Русское зазеркалье (двуязычная версия)

I would rather put aside the theological core of this message, namely the question of whether martyr’s own tortures—or death—do allow him or her to work wonders (in martyr’s afterlife, I believe, in the case his or her death has taken place). I am not in a position to judge; neither do I think that this is essential. Generally speaking, I would describe the glad acceptance of suffering as a very Russian feature. Such an act can indeed resurrect you—spiritually so; in this sense, it really can work wonders. (Rodion Raskolnikov and Dmitry Karamazov are the two most obvious figures in the Russian literature who voluntarily agreed to accept their sufferings and were therefore granted their spiritual resurrection.) But more than that: I see the straight and clear message of Christ’s advice as ‘Christianity in a nutshell,’ as the very meaning of Christianity. Here, you have got a spiritual task in store for you that is almost impossible to be done. Immense suffering will be the immediate consequence of performing this task. Go and do this task without much consideration, without weighing up your chances, without expecting any reward for it. Then, and then only you become a Christ-like figure. If it goes beyond your powers you probably were too quick to call yourself a good disciple of Christ. Retreat from the pier where you enjoyed the happiness of talking to the living God and carry away your catch of small fish—it is all you can get from Christianity.

Some years back, I had a very interesting conversation with an Orthodox monk. During this conversation, a very curious idea was mentioned. What makes me think, the monk asked, that the crucified Saviour of humanity was necessarily suffering? Why cannot I imagine that He was rejoicing over His victory, that it was joy, not suffering, His whole being was completely filled with? This intense joy, he went on to say, did not exclude the physical pain Christ as a human was going through. This joy didn’t cancel His pain; neither did it diminish the immensity of His sacrifice. It just was there. I have not the slightest idea of whether this theological opinion relies on some unknown sacred texts of Eastern Christianity or originates from an oral tradition. Neither do I know whether it is true. Take it or leave it, as the popular saying goes. But if you can take even one tenth of it you absolutely must rethink everything you imagine—or you think you know—about Christianity.

I still must add a few words about Christ scornfully tramping His foot on the surface of the lake. To me, the image of the scornful Christ is the most disturbing moment this song has. My struggle to accept it does not cancel the importance of this image, though. All in all, your humble lecturer is not a ‘snowflake’ believing that all unpleasant images which happen to hurt our feelings—our juvenile feelings, perhaps—must be cancelled. Personally, I do not believe that Christ could ever be scornful. And yet, I do believe that we can perceive Him as such. What if our own lack of moral integrity makes us see God’s love as God’s scorn? Imagine that someone whom you love very much says something upsetting to you; imagine that you are badly hurt by the words of the person you love. Don’t you think that your being hurt would make you perceive those words as unjust, bad, and scornful, whereas they were only well-intended? Do not you think that things can work in the same way on a greater scale? We people of today cannot come to terms with the ‘medieval’ idea of the scornful God. We imagine God as a nurse employed to heal our imaginary ‘wounds’ that we have received on earth because of our being ‘objectified,’ ‘patriarchally repressed,’ ‘discriminated against,’ ‘referred to with the wrong gender pronoun,’ or otherwise ‘psychologically traumatised.’ What if the true God is anything but such a nurse? We absolutely believe in our being kind and nice people who are good enough to see God face to face (the absurdity of this idea only equals to its groundlessness). What if the sight of even the smallest of His angels would hurt us beyond measure? Contemporary culture is spoiling us by flattering us in the most shameless manner. ‘A collection of outstanding personalities—your own outstanding personality is the only thing that it lacks,’ a poster at the entrance into the Dresden art gallery blatantly says. Pardon me if I say that it is simply not true. Our ‘outstanding’ personality will never outshine works of Raphael, Michelangelo, Albrecht Durer, and Lukas Kranach. We shall stop lying to ourselves, this being the first step of our slow spiritual convalescence. ‘We indeed are fools’ if we go on thinking of ourselves as ‘very nice persons’ or even ‘outstanding personalities.’ This very simple idea concludes what Vyacheslav Butusov, Ilya Kormiltsev—and your humble lecturer—are trying to tell us today.[1]

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