It is a view of Russian culture that got its first major spokesman in Pëtr Chaadaev, in his ‘Philosophical Letters’ (composed between 1826 and 1831): Russia is backward in every way, and the reason it is backward is because of the Russian Orthodoxy that underpinned much of its culture and politics. Russia had, says Chaadaev, no Reformation, no Counter-Reformation, no Scientific Revolution and no Enlightenment; and, consequently, the moderating and transformative impulses that channelled the intellectual and religious currents in the West never spilled over into the East. Chaadaev's opprobria had a very nineteenth-century, very Romantic-era context of their own, but the notion that Russia was behind or had missed out on vital trends caught on. We are not very far from Chaadaev when we look at some Russian historians and source-study scholars (istochnikovedy) who have argued for the ‘intellectual silence’ of Rus´ and Russia. Someone no less essential than Georges Florovsky (1893–1979) wondered aloud, ‘What was the reason for what can be described as [Rus´'s] intellectual silence’? Or Francis Thomson (1935–2021), who a generation later narrowed down the question to, ‘Where is the Russian Peter Abelard’? For these and other scholars, the lack of moderating political institutions, or a tradition of representation, or of limited government, or the rule of law – the usual markers of political advancement – was coupled with and explained by the lack of any intellectual ingenuity and originality among the learned in what we call Rus´, Muscovy and Russia. Lots of factors contributed: Mongol rule, the isolated and northerly location, the poor soil, the internecine conflict about Riurikid princes and their principalities. But because most of the learned were also churchmen, so the argument goes, it really was the Church that stymied Russia's cultural and political development far more than anything else.
Happily, that view is today under review. Leading the effort recently has been Donald Ostrowski, who has challenged the idea of the intellectual silence in these East Slavic spaces (Europe, Byzantium, and the ‘intellectual silence’ of Rus´ culture, 2018). He has convincingly argued that the Orthodox East is not hardwired for backwardness and silence, but rather that it is western scholarship on the Eastern Church that has hardwired itself to perpetuate this view by advancing a false equivalency between ‘criticism’ and ‘culture’. By ‘intellectual silence’, western scholarship means the absence of criticism: if there is no criticism (of culture, politics, society and so on), then there is nothing audible in the intellectual realm. Silence is the absence of critique. Ostrowski rejects this equivalency and furthermore shows that ingenuity and originality did, indeed, exist in the Eastern Church and in the societies imbued with its cultural mentalities. They get expressed differently, however, because of the different ways that Eastern and Western Christianity took on Neoplatonism – in the West, toward analytical reasoning, and in the East, toward a mystical apprehension of salvation and the theology of Man. Different intellectual agendas differentiated Eastern and Western Christianity, not their capacities for analysis or social critiques.
Which is what makes the present text edition and study of Zinoviy Otenskiy's writings so important. The book's editors, Viacheslav V. Lytvynenko and Mikhail V. Shpakovskiy, have given us the first work in English about Zinoviy's life, thinking and writings, which moves the discussion of ‘intellectual silence’ from the conceptual model laid out by Ostrowski (and others) down into the texts generated in the sixteenth century by this ‘man of profound theological thinking and Biblical exegesis’ (pp. ix, 129). The works analysed and published here represent Zinoviy's ‘encyclopedic mind and incredible erudition’ (p. 5), and are ‘arguably the best theological reflection from the time of medieval Russia’ (p. ix). They force a reconsideration of the sweeping rebukes of those who think Rus´ and Muscovy were so backward that they could not do any thinking for themselves. And they expose to view a thinker that scholars of the history of Christianity would do well to remember.
The thinker well worth remembering is Zinoviy Otenskiy (of the Otensk Monastery, located near Novgorod), a monk who produced an influential and voluminous literary legacy but whose biography is nearly entirely unknown. Even his date of death is not firmly established (probably 1571/2; we have no idea of when he was born), though many conclude that he must have been a student of the Greek monk and translator, Maxim Grek (1470–1556). The texts he wrote and which are presented in this edition are the Panegyric of St. Hypatius of Gangra and the Demonstration of truth to those who inquired about the new teaching – two of Zinoviy's greatest works that were composed to defend against a small but rising Anti-Trinitarian heresy in the sixteenth century – the rejection of the Trinity and of the Divinity of Christ (among other challenges to Orthodox praxis). The works are well known and have been published before – in 1965 and 1863, respectively – but the editions are ‘outdated according to modern standards’ (p. 3). The two texts are critical for our understanding of the Trinitarian controversy, to be sure; they are also vital for the question of ‘intellectual silence’. As Lytvynenko and Shpakovskiy put it, these are ‘the most significant surviving sources about the Trinitarian controversy in sixteenth-century Russia’, and ‘a unique window into the daily lives and thoughts of Christians at the time’ (p. 3).
Lytvynenko and Shpakovskiy have divided their book into three parts. The first is a helpful and analytical ‘Introduction’ (pp. 1–57) to ‘cover the most relevant issues of history, theology, and the text, paying special attention to things that would help readers understand Zinoviy's thought’ (p. ix). The introduction is itself divided into three sections – on the Trinitarian Controversy, a detailed discussion of the texts and Zinoviy's defence of the Trinity and the Divinity of Christ, which situate the two texts published here in a broader historical and cultural context, and also dive deep into the contents of the two works. The second part of the book consists of four impressive tables (pp. 60–79) covering the sources used in the two texts, which the editors have doggedly tracked down; internal thematic divisions; and Trinitarian terminology (some of which was of Zinoviy's own invention). These tables are supplemented by the book's back matter, including an index of names in the texts (pp. 497–500), and an index of biblical quotations (pp. 501–6), themselves separate and substantial works of scholarship. The third and final part of the book is the texts themselves – the Panegyric (pp. 84–125) and the Demonstration of truth (pp. 130–487) – which are presented in parallel and opposing pages, Slavonic and English, with the former in a font that replicates the source manuscript (with abbreviations and titlos, now obsolete letters and red print for section headings in the original). Lytvynenko wrote the introduction, with assistance from Shpakovskiy; and Shpakovskiy prepared the Slavonic texts, while Lytvynenko translated them into English.
Zinoviy is here revealed as a serious and adept theologian. His elucidation of the Trinity and the nature of Christ as True-God and True-Man may rely on ancient antecedents – particularly St Athanasius the Great's Orations and a host of others, as well – but Zinoviy adds his own, quite original explanations and analogies that go well beyond what he had read and taken in. Zinoviy's Demonstration of truth ‘goes beyond just an apology for the Christian Trinity’, which was his immediate prompt for writing the text. It also ventures into the ‘practical issues of rites and worship in the Orthodox Church, such as icons, prayer, and monasticism’ (p. 2). He faithfully and accurately repeats the Christological interpretation of key biblical texts that were often cited by Anti-Trinitarian heretics, but goes even further: his ‘famous analogy of the mind, word, and breath’ (p. 42) explores the distinct personhoods of the Trinity by likening ‘fatherhood’, ‘sonship’ and ‘procession’ as distinct properties of a single ‘mind’ that explain, in terms accessible to readers, how all three must be one and also must be distinct. Zinoviy also produced his ‘most original’ defence of the Trinity in the ‘analogy of “tools and products”’ (pp. 31–2): if ‘the Arians understood Christ to be a mere instrument necessary for creating the world, then Christ should be considered on the same level as “tools”’. And if so, then he must be lesser than creation, which is nonsense’ (p. 32). For Lytvynenko and Shpakovskiy, these analogies (and much else besides) are examples of Zinoviy's ‘high rhetoric and fine argumentation’. They are also an indicator that East Slavic culture was less ‘silent’ than has been thought.
Many of the words the editors use to describe Zinoviy and his writings apply equally to them. This book is ‘masterful’, ‘erudite’ and ‘encyclopedic’. There are, to be sure, some things one might quibble with (‘Great Novgorod’, unnecessary translations of the titles of secondary sources in the notes, ‘Nazianzus’ or ‘The Theologian’, and whatever ‘Episodes’ are). And there is some unscrutinised old thinking about the Judaizers and the Third Rome theory. But these are not very important against the backdrop of a book that effectively supplies a manual for how to produce a modern text edition.
Publishing and analysing theological sources are the best ways to continue the discussion over the ‘silence’ of the Orthodox East. Doing so may not lead to the discovery of a medieval Slavic ‘Abelard’ or fully counterbalance the harm done by Chaadaev's sweeping condemnations. But it will help elucidate and reappraise upwards East Slavic Orthodox intellectual culture – one source and one author at a time.
