From a notebook

Contents 6.III.1939. Thy will be done! 11.III.1940 1/14 January 1941 7/20.III.41 24.V./6.VI.41 9/22.VII.1941 5/28.VII.1941 14/27.IV.1942. Thy will be done! 14/27.VII.1942 From the archives of the St. Sergius Institute in Paris. The manuscript was found and first published by A.P. Kozyrev in the publication: S. Bulgakov, prot. Small Trilogy. M. 2008. pp. 564–570. – Approx. ed. 6.III.1939. Thy will be done! Today death stared me in the face - from a cancerous tumor of the vocal cords, or an operation, also with mortal danger or inevitable muteness. I humbly and submissively, even calmly, accept the will of God. I don’t dare say: “Have a desire to be separated and to be with Christ” 1, but I also brightly welcome the afterlife. Only separation from the living and their fate makes my heart ache, but I believe in the Lord, who controls life and death, that he will not abandon them. I’m trying to think about how and with whom I need to reconcile, who I need to console and caress, what to do. I try to remember everyone and not forget anyone. May the Lord send His holy Angel. I once died spiritually during the days of my ordination, but now, dying physically, I would like to reconcile myself and love everyone. And, of course, my heart is rotting from fierceness and from the consciousness of all my countless guilt before my holy angel Nelitschka 2 and about my children. Thank God for everything! A year has passed since God's visit. By the will of God I remained to live, although crippled, without a voice and weak... I see in the past the greatest mercy of God, wealth, a spiritual treasure given to me in the trials of God and the approach of death. I tremblingly remember, as if about some otherworldly bliss, these sufferings and their revelations, about the mercies of God sent to me, about the miracles in which I live, unworthy of them. But one thing frightens and torments me: how can I preserve and increase their wealth, for it cannot be preserved without increasing it? How can I preserve this grace of living, in which the window to eternity would remain open, the grace of death and its revelation would be revealed, along with the love of life and its joy, which does not change me? How to maintain a living memory of the past as if it were happening? How to keep yourself from becoming worldly, from forgetting the most precious and important thing in life, this is the gracious face of death? If I am destined to live for a long time, will I not become, as I am already becoming, a victim of oblivion, absorption by time? But no, away with this cowardly and unfaithful question! Weren't those miraculous manifestations of God's mercy and God's memory not enough? And for what, for what kind of lentil stew should you sell your treasure, and what do you have left now, what bait can give you life? Lord, help me carry through to the end what you showed me then! And Thy will be done! Don’t look for your own path, but surrender yourself completely to Yours... The Lord destined me to still live; almost two years have passed since the time when I was called into the face of death, saw its face and reverently bowed before it. And it seemed then that time was already short, and the rest of his life would quickly lead to his Christian death. However, this was not the case. The Lord brought me back to life and to life, although half human, half crippled. But even so, I had to immerse myself in all the worries and responsibilities in life for loved ones and for my work in it, in this terrible, fatal world war and all the upheavals associated with it, and all this, day after day, made me worldly and is making me worldless. Something that was revealed to me in the days of dying has now closed, it is stored only in memory, as a bright, holy memory, but not as a living reality that lives for me. True, I remained, as it were, half-life, rising above the ground, although not tearing myself away from it. It would be difficult for me to conclude in this semi-separation what is the measure of the external paralysis of history associated with the war and my semi-invalid, physically weakened, although still able to work - with the last of my strength - state, and what is the measure of the real separation from earthly existence that has occurred in me. Only all the colors have faded and the colors have faded. This is my sinful weakness and lethargy, but at the same time it is an insurmountable human weakness. The worries have dried up and do not recede, I am weak in overcoming them with faith and hope, although the Lord in His mercy gave me the liturgy and even shepherding a small but dear flock to me. I hope that this certain freedom from the world remains in me until the end of my days, which is given to mortals by separation from it, life by death and even after death, at least to the weakest extent. This is my joy and grace. My life is internally and essentially, in this sense, survival. I am free (or so it only seems to me) from death, it is addressed to me by the light and joy of the beyond world. I am unworthy of this joy, for I live, as I lived, in sin, my prayer is empty and cold, my theology is empty, my heart is cold. I accept in thought the wrath of God on my life, which I even little remember in repentance; I have the fear of God. And yet he does not fear me in death. Love conquers fear. Not scary, but happy. As I live out my life, I no longer have any new tasks that are unresolved or even unfinished; I don’t even have the strength or the impulse to do so; all that remains is the “other” summer of the stomach, some kind of summing up, finishing what has already been done. For the new there is no longer any sharpness of thought, the memory is weakened, I only repeat myself. However, I still finish something or just do what I can, but creatively, but, it seems to me, someone needs or is suitable - for example, sermons. But what still remains true and responsible for “the rest of my life”, even in him and for him, if the Lord destined me to live out my life this way, is to preserve and creatively confirm those inspirations and insights to which my life was dedicated, to fearlessly and boldly confess them in the face of death, in death itself, to bring all this to the judgment of God along with myself. This is something that still remains in my life, the “other” summer of my life. I feel a duty and calling to confess my faith and pass its scroll into other hands... However, this is how I judge, still being in the plane of life, and my strength is fading, and the thought of approaching death comes more and more often. And in essence, what binds me to life is only concern for my family, the fate of Nelya, if she is destined to outlive me, and not vice versa, and Seryozha’s instability. 3 But let His holy will be done. I myself am not internally “interested” in the time of the end and do not inquire about its hour. This does not mean, of course, that I feel ready and ripe for it - quite the opposite: I am not mature and not ready, as always, but I agree to accept death when the Lord sends the angel of death, whenever it is His holy will. I don’t ask about this. But therefore I humbly accept that this year may also be the last, perhaps there will be more than one, and the Lord will delight in testing my faith with suffering. For cruel is the death of a sinner. 4 However, even here I stand in my hope: dying itself, which I have experienced, is terrible and painful, but death is bright and joyful, like new life, new birth... Thank God for everything and in everything... Today marks two years since my first surgery. What grateful and gracious memories of everything that happened to me then, and of everyone who was around me, starting with my own, how much love I saw. And this Er is an artist, charming in his businesslike simplicity and restraint! And what a great mercy of God this illness was for me, although in my disgust I am unworthy of it. How would I live without her, without this experience of dying, without this ugliness, in complacency, in narcissism and in cowardly extinction. Mentally continuing this line of life, which had already been outlined, I see in it a rapidly growing fear of death, a continuing pose, and a generally unseemly decline. But the Lord extended His merciful hand and struck... and this blow brought a saving break in life and liberation from the mirror glass cage. I have known death, I have torn myself away from the path of life and I live - I live - between, between life and death, breathing unearthly air. But I am afraid: the further I go, the more unworthy I am of the gift given to me, I become worldly, I forget the unforgettable, until a new blow of God’s wrath strikes. But I have recognized the loving and merciful hand of God, and I no longer fear, but I surrender myself, I entrust myself to the merciful right hand of the Lord. Glory to Thee, God, glory to Thee. The 23rd anniversary of my ordination is approaching, the sacred period of the most important event of my life... With endless gratitude to the Lord and undying trepidation, I mentally experienced this approach: “as I am the angel of the Lord”... it seems that everything is stronger than the soul could proudly enjoy in the priesthood: the possibility of posture, voice, word, everything was taken away except the most important thing: the opportunity in poverty to consecrate the Saints Gifts, and I am blessed for this, and not less, but more than I was blessed in the heyday of my priesthood. Standing before the throne of the Lord has not been taken away from me, although there was a time when it seemed that it had already been taken away, and I experienced this test. Perhaps I will come to know him also - not only through illness, if such is the Lord’s will, but also through human will, through prohibition, the threat of which I never forget. But I am not afraid: the Lord gives, He also takes, if He pleases. I remember how young I felt during the days of my ordination, at the age of 47, after famine and illness. But even now, as a cripple, at the age of 70, I feel myself young spiritually, although in dying I somehow organically entered into my life. And this gives her bright sunset joy. Glory to You! My 70th birthday is approaching. This is the year of my father's sudden death, 5 and perhaps the year of my own death. I think about this with calmness and accept the will of God, if it is such. Alas! During these two years that separate me from the last approach of death, I almost completely lost its grace and again became stupid and irresponsible. So I thanked the Lord for His gifts shown to me, for His revelation about death, which I meet as if I had never died, did not know its grace-filled experience. Lord, forgive me and help me. I was again captured by life, which I do not deny and love and want to participate in it with the last forces of life remaining in me - this is not contradicted by the gift of grateful knowledge of death. But I not only surrender to life, but also immerse myself in it, getting entangled in it with the last remnants of possibilities. I still have the inspiration of life, but the inspiration of death is almost lost, although physically I already half belong to it. When I think about death - and I still never stop thinking about it - anxiety and concern for the loved ones I leave behind rises in me, their fate is connected with me and remains unsettled, dark and scary, just as I sinfully sometimes think about it out of my lack of faith. To this day, I only know how to either forget about them, forgetting myself in life, or to fear about them, instead of prayerfully committing it to the Lord. But now something so great and terrible has arisen in life that my own life and my personal destinies in the person of my near and dear ones are drowning in it. This is a world war, first Western, and now Eastern, in which the fate of my homeland is weighed, a bloody sword is raised over the head of the Mother. And in the face of this misfortune and danger, I feel - almost entirely - only her son, forgetting or distracted, or closing myself off from the villains who have seized power over her. All the same, I can only wish for her salvation, victory, victory, to live by her destinies, to grieve with her sorrow, to rejoice at her valor. And then comes the personal: there, in Moscow, which is subject to enemy raids, friends and relatives are compatriots. But first of all – mother – Russia. I feel my unsuitability for her, my powerlessness - being half a corpse, why does she need me, even deprived of a voice? But I love her, “belong to her,” I surrender to her, I pray for her, and is all this really ineffective, unreal? Oh no! I know that I am Russia, and it is in me, and this is how I want to be and live. And although I don’t try to guess whether I will see my homeland again - I don’t even dare to dream about it and I don’t dare to pray - but I know with all my being that now its hour is coming. And this great image, this shadow now stands between me and eternity, with this I am still attached here, on its side of death. Before this, I had never belonged and given myself over to life as much as I do now in these fateful days. I do not resist the will of God and am always prepared to accept the angel of death sent by her, but my thoughts, my heart are turned here, to her, to my earthly Jerusalem, which I do not forget and cannot forget, even leaving it, even dying. I have become impoverished spiritually, I know and am aware of this, because I began to heal even after my last death, when it seemed that my life had ended so joyfully, solemnly, and completely, with a new life. There has come again - I don’t know how many times this happens to me - a new freshness of life, a new youth, which brings its inspiration, but takes it somewhere away from the straight and wide path to death, which leads and will lead to the inevitable end. But I can no longer deny life, although I clearly know that I cannot live this new life. It was as if I had found myself in a new whirlwind of life, its whirlpool and abyss, its tragedy. But this is where its irresistible attraction and highest meaning lie for me now. Once again the bourgeois comedy of the West and the soulless villainy of the East were interrupted, and heavenly armies appeared in the sky with a sign. Life became full and religious, God approached the earth in these horrors of war, however, filled with its greatness. I am full - although from my senile distance - of ecstasy from that spiritual delight at the fact that the Lord remembered his people and, in particular, my homeland. And therefore, in my soul, the music of death - mine, along with the myriad deaths from war - merges into the mysterious symphony of the Apocalypse of life - a song of triumphant love, glorifying God and His judgment. I give him both my insignificance and my unworthiness, together with my homeland, together with the world, I do not want to live my personal destiny and think about it and deal with it, although I will be judged by my own court and for my own life. But “Rise up, O God: judge the earth, for you reign forever. Amen". 6 Thy will be done! Tomorrow marks the 70th anniversary of my sinful life. Perhaps the gates of my death are also opening for them. But I don’t even want to think about myself when the world is burning, when my homeland is dying. I want to think and pray about them. But let there be glory and thanksgiving to the Lord, who gave life, always, now and ever, and unto ages of ages! 14/27.IV.1942. Thy will be done! And another, already third, anniversary has passed since those days when death was approaching me. And now, three years later, she has naturally become closer than then, but I have become further away from her, flatter, more earthly. The soul becomes impoverished, and the closeness of that world that was then revealed is lost. I did not develop such an attachment to this life that would give rise to fear of death or its rejection. I’m still not just ready for it or not afraid of it (this, thank God, remains the same), and I don’t have a cowardly desire to die out of fear of the horrors of the world 7 or fatigue from it - I still love life and am affirmed in it, but “survival” is taking on increasingly acute and often depressing forms. I have lost the power and inspiration of creativity (except for short times or even moments), and without it life is empty and hard. But in this too, undoubtedly, I surrender myself to the will of God. The most difficult and difficult thing for me in my life, as well as in the face of death, is my sin before my closest ones, before my family, which I did not know how to arrange spiritually and in every possible way, which means I did not have enough inspiring love. And each family member has their own special, inescapable guilt. The biggest one was in front of my wife, to whom I did not give joy and peace, on the contrary, I tormented her with my demands, although I couldn’t and can’t change anything here, the guilt is tragic, and also in front of other children, each in their own way. But I want - and I express this as my will, to be buried in one common grave with my wife, if only this can be done. 8 The 71st year of my life is already approaching, I have already outlived my father (70 years old). I live in such a terrible time in the destinies of the world, my homeland, those around me, and even those personally close to me, and only insensibility and exhaustion of weakness leave me in some kind of dullness. The apocalypse has arrived - and is increasingly approaching, about which so much has been said and written, but how difficult it is to live it with full soul, responsibly, strongly and victoriously in the face of everything, everything... And this is all this: the catastrophe of Russia, which is unknown how and most importantly - when it will end, the catastrophe of Europe, and then the whole world, and, finally, if anything else - alas! - not yet the catastrophe of Jewry, [nrzb.] in it there is Judaism, then, in any case, the all-European Jewish pogrom organized by Attila. The entire historical era, the entire world war, came under this sign - with Judaism and about Jewry 9. And this war leaves no one indifferent, but it affects and shocks everyone - universally, personally, apocalyptically. And at the same time, the same background of personal life remains, with its disorder, with eternal anxiety about the family, about Seryozha and his future, if there is any future now for anyone and for us... Everything is dark and unknown, everything requires faith and devotion to the will of God in its external irresponsibility, twilight of the spirit... And this is the most sinful and sad thing when sadness is already a sin, because what is required of us is stoic joy and religious amor fati 10 (as I see in the stunning image before me). I am preparing to release my latest apocalyptic book 11, it is all about apocalyptic joy, about the Future, but where, where is it in myself, is this future? Is it possible for me to participate in it in spirit, to do it not in word, but in deed? I can only confess one thing: this - and only this - I want, a living faith in my homeland, in the future, a vision and knowledge of the City of God coming to earth, “hey, come, Lord Jesus.” 12 There is nothing more important and necessary than this, and nothing can be. And if Providence was pleased to entrust this truth to me at this hour of history, although I am unworthy and bear it unworthily, then in humility and gratitude to the Lord I accept this task. For me, it’s as if there is not only a disturbing thought, but even an interest in how long I had to live and whether this year will be my last (this can only humanly concern me in relation to my family and its provision). Just to live with dignity with faith and knowledge, victoriously in the face of outwardly all-victorious lies and vulgarity, carrying in our hands, together with others, the Gospel of the Future. Yes, come, Lord Jesus. Amen. In the Slavic text: I have a desire to be resolved and to be with Christ (Phil. 1:23). – Approx. ed. That's what the family called Fr.'s wife. Sergius - Elena Ivanovna Bulgakova, nee Tokmakova (1868–1945). – Approx. ed. The youngest son of Fr. Sergius Bulgakova Sergei Sergeevich Bulgakov (1911–?) – Approx. ed. Paraphrased verse of Ps. 33:22. – Approx. ed. Father Fr. Sergius Bulgakov, Livny archpriest Nikolai Vasilyevich Bulgakov, died on April 21, 1912 at the age of 70. – Approx. ed. Probably Fr. Sergius quotes one of the verses of the alleluary of Holy Saturday, written on the basis of Ps. 82:8. – Approx. ed. There's probably a missing word. – Approx. ed. O. Sergius Bulgakov is buried in the Russian Orthodox cemetery near Paris, Sainte-Genevieve-des-Bois. – Approx. ed. O. Sergius Bulgakov during this period worked on essays about the fate of Israel: “Racism and Christianity”, “The Fate of Israel as the Cross of Our Lady”, “Persecution of Israel”. – Approx. ed. Love for rock (lat.). – Approx. ed. We are talking about a book about. Sergius Bulgakov’s “Apocalypse of John,” which was published after the author’s death, in 1948 - Approx. ed.