntary and, perhaps, unconscious mistakes and delusions. With all this, however, it seems to me that it would be possible to find out the essence and extent of my delusions only through a more or less lengthy exchange of thoughts. Meanwhile, you and I only talked about three or four times, and our conversations were constantly interrupted by various random, extraneous circumstances. Isn’t this, by the way, the answer to your question: “Why can’t we come to an understanding?” – Yes, maybe simply because they didn’t interpret it properly? – I gladly share your hope that disagreement is not due to differences in faith or lack of love. I think that it comes from different understandings of the same or different ways of expressing the same concepts. Need I say that such differences of opinion, even minor ones, apparently should be eliminated in every possible way? We ask for the “union of faith” as a gift of grace from above, but, of course, we ourselves must work to the best of our ability to achieve this great and holy goal; otherwise our prayer will be in vain. I will say with you in such cases: “there should not be a bad world.” Personally, such reticence and ambiguity between close people has always bothered me, and this was the main reason why it seemed useful to me to establish a circle that rallies around Mikhail. A. Novoselova. Unfortunately, the task I had planned was soon replaced by others, perhaps no less important and respectable, but not so meeting my spiritual needs. I would be happy if you gave impetus to the revival of the circle’s activities in the originally planned direction. Goodbye and forgive me for being so slow in answering and perhaps misunderstanding you in some ways. I entrust myself to your prayers and bow earnestly. Message at a meeting of the Brotherhood of Moscow Saints on December 1, 1916, on the fortieth day of the death of F.D. Samarina (October 23, 1916). "Theological Bulletin", 1912, February. Separate imprint, – Holy We are talking about the meeting of the “Circle of Seekers of Christian Enlightenment”, simply called either “Samarinsky” or “Novoselovsky”, at which I, in the house of Al-Dr Al-drovich Kornilov, read report on the idea of Sophia, the Wisdom of God. Skip a page in the scanned original. Of course, the monograph by N. A. Berdyaev “Khomyakov”, M., 1912, published by the publishing house “Put” in the series “Russian Thinkers”. Mikhail Osipovich Gershenzon. Archimandrite Hilarion. On the Caucasus mountains. 2nd edition. – Batalpashinsk, Kub. region, 1910, 3rd ed. – Kiev. Hieromonk Anthony (Bulatovich), Apology of Faith in the Name of God and in the Name of Jesus. – M., 1913.