The Icon and the Axe

The Kievan princes sought to re-create this experience of beauty in the Byzantine-style cathedrals that sprang up in every important city of Eastern Slavdom. The panoply of heaven was represented by the composed central dome; its interior was embellished with the awesome image of the Panto-krator, the Divine Creator of both heaven and earth. Prominent among the other mosaic and frescoed figures that beautified the interior walls and domes was the Theotokos, the "God-bearing" Virgin. The cathedrals provided a center of beauty and a source of sanctification for the surrounding region. The word sobor, used to describe the gatherings in which the authority of God was invoked on all communal activities, also became the word for cathedral;11 and the life of each "gathering" was built around the liturgy: the rilual, communal re-enactment of Christ's saving sacrifice. ' -^ Concrete beauty rather than abstract ideas conveyed the essence of the Christian message to the early Russians, and inspired a fresh flowering of Byzantine art and letters on Russian soil. Man's function was not to analyze that which Has been resolved or to explain that which is mysterious, but lovingly and humbly to embellish the inherited forms of praise and worship -and thus, perhaps, gain some imperfect sense of the luminous world to come. Within a few decades of Vladimir's conversion Kiev was transformed into a majestic city. A visiting Western bishop referred to it as "the rival of Constantinople";12 and its first native metropolitan, Ilarion of Kiev, spoke of it as

a city glistening with the light of holy icons,

fragrant with incense, ringing with praise and holy, heavenly songs.13

In all early Russian writings about a Christian prince "the mention of physical beauty is never lacking. Together with mercy and almsgiving, this is the only constant feature of an ideal prince."14

Literacy was more widespread than is generally realized, among those with a practical need for it; but literature was more remarkable for its aesthetic embellishments than for the content of its ideas. The oldest surviving Russian manuscript, the Ostromir Codex of 1056-7, is a richly colored and ornamented collection of readings from the gospels which were prescribed for church services and arranged according to the days of the week. There^gere no complete versions of the Bible, let alone independent theological syntheses, produced in early Russia. Most of the twenty-two survivr ing manuscript books from the eleventh century and of the eighty-six from

the twelfth15 were collections of readings and sermons assembled for practical guidance in worship and embellished both verbally and visually by Russian copyists. From the beginning there was a special preference not for the great theologians and lawmakers of Byzantium, but for its preachers, like the "golden-tongued" John Chrysostom. Cascading images of the beauties of resurrection swept away all subtlety of thought in the preaching of the greatest Kievan writers: Ilarion of Kiev and Cyril of Turov.

There was, indeed, no independent critical theology of any sophistica-tioa in Old Russia. Even in the later, Muscovite period, "theoretical" was rendered by zritel'ny, "visual," and esteemed teachers were known as smptrelivy, "those who have seen."16 Local and contemporary saints assumed a particular importance in Russian theology. They had performed deeds that men had seen in their own time: Theodosius of Kiev, turning his back on wealth and indeed on asceticism to lead the monastery of the caves into a life of active counsel and charity in the city of Kiev; Abraham of Smolensk, painting as well as teaching about the Last Judgment and bringing rain to the parched steppelands with the fervor of his prayers. Above all stood the first Russian saints, Boris and Gleb, the innocent young sons of Vladimir who accepted death gladly in the political turmoil of Kiev in order to redeem their people through innocent, Christ-like suffering.17

Theology, "the word of God," was found in the lives of saints. If one could not be or know a saint, one could still have living contact through the visual images of the iconographer and the oral reminders of the hagiog-rapher. The holy picture or icon was the most revered form of theological expression in Russia. Indeed, the popular word for "holy" or "saintly" was prepodobny, or "very like" the figures on the icons. But the life of a saint, written to be read aloud "for the good success and utility of those who listen," was also highly valued. The word for monastic novice or apprentice in sainthood was poslushnik, "obedient listener"; as one of the greatest Russian hagiographers explained, f seeing is better than hearing"; but later generations unable to see may stuT"believe even the sound of those who haveTieard, if they have spoken in truth."18