Religion and Language in Post-Soviet Russia

Religion and Language in Post-Soviet Russia

Church Slavonic, one of the world's historic sacred languages, has experienced a revival in post-Soviet Russia. Blending religious studies and sociolinguistics, this is the first book devoted to Church Slavonic in the contemporary period It is not a narrow study in linguistics, but uses Slavonic as a passkey into various wider topics, including the renewal and factionalism of the Orthodox Church; the transfonnation of the Russian language; and the debates about protecting the nation from Western cults and culture. It considers both official and popular fonns of Orthodox Christianity, as well as Russia's esoteric and neo-pagan traditions. Ranging over such diverse areas as liturgy, pedagogy, typography, mythology, and conspiracy theory, the book illuminates the complex interrelationship between language and faith in post-communist society, and shows how Slavonic has perfonned important symbolic work during a momentous chapter in Russian history. It is of great interest to scholars of sociolinguistics and of religion, as well as to Russian studies specialists.

Brian P. Bennett is Associate Professor of Religious Studies at Niagara University, USA.

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26 Religion and Language in Post-Soviet Russia Brian P. Bennett

Religion and Language in Post-Soviet Russia

Brian P. Bennett

!l Routledge ~~

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2011 Brian P. Bennett

The right of Brian P. Bennett to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted orreproduced or utilized in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers.

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Brit~h

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Bennett, Brian P. Religion and language in post-Soviet Russia I Brian P. Bennett. p. ern. -(Routledge contemporary Russia and Eastern Europe series; 26) Includes bibliographical references (p. ). 1. Church Slavic language-Russia (Federation) 2. Russian languageReligious aspects-Christianity. 3. Language and culture-Russia (Federation) I. Title. PG615.B46 2011 2010043731 491.8'1701094709049---dc22 ISBN 0-203-81843-l Master e-book ISBN

ISBN: 978-0-415-78063-6 (hbk) ISBN: 978-0-203-81843-5 (ebk)

Contents

List offigures Acknowledgements Note on translation and transliteration

1 Introduction

ix xi xiii

1

2 Religion, language, religious language

20

3 Az, buki, vedi: the ABCs of religious literacy

40

4 Translator, traitor? The debate over liturgical language

62

5 Logos: Slavonic letterforms and the graphic environment

85

6 From Marx and Lenin to Cyril and Methodius 7

Scripting Russian history: alphabet mysticism and conspiracy theory

8 Conclusion Bibliography Index

113 132 153 160 183

Figures

1.1 1.2 2.1 5.1 5.2 5.3 5.4 5.5 5.6 6.1

Kiosks selling Western and Orthodox goods, St. Petersburg Anonymous prayer card with the Jesus Prayer in Church Slavonic Poster of Maria Devi Christos, St. Petersburg Store window with Slavonic Easter poster, Moscow Cathedral of Christ the Savior sign, Moscow Church kiosk, Moscow Slavonic Easter banner, Moscow "Chocolate History'' souvenir box Nationalist newspapers with various Slavonic typefaces Monument to Cyril and Methodius, Slavonic Square, Moscow

5 7 21 88 94 95 96 99 105 124

Acknowledgements

As a work that attempts to connect a wide range of materials normally canalized in separate disciplines- religion and language, mythology and typography, education and esotericism, Slavia orthodoxa and post-Soviet Russia- this book could not have been written without the kindness of academic strangers. Needless to say, only I am to blame if the end result falls short of what I believe remains an estimable goal. I would first like to thank Richard Sakwa, Peter Sowden, Jillian Morrison, and Philip Parr for their interest in the project and their advice and assistance in bringing it to completion. An anonymous reviewer made a number of valuable suggestions, for which I am most grateful. Research was carried out in Russia as well as at libraries and archives in the United States. I am indebted in particular to Ron Basich andAnatol Shmelev of the Hoover Institution Archives, Stanford University; Harold Leich of the European Reading Room in the Library of Congress; and last but not least Samantha Gust and the Interlibrary Loan staff at Niagara University. Parts of the book were originally presented at different conferences, including those of the American Academy ofReligion (San Antonio and Philadelphia), Sociolinguistics Symposia 16 (Limerick) and 17 (Amsterdam), Societas Linguistica Europaea (Lisbon), and "KCTOS: Knowledge, Creativity and Transformations of Societies" (Vienna). The meetings - and meals - hosted by the American Society of Geolinguistics (New York) proved to be an especially congenial venue for trying out my ideas. I am grateful to David Schoen and the Niagara University Research Council for several grants that enabled me to travel to the above-mentioned libraries and conferences. I wish to acknowledge a number of individuals who were kind enough to answer my sometimes nai:ve questions and share their expertise with me: Kaarina Aitamurto, John Basil, John Dunn, Aleksandra Galasinska, Natalia Gorbel, Michael Gorham, Andrew Jenks, Sebastian Kempgen, Sophia Kishkovsky, Michal Krzyzanowski, Marlene Laruelle, Inna Naletova, Mark Sebba, Jiirgen Spitzmiiller, Ludwig Steindorff, and Maxim Zhukov. I would also like to take this opportunity to thank those who -long ago- introduced me to different aspects of the Church Slavonic tradition, especially Victor Friedman, Norman Ingham, Fr. Paul Lazor, and G. M. Prokhorov. Friends and family provided vital intellectual and emotional sustenance during every phase of this project. I would like to thank Paul de Hart and Peter Gottschalk

xii Acknowledgements for their early backing, as well as past and present colleagues at Niagara University: Mark Barner, Matt Jackson-McCabe, Sean Kelly, Nancy McGlen, Eduard Tsekanovskii, and the members of the Department of Religious Studies. Of course, I am forever indebted to my wife, Donna, and my children, Jacob and Camille, for their love, patience, and good-humored encouragement. Finally, I recall my mother's lifetime of sacrifice and support. A trip we made together to St. Petersburg at the start of this endeavor will always be a cherished memory. This book is rightly dedicated to her.

Note on translation and transliteration

Unless noted otherwise, all translations are my own. With the exception of some well-known names, such as Tchaikovsky, Russian and Slavonic words are transliterated according to the (modified) Library of Congress system.

1

Introduction

[L]ike civilizations, languages are mortal, and the abyss ofhistory is large enough for all. Nevertheless, from our perspective as finite beings, there is something completely different about the death of languages, something exhilarating when we come to realize it: languages are capable of resurrection! (Hagege 2009: vii)

What is the life expectancy of a sacred language? According to Orthodox tradition, Church Slavonic was codified in the year 863 by two brothers, Constantine (who would later assume the monastic name Cyril) and Methodius, as part of a Byzantine mission to the Slavs. The language would go on to become one ofthe hallmarks of Slavia orthodoxa, or Orthodox Slavdom, a civilizational zone that stretched from the Balkans through the Russian lands. According to Bodin (2009: 46), "Church Slavonic was the third most widespread written language in medieval Europe, after Latin and Greek, and its religious, historical, and cultural significance has been and continues to be far ranging." Orthodox missionaries brought the sacred language with them as the Russian Empire expanded across the Eurasian landmass and into Alaska. Church Slavonic eventually reached California, where it met up with its Old World rival, Latin, brought there by Spanish friars. For centuries Slavonic served as the language of liturgy and literature in Russia. Generations of schoolchildren learned the rudiments of both literacy and piety through Slavonic primers. Church Slavonic has been a major source oflexical enrichment for the Russian language, and the works ofPushkin, Dostoevsky, Chekhov and others in the literary pantheon are replete with Slavonicisms. The sacred language has also nourished the classical musical tradition. Tchaikovsky, Rimsky-Korsakov, and Rachmaninoff- and more recently the Estonian "holy minimalist" Arvo Pii.rt- all set Church Slavonic texts to music, while in one of his more pious moods, Stravinsky summed up the attitude of many Russians when he said, "The Slavonic language of the Russian liturgy has always been the language of prayer for me" (Stravinsky and Craft 1962: 65). Despite their hostility to Orthodox Christianity, even the Soviets could not dispense with the sacred language altogether. When Red Army soldiers "hoisted the banner of victory" over Berlin, this was expressed in words consisting solely ofSlavonicisms.

2 Introduction In fact, the name of the Soviet Union itself (Sovetsldi Soiuz) was based on two Slavonic lexical items (Issatschenko 1980: 136). Despite these credentials, Church Slavonic declined in the twentieth century. Already weakened by the rise of Slavic nationalism in the nineteenth century, it waned even further under the anti-religious policies of the Soviet regime. (Relying on Slavonicisms is quite different from actually using Slavonic as a sacred language.) Reviewing these developments, Mathiesen (1984: 64) speculated: "It is not unlikely that the long history of Church Slavonic is finally drawing to its close, and that by its twelve hundredth anniversary in 2063 it will remain in use only marginally, if at all." What he did not foresee- along with just about everyone else- was the demise of the Soviet Union. Now a recent survey reports, "Church Slavonic is currently enjoying a revival with the resurgence of the Orthodox faith in the post-Communist world of the old Soviet Union and the Balkans" (Sussex and Cubberley 2006: 65). This book is about the revival of the Church Slavonic tradition in post-Soviet Russia. It is not a narrow study in linguistics or church history. It deals primarily with the external side of Church Slavonic- the methods by which it is taught, the debates that people have about it, the myths and monuments that support it, the ways that it is adapted for different cultural projects, the spiritual and linguistic qualities that are ascribed to it. I attempt to connect topics and materials that are typically canalized in different disciplines, linking Russian Orthodoxy with occult and Neo-pagan spiritual traditions, and ranging freely over such areas as liturgy, pedagogy, typography, mythology, and conspiracy theory. The book makes two distinctive contributions. First, it updates the history of one of the world's most important, yet least known, sacred languages. According to Dalby's (2001) model ofthe "linguasphere," the mantle oflanguages that covers the Earth, fifteen oftoday's "arterial" languages derive from or are closely associated with just five "classical" languages: Latin, Arabic, Classical Chinese, Sanskrit/Pali, and Church Slavonic. Slavonic would seem to be the least familiar of this august group. Burke (2004) is one of the few Western scholars (besides those in Slavic studies, of course) who have taken an interest in the language. By providing a historical and thematic conspectus of Church Slavonic, this book may serve as a kind of primer for those unable to access the tradition directly. Second, because it is a religious language- as the name itself indicates- Church Slavonic offers a prism for viewing both the religious and the linguistic changes that have transpired in Russia since 1991. For example, an investigation into how Church Slavonic is taught reveals some of the logistical and ideological challenges faced by the Russian Orthodox Church after seventy-plus years of government-sponsored atheism. The fact that the ornate Slavonic script, which is so redolent of "Holy Rus," has been appropriated by both advertisers and nationalists as a symbol of authentic Russianness illuminates broader changes in typography and visual culture. (Rus is the name of the medieval East Slavic polity that gave rise to modem-day Russia, Ukraine, and Belarus. But the name has a mythic resonance as well, referring to a sacred land that -like the invisible city ofKitezh- somehow exists within or behind the visible "real world"; see Balashov 2001: 15). In these

Introduction 3

and other ways, Russians have been reclaiming their Slavonic heritage. 1bis is a story that has not been told before. Most of the specific topics dealt with in this book have been overlooked in the scholarly literature. Thus, by charting the various forms and expressions of the Slavonic revival, we can achieve a fresh perspective on post-communist religion, language, and society.

••• "All periods are transitional, but some are more transitional than others." Franklin's (1999) quip about Kievan Rus is in fact most apt for post-Soviet Russia, which has seen vertiginous changes in many areas oflife. Few transitions, though, have been as spectacular as those in religion and language. According to Filatov (2008: 187), "The revival of religiosity in post-Soviet Russia is a unique phenomenon in the history of Christian civilisation." After the Bolshevik Revolution, Russia became the first country in the world to install atheism as its official ideology (Lambert 2005: 21). For the next seventy-plus years, the state pursued an anti-religion policy that shifted between neglect and repression (and occasionally strategic alliance). The Orthodox Church bore the brunt of an attack unparalleled in history (D. H. Davis 2002: 659). Thousands of clerics were killed or imprisoned; churches and monasteries were destroyed or converted into warehouses or museums; the traditions of Orthodox chant and iconography were cut off at the roots. But since the early 1990s, there has been an "exponential diversification and vibrancy of the Russian religious landscape" (Agadjanian and Rousselet 2005: 31). The Orthodox Church has reclaimed a position of prestige, and a variety of occult and therapuetic spiritualities has filled the empty spaces left by the largely discredited Soviet experiment. 1bis remarkable turn of events can tell us much about the nature of religion. The breakup of the "atheistic Communist regime," writes Krindatch (2006a: 29), has provided social scientists with an unprecedented opportunity to see whether "a long period of enforced secularization would destroy religion." For students of cults and NRMs (new religious movements), post-communist Russia presents a veritable laboratory for emergent religious identities (Shterin 2004: 99). Just as it tried to engineer religion out of society, the Soviet regime also intervened in linguistic matters. Initially the USSR pursued a policy of''nativization" (korenizatsiia) that encouraged the cultivation of national languages and literatures. Starting in the 1930s, however, there was a backlash against incipient nationalisms and a shift toward Russian, which would become the lingua franca used in Soviet education, science, technology, publishing, and culture (Pavlenko 2008; cf. Mikhalchenko and Trushkova 2003). As the ideology of MarxismLeninism took on the attributes of religion, with its own myths and rituals, saints and temples, the Russian language came to be endowed with an almost sacred character: [T]he Soviet glorification of Russian went far beyond anything attempted in tsarist times. Beyond its role as the medium of interethnic communication and as the chief language of science, technology, and culture, Russian was now

4 Introduction

endowed with unique attributes as the language of October, of Lenin, and of the communist future. (Kreindler 1993: 263) No major language has metamorphosed as much as Russian over the past two decades. The "Russian spoken" signs found in the luxury boutiques of Paris, Berlin and London symbolize not only the geographical but the ideological space traversed by the former idiom of international communism (Haarmann 1998). Again, these events can tell us much about language. The breakup of the USSR "offers an incredible opportunity to a linguist" to study how a language responds to rapid ecological change, from the influx ofloanwords to changes in grammar and syntax (Comrie, Stone, and Polinsky 1996: 2). Furthermore, the collapse of the Soviet imperium has "created conditions for a unique sociolinguistic experiment," wherein a multitude of new nations have to implement language policies while forging new national identities (Pavlenko 2008: 276). In both the religious and linguistic domains, Russians have experienced new freedoms and opportunities. They have faced the perennial struggle between turning toward the West or toward their historic traditions (see Figure 1.1). Agadjanian (2006: 171) sees a broad social divide between a "pro-western liberal drive" and a "'culturalist' conservative response," with each side co-producing the other. Stites puts the matter in graphic terms: With the demise ofthe Soviet Union in 1991, the new symbols pushed out of the ground by the force of glasnost and perestroika of the previous five years created a landscape of multicolored vegetation. Old growths, savagely cut down by the Revolution or subtly camouflaged in late Soviet times- village ways, church architecture, Rus antiquities - sprung up again. But they were crowded by transplants from other climes- the "West." If a symbol is a visual statement of identity (among other things), then procapitalist T-shirts, BMWs, Rolex watches, and a hundred other visible and audible artifacts were truly symbols of a "rejoining" to the outer world . . How were Russians to define themselves as a nation symbolically in the swirl of this cultural deluge? (Stites 2005: 112) Negotiating the nation's historical identity and its place vis-a-vis the West has been an ongoing concern in the post-Soviet period, and has played out not only in the realm of politics but in film and literature (Marsh 2007), and even in such mundane genres as newspaper headlines (Danchenko 1998) and advertising slogans (Aleksandrov 2003). Of course, the "Russia versus the West" schematism is neater on the page than in reality. For one thing, Russian history is built in part on sedimentations from previous bouts of Westernization. For another, not every historic tradition is welcomed back. The spread of mat (Russian obscenity) and the resurgence of Rodnoverie ("native faith" or Neo-paganism) are equally unfortunate developments as far as traditionalists are concerned. What is more, the seemingly opposing trends of Westernization and Russification or Slavonicization have

Introduction 5

Figwe 1.1 Kiosks selling Western and Orthodox goods, St. Petersburg (photo by author)

sotretitres sounded in strange hannony. Merridale (2003: 21) describes the celebrations for the 850th anniversary of Moscow as a trelange of "reirnagined Tsarism, falre Slavicism, and gold-encrusted religious ceremonial." But the "shopping bag that evecyone was carcying back then announced, in Latin script, that 'Russia witt rise again."' A joint venture between Coca-Cola and the Hennitage Museum in St. Petersburg involved the apparently non-ironic slogan "Let's Save the Cultural Heritage Together!" (http://www.hennitagerrnseum.orglhtml_En/11/2007/hm11_ 1_182.html, accessed 28 August 2010). The revival of the Church Slavonic tradition should be seen as another expression of the "restorational evolution" of post-Soviet Russia (cf. Fitatov 2008: 189). It represents a tum to the past and reclamation of a historic national tradition, often in opposition to Western cultural and religious influences. Potting data demonstrate that those who know Church Slavonic best are most likely to read tredieval chronicles and literature. They are most appreciative of Russian folklore and painting (icons, lubki, etc.) and are most positive about popular customs and festivals. They are the least interested in borrowing from the West (Chesnokova 2005: 213-27). These data corroborate the evidence of discourse- the marrow of the present work- which shows that Church Slavonic is connected to traditional, at titres nationalist, attitudes and attachtrents. Those who are interested in Russian histocy, native folkways and handcrafts are more lilrely to know and appreciate Church Slavonic. Precisely, then, because it is a syrrbol of what Stites refers to as "vittage ways, church architecture, Rus antiquities," the Slavonic language has constituted a prestigious semiotic resource in the post-comrrnnist period, both within the Orthodox Church and, to a certain extent, throughout society more

6 Introduction broadly. Slavonic offers a counterweight to the influx and allure of Western cultural products.

*** Because this book is intended for those who do not read Russian or Church Slavonic, it may be helpful to provide some background on the language itself before delineating the aspects of its post-Soviet revival. I begin by reviewing the relationship between Church Slavonic and two other languages with which it is often paired: namely, Old Church Slavonic and Latin. Of course, it would be wrong to think of Church Slavonic as a monolithic entity. It is in fact a generic term for a number of closely related varieties of Slavic used in the liturgies of the Eastern Orthodox Slavs but also by Roman Catholic Slavs who follow the Eastern rite, sometimes called Uniates (MacRobert 2005). Thus, the label "Church Slavonic" is a scholarly convention (Picchio 1980: 21). In North America, "Church Slavic" is preferred, while "Church Slavonic" is favored in the British Commonwealth. The language is sometimes called Old Slavonic (Old Slavic) or just Slavonic (Slavic). In Russian the name is sometimes hyphenated and sometimes not: Tserkovnoslavianskii iazyk or Tserkovnoslavianskii iazyk (Kornilaeva 2005: 80). The language of Church Slavonic is often confused or conflated with Old Church Slavonic. One sometimes encounters this error in otherwise commendable scholarship. EvenEthnologue (SIL International2010), a valuable compendium of information about the world's languages, makes this mistake. (It also categorizes the language as "extinct" and lists the writing system as Glagolitic, which is far from accurate.) The name "Old Church Slavonic" (staroslavianskii iazyk) refers to the language extrapolated from a limited corpus of texts stemming from the earliest stratum of the Cyrillo-Methodian mission (ninth-tenth centuries). It is rightly esteemed as "a literary language capable of expressing the most profound and abstract human ideas and of being the medium for works of great poetic beauty" (Thomson 1986: 111 ). This corpus of texts is often called a "canon," signaling its foundational authority (Picchio 1980: 19). Old Church Slavonic is primarily Balkan in nature but with a quantity ofMoravianisms (Huntley 1993; cf. Schenker 1996). The earliest texts were translations from ecclesiastical Greek, to which it hews very closely: Old Church Slavonic is veritably loaded with Graecisms and calques (Thomson 1986). Church Slavonic (tserkovnoslavianskii iazyk) emerged out of Old Church Slavonic. This evolution was marked by an oscillation between national and supranational tendencies. On the one hand, as it was reproduced by clerics in different locales, Slavonic came under the influence of local vernaculars, resulting in different national versions or "recensions" -Bulgarian, Serbian, Croatian, Russian, and so on. On the other hand, from time to time, there were attempts to standardize the language in order to reinforce the unity of Orthodox Slavdom. During the Second South Slavic influence, for example, Serbian and Bulgarian bookmen wanted to return Church Slavonic to what they imagined was the golden age of Cyril and Methodius. This resulted in Slavonic texts that have "an archaizing appearance and moreover [that] are usually formidably scarred with signs of

In traduction 7

abbreviation, 'decorative' Greekbreathings and accents" (Vlasto 1986: 38). These scriptorial conventions largely continue to this day (see Figure 1.2). In the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, with the Balkan countries under Ottoman rule, the Russian variety prevailed and became the standard used throughout Slavia orthodoxa. In the eighteenth centucy, a further codification occurred in conjunction with the so-called Elizabethan Bible. (Elizabeth was the daughter of Peter the Great and Empress of Russia.) This variant is sometimes called New, Modern, or Synodal Church Slavonic (a reference to the Holy Synod, the governing council of the Russian Church). From that point on, the language became something of a closed system (MacRobert 2005). While the history of Old Church Slavonic has been the object of in-depth research, Modem Church Slavonic -the focus of this book- has been largely ignored. As Kravetskii (2009) says, we know more about Slavonic 1000 years ago than we know about the language of today. There are several reasons for this. One is that the study of Church Slavonic (as opposed to Old Church Slavonic) could not proceed under the ideological constraints of the Soviet Union (Plahn 1978: 8-9). Old Church Slavonic remained prestigious because it was associated with the beginnings ofliteracy, but the exclusively religious coloration of Church Slavonic made it off limits for Marxist scholarship. This does not, however, explain the neglect of Church Slavonic in Western scholarship. Partly it is a reflection of the general ignorance of Orthodox Christianity in the West (cf. Berclren 1999). Students and scholars have typically been fixated on the Catholic and Protestant traditions, which they know in exquisite detail, while Slavia

.....,

--Figw-e 1.2 Anonymous prayer card with the Jesus Prayer in Church Slavonic (''Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner'')

8 Introduction

orthodoxa remains terra incognita, relegated to a token chapter in surveys or histories of Christianity. More specifically, linguists and philologists have tended to view Church Slavonic as a corrupt or calcified form of Old Church Slavonic (cf. Izotov 2007: 12). Old Church Slavonic is very much a part of the modern secular academic world; as mentioned above, this was true even in Soviet times (Suprun 1999: 10). It is regularly taught in Russia and abroad as part of Slavic language and literature programs. Anyone with an advanced degree in those fields has probably struggled through a course (usually just one) in Old Church Slavonic. Modem or Synodal Church Slavonic has typically enjoyed no such institutional position (cf. Zhuravlev 1994; Kravetskii and Pletneva 1993). It was widely taught in pre-revolutionary Russia, but even then did not enjoy high academic prestige. Things have begun to change in recent years, though, as Church Slavonic has become appreciated in its own right. In fact, this is one sign of its revitalization.

*** Church Slavonic is often compared to Latin. Every comparison is necessarily limited and aspectual. Indeed, the two languages are similar with respect to some criteria. Each was an ecclesiastical language that fi.mctioned as a supranational linguistic medium for a swath of medieval Europe, Latin mostly in the Catholic West, Slavonic mostly in the Orthodox East (though there are exceptions in the middle). But comparisons must also account for differences, including differences that emerge over time. In fact, Slavonic started out very unlike Latin. Eventually, it did become more like Latin, although, of course, never completely. There are two key differences, one having to do with the contents associated with Slavonic and Latin; the other with the relationship between these sacred languages and their respective vernaculars. Languages of wider communication - such as Latin, Sanskrit, French, and German- are typically viewed "as depositories of privileged information- be it religious, legal, or technological- and as vehicles for the transmission and expansion ofthat information" (Bruthiaux 2002: 133). If we compare the depositories of Latin and Slavonic, we see rather different profiles. Issatschenko articulates the key difference: Unlike Latin which, through its use in profane contexts, could serve as the means of expression in scientific and secular matters, CS [Church Slavonic] had a narrow thematic range. It was difficult to write in this language on mathematics or physics or to use it for good secular literature. Late (eighteenthcentury) attempts to write mathematical textbooks in CS strike us today as parodies. (Issatschenko 1980: 125) Latin had a mixed background. It was both Classical and Christian in makeup, and these dueling identities have been essential to the history of the language. Slavonic, on the other hand, was "created to be a written language with the express purpose

Introduction 9

of transmitting the sacred Word to the Slavs" (Milner-Gulland 1997: 140). It was designed to spread the teachings of Christ, not Aristotle. Latin was a conduit to Classical Antiquity. Though it was a language that united Christendom, it also helped unlock the riches of Horace, Cicero, and Virgil. Slavonic, on the other hand, was an almost exclusively religious language. It provided the Slavs no direct pathway to the Classical tradition. Some scholars attribute the alleged "intellectual silence" of pre-modern Russia at least in part to Slavonic, which acted as a bridge to the Christian half of Byzantine civilization but a barrier to the Classical heritage (see the studies collected in Thomson 1999). Devotees of Slavonic counter that the language is purer as a result. In fact, it is even holier than Greek because it was created by Saints Cyril and Methodius expressly for the purpose of evangelization. The Slavonic inheritance has spared Russian Orthodox civilization from the spiritually desiccating path of Latinate scholasticism. According to the hagiographies of Cyril and Methodius, Slavonic was initially viewed in opposition to Latin. As the language of the people, it is said to have posed a challenge to the "Trilinguist" doctrine of the Frankish (Catholic) clergy, who insisted that only Latin, Greek, or Hebrew could be used for the worship of God (cf. Franklin 2002: 87). It was only much later, starting in the sixteenth century, that, as Mathiesen says (1984: 61), Slavonic "abandoned this company and went to stand with Greek and Latin." This move was a reaction in part to Catholic polemicists who argued that Slavic civilization was inferior due to its reliance on Church Slavonic and not one of the Classical tongues. This spurred the production of grammars aimed at standardizing the language and the accompanying metalinguistic doctrine that Slavonic was the equivalent of Latin ( cf. Bouchard2004: 17). Although it can be said to have suffered from the "latinate pattern" of attrition, whereby a language progressively loses its place in different domains down to the point where it is retained only in ritual (Grenoble and Whaley 2006: 17), Church Slavonic never had the wide usage that Latin enjoyed at one point in European civilization. It was never used for science or diplomacy, and very few people could ever write in Slavonic. The language consisted primarily of a more or less fixed repertoire of texts that was read and recited. According to Fedotov (1997: 8), Church Slavonic had a kind of "spectral existence" (prizrachnoe sushchestvovanie), as it was created not for the production of new texts but the translation of existing ones; not entirely dead, it was not entirely alive, either. Latin is still used in a limited way in the Catholic Church. Moreover, because of its Classical heritage, it continues to be written and even spoken by aficionados in academic and artistic circles (Bandarovska-Frank 2002). But one would be hard pressed to conduct a round-table discussion in Church Slavonic. The playful erudition that often accompanies Latin is missing here and would be out of step with the tradition. Case in point: the translation of the Harry Potter novels into Latin- Harrius Potter et Philosophi Lapis (Rowling 2003) -would be unthinkable in Church Slavonic. The standard comparison of Church Slavonic with Latin also needs to consider the differences between these sacred languages and vernaculars with which they are historically associated. Old Church Slavonic, the language attributed to Cyril

10 Introduction and Methodius, is South Slavic, whereas Russian is East Slavic. The two languages certainly share a genetic history and have much in common: Zhuravlev (1994) claims that more than 55 percent of the Russian language (lexis, syntax, etc.) can be traced to Slavonic. But there are also some important differences. The current Church Slavonic alphabet has 40 letters, plus numerous diacritical marks, compared to the 33 unadorned (except for the rare e) letters of Russian Cyrillic. Slavonic has three genders (masculine, feminine, neuter) and three numbers (singular, plural, dual), compared to Russian, which has two of each. The verbal system in Church Slavonic is more complicated than in Russian. Certain aspects of Slavonic syntax (e.g. the dative absolute) adapted from Greek (Gopenko 2009: 61-3). Russian did not come from Old Church Slavonic in the way that, say, French emerged out of Latin. Calvet (1998: 101) mischievously suggests that, today, "French and Spanish are Latin but Latin deformed by fifteen centuries of popular usage . . a bastard Latin, split into dialects, riddled with borrowings from other languages, rendered unrecognizable, but still Latin." No such contention could be made about Russian and Church Slavonic. The two languages did, however, interpenetrate each other to a considerable degree. Aspects of East Slavic/Russian filtered into Slavonic, resulting in what is known as the Russian recension of Church Slavonic. At the same time, Slavonic was for centuries a source of lexical enrichment for Russian. To the native East Slavic/ Russian tongue, it "offered en bloc, ready-made, a large abstract and intellectual vocabulary" (Vlasto 1986: 9). Thus, the relationship between the two languages has always been rather convoluted. Many scholars would contend that, early on, the relationship between Church Slavonic and Russian could be characterized as diglossia, with Slavonic as the "high" variant reserved for spiritual and literary matters, and Russian as the "low" variant used for domestic and commercial affairs. Over time, the languages continued to diverge and eventually reached a situation characterized as a kind of bilingualism ( cf. Uspenskii 1994). Not everyone, however, would agree with this schematic account. Orthodox traditionalists, for instance, claim that Slavonic has always been a "native" language for Russians, a high register for lofty matters of faith and culture, but nonetheless always intelligible, especially to the churchgoing common folk. More liberal clerics and lay people insist that Slavonic has diverged from Russian so much that, while it no doubt served an invaluable civilizational purpose, it has become largely unintelligible to ordinary churchgoers, and a fortiori to converts. We will return to this topic in Chapter 4. For now, it suffices to say that, throughout Russian history, many texts would combine imported/Slavonic and indigenous/Russian elements (see, especially, Vlasto 1986). According to Gasparov (2004: 139), the presence of Slavonic would constitute "the principal indicator of the spiritual bent of a text"; increasing the Slavonic quotient would "immediately cause the spiritual temperature of the text to rise in the writer's and readers' intuitive perception." Chekhov's story, "Peasants," famously describes a devout girl who reads the Bible aloud and is brought to tears even by such commonplace Slavonic words as ashche (if) and dondezhe (until) (1986: 205). We might think of Slavonic and Russian as two poles, with a spectrum of mixed or blurred positions in the middle. The

Introduction 11

intertwined nature ofthe Slavonic-Russian relationship is epitomized by a recent dictionary of some 2000 paronyms -words that are close or cognate in Slavonic and Russian but that have differing meanings. As the compiler observes, "the main thing is that the relationship itself between the two languages, Church Slavonic and Russian, is thoroughly complex - and has been so since the beginning" (Sedak:ova 2008: 9). Already we have seen that Church Slavonic can be classified in different ways - as sacred, classical, dead, extinct. Categorizing the language in this way or that might open up different possibilities for analysis and comparison. Therefore, it is worthwhile to spend a few moments trying out different classifications. Thus far, I have referred to Church Slavonic as a "sacred language," although it must be admitted that this is potentially problematic. For one thing, as we will see in Chapter 4, one theological camp within Orthodoxy rejects the very idea of a sacred language. It asserts that- unlike Judaism, Islam, or Hinduism- Christianity has never insisted on the inherent holiness of any one specific language, emphasizing instead the message over the medium. These religionists claim that dichotomizing the world into sacred and profane is contrary to the very spirit of Christianity. Sociolinguists, who are loath to attribute intrinsic properties to any language, follow suit. Nevertheless, it is simply a fact that Slavonic is considered "sacred" by many insiders and outsiders, in the sense that it is a special idiom used for texts and rituals that are also deemed special and holy (Gol'berg 1999). This is not an essentialist argument, but a historico-constructivist one, in much the same way as we say English is a "prestige" language. English is not inherently prestigious; it has become so for much of the world as a result of its associations with capitalism, technology, and so on. Similarly, Church Slavonic has a reputation of being sacred. Therefore, from our perspective, it is a sacred language. Some call Church Slavonic a "dead" language, but this overlooks the fact that new texts continue to be composed in it, albeit on a very limited scale (Bodin 2009: 50). Ethnologue labels Slavonic "extinct"- as if it were on a par with Sumerian or Aquitanian- even though it is still used in the religious domain (cf. Hagege 2009: 63). Both "dead" and "extinct" are inappropriate classifications. Slavonic is sometimes termed a "classical" language (e.g. A. Dalby 1998: 473). But the connotation of learning, which is not central to the Slavonic tradition, as well as the residual association with Greek and Latin make this term less fitting; it seems to ignore the "Church" in Church Slavonic. Fishman (1991) introduced the accurate, if awkward, term "religious classical," which for him includes Church Latin, Koranic Arabic, Luther Bible German, Coptic, Ecclesiatic Greek, and- in a common lapse - "Old Church Slavonic." In his account, religious classicals are languages that may be studied in school, but in most cases are simply learned through ritual repetition. They "remain additional languages for narrow, specific purposes without becoming mother tongues" (Fishman 1991: 360). This description fits Church Slavonic rather well. In Russian discourse, Church Slavonic is often termed a liturgical language (bogosluzhebnyi iazyk), which it certainly is. This category is helpful for bringing Slavonic into relation with such languages as Latin, Coptic, Ge 'ez, and so on, but

12 Introduction it may be too tinctured by Christianity to have broader cross-cultural utility. I prefer to describe Church Slavonic as "hieratic." Gopenko (2009: 9) defines a hieratic tongue as "an archaic version of a vernacular marked by non-secular usage" (une version archai'que du vernaculaire marquee par un usage nonseculaire). Although some Orthodox traditionalists question whether Slavonic was ever a vernacular, I believe this designation is empirically based and largely unobjectionable. Wexler (1989: 142) also uses the term, glossing hieratic languages as ''unspoken languages of liturgy and culture." He contends that hieratic languages are typically sources of"lexical enrichment," which, as we saw earlier, has been (and in some ways continues to be) an important aspect ofthe SlavonicRussian relationship. Wexler also discusses two additional properties of hieratic languages that will be vital to our treatment of Church Slavonic: ritual and script. Church Slavonic is a ritual or sacerdotal language. All Russian Orthodox priests must learn it and use it in the liturgy. The same goes for many other ecclesiastics, by which I mean icon painters, choir directors, Sunday school teachers, and so on -people who work in some capacity for the Church. Along with sviashchennik, the word ierei (related to hiereus, "priest") is a term for priest in Russian Orthodoxy. Thus, Slavonic is hieratic in the sense that it is closely attached to the priestly milieu. Indeed, Krylova (2005) argues that, when priests leave the ritual domain and speak to people in schools or hospitals, their language constitutes a sociolect heavily colored by Church Slavonic, including the preponderance of archaisms, the bookish use of genitive, and the use of such rhetorical devices as anaphora. Bugaeva (2009: 5-12) suggests that habitual exposure to Slavonic, through either reading or hearing canonical texts, influences the speech patterns of the "churched." These studies confirm the ritual, sacerdotal ''niche" of Church Slavonic in Russian society ( cf. Calvet 2006). The term "hieratic" is useful because it can also refer to a style that is lofty, formal, or ceremonial - all adjectives commonly applied by native Russian speakers to Slavonic. This quality helps explains why, despite the overt atheism of the regime, the number of Church Slavonicisms increased with the pompous speechifying of the Stalin era (Issatschenko 1980: 136). The sense of elevation and formality pertains not only to the sonic dimension but to the visual appearance of Church Slavonic (cf. Fedotov 1997). In this connection, let me say a word about terminology. Throughout the book, I will use the term "Slavonic" to refer to the original Cyrillic alphabet, now associated with Church Slavonic, and "Cyrillic" to refer to the modern Cyrillic alphabet, now associated with Russian (cf. Cubberley 1993). Slavonic letters have a thick, numinous "look and feel" (see Figure 1.2, above). Russian Cyrillic was modernized- and secularized- under Peter the Great and later under Lenin. Unlike the old Slavonic alphabet, it has no breathings or ligatures, it has fewer letters, and those letters are thinner and more Latinate in complexion. Slavonic writing can be hard to read, especially in some of its denser calligraphic stylizations. Polling data suggest that some people can read the Slavonic language only if it is written in the modern Cyrillic script (Sinelina 2006: 103). This difference between Slavonic and Cyrillic - high and low, sacred and secular, ornate and ordinary, old and new - is essential not only to traditionalists

Introduction 13 who cherish the language and want to maintain its use in Orthodox liturgies. Both advertisers and nationalists who want to brand something - be it a group or a product- as "authentic" also capitalize on it. The old Slavonic script has a stereotypically "Russian" appearance (cf. Haarmarm 2002). Thus, the advantage of treating Slavonic as "hieratic" is that the term foregrounds two salient (and empirically verifiable) attributes of Slavonic: the sacerdotal dimension ofthe language and the stylistically formal nature of the script. All of this raises the question of the extent to which Church Slavonic is known. This topic will be reviewed in more detail in Chapter 3, but a few preliminary remarks are in order here. There are two related issues: the number of users and the extent of their knowledge. MacRobert (1998: 86) cautions, "It is difficult to estimate the number of people who use Church Slavonic as a liturgical language today, and still harder to gauge their knowledge of it, which is normally passive and restricted." First, how many people know Slavonic? Based on the membership of the various Slavic Christian churches, MacRobert (1998: 87) proposes a figure of80 million, but acknowledges that this "may well be wide of the mark." Indeed, this strikes me as a very high estimate. In terms of Russia, the number may be something like 10 million (although even that is probably too high), but of course this depends on how one determines membership- for example, according to selfidentification or active participation. Most experts would concur that knowledge of Slavonic among Orthodox churchgoers is typically "passive and restricted." An active knowledge may be found among ecclesiastics who paint icons or compose hymns, but in both cases production occurs within very limited parameters. There are handbooks that give instructions for the texts, ranging from inscriptions to sermon excerpts, which are inscribed on icons (Filatov and Kamchatnova 2004). Slavonic hymns are being composed again, especially in honor of the "new martyrs" who perished under Soviet totalitarianism. Most of these hymns are akathists, a genre that straddles official and popular Orthodoxy. The fact that it involves the ritual repetition of the imperative raduisia ("rejoice") with different epithets of the saint's name makes it relatively easy to master by contemporary authors (Bodin 2009: 50). Most people, however, do not write or even read Church Slavonic; they hear it sung and chanted in church. Evidence about understanding is anecdotal, and is used by both camps in the ongoing liturgical language debate. It seems reasonable to suppose that this passive knowledge depends in part on the clarity of liturgical cantillation, as well as the kind of text involved. The daily round of prayers and the fixed parts of the liturgy would be more familiar and thus easier to understand than certain parts of the Bible (like the Pauline epistles) or the thousands of pages of liturgical text that vary each year according to a 532-year cycle (Gopenko 2009: 56).

*** In the post-Soviet period, Russians have been reclaiming their Slavonic heritage. As the official liturgical language of the Russian Orthodox Church, and more broadly a symbol of the nation's religious and linguistic roots, Slavonic is a privileged semiotic resource that has been drawn upon for a variety of(sometimes

14 Introduction incompatible) cultural projects, often as a counterweight to allegedly harmful influences emanating from the West. The language is being studied once again. Its hieratic script is used to convey tradition or authenticity. The Day of Slavonic Writing and Culture has become a national holiday. Slavonic is called upon to cleanse and replenish the Russian language. At the same time, the pre-revolutionary debate about replacing Slavonic with Russian in the liturgy has returned within the Russian Orthodox Church. And Neo-pagan discourses challenge the primacy of Church Slavonic and the regnant versions of Russian history that go with it. Our purpose will be to survey these developments, to determine the "place" of Slavonic in the post-Soviet landscape. Goethe's maxim provides a guiding principle: "In nature we never see anything isolated, but everything in connection with something else which is before it, beside it, under it and over it." In much the same way, we need to see which other languages are being used or spoken of in conjunction with Slavonic, and which other social and cultural processes are contiguous with its revitalization (cf. Calvet 2006). Thus, the books and programs designed to promote the study of Church Slavonic will be compared to broader "abecedarian" efforts by Russians to master the new languages required of postSoviet existence (Chapter 3). The reappearance of Slavonic lettering across the cityscape will be situated in relation to developments in typography, advertising, and visual culture (Chapter 5). Discourses about the mystical meaning of the Slavonic alphabet are linked to popular esoteric spiritualities and conspiracy theories (Chapter 7). In addition to placing different aspects of Slavonic in contemporary context, each chapter provides some historical background for the topic at hand. The chronological parameters of the study coincide overall with the reign of Patriarch Aleksii II, the leader of the Russian Orthodox Church (Moscow Patriarchate) from 1990 to 2008. He is widely credited with leading the Church through the difficult transition out of communism. Aleksii was directly involved in a number of the issues and events treated here: he actively promoted the Day of Slavonic Writing and Culture (Chapter 6) and he quashed the vernacular experiments of the mid1990s (Chapter 4)- perhaps in order to appease the right-wing camp within the Church, perhaps because he is said to have personally loved the Church Slavonic language, perhaps for both reasons (Pospielovsky 1995: 256). The enthronement of his successor, Patriarch Kirill, has been widely seen as inaugurating a new phase in post-Soviet Orthodoxy. Different chapters explore the Slavonic revival in terms of education, liturgy, typography, mythology, esotericism, and conspiracy theory. They may be read individually or seriatim. Though the topics covered are wide ranging, a certain consistency is developed by a focus on texts. Church Slavonic has long been understood not as a spoken idiom but as the "language of the [sacred] texts" (Picchio 1984: 12). The seventeenth-century Grammatica Russica by H. W. Ludolf is often quoted in this regard: "loquendum est Russice & scribendum est Slavonice" (Russian should be used for speaking and Slavonic for writing) (Dunn 1993: 201). In what follows I will consider a wide range of Slavonic-related texts, including

Introduction 15 prayer books, grammars, newspapers, product labels, street signs, posters, sermons, and monumental inscriptions. Because of the rarity or obscurity of some of these materials, as well as a desire to make my analysis accessible to those who do not read Russian or Slavonic, a good portion of the book is devoted to the quotation and explication of these texts. Chapter 2 sets the stage by discussing the parallel trajectories of religion and language in post-communist Russia. In both spheres, a period of relative freedom -or chaos, depending on your perspective- was followed by one of consolidation and restriction, of "managed pluralism." In both cases the Russian government passed legislation that provided a ranking of languages and religions, ultimately giving priority to Russian Orthodoxy and to the Russian language and Cyrillic alphabet. The chapter ends with a discussion of puristic discourses that proclaim Church Slavonic as a solution to both the linguistic and spiritual problems said to be afflicting post-communist Russia. Chapter 3 looks at the first years of post-communist transition, which were characterized by a multitude of "abecedarian" discourses, as Russians were in catch-up mode and striving to learn the ABCs of topics long denied them by the Soviet system. The era saw a profusion of how-to manuals and advice columns on everything from sex to the supernatural. A similar situation obtained in the ecclesiastical domain, as the Church has had to restore the rudiments of religious literacy to a populace raised on Marxism-Leninism. Along with a stream of edifying books and pamphlets, many new Slavonic grammars and dictionaries have appeared. Slavonic has even returned to the secular classroom through the controversial curriculum known as the Foundations of Orthodox Culture. Because there is a frustrating lack of specificity in both liturgics and sociolinguistics when it comes to the question of how sacred languages are actually taught, I go into some detail when discussing these Slavonic pedagogical materials. The "importance of the liturgy in Eastern Christianity is difficult to overestimate," remarks Serban (2005: 78). The centrality of the liturgy became even more pronounced during the Soviet era, since other expressions of Orthodox theology and piety were restricted or eliminated altogether. Thus, when certain reform-minded clerics began to replace Slavonic with Russian in the liturgy, there was a tremendous outcry from Orthodox traditionalists who viewed this as a catastrophic betrayal of Russia's historic faith. Tensions familiar from other liturgical debates in the history of Christianity - for instance, mystery versus intelligibility - were intensified by the Soviet legacy as well as the chaotic experience of the post-Soviet period. Church Slavonic became the symbolic battleground between competing visions of Orthodoxy and society. The debate became something of a cause celebre, as well-known writers and intellectuals weighed in on the matter. Chapter 4 discusses all of these issues. Chapter 5 investigates how the hieratic Church Slavonic script has come to function as a kind of"logo" not only for the Orthodox Church but for the Russian nation as a whole. In the post-Soviet graphic environment, Slavonic-style lettering shows up not only on church fac;ades and ecclesiastical books, where it would be expected, but on store signs, newspaper mastheads, restaurant menus, cigarette

16 Introduction labels, and postage stamps. To paraphrase Billig (1995), a kind of "banal Slavonicism" pervades the post-Soviet landscape- a fact that cannot help but have a subtle impact on Russians' sense of identity. We will look in particular at the place of Slavonic in commercial advertising and Orthodox fimdamentalism, noting a number of continuities between them. A myth is a narrative about superhuman beings that serves as a sacred charter for a particular community. Chapter 6 considers how the myth of Cyril and Methodius has been reactivated in the post-communist period. As Russians have cast off the structure of Soviet mythology, there has been a "search and rescue" mission for a viable set of national symbols and stories. The myth of Cyril and Methodius is important becomes it helps define Russia in terms of both religion (the Orthodox faith) and language (the Cyrillic alphabet). Statues of Cyril and Methodius have been unveiled in a number of cities across the Russian Federation, including one in Slavonic Square, just blocks from the Kremlin. The myth is also commemorated every year on 24 May, known as the Day of Slavonic Writing and Culture, which, as Bodin (2008: 65) rightly remarks, heralds "a special rapprochement between the church and the profane powers in Russia." Equally important, the example of Cyril and Methodius is applied in sermons and in "publicistic" discourses to different aspects of post-communist life, including perceived cultural threats emanating from the West. Chapter 7 locates Church Slavonic in that part of the post-Soviet landscape where "the interest in Slavic prehistory, and the trend toward alternative history, conspiracy theories, and paranormal phenomena" (Laruelle 2008: 299) converge. Beliefs about the mysterious nature of letters have a long history not only in Christianity as a whole but specifically in Russian Orthodoxy. In the post-Soviet period, the Orthodox discourse has been joined by other forms of alphabetic mysticism, often in combination with conspiracy theories about Russian history. For some Orthodox nationalists, the country is under the spell of Jewish Kabbalah, signs of which may be detected from the Kremlin to the Moscow subway system. Some New Age discourses suggest that the modem Cyrillic alphabet is the masterplan of the universe, a kind of cosmic table of elements; others claim it is the oldest alphabet in the world, and that all writing systems - including Egyptian hieroglyphics- ultimately derive from it. Neo-paganists speak of ancient "Russian runes" or the Vseiasvetnaia azbuka (Planetary Alphabet), a supernal script whose 147 unusual glyphs were supposedly "transcribed" from the cosmos eons before Christ. Such discourses attempt to find the source - and thus the meaning - of Russian existence before the advent of Slavonic Orthodoxy. In the Conclusion, I ponder the future of Church Slavonic and ask whether its revival is merely an epiphenomenon of post-communist transition. What lessons can be drawn from comparisons with the fate of Latin in Catholicism? What impact will the Internet have on the future of the hieratic language? The future is unclear. What we can say is that the Slavonic tradition has been called upon to perform important symbolic work during a momentous period in Russian history.

***

Introduction 11 Church Slavonic is a religious language. In my discussion of Slavonic in the postSoviet world, I have drawn on both religious studies and sociolinguistics, but I admit that I have not been able to do so ambidextrously. My training is in the comparative and historical study of religion, and that obviously affects the presentation Nevertheless, I have tried to compose the book in such a way as to be useful to sociolinguists, even if this means simply pointing out places where their expert attention would be welcome. Different chapters engage certain strands of sociolinguistic research, including religious literacy (Chapter 3), languageideological debates (Chapter 4), the linguistic landscape (Chapter 5), and language myths (Chapter 6). I have benefited from my forays into the field of sociolinguistics, and hope the book gives something in return. Although the connection between religion and language has been an ongoing concern in religious studies, it is still relatively new to sociolinguistics. Of course, there have been some notable exceptions, including- interestingly- some of the titans ofthe discipline: Crystal (1964, 1966), Ferguson (1982), Fishman (1997), and Spolsky (2003). We now have the Concise Encyclopedia ofLanguage and Religion (Sawyer and Simpson 2001) and an increasing number of studies that take religion seriously (e.g. Marti et al. 2005; Omoniyi and Fishman 2006; Edwards 2009). In general, sociolinguists have tended to depict the relationship between religion and language in simple, stable terms. Some treatments do not get much beyond the notion that Sanskrit goes with Hinduism, Arabic with Islam, Latin with Catholicism, and so on. One of the goals of the book, then, is to provide a case study documenting the complex interrelations between a religion (primarily Russian Orthodoxy) and a language (primarily Church Slavonic), thereby contributing to the "sociolinguistics of religion" (Spolsky 2006: 8). The study of Church Slavonic itself has been hampered by a "big-bang" approach that measures validity in terms of proximity to origins. Similar views long prevailed in religious studies. According to Wilfred Cantwell Smith, this is the outlook, predominant last century and early in this, that perceived each of the so-called religions of the world as a particular entity, an object, introduced at a particular time and place, usually by a so-called "founder," with eclat; with subsequent generations of"believers" living at increasing distance from that originating explosive moment as its echoes reverberated down the centuries. (W. C. Smith 1993: 83) If we view Church Slavonic as the "entity" and Cyril and Methodius as the "founder[s]," then this aptly describes most treatments ofthe Slavonic tradition. In this scholarly mythologization, the pleroma of the beginning gives way, over the course of centuries, to linguistic depletion and confusion, perhaps as a result of Orthodox sacerdotalism or Russian "intellectual silence." The essence of the tradition is equated with the golden age of Cyril and Methodius and their hearty band of disciples - from whom the further one gets, the more benighted the tradition becomes. Fortunately, this lopsidedness is beginning to change, thanks

18 Introduction in large part to A. G. Kravetskii and A. A. Pletneva (2001), whose study of Church Slavonic in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries marked a salutary shift in scholarly perspective. As the first full-fledged study of the policies, practices, and polemics involving Slavonic in the post-Soviet era, this book contributes to this new research agenda. While there are some excellent studies of religion in post-communist Russia (e.g. Ellis 1996; N. Davis 2003; Knox 2005; Daniel2006; Garrard and Garrard 2008)- studies on which I rely extensively- most are dominated by a politicalinstitutional orientation that emphasizes questions of civil society, Church-state relations, and ecclesiastical politics and personalities. But the religious landscape is considerably more terraced and variegated than typically represented. The sociological studies ofChesnokova (2005) and Sinelina (2006) are valuable insofar as they demonstrate gradations of "churchness," but both use official Orthodox canons (regarding prayer, fasting, church attendance, etc.) as their point of departure. There has been very little work, for instance, on lived religion, though that is beginning to change (e.g. Agadzhanian and Russele 2006). Naletova's (2007) work is particularly helpful in this regard. Her project comes from the desire to identify and describe the sphere of Orthodox religious life which is neither opposed to the Church nor restricted within the Church's institutional life but includes in itself religious ideas, beliefs, practices and activities that are identified as Orthodox but are loosely connected to the Church's institutional structures. (Naletova 2 007: 1) Attempting to go beyond the focus on church attendance, she explores a number of popular Orthodox practices, such as pilgrimages and trading fairs (yarmarki). The end result is a portrait of Russian religion that, while recognizing the institutional Church, includes nuances and gradations. In a sense, I am trying to do something similar- fashioning a portrait of"lived Slavonic" by demonstrating how aspects of the Slavonic tradition have been revived not only within the Russian Orthodox Church per se but extended in state rituals, public education, commercial advertising, and elsewhere. Following the "trail" of Slavonic, for instance, allows us to move from official church business (the teaching of Slavonic in seminaries, the debates about Slavonic carried out in ecclesiastical journals) to more nebulous phenomena, such as the discourse of "spiritual culture" (dukhovnaia kul'tura)- the notion that art, literature, and music, as well as elements of folklore, are irradiated by a spiritual ambience that is related to Orthodoxy though not in a strictly confessional sense- a discourse that figures prominently on the Days of Slavonic Writing and Culture. Following the "trail" even further allows us to see how Orthodoxy begins to blur or overlap with esoteric or New Age traditions, though if we go far enough we enter into "enemy territory" - Neo-pagan discourses that are hostile to Orthodoxy and privilege supposedly pre-Christian forms of Slavic writing. But this, too, is important. We need to see not only the gradations within Orthodoxy and the areas of overlap

Introduction 19

between Orthodoxy and other traditions, but the tensions and oppositions between different religious practices and discourses in post-communist society. The single topic of Slavonic provides a lens to achieve this kind of synoptic or panoramic view, thus helping us to achieve a better understanding of the interrelations between religion and language in post-Soviet Russia, and perhaps beyond.

2

Religion, language, religious language

Few will deny the close association of godliness and cleanliness, or holiness and purity. Indeed, priestly functions often include acts of linguistic purification. . Perhaps then, of all the self-images the sacerdotal comes closest to capturing the true essence of the purist's role. (Thomas 1991: 23) In 1993 a strange visage began to appear across Russia, plastered on walls, on the sides of buildings, in metro stations. The face was that of a woman calling herself Maria Devi Christos or "Virgin Mary Christ" (see Figure 2.1 ). Dressed in a manner that suggested a cross between an Orthodox nun and an Egyptian priestess, the image was accompanied by urgent warnings: Brothers and sisters! The Lord is in our midst! Maria Devi Christos, the Mother of the World! Repent your sins, for time is growing short. Judgment Only she can save you. Without Day is coming on 24th November 1993 her, you will die a gruesome death from the Antichrist. She will give you, people, your last chance for salvation. Whoever does not accept her with his heart and repent for his sins, will go to HELL! Whoever worships Satan, who has already come into power and walks the Earth under the name Emanuel, will go to HELL! Do not accept his monetary system, which is 666 (personal code in the unified computer financial credit system in the form of cards and radiant insignia on his wrists and forehead). REMEMBER! Only Maria Devi Christos, the Mother of the World, can save your soul and protect you from Emanuel. (Quoted in Plutser-Sarno 2007: 160) Who was this "Virgin Mary Christ" and where did she come from? Another poster charted her incamational genealogy: Ein Sof, the Unrevealed God- Adam- Seth- Noah- Shem- AbrahamJacob- Isaac -Joseph- Prophet Aaron- Moses- Prophet Elisarius- Joshua - Twelve Tribes oflsrael -Prophet Eli- Prophet Isaiah- Prophet EzekielProphet Jeremiah- Prophet Daniel- The Twelve Prophets- Joseph- Virgin

Religion, language, religious language 21

Figwe 2.1 Poster of :Maria Devi Cbristos, St. Petersburg (photo by author)

22 Religion, language, religious language Mary- John the Baptist- Jesus Christ- Peter- Judas- Prince VladimirPrincess Olga- Price Igor- Murderer of Prince Igor- Natalia GoncharovaAlexander Pushkin- d 'Anthes -Madam Blavatsky- Saint-Germain- Yelena Roerich -Maria Devi Christos, the Revealed God. (Quoted in Plutser-Sarno 2007: 180) Before her spiritual mission, however, her name was Marina Tsvigun and her profession was journalist. Together with Yuri Krivonogov, a doctor from Ukraine who came to be called loann Svami, she formed a "cult"- or, better, new religious movement - known as the Great White Brotherhood that garnered attention far out of proportion to the number of members involved. The name refers not to race but to a cohort of spiritual guides, a number of whom, including Jesus and SaintGermain, appear in the genealogical list above. Hybridizing Christian, Eastern, and occult elements, the religion focused on Maria Devi Christos, who, it was claimed, was the living embodiment of Jesus and Mary. It was predicted that the world would end on her 33rd birthday. She and loann Svami would be slain and resurrected on the third day. The world would be judged, with believers given a heavenly reward and unbelievers sent to eternal torment. A strict regimen inspired by Asian religions was enumerated for her followers, including limitations of food (one vegetarian meal a day) and sleep (four hours a day). The group expressed an extreme antipathy to government authority, and warned members to avoid contact with any kind of media. The denouement occurred in October 1993, when members tried to seize the St. Sophia Cathedral in Kiev. Many were arrested, including the "divine duo" of Maria Devi and loann Svami, who were sent to prison (Filatov 1999b). Coming in the early stages of post-communist transition, the Maria Devi phenomenon caused alarm among those raised on dialectical materialism, for here were large numbers of intelligent young people apparently giving up their lives in order to follow a homegrown charismatic leader. The teachings of Maria Devi Christos included a dualistic conception of language. She referred to a mystical idiom called samskryt, meaning "self-hidden" (sam skryt), an obvious play on Sanskrit. It was, she claimed, "the most ancient Language in the World, which the proto-Slavs, the ancient Rus'ians, the children of Beautiful Hyperborea, spoke." Against this, she posited a numerical language associated with the Antichrist: The names of streets, regions, and countries will have their numerical sign, a string of numbers. There will be a unified international language of Satan, a numerical one. For example, "a human" is number 6; "to drink" is number 1; "to eat" is number 2 and so on. In the course of several months humans will unlearn how to speak, love, and feel, and will turn into the dead slaves of Satan, into zombies. (Quoted in Akhmetova 2008: 11) Although such linguistic speculation seems to have played a relatively minor role in the theology of Maria Devi Christos, the example speaks to the consternation

Religion, language, religious language 23 felt - by no means limited to cult members - as a result of sudden changes in language: the new names for streets, metro stations, cultural institutions, even entire cities; the inundation of foreign-language signs and billboards; the appearance of global currencies, credit cards, and the numerical armature of capitalism. We will return to the notion of an ancient Slavic language opposed by a malignant global code in Chapter 7. Our concern at present is not withsamskryt but with the Slavonic revival in post-Soviet Russia. In a way, however, what Maria Devi said about samskryt is not too different from what some Orthodox traditionalists have said about Church Slavonic -namely, that it is a noble tongue with deep ties to the ancient Russians and their homeland yet surrounded by threatening forces. Each of the subsequent chapters will examine a different aspect of the Slavonic revival. The purpose of this chapter is twofold. First, it sketches the key religious and linguistic developments of the post-communist period. Second, it offers a brief look at the discourses of Slavonic-language purism. For its devotees, Church Slavonic is an essential remedy to such events as the appearance of Maria Devi Christos and the general religious and linguistic pandemonium of post-Soviet life. Religion and language have both undergone remarkable transformations since the collapse of the Soviet Union. Although a number of prominent scholars have examined the main features of religious change (e.g. Agadjanian, Filatov, Knox, Krindatch) or linguistic change (e.g. Dunn, Gorham, Ryazanova-Clarke, Zemskaia), there have been few attempts to connect or compare the two, to see how the religious and the linguistic go together. A synoptic perspective, however, shows that both religion and language have followed similar trajectories in the post-communist era. In both, there was an initial period of innovation and instability, as Soviet strictures were discarded and Western forms welcomed; this was followed by a period of constriction and consolidation, as Russian (and some Soviet) values and traditions were reasserted, culminating in legislation aimed at "managing" the new pluralism by protecting the privileged position of Russian Orthodoxy and the Russian language and Cyrillic script. The revival of the Slavonic tradition, broadly construed, needs to be seen in relation to these two trajectories. More so than in the West, religion and language have been closely intertwined in Russian history. Given this historical linkage or association, it is understandable that those distressed by the dramatic changes unfolding in both religion and language would call upon Slavonic to protect and purity Russian national traditions.

*** Without doubt, one of the most remarkable aspects of the post-communist transition has been the revival of religion. The 1990s, in particular, witnessed a remarkable burst of religious activity. Between 1991 and 2004, the number of state-registered religious institutions - not only churches but mosques and synagogues as well as theological institutions and administrative centers -rose from 6600 to 21,600 (Krindatch 2006b: 312). Most notable was the resurgence of the Russian Orthodox Church. Depending on the criteria used, it seems that between 50 and 70 million Russians identify with the Orthodox Church (Knox

24 Religion, language, religious language 2005: 5). Scores of churches have been built, refurbished, or reconverted from warehouses, natatoriums, and museums. Over the last 20 years, the number of churches in Moscow alone has mushroomed from 40 to 872. The Russian Orthodox Church now has over 23,000 parishes, 20,000 priests, 800 monasteries, 60 educational institutions, as well as hospitals, orphanages, and other outreach facilities (Krindatch 2006a, 2006b; Burgess 2009). It controls some 600 publications and has a presence on radio, television, and the Internet (H. Davis 2005: 77). Religious symbolism and imagery have returned to the public square. Politicians appear in church, lighting candles and crossing themselves (not always correctly), while clerics bless troops en route to Chechnya. Airports now have Orthodox chapels and tax collectors their own patron saint (D. H. Davis 2002). In sum, since the 1990s, Orthodox "concepts, images, and rituals, however vaguely conceived, [have] formed the most conspicuous part of the Russian religious ambience" (Shterin 2000: 180). Of course, this remarkable metamorphosis did not happen overnight. The revitalization of Russian Orthodoxy really began in the late 1980s under the auspices ofperestroika (restructuring) and glasnost (openness). Many observers consider the millennia! celebration of the baptism ofRus in 1988 as a watershed in the societal standing of the Orthodox Church and its rapprochement with the state. In fact, many observers would say that, since then, the Russian Orthodox Church has become the de facto state Church. According to Papkov (2004: 38), the Russian Orthodox Church has secured a "hegemonic position as the dominant national religion." Noting the cooperation between the Russian government and the Moscow Patriarchate, Knox (2003: 591) calls the Russian Orthodox Church a "pseudo-state church." D. H. Davis (2002: 667) speaks of "Orthodox preferentialism." For a number of analysts, the post-Soviet position of the Church suggests continuity not only with the pre-revolutionary past but even with the more proximate Soviet era. For instance, Krindatch (2006a: 54, 63) suggests that the "nationalized" Church is a constitutive part of Russian history. He contends that, "despite entirely different political systems and ideologies, both in the monarchic Russian Empire and in the Communist Soviet Union, the state was always seeking for thorough control, and for administration of the religious affairs of society." Thus, after a short-lived free market place of faith in the early post-Soviet years, the situation has returned to the "historically more familiar pattern" of Churchstate affairs. Many scholars contrast the high societal prestige and political influence of the Russian Church with the low levels of ritual participation and theological knowledge characteristic of the populace. N. Davis (2003: 227) suggests that there are about 6 million regular churchgoers, or about 3 percent of the total Russian Orthodox population: "All the polls tend to confirm that focused, informed belief is found among relatively few in the population, whereas vague, uninformed religious sentiment is quite widespread." Another scholar concurs: "Russian Orthodoxy has many of the privileges of a state religion but post-Soviet society is profoundly secular and unreceptive" (H. Davis 2005: 65-6). Many Orthodox visit a church only for a major calendrical rite (Easter, Christmas) or a life-cycle rite

Religion, language, religious language 25 (baptism, marriage). Only 3.4 percent say they are ''very religious" (Krindatch 2006a: 43-4). These numbers are roughly equivalent to what is found in Western Europe (Filatov 2008). The fact that more people say they are Orthodox (76 percent in one major poll) than say they believe in God (59 percent) suggests that religion is interpreted above all in terms of Russian national or cultural identity (Sinelina2006: 21, 95). These facts have led some scholars to call the post-Soviet religious revival a "mere phantom" (Agadjanian 2001a: 352). However, we still cannot ignore the remarkable turnaround experienced by the Moscow Patriarchate -the fact that an institution once left for dead is now one of the most trusted in society, and is actively extending itself into schools, the military, and other domains. Furthermore, as the work of scholars like Chesnokova (2005) and Naletova (2007) demonstrates, involvement with Orthodoxy is not an ali-or-nothing situation. We need to be more aware of processes and intermediate positions. There are various gradations of Orthodoxy within and beyond the church walls. The 1990 Law on Religious Freedom and the 1993 Russian Constitution allowed for a wide range of religious freedoms. The country became a kind of hothouse for domestic and exotic religions. Missionaries and monks and preachers and gurus arrived from around the globe: From the West, these included various Evangelicals, Pentecostals, mainline Protestants, Roman Catholics, Mormons, Moonies, Scientologists, and others. From the Middle East, they included Shi 'ite, Sunni, and Sufi Muslims, together with some Baha'is. From the East, they included Presbyterians and Methodists from Korea; Hindus, Hare Krislmas, Rastafarians, and Buddhists from the Indian subcontinent; members of the Aum Association, Shri Chinmoy, the Rerikh Movement, and other groups from Japan. (Witte 2006: 117) These preachers and proselytizers handed out literature, held lectures and demonstrations, organized ceremonies and tent meetings, and staged massive concerts and revivals in soccer stadiums. They also established schools, hospitals, charities, and youth groups (Witte 2006: 117-18). The freedom that the Russian Orthodox Church finally enjoyed allowed these other groups to enter and alter the landscape, creating a competitive atmosphere and challenging the Russian Church to articulate its identity (Agadjanian and Rousselet 2005: 29). Let us look more closely at the Christian missionaries and new religious movements (NRMs), as these appeared to pose the greatest threats to the Russian Church (Walters 2004: 86). Russia in the 1990s witnessed a sudden upsurge in new religions, both imported and indigenous. hnports included the International Society of Krishna Consciousness (ISKCON, or the Hare Krishnas) and the Church of Scientology. It may be remembered that Gorbachev himself had once met with Sri Chinmoy, the leader of a Hindu-derived new religion. A photo ofGorbachev ''namaste-ing" the guru is preserved on the group's website (http://www.srichinmoy.orglkind_words/gorbachev, accessed 15 February 201 0). Gorbachev also spoke positively about Nikolai Rerikh

26 Religion, language, religious language (Roerich), a key personage in Russian religious thought (Lunkin and Filatov 2000). After a meeting with the Reverend Moon, head of the controversial Unification Church, the "Moonies" seemed to make inroads in the Russian school system. The leader of Aum Shinrikyo, notorious for its use of sarin gas in the Tokyo subway attacks, spoke at the Kremlin as well as at Moscow State University (Knox 2005: 88). In addition to these high-profile foreign religions, the landscape was altered by scores of minor Russian groups promoting novel teachings and practices. PlutserSamo's collection of post-Soviet ephemera vividly captures the zeitgeist of this percolating religiosity, as Russians converted "palaces of culture" and other staid Soviet venues into sites for expansive spiritual investigation. Here is a sample of signs and flyers from the 1990s: Reincarnation The Institute for Science of Identity invites you to video lectures by Chris Butler on the 7th, lOth, and 14th February at 6:00p.m. Address: Express Palace of Culture, 26 Ligovsky Prospekt, Ploshchad Vosstaniya metro station. Free admission

*** Pastor of the Russian Christian Church from the city of Angarsk will preach on 14th, 15th, and 16th November. His service will be accompanied by many signs and miracles. 6 p.m. The Circus.

*** From 19th June to 2nd July The Russian Grail Blood of Martyrs The golden treasure of the 1st- 20th cent. The grail in Rus The Imperial Dynasty The Na Pushkinskoy Social and Cultural Centre. 9 Pushkinskaya St. Metro: Ploshchad Vosstaniya, Mayakovskaya (Quoted inPlutser-Samo 2007: 168, 171) The religiously empty spaces of the Soviet era were being filled by a "multidirectional" search for truth and meaning (cf. Brougher 1997: 111 ). Although some "cult" leaders- such as Maria Devi Christos- are remembered for the sensationalism of their appearance, and others- such as Vissarion, leader of the Church of the Last Testament- have gone on to achieve reasonable success,

Religion, language, religious language 27 most ofthe early post-Soviet groups and gurus are now forgotten, their appearance on the religious landscape as ephemeral as the homemade signs offering their services: Panteleimon, the Supreme Shaman of the North Altair, Magician and Psychic Elina Lois, the Sorceress Prois Occult Healing Center of Bishop Raphael, permanent member of the Holy Synod of the Russian True Orthodox Church under the leadership of Leonid Prokopiev Contact Center, the Supreme White Magic of Success Russian Reika School, the Vladimir Savenkov Center for Russian Energy Healing Salon of Occult Sciences of Master of Higher Magic, Bio-Energy therapist, Mikhail Kars Russian University of Sorcery, Magic, and Healing Anna Gamayan's Center of Good New Orophet, Master of White Black Magic Institute ofValeology Cosmic Consciousness of the International Academy of Informatization Boris Son, the Oriental Sorcerer, Head of the Center for Applied Extrasensory Knowledge (Cited by Plutser-Sarno 2007: 167) These textual shards evidence a strong interest in Asian religious traditions as well as Russia's own esoteric lore. East is mixed with West, Orthodoxy with occultism, Soviet scientism with Siberian shamanism. Surveying these signs, one comes to appreciate Borenstein's quip (1999: 441): "in spirit ifnot in climate, the country appears well on its way to becoming the Southern California of Europe." (Of course, those who make condescending remarks about Russia's alleged penchant for mysticism and magic, a "dual faith" combining Christianity and paganism, and the like, ignore the fact that America- statistically one of the most Christian nations on earth - is similarly fascinated with the occult and New Age spiritualities.) The Rerikh Movement, dedicated to studying and promoting the work of Nikolai and Yelena Rerikh, has provided an important channel for the introduction of alternative religious thinking. Rerikh was a well-known painter and spiritual seeker who developed a system of thought that synthesized elements of Orthodox Christianity (e.g. saints, icons) with those of Asian religions (e.g. reincarnation, karma, spiritual masters) (Lunkin and Filatov 2000: 142). As someone who achieved much in the pre-revolutionary era (among other things, he made the sets for Stravinsky's The Rite of Spring ballet) yet also venerated Lenin, the figure of Rerikh bridges the past, present, and future of Russian cultural history ( cf Menzel 2007: 5). His notions of"vital energy," spiritual self-improvement, and the salvific nature of art have been eagerly adopted by study groups and quasi-religious organizations across Russia. Note that Yelena Rerikh figures in the incarnational

28 Religion, language, religious language genealogy of Maria Devi Christos, quoted above. The Rerikhs, Maria Devi, and a number of other Russian NRMs gave Russia a special messianic role in the coming fusion or transcendence of world religions (Filatov 1999b: 167, 177-9; Shterin 2 000: 181 ). All roads lead to the Third Rome. The exponential increase in new religious groups and alternative spiritualities and the resulting "war for souls" led to consternation not only on the part of Russian Orthodox leaders but among many ordinary citizens. Despite the alarm, though, interest in Eastern religions or New Age therapeutic spiritualities never translated into significant "cult" membership (Shterin 2000: 186-7). Membership numbers for new religions are notoriously hard to determine, as both believers and non-believers have reason to inflate them. Shterin suggests that there were probably never more than 40,000 committed members (or 0.025 percent of the population) at any given time in the 1990s. However, because the introduction of these groups occurred along with the efflorescence of the "cultic milieu," it seemed that Russia was being veritably flooded by foreign and deviant religions (Shterin 2004: 103). (The cultic milieu encompasses all manner of heterodox science and religion, from witchcraft and astrology to UFOs and lost civilizations, sustained and propagated through loose, overlapping networks of institutions, bookstores, newsletters, workshops, and the like; see Kaplan and Loow 2002.) In Europe and North America, citizens have had decades to get used to the presence of alternative faiths. Furthermore, NRMs arose in the post-war West against the backdrop of the general decline of mainline Christianity, whereas in post-Soviet Russia they appeared at the same time as the revival of the Orthodox Church, thus sharpening the sense of competition (Shterin 2000: 187). The demise of what US President Ronald Reagan had called the "Evil Empire" catalyzed a host of Christian missionary campaigns. Churches that had long prayed for the fall of the Iron Curtain saw an opportunity to bring the good news of Jesus Christ to a population purportedly sunk in spiritual darkness. Funds were raised, evangelical teams organized, Bibles and theological tracts were printed. Postcommunist Russia appeared to be a wide-open missionary field. The Jehovah's Witnesses, the Salvation Army, and the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints (more commonly known as Mormons), as well as mainline Protestant denominations, all dispatched teams to Russia. By 199 5, there were some 3190 missionaries from 25 church bodies active in the country (Knox 2004: 98). Some of the qualities that seemed to make these missionary groups attractive in the first place -their novelty, financial resources, and connections to an alluring life abroad- eventually came to be held against them. In addition to the theological critiques delivered by Orthodox ecclesiastics, missionaries were widely criticized for using their material advantage at a time when many Russians were struggling simply to survive. They were accused of arrogance- acting as if Russia had never known Christianity - and cultural insensitivity - being ignorant of Russian language and lifeways and resorting to meretricious techniques to spread their message. "The brazen missionary tactics of Westerners seemed both alien and offensive to the Russian Orthodox Church and to many ordinary Russians" (Baran 2006: 640). Russians tend to put great emphasis on the cultural and artistic

Religion, language, religious language 29 dimensions of religion. Protestantism as a whole is deemed by many to be devoid of high culture (Filatov 1999a: 46), and the homespun style of some missionaries in the early post-Soviet years- relying on mime shows, sock puppets, and the like -seemed to reinforce this assessment. In the Russian Orthodox imaginaire, Catholicism is often associated with a drive for universal hegemony, whereas Protestantism is linked to schism and factionalism. There is an important linguistic dimension here. Since at least the nineteenth century, Protestant Christianity has been identified with vernacularism. The singing of hymns and the reading of scriptures in vernacular languages are thus often linked, at least in some Orthodox discourses, with division and external agents. As we will see in Chapter 4, the themes of novelty, factionalism, and low cultural merit have colored the debate within Russian Orthodoxy over replacing Church Slavonic with the vernacular in the liturgy. The backlash against Protestant missionaries could take many fotms. Notices about evangelical meetings were not immune from hands-on critique: The Sports and Concert Arena 8 Gagarina Prospekt The American (HORNED) pastors, Billy Joe & Sharon Dougherty September 6, at 7:00p.m. Free Christian literature and children's books (DON'T) come and God will change your life! (Quoted by Plutser-Sarno 2007: 176) Criticisms in the media and in ecclesiastical literature often conftated Protestant denominations with NRMs under the catch-all label "sects" (Filatov 1999b: 164; Agadjanian2000: 259). According to Borenstein (1999: 453), this term "connotes factionalism and obscurantism dating back to the Schism of the seventeenth century, thereby implicitly relativizing any new religious movement's claim to global truth." NRMs came to be labeled "totalitarian sects," a phrase coined in 1993 by Aleksandr Dvorkin, an ex-pat who was familiar with the anti-cult movement of the West and who played an important role in adapting that discourse to the post-communist milieu (Baran 2006: 643-6). Just as labeling a linguistic variety a "dialect" instead of a language can deprive it of legitimacy, labeling a group a "sect" rather than a religion can have harmful real-world consequences (cf. Kravchouk 2004: 507). Another aspect of the backlash was the way that new religious phenomena were linked to issues of national identity and security. Anti-sectarian discourse focused on the themes of spiritual aggression and cultural subversion. Sectarianism was said to undermine statehood (Shterin 2004: 105). "Sects" were often depicted as externally induced agents meant to divide and conquer from within. Some charged the United States with deliberately exporting its cults in order to derail the mighty

30 Religion, language, religious language Russian nation as it attempted to get back on its feet (cf. Baran 2006: 653). The anti -sectarian movement merged with other forms of anti-Western discourse, with complaints that "cultural imperialism" or "cultural genocide" was being perpetrated against the Russian nation (Bacon 2002: 112). For a while, the Snickers candy bar became a symbol of all that was afflicting the country in the throes of post-communist transition- the littering ofRussia with cheap but alluring Western products alien to the nation's materially poor but spiritually noble traditions (cf. Gorham 2000). As Borenstein ( 1999: 441) puts it: "In terms of sheer variety, then, foreign new religious movements seem to be a manifestation of the same 'cultural invasion' that characterizes the Russian marketplace: 'cults' are to churches what Snickers bars are to kiosks." The anti-sectarian discourse was taken up not only by members of the clergy and media but by the government (Baran 2006: 650). The end result was the passage of the 1997 federal law On the Freedom of Conscience and Religious Associations. Supported by the Moscow Patriarchate as well as various nationalist organizations, the law "manages" the newfound situation of post-communist pluralism by articulating a hierarchy of faiths in relation to Russian history and society. The 1990 Russian Federation law on Freedom of Worship, which was crafted at the end ofthe Soviet era but survived the fall, had "set forth sweeping guarantees of liberty of conscience and freedom of exercise for all citizens" (Witte 2006: 116). The 1993 Constitution had confirmed and strengthened those provisions. Now the 1997 law superseded the wide latitude granted by previous legislation in favor of a more delimited disposition of religious groupings. The law declares Russia to be a secular state. At the same time, the preamble hails the unique role of Orthodoxy in Russian spirituality and culture. It recognizes the traditional religions of Christianity (listed separately from Orthodoxy), Islam, Judaism, and Buddhism. Religions that have been in Russia for more than fifteen years are deemed "organizations" and are vested with full rights; others are termed "groups" and granted restricted rights. Some of the language is clearly targeted at NRMs (Shterin 2004: 102). Witte (2006: 130) sums up the impact of the law as follows: "Today in Russia, the Russian Orthodox Church is free and favored by the state. Indigenous Russian Christians, Muslims, Jews, and Buddhists are largely free but on their own. Foreign religions, particularly from the West, are neither free nor welcome." The details of the law merit specialist treatment. The key point for our purposes is that the religious chaos or "carnival" of the early 1990s led to legislative constriction and consolidation, freedom to fixity. Since 1997, there have been numerous reports of harassment against Baptists and other Protestant denominations, as well as rallies and court cases against Scientologists and the Salvation Army. The Russian Orthodox Church may have won the war, but battles continue to be waged.

*** The post-Soviet Russian semiotic landscape has undergone a metamorphosis as dramatic as the religious landscape. Some changes have been obvious- the

Religion, language, religious language 31 toppling of Lenin statues, the removal of Soviet emblems, and the reappearance of religious imagery and symbolism. But, as Neidhart (2003) has documented, there have also been less sensational changes in clothing, finniture, briefcases, uniforms, telephones, eyeglasses, and hairstyles - the totality of semiotic codes. Russia looks different from the way she used to. Her smells have changed, as have her sounds. Her inhabitants' eating habits, and thus her tastes, are changing. And Russia's texture is undergoing a transition, too. The former Soviet cities have become noisier, faster, livelier, and much more variegated. They used to appear gray and monotonous; nothing but dullness met a foreigner's gaze. These same cities have turned out -acoustically and optically. Passersby are bombarded with music, with announcements, with visual screams, billboards, and fashion extravaganzas. For Russia this is new. The level of semiotical background noise has grown enormously. It required and still requires an extra effort by the people, so used to stability, to adjust. (Neidhart 2003: 31)

In this section, I will focus on changes in the Russian language, and on various efforts to adjust and respond to those changes. There are many indications that the Russian language has undergone deep "transformational processes" (Ryazanova-Clarke 2002: 117) since the end of Soviet communism. Although a number of important changes have been observed, including the weakening ofthe traditional case system (Ryazanova-Clarke 2002: 131 ), the tectonic shifts are most evident in the realm of vocabulary. The Russian lexis has witnessed a swift and massive influx of new words to go along with the new post-Soviet realities (Comrie, Stone and Polinsky 1996: 185; Ferm 1994: 21). In many cases, these words have also arrived dressed in the Roman alphabet. As in religion, the repressed has returned. What was forbidden or marginalized under Soviet censorship has returned with a vengeance. Gorham (2000: 614-15) writes that post-communist Russian is characterized by a "broadened range of permissible registers, from the lofty language of the Church to prison argot and youth slang," plus "an influx of foreign words and phrases into a variety of spheres, from business and governance to all areas of popular culture" (cf. Ryazanova-Clarke 2009: 105). Two broad trends can be observed: on the one hand, indigenous elements that were marginalized in the Soviet era have (re)entered mainstream linguistic culture; on the other hand, thousands of words have been imported from foreign languages. Let us take a closer look at each development. The Russian language has been transformed in the post-communist era by the introduction of native but non-normative elements. Elements of criminal argot, youth slang, and the baroquely rich system of obscenity known as mat can now be encountered in public discourse. Mokienko (1999: 73-8) reports that "jargonization" and ''vulgarization," as he calls them, may also be observed in other postcommunist societies, such as Poland, Bulgaria, and Slovakia. At the same time, the proliferation of "low" elements has been counterbalanced by ''the resurrection of archaic and obsolete words and phrases" belonging to high or bookish registers.

32 Religion, language, religious language Closely related to this development is the revival of religious terms, including those of Church Slavonic. "The changed role of religion," note Ryazanova-Clarke and Wade (1999: 76), "has propelled ecclesiastical words, which had been either half forgotten or tied to very specific contexts, into wide and active use." Words like "altar" and "temple," which had been metaphorically adapted to the secular religion of communism ("altar of the motherland," "temple of art"), began to be widely used again in their primary, literal sense. Many of the words have a solid Church Slavonic pedigree. Some are related to spiritual or moral topics: blagotvoritel'nost' (charity), dukhovnost' (spirituality), miloserdie (mercy), chelovekoliubie (love of humanity). Others are related to ritual and ecclesiastical matters: bogosluzhenie (liturgy), venchanie (wedding, literally "crowning"), and prikhod (parish) (Ferm 1994: 34-5). Chapter 3 investigates how the "return of the repressed" has been accompanied by a profusion of abecedarian literature intended to help Russians master these new vocabularies. Although the return of religious vocabulary in public discourse is certainly noteworthy, observers agree that the most significant development affecting the Russian language has been the massive influx ofloanwords. As Ryazanova-Clarke says, The overwhelming presence of foreign words, both new and earlier loans, is The rate of the distinguishing feature of modem Russian discourse borrowing into Russian over the past decade has been unprecedented and can only be compared with that of the era ofPeter the Great, when Russia for the first time opened up to the West. (Ryazanova-Clarke 2002: 120, 123) Most of these loanwords- Ustinova (2005: 241) puts the number at 10,000- come from English. Ferm (1994: 141) divides them into transliterations (e.g. kaprichchio), internationalisms (e.g. kul'tura), borrowings in the proper sense ofthe term (e.g. lider), and barbarisms- words that remain untranslated and in their original graphic form (e.g. good-bye). Borrowings relate to matters of business, politics, technology, and popular culture or "lifestyle." Examples include file, browser, printer, CD, realtor, off-shore, electorate, impeachment, rating, bestseller, talk show, and cheeseburger (Ferm 1994: 248). The widespread interest in esoteric and Eastern traditions has also left its mark, as words like karma, aura, reincarnation, and yoga have all become common (cf. Brougher 1997: 112). Thus, we have two seemingly contradictory trends at work. Words associated with the history and spirituality of Russia were revived, but at the same time terms reflecting the latest technological and cultural realia ofthe West were introduced. Dann (1995) provides an interesting analysis of these changes as evidenced in the early post-Soviet mass media. He notes three patterns: Westernization; a new tolerance for different kinds of jargon, even obscenity; and a "return to the past." He also remarks (1995: 128) on the "rather widely diffused use ofletters in an old, quasi-Slavonicized appearance (oblike)." He reports that there are three uses of Slavonic words and expressions in the media:

Religion, language, religious language 33 The use of Slavonicisms: Slavonic-related words and expressions but not in true Slavonic form The use of Slavonic forms (e.g. the dual number) but in the contemporary Russian ("civil") script The use of Slavonic in the Church Slavonic script (Dann 1995: 130) Dann's analysis suggests that the first type is the most common. The other two types are encountered above all in quotations from ecclesiastical sources (liturgical, patristic, etc.) where there is no readily available Russian translation (as there is, say, with the Bible). On one level, the appearance of Church Slavonic is not surprising in religious contexts. What is unusual in the post-Soviet situation is the appearance of Slavonic in secular print and on television. Even more surprising is that the Slavonic elements appear cheek by jowl with substandard elements, such as jargon, prison slang, and mat. For Dann, there is a postmodem quality to such hard juxtapositions (cf. Dunn 1999: 20). He concludes by suggesting that, ironically, the presence of Slavonic elements in the media is another example of Westernization. What he means is that the words have been moved from their religious context and stripped of their transcendental orientation. They are just another fashionable style to be playfully arranged on the page in jarring combination with other outre elements. For Dann, this kind of deracinated approach to religious language is typical ofthe West- or at least Western Europe. But, of course, as we shall see below, not everyone follows the rules of the secular media, and not everyone takes such a cavalier or "transgressive" approach to the Slavonic language. The lexical changes sketched above have been mirrored in the realms of script and spelling. The graphic monotony of the Soviet era has been replaced by "orthographic pluralism" (Grigor'eva 2004: 229). As with vocabulary, there has been an influx of indigenous and imported graphic elements. The Latin alphabet is omnipresent in the media, business, and popular culture. Printed materials mix and match Cyrillic and Latin letters in a variety of ways. Additionally, there has been a limited return of the "old" or "tsarist" orthography- that is, the alphabet before the Bolshevik reforms of 1917-18 (see Bennett, forthcoming; cf. Sullivan 1996-7). Chapter 5 looks at these issues in more detail. In the post-Soviet period, especially the early 1990s, Russia experienced a kind of semiotic "carnival" (Neidhart 2003). The linguistic order, which had been strictly regimented in the Soviet era, exploded. Firm boundaries blurred or disappeared altogether, allowing for the mixture of previously demarcated elements. Depending on your point ofview, this was either a period of creativity and innovation or one oflawlessness and mayhem. For those of the latter disposition, it was a linguistic katastroika- a play on the words "perestroika" and "catastrophe" (Mokienko 1999: 72). It is therefore not surprising that, as in the case of religion, the boom was followed by a backlash. Naturally, there was much handwringing over the state of the language in academic and "publicistic" publications, with calls to protect the Russian language from the "pollution" of non-normative

34 Religion, language, religious language or foreign elements. Scores of articles, tracts, and open letters were published, voicing concerns about the flood of new and unfamiliar words, the proliferation of grammatical mistakes, and the seepage of slang into the literary language. Predictably, these debates were connected to larger struggles over issues of identity and authority (Gorham 2000). The state began to take an interest in these linguistic matters as early as the Yeltsin years. The impulse strengthened under Putin and may be related to other forms of consolidation characteristic of his presidency, including "controlled democracy" and the "power vertical" (Ryazanova-Clarke 2006b: 39). Various institutions and programs were created to counteract what was taken to be unbridled linguistic freedom. In 1997, the same year as the law restricting religious organizations, a federal program called Russkii iazyk (Russian Language) was established. In 2000, the Russian Language Council was set up to monitor the linguistic situation and make policy recommendations (Ryazanova-Clarke 2002: 135). One of its projects is the Internet portal gramota.ru, which provides information about the history and usage of Russian. There is also a television program with a substantial budget called Russian Language, along with various government and non-governmental radio programs that discuss the state of the language and offer advice about proper usage (Gorham 2006). Examples include Kak pravil 'no (What's Correct), Na kalwm iazyke my govorim? (What Language Do We Speak?), and Likbez (Liquidation of Illiteracy). In contrast to the freewheeling mixture of scripts and registers characteristic of the 1990s, these programs tend to emphasize the "values of language purity, correctness and the observance of the norm" (Ryazanova-Clarke 2009: 107). In a similar vein, Putin designated 2007 as the Year of the Russian Language, involving symposia, exhibits, festivals, and commemorative postage stamps - all intended to bring people back to an understanding and appreciation of the national tongue. As happened in the religious domain, eventually federal legislation was introduced to bolster the position of the Russian language and the Cyrillic script. Motivated in part by the attempt of Tatarstan to switch to the Latin alphabet, in 2002 the Duma passed legislation requiring all state languages used in the Russian Federation to be based on the Cyrillic alphabet. Of course, a long and complex history lay behind these developments. The discourses in favor ofLatinization suggested that Latin letters could act as a bridge to technological and economic opportunities. Opposing discourses emphasized, among other things, the need for a unified cultural and educational space (Sebba 2006). Three years later, the Duma passed On the National Language of the Russian Federation. According to Chevalier (2006: 29), this law was "borne out ofthe social, linguistic and political upheaval of the post-Soviet era." It involves both status and corpus planning in that it concerns not only the role or position of Russian in the government and society but the norms or standards according to which the language is to be used. Controversially, it tries to restrict non-normative and foreign elements. The law stipulates, among other things, that the Russian language should be used in accordance with literary (i.e. standard) norms, and the use ofloanwords should be avoided unless absolutely necessary (Chevalier 2006: 30).

Religion, language, religious language 35 The Russian spiritual and semiotic landscapes have undergone dramatic changes over the past two decades. Both realms have witnessed a period of pluralism followed by a governmental ''managed pluralism." The perception of threat, of invasion, was followed by one of reaction, of limits being set and order reestablished. Beneath the broadly parallel trajectories, some further similarities can be specified. One involves territoriality. A kind of cartographic specter haunts popular and legislative discourse about religious and language change in the postcommunist era. On the religious side, one discourse concerns "canonical territory," a notion that has become increasingly prominent in Russian Orthodox literature since the collapse ofthe USSR (Agadjanian and Rousselet 2005: 40-1). Within Orthodox ecclesiology (that is, theories about the Church), a canonical territory is the independent and mutually exclusive geographical region "belonging" to a certain Orthodox Church. Thus, the Bulgarian, Russian, and Georgian Orthodox Churches each claims a unique territory that is not to be trespassed upon or interfered with by the others. This means that, while other "traditional" faiths such as Islam and Buddhism - are tolerated on Russian Orthodox canonical territory, other Christian groups represent rivals and interlopers, and their evangelical programs are viewed as poaching (Witte 2006: 134). Russia's "canonical territory" became a sensitive topic for the Moscow Patriarchate with the losses resulting from the breakup of the Soviet Union, especially in Ukraine and Estonia (N. Davis 2003: 74-80), and the arrival of missionary groups from the West. The 1997 legislation made Russia into a kind of "spiritual protectorate" for the Orthodox Church (Witte 2006: 134 ). The connection between language and space or territory is also marked in postSoviet discourse and legislation. The preamble to the language law of 2005 stipulates the use of Russian on the entire territory (na vsei territorii) of the Federation. Furthermore, as Ryazanova-Clarke (2006b: 4 7-8) has pointed out, collocations such as "post-Soviet space" and "information space" have become common in both academic and media discourses. The spatial component has been especially prominent in the debates concerning the Cyrillic script, with references to the "Russian graphic expanse," a "united alphabet expanse," and the like. Such talk is no doubt linked to the loss of territory. The breakup ofthe USSR resulted in sizeable parts of the Russian Orthodox Church's canonical territory ending up outside the Russian Federation. The Church tried to respond to this situation with an approach summarized by the motto "several states but one patriarchate," but it has nonetheless had to make concessions to other local churches that seek independence (Curanovic 2007: 303-4). A roughly similar situation has obtained with the Russian language. The breakup of the Soviet empire left some 20 million Russian speakers in the former republics. There have been statements from leaders of both Church and state about the need to protect this "diaspora." The projection of territory necessarily entails boundaries, a sense of what belongs inside and what should remain outside. Space is demarcated into the sacred and the profane, the clean and the contaminated (cf. Parthe 2004: 23; Thomas 1991: 24). In the discourses concerning post-Soviet religion and language, these borders are viewed as porous or breaking down, with the result that the

36 Religion, language, religious language territory is now under threat. Russia is positioned as a "besieged and threatened entity, surrounded by unwarranted freedoms" (Ryazanova-Clarke 2006b: 46). Images of violation, intrusion, invasion, war, and even genocide multiply in the discourse. The threat is twofold. On the one hand, it is viewed as coming from outside. Russia was being invaded by all marmer of foreign missionaries and exotic new religions. If at first they were viewed as novel kulturtragers, bringing fresh products to a spiritually hungry populace, the discourse of Church and state soon turned against them as unwanted and dangerous interlopers. In the linguistic sphere, the alarm has been directed above all at the number ofloanwords that have proliferated since 1991. Interestingly, some puristic discourses anthropomorphize these words, depicting them a "foreigners," "emigres," and "strangers" who have invaded the Russian linguistic space (Ryazanova-Clarke 2009: 113). But the threat also comes from substandard elements within. In terms of language, it stems from the purported breakdown of linguistic hierarchy and the inversion of values. Low, non-normative elements that were kept separate and out of sight have now entered the system. The literary (standard) language is thought to be tainted by "colloquialisms, demotic elements, different kinds of slang, argot, obscenities" (Ryazanova-Clarke 2006b: 50). In terms of religion, various forms of occult, magical, or Neo-pagan spirituality have proliferated on what is taken to be Russian Orthodox canonical territory. "Totalitarian sects," like that of Maria Devi Christos, are thought to have snatched believers from the Church. The nebulous cultic milieu threatens to drag down the ascendant Orthodox Church. These perceived threats engendered calls to protect the Russian language and the Russian Orthodox religion as a matter of national security and survival. The period of rumbustious religious and linguistic innovation led to laws meant to contain and control the situation. The 1997 law creates order by delineating and ranking religious organizations and groups, giving a certain preference to Orthodoxy due to its integral role in Russian spirituality (duklwvnost) and culture (kul'tura). The laws relating to language perform a similar function. Also referencing the notion of"spiritual culture" (dukhovnoi kul'tury) (Article 1.5), the 2005 law establishes Russian as the language of the land and limits the number of non-native elements that should be used. The text emphasizes mutuality and unity (Article 1.4). The importance of establishing and protecting borders is central to the 2002 law requiring Cyrillic to be the graphic basis of all state languages. The "trans-alphabetical boundary" is supposed to help prevent the penetration of English and ensure a unified cultural and educational space (Ustinova 2005: 241 ). In both the religious and linguistic legislation, the spiritual culture of Russia is meant to be protected and purified.

*** We have seen above how religion and language have followed roughly parallel paths in the post-Soviet era. But there are also places where the lines of religion and language intersect, most notably involving the religious language of Church Slavonic. Subsequent chapters will explore different areas of this intersection, from

Religion, language, religious language 31 the Orurch-state holiday known as the Day of Slavonic Writing and Culture, to the ecclesiastical debate over Slavonic versus Russian, to conspiracy theories about antediluvian alphabets buried by Slavonic Orthodox civilization. In the remainder of this chapter, I shall look at discourses of purism that called upon Church Slavonic as an answer to the diversification and perceived degradation of the religious and linguistic landscapes of post-communist Russia. As the language of cultus and culture, Slavonic figures in debates about protecting both Russian Orthodoxy and the Russian language. Let us start with the latter. In the post-Soviet era, two images or metaphors tend to recur in the discourses oflinguistic purism: one has to do with ecology, the other with hierarchy. Both are projections of an ideal order, a felicitous distribution and interrelation of elements. Hierarchy involves a pyramidal or vertical configuration. while ecology suggests more of an organic interdependency. The enemy of ecology is invasion and pollution or contamination; for hierarchy, it is insubordination and chaos. For religious and cultural conservatives, Slavonic is crucial to the hierarchical ordering or- to switch metaphors- the healthy interrelation of languages. Though this word is not (to the best of my knowledge) used in Russian discourse, Slavonic is a kind of keystone - remove it and the entire structure crumbles to the ground - or a keystone species- kill it and the whole ecosystem is thrown into disarray. Some supporters of Church Slavonic do speak in ecological tones. Slavonic, they say, is a pure cultural resource (Kondrat'eva 2002: 365). Mironova (2009: 6) compares Slavonic to the pure air one breathes in the countryside after leaving the smoggy city. Her grammar textbook contains woodcut-style illustrations of idyllic rural church scenes. According to the medievalist Likhachev (1999: 279), it is impossible to speak rudely Slavonic. While the everyday language is being dragged down by vulgarity and prison argot, Slavonic elevates and ennobles all who come into contact with it. According to one advocate (Suprun 1997: 45), Slavonic can help cleanse Russian, which is getting "clogged up" with unnecessary borrowings from Western Europe and America; at the same time, it can augment the lexis and provide a hedge against excessive "slangification" (slengizatsii) of the national language. In sum, Slavonic is an "ecologically pure" resource with no harmful admixtures (Nazvanov 1999: 307). Other devotees of Slavonic speak of a hierarchy oflinguistic values. For example: The severance of the Slavonic language [under the Soviets] changed the overall linguistic situation: the sacred language was excised - and the hierarchy of values was changed, all accents and proportions being mixed up. Thus, what earlier was lodged underground and feared to come out into the light of day now impudently strikes the eye and the ear: nothing is sacredand no one is ashamed any more. (A. M. Kamchatnov quoted in Mechkovskaia 2000: 13) In the following passage, the discussion shifts to the specific issue of liturgical language. The claim is being made that Slavonic is integral not only to the Church but to the very survival of the Russian and other Slavic Orthodox nations:

38 Religion, language, religious language Where the Slavonic liturgy is preserved, there the government is strong not only spiritually but materially (such was the Great Orthodox Russian autocracy). And, conversely, changes to the sacred ordinances of the saintly enlighteners [Cyril and Methodius] have led to bitter consequences in the fate of the Slavs: the Tatar-Mongol yoke in Russia, the Time of Troubles, the Napoleonic invasion, the contemporary breakup and lamentable situation of Eastern Slavdom. (N. P. Sablina quoted in Mechkovskaia 2000: 13)

In short, the abandonment of Slavonic leads to political crisis and subjugation. The question of liturgical language is discussed in detail in Chapter 4. Here, we will simply note a few statements illustrating the discourse that sees Slavonic as the answer to the religious crisis of the day. Zhuravlev, a linguist who in the 1990s became an advocate for teaching Church Slavonic in public schools, begins his 1994 tract with a recitation ofthe civilizational role of Slavonic. Comparing it to Latin, Arabic, and Sanskrit, he sees it as the foundation of both literary and spiritual culture. It is essential to Russian history, culture, and education. He sees a return to the study of Slavonic as a solution to the endangered ecology of Russian verbal and spiritual culture (ekologii russkoi rechevoi i dukhovnoi k:ul'tury). Studying Church Slavonic reconnects people with their history. "We can say without exaggeration," avers Zhuravlev ( 1994: 24 ), "that the spiritual rebirth of our people is in the closest fashion tied to the fate ofthe Russian Orthodox Church, to a significant degree with its language." In a later statement (Zhuravlev 2000:5), he compares Russian youth to a flock in need of guidance. Fortunately, though, we "have in our possession a sacred hom [rozhok], the Church Slavonic language. It will call back Russian youth to the temple of God." In these formulations, the Church Slavonic language will draw people back to their spiritual and cultural roots. Church Slavonic will spur the rebirth of the Russian nation. The discourses of purism were most in circulation in the 1990s, when Russia seemed overwhelmed by foreign missionaries, cults, jargons, and loanwords. But similar themes continue to echo in conservative publications. By way of example, consider the following excerpt from an Orthodox prayer book containing Slavonic prayers alongside Russian translations. It is worth quoting at length, because it broaches a number of themes that are relevant to our investigation: Church Slavonic is a priceless inheritance Created by Saints Cyril and Methodius this powerful, vivid, mighty language is for us a sacred language, never used in everyday life for the expression of worldly needs. Rather in it the mysterious communion of every Orthodox Christian with God is accomplished. Created by inspiration of the Holy Spirit, the Church Slavonic language, from the beginning having a reverential purpose, and chosen to express theological truths, the prayerful movements of the soul and the most refined nuances of

Religion, language, religious language 39

thought, teaches us to llllderstand the spiritual meaning of things and events. By its entire structure and spirit, the language of our Church elevates the person, enabling him to transcend the ordinary into the higher sphere of religious feeling. Unfortllllately, the present generation has folllld itself tom from the centuriesold traditions of Russian culture. The Russian literary language, one of the substantive factors of Russian consciousness, lived through a brutal reform, while the life-giving Slavonic language, which had nourished it over the course of many centuries, was reduced to school instruction in only a few catechetical institutions. As a result the hierarchy oflinguistic values was changed . . in the minds of many people the intimate link between the Russian literary language and Church Slavonic was slllldered. The present publication is intended to help people who are making their first steps to the Church and experiencing difficulties in llllderstanding. (Pravoslavnyi molitvoslov dlia novonachal'nykh c perevodom na sovremennyi russkii iazyk 2009: 2) While validating the importance of Slavonic for the wellbeing of Russia, this excerpt also touches on: the divinely inspired role of Cyril and Methodius in creating the language; the use of Slavonic as a medium of prayer but also as a font for Russian language and culture; and the traditional role of Slavonic in education and the need for the current generation to relearn the language after the Soviet hiatus. I shall discuss these and related themes in the following chapters.

3

Az, buki, vedi The ABCs of religious literacy

[M]ost religious traditions assume that religious literacy must be connected to faith development and religious growth, and it assumes some kind of understanding of the dominant language in use, for language is the primary means by which people come to know anything. (Watt and Fairfield 2008: 362) Revolutions are good for the dictionary business. Because novel social and cultural realities come wrapped in a new language, dictionaries - along with advice columns, how-to manuals, and other pedagogical genres- are promoted to help people acquire the new words for their new world. The more this new-fangled vocabulary is mastered, the more one is able to negotiate the altered landscape. When, in the early twentieth century, it became clear that the majority of peasants did not understand- and often could not even pronounce - such words as "regime" and "Bolshevik," great efforts were made to instruct them in the lexicon of social revolution: The democratic intelligentsia set out with the passion of civic missionaries to break down these linguistic barriers and communicate the gospel of their revolution to the peasantry Dictionaries were published to explain the revolution's strange vocabulary. And there was a whole new range of pamphlets for the people telling them what they should know to become citizens . . Many papers had a column such as "Letters from the Village," or "Answers to Your Questions," in which issues raised by peasants were explained . [One newspaper] printed explanations of political terms and articles with titles such as "What is freedom and why has it been given to us?" or "What is socialism and will it arrive soon?" (Figes and Kolonitskii 1999: 131-2) The collapse of the Soviet Union and the new realities that followed in its wake entailed a corresponding expansion of "how-to" discourse, as Russians struggled to learn a variety ofnew "languages." One area where people needed help was in sorting out the bewildering variety of religious ideas and practices that appeared so swiftly on the scene (e.g. Pokrovskii 1995). Different publications offered explana-

The ABCs ofreligious literacy 41

tory pieces and question-and-answer columns. A short-lived newspaper called Vozrozhdenie (Rebirth) may serve as an example. Published by the Party of the Spiritual Rebirth of Russia (a group connected to Zhirinovsky), it offered a semiregular feature called "Our Dictionary" (Nash Slovar '), aimed at providing explanations of then-exotic religious terms. Columns discussed such words and phrases as "Palm Sunday," "Reincarnation," "Holy Week," "Astral Plane," "Vedanta," "Karma," and "Aura." (The mixture of Orthodox and Asian terms is revealing.) The distance traveled in just a few years is evident in a 2002 dictionary of some 14,000 entries covering all the world's major religious traditions (Azarov 2002). A more recent dictionary that gives guidance on how to pronounce Russian words relating to religion and decodes some 600 religious abbreviations (Bugaeva 2009) shows that the learning process is ongoing. Question-and-answer columns have been a staple of both the secular and the ecclesiastical media in the post-Soviet period. White (2000: 200-3) provides a fascinating survey ofletters written to the paper Argumenty i fakty (Arguments and Facts) in the 1990s. The letters cover an extraordinarily wide range of topics, from economics (What is a "golden share"? Can one license a brothel?), to "lifestyle" (How can women lose weight? Is it legal for two cousins who are in love to marry?), to culture and spirituality (What is wrong with Michael Jackson's skin? Did the soul of Lenin enter Gorbachev?). The tenor of ecclesiastical papers is obviously quite different, but reflects the same tentativeness about unfamiliar forms and practices. For instance, an article called "Six Questions" from the Parish Messenger tackles the Orthodox practice of fasting: 1 2 3 4 5 6

Ofwhat value is fasting? Why is it called the Great Fast? Must every baptized person fast? Who regulates the strictness of the fast? Why, exactly, do many try to go to confession during the Great Fast? What would you recommend for those who are fasting for the first time or who have not yet decided on this spiritual endeavor? (Prikhodskoi Viestnik" 2009, no. 4: 2)

The post-Soviet press has been full of such "teaching moments." The abecedarium or alphabet book (azbuka in Russian) is the genre par excellence for disseminating the rudiments of new knowledge. For centuries, it was the principal means of teaching Slavonic Orthodox literacy. Under the Bolsheviks, the genre was modified to become "a critically important political tool for organizing and building society" (McEneaney 1997: 218). The change was reflected on the level of graphic design. Pre-revolutionary abecedaria often contain a frontispiece image of Christ welcoming the children (see Luke 18:16), along with illustrations of huts, animals, and other elements of agrarian life. But in the new communist exemplars, "Portraits and busts of Soviet leaders appeared in obligatory fashion, and landscapes were as likely to be adorned with industriously smoking factories or political monuments as they were playgrounds and bucolic

42 The ABCs ofreligious literacy

scenes" (McEneaney 1997: 219). A spate of metaphorical "alphabets" was also published in the early Soviet years: Azbuka leninizma, Azbuka kommunizma, and so on (Kelly 2001: 261 ). The post-Soviet period has seen a fresh burst of what we may call abecedarian discourse. Condee and Padunov (1995: 136), for instance, detect an increase in alphabetic tropes as Russia entered its "elementary-school years of capitalism." This "alphabet methodology'' was evident in the names of stores and companiesAl'fa Art, Shkola (School) Gallery, A+ B Gallery- as well as the "pedagogic undertone" of television shows about managing money in a free-market system. Numerous Orthodox "alphabets" have also been published:

Abecedariumfor Orthodox Children (Orlova2003) Orthodox Abecedarium for Children and Grown-ups (Krupin 2002) Abecedarium of Orthodoxy for Children and Grown-ups (Shvedova 2001) Some invoke the traditional names of the first three letters ofthe Slavonic alphabet: Az, buki, vedi - the equivalent of ABC ( cf. Cubberley 1988). The old-time letter names convey a sense of schooling, of getting back to basics, of reclaiming a body of knowledge from times gone by:

Slavonic Alphabetary: a poetic history of the alphabet with the ABCs of Church Slavonic grammar (Sablina 2000) A B Verses: a book for reading the Church Slavonic language for middle school and older children (Dorofeeva 2008) As the epigraph at the beginning of this chapter suggests, learning a faith means mastering its language. Church Slavonic instruction was an integral part of prerevolutionary life. As documentary, ethnographic, and autobiographical evidence indicates, the great majority of the population had some knowledge of the hieratic language (Kravetskii and Pletneva 2001: 13). To adopt a modern descriptor, we could say that Church Slavonic acquisition entailed a multi-sensory approach. Priests, teachers, and scholars produced a massive collection of Slavonic abecedaria, primers, grammars, chrestomathies, and dictionaries (Shumskikh 1998: 10). But beyond that, the words read on the page were also seen on church walls and icons, and heard in church songs and chants. Slavonic was very much part of the visual landscape and "soundscape" oftsarist Russia (Zhivov 1996: 6). "It is a joyous thing that in recent years many more people are starting to study Church Slavonic," claim proponents of the language (Bugaeva and Levshenko 2009: 3). This chapter looks at the study of Church Slavonic in the post-Soviet period, ranging from abecedaria for neophytes to the highest echelons ofliturgical and philological study. Who learns Church Slavonic and why? What materials and programs are available for such study? How does one go about teaching a liturgical language after more than seventy years of governmental atheism? And how does this tie in with the broader "catechetical imperative" of the post-communist

The ABCs ofreligious literacy 43 Church? In what follows, some preliminary theoretical remarks about liturgical literacy lead into a historical sketch of Slavonic pedagogy in Russia. I then examine Slavonic-language pedagogy in post-Soviet Russia. Instruction in the language of faith can come in different shapes and sizes. It can demand several years of seminary study, but it might also be exemplified in a parallel RussianSlavonic prayer book or even a simple footnote glossing the meaning of an unknown Slavonic word. It is important, I think, to get a sense of the range of teaching methods involved With a few notable exceptions (e.g. Rosowsky 2008), there is a frustrating lack of specificity in both liturgics and sociolinguistics when it comes to the question of how sacred languages are actually taught. Therefore, I go into some detail when discussing the case of Church Slavonic textbooks and teaching materials. The teaching of Church Slavonic is not just a seminarian concern. The subject has returned in a limited way to public schools through the controversial curriculum known as the Foundations of Orthodox Culture (Osnory pravoslavnoi kul'tury). This an elementary school version of the larger field of culturology, an important disciplinary trend (somewhat comparable to cultural studies in the West) that extends up and down the Russian educational system and is, additionally, a "bookshop hit" (Laruelle 2004: 21). I conclude with some sociological data concerning knowledge of Slavonic in post-Soviet Russia.

*** To date, little sociolinguistic research has been done on the pedagogy of ritual or hieratic languages. Fishman (1991: 360), one ofthe few sociolinguists who writes much about religion, makes some pertinent observations regarding instruction in what he calls "religious classicals." In some cases, he says, they are "target" languages and their texts are studied in schools. But other times "they are 'merely' learned by virtue of repeated use in religious services and in home rituals, with no explicit school time being assigned to them." Rosowsky's (2008) ethnographic study of Muslim "liturgical literacy'' provides a valuable case study that helps flesh out Fishman's generic observations. Perhaps because he is not only a scholar but an "insider," Rosowsky offers a sophisticated portrait of this special kind of literacy. He understands that it is not just a matter of learning the words on the page, but an embodied, material, and social practice. Thus he pays attention to, among other things, the layout, furniture, and appurtenances ofthe mosque where students study; the panoply oflaminated alphabet cards, primers, and Qur'ans that they use; and the familial and communal factors that shape and support the study of Arabic in a given society. Against his detailed ethnographic research, this chapter takes a more conspectual approach, surveying in short order a wide range of texts and programs related to Church Slavonic liturgical literacy. The roots of liturgical literacy in Russia go back, of course, to Cyril and Methodius, the "Teachers" or "Enlighteners" of the Slavs. Indeed, these saints provide an authorizing presence in many ofthe texts discussed below. Their image usually appears near the beginning of the text- or even before, on the cover (e.g. Oleinikova 2008; Shevchenko 2007). The account of their missionary labors in

44 The ABCs ofreligious literacy creating and disseminating Slavonic is a textbook topos (e.g. Suprun 1999: 5, 12; Sablina2000: 10-16; Surova2004: 1; Kravetskii andPletneva 1996: 13) The legacy of Cyril and Methodius profoundly shaped Russian literacy. For much ofRussian history, literacy had to do with the Slavonic language and script, not the Russian language and Cyrillic script (Marker 1994: 8; Smith-Peter 2007: 393). This Slavonic literacy was produced and perpetuated through the so-called primer system, which had parallels throughout much ofEurope (Marker 1990: 77). In his memoir, Up from Serfdom, Aleksandr Nikitenko paints a colorful picture of this system in early nineteenth-century Russia: The first part covered the ABCs. Letters were pronounced in the old style: az, buld, vedi, and so on. From syllables the children progressed to the Book of Hours, then to the Psalter, and last of all to writing. Some schools taught only reading. At the conclusion of each part ofthe curriculum, the pupil brought the teacher a jug of milk pudding. The pupil's parents, in addition to paying a contractual fee, rewarded the teacher with a bundle of bubliks [bagels] or a knish Regardless of the pedagogical method used in those schools, all instruction was backed up by lashes (with three or four thongs) and by rulers for blows on an upturned bare hand. (Nikitenko 2002: 28) As Nikitenko indicates, the primer system entailed a progression through three stages. The emphasis was on reading and memorization, focusing on key devotional texts that were gone over and over again, stitching the words into the student's memory. Students usually began with an abecedarium (azbuka) or primer (bukvar'). The former consisted ofthe alphabet, syllables, and little else; the latter contained more substantial texts for reading (Cleminson 1988: 1). From there, the student would advance to the Breviary and conclude with the Psalter. This "threetext course" would usually take two to three years (Marker 1990: 78). The introduction of the civil script, designed under Peter the Great for scientific and academic pursuits, altered the system in a decisive way. From that moment on, the primer system became a fortiori identified with the Slavonic language and with liturgical literacy (Marker 1994: 18; cf. Zhuravlev 1994: 10-11 ). This pattern was extended and entrenched in Zakon Bozhii (God's Law), the dominant system of religious education in imperial Russia (Marsheva 2010).

*** As Russian Orthodoxy began to revive in the late 1980s and early 1990s, ecclesiastics hastened to promote the study of Church Slavonic- the language ofthe faith- once again. But these early efforts were hampered by a shortage of teachers and teaching materials (Zhuravlev 1994: 3). After all, Slavonic had been cast out of the public school system, and the majority ofpre-1917 churches and gymnasia had been closed. As with other kinds of religious literature, the first solution was to dust off and reprint books from the pre-revolutionary period. By way of example, consider the 1992 reprint of Slaviansldi, iii, tserkovnyi bukvar' (Slavonic

The ABCs ofreligious literacy 45 or Church Primer), originally published by the famous Kievan Caves Monastery in 1908. Its new preface is very much "of the moment," reflecting the zeitgeist of newfound religious freedom, but also the competition that came with it. It notes that societies with other belief systems have their believers, but they do not have the Orthodox Church. The Russian people are once again on the path to God. It is hoped that they will not disregard the Slavonic language, but apply themselves with love to its study and let it accompany them on their journey to Orthodoxy. No contemporary language, it is asserted, can be compared to the spiritual language of Slavonic. Thus, the preface attempts to relate an antiquated textual artifact to fin-de-regime seekers who for the first time find themselves confronted with a variety of religious options. The 1916 dictionary of Svirelin has also been popular in the post-Soviet period, being reprinted several times (e.g. 2006). The most important and copious Church Slavonic dictionary is that of D'iachenko, originally published in 1900 and reprinted in 1993. The 1909 lexicon of Solov' ev has been reprinted (2007) and also made available on CD. The liner notes of the latter read:

It's easy and simple. Listen to the words in Church Slavonic with the translation into Russian and repeat them during the pauses. We recommend not listening to the dictionary as a whole. For starters, take one section (1, 2, or 3 letters) and master it, then move on to the next. May God aid you! (Kurs obucheniia tserlwvno-slavianslwmu iazku, Disc 31) For Church Slavonic grammars, the gold standard for many years was the textbook ofHieromonk Alipii, reprinted several times (e.g. 1991) and reworked into a more accessible abridgement (Andrei 2008). The fact that this particular text was actually produced for the Russian Orthodox Church Outside of Russia, which refused communion with the Moscow Patriarchate because of the latter's alleged acquiescence to Soviet power, reflects the dire position of Church Slavonic during the communist era (Suprun 1999: 10). In addition to reprints, a spate of new abecedaria and textbooks has been published since 1991 (for a partial list, see Kornilaeva 2005; cf. Marsheva 201 0). Slavonic is being taught in earnest again in Sunday schools, in newly founded Orthodox gymnasia, in distance-learning courses, and in some cases in the public school system. New teachers have been trained, and there are ongoing seminars and conferences where educators, publishers, librarians, and even computer experts gather to exchange ideas and develop new curricula (Kazantseva 2001; Bugaeva 2005; Marsheva 2007). All of this points to a revival of the hieratic language. In both cases, the study of Church Slavonic (tserkovnolavianskii iazyk) and of Old Church Slavonic (staroslavianskii iazyk) is oriented toward the reading of canonical texts, not conversation. But there are notable differences in terms of which texts are studied, who studies them, and what they do with them. The academic study of Old Church Slavonic focuses on the earliest canon of texts of the Cyrillo-Methodian tradition. Church Slavonic pedagogy, on the other

46 The ABCs ofreligious literacy hand, primarily targets texts that are used in Orthodox liturgies. The difference is neatly summed up by Izotov in the preface to his textbook, Staroslavianskii i tserkovnoslavianskii iazyki, which is unique in combining Old Church Slavonic and Church Slavonic. The manual is intended "to fill the requirements of students of higher education - Russianists and Slavicists for whom OCS is a required linguistic subject; and the needs of those who study the liturgical language in order to participate more fully in church life" (Izotov 2007: 7). The key word here is "participate." Obviously, different degrees of ecclesiastical involvement will require different levels of Slavonic mastery. The liturgy may be a "public work," but there is a division of labor (Lukken 1992: 45). According to Pllihn's (1978: 39) calculations, priests are responsible for 10.42 percent ofthe total quantity of Slavonic during Orthodox liturgies; deacons for 11.76 percent; readers for 29.14 percent; choirs for 45.57 percent; and the congregation for just 2.48 percent, which includes the Creed (or Symbol of Faith) and the Our Father (or Lord's Prayer). Accordingly, some pedagogical materials are expressly designed for ecclesiastics (sviashchennosluzhiteli) in particular. For example, a DVD called Tekhnika tserkovnogo chteniia (Technique of Church Reading; 2000) is intended to improve the cantillation of priests and deacons, making the point that rapid-fire or muffled reading is a factor that contributes to the unintelligibility of Slavonic. It aims to instruct those seeking to master the texts in the proper art of correct, beautiful, and sensible enunciation. The majority of religionists, however, adopt a more passive orientation to the language. We might imagine a spectrum of Slavonic liturgical literacy, moving from passive parishioner to active cleric. We will use this spectrum to structure the following discussion. The post-Soviet period has seen an explosion of how-to literature designed for neophytes. The Soviet emphasis on hard-bound literary classics sold in state-run bookstores gave way to a mushrooming of kiosks selling self-help and reference materials, often alongside soap, beer, cigarettes, and souvenir trinkets (Lovell 2000: 138). Kelly points to the sheer quantity of advice literature printed, and its vast range, embracing everything from cat-breeding to palm-reading, and including not only mindless trivia, but also serious and helpful books - guides to crime prevention, advice for the victims of crime, particularly sex crime, information on legal issues, telephone directories, Who's Who collections ofthe biographies of prominent Moscow business, and so on and so on. The parsimonious trickle of practice books under Soviet power swelled to a vast deluge. (Kelly 2001: 369) The top bestseller was Dale Carnegie's How to Win Friends and Influence People, which went through an astonishing sixty-eight Russian editions between 1989 and 1997 (Kelly 2001: 371). On a smaller and narrower scale, we see a similar phenomenon repeated in church kiosks and bookstalls. In an insightful study of post-Soviet religiosity, Weichert (2007: 455) describes the scene thus: "Russian Orthodox conduct

The ABCs ofreligious literacy 41 manuals, alongside saints' Lives, prayer books, church newspapers and journals, and a wealth of Orthodox artefacts, are on sale not only in churches but also on every street comer and underground passage." Books are sold alongside icons, candles, crosses, headscarves, and cassettes or CDs of Orthodox chant. Prominent among the items for sale are all kinds of abecedarian booklets and brochures. Many of these edifying pamphlets cost the equivalent of a dollar or two, sometimes less. They are simple and straightforward and often contain explanatory diagrams or photographs. Most ofthe books are 50-150 pages in length, with an average print run of 15,000 (Agadjanian 2003b: 165). Books that relate to Slavonic would appear to be a small portion of the overall inventory. Weichert's impressionistic account suggests that saints' lives and the apothegmatic works of spiritual fathers like St. John ofKronstadt and St. Serafim of Sarov are the most popular. Agadjanian's (2003b: 171) statistical count supports this view. Some of these edifying booklets deal with theology, but most focus rather resolutely on praktika (praxis). On one level, this is a reflection of the liturgical ethos of Eastern Christianity. Orthodox writers often make the point that right belief is inextricable from right praise. On another level, the fixation on praxis can be traced to the rupture in religious education and practice during the Soviet period. Russians do not know how to worship in church because they have not been worshiping in church- the liturgical sense of what to do, how to kiss an icon, when to cross yourself, and so on, is learned incrementally over many years of repetition. Understandably, when faced with a complex liturgical tableau of unfamiliar words, gestures, objects, and personnel - and with a babushka or "grandmother" near by who is all too pleased to dole out criticism or advice- the neophyte responds with anxiety and trepidation (cf. Weichert 2007: 452). Anyone nervous about going to church might find comfort in the 30-page pamphlet Orthodox Alphabet: the first steps to a church (Azbuka pravoslavnaia: pervye shagi k klzramu; 2009), a guidebook designed to help one overcome uncertainty and doubt by teaching proper conduct in church. The simple text is accompanied by painting-by-numbers-style diagrams of Orthodox praktika. Orthodoxy for All (Khariton 2000) is a stubby 400-page book that fits in the palm of your hand. Despite its diminutive size, it covers the following topics:

•

God - Trinity - Christ Christ's Church (apostles, martyrs, saints, etc.) Orthodox Church- Moscow Patriarchate Orthodox holidays miracle-working icons saints clergy and vestments sacred scripture and the Church Slavonic language interior and exterior configuration of a church mistakes made while bowing/making sign of cross dress and behavior goodorder

48 The ABCs ofreligious literacy use of cameras and camcorders women and their monthly periods the liturgy- daily, weekly, yearly cycles the sacraments different kinds of prayer service fasts morality some common prayers. For about one dollar, the neophyte has a handy compendium of the faith. The text has a purported print run of 100,000. I will return to what it says about Slavonic shortly. The Very First Steps in a Church: instructions for the beginner Christian (Samye pervye shagi v khrame 2008: 4-5) begins by lamenting the fact that the majority oftoday's Christians show up in church just three times in their lives: in a baby carriage, a Mercedes (i.e. for a wedding), and a hearse. It covers many of the familiar topics- bowing, lighting candles, writing out prayer requests (zapiski), and so on. It also offers some rules regarding talking, sitting, smoking on church grounds, leaving early, and so on. We are also told, "Cell phones should be turned off or put on vibrate" (Samye pervye shagi v khrame 2008: 136). The profuse selfhelp literature deals with queries regarding attire, for instance whether tracksuits, t-shirts, or sports jerseys can be worn to church. (No.) Can an icon comer be set up near a television? (No.) Is it permissible to enter a church with shopping bags? (Not ifthey contain meat) (Weichert: 2007: 457-8). Such admonitions indicate that "post-Soviet reality" is impinging on Orthodoxy in new and unaccustomed ways. Not all of these little booklets and how-to guides mention Church Slavonic. For example, the brochure You've Come to an Orthodox Church (Vy prishli v pravoslavnyi khram 2003) covers the basics. What is the Church (Tserkov ')?How does one prepare to visit a church (khram)? What is read in church? And so on. It concludes with the prayers that every Orthodox Christian must know. The texts are in Slavonic but are printed in modem Cyrillic, and no mention is made of the language involved. Other texts do include explicitly Slavonic materials. This typically involves an alphabet chart (e.g. Shvedova2001: 93; Davydova 2007: 92; Krupin 2002: frontispiece), along with some of the core texts of the tradition, usually with a Russian translation near by (e.g. Khariton 2000: 373-84; Davydova 2007: 94-5; Surova 2004: 31, 40, 43). A book for youngsters called 0 Biblii i Tserkvi (About the Bible and Church; Surova 2004) contains a simple Slavonic grammar that is cut out and made into a little booklet (knizhechka). As we have come to expect, it starts with a miniature icon and an account of Cyril and Methodius, then moves on to the alphabet and the basic round of prayers: the Trisagion (Trisviatoe), Doxology (Slavoslovie), the Creed, the Jesus Prayer, and so on. A more sophisticated version is found in the richly illustrated Kniga o Tserkvi (Book about the Church; Lorgus et al. 2008). This book is designed to instruct novices, young or old, about the praktika of the Church. It begins with the church

The ABCs ofreligious literacy 49 structure itself -layout, furniture, paraphernalia, and so on- then moves on to church piety - how to comport oneself, make the sign of the cross, address the clergy, and so on. Subsequent chapters deal with the Orthodox sacraments and rituals, holidays and fasts. There is a section on the Church Slavonic language with the sanctioning presence of Cyril and Methodius that introduces readers to the basics: the letters, the rules of reading, punctuation marks, nomina sacra, and so forth. Although these various alphabet books, primers, and how-to manuals may contain comparatively little grammatical content, they often contain important ideological statements about the meaning and value of Church Slavonic. We will encounter these themes again in our discussion of the bitter post-Soviet liturgical language debate (Chapter 4 ). Given the fact that the production of new pedagogical materials has overlapped with the language debate, it is not surprising to see oblique references to the controversy or inoculative statements meant to prepare newcomers for the debate. One typically finds the following four discourses about the merits of Slavonic in various combinations. Slavonic as a unifying historical tradition. One of the recurring points in the defense of Slavonic is that it links Russians or Slavs through time. The hieratic language is a unifying force, binding together the Orthodox Slavs past, present, and future. In the introduction to his book on Church Slavonic, Suprun (1999: 7) says that Slavonic promotes the spiritual unity of generations. ludin (2008: 375-6) suggests that during many centuries of Orthodox worship there was an organic unity (organicheskoe edinstvo) of thought and spirit as a result of the inherent qualities of Slavonic. In this remarkably good and melodious language, he says, Russians' forefathers prayed to God and the Virgin Mary, and asked for assistance in expelling the wild enemies of medieval Rus. Another catechetical text echoes this theme: "Every day the language of our forefathers and saints of the Russian language sounds on the lips of millions of people, connecting the living and deceased members of the Church in one prayer to the Lord" (Lorgus et al. 2008: 271). Slavonic as a sacred tongue for sacred things. This fittingness of a certain language for a certain religious task is certainly not unique to Slavonic -in a sense, it is the raison d' etre of any sacred language. Traditionalist discourse tends to emphasize the melodious and sublime nature of Slavonic. Discussing the prayers that accompany lighting a candle, one guidebook suggest that the Church Slavonic language, "with its lofty pitch and beauty," is "much better suited for communion with God than everyday [povsednevnyz] Russian" (Samye pervye shagi v khrame 2008: 23). Here are some further variations on this theme: By its lofty character, by its inherent vigor and resonance, Church Slavonic is a more perfect means for the expression of the religious moods of the Russian Orthodox person. The higher strivings ofthe spirit and deep feelings, removed from the earthly [domain] and directed to the heavenly, to the pure and eternal, receive a more fitting expression in this language. (Sidorov and Ushkov 2002: 4)

50 The ABCs ofreligious literacy You would agree that it is not right to use one and the same words to converse on the street with a friend and to turn to God, the Virgin Mary, the saints, and to commune with the heavenly world! It ought to be an entirely special language. And just such a language was created by the saintly brothers Cyril and Methodius with aid from the Holy Spirit - that is, was a gift to people from the Lord Himself. It is called Church Slavonic. (Davydova 2007: 91) This powerful, vivid, and majestic language is sacred for us, never used in quotidian life, for the expression of earthly needs. (Lorgus et al. 2008: 271) The elevation of Slavonic as a holy language fitting for holy things entails a concomitant downgrading or denigration of other languages that might possibly be in contention. Khariton (2000: 139) expands on this point: It is necessary to remember that church services are meant to turn our souls and minds to God, to a higher spiritual realm; all of that is filled with inner spiritual content and cannot be compared with everyday life. Therefore, too, the language of worship cannot be a regular conversational speech- it must as it were be elevated above everydayness, at the same time matching the melodic strain of Orthodox worship. Archimandate Rafail (2008: 221) says a new language is like water- it can quench thirst but leaves the heart cold - while an ancient language is like wine, which gladdens the heart. Slavonic as beneficent force in the world. The sense that words have real-world effects is a widespread religious belief and again is not confined to Slavonic Orthodoxy. The basic idea here is that you can do things with words because words do things. In traditionalist discourse, the Church Slavonic language is not understood as an arbitrary and artificial sign system; the letters and the words they make up mystically partake of the phenomena to which they refer. The word is active. It has power. It makes its presence felt in the world- and in the case of Slavonic, this is always for good. It beneficently influences the souls of those who pray in it (Iudin 2008: 372, 376). For Mironova (2009: 3), language is not just a combination of sounds and grammatical structures. Every word has an internal energy with realworld ramifications. The word (slovo) is also the deed (delo ). Slavonic as a resource that must be preserved intact. For the above reasons because of its rich history and socially unifYing effect; because of its suitability for holy things; and because it is always a force for good - Slavonic should be preserved from reform or translation. The little compendium Orthodoxy for All (Khariton 2000: 138) anticipates the reformists' objections: "One often hears the question: why are all services done in the Church Slavonic language, which is difficult to understand and contains many obscure words; is it not permitted to translate all the liturgical texts into contemporary Russian?" The answer is

The ABCs ofreligious literacy 51 that, despite the richness of contemporary Russian, translating Slavonic into Russian could be done only with great labor- and much would be lost (Khariton 2000: 139). Mironova (2009) finds evidence ofthe inherent goodness of Slavonic in the fact that it is constantly under attack by various reform movements. From her perspective, this is proof of the language's sanctity. "They" push the tempting (lukavaia) idea that Slavonic has become old, decrepit, and unintelligible, and therefore needs to be translated into modem Russian. (Note the wording of the Lord's Prayer in Slavonic: 'lead us not into temptation," izbavi nas ot lukavago.) According to Mironova (2009: 5), though, Church Slavonic may be old- indeed a thousand years old- but it is not weak or decrepit; rather, it is strong and mighty and above all a force for good. Sanctified by the Holy Spirit, Slavonic was a path to divine enlightenment for the people of ancient Rus. It can be that for contemporary Russians as well. But it cannot be learned right away. An infant in a cradle hears his mother's song and only over time begins to understand the words. Similarly, the Church is the mother singing the song and thus, slowly, we understand by repetition (Mironova 2009: 6). It is not to be abandoned in a spirit of prideful quick-temperedness (Mironova 2009: 7). Translation leads to distortion, and distortion of the biblical or liturgical texts leads to heresy and dissensions (razdory) within the Church (Mironova 2009: 34). Looking back on the ground we have traversed thus far, we see that post-Soviet Russia has experienced an explosion of interest in abecedarian and how-to literature. Orthodoxy has seen its own version ofthis phenomenon, with a plethora of booklets and advice columns aimed at helping neophytes learn the "language" of the faith. Though such texts often contain some rudimentary grammatical and lexical information about Church Slavonic, their real contribution lies in the ideology they articulate. As Grenoble and Whaley (2006: 13) say, "Revitalization almost always requires changing community attitudes about a language." These pamphlets and brochures play a role in explaining why Church Slavonic is valuable and why it is important to learn and maintain it. Moving further along our spectrum from passive parishioner to active ecclesiastic, we note that there are several options for those wishing to obtain a deeper understanding of Slavonic. It seems to me that this next class of pedagogical literature might be profitably viewed in relation to the sociolinguistic study of languages of special purpose (LSP). Basturkmen and Elder (2005: 672) define the field as follows: LSP is generally used to refer to the teaching and research of language in relation to the communicative needs of speakers of a second language in facing a particular workplace, academic, or professional context. In such contexts language is used for a limited range of communicative events. Many religionists think of Slavonic in a similar way - as a language of special purpose. From the beginning, it was designed for the translation of the Christian message as embodied in the liturgical and scriptural texts. It always had a "special

52 The ABCs ofreligious literacy lexical makeup" (osobyi slovarnyi sostav; Mironova 2009: 29). One bishop calls it a "confected, technical language [iazyk iskustvennyi, tekhnicheskii] created especially for the liturgy" (http://www.blagovest-info.rulindex.php?ss=2&s=7& id=3967, accessed 2 September 201 0). On one level, studying Church Slavonic is perhaps not that dissimilar to studying "Business English." One strand of LSP research concerns genre analysis, which involves identifying key genres and analyzing them for second-language learners (Basturkmen and Elder 2005: 678). Certain instructional aids, such as interpretive prayer books, seem to exemplify this kind of targeted and pragmatic analysis. In the case of the Church Slavonic tradition, the key genres include a range of devotional and liturgical texts. A variety of devotional texts are readily available at Orthodox church kiosks. Examples include:

Interpretive Orthodox Prayer Book (Tolkovyi pravoslavnyi molitvoslov 2008 [1914]) Short Orthodox Prayer Book with Explanations (Kratkii pravoslavnyi molitvoslov s poiasneniiami 2008) Interpretive Orthodox Prayer Book with Short Catechetical Notes (Tolkovyi pravoslavnyi molitvoslov s kratkimi katekhizicheskimi svedeniiami 2008) Orthodox Prayer Bookfor Beginners, with Translation into Contemporary Russian (Pravoslavnyi molitvoslov dlia novonachal'nykh c perevodom na sovremennyi russkii iazyk 2009) These manuals use a variety of devices - including en face printing, parallel columns, footnotes, and glossaries - to help contemporary Russian readers make sense ofthe ancient Slavonic texts (cf. Kornilaeva 2005: 76-8). Some resort to a textual device that appears to be increasingly common yet remains controversial. This involves printing the ancient Slavonic text not in the traditional church script (tserkovnyi shrift)- see Figure 1.2 in Chapter 1 -but in the civil script (grazhdanskii shrift). In other words, the Slavonic language is rendered in modemday Cyrillic, usually with accents to indicate stress, which can differ from modern Russian. This typographic device reduces the archaic or exotic quality of Church Slavonic and makes it appear closer to Russian. It should be noted, however, that most Slavonic educators seem to frown on this development on philological/ historical grounds (cf. Kravetskii and Pletneva 1993: 92), while for some Orthodox traditionalists the current Cyrillic script is a product of the apostate Soviet regime, and therefore deserves no place in the sanctum of Church Slavonic textuality (Novikova 2003). Liturgical texts comprise another genre that receives targeted instruction. Catholicism used to be a culture of "little books" -missals, novenas, prayer books, devotional texts, and the like (Sweeney 2008: 116-21) -connected with its Latinate liturgical piety. A similar, though Slavonic-based, situation still obtains in contemporary Russian Orthodoxy. Copies of the central liturgical texts, such as the Trebnik and Sluzhebnik, are readily available at church stalls and kiosks. This makes it possible, for those who wish to do so, to study different parts of the

The ABCs ofreligious literacy 53

Slavonic liturgy before coming to church. If that is too daunting, there are more accessible options. For example, a little (50-page) booklet for the Easter service is "Designed for deeper understanding of the depth and figurative richness of the paschal liturgy. The Church Slavonic text of prayers and hymns is accompanied by and pertinent excerpts from Sacred translation into contemporary Russian Scripture" (Chemov 2009: 3). The preface to a similar book for the Divine Liturgy attempts to stave off any charge of illicit translation: "The published Russian translation ofthe liturgy is not called upon to replace the Church Slavonic translation, which is traditional for our Church; its goal is to give the believing reader a deeper understanding of the foundational liturgy of Christ's Church" (Bozhestvennaia liturgiia 2004: 10). To that end, it presents the Slavonic text (in bold civil type) and the Russian translation in a "stereotypographic" (stereotipnoe) arrangement. The various prayer books and liturgical aids could be used by a parishioner who is interested in learning more about the canonical texts of the Orthodox tradition. There is very little emphasis on grammar in such literature. But the study of Slavonic grammar is unavoidable for the serious student. As the author of a Slavonic manual (Vorob'eva 2008) contends, "Solid results cannot be obtained by use of accompanying Russian translations- the Slavonic text remains an enigma [rebus]." The last 20 years have seen a number of new grammar textbooks published for more advanced study of Slavonic (e.g. Pletneva and Kravetskii 1996; Shumskikh 1998; Andrei 2008; Vorob'eva 2008; Mironova 2009; Bugaeva and Levshenko 2009). This, in itself, is a noteworthy sign of revival. A detailed analysis of these texts would exceed the limits of this chapter, so a few simple observations will have to suffice. One commonality is that these textbooks want to minimize the differences - and hence difficulties - between Russian and Church Slavonic. "When you pray," writes Davydova (2007: 91) in her Orthodox Primer, "you probably notice that many of the words sound unusual. Partly they are like Russian words, but not completely." Supporters quote statistics indicating a high degree of overlap between Russian and Slavonic. Zhuravlev (1994: 2) says that 55 percent ofRussian- words, syntactic features, and so on- goes back in one way or another to Slavonic. Mironova (2009: 29) notes that 70 percent of Church Slavonic words are common to all Slavic languages, including Russian. What remains, then, are only "certain" small matters that can be dealt with expeditiously. Incantations of "certain peculiarities" (e.g. Izotov 2007: 17, 23, 85; ludin 2008: 376), "certain differences" (Mironova 2009: 31 ), and "certain semantic and grammatical differences" (Bugaeva and Levshenko 2009: 3) between Slavonic and Russian recur throughout these texts. Indeed, there is a tendency in all kinds of Slavonic-related materials to capitalize on the presumed closeness between the hieratic language and modem vernacular. For instance, a tried-and-true custom in Church Slavonic pedagogy involves starting with the letters that Slavonic and Russian have in common, and then moving on to those that are different (e.g. Davydova 2007: 93; Shvedova 2001: 93; Shevchenko 2007: 113). One note of caution, however, has to do with "false

54 The ABCs ofreligious literacy friends": words that appear to be the same but actually mean something different. For example, in Russian, trebovat' means to demand; in Slavonic, trebovati means to be in need of something. Tselovanie means kiss, but originally meant greeting. There is now a special lexicon consisting of 2000 such terms: Sedakova's (2008) Dictionary of Difficult Words from the Liturgy: Church Slavonic-Russian paronyms. The emphasis on the similarities between the hieratic and the vernacular may simply be a matter of good pedagogical practice- to proceed from what is better known (Russian) to what is lesser known (Church Slavonic). But there is also an ideological motivation: to show that Slavonic is not so foreign, and therefore unintelligible, as it is sometimes made out to be. At the same time, there are some salient differences that even a superficial study needs to address. One of the most prominent has to do with stress, which often runs counter to standard pronunciation of Russian. Church Slavonic classes often involve cantillation practice and correction. For example, we read at the start of one alphabet book: Recitation [of Church Slavonic] must not be similar to the declamation of secular literary works. In ecclesiastical recitation there should be no personal emotions, as these always have an untoward affect on the congregation It is necessary to pay careful attention to stress, which does not always correspond with the Russian. (Tserkovno-slavianskaia azbuka 1990s: 6) All in all, Slavonic educators negotiate a kind of Scylla and Charybdis. On the one hand, they endeavor to show that Church Slavonic is much like Russian, so as not to frighten off neophytes; on the other, they stress the special, sacral nature of Slavonic. Russian is one of the mightiest languages on the planet, yet not fit for sacred things. In her textbook, Vorob'eva (2008: 5) compares Slavonic to a magnificent palace and Russian to a humble abode, but then hastens to add that this is not because Russian is impoverished, but rather because of the historical divergence between the two languages.

*** The study of Church Slavonic is oriented toward canonical texts, not conversation. Different kinds of religionist relate to those texts in different ways. The Slavonic known by the majority of parishioners is based on ritual repetition, on hearing, and in some cases on reciting a fixed repertoire of texts. Some go above and beyond this and purchase a bilingual Russian-Slavonic prayer book or missal. The more diligent or adventurous might try to work through a traditional grammar textbook. Still others strive for - or are required to obtain- a more active knowledge of the language. This is done at school. Severely restricted during the Soviet period, Church Slavonic is being taught again in various ecclesiastical settings, from Sunday schools to Orthodox seminaries to institutes of higher learning (Komilaeva 2005: 71). A number of Orthodox gymnasia have sprung up. In such settings one finds modestly dressed

The ABCs ofreligious literacy 55

boys and girls (often with their heads covered), priests and icons in the classroom, and Slavonic on the curriculum. The pedagogical materials surveyed above, especially the grammar textbooks, are used in these scholastic venues. Church Slavonic is also a constituent element of seminary education, which has expanded in the post-Soviet climate. In 1990, there were just three theological schools in Russia; ten years later, there were fifty. For seminarians, Slavonic is usually studied during the first two years of a five-year program, along with such topics as church history, scripture, and theology (see, e.g., http://www.mpda.ru/, accessed 18 March 201 0). Grammatical work on gobbets of Slavonic leads by the second year to the study of complete texts, such as Psalms or liturgical hymns (cf Griffiths 1999: 97). The language itself may present many difficulties and opacities. Additionally, there is a "hypertextual" dimension to Slavonic texts insofar as every hymn can be related to Orthodox theology, church history, and even iconography. More advanced study relates Slavonic to the Greek tradition that lies behind (and within) it (Marsheva 2010). The post-Soviet period has also witnessed a new phenomenon - namely, theological education for laypeople. St. Tikhon Orthodox Theological Institute in Moscow and the Russian Christian Institute for the Humanities in St. Petersburg are representative examples of this trend (Bercken 2004). Students at such institutes (which are similar to American colleges, as they focus primarily on undergraduates) are trained in a variety of ecclesiastical areas, including mission work, icon painting, and choral singing. Some train to become teachers in the curriculum known as the Foundations of Orthodox Culture (Glanzer and Petrenko 2007: 277)- on which, more below. There are other semi-official outlets, as well. For example, the Church Slavonic Seminar in St. Petersburg offers various courses for different levels. "Church Slavonic for All" meets for several hours a week in a local church. It covers the following topics: Mastery of the reading of Church Slavonic Study of the basics of grammar Acquaintance with the vocabulary of the language Interpretation of texts. (http://paerok.narod.ru/studlforall.htm, accessed 31 December 2009) Online tutorials and distance-learning courses have expanded the repertoire of options for Slavonic study. As a general rule, Church Slavonic is still not taught in secular university settings, except in such courses as the History of the Russian Language (Marsheva 201 0). In religious contexts, the consistent focus is very much on reading and interpreting canonical texts. Grammar is often in the background and, depending on the context, may be taught in an ad hoc way. The purpose of such study is ultimately pastoral, not philological. The goal is to be able to speak and interpret the "language" of the faith to those who do not yet know its idioms. As one textbook puts it:

56 The ABCs ofreligious literacy whoever uses this language - readers, singers, ecclesiastics, and priests -must perfectly understand what they are pronouncing with their lips. For without a full understanding ofthe language ofMother Church it is impossible to give an answer to those questioning the unintelligible words and expressions of the church language. (Sidorov and Ushkov 2002: 4) In short, what the post-Soviet Russian Church needs, and what these various educational facilities and programs ideally produce, are what Griffiths (1999: 61) calls "virtuoso religious readers." It is helpful to pause here for a moment to consider what Griffiths has to say about "religious reading," as this has a direct bearing on Church Slavonic pedagogy and especially the role of liturgical literacy in public schools. According to Griffiths, religions (by which he means the so-called world religions, such as Judaism, Buddhism, Hinduism, and Christianity) have traditionally created institutions- ashrams, seminaries, monasteries, yeshivas- that are characterized by a reverent attitude toward the tradition's sacred texts. These institutions are designed to cultivate religious reading and produce religious readers. The syllabus is shaped by the strong hand of clerical authority, which culls what is deemed salubrious and banishes the rest as spiritually worthless or dangerous (Griffiths 1999: 60-72 ). Characterized by loving and reverential repetition, cantillation, memorization, and exegesis, religious reading is the polar opposite of the consumerist and instrumentalist mode of reading that prevails in academia and society as a whole. Consumerist reading "uses up" a book and moves on to the next thing. In the early 1990s, there were some awkward attempts to reintroduce Church Slavonic into public schools (Basil 2007: 28). Zhuravlev (1994) published a manifesto supporting this movement. Church Slavonic, he claimed, is the passkey to the nation's history, language, and spiritual culture- indeed, the whole life and ethos of the Russian people. The critical condition of the "ecology of Russian verbal and spiritual culture" (ekologii russkoi rechevoi i dukhovnoi kul'tury) requires government intervention, specifically reversing the Soviet ban on Slavonic and reinstating it as an academic subject (Zhuravlev 1994: 3). Zhuravlev recommends a kind of"liturgicalliteracy" (Rosowsky) or "religious reading" (Griffiths). Students should engage in a deep, line-by-line probing of sacred texts from both a grammatical and a theological perspective. The proximate goal is academic - a deeper appreciation of Russian literature and culture - but the ultimate goal is the "churching" (votserkovlenie) of the Russian people. However, this kind of approach was not in step with the times. The sacred and the secular still seemed immiscible, like oil and water. Later years would see the - still controversial introduction of Slavonic under the rubric of"Orthodox culture." To understand the place of Slavonic in the post-Soviet educational landscape, it is helpful first to establish what has happened overall. The end of the Soviet Union resulted in the erosion of certain long-standing educational expectations and practices. In terms ofmoral education (vospitanie), the Soviet system had relied on

The ABCs ofreligious literacy 57 schools as well as youth groups like the Octobrists and the Pioneers. The category of spirituality (dukhovnost') was approached not through religion per se but through the cult of culture, with its emphasis especially on classical literature, music, and art. When the Soviet system ended, the Russian Ministry of Education sought out new curricula in the areas of religion and spirituality. A number of foreign religious groups, including Campus Crusade for Christ and the Unification Church (pejoratively known as the "Moonies"), offered programs that initially were implemented in some places. During the tumultuous 1990s, which were often compared to the 1930s in Chicago, there was much talk of the need for a kind of vospitanie that would counteract the perceived lawlessness, moral depravity, and foreign intervention of the times. There was a push for the teaching of specifically Russian values and traditions in the service not only of education proper but national security. The Orthodox Church, which had been anxious to return to the Russian classroom, encouraged this train of thought (Glanzer 2005). In response to these developments, in 2002 the Russian Ministry of Education unveiled a new curriculum called the Foundations of Orthodox Culture (Osnory pravoslavnoi kul'tury), with a corresponding textbook ofthe same name written by A. V. Borodina. The textbook ignited a firestorm of controversy. Critics assailed it as xenophobic and obscurantist, claiming that Borodina wanted to turn the clock back to the tsarist curriculum known as God's Law, and that her work was out of step with the multi-ethnic and multi-confessional nature of modern Russia. Orthodox supporters rallied to her defense, countering that, with all due respect to the different religious traditions within the Federation, the entire history and culture of Russia is not intelligible without placing Orthodoxy front and center. Other textbooks, including one on comparative religions, were proposed as alternatives. These, in tum, were assailed by Borodina's defenders. No consensus was attained (Basil2007: 51) At the time of writing, the whole question of religion in schools is still being debated. Discussing the details would take us too far afield. What concerns us here is the place of Slavonic in these matters. Slavonic reentered the educational arena with the promotion of the Foundations of Orthodox Culture curriculum. Interestingly enough, Borodina's textbook itself says very little about Church Slavonic; but other manuals representing the same discourse do. Let us take a brief look at two examples. I. G. Arkhipova's 2007 handbook Tserkovnoslavianskii iazyk: posobie dlia uchitelei 5 klassa (The Church Slavonic Language: handbook for students of the fifth grade) is produced by the publisher of the Borodina Foundations curriculum. Arkhipova begins by noting that Slavonic is foundational for the history and culture ofRussia. The post-Soviet deterioration ofRussian culture and the revival of Orthodoxy and authentic national traditions have catalyzed the need to study Slavonic again. The curriculum consists of an hour per week for a total of 34 hours. Individual lessons treat the story of Cyril and Methodius, the nature of the Slavonic alphabet, the dictates of Slavonic recitation, and so on. Arkhipova (2007: 11) recommends that students take field trips to their local church to hear Slavonic

58 The ABCs ofreligious literacy in the liturgy and to see it on icons. The last lesson is set to coincide with the Day of Slavonic Language and Culture- 24 May (see Chapter 5). Orthodox Culture (Pravoslavnaia lad 'tura), by L. L. Shevchenko (2007), is also designed for the fifth grade. Starting with the cover, which has a photograph of the Cyrillo-Methodian monument in Moscow, the text touches on a number of Slavonic-related themes. The prevailing discourse of the book has to do with the "spiritual culture" of Russia. The student is asked to look around and see beautiful examples of art and architecture, to read books by Pushkin, Tiutchev, and other great Russian authors, to listen to the music of Tchaikovsky and Glinka, and to realize that Orthodox Christianity shapes and infuses them all. It is Orthodoxy that lies behind this glorious spiritual and cultural legacy (Shevchenko 2007: 5). In a similar vein, Shevchenko (2007: 108) devotes a section to "The Beautiful World of the Church Slavonic Alphabet," in which he proclaims, "The Church Slavonic language speaks of the joy, wisdom, happiness, and beauty ofthe person's life with God." Focusing on the medieval period, he discusses manuscript letters, and how they are often adorned with animals, plants, shapes, and so on, to indicate their essential spiritual meaning. The section concludes with some questions for the student, including: "Wherein lies the beauty of Church Slavonic?" and "What (or who) might ruin this beauty?" (Shevchenko 2007: 112)- a wisp of conspiratorial discourse we will see fully formed in Chapter 7. As these examples indicate, Slavonic has reentered the classroom through the study of culture. It would be possible to study Slavonic in secular schools in the way that Latin is studied in the West- that is to say, as a matter of history and culture (Kravetskii 2009). And, on one level, that's what seems to be happening here. But a closer look reveals a submerged religious dimension. The abovementioned textbooks, from Borodina to Shevchenko, are part of a broader disciplinary trend in Russia known as "culturology" (Willems 2007). In this academic discourse, which bears a passing resemblance to Western cultural studies, cultures are typically viewed as self-contained monadic entities. Thus, Egypt was a riverine culture, Greece was maritime culture, the West is an oceanic culture (Laruelle 2004: 30-1 ). Since culture is related to cultus, religious factors are viewed as essential to the generative matrix of each culture. Art and literature are not autonomous enterprises, but rooted in the institutionalized religion of that culture. Faith is apprehended as a collective phenomenon which involves the nation, and not as an individual choice that belongs to the private sphere: the link between Russia and the Orthodox Church is thus presented as a self-evident fact that no good citizen can evade. (Laruelle 2004: 32-3) Drugs, crime, prostitution, televisual violence, and the other problems afflicting post-communist Russia are associated with the liberal West, and as such are inherently alien to the nature of Russia's spiritually rich, Orthodox-based culture (Willems 2007: 236). Thus, the return of Church Slavonic to the classroom must be seen in relation to this broader, influential direction in Russian academics.

The ABCs ofreligious literacy 59

*** For many Russians, the post-Soviet era has been one of abecedarianism. Cut off from developments abroad as much as from their own past, Russians have had to master the ABCs of novel forms of knowledge in the bracing context of postcommunist transition. Dictionaries, lexicons, self-help manuals, and how-to guidebooks have proliferated as Russians have sought to learn- or relearn- the "languages" of everything from capitalism to Christianity. The various programs and curricula to teach Church Slavonic, the traditional language ofRussian religion -some successful, some not- should be seen against these broader patterns. For much of Russian history, literacy meant Slavonic literacy. Generations of students learned Slavonic by painstakingly working through a series of canonical texts. Book learning was reinforced not only by ritual repetition but by the sonic and iconic presence of Slavonic throughout the semiotic landscape. The Bolsheviks put an end to that long-standing tradition While Old Church Slavonic - the oldest stratum associated with Cyril and Methodius and their immediate disciples - continued to be held in high regard in Soviet scholarship, Church Slavonic was quarantined in the ecclesiastical domain, which itself was left for dead by the theory of Marxism-Leninism. Knowledge of the hieratic language faded. The post-Soviet period has seen a burst of enthusiasm for studying the ancient language. Dictionaries, primers, and grammars of all kinds have been reprinted or created anew. More recently, CDs, DVDs, and computer programs have provided innovative means for Slavonic instruction. As the language ofRussian Orthodoxy, Slavonic is being learned by new generations of believers and clerics, sometimes through formal courses of study, other times simply through a text with glosses, footnotes, or parallel columns in Slavonic and Russian. As the traditional language of Russian history and culture, Slavonic has even made its way back in a limited way to the public school system. It is extremely doubtful that Slavonic will ever be studied in the same way and to the same degree that it was in the pre-revolutionary period, but there are some signs of general catechetical maturation. Naletova (2007: 52-3) observes, "While, at the beginning of the 1990s, small booklets were most popular, today they do not satisfy customers' interests, and many-volume editions of theological and historical works have become more popular." Further evidence that Slavonic has achieved a newfound status is provided by the Center for the Study of Church Slavonic, part of the Russian Academy of Sciences. Formally established in 2009, the Center brings together experts with both secular/academic and religious/ecclesiastical orientations. It is currently headed by Aleksandr Kravetskii, one of the leading authorities on Modem Church Slavonic. The Center's mandate is to produce authoritative Church Slavonic dictionaries, grammars, bibliographies, and critical editions of Slavonic texts (http://oroik. prokimen.ru/newsarchive/5 87-cslav 191 009, accessed 31 December 2009). The very existence of such an institute suggests that the study of Church Slavonic has made substantial progress since the quick reprinting of prerevolutionary primers in the first light of post-communist society.

60 The ABCs ofreligious literacy What are the end results? How many people know Slavonic? How many have mastered the language of the Orthodox faith? To the best of my knowledge, "before and after" studies are not available, but thanks to the sociological research ofChesnokova (2005) and Sinelina (2006), we can form a rough picture of Church Slavonic today. Both sociologists object to the ali-or-nothing characterizations that are made about Orthodoxy in Russia. They suggest that the connection to Orthodoxy is a matter of degrees of "churching." It is a process involving different stages of involvement in Orthodox beliefs and practices. The criteria they use are: church attendance, confession and communion, Bible reading, prayer, and observation of fasts. Based on these criteria, they posit five cohorts of self-described Orthodox religionists ranked on a spectrum: the churched, the half-churched, the neophytes or novices, the weakly churched, and the unchurched. In addition to the criteria of church attendance, fasting, and so on, a number of supplemental questions were asked to participants in the polls, including: do you know the Church Slavonic language? Possible answers were as follows: don't know don't know but would like to study understand when I hear it (especially known texts) and can read it if the text is printed in civil type understand Church Slavonic and have the ability to read it hard to answer no answer (Chesnokova 2005: 56)

The results show that knowledge of Church Slavonic generally increases with "churchness": 98.8 percent of the unchurched claim no knowledge of Slavonic, while the figure drops to 92.7 for the weakly churched, and 87.2 for beginners or neophytes. Shifting the perspective, 10.3 percent of the half-churched and 7.4 of the churched claim they "understand" Slavonic when they hear it and can read it in civil (i.e. modem Cyrillic) type. And 26 percent of the churched say they understand and can read Slavonic (Chesnokova 2005: 191 ). Sinelina 's (2006) research confirms and extends the work of Chesnokova. A survey consisting of 1794 respondents in urban and rural settings across 14 areas of the Russian Federation yielded interesting results. Of the respondents, 76 per cent called themselves Orthodox. However, 59 per cent said they were "believers," which suggests that, for a particular sector of Russian society, Orthodoxy is primarily a means of cultural identity (Sinelina 2006: 95; cf Agadjanian 2001a). Using Sinelina's figures, 76 percent of the population is Orthodox (about 107 million people). Of that number, 13 percent (14 million) qualify as "churched," with 33 percent ofthem (4.6 million) claiming a good understanding of Slavonic (another 8 percent of this group expressed a desire to learn it). Those claiming an understanding tended to be female, elderly, educated, and urban. Of the "halfchurched," 14 per cent (again, about 4.6 million people) said they could understand

The ABCs ofreligious literacy 61 Slavonic, while 10 percent of the neophytes (2 million people) claimed they could read Church Slavonic. All told, perhaps 10--12 million Orthodox religionists claim some ability to understand Slavonic and read it in some form or another, depending on the text and the context. Although there are no data comparing Soviet and postSoviet knowledge, these figures clearly indicate a noteworthy revival of Church Slavonic. Progress has indeed been made in increasing knowledge of the language ofthe faith.

4

Translator, traitor? The debate over liturgical language

Wherever fidelity is well defined, there apostasy is likely to be well defined as well. Where language maintenance is viewed as moral rectitude, there language The shift is likely to be viewed as tantamount to moral transgression language which is a companion, key and expression of the faith may, indeed, become not only an article of faith but a faith in its own right. (Fishman 1997: 19) Brian Moore's 1972 novel Catholics concerns a liturgical language controversy that arises after "Vatican IV." It seems that a group ofmonks from Muck Abbey have maintained the Latin Mass. Pilgrims from all over Europe and as far away as America have been coming to hear the ritual done in the "old way," to pray the Rosary, and to go to private confession "in the box" with a priest. A BBC special has made a spectacle of the affair. All of this has put the Catholic Church in an awkward position, given the prevailing ecumenical zeitgeist. The performance of the Latin-language Tridentine Mass- "Backs to the congregation, vestments, introibo ad altare dei" (Moore 2006: 17) - not only contravenes the spirit of aggiornamento characteristic ofVatican II. It also distracts and undermines the position of the Church just at the moment of so-called apertura: "when interpenetration between Christian and Buddhist faiths is on the verge of reality" (Moore 2006: 53). The Latin Mass, a demode symbol of myth and miracle, cannot stand. Enter James Kinsella, a Harvard-trained American priest and advocate of liberation theology, who is dispatched with cease-and-desist orders from his superior at the "Amsterdam Ecumenical Center." Sporting a paramilitary dispatch case and wearing gray-green fatigues and a flying jacket, he arrives by helicopter at the remote and rugged Muck Island. In the course of his visit, one of the monks confronts Kinsella and bursts into a full-throated defense of the Latin Mass: if the Mass was in Latin and people did not speak Latin, that was part of the mystery of it, for the Mass was not talking to your neighbor, it was talking to God. Almighty God! And we did it that way for nearly two thousand years and, in all that time, the church was a place to be quiet in, and respectful, it was a hushed place because God was there, God on the altar, in the tabernacle

The debate over liturgical language 63 in the fonn of a wafer of bread and a chalice of wine . this new Mass isn't a mystery, it's a mockery, a singsong, it's not talking to God, it's talking to your neighbor, and that's why it's in English, or Gennan or Chinese or whatever language the people in the church happen to speak. It's a symbol, they say, but a symbol of what? It's some entertainment show, that's what it is. (Moore 2006: 57-8) In Kinsella's mind, such views are sadly out step with "today's best thinking," which has seen "the disappearance ofthe church building as a place ofworship in favor of a more generalized community concept, a group gathered in a meeting to celebrate God-in-others" (Moore 2006: 85). Moore's slim masterpiece brilliantly illustrates how contestations over liturgical language come to epitomize different visions of religion and society. Which is more important - the vertical relationship with the divine, or the horizontal engagement with community? Is the liturgy a blessed refuge from a sinful world, or an engine of social transfonnation? There is also the matter of change and development. The Second Vatican Council is widely seen as moving the Catholic Church away from a vertical and toward a more horizontal orientation, from a self-contained sanctuary marked off by clear borders - distinct clerical dress, demanding rules of ritual propriety, prohibitions against entering non-Catholic churches, and so on- to a more open and appreciative encounter with other faiths and with secular culture as a whole. The move was epitomized for many in the shift from the hieratic language of Latin to vernaculars in the Mass (Austin 2008: 51). In the 1990s, Russian Orthodoxy experienced a divisive debate over liturgical language that echoed (and invoked) the experience of the Catholic Church at Vatican II. As in the Catholic case, the question oflanguage was "bundled" with a number of other proposed refonns, including switching to the Gregorian calendar (the Russian Church still uses the Julian), introducing pews (members are expected to stand during the long church services), moving the iconostasis (the icon screen that separates the mysteries at the altar from the main part of the church), and developing a more dynamic social-outreach and inter-faith profile. But, as was also the case in Vatican II, it was the issue oflanguage that became the symbolic fiashpoint in these complex and hotly disputed issues, the topic that summed up and symbolized two entire theological (or ideological) complexes. The issue of whether the traditional Church Slavonic liturgy should be maintained or in some measure "Russified" started as an in-house debate. But it quickly spilled into the public arena, where it was taken up in newspaper articles and radio shows. It even became something of a cause celebre when such high-profile intellectuals as Dmitrii Likhachev, Valentin Rasputin, and Igor Shafarevich weighed in on the matter. (As it happens, all three were in favor of maintaining Church Slavonic.) Although a number of progressive Russian Orthodox priests have advocated replacing Slavonic, the debate in the 1990s was catalyzed by one particular parish in Moscow that experimented with using Russian in the liturgy. Fr. Georgii

64 The debate over liturgical language

Kochetkov and his small but active congregation wanted to introduce the vernacular in order to make the faith more accessible and meaningful, especially to the many neophytes who, post-communism, were entering churches for the first time. When traditionalists heard of these innovations, they reacted with vehemence. Like the monk's defense of Latin in Catholics, they insisted on the sacredness and immutability of the archaic Church Slavonic language. They viewed any attempt at change, especially when done without the approval of church authorities, as tantamount to apostasy. They denounced the translations of liturgical service books done by the "Kochetkovites" as a betrayal of Orthodoxy and indeed of Russia. Though the traditionalists typically celebrated the Russian language in other contexts and lobbied for its defense against the incursion of loanwords and non-standard elements (see Chapter 2), they feared that replacing Slavonic with Russian in the liturgy heralded a nightmarish future of the kind depicted in Catholics: rampant heresy, secularization, and ecumenism - "the ecclesiastical counterpart to EU integration" (Ramet 2006: 155). Traditionalists worry about "forces" (sily) that conspire against the Russian Church (e. g. Tikhon 1999: 5). The imagined experience of Catholicism after Vatican II - empty pews, defrocked priests, guitar Masses -was held up as a cautionary tale. Meanwhile, the reformists also looked to Vatican II, but saw things differently. They noted that even the Catholic Church, which used to be decried in Orthodox catechisms for using a dead language, had made the move to the vernacular in keeping with its more positive relationship with the surrounding world. They accused traditionalists of turning their backs on religious seekers and making a false idol out of the Slavonic language. The question of liturgical language, of course, has been a persistent one in the history of Christianity. Wainwright (2006: 17) refers to a set of "historically recurrent tensions" in the practice of Christian worship "between mystery and intelligibility, between sacral and mundane, between inheritance and novelty, between universality and particularity, between unity and diversity, and between fixity and freedom." Many of these themes will be sounded in the Russian Orthodox controversy. Indeed, many secular communities are similarly divided between a "traditionalist" constituency and a "modernizing" one that seeks greater integration with the wider world (Grenoble and Whaley 2006: 3). But saying this drains the post-Soviet Orthodox debate of its details and drama. For one thing, it does not do justice to the complicated polemics of the debate. Both sides advanced a cluster of arguments that converged and crisscrossed in fascinating and not always consistent ways. Moreover, although the question of language may be a perennial one, each debate is framed by particular non-replicable circumstances. Just as the context of Vatican II was vitally different from that of the Protestant Reformation, in part because it was self-consciously after the Reformation, so too the context of the post-Soviet debate differed from that of mid-century Catholicism, in part because it was self-consciously after Vatican II. I would suggest, then, that although it resembles those previous debates, the controversy in the Orthodox Church was shaped by circumstances very much distinctive to post-Soviet Russia.

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To understand the intensity of the debate, one must first appreciate the place of liturgy within the Russian Orthodox Church. The Bible, creed, and doctrines that are thought to form the hard skeletal structure of Western Christianity are understood by Eastern Christians as being "embodied" in the organic fullness of the liturgy. In his classic introduction to Eastern Orthodoxy, Timothy (Kallistos) Ware writes: The Orthodox approach to religion is fundamentally a liturgical approach, which understands doctrine in the context of divine worship: it is no coincidence that the word "Orthodoxy" should signify alike right belief and Orthodoxy sees man right worship, for the two things are inseparable above all else as a liturgical creature who is most truly himself when he glorifies God, and who finds his perfection and self-fulfillment in worship. Into the Holy Liturgy which expresses their faith, the Orthodox peoples have poured their whole religious experience. It is the Liturgy which has inspired their best poetry, art, and music. (Ware 1963: 271-2) One consequence ofthis orientation, Ware goes on to suggest, is that any changes to the liturgy can be seen to threaten the entire faith. The Soviet handling of religion actually magnified the customary liturgical piety of the Orthodox Church. A Church that was already conservative became even more so during the parlous Soviet reign (Ramet 2006: 150). Theological study, which was never cultivated to the extent that it was in the West, was cut short in 1917 (Ivanov 1994: 37). With other channels of religious expression eliminated, the liturgy became that much more important (Bodin 2009: 37). As Billington (1999: 59) explains: Soviet regulations permitted only liturgical worship and sought to prevent all broader teaching of the faith or even reading of the Bible in the hopes that Christianity would die by becoming simply a theatrical artifact. On the contrary, the intensity of devotion invested in the liturgy became even greater, since there was no other point of contact with the Church. Add to this state of affairs the vertiginous changes taking place in post-communist religion and language (sketched in Chapter 2). Just as the Russian Orthodox Church was trying to reestablish its position in society, a variety of foreign missionary groups, as well as the more exotic "Moonies" and Scientologists, appeared in Russia. Previously unknown or forbidden words and styles were altering the complexion of the Russian language. The country seemed to be drowning in tawdry Western products. Therefore, a move to replace Russia's hieratic language - Church Slavonic - seemed catastrophic to religious and cultural conservatives. Another crucial factor was the legacy of communism. From public allegations of clerical collaboration with the KGB (reaching all the way up to the leader of the Russian Church, Patriarch Aleksii II) to the growing cult of "new martyrs," the 1990s were a time of reflection on the Church's tangled

66 The debate over liturgical language relationship with Soviet power (see, especially, Ellis 1994). In terms of liturgical language, this means, above all, coming to terms with Renovationism, a movement that- not entirely correctly- is associated with a Bolshevik-inspired push for liturgical vernacularization. "The experience of the Renovationist schism caused deep trauma in the ROC [Russian Orthodox Church] and its spectre continues to haunt the hierarchy today'' (Walters 2004: 89). Thus, the thorny legacy of communism, the perceived threat of Western cults and culture, and the relationship between Church and society in a pluralistic environment were all thrown into the crucible ofthe 1990s liturgical language debate. Though a number of works on post-Soviet religion reference the controversy (e.g. Ellis 1994; Knox 2005; N. Davis 2003), there has been no full-fledged explication of the arguments involved. Gopenko (2009) helpfully situates the postSoviet case in relation to the longue duree of liturgical reform in Russia. Bodin's sensitive treatment (2009) delineates some- but by no means all- of the arguments. Elsewhere, I have discussed certain aspects of the debate (Bennett 2009). The goal ofthis chapter is a more detailed exposition of the arguments involved. Such an account may be of particular value for students of liturgy and church history, for whom the topic has a kind of self-evident importance; but it may also prove beneficial for those interested in language policy, who are less used to the minutiae of ecclesiastical polemics. With a few exceptions (e.g. Spolsky 2004), religion is scanted in most treatments of language policy (e.g. Wright 2004; Ricento 2006; Shohamy 2006). Yet, as Crystal (1990: 122) notes, ''No imposed linguistic change has ever affected so many people at once as when Latin was replaced by the vernacular in Roman Catholic Christianity." The case of postSoviet Russian Orthodoxy is not of that magnitude. For one thing, the Russian Church is considerably smaller than the Catholic Church. For another, unlike at Vatican II, the debate did not culminate in a change of policy- hieratic Slavonic was not replaced by vernacular Russian. Nonetheless, with tens of millions of members, the Russian Church is larger than many of the nations that regularly receive attention in the sociolinguistic literature. And the fact that the Church stayed with Slavonic instead of moving quickly to the vernacular has no doubt had a profound effect on its status and standing in Russian society. Finally, Blommaert's comments (1999: 10) are applicable in this case: "Some debates, however, remain inconsequential. In terms of power effects, they failed. Still they may be highly illustrative of political and ideological traditions in the field of language in a particular society at a particular moment." An examination of the liturgical language debate provides a unique window into the Russian Orthodox Church in post-Soviet times.

*** When approaching the post-Soviet liturgical language ruckus, I have found Blommaert's discussion of "language ideological debates" to be a particularly helpful starting point, even though he does not discuss religion per se. Language debates, suggests Blommaert (1999: 2), are

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organized around issues of purity and impurity of languages, the social "value" of some language(s) as opposed to (an)other(s), the sociopolitical desirability of the use of one language or language variety over another, the symbolic "quality" of languages and varieties as emblems of nationhood, cultural authenticity, progress, modernity, democracy, self-respect, freedom, socialism, equality. These debates do not happen in a vacuum; rather, they occur against a wider societal backdrop where these or similar issues are being contested in different ways and on different levels. Care must be taken to delineate the relation between the language debate and broader sociopolitical positions and contestations. Drawing on Braudel's notions of longue and courte duree, Blommaert further suggests that time is uneven when it comes to language-ideological debates. Extended periods of stasis are interrupted by rapid interventions: The patterns in which these interventions occur are discontinuous: there are crucial moments in history during which languages become targets of political, social and cultural intervention, and there are moments in which very little in the way of drama and crisis seems to happen. (Blommaert 1999: 425) The post-Soviet period is one of these "crucial moments" or "critical junctures" (Bennett 2009), when the issue of Church Slavonic became vital again after decades of Soviet-enforced quietude. Both aspects ofthe debate- the largely static long term and the dramatic short term- need to be considered. Finally, Blommaert ( 1999: 10) notes that language debates are "textual/discursive, they produce discourses and metadiscourses, and they result in a battery of texts that can be borrowed, quoted, echoed, vulgarized, etc." In what follows I sketch the longue duree of the Slavonic issue leading up to the 1990s. I then turn to the main texts and discourses that appeared in the post-Soviet period. In a way, the status of Slavonic has been debated since its inception, when the "rights" of Slavonic propounded by Cyril and Methodius were rejected by the Frankish (Catholic) clergy. Subsequent centuries saw a number of phases in the Slavonic "language question," as Church Slavonic was pitted against Greek, Latin, and finally the titular languages of the emerging Slavic nations. Much of this, however, focused on the merits of Slavonic as a literary tongue (Picchio 1984 ). The question of Slavonic as a liturgical language became an explicit point of controversy in the early twentieth century. Most of the arguments developed in the pre-revolutionary period have been recycled in the post-communist period. The qualities and deficiencies of Slavonic versus Russian; the priorities of intelligibility, sacrality, beauty, and mystery; the importance of Slavic Orthodox unity; the examples of other languages and churches; the threat of foreign "sects"; the Cyrillo-Methodian principle; the tasks of education and translation- all of these overlapping themes carry over from the pre-revolutionary to the postcommunist debate.

68 The debate over liturgical language

In the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, questions began to be asked about the intelligibility of Church Slavonic. At that time, the Russian Church was beginning to prepare for a local council. Though not on a par with the seven Ecumenical Councils that are considered authoritative across the Orthodox world, a local council can be of great consequence for the practice and organization of a particular canonical territory. In 1905 Russian bishops were canvassed about the state of the Church, though not about Church Slavonic in particular. Their "Responses" ( Otzyry) expressed a wide range of opinions. Of the prelates who responded, 28 of 48 commented on the incomprehensibility of Church Slavonic (Gopenko 2009: 134). Most favored a fresh Slavonic translation of the service books or a capital revision of the existing ones. Some called for the texts to be composed in ''New Slavonic," a Russified variety of Slavonic, while still others advocated wholesale translation into Russian (Balashov 2 001 : 24-31 ). These Otzyry have been published and continue to be mined by both traditionalists and reformists in the post-communist period. Pre-revolutionary Russia enjoyed a vibrant religious press, and between 1905 and 1917 the issue of liturgical language was widely discussed in ecclesiastical publications (Balashov 2001: 117-18). When the council of 1917-18 finally convened, the issues involving Slavonic and liturgical language had been debated off and on for a decade. The question of liturgical language reform was debated in meetings of a conciliar sub-section, though not in the plenary sessions (Prokschi 2007). The end result ofthese discussions was a doklad (article) that included the following planks: The Slavonic language is a great heritage and treasure and should therefore be retained as the basic language of the liturgy. In order to bring the liturgy closer to the people, the right of Russian to be used in the liturgy is acknowledged. The quick and complete introduction of Russian is impractical and undesirable. The partial application of Russian (in certain prayers, for instance) is acceptable if it helps comprehension Church authorization is required for the introduction of Russian. Parallel and explanatory texts, as well as the study of Slavonic in school, are encouraged. (Balashov 2001: 136-45) Kravetskii (1996: 121) notes an intriguing parallel with the key document of Vatican II, Sacrosanctum Cone ilium, in which the traditional status of Latin is confirmed yet provision is made for the vernacular in the Roman rite. The doklad was eventually submitted to the ruling body of the council. According to Kravetskii ( 1996: 121 ), this means that the recommendations could be introduced into the life (proveden v zhizn ')of the Church. Balashov (2001: 158) stresses that the Church could, but was not required to, implement the doklad. The disputed status of the recommendations will figure in the post-communist debate.

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The issue is unsettled in part because the Church was soon overtaken by events. The Bolshevik Revolution and then the Civil War meant that issues of ecclesiastical reform were put aside in the struggle for sheer survival. In fact, information about the 1917-18 council and the various documents attached to it were not well known even within Russian Orthodox circles until the 1990s (Kravetskii and Pletneva 2001: 164). Reform-minded clerics in the post-Soviet period have looked to reclaim the spirit of the council after the Soviet interregnum, while traditionalists cast doubt on its validity or on interpretations of its specific rulings. The next phase in the history of the Church Slavonic language question involves the controversial subject of Renovationism. This was a reform movement that arose within the Russian Orthodox Church after the revolution of 1917, although its roots go back considerably farther (Roslof 2002). As the name indicates, it sought to renew - renovate -Russian church life. While the official Church was mostly on its heels following the revolution, the clerics in the Renovationist camp sought to blend Russian Orthodoxy with Soviet ideology, even adapting Bolshevik language and organization for religious purposes (Roslof 2002: 69, 72). Some peripheral groups within the movement sought to invigorate church life by introducing the Russian vernacular into liturgical services, making the ritual more accessible to the common people. For their efforts, the Renovationists received the hedging support of the Communists and the enmity of religionists. They were vilified as "red priests" and "commissars in cassocks." In the eyes of its opponents, Renovationism was "the religion of the Antichrist." Icons were said to dim and lose their luster in Renovationist churches (Roslof2002: 147, 152, 166). To this day, the very term "Renovationism" is radioactive in Russian ecclesiastical circles, and attempts to introduce liturgical reforms are branded as ''Neo-Renovationist" by traditionalists. However, as the research of Kravetskii and Pletneva demonstrates (2001: 180-223), Renovationism was primarily a political, not a liturgical, phenomenon. Renovationists did not work out a consistent program ofliturgical reform, and any linguistic experiments, including using Russian in worship services, were carried out by marginal groups and not sanctioned by the movement's leaders. Yet, regardless of what historians say, in popular and traditionalist discourse the Renovationists are simply and unequivocally associated with schismatic liturgical reform. The Kochetkovites are, in turn, consistently described by their opponents in terms ofRenovationism. If, before the revolution, the vast majority of Russians had some knowledge of Church Slavonic, this ceased to be the case the further the Soviet Union moved away from the ancien regime. Slavonic, of course, was no longer taught in state schools, and a great many churches and seminaries were shuttered. The ecclesiastical press was largely eliminated; some 400 periodicals had ceased to exist by 1922 (Bakina 2003: 9-13). The liturgy was treated as a relic from a superseded past. Issues ofliturgicallanguage reform were put on the back burner; they were discussed, but not openly or officially. In fact, between 1945 and 1988, only one article on the topic was published in the Journal ofthe Moscow Patriarchate. The question of liturgical reform was broached in the samizdat literature of the 1950s

70 The debate over liturgical language and 1960s, but of course its readership was quite limited (Kravetskii and Pletneva 2001: 241-4). The issue was raised again in earnest only in 1988, at the time of the millennia! celebrations of Christianity in Russia. Two well-known philologists debated the issue. Sergei Averintsev was in favor of translating the service books into Russian, and he would later contribute to this task as part ofKochetkov's Moscow parish. Gelian Prokhorov countered that Church Slavonic should be preserved, and that those who needed to study the language should do so (Gopenko 2009: 167). In the 1990s, Prokhorov would be supported by other philologists at the prestigious Pushkin House in St. Petersburg, including Dmitrii Likhachev. Mechkovskaia (2000: 11) suggests that the majority of Slavonic philologists favor retaining Church Slavonic in the liturgy out of their professional love for the language as well as an educator's optimism that it could be learned. As I noted above, the liturgical language debate flared up again in the 1990s in conjunction with the pastoral work ofFr. Kochetkov. Daniel (2006) offers the best account of these events. My focus will be on the arguments involved. While utilizing various pieces in print and online, I will rely above all on two key publications: one published by reformers associated with Fr. Kochetkov (Iazyk tserkvi; The Language of the Church), the other compiled by Fr. Tikhon and conveying the traditionalist arguments (Bogosluzhebnyi iazyk russkoi tserkvi: istoriia, popytki reformatsii; The Liturgical Language of the Russian Church: history, reform attempts). In the previous chapter, I delineated some of the main arguments in defense of Church Slavonic as found in textbooks and other abecedarian literature: Slavonic is a majestic language fitting for sacred worship. Slavonic unites the Orthodox Slavs through the ages. Slavonic is an ambrosial language that exerts a positive force on the world. Slavonic is a precious historical and linguistic resource. Since the reformists put the issue back on the table, as it were, I will give precedence to their arguments, and then discuss the responses or refutations of the traditionalists. It should be borne in mind that the following account, as complicated as it is, is still a simplification, for neither camp- traditionalist or reformist - is a monolithic bloc.

Intelligibility The rituals of the Russian Orthodox Church are performed in Church Slavonic. The crux of the debate is whether this hieratic language is intelligible to the average churchgoer. Right away it must be said that both reformists and traditionalists seem to envision only Russian speakers in their arguments, even though many other languages and ethnicities fall within the canonical territory of the Russian Orthodox Church. The entire debate essentially revolves around the relationship between adult native (L 1) Russian speakers and the hieratic language of Church Slavonic.

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Liddicoat (1993: 123) provides a helpful starting point. Most religions, he says, have come to or passed through a stage where the religious language is not the native idiom of some or all ofthe practitioners ofthe religion. The religious language may be either an archaic idiom, as in the case ofCranmerian English in the Anglican Communion, a foreign language, as in the European language liturgies of missionaries in the Pacific and elsewhere, or even a dead language, as in the case ofLatin in the rites of the Catholic Church. Both reformists and traditionalists agree that Church Slavonic is different from Russian. The question is: how different? And is this difference a good or a bad thing? Does it enhance the sense of mystery or impede simple comprehension? Orthodox traditionalists would claim that Church Slavonic is perhaps comparable to "Cranmerian English," which is to say they consider it an appropriately elevated yet still understandable idiom for Russian speakers. The reformist position, on the other hand, would be that Church Slavonic has become the "Latin" of the Russian Church - a dead language that has become remote and unintelligible to the majority ofbelievers, and a fortiori to neophytes. Although some suggest that this or that part of the liturgy is more or less intelligible than the rest, in general the discourse ofboth sides consists of sweeping generalizations backed by anecdotal evidence. Sociolinguistic data have never really figured in the debate. Both sides start from the position that conscious participation in the liturgy is a good and necessary thing; the debate revolves around how that goal is best achieved (Pletneva 1997: 106). Everything else flows from that. If the liturgical language is understandable, then nothing need be done. If, however, it is not, then this raises the questions of what needs to be done - Translation? Education? Better church attendance?- and who should do it. The starting point of the reformist position is that Church Slavonic is largely unintelligible to the contemporary believer, and that this is a problematic state of affairs. Orthodox reformists would concur with Crystal's judgment (1966: 15) that unintelligibility is the "linguistic original sin." They may recognize that Church Slavonic has played a vital role in the course of Russian civilization, but insist that it has, in effect, outlived its usefulness. It is now an impediment. The Gospel message is being obscured by a thick fog ofbeautiful but opaque liturgical hymnody. This is true not just for neophytes, but even for those raised in the faith (Mikhail (Mud'iugin) 1997 [1993]: 82). Borisov (1994: 122-3) reports a kind of "experiment": an example of a text read every day in church that was unintelligible to a philologist -therefore even more so for a "grandmother." Historical reasons are usually adduced to explain this situation. A common assumption of the reformist camp is that the relationship between Church Slavonic and Russian could be characterized in terms of diglossia that over time gave way to bilingualism (cf. Uspenskii 1994). If Slavonic and Russian are not just different registers, but separate and distinct languages, then translation becomes necessary.

72 The debate over liturgical language The chief reformist complaint about Slavonic presumes that intelligibility is a desideratum in the religious or liturgical context. This may seem obvious, but in fact a number of traditionalists will chip away at this assumption, suggesting that there is more going on in the liturgy than the simple transmission of information. Traditionalists would concur with Heretz (2008: 23) when he says that "to frame the language question in terms of intellectual comprehension- as opposed to the evocation of a certain psychological state - is to accept the premises of Protestantism." The liturgy, some say, is an enveloping mystery that cannot be reduced to the verbal-semantic level (R.afail2008: 218). Reformists, on the other hand, suggest that without intellectual comprehension, without the mind being engaged, the ceremony is meaningless (Kostromin 1997: 112). They acknowledge the beauty of Church Slavonic, but contend that aesthetic qualities are not a priority, and moreover that the price to be paid for such beauty- namely, a loss of comprehension- is too steep (Zuttner 1997: 91). Reformists also link the issue of intelligibility to the competition that the Russian Church faces in the post-Soviet "market place of faiths." For instance, Krylezhev (1997: 39) juxtaposes the experience of newcomers at "evangelical meetings" with that of a Russian Orthodox service, with its paki i paid (a recurring phrase meaning "again and again" that is intoned a number oftimes during the Slavonic liturgy). Averintsev (1997 [1994]: 11) warns that people will leave the Church. The chief contention of the traditionalists is that Church Slavonic must be maintained in the Russian Orthodox liturgy. They object to Kochetkov on a number of grounds, blending odium theologicum with ad hominem vituperation: Kochetkov behaved without the endorsement of the church hierarchy; he fostered a cult-like atmosphere in his parish; his translations ofliturgical texts into Russian were at best poorly done and at worst a desecration of sacred tradition; abetted by "forces" hostile to Russia, the Kochetkovites represent a kind of fifth column intent on destroying Russian Orthodoxy from within. But let us focus on the arguments instead of the personal attacks. For traditionalists, reports ofthe death of Church Slavonic have been greatly (and maliciously) exaggerated (cf. Shurtakov 1995: 11 0). Slavonic is not Latin. It is beloved - and understood - by all good churchgoing people, just as it has been for a millennium. Traditionalists believe that holy things require holy words. They would agree with the following statement by Crystal (1964: 150) regarding liturgical speech:

In general, the care we take over our language is in proportion to the importance we credit the situation- which usually means the person(s) to whom we are addressing. The more careful our language, the more respected the recipient of it The product ofthis extra care is thus a formally abnormal style which one does not expect to meet in ordinary situations, and which is valuable because its unfamiliarity signals the extra-ordinary purpose of the liturgical situation and demands added concentration. However, Crystal (1964: 151) goes on to warn against "a style so formally esoteric that it cannot be understood." Now, some traditionalists do acknowledge that

The debate over liturgical language 13 comprehension of Church Slavonic is a problem for contemporary believers. But translation is considered far too radical and dangerous, especially when simpler solutions - such as increased education and attendance- are at hand. The opacities ofthe liturgical service books perhaps should be corrected, but the contribution of Church Slavonic should not be questioned tout court (Kozlov 1997: 22-3). A related argument is that any confusion that arises in the liturgy stems not from the language per se, but from the biblical or doctrinal content of the texts; therefore, switching to Russian would not necessarily solve the problem (Pletneva 1997: 100-1; Kozarzhevskii 1999: 234). As in the legal, medical or philosophical domains, the ecclesiastical domain has a specialized vocabulary that is distinct from everyday speech and must be learned (Kondrat' eva 2002: 364). Why do people believe they should be able to drop into a worship service at any time and immediately understand what is being said (Mamonov 1999: 266)? Why should the Church have to make concessions to philistines and not the other way around (Likhachev 1999 [1998]: 276)? Traditionalists note that there is no shortage of textbooks or Slavonic-Russian prayer books. In any event, Slavonic is ultimately rodnoi (native) and therefore easily grasped by Russian speakers. The core words of the Christian faith- Trinity, God, Mother of God, faith, hope, love, evil, sin, patience, and so on - are known to all and require no translation (Nazvanov 1999: 294). As a recent textbook would have it: "The Church Slavonic language is in large part understandable even without special study, when a believer really listens reverently to it" (Vorob' eva 2008: 4 ). Traditionalists observe that people are willing to spend a great amount of time and energy studying English or German or Chinese - so why not Slavonic, which is much more important? Some impute laziness to those who do not bother to acquire the language ofthe faith. According to traditionalists, Slavonic is intelligible to people who attend church on a regular basis; it is only the neophyte intelligentsia who do not understand it, and constitute a vocal minority agitating for change. The image ofthe narod- the people, the masses, das Volk- plays an important role in traditionalist discourse. The people are the ballast of history. Intellectual fashions come and go, but the people remain constant in their piety and practice. "Standing among the simple people and looking at their faces, one sees that they understand the liturgy" (Kozarzhevskii 1999: 235). Slavonic is intelligible to "illiterate old folks who conscientiously attend church" (Mamonov 1999: 268). If it were not, they would have decamped for the Renovationist Church earlier in the twentieth century (Koroblin and Mikhailova 1999: 48). And here is another key component in the traditionalist argument: churchness (votserkovlennost). Comprehension of Slavonic varies according to the degree of one's churching (po mere votserkovleniia) (Pletneva 1997: 99). For those schooled in the faith, who regularly pray and attend the liturgy, there is basically no problem. Thus, traditionalist discourse projects a scenario of asymmetrical opposition between the churched masses, who are for Church Slavonic, and unchurched intellectuals, who are against it.

74 The debate over liturgical language

Merits of Church Slavonic and Russian Part of the liturgical language debate hinges on the putative qualities of Russian versus Church Slavonic. According to reformists, Russian is perfectly acceptable for use in the liturgy- in fact, any language is. In the pre-revolutionary period, it was common to point out that the Orthodox liturgy had already been translated for many of the peoples of the Russian Empire- Tatars, Mordvianians, Finns, et al.yet, ironically, not for the Russians themselves (Balashov 2001: 63-6). But this argument is not heard in the post-Soviet period. One of the main tactics ofthe reformists is to call into question the very idea of a "sacred" language. It is not that they are particularly enamored of Russian or feel that it is somehow superior to Church Slavonic. Rather, they question the sacralization of Slavonic. Christianity, it is asserted, is not a religion of the book in the mold of Islam or Judaism, but a religion of a person: Christ (Borisov 1994: 125). The idea of a sacred language is actually inimical to Christianity. Any sacred-profane schematism is an artificial imposition, for no thing is inherently sacred or conveys sacrality (Kostromin 1997: 109). The true language of the Church is always an interior matter (Zaidenberg 1998: 63). Calling this or that language "sacred" is tantamount to idolatry (cf. Borisov 1994: 132). The traditionalists do not see things that way. For them, there is a clear and vital distinction between the sacred and the profane. They mark off Church Slavonic as a sacred language, distinct from - and superior to - Russian. Church Slavonic is not an idol, but "our verbal icon" (nasha slovesnaia ikona) (Kamchatnov 1999: 229). According to Mamonov (1999), Church Slavonic is a ceremonial language (torzhestvennyi iazyk) intended for the collective worship of God. It is a special kind of language, just as church architecture and vestments are different from everyday buildings and clothing. The difference between Russian and Church Slavonic is comparable to the architectural difference between a dom (house, building) and a khram (temple, church). As for clothing, should the Orthodox, asks Mamonov, start wearing jeans to church services as the Protestant sectarians do? Similar comparisons are echoed in the traditionalist discourse: for example, the idea that mixing Church Slavonic and Russian would be like having a bishop's miter adorned with an Adidas logo (Mamonov 1999: 31 0). Such statements clearly reflect circumstances beyond church walls. In the eyes of the traditionalists, the sacrality of Church Slavonic derives from several interrelated factors. First, it was devised by Saints Cyril and Methodius under divine inspiration. Second, due to its linguistic properties, Church Slavonic faithfully preserves the contents of the Greek biblical and liturgical literature. Third, Slavonic has been hallowed by a millennium of prayer and worship by pious Russians. The valorization of Church Slavonic depends in part on its purported qualities. It is said to be pure, subtle, and complex - capable of expressing all the shades and nuances of Orthodox theology. Russian, on the other hand, is deemed impoverished. It changes - and not always for the better. In this connection, traditionalists point to the startling transformation of Russian since the fall of communism (see Chapter 2). The language has become beclouded by loanwords,

The debate over liturgical language 75

obscenities, and prison argot. Switching to Russian would result in a diminution of the rich, multifaceted Orthodox tradition. Thus, although they defend it in other contexts, the logic of the traditionalist position is such that they must denigrate Russian as a vehicle for Orthodox worship. The language of the street is altogether out of place in the sanctuary. The late Metropolitan Ioann, a notoriously right-wing prelate, called Russian a language of prostitutes and thieves (Pospielovsky 1995: 261 ). More moderate voices question whether the Church would have the literary resources to undertake the monumental task of translating Slavonic into Russian. The efforts ofKochetkov and Averintsev were deemed a failure.

Orthodox Tradition The concept of Tradition- with a capital T-is central to Orthodox Christianity. The drive to get "back to basics," which we often associate with Protestantism, generally runs counter to the agglutinative character of Orthodoxy. "The Orthodox Christian oftoday sees himself as heir and guardian to a great inheritance received from the past, and he believes that it is his duty to transmit this inheritance unimpaired to the future" (Ware 1963: 204). Tradition encompasses not only the Bible, but the Ecumenical Councils, the writings of great monks and theologians, as well as creeds, liturgies, and even icons. In Orthodox discourse, Tradition is the Spirit-guided unfolding of the Gospel through time. Those who support the maintenance of Church Slavonic and those who propose some manner ofRussification both appeal to Orthodox Tradition, but they adduce different personages and periods to bolster their cases. Because the Bible is understood as embedded within the Tradition, it will be treated here and not under a separate heading. However, even though the same could be said for the Cyrillo-Methodian heritage, it is treated separately below because of its special pertinence to the topic. In general, biblical precedents and prescriptions figure more prominently in the discourse ofthe reformists than that of the traditionalists. For one thing, they look to the Bible itself as a piece of evidence in their favor. Jesus spoke Aramaic, but the Bible was composed in Koine Greek in order to make it more accessible to people living around the Mediterranean. This, say the reformists, has always been the way with Christianity (e.g. Averintsev 1997 [1994]: 10). Specific New Testament sayings or parables are also brought to bear on the language question. For example, Jesus' remark that nothing on the outside can defile a person (Mark 7:14-15) leads some to the conclusion that it is wrong to create a dichotomy that posits Church Slavonic as sacred and Russian as profane (Kostromin 1997: 112). Lapkin ( 1997: 44) warns that to maintain the Gospel in the unintelligible Slavonic idiom is to keep it under a bushel (cf Mark 4:21); it is to give a stone to a child who asks for bread (cf. Matthew 7:9). He compares contemporary defenders of Slavonic to the scribes and Pharisees of Jesus' time. Zaidenberg (1998: 55) asserts that if even one out of99 lambs (cf. Luke 15:3-5) does not understand Church Slavonic, then it must be abandoned and replaced by Russian. All of these statements go back to the intelligibility issue. On this issue, the reformists repeatedly invoke St. Paul's first letter to the Corinthians (14:5-19), to the effect

76 The debate over liturgical language that clarity is paramount. They also refer to the passages when Jesus commands his disciples to spread the Gospel to all nations (e.g. Matthew 28: 19). This passage is often linked with the story of Pentecost (Acts 2), which reformists see as sanctifying all languages. Since every language can be a vehicle for the dissemination of the Good News, this necessarily includes Russian. Traditionalists generally do not invoke specific biblical precedents to the same degree. Some suggest, however, that while Jesus spoke in Aramaic, he prayed in Hebrew - thus setting a pattern for the use of sacred languages in Christian worship. Others contend that Slavonic is indispensible because it has faithfully preserved the Septuagint (LXX) version of the Old Testament used throughout Orthodox Christianity. Beyond the Bible, reformists tend to emphasize two aspects of Orthodox Tradition: the missionary and the reforming. After Cyril and Methodius, they probably refer most frequently to St. Stephen of Perm, a fourteenth-century missionary who is credited with creating a new alphabet for the Permic (Komi) people (Pletneva 1997: 102). Cyril and Methodius, Stephen of Perm- the reformists gladly situate themselves in this stream of the Tradition. Meanwhile, their opponents create a different lineage for them, connecting them with such radical figures as Luther, Calvin, and- closer to home- Tolstoy (Murav'ev 1996: 242-3). Beyond specific saints, reformists above all emphasize the council of 1917-18. The basic idea is that the Church was on its way to Russifying the liturgy if only it had been allowed to fulfill its mandate. Contemporary translations ofthe service books are therefore a legitimate extension and implementation of the spirit of the council. According to the reformists, the Otzyvy of the bishops in 1905 show that a majority wanted something to be done to make the liturgy more intelligible, with a minority even supporting the radical idea of replacing Slavonic with Russian altogether (Borisov 1994: 131 ). They also suggest that the do/dad from the council legitimated liturgical reform. In the Orthodox view, councils are not some kind of man-made apparatus artificially attached to biblical truth (as they might be caricatured from a certain Protestant perspective), but organic outgrowths of revelation guided by the Holy Spirit. The reformists attempt to authorize their actions by claiming that they are, in effect, the delayed implementation of the 191 7-18 council's wishes. This puts the traditionalists in an awkward position, since they would appear to be the ones who are most keen on upholding the authoritative traditions of the Orthodox Church. They make several replies. Some claim that the reformists distort the council record, magnifying the number of bishops who truly favored reform. Some go further and cast doubt on the council itself. They note that reforms of the early twentieth century were infected by the Western ideologies of humanism and secularism, which are inherently alien to authentic Orthodox Tradition. The council had a democratic- even secular- character, lacking in the Holy Spirit. There was a kind of"Presbyterianist" mutiny on the part ofthe parish priests against the bishops, who had all spoken in defense of Church Slavonic (Koroblin and Mikhail ova 1999: 60-1 ). Proof of the alien and unacceptable nature of the council is the fact that the people (narod) rejected it. Here, were come to

The debate over liturgical language 77

another important aspect of the Orthodox imaginaire. Church councils are legitimate only ifthey meet with the approval of the people, who act as a kind oflitmus test and safeguard pure Orthodox doctrine. Traditionalists contend that, although the Synod (the hierarchy) did initiate efforts to refonn the liturgy, this program was decisively rejected by the people. According to Bufeev (1999: 156), the Synodal attempts to correct liturgical books were rejected by "church folk" (tserlwvnym narodom), thereby invalidating the results of the council.

The Cyrillo-Methodian myth In Chapter 6, we will see how the myth of Cyril and Methodius has been reactivated in post-Soviet Russia. By "myth" I mean a story about superhuman beings and events that serves as a charter for a given community. Myths are treated as true and paradigmatic narratives. Since 1991, statues in honor of the "Apostles to the Slavs" have been unveiled in Moscow and other cities. Their legacy is teted in the annual Day of Slavonic Writing and Culture. Myths are important stories that are "proof-texted" to explain or justify this or that aspect of society. As charters, they can provoke different - even opposing - interpretations within a community, and the myth of Cyril and Methodius is no exception. Both refonnists and traditionalists endorse the myth, but they disagree about its meaning. In the mythic narrative of Cyril and Methodius, the "Trilingualists" are the enemy. They were members of the Frankish (Catholic) clergy who opposed the use of Slavonic, ostensibly claiming that God can be worshiped only in Hebrew, Greek, or Latin. In the Cyrillo-Methodian hagiographies, the Trilingualists are depicted as heretics. Although scholars have questioned the existence of this "heresy" - it may have been a kind of theological straw man (most vigorously Thomson 1992) - it is alive and well in post-Soviet polemics. Garrard and Garrard's assertion (2008: 13) about Orthodox religionists- that the "vocabulary, heroes, villains, and myths of their mind's eye are linked to medieval history"has some validity in this case. The refonnists claim that Russifying the liturgy is the modem-day equivalent and extension of the Cyrillo-Methodian mission. Just as the missionary brothers translated Byzantine Christian texts into Church Slavonic in order to make them intelligible to ninth-century Slavs, translation into Russian is necessary for the current post-Soviet age. The myth of Cyril and Methodius thus serves as a charter for the contemporary situation. Zuttner (1997: 91) suggests that the current defenders of Church Slavonic are like the Trilingualists who opposed Cyril and Methodius and fought to maintain Latin. Kochetkov (1998: 44) notes that Cyril and Methodius rejected the trilingual heresy, but now there is the "monolingual heresy" - the idea that the liturgy can be done in only one language, namely Church Slavonic. In the reformist reading of the myth, all who have labored to spread the Gospel in local languages are operating in the true spirit of Cyril and Methodius. The traditionalists parse the myth differently. For them, the key point is not that Cyril and Methodius created a vernacular language (which happened to be Church

78 The debate over liturgical language Slavonic) but that they created, through divine inspiration, Church Slavonic - a special, sacred language. It was designed specifically for the Slavs and it could not be otherwise. The traditionalists make several additional arguments. One is that Church Slavonic was never a vernacular idiom. According to Klimenko (2001: 98-9), for instance, it was inspired by and modeled on the Greek literary language of the time. The reformists misinterpret the mission of Cyril and Methodius: they had a choice between the "high" and "low" Greek of the time, and they chose the former. Thus, from the beginning, there was an attempt to make the language special (Asmus 1999: 224). Some traditionalists also reinterpret the point about trilingualism. Instead of denouncing this purported heresy, as the reformists do, they acknowledge that Latin, Greek, and Hebrew are sacred languages, but insist that Church Slavonic should be considered on par with them. It was God's grace, asserts Klimenko (2001: 99), that placed Slavonic alongside the other three sacred tongues. In sum, the traditionalists dispute the characterization that Cyril and Methodius created a vernacular language; therefore, by the power of mythic thinking, they reject the idea that Russian is the modern counterpart of medieval Slavonic.

Soviet legacy In the historical sketch above, I have touched on Renovationism. Regardless of the historical record, in terms of the post-Soviet debate the important thing is that those who advocate liturgical reform are branded as "Renovationists" or ''NeoRenovationists." The traditionalists see no difference between the Renovationists of the 1920s and the "Neo-Renovationists" -meaning Kochetkov et al. - of the 1990s. Their ideas are said to be one and the same (Bufeev 1999: 152). Such associations - or accusations - put progressive religionists in a very difficult position. They claim to want to energize and enable the Church to meet the challenging conditions after the fall of communism, yet they also need to distance themselves from the reputation of the Renovationist movement. One strategy is to try to reclaim the idea of authentic renovation- to differentiate renovation (which is said to be an essential element of church life) from Renovationism (which is acknowledged to have been a schismatic movement). Kochetkov invokes the dictum Ecclesia semper reformanda (the Church is always to be reformed! renovated). He provides a roster of church figures who, he says, represent true renovation, from Cyril and Methodius to Prince Vladimir and beyond. Traditionalists typically repudiate the need for reform. For them, the Church is not in need of change or improvement. The deposit of faith must be safeguarded and transmitted intact from one generation to the next. They suspect renovation is simply a cover for the importation of Western ideologies (freedom, democracy, humanism, modernism) that are inimical to authentic Orthodox Tradition. Linked to secularism and sectarianism, reform can disrupt and ultimately destroy the faith. They see Renovationism as a lethal schism that, by Divine Providence, did not destroy the Church. The agenda of reformists such as Kochetkov is too close for comfort, and they categorically reject it.

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Traditionalists are greatly concerned with the threat of schism. They point not only to the Renovationists but to the Old Believers, who broke away from the Orthodox Church in response to liturgical reforms introduced by Patriarch Nikon in the seventeenth century. In traditionalist discourse, this sundering of the Church is evidence of what happens when reformists are allowed to tamper with the liturgical service books. In a kind of doomsday scenario, traditionalists warn that the ispravlenie (correction) of the service books proposed by the likes of Kochetkov could well produce another cataclysmic schism. This point is crucial. In the post-Soviet period, the Russian Church has had to contend with a variety of divisions, turf wars, and contestations (N. Davis 2003). It has faced the peeling away of church organizations in former Soviet territories, most notably Ukraine, and their calls for autocephaly, as well as the appearance of different "catacomb" churches that claim to have preserved the true flame of Orthodoxy, unlike the collaborationist Moscow Patriarchate. Thus, the possibilities of "schism" were acutely felt in the 1990s, especially by traditionalists. The reformists answer that no schism will happen as a result ofliturgical reform; in fact, introducing the vernacular could prevent such a development because it will stop members from leaving the Church in favor ofProtestant "sects." They also point to the Orthodox churches of Bulgaria and Serbia, where "parallel liturgies" done in Slavonic and the national languages have not led to schism.

Other churches As this last point suggests, the debate about liturgical language inside Russian Orthodoxy often proceeds by reference to what has happened in the history of Protestantism and Catholicism. For instance, Nazvanov (1999: 192) complains that the Kochetkovites act like a sect: they separate themselves; they have a charismatic leader; they espouse a proselytizing brand of Orthodoxy; they wish to return to putatively apostolic practice - in sum, they peddle a kind of "EasternRite Protestantism." This is a consistent line of attack on the part of the traditionalists: the push for the vernacular is something straight from the Protestant Reformation, and it will yield the same bitter fruits on Russian soil - secularization, fragmentation, and more (e.g. Koroblin and Mikhailova 1999: 11). But the reformists do not wish to accede to this equation. For them, the use of the vernacular is an authentically Orthodox principle. Not surprisingly, then, the reformists do not look for much support from Protestantism. They do, however, occasionally invoke Catholicism. One of the recurring reformist arguments goes as follows. The Orthodox Church used to upbraid the Catholic Church for its use of Latin - a dead language that was unintelligible to the people. Yet, ironically, the Russian Church now maintains its own "Latin"- namely, Church Slavonic (Averintsev 1997 [1994]: 11; Mikhail 199 3: 82). They note that the Catholic Church survived the transition to the vernacular. Russia, so the argument goes, has fallen behind the West, where individual national languages are now widely used and utterly uncontroversial in Christian

80 The debate over liturgical language worship (Bersenev 1996: 13-14; cf. Ustinov 1996: 61). The traditionalists, however, do not feel that Russia should be following the West's lead. As for the Catholic Church, they contend that the loss ofLatinhas been disastrous. The great heritage ofLatin culture has been lost (Likhachev 1999 [1998]: 277). As a result, the Catholic Church has become much more Protestant in character. One is now confronted with the spectacle of the rock-and-roll Mass and other such debased forms of worship. The turn to the vernacular has also meant a rapprochement with Judaism and involvement in the ecumenical movement. Furthermore, traditionalists point to the existence of such schismatic groups as the followers of Archbishop Lefevre and the Society of Pope Pius X, which broke away in order to preserve the Latin Mass. Thus, a move that was supposed to bring the Church closer to the people ultimately had disastrous unforeseen consequences. In a deft rhetorical move, Kaverin (1999: 205) identifies "renovation" with aggiornamento, the watchword of Vatican II meaning- "bringing up to date." Participants in the liturgical language debate also adduce Orthodox examples. The reformists note that different Orthodox churches in the West- in America, France, Finland, and elsewhere- make use of their respective national languages. The cases of Serbia and Bulgaria are particularly important, because they are Slavic Orthodox churches that share the Church Slavonic patrimony, and therefore are the closest in history and ethos to the Russian Orthodox Church. The reformists claim that the introduction of Serbian and Bulgarian, in addition to Church Slavonic, has been largely successful. But the traditionalists beg to differ, even though this means criticizing those sister churches. For instance, Bufeev (1999: 309) claims that translation into the national languages in those two countries has resulted in confusion and regret. The traditionalists hold up the examples of other Eastern communities, such as the Armenian, Georgian, Coptic and Syrian churches (Murav'ev 1996: 64), suggesting that these are more fitting role models than the Protestant and Catholic West. Both sides, then, wish to align themselves with the purportedly successful language policies of different churches.

Language ontology Reformists argue that the Orthodox Church has always been a missionary Church, that it has always met the needs of its flock by presenting the Gospel in a readily understandable language. The message, not the medium, is paramount. Themessage does not change, but the form of expression does. The same Gospel has been translated into different languages, from Aramaic to Greek, from Greek to Church Slavonic, and from Slavonic to a host of others. For traditionalists, the medium is part of the message. Church Slavonic is considered an essential element of the Russian Orthodox Church (e.g. Mironova 2009: 3). If you change the language, you change the Church. Some traditionalists contend that Slavonic is not a conventional or arbitrary sign system. The idea has deep roots in the Church Slavonic tradition. According to Mathiesen (1984: 56-8), a new "metalinguistic doctrine" arose within Orthodox

The debate over liturgical language 81 Slavdom in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries. Associated with the Bulgarian Patriarch Euthymius, it proposed that the relationship between a word and its meaning is neither arbitrary nor conventional, but "inherently and indivisibly linked to one another" (cf. Cassedy 1994). Mechkovskaia (2000) suggests that the history of the Cyrillo-Methodian tradition in Russia is marked by a dialectic or oscillation between groups espousing a conventional theory of the linguistic sign and those, such as Euthymius and his followers, who espouse a non-conventional view. The Old Believers who broke away from the Moscow Patriarchate in the seventeenth-century schism adhered to a Euthymian ideology, as do the traditionalists in the post-Soviet debate. For them, the word is like an icon, mystically partaking of what it depicts. Therefore, it cannot be changed or discarded without doing harm to the doctrine. To change the language is to change the spiritual condition of the people (Shargunov 2008; Kaverin 2008). Traditionalists contend that the reformists subscribe to the "Protestant" linguistic theory of Saussure (Kamchatnov 1999). The fact that the two camps advance such radically different ideologies oflanguage makes a resolution hard to imagine .

••• In the 1990s, the Russian Orthodox Church experienced a bitter and divisive debate over liturgical language. On one side were reformists who argued that Church Slavonic, the traditional language ofthe liturgy, was incomprehensible to the great majority of people. They proposed translating the liturgical service books into modern Russian and were supported by Russian Orthodox clerics, especially parish priests, as well as ecclesiastics from abroad, where the shift from Slavonic to English, French, and other vernaculars had been largely successful (Meiendorf 1994; cf. Della Cava 2001). These translations, however, were denounced by traditionalists, for whom Slavonic is an indelible part of Russian Orthodox life. Traditionalist critiques were supported by nationalists, who variously attacked Kochetkov and his parish as Renovationists, Protestants, Catholics, or even Jews who are conspiring, in the manner of a fifth column, to destroy the Russian Church -and thus Russia- from within (cf. Christiakov 2005). The post-Soviet debate covered some familiar ground. Similar arguments for and against a hieratic language had taken place earlier in the twentieth century within Catholicism. In fact, the debate over Church Slavonic has been percolating in the Russian Orthodox Church for over a century. The various arguments for and against Slavonic - historical, theological, pastoral - were revived almost in toto from the pre-revolutionary era. But they were compressed and colored by the intervening Soviet experience, especially the so-called Renovationist schism, as well as the spectacular religious and linguistic changes taking place in Russia at the time ofthe debate. The main issue in both the pre-revolutionary and post-communist versions of the debate is that of intelligibility. Since it is difficult to appreciate this matter out of context, perhaps a comparison might help. Consider the following excerpt from Handel's oratorio, Messiah:

82 The debate over liturgical language Comfort ye, comfort ye my people, saith your God. Speak ye comfortably to Jerusalem, and cry unto her, that her warfare is accomplished, that her iniquity is pardoned . Ev'ry valley shall be exalted, and ev'ry moutain [sic] and hill made low; the crooked straight and the rough places plain. And the glory of the Lord shall be revealed, and all flesh shall see it together: for the mouth of the Lord hath spoken it. Thus saith the Lord, the Lord of hosts. But who may abide the day of His coming, and who shall stand when He appeareth? For He is like a refiner's fire. And He shall purify the sons of Levi, that they may offer unto the Lord an offering in righteousness .

0 thou that tell est good tidings to Zion, get thee up into the high mountain. (http:/I opera. stanford. edu/iu!libretti!messiah.htm, accessed2 September 2010) Understanding this passage would present a challenge to many native English speakers. In just over 100 words there are multiple archaic locutions (iniquity, saith, ye, 0 thou, tallest, tidings), biblical references (Lord of Hosts, Zion, sons of Levi), and metaphors (rough places plain, shake all nations, refiner's fire). And this is to say nothing of the discourse of Heilsgeschichte (salvation history) that provides the hidden scaffolding for the selection and sequence of scriptural passages. Finally, of course, the words are conveyed through song and recitative, complicating the task of comprehension. Someone coming to the text for the first time, without the libretto in hand, without a background in biblical theology and poetry, might be hard pressed to make sense of these words. What is to be done? Traditionalists might argue that it would be a travesty to modify in any way, let alone "translate," Handel's opus. It is a spiritual and poetic masterpiece that, over the centuries, has become a beloved and meaningful part of the holiday season for many people. Furthennore, simply translating the text into contemporary English would not elucidate the biblical and theological substance that is there. Rather, traditionalists might say that the answer lies in greater study and participation. The score is readily available. And those who regularly attend performances of the Messiah imbibe the words and are even able to sing along with the perfonnance. The words themselves are only part of the total musical-spiritual experience. Refonnists would take issue with the entire thought experiment because the liturgy cannot be compared to something that, despite its quasi-liturgical profile, is ultimately from the classical music repertoire. Indeed, they criticize traditionalists for giving undue importance to the aesthetic qualities of Slavonic. There is a vital difference, they would say, between church and theater - footlights create an

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inherent separation between performers and audience. Reformists would agree with Lukken (1992: 45): "Liturgical language is by definition as well as in an active sense a community language." This fact naturally leads to "demands for the approachability ofthe liturgical language." For reformists, at stake is not an artistic arrangement of texts pertaining to salvation history, but salvation itself. As this (admittedly inadequate) comparison makes clear, the liturgical language debate involves a number of factors- history, beauty, tradition, intelligibility, community- that are hard to reconcile. Attempting to do so in the crucible of postSoviet transition was even harder. It seems as if the bitterness of the 1990s debate has diminished (Kravetskii 2009). Indeed, the official websites of the Moscow Patriarchate betray no hint of tension or turmoil over this issue (Gopenko 2009: 16-17). But the debate has probably only been deferred, not decided. A number of other factors may influence the next flare-up. One has to do with the Russian Orthodox Church Outside of Russia (ROCOR), an emigre group that was formed in reaction to the perceived collaborationist stance of the Moscow Patriarchate with regard to Soviet power. In the United States, the Orthodox Church in America (OCA) pursued a path of integration and engagement with the surrounding culture. ROCOR., on the other hand, took a more isolationist approach. The respective postures were reflected in differing language policies. Nine out of ten OCA parishes eventually switched to English. At the same time, the OCA tends to be open to converts and inter-faith affairs. On the other hand, 85 percent of ROCOR parishes have maintained Church Slavonic. ROCOR tends to be neutral regarding converts, and negative when it comes to ecumenical endeavors (Krindatch 2002: 544). There is a natural affinity between the OCA and the Russian reformists, just as there is between ROCOR and traditionalists. In this connection, it is noteworthy that ROCOR signed an accord with the Moscow Patriarchate in 2007, ending some 80 years of estrangement and antipathy (Turunen 2007). It is not clear whether this will bolster traditionalist attitudes within the Moscow Patriarchate. The reconciliation of ROCOR with the Russian Orthodox Church was overseen by Patriarch Aleksii II. His own relationship to the liturgical language debate was contradictory. Early on, he seemed to give some latitude to the reformists; however, perhaps because he personally loved Church Slavonic or because he feared schism, he ended up supporting the traditionalist side and put an end to Kochetkov's linguistic experiments. Late in his life, however, he also criticized those who cling, like the seventeenth-century Old Believers, to the letter of the liturgical texts (Bodin 2009: 43). When Kirill was installed as Patriarch in 2009, it was widely reported in the media that some reform of the liturgical language might be in the offing. In an interview with Protestants, Krill cautioned that there would be no full-scale reform, though he suggested it was possible to replace individual words whose meanings have changed so much that they cause confusion for Russian speakers. He also seemed to envision the possibility that scriptural readings could be done in Russian and the rest of a service in Slavonic. (A number oftraditionalists have backed this idea.) But the bigger issue, says Kirill, is that people need to learn the "language" of the faith in the broadest sense ofthe

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telTil. He called for more catechesis (http://www.bamica.info/index.php, accessed 6 July 2010). Full-scale translation of the liturgical books continues, though their use in the liturgy is prohibited. "In this way," warns one traditionalist, "everything is in place for a certain 'zero hour' [chas X] when the conservative hierarchy is replaced by a liberal one." Then Neo-Renovationists will be ready with their corpus of translated texts (Kaverin 2008: 25). Traditionalists remain on guard for a Catholics-like takeover of the Russian Church.

5

Logos Slavonic letterforms and the graphic environment

Scripts are particularly powerful identity markers, as they often have associations with particular secular and- especially- religious cultures, and this may evoke strong positive or negative reactions. (Sebba 2009: 39) The graphic environment of Russia has changed dramatically in the past two decades, and one of the notable changes has been the reappearance of elaborate Slavonic letterforms. By "graphic environment," I mean the different scripts and symbols that are used, as well as the materials and spaces where these are inscribed and displayed (cf. Calvet 2006; Kress and Leeuwen 2006; Franklin 2002). I use "script" and "letterforms" to refer not only to the Slavonic alphabet, but to the iconic, calligraphic, and typographic stylizations thereof. The name "Slavonic" applies to the original Cyrillic alphabet, now associated with the language of Church Slavonic, while "Cyrillic" means the modern Cyrillic alphabet, now associated with Russian ( cf. Cubberley 1993). "The Slavonic script is very closely connected with the preaching of Christianity," observes Bercken (1999: 33), "and therefore acquired an important position in Russia's national religious consciousness." Used not only in ecclesiastical literature but as a kind of sacred applique on bells, icons, banners, graves, monuments, and liturgical vessels and vestments, Slavonic letterforms are central to the "look and feel" of Russian Orthodoxy. As the number of sacred surfaces has increased since the fall of communism -measured inter alia by the publication of new texts, the building of new churches, and the production of new icons- the sheer quantity of Slavonic lettering has also increased. Slavonic has even crossed from sacred space to outer space. While, in the Soviet era, Russian cosmonauts proclaimed that they saw no evidence of God in the heavens, in the post-Soviet period they have adorned the International Space Station with Orthodox icons, which contain small snippets of Slavonic text (Pop 2009). But we need not go to such extremes to follow the "trail" of Slavonic in the post-Soviet period. The sacred script now appears on a wide range of non-religious surfaces. The democratization of type design tools and computer technology means that Slavonic fonts are readily available and adaptable (cf. Zhukov 2002: 45). Slavonic lettering shows up not only on church fa.;ades and liturgical service books -where it would be

86 Slavonic and the graphic environment expected- but on commercial advertisements, store signs, newspaper mastheads, restaurant menus, sports jerseys, cigarette labels, political posters, and postage stamps. Adapting Billig's (1995) well-known phrase, we can say that a "banal Slavonicism" is found throughout the post-Soviet environment, reflecting in various and sundry ways the reclamation of the nation's religious and historic roots. Oushakine (2007) offers an intriguing interpretation of post-communist culture that can help us understand this phenomenon. He argues that the adoption of various older symbolic forms represents a kind of post-communist societal aphasia. The inability to articulate a fresh symbolic discourse commensurate with the new conditions of society impels a turn to the past. Oushakine suggests that the "various post-Soviet attempts to revisit the recent and remote past" reflect "a longing for the positive structuring effect that old shapes could produce, even when they are not supported by their primary contexts" (Oushakine 2007: 453-4). Revivals, impersonations, simulacra, nowstalgia - these are the symptoms of a culture that has stalled and is unable to move forward in a dynamic way. It could be that Russians have turned to the Slavonic alphabet because it provides a ready-made form - a script, if you will - until an authentically post-communist "language" can be articulated. While I find this line of thought suggestive, the revival of Slavonic is not just a matter of assuming old established forms. The phenomenon of post-Soviet "Slavonicization" also needs to be seen in relation to other developments, in particular the way that Russian identities have come to be negotiated in and through different alphabets. One of the notable features of the "linguasphere," the mantle of communication that enwraps the earth, is the "geographic expansion of scripts" (D. Dalby 2001: 23). Adopting a prophetic tone, Fischer writes: The Latin alphabet is certainly not writing's pinnacle, but it is clearly writing's crest. It alone is now meeting the unprecedented requirements of our modem world, leaving all other writing systems and scripts behind . Within two or three centuries, only a small number of minority writing systems and scripts will survive, however, whereas the Latin alphabet will dominate the planet. It will be the World Script. (Fischer2001: 314-15) Just as English has attained a "semi-sacred" status as a result of imperial ascendancy (as Asker (2006) semi-seriously proposes), the concomitant Latin script has attained a hallowed status- derived not from its divine origins or mythic past but from its seemingly unstoppable world mastery. According to Eira (1998: 180), the status of the Roman alphabet as "axiomatically superior arises" not from religion in a narrow sense but "rather from its symbolism as an emblem of the power of Western culture and the particular areas in which that culture has specialised, in particular rationalism and technology."

Slavonic and the graphic environment 81 Latinization is an important aspect of post-Soviet life and one that has a direct bearing on the revival of Slavonic. There are two related matters here. First, a number of former Soviet republics, such as Turkmenistan, have moved toward the Latin script (Clement 2008), while some Russian regions, such as Tatarstan, have attempted to do the same (Sebba 2006). This latter development spurred legislation stipulating that Cyrillic be the "graphical basis" for all languages of the Russian Federation (see Chapter 2). More pertinent to the Slavonic revival, however, is the second mode of Latinization. This is the precipitous appearance of the Latin alphabet across the landscape, in the media, in advertising - even in graffiti (Bergmann 2002: 148). According to Ustinova's estimates (2006: 268), by 2004 Moscow was blanketed with some 50,000 signs, billboards, and overhead streamers. Her analysis also shows that most advertisements, except for certain religious and civil topics, combine the Russian and English languages in the Cyrillic and Roman scripts (Ustinova 2006: 270-4). Grigor'eva (2004: 238-9) demonstrates how Latin characters have even penetrated Russian words used in advertising, creating novel Latin-Cyrillic hybrids. This kind of transformation of the graphic environment inverts the scenario envisioned by Anthony Burgess in his dystopian novel, A Clockwork Orange, with its famed "Nadsat" lexicon suggestive of a Soviet invasion. But this is precisely how some have interpreted these graphic developments. As one critic declaimed: "Do not our cities resemble cities subjugated by alien countries, their streets made gaudy by foreign language advertisements and signs, not infrequently appearing in Latin letters" (L. I. Skvortsov quoted in Gorham 2000: 622). Evocative of"village ways, church architecture, Rus antiquities" (Stites 2005: 112), the Slavonic script constitutes a privileged semiotic resource that has been drawn upon for various projections of Russian/Orthodox identity. Its decorated letterforms seem to be a natural counterpoint to the slick Roman alphabet emanating from the West and, to a lesser extent, Cyrillic- the Latinized version of the Slavonic script that became linked to, and propagated by, the "faith" of Soviet communism (Gaur 2000: II 0). Across the graphic environment, these scripts meet, merge, and compete (see Figure 5.1 ). As Calvet (2006: 34) says of another context, "A whole discourse can thus be seen on the walls of our cities." Although a banal Slavonicism is part of the graphic environment, Slavonic writing appears thickest in three domains: the ecclesiastical, the commercial, and the nationalist. It is here that Slavonic is doing the most symbolic work. Although we might suppose these to be mutually exclusive zones, in reality they overlap and blur into one another. The Russian Orthodox Church has a strong nationalist orientation, but it has also been involved in a number of capitalist ventures (Zolotov 1997). Commercial advertisements promote certain products by playing with religious and nationalist imagery and stereotypes. Patriots praise Russia above all other nations, but in doing so they perform a kind "branding" that is akin to what they decry in the West. In this chapter, I delineate how the Slavonic script is used and elaborated in each ofthe domains, noting continuities and gradations within and between them. I will not discuss the "old orthography," the pre-revolutionary Cyrillic spelling system

88 Slavonic and /he graphic environment

Figure 5.1 Store window with Slavonic Easter poster ('Cluist is Risen!") amid Cyrillic- and Roman-alphabet signage, Moscow (photo by author)

that has also enjoyed a minor revival in the post-Soviet period (see Bennett, forthcoming) . The overall point of the chapter is that the Slavonic revival is not limited to the ecclesiastical milieu; as a syrrbol of ''Holy Russia" or "Orthodox Rus," the hieratic script has filtered out into broader society, where it has been

Slavonic and the graphic environment 89

adopted and adapted for a range of cultural projects. But before delving into the post-Soviet materials, it is necessary to provide some historical background on the development of the Slavonic script vis-a-vis Latin and Cyrillic.

*** Writing systems or scripts have received comparatively little attention in sociolinguistic research (Sebba 2009). Recently, however, this has begun to change, and there have been studies of writing (Coulmas 2003), spelling (Johnson 2005; Sebba 2007), typography (Leeuwen 2005; Stockl2005), and linguistic landscape (Shohamy and Gorter 2009). Unfortunately, religion tends to be treated rather superficially in these otherwise commendable studies. On the other hand, while students of religion have typically devoted a great deal of attention to sacred texts and languages, they have paid far less attention to matters of typography, graphic design, and linguistic landscape (but see D. Kantor 2007). The example of the Slavonic script in post-Soviet Russia may help redress these gaps in the literature. From a historical and comparative perspective, there is a close connection between religion and script. As Ferguson (1982: 95) notes, "The distribution of major types of writing systems in the world correlates more closely with the distribution of the world's major religions than with genetic or typological classifications of language." Over time, then, the Arabic script has become a symbol of Islam, Devanagari of Hinduism, square Hebrew of Judaism, and so on. However, a closer look reveals great complexity on both sides ofthe equation. For one thing, a religion is never a monolithic entity, but is always marked by internal complexity and division. Furthermore, a sacred script is "sacred" in part because social groups vest it with certain qualities when comparing it with other forms of writing. No script exists in isolation. Laitin's classic study (1977) of the three scripts in Somalia- the hieratic Arabic, the modem Latin, and the indigenous Cismaaniya - offers a good example of this interrelationship. Both religions and scripts are dynamic entities, moving in complex interrelation with each other. There is a close relationship between Russian Orthodoxy and the Slavonic script; but having said this, we immediately need to complexify the picture. First, the return of Slavonic letters to the post-Soviet Russian landscape must be seen in relation to the other sociolinguistic transformations that have occurred since 1991, in particular the explosion of the Latin alphabet across the graphic environment. At the same time, it must be remembered that there is diversity within the Russian Church. Traditionalist publications tend to favor the Slavonic script, while those on the progressive end of the spectrum do not. Furthermore, Slavonic letterforms have been drawn upon by both commercial advertisers and nationalist groups for their respective cultural projects. Borrowing the terminology ofBoym (1995), I will suggest that the Slavonic script in nationalist literature constitutes a form of utopian nostalgia, while in commercial contexts it tends toward ironic nostalgia. In the hands of Russian Orthodox nationalists, the Slavonic script evokes the mythologized world of Holy Rus. For commercial advertisers and graphic designers, Slavonic is a stereotypical form that can be mixed and matched with other referents, such as Constructivist typography or Brezhnev-era symbolism.

90 Slavonic and the graphic environment But in each case, Slavonic lettering, as a symbol of pre-revolutionary Russia, is counterpoised not only to the Latin script but, in a way, to Russian Cyrillic (cf. Sebba 2007). To understand this state of affairs, it is necessary to sketch some of the history of Slavonic writing and typography. Between 1708 and 1710, Peter the Great, the Emperor of Russia, worked in conjunction with several typographers to revise the Slavonic script. The end result of this imperial intervention was the so-called civil script (grazhdanskii shrift), which moved the Slavonic script closer to Latin, just as the country was opening up to European cultural influences. The story is well known (e.g. Shitsgal 1959; Kaldor 1969-70; Yefimov 2002; Grigor'eva 2004). The visual appearance of Slavonic letterforms had evolved from the so-called ustav to poluustav, which was the dominant book form of Peter's day. Like the German textura, it was based on manuscript writing. Y efimov (2002: 129), a contemporary typography expert, offers this assessment: Poluustav was rather black in colour and very ornamental, but not very useful for the needs of the new era. The character set of the alphabet no longer matched the phonetics ofthe living Russian language, and it contained a lot of additional diacritical marks (stresses, marks of aspiration, abbreviations), which considerably complicated the work of the compositor.

Peter wanted "clean print," similar to the kind he saw in foreign books and maps, especially the beautiful Latin text of one of his favorite Aesop volumes (Kaldor 1969-70: 316, 323). But his motivation was ideological, not aesthetic. A simplified script would facilitate the publication of useful secular and scientific literature, and in the process move Russia away from the archaic Church Slavonic script and language. To that end, Peter personally intervened in the typographic development process. The number of letters was reduced and the shape of the letters themselves made smoother and rounder - in sum, more Latinate; diacritical marks were abandoned (Sullivan 1996-7: 9). Peter also introduced Arabic numbers to replace the traditional tsifir' system, which employed letters surrounded by various diacritical marks to denote numbers. The whole process is surprisingly well documented- even in Peter's own hand. Thus, we may conclude that the imagined sacrality of the Slavonic script is due in part to imperial fiat, which created its secular counterpart. The creation of the civil script entailed a decisive shift westward. Henceforth, Russian writing "took on the form of roman serif type, in much the same way that Muscovy was dressed up in European clothes" (Yefimov 2002: 128). Tellingly, the first book published in the new civil script was a geometry textbook. Meanwhile, the old writing system would come to be called the "church script" or "church letters" (Marker 1994: 7). Over time, the two scripts would become affixed to two languages or registers (the amount of difference between the varieties is moot)namely, Russian (civil script) and Slavonic (church script). The former became the mark of modernity and secularity, while the latter's associations with religion and tradition were reinforced. A kind of digraphia emerged, with the ornate Slavonic

Slavonic and the graphic environment 91 script in the H (high) position, associated with such prestigious traditional domains as religion, and the more streamlined Cyrillic in the L (low) position, linked to business and secular pursuits. The term digraphia, however, typically refers to a situation where one language is written using two different scripts. Classic examples are Serbian/Croatian, Hindi/Urdu, and Romanian and Cyrillic Moldavian (Coulmas 2003: 233; cf. Grivelet 2001). The Russian case is perhaps better characterized as "orthographic diglossia," which Wexler (1971: 340) describes thus: "Different scripts may be used by a single ethnic group for different purposes (e.g. secular versus religious literature)." The closest parallel may be the old "dual script" arrangement between blackletter and roman materials in German-speaking lands (Bain and Shaw 1998). In any event, this arrangement did not solidify immediately. The grazhdanskii shrift of the eighteenth century still contained many graphic "Slavonicisms" (Shitsgal 1959: 74). It would take another century or so for the Cyrillic letterforms to stabilize (Yefunov 2002: 141). Once the civil script had stabilized, it underwent various outward permutations through typographic elaboration. Here, again, Russia was following the West. Cyrillic typography echoed most of the stylistic stages found in Western typography: Classical, Romantic, Victorian, Art Nouveau, and so on (Yefimov 2002: 140; Zhukov 2002: 56--7). These changing fashions further distanced Cyrillic from the comparatively static Slavonic script. (Many of these historical styles can now be seen in the sphere of post-Soviet typography- jumbled together pell-mell.) During the Soviet era, typography was quite restricted. In part because of the centralized control of advertising and design, it was "hard to spot the difference between shop-signs, packaging, and posters produced in the 1940s and those produced in the early 1980s" (Kelly 1998: 227). Much as in the domains of religion and language, which have seen exponential growth and diversification, typography changed dramatically in the first decade after communism. Zhukov, a leading expert on Russian typography, writes: For seven decades, only a dozen typefaces were available to most printers and publishers. In Soviet times very few new typefaces were introduced into typographic usage. (Many more had been trashed, done away with, for their alleged "bourgeois decadent aesthetics.") Today the Russian typographic palette is quickly growing richer in variety and sophistication. In the last five years more faces have been added to the Russian typographic repertory than in the seventy-four years of Soviet rule. (Zhukov 2002: 55) Post-Soviet Russia has experienced a veritable explosion of typographic innovation There is a great revival in everything that is not associated with the "tatty gray quality" of Soviet type, spanning from "hip Western postmodern type" to "pre-Revolutionary Art Nouveau" to the "deep roots of Cyrillic orthography preserved largely in ecclesiastical documents" (Berry 1999: 178). We will be principally concerned with these "deep roots of Cyrillic"- that is, with the Church Slavonic script.

92 Slavonic and the graphic environment From religionists, who have started to read ecclesiastical literature, to typographers, who seek fresh inspiration for commercial typefaces, there is a renewed interest in and appreciation for Slavonic lettering. A number of scholars have observed this trend. Dann (1995: 128) refers to the "rather widely diffused use of letters in an old, quasi-Slavonicized appearance." Merridale (2003: 21) comments on the "fake Slavicism" surrounding the 850th-anniversary celebrations of Moscow. Two comments are necessary here. First, even though I will use these and similar terms- for example, "faux Slavonic" and "Slavonic-style" lettering it is not always possible to draw a firm line between Slavonic and Cyrillic. The two scripts share most letters. Moreover, we have already seen (in Chapter 3) that the Church Slavonic language can be written in the simpler Cyrillic script. Bodin (2009: 49) says that this practice began because Soviet printing houses lacked Slavonic fonts. In the post-Soviet period, though, the practice is a matter of catechesis- of making the Slavonic language more accessible to Russian speakers. While Slavonic can be written in modem Cyrillic, Russian can be dressed up in old Slavonic garb through the use ofhistoricizing typefaces, commonly referred to as "faux fonts." Second, although we might be tempted to view the spread of faux Slavonic on a beer bottle or cigarette pack as a degradation, such objects might be the closest that many Russians ever come to the hieratic script. Moreover, Slavonic is used on product labels precisely because it is perceived to be different (older, better, "higher") than ordinary Cyrillic writing - a valuation that is perhaps not too different from the standpoint of traditionalists who favor retaining Slavonic in the liturgy. The approach taken here is that the revival of the Slavonic script comprises the totality of uses, great and small, "authentic" and "faux."

The ecclesiastical domain In Orthodox Christianity, an icon is not simply a painting or a piece of art; it is a portal to the heavenly realm. Especially in traditionalist discourse, the hieratic Slavonic script is often referred to as an icon. References to the beauty (krasota) of the Slavonic script are common (e.g. Zhuravlev 1994: 21; Voskresnaia shkola 2004; cf. Fedotov 1999: 10). More specifically, the titlo, or ligature, used to abbreviate nomina sacra is likened to the halo of a saint. According to a booklet on Slavonic inscriptions, a titlo is an "orthographical nimbus. placed on sacred words to indicate their holiness and the divine mystery and wisdom concealed in them" (Sablina 2001: 7; cf. Krupin 2002: 4). Traditionalists contend that printing Church Slavonic in the civil script- as some prayer books do- is the equivalent of photocopying an icon (Kamchatnov 1999). While the Slavonic script is viewed as an icon, it is also used on icons. An Orthodox icon is not considered complete unless it has an inscription. Originally, Russian icons had Greek text, but this slowly gave way to Church Slavonic, although Greek is preserved in certain icons. This is comparable to the "layering" of languages found in ritual speech, as in the preservation of Greek or Hebrew phrases within the modem Christian liturgy (Ferguson 1982: 97). Icons can also contain sizeable chunks of text above and beyond mere inscriptions. Canons

Slavonic and the graphic environment 93

govern the placement and content of the text in coordination with the subject ofthe icon. Sometimes, the Slavonic text can be quite minimal- for example, a few letters placed near the sacred personage (Mother, Jesus, saint). Other times, the icon is adorned with additional or explanatory text, ranging from a scriptural passage to a liturgical hymn or troparion to an excerpt from a sermon. The text will be in Church Slavonic except in the case of sermons, which may be in Russian. The authors of a recent icon-painter handbook recommend putting sermonic text in the "old orthography'' to avoid the jarring juxtaposition of Cyrillic writing and saintly subject. Supplementary texts may be placed in a kind of cartouche or incorporated in the image of a book or scroll held by the figure represented by the icon- as they are, for instance, in icons of Cyril andMethodius (Filatov and Kamchatnova 2004). The revitalization of Orthodox icon painting is part of the Slavonic revival in post-communist Russia. Since 1991, thousands of churches have been built or renovated. In Moscow alone, the number of churches has increased from 40 to 872. Across the country, the number of monasteries has risen from 22 to 804 (Burgess 2009: 5). Since every church structure has multiple icons, the quantity of iconic Slavonic text has multiplied. Let us consider the most famous church building in post-Soviet times -the Cathedral of Christ the Savior in Moscow which is widely seen as a symbol of the resurgence of Russian Orthodoxy after the collapse of the USSR (cf. Franklin 2002: 233). It is a symbolically potent place, as the nationally televised scenes ofPutin and Medvedev attending the cathedral's Easter services make clear (cf. H. Davis 2005: 77). The interior of the colossal cathedral is saturated with signs and symbols. The walls are adorned with commemorative plaques as well as more prosaic instructions. The colors used throughout, the materials underfoot, the smell of incense and beeswax make the interior a multimodal semiotic environment. There is also a considerable quantity of Slavonic lettering throughout, both on icons and in form of inscriptions on the walls and cupolas. For example, the band going around the central dome has some of the great cosmological lines from the Bible: on the eastern side, "In the beginning was the word . ." and on the southern, "And the word became flesh. ."(Fond Khrama Khrista Spasitelia 2004: 46). At the very highest part of the building, on the vault of the main cupola, one sees the Lord Sabaoth (Lord of Hosts), with the Christ child on his lap holding a charter on which is written, in Greek, LOGOS- that is, the Word (Fond Khrama Khrista Spasitelia 2004: 44-5; photo between 48 and 49). Outside the church, the twelve massive bronze doors bear thematically appropriate Slavonic inscriptions. On the western side, one reads: "I am the door: whosoever enters by me shall be saved" (John 10:9) and "Enter His gates in faith" (Psalms 99:4) (Fond Khrama Khrista Spasitelia 2004: 37-8). If you were able to ascend the bell-tower, you would see that the larger bells all bear Slavonic inscriptions. Proceeding down to the entrance by the Moskva River, a sign made of gold letters in a Slavonic-style typeface reads: "Hall of Church Councils" (Zal Tserkovnykh Soborov) (see Figure 5.2). The 66,000-square-meter basement contains offices for the Patriarch and the Holy Synod, a dining hall for 800,

94 Slavonic and !he graphic environment recreational and rredia centers, and the ne plus ultra of smveittance and security systems (Sidorov 2000: 567). All of this has led sorre Muscovites to dub the corrplex the "Saviour Above the Garage" (Hughes 2004: 194). Thus, as we move from the dorre of the heavens to the underground facilities- the business side of the Church- the Logos becorres the logo.

Figure 5.2 Cathedral of Quist the Savior sign ("Hall of Church Councils''), Moscow (photo by author)

Slavonic and the graphic environment 95 The trail of Slavonic continues outside the church building itself and into the cityscape. Most churches have some kind of shop or stall, which may be located in the vestibule or in a nearby structure. There one typically encounters a cascade of Slavonic writing. The hieratic script is used on almost all the liturgical texts, often embossed in gold, and on many other titles as well, such as prayer books and saints' lives, and various local and national periodicals. Slavonic writing also appears on calendars, icons, holiday greeting cards, CDs, and jewelry. At Easter, you will find traditional cakes, cards, and egg-shaped images often with the letters or words (Kh)ristm (V)oskrese- "Christ has risen." Calvet (2006: 35) malres the obvious but important point that different scripts are distnbuted in non-random patterns across the landscape. In Russia, church bookshops tend to be islands of Slavonic in a sea of Cyrillic and Latin (see Figure 5 .3). If we take a closer look at some of the tomes for sale in a typical church bookshop, we see that Slavonic is consistently used to represent Russia's historic Orthodox faith. Books about churches (e.g. Matiushin 2008), regions (e.g. Gerasimov 1996), holy places (e.g. Khariton and Semenova 2004), and prelates in Russian church history (e.g. Lisovoi 2004) tend to rely quite heavily on Slavonicized typefaces. Such titles typically use an elaborate font accompanied by icons ofholy personages or images of church structures. If the book is intended for Western consumption as well, the English lettering might be in faux Slavonic (e.g. Bushueva 2001).

Figw-e 5.3 Church kiosk, Moscow (photo by author)

96 Slavonic and the graphic environment Religious organizations are increasingly branding themselves and resorting to professional typography and graphic design in order to articulate their identity in a pluralistic environment (D. Kantor 2007). The Slavonic script is found within the church milieu but also functions more broadly as the ''logo" of the Russian Orthodox Church. This becomes evident at conferences and exhibitions that have Orthodox themes or involve, or are supported by, the Church. In such contexts, you will often see banners or signs with Slavonic lettering. A good example is the annual "Orthodox Rus" (Pravoslavnaia Rus ')exhibition which brings together ecclesiastics and retailers of church-related items, from books and CDs to liturgical paraphernalia. Here, the sense of Slavonic as a kind of corporate logo is palpable (http://www.pravoslav-expo.ru/index.ru.html, accessed 4 August 2010). An interesting example of the use of Slavonic involves missionacy trains that are designed to carry the faith to remote parts of the country. Instead of displaying a typical destination sign, a prayer in Church Slavonic is written in large letters along both sides of the carriage, creating a moving icon (Moscow Times, 19 October 2000). At Easter, the amount of Slavonic lettering rmltiplies across the Russian landscape. Posters with the traditional paschal greeting- Khristos voskrese!appear in store windows (see Figure 5.1, above). Banners with the same words are hung across streets (see Figure 5.4). (Voskrese is a Church Slavonic verb form.) After the holiday, these expressions of Slavonic are removed. If Easter falls late in the year, these posters compete with notices for other calendrical rituals, such

Figure 5.4 Slavonic Easter banner ~'Christ is Risen"), :MOscow (photo by author)

Slavonic and the graphic environment 91 as the Day ofVictory (9 May). On those, instead of Slavonic words accompanied by eggs, flowers, and other symbols of Easter and springtime against a background of pastel colors, you will find bold Cyrillic writing with Soviet-era stars on lustrous red. Sociolinguistics has opened up a productive new sub-field known as "linguistic landscape," which concerns the language(s) used on "public road signs, advertising billboards, street names, place names, commercial shop signs, and public signs on government buildings" (Landry andBourhis 1997: 25). The focus to date has been on multilingualism in urban contexts. Recently, though, the understanding of linguistic landscape has been expanded to provide a broader and more dynamic field that encompasses images, sounds, graffiti, and other semiotic phenomena (Shohamy and Gorter 2009). Most of the discussion seems to revolve around permanent signs, inscriptions, and place names, usually in conjunction with governmental or commercial enterprises. Little attention has been given to the place of religion in general, or the ritual or cyclical nature of religious signage in particular. In their classic study, Landry and Bourhis (1997: 28) suggest that "linguistic landscape may act as the most observable and immediate index of the relative power and status of the linguistic communities inhabiting a given territory." Adapting this idea, we could conclude that the profusion of Slavonic across the landscape - from permanent church fa~ades to transitory holiday banners confirms the established place of Orthodoxy within post-Soviet culture and society. The appearance of a script on the linguistic landscape can vary, for example, by multiplying around the time of an important festival. Judging from Slavonic signage, Russians become "more" Orthodox around Easter. This is hardly surprising, but further empirical studies could illuminate more interesting patterns. Another manifestation of the Slavonic revival is the renewed interest in Slavonic calligraphy, a tradition that is almost completely unknown in the West. It is ignored in standard reference works (e.g. Gaur 1994; Sawyer and Simpson 2001 ). The most famous style is known as viaz' (or vyaz). This is a dense kind of interlaced writing in which the line extends from start to finish in an unbroken band, letters of different sizes are stacked and linked by ligatures or tucked inside the lines of other letters, and empty spaces are filled with ornamentation. The end result can be extremely hard to decipher, even for experts (Ptakhova 1997: 24-9). The post-Soviet linguistic landscape has seen a revival of viaz'-like writing. In 2008, a museum dedicated to the world's calligraphic traditions, including Slavonic viaz ', opened in Moscow. Sunday schools and other Orthodox venues also cultivate Slavonic calligraphy. Here, the motivation is not solely technical or historical, but devotional. Zhuravlev (1994: 21) recommends that Russian children learn how to write the Slavonic letters, for in doing so they experience the beauty of the Church Slavonic language and cultivate a love for the Word of God. Goriacheva's handbook (2009) first discusses the history of Slavonic writing, the tradition of viaz ', and illuminated manuscripts. It then provides practice pages for writing letters in calligraphic style. Pious words and sayings (God, Heaven, Glory to You) are used for practice. A little workbook (Voskresnaia shkola 2004) takes each letter of the Slavonic

98 Slavonic and the graphic environment alphabet, discusses its meaning, and provides illustrations of the letter from different medieval manuscripts. According to the authors, practicing writing out the letters enables one to discover wisdom, preserve one's faith, and fortify one's spirit (Voskresnaia shlwla 2004: 5). The renewed interest in Russia's calligraphic tradition carries over into the realm of typography, which has experienced a brilliant revival in post-Soviet times. Numerous foundries have cropped up in Moscow and St. Petersburg, and every year there are typography seminars, workshops, and competitions. Much of the work being done consists of Cyrillic extensions of Latin typefaces for commercial interests (Zhukov 2002). But a number of Church Slavonic typefaces have also been developed. The names alone - Innologion, Triodion, Akathistos, Evangelie, Psaltyr, Zlatoust, Bukvica - evoke different eras or aspects of Slavia orthodoxa (http://www.irmologion.rulfonts.html#atop, accessed 4 August 201 0). One typeface is called Kathisma, a name that hearkens back to a type suite used in publications from the eighteenth century. It was created by the Association of Slavonic Typography (Soobshchestvo slavianslwi tipografii), one of the most important groups in the post-Soviet revival of Slavonic. Interestingly, this particular font was distributed free of charge, but with the proviso that it not be used in contexts inconsistent with Orthodoxy or seriously against the principles of Christian morality (http://www.patriarchia.ru/db/print/452495.html, accessed 4 August 201 0). This dictum is difficult to enforce, for Slavonic has left the sacred precincts and entered the wider world.

The commercial domain Let us return for a moment to consider the Cathedral of Christ the Savior. This monumental structure, capable of holding 10,000 congregants, is a striking feature on the Moscow skyline, its burnished cupola visible from many points throughout the city. The magnitude and the materials involved are stunning. Funding for the project - $500 million at a time of severe economic dislocation for most of the populace - came from both the government and the so-called New Russians who made a fortune through privatization Alexander Smolensky, former head of SBSAgro Bank, donated 50 kilograms of gold for the cupola (Neidhart 2003: 76). Inside the cathedral, the "gift shop is one of the best in Moscow, offering models in a variety of materials, T-shirts, cardboard construction kits, and 'Christ the Saviour' exercise books" (Hughes 2004: 196). Religious ethics can impact economics, as Max Weber pointed out long ago. It used to be argued that the monastic, mystical, and liturgical orientation ofRussian Orthodoxy made it ill suited to capitalism (Buss 1989). Yet, as Marsh (2008: 182) has pointed out, in the post-communist era "the views of Russian Orthodox Christians toward work, economic life, and capitalism do not appear to be incompatible with modem economics." Indeed, the Church itself has a number of avenues for raising money, including the selling of candles (which in some cases comprises 50 percent ofparish income), donations associated withzapiski (prayer requests), commercial enterprises such as the Danilovskaia hotel and the Sofrino

Slavonic and the graphic environment 99

factory managed by the Patriarchate, special traveling exhibitions (e.g. of icons), and govemmmt subsidies (Chapnin 2001). But businesses also use religion. The Cathedral of Christ the Savior, for instance, has becorre a valuable marketing tool. Along with other monuments- such as St. Basil's Cathedral and Lenin's Mausoleum- it has corre 'to represent a kind of 'consumable Russianness,' providing evocative errblems of Mother Russia or other manifestations of the national persona for the marlreting of chocolates and cigarettes, vodka and package tours" (Hughes 2004: 172). More often than not, Slavonic letterforms accompany the cathedral image on the packaging of such goods (see Figure 5.5). What is irqxntant here is the pictorial elerrent of Slavonic- its exotic or archaic ''look and feel." Countries are increasingly branding themselves, creating a distinctive "national graphic identity" that can be propagated across t-shirts, souvenirs, shopping bags, and travel brochures. Script can be an important component of this process (Mattern 2008; cf. Bain and Shaw 1998). In the post-Soviet era, the Slavonic script- with its patina of history and religion- has errerged as a kind of logo for the Russian nation (cf. Leeuwen 2005). Slavonic-style lettering is widely used for packaging and promoting vodka, beer, cigarettes, and other such staples; by restaurants that proffer traditional Russian fare; and on books and videos relating to Russian history or religion. The name itself is also used: in addition to Slavianskaia Square (discussed in Chapter 6), there is Slavianskaia mineral water and Slavianskoe beer. Of course, this sort of

Figwe 5.5 "Chocolate History" souvenir box with image of Cathedral of Christ the Savior, with ''Moscow'' in Slavonic typeface (reproduced by kind permission oflnterko, LLC)

100 Slavonic and the graphic environment branding is not restricted to Russia. Sebba (2007: 38) notes that archaic or pseudoarchaic spelling is used for commercial purposes in many cultures. Sanskrit is appropriated in India to sell goods and services ranging from clothes to car insurance (Pandharipande 2006: 154-5). Heller (2003: 474) has discussed the "marketing of authenticity" and "the ways in which the globalized new economy has resulted in the commodification of language and identity." The market "accords new value to formerly stigmatized identities and products" (Heller 2003: 475). Although Heller's case study has to do with speech rather than script (in particular, the use of French in Canadian call centers), it provides a helpful perspective for interpreting the Russian situation. Stigmatized under the Soviet antireligious regime, Slavonic letters now seem to represent "authentic" Russianness. Being, as it were, more Cyrillic than Cyrillic (the script which, it may be remembered, has been following Western trends for 300 years), Slavonic seems to hearken back to the country's deepest roots. Of course, one of the ironies is that purported authenticity often comes wrapped in faux Slavonic fonts- that is, fonts that are presented as traditional Church Slavonic writing but in fact are modem confections (cf. Gorham 2006: 24). As with a number of other phenomena discussed in this book- the liturgical language debate (Chapter 4), the popularity of occultism (Chapter 7)- advertising in the post-Soviet period seems to have picked up where the pre-Soviet period left off. West has shown that advertising was booming in the decade leading up to the revolution. Her appraisal of the late imperial period would seem to apply mutatis mutandis to the post-communist era: Russian manufacturers responded to the international market in various ways. The centuries-old dilemma of Russia's identity vis-a-vis the West found its contradictory expressions also in advertising. Some companies appropriated and imitated Western styles as the ideal, while others proclaimed Russian goods as superior to any in the West. (West 1998: 355) Advertising is booming again, and some similar dynamics - such as the tension between external Western and internal Russian influences and styles- appear to be at work. This cultural negotiation is reflected through language in general and script in particular. Ustinova (2006: 275) shows that many advertisements today combine Russian and English and the Cyrillic and Latin scripts. But this is not true across the board: causes or groups that are social, civil, religious, or educational tend to be Cyrillic-only. There is also a difference in distribution across products, with Russian dairy products, beer, and medicines relying on Cyrillic lettering alone (Ustinova 2006). Beer, in particular, is a canvas on which competing Russian identities are projected. Morris (2007) delineates the stages ofbeer-related advertising in the post-Soviet period. Initially, there was a global orientation. But, spurred in part by the financial crisis of 1998 as well as by growing nationalism, advertisers then developed a more Russian style, emphasizing "us" versus "them" by plying

Slavonic and the graphic environment 101 various nostalgia-laden images. The association of specific products like beer with the "national question" (how Russia might regain the greatness of the Soviet Union) became explicit during the Putin era. While some beer advertisements appealed to an idealized Soviet Union, others plumbed the deeper recesses of Russian mythistory, albeit often in a humorous or ironic way. One brand, called Three Bogatyrs, imagined the legendary warriors returning to save Russia from its enemies- in a hockey game. Siberian Crown emphasized the glories of imperial Russia, with its candlelit balls and military uniforms. Advertisers returned "again and again to stories about history, the nation and its identity" (Morris 2007: 1392, 1402). Several beer brands- including Tolstiak, Pikur, Afanasii, and Russkoehave used a light Slavonic-style writing (http://www.suninterbrew.ru/; http://www. pitt.edu/-slavic/courses/russ1771/; both accessed 4 August 2010). Tobacco is also often tied to national identity (Morris 2005). Aleksandrov (2003) provides an interesting discussion of advertising in this area. The names of different post-Soviet brands alone demonstrate competing notions ofRussianness. Some refer to periods ofRussian history (Peter I, 1812, Russian Style), while others point to Western and/or Soviet phenomena (Memphis, Soyuz-Apollo). These are combined with various well-known emblems and images from the pages of Russian history, such as the double-headed eagle and the bronze horseman. Several brands use Slavonic-style lettering on their labels. One example is Otchizna, a rare archaic word for "Fatherland." The Bogatyry brand is used for papirosy- Soviet-era, tube-like cigarettes with a pungent taste and odor associated with "rough-and-tough virility" (Goscilo 2008: 251). The lettering is in a Slavonicstyle script, as is the warning: "Smoking is harmful to health" (see Goscilo 2008: fig. 49.6). The label for Rossiiskie cigarettes has a Slavonic-style script surrounded by handicraft decoration known as khokhloma (http://www.cigarettepacks.rwR/ R%205/1 %20F%20%20(2).jpg, accessed 5 August 2010). In the post-Soviet period, the wide-ranging discussions of national identity are reflected and refracted in the commercial sphere, in the names and logos of different products, and in the way those products are advertised. Again, we see a triangulation between the Soviet Cyrillic past, the Latin West, and Slavonic "Holy Russia." Although nationalist strains can be detected in certain products especially beer and tobacco - overall the commercial field is characterized by knowing, ironic references to Russian history (Kelly 1998: 228-9). Many products incorporate a mixture of seemingly contradictory scripts and design features communist and Orthodox, medieval and Constructivist. As one graphic designer says ofhis clients: "They demand a bit ofretro, some 1920s, something Czarist, The consumer is happy with this mix, something Russian, some churches because every morning the Soviet hymn plays, and then he pulls out a coin with the seal of the Czarist eagle. It works, such eclecticism" (quoted in Kishkovsky 2005: 99). Even a single typeface might cleverly contain references to different periods, from "Constructivism to Stalinist Baroque to the most modem postBrezhnev esthetics of the [metro] restrooms" (Berry 1999: 178). For advertisers and commercial typographers, the Slavonic script- used, elaborated, mixed, subverted- is but one historical referent in a postmodem pastiche. The incorporation

102 Slavonic and the graphic environment of Slavonic in a cavalier (or calculating) bricolage is one of the things that distinguishes the commercial from the ecclesiastical and nationalist domains.

The nationalist domain The demise of the Soviet Union resulted in severe economic, cultural, and societal dislocations. As the Soviet social safety net disintegrated, crime, poverty, alcoholism, and disease all spiked dramatically (Twigg 2002). A huge gap opened between rich and poor, with the New Russians becoming incredibly rich while many pensioners were reportedly reduced to eating dogs and pigeons (White 2000: 144-57). Russia in the 1990s was often compared to Chicago in the 1930s, complete with mafia, extortion, and gangland killings. Its international reputation plummeted. To this litany of woes must be added the drastic changes in the spheres of religion and language sketched in Chapter 2. A plethora of competing political groups arose in response to these distressing developments. They spanned the political spectrum: fascist, monarchist, anarchist, Eurasianist, imperialist, communist, neo-Nazi, and so on (Parland 2005: 74). All attempted to identify and reclaim the qualities that reportedly made Russia great. A helpful analytical distinction can be made between religious and secular varieties of nationalism. These two poles are well summarized by King (2006: 215-16): Russian religious nationalism follows the old Black Hundred slogans of "Orthodoxy, autocracy and the Russian national spirit" and "Faith, Tsar and Fatherland," and takes a sharply negative attitude to at least the early Soviet period of Russian history. Orthodox Christianity is seen as one of the defining characteristics ofRussianness, and antisemitism is very much the norm. On the other hand: Russian secular nationalism is mainly concerned with the state. Its adherents generally style themselves "patriots" rather than nationalists. Their attitudes to the Soviet period of Russian history are generally positive, although opinions of the Tsarist period vary . Antisemitism is prevalent, but not universal. Verkhovsky (2006: 299) makes a similar distinction, and uses "Russian Orthodox nationalists" as an umbrella term to encompass "religious nationalists, Orthodox monarchists, fimdamentalists, and ultra-conservatives." I will follow this usage, while recognizing that there are important differences between, say, monarchists and fundamentalists. Some groups are more extreme, promoting a vociferous brand of anti-Semitism, while others are closer to the generally conservative but largely apolitical outlook of many Russian Orthodox religionists (V erkhovsky 2004: 128-30). The picture is also complicated by the alliances, schisms, and regroupings that have characterized the Russian right, especially in the 1990s. As a whole, though, the discourses of Russian Orthodox nationalists tend to exalt a "Holy Russia," imagined as a pious land of priests and peasants under the guidance

Slavonic and the graphic environment 103 of a sacrosanct tsar. Holy Russia is always and everywhere opposed by an apostate and aggressive West. Conspiracy theories, based on the notorious Protocols of the Elders of Zion, are a common denominator across different Orthodox nationalist groups. There has been a rapport between the Protocols and Russian Orthodoxy from the start. An obscure St. Petersburg newspaper was the first to publish the rudiments of the Protocols, in 1903. The key edition appeared in 1905, edited by Nilus Sergei, who was associated with the Optina Pustyn' monastery, and was later printed at the Holy Trinity-St. Sergius Monastery (Hagemeister 2006: 243 Laqueur 1993: 35). In the early days of post-Soviet Russia, the Protocols gained a wide audience. Various editions have been sold on the streets of Moscow since 1990 (Devlin 1999: 28), and from church bookstalls in both city centers and the far provinces (Hagemeister 2006: 245). Russia's long history oftrials and tribulations, from the Bolshevik Revolution to the collapse of the Soviet Union, is interpreted by reference to an all-encompassing but protean conspiracy organized by Jews with the ultimate aim of subjugating and destroying Russia (Bennett 2007). By her steadfast faith and mighty resources, however, the Russian nation alone stands in the way of the one-world international state being secretly organized by the Jews. According to Verkhovsky (2002: 334): This is a world outlook based on extremely mythologised notions about the prerevolutionary Orthodox monarchy, and it is very widespread in the church. In essence it is a simplified and aggressive form of nostalgia for a Golden Age which came to a violent end at the 1917 revolution and which has been rejected both by communism and by postsoviet modernisation. Predisposed to looking for a worldwide conspiracy, this discourse has been able to make the transition to focusing on globalization. The ecumenical movement is similarly viewed with fear and loathing. The World Council of Churches (WCC), an organization dedicated to cooperation between different Christian traditions, is treated as the ecclesiastical equivalent of the European Union. For Russian Orthodox nationalists, the solution to such looming threats as the United Nations and WCC involves "repurification, revival and regeneration, returning Russia to the more pristine state supposedly characteristic of Russia eons ago" (Ramet 2006: 150). But returning to a state be fore the advent of secularism and pluralism can be accomplished only by a kind of totalitarianism (Berger 2005: 440). Perhaps for this reason, we often see these groups utilizing- in addition to Slavonic Orthodox symbols- military, fascist, and even Nazi gestures, clothing, and emblems. This may also explain their fascination with Stalin and Ivan the Terrible, both of whom are objects of grassroots canonization campaigns (Rock 2006). The primary carriers of Russian Orthodox nationalism are the various "brotherhoods," such as the Oprichnina Brotherhood of St. IosifVolotskii, the Brotherhood of St. Sergei ofRadonezh, the Resurrection Orthodox Brotherhood, and the Union of Orthodox Banner-Bearers. A brotherhood is usually a group of Orthodox laypeople with a cleric as leader or spiritual mentor. Historically, brotherhoods have

104 Slavonic and the graphic environment arisen during times of crisis for the Orthodox Church. Their relationship with the official Church is complicated. In the post-Soviet era, the Moscow Patriarchate has distanced itself from some of the extremist and xenophobic expressions of these groups. However, the reality on the ground is more complicated, as they have many supporters within the Church as a whole (Rock 2003). Newspapers were important during the Soviet era: "During communism's heyday, newspapers were vital parts ofthe political-economic apparatus. Publications had gigantic circulations" (Obermayer 2000: 50). Their significance continued in the post-communist period, especially the 1990s, as many new papers flooded the market. Peddled from kiosks, metro stations, and street vendors, established papers and new ones vied for readers. Papers were also responsible for "raising the temperature" in the ideological battles of the 1990s (Zassoursky 2009: 36). Each group- be it neo-Nazi, monarchist, fundamentalist, or whatever- had its own newspaper. Using a variety ofhistoricizing typefaces and emblems, each group attempted to project an identity for itself in a crowded field. Thus, some papers (e.g. Za SSSR) continued to use bold sans serif lettering and Soviet symbols like the star and the hammer and sickle. Explicitly fascist papers (e.g. Falanga) employed a fraktur font along with iron crosses or swastikas. The Orthodox nationalist papers, often published by one of the brotherhoods, tend to use some kind of Slavonic lettering and such symbols as the imperial double-headed eagle and the "Golgotha cross" (illustrated at the top of Figure 1.2 in Chapter 1). The use of Slavonic maybe interpreted as a kind ofarchaizing purism (Thomas 1991: 77), resurrecting a potent symbol of a utopian Holy Russia in order to counteract the West and its New World Order. Slavonic is a consistent and constitutive element of Russian Orthodox nationalist newspapers (see Figure 5.6). Although a few scholars (e.g. Laqueur 1993; Komblatt 1999) have observed the connection between nationalism and old Slavonic writing, they have not pursued the matter or situated it in the broader sociolinguistic context of post-Soviet Russia. Turunen's fieldwork (2007: 331) suggests that monarchists typically consider "Church Slavonic a more devotional language than modem language." It is therefore not surprising that monarchist papers assume a highly ecclesiastical, Slavonic-inspired appearance. On the other hand, Russkii vestnik is an important right-wing paper with an estimated print run of60,000 (Rock 2001: 66). During the "Kochetkov affair" (discussed in Chapter 4 ), it published a number of articles and open letters in support of Slavonic as the Church's liturgical language. Yet it employs an Art Nouveau masthead that evokes the imperial culture of old St. Petersburg. Thus, although there is a solid link between Orthodox nationalism and the Slavonic script, there is still variation. Many post-Soviet papers with differing ideologies have used Slavonic in different ways and to different degrees. In general, the use of Slavonic in these publications can be characterized as Displaytypographie (display typography), which relies more on the pictorial dimension of the script, as opposed to Lesetypographie (text typography), which is intended more for reading (cf. Stockl 2005: 207). In some, the masthead is quite straightforward, with barely a hint of historical or liturgical referencing; other times, the script is ornate in a manner that

Slavonic and thegraphicenvironment 105

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Figure 5.6 Nationalist newspapers with various Slavonic typefaces (photo cowtesy of Anatol Sbmelev, Hoover Institution Archives and Library, Stanford University)

recalls calligraphic viaz ' (interlaced writing). Sorretimes, only the masthead is in a Slavonic font; otbertirres, the paper includes real Church Slavonic content, such as prayers and liturgical hymns. Some papers use the archaic Slavonic tsif'zr ' (letter-based) system for nlliiDering. Sorretirres, Slavonic is enployed with the "old orthography"; other tirres, with modern Cyrittic. A variety of errblems and ornarrents acconpany the script. Although there are always exceptions, the correlation between the Slavonic script and Russian Orthodox nationalism is persistent and petvasive. The ornate script- redolent of the ancien regime -is a ready-made form that can be used to project a kind of identity. In what fotlows, I witt take a closer look at sorre examples in order to flesh out the analyses. Many discussions of Russian nationalism proceed on a rarefied level, speaking in general, theoretical terms, without touching on earthy details. For that reason, and because of the conparative rarity of the materials, I provide a rather detailed explication of sanple texts. What follows is a partial list ofpost-Soviet p!pers that enploy Slavonic lettering:

•

Chernaia sotnia (Black Hundreds) Dlia russkikh liudei (For the Russian People) Dvorianskoe sobranie (Gathering ofNobility)

106 Slavonic and the graphic environment Dvugliavnyi orel" (Two-headed Eagle) Imperskii vestnik (Imperial Herald) K" svietu (To the Light) Kazachii SPAS" (Cossack Salvation) Khristianskoe Chtenie (Christian Reading) Kolokol" (Bell) Monarkhist (Monarchist) Nahat (Alarm) Nashe otechestvo (Our Fatherland) Pamiat' (Memory) Pobieda (Victory) Pravoslavie ili smert' (Orthodoxy or Death) Pravoslavnia bratchina (Orthodox Fellowship) Pravoslavnaia Moskva (Orthodox Moscow) Pravoslavnaia rat' (Orthodox Army/Battle) Pravoslavnoe obozrenie (Orthodox Review) Pravoslavnoeslovo (Orthodox Word) Prosvietitel' (Enlightener) Put'(Path) Radonezh Rubezh (Border/Line) Rus' Rus' derzhavnaia (Sovereign Rus) Rus' pravoslavnaia (Orthodox Rus) Rus' sviataia (Holy Rus) Russkie idut! (Russians Are on the Movet) Russkie vedomosti (Russian Gazette) Russkii dom (Russian Home) Russkii partizan" (Russian Partisan) Russkii poriadok (Russian Order) Russkii stiag (Russian Banner) Russkii tsel' (Russian Target) Russkoe voskresenie (Russian Resurrection) Slavianskoe edinstvo (Slavic Unity) Shturmovik (Attacker) Tsar 'grad (Constantinople) Tsarskii oprichnik (Tsarist Oprichnik) Tsarskii put' (Tsarist Path) Tsars/we delo (Tsarist Concern) Veche Vozrozhdenie (Rebirth/Revival) Znamenie (Sign) The names of these papers evoke different aspects or periods ofRussian history, especially the mythistorical polity ofRus, but also the Veche (medieval assembly),

Slavonic and the graphic environment 107 the Oprichnina (the state within a state created by Ivan the Terrible), and the Black Hundreds (pre-revolutionary right-wing thugs). Some use scriptural quotations as epigraphs (K" svietu, Tsars/we delo); others quote such famous Russian figures as St. Serafim (Rus' derzhavnaia, Veche). One quotes Hitler (Russ/we voskresenie). Quite a few contain pre-revolutionary slogans or mottos: "For Faith, Tsar and Fatherhood" (Chernaia sotnia, Imperskii vestnik, Monarkhist, Pravoslavnaia bratchina, Russkii partizan", Tsarskii put') "God is with us!" (Pravoslavnaia Moskva) "For Holy Rus!" (Nabat) "Purity ofFaith and Purity ofBlood" (Shturmovik) "For Faith and Faithfulness" (Dvugliavnyi orel") Others sound an exclusivist theme: "Russia is for Russians" (Russ/de vedomosti) "For those who love Russia" (Russkii dom) "For those who still think of themselves as Russians" (Chernaia sotnia) For the Orthodox nationalist papers, symbols usually accompany a Slavonic masthead. Stereotypical illustrations ofbells, churches, cupolas, icons, angels, and crosses are all very common. A number of papers contain an illustration of the Cathedral of Christ the Savior or St. Basil's in Red Square; others are more generic in appearance. Of the above-mentioned papers, ten have some variation of George slaying the dragon- the traditional image of Muscovy and, by extension, Russia. The image is often adapted to impale the enemies of the group in question. For example, the cover of the first issue of Pravoslavie ili smert' (1997- written in Slavonic letters) involves a photomontage of St. George trampling on Pope John Paul II and Fr. Kochetkov. A dozen or so display a version of the double-headed eagle. With a single crown atop heads turned to the East and the West, wielding a scepter and orb, this is the traditional imperial emblem. Of course, both the doubleheaded eagle and St. George are now official emblems, and are also widely used on such consumer products as vodka and cigarettes (Service 2002: 200, 333). The image of St. George eventually became ubiquitous, especially in conjunction with the 850th anniversary ofMoscow. A giant (and controversial) statue of him slaying a dragon is the focal point of the post-Soviet Victory Park in Moscow (Forest and Johnson 2002: 532). Clearly, then, such imagery is not confined to nationalist or extremist publications; it is very much part of the wider post-Soviet landscape. As mentioned earlier, the discourse of a worldwide Jewish-Masonic conspiracy is universal in Orthodox nationalist circles. Not surprisingly, then, these papers contain many anti-Semitic texts and images. I have already mentioned the presence of swastikas, and the Star of David is a ready-made emblem for representing Judaism. A distinctive lexicon is also used to describe Jews in the nationalist and extremist media. They are called, among other things, nomads, demons, and biorobots (Moskovich 1999: 92-3). Cartoons depict them as rats who are carting off

108 Slavonic and the graphic environment Russia, or as fat businessmen stealing or selling it out. Here are some examples of the political cartoons found in these papers: A Jew-rat riding on a Russian muzhik carrying a banner (topped by the Star of David) with the words "Lenin business party democracy communism USA privatization Israel perestroika" (Russkie vedomosti 5 (1992)). St. George lancing a dragon, which in this case is a hydra-headed beast, emblazoned with the Star of David and faces of Jewish businessmen- a deed that is being blessed from on high (Russkie vedomosti 33 (1998)). A widely reproduced image originally appearing in Russkoe voskresenie (7/15 (1992)) of a Jew-rat in stars and stripes leading an animalian Yeltsin and Gorbachev by chains. (The masthead of this paper includes the Orthodox cross, a swastika, and a quotation from Mein Kampf) A devil with the Star of David above him is selling books on the street. Beneath the table are the works of Lenin, Stalin, and Marx; on the table are books on astrology, sects, and the Hindu scripture the Bhagavad Gita. The caption reads: "The daughter- the Communist Party- has died, but the papa -the devil- remains" (Chernaia sotnia 3 (1993)). This is a clear reference to the street trading that characterized the early 1990s, as well as the idea that the protean Jewish conspiracy will try any means, from communism to capitalism, to vanquish Russia. In addition to the Star of David, another stereotyping device is faux Hebrew. The periodical Rus 'pravoslavnaia has been one of the most aggressively anti-Semitic publications. Its print and video output often uses faux Hebrew to represent Jews or Judaism (see http://www.rusprav.org/, accessed 4 August 2010). The most notorious example is the film Russia Stabbed in the Back: Jewish Fascism and the Genocide of the Russian People (Rossiia s nozhom v spine: Evreiskii fashizm i genotsid russkogo naroda). In the center is a stereotypical image of a Russian girl in traditional attire surrounded by a ring of thorns. The cover has the word "Russia" in a Slavonic-style font, while the words "stabbed in the back" and "Jewish fascism" are in faux Hebrew - a clash of civilizations encoded in typography. The use of faux Hebrew is predictable -it has been used to stereotype Jews for well over a century. But elsewhere in this literature, anti-Jewish material, such as excerpts from the Protocols of the Elders of Zion, is displayed in a kind of technological or futuristic font (e.g. Chernaia sotnia 7-8 (1994)). The use of a technological font fits with other aspects of Orthodox nationalist discourse, such as controversies over the introduction of bar codes and individual taxpayer numbers (INN). The West- hence, world Jewry- is associated with modem technological globalization and the systems used for the enslavement of nations and the construction of a New World Order under Jewish dominion. As Verkhovsky (2006: 234) says, "globalization has offered a real intellectual gift" to Russian nationalists who are concerned with the malign possibilities of product bar codes and other such manifestations of"mondialism."

Slavonic and the graphic environment 109 Let us take a closer look at some examples of Orthodox nationalist literature. The cover ofthe first issue (2002) of Pravoslavnaia rat' contains three small icons - of Mary, Jesus, and Nicholas II. Beneath them is the two-headed eagle. The official nineteenth-century motto, "Orthodoxy, Autocracy, Nationality," written in ornate Slavonic script, encircles a Golgotha cross. Inside, one finds articles concerning the US dollar, 11 September, ecumenism, and kosher food (said to be an integral part of the "yid-antichrist ideology"). Another paper, Russ/de idut!, is connected with the original Pamiat', ''the oldest and perhaps most notorious rightwing monarchist group" (Rock 2001: 70). The masthead is in a very elaborate Slavonic font. This paper published a "Prayer to Ivan the Terrible" (5-6 (2002)) as well as an article entitled "Falsity and Truth about the Terrible Tsar" (14 (2003)). In another issue (13 (2003)), we find an article headed: "In Russia the Church is separated from the Government: but the synagogue?" with the word "synagogue" mistakenly in faux Devanagari instead ofHebrew. Another issue (12 (2002)) has the word "Russia" in a big Slavonic script with multiple ligatures on top something that is technically incorrect- as if trying to elevate the sanctity of the term by multiplying the diacritics. The Union of Orthodox Banner-Bearers (Soiuz pravoslavnyklz klzorugvenostsev) was founded in 1992 with the blessing of Metropolitan Ioann, a notorious rightwing cleric and promoter of the Protocols. Though quite small in number, the group has garnered a considerable amount of media attention. Dressed in black clothing and sporting various emblems and insignia, the members carry icons and gonfalons in ritual processions held against what they take to be alien decadences on Russian soil: a Madonna concert, a gay pride parade, the Da Vinci Code movie. The group also sponsored a "Russian auto-da-fe" at which they burned Western publications, such as Playboy magazine (http://drakula.org/cgi-binlgalereya.pl? action=see&act=center&idbank=26&idfile=3, accessed 11 February 2010). One of the group's projects is called Russian Symbol (written using the old orthography). Its motto is "A new Rus, but according to the old model" (Rus' novaia, no po staromu obraztsu). There could hardly be a clearer expression of the tendency, identified by Oushakine (2007), to rely on the structuring effect of old, pre-revolutionary forms for the construction of post-Soviet culture. The word obrazets (image, model, or pattern) is related to icon. Russian Symbol is an art and graphic design studio that attempts to propagate the group's ideology through such products as t-shirts and bandannas. These items combine a variety of crosses, swords, eagles, and slogans ("Russia is for Russians"), more often than not composed in red or gold Slavonic-style lettering. All of these are for sale. The project's website shows ''models" sporting them and provides descriptions of the symbolism involved. For example, there is a bandanna with the words sim pobedishi, the Church Slavonic equivalent of In hoc vinces, the famous phrase associated with Constantine the Great meaning "by this you will triumph" (cf. Garrard and Garrard 2008: 31-2). An explanation is also given for the symbolism of alpha and omega, with the relevant verse from scripture (Revelation 1: 8) quoted in Church Slavonic. One shirt is dedicated to the 1040th anniversary of the destruction of the Khazar kaganate - a code term for Judaism. The website also

110 Slavonic and the graphic environment lists places where these products can be purchased (http://www.russiansymbol.ru/ index2.htm, accessed 13 February 201 0). Although this kind of merchandising is unusual, it does point to the fact that nationalist discourses can come close to the tropes and techniques one usually encounters in corporate advertising. But a big difference is the lack of irony. Websites that sells bandannas emblazoned with anti-Semitic slogans written in faux Slavonic come perilously close to parody, not an ironic reference to Russian identity.

*** The return of the hieratic Slavonic script has been one of the notable changes to have occurred in the post-Soviet landscape. Because of its historical relationship to Orthodoxy and the secularized Cyrillic alphabet, Slavonic writing provides a ready-made, even stereotypical, way of projecting Russian/Orthodoxy identity. Although a kind of "banal Slavonicisim" is evident across the semiotic space, Slavonic letterforms are thickest in three areas: religion, commerce, and nationalism. The place of the Slavonic script in Russia might well be compared to that of blackletter type in German-speaking countries. Like Slavonic, blackletter is an old-style script that is used to represent German history and tradition, from beer to Schnitzel restaurants. Like Slavonic, it is also used by nationalist groups with puristic agendas. But there are important differences. For one, the Slavonic script is still used in ecclesiastical settings. German Protestantism used to be closely associated with blackletter writing, but, according to Schwemer-Scheddin (1998: 57), ''the Protestant Church in Germany, like every other service industry, now employs the slick, hybrid designer-font Rotis for its hymn books." Yet there are signs of change within Russian Orthodoxy, too. As we saw in Chapter 3, liturgical books for private reading are sometimes printed in a modified form of the civil script, which is easier to read, especially for neophytes. Another indicator of change may be found in the flagship publication, Journal of the Moscow Patriarchate. Starting in 2003, the ornate Slavonic masthead came to be printed in a cleaner Cyrillic typeface. Only an iconic )I( ("Zh" as in Zhurnal- Journal) remains. In mainstream media, the rise of "glossy" journals like Cosmopolitan, Elle, Marie-Claire, and Playboy indicates a certain economic stability achieved during the Putin era (Beumers, Hutchings, and Rulyova 2009: 21). Recent years have witnessed the appearance of "Orthodox glossies" that reflect a similar sense of stability and confidence on the part ofthe Orthodox Church (Kishkovsky 2008b). The most important is Foma (Thomas), named after "doubting Thomas" (see John 20). It has a print run of30,000 and is sold at both regular news-stands and church kiosks. With beautiful photographs and articles on contemporary culture and society, it conveys a sense of Orthodoxy as a religion that, while rooted in tradition, is confidently engaged with the contemporary world. Particularly interesting for our purposes is that Foma contains almost no Slavonic lettering. Neskuchnyi sad is another glossy that focuses more on the social and charitable endeavors of

Slavonic and the graphic environment 111

Orthodoxy, but it is equally devoid of Slavonic lettering. Such journals have replaced the multitude of inexpensive and irregular newspapers that were characteristic of the turbulent 1990s and tended to rely on Slavonic as a ready-made expression of Russian Orthodox identity. A similar shift may be detected in the nationalist domain. According to Laruelle (2009), the extreme fragmentation characteristic of Russian nationalism in the 1990s has given way to a consensual "nationalist climate." Putin's emphasis on order and Russia's financial and political stabilization after the tumultuous 1990s have made nationalism a mainstream phenomenon. What used to be considered extremist or outre has become middle-of-the-road. We see this trend reflected in the papers as well. Periodicals of "negligible circulation and uneven regularity" still exist, but they are mostly marginalized. For their part, monarchists "have nearly lost their place on the spectrum of radical politics" (Laruelle 2009: 31-3). There are also larger and more established mainstream periodicals that survived the hurly-burly of the 1990s and still use Slavonic. Rus' derzhavnaia is published with the blessing of the Patriarch and sold at most parish bookstalls and even commercial venues (Verkhovsky 2004: 129). The masthead is composed in large, ornate Slavonic, accompanied by line drawings of the Cathedral of Christ the Savior, the Kremlin. and the Ivan the Great Bell-Tower (see the large paper in the center of Figure 5.6, above). The well-known prophecy of St. Serafim serves as the epigraph: "The Lord will have mercy on Russia and lead her by the path of suffering to great glory!" In the center is a drawing ofthe "Sovereign Mother of God" icon. This famous icon was reportedly discovered at the time ofNicholas II's abdication. Interpreted at the time as a sign that Mary had become the ruler in his stead, it is greatly venerated by conservative religionists. Rus' derzhavnaia has more Slavonic per page than most Orthodox nationalist periodicals. The Jesus Prayer (see Figure 1.2 in Chapter 1), complete with diacritics and abbreviations for nomina sacra, is used as a header throughout the paper. Additionally, it will often carry Church Slavonic prayers or troparia. Articles deal with the activities of various groups and prelates, ritual processions, great personages from Russian history, and so on. Russkii dom began as a television show that "represented a hybrid of ethnic Russian hegemony and Orthodox exclusiveness" (Zassorin 2006: 191 ). In addition to some standard Orthodox fare, programs covered the ''myth" of the Holocaust and the "ancient cabalistic murder" of Tsar Nicholas II (Zassorin 2006: 192). The magazine, which can be purchased at secular news-stands, is well connected It is blessed by the Patriarch and printed at the conservative Sretenskii Monastery (Zassorin 2006: 197). According to Zassorin (2006: 198), it is "seeking to play a leading role in the consolidation of Russian intellectual nationalism." The masthead is in a moderate Slavonic script, with cupolas playing offthe letter ''m." Church-related topics tend to be printed at the beginning and cast in a more Slavonic style, while later articles on economics, culture, and so on use a variety ofmodem fonts. Thus, Slavonic is still widely used, but perhaps in a more muted and less extravagant way, suggesting a cooling off or consolidation of religious and

112 Slavonic and the graphic environment nationalist fennent. As Russian and Orthodox identities stabilize, and as the presence of the Latin script becomes ever more accepted as a natural part of the graphic environment, there appears to be less need to rely on the ready-made fonns of old Slavonic letters.

6

From Marx and Lenin to Cyril and Methodius

Nearly all civilisations have legends attributing the origin of writing to the intervention of some divine or semi-historical beings. Basic to all these myths, concepts and stories is a profound sense of the existential importance of writing to political power and with it the ability to establish, maintain and control tradition and order. (Gaur 2000: 105) In April1992, just four months after the collapse of the Soviet Union, a flame from the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, built over what is said to be the empty tomb of Christ, embarked on a long and circuitous journey. From Jerusalem, the flame was taken to Istanbul (or Constantinople in Orthodox terms) and then to Thessaloniki. From Greece, it traveled through Bulgaria, Yugoslavia, Hungary, Czechoslovakia, Poland, Ukraine, and Belarus, until a month later it reached its destination at the Kremlin. It arrived on 24 May, the Day of Slavonic Writing and Culture. Aleksii II, the Patriarch of Moscow and All Rus, along with a throng of clergy and laity, was waiting outside to receive it. After candles were lit from the flame, the assembly moved into the Dormition Cathedral (Uspenskii sobor), the most important church in Russia, for a magnificent liturgy led by the Patriarch himself The logistics involved in transporting the flame to Moscow were complicated, to say the least. Visas had to be obtained for each country traversed, and for safety reasons it was impossible to convey the flame by airplane. Given the unstable geopolitical landscape- the Berlin Wall had come down in 1989; the violent breakup of Yugoslavia was under way -religionists felt it was something of a miracle that the journey happened at all. The cathedral itself had been closed just a few years earlier (Shurtakov 1995: 62-5). After the liturgy, a ritual procession of clerics and laypeople carrying icons and banners brought the flame to a new monument in the renamed Slavonic Square (Slavianskaia ploshchad'), just a few blocks from the Kremlin. The monument to Saints Cyril and Methodius, who are commemorated for bringing Christianity to the unlettered Slavs, had been fashioned by Viacheslav Klykov, one of Russia's most celebrated sculptors. Christ said, "I am the light of the world" (John 8:12), and the missionary brothers are known as the "Enlighteners of the Slavs." When the flame traveled from Jerusalem to Moscow by way of the Cyrillo-Methodian

114 Marx and Lenin to Cyril andMethodius

memorial places (po pamiatnym mestam) dispersed across Europe (Brodskii 1994: 112), it symbolized the spread of the Gospel. And so, as part of the festal consecration of the new monument, the "inextinguishable icon-lamp of Slavonic spirituality" (niugasimaia lampada slavianslwi dukhovnosti) was installed in a special glass-covered niche in the monument's pedestal (Krasnaia zvezda, 22 May 1992). The statue of Cyril andMethodius was one of the first to go up in the post-Soviet period. The transition happened so quickly that some Muscovites, upon seeing the figures of the two saints standing together, are said to have mistaken them for Marx and Engels (Mitrofanov 2008). Both the subject matter and the placement of the new statue were telling. Referring to the traditional names of the last and first letters of the Cyrillic alphabet- the equivalents of "Z" and "A" - Condee and Padunov (1995: 149) write: A short walking distance and a short time away, two interconnected incidents in statuary history would soon be enacted- the toppling ofFeliks Dzerzhinskii and the unveiling of Cyril and Methodius, an end and a beginning, izhitsa and az; the wiping away of Soviet hieroglyphics and the setting down of a new Russian alphabet. The toppling of the statue of Dzerzhinskii in front of the Lubyanka, the hulking headquarters of the KGB, became a powerful symbol that helped mark the end of Soviet totalitarianism. Thousands gathered in the broad intersection and tried to wrest the figure to the ground by hand before machinery was brought in to complete the job (Brooke 2006: 89). If the "rise and fall of monuments" often functions as a trope for the collapse of Soviet power and the transition to a post-communist society (Grant 2001: 332), then the symbolism is obvious. The founder ofthe notorious secret police was out; the founders of Slavonic Orthodoxy were (back) in. As one observer said: "The monument opens at a time when all around the pedestals of recent cronies [vremenshchilwv] are empty, when our souls, tired of countless social experiments, demand a return to the pure, life-giving sources of spirituality of our ancestors, to the roots" (Iadykin 1993). This chapter explores how the myth of Cyril and Methodius, the fountainhead ofthe Church Slavonic tradition, has been reactivated in post-Soviet Russia. As in the previous chapter, it moves beyond the strictly ecclesiastical sphere to the reclamation of an aspect of the Slavonic tradition by broader post-Soviet society. There are many unhelpful understandings of myth in public and academic discourse- myth as tribal story, as proto-science, as erroneous belief. For our purposes, a myth will be defined as a narrative about superhuman agents and events that serves as a charter for a particular community. Mythic discourse connects the great foundational deeds that transpired in illo tempore to the concerns of the present day. The myth of Cyril and Methodius valorizes two constitutive elements of the Slavic Orthodox world: religion and literacy. In the West, literacy preceded Christianization. The Latin alphabet was not a Christian invention; it was linked to the glories of pagan Rome. But in the East, language

Marx and Lenin to Cyril and Methodius 115 and faith were bound together. Slavonic was created to spread the Gospel. Both reached medieval Rus at the same time. The connection between the two is accounted for in the myth of Cyril and Methodius, which tells how the divinely inspired Slavonic alphabet- the source of modem-day Cyrillic- was brought from Byzantium to the Slavs in the teeth of Western clerical opposition. As Clarke and Reid (2007: 15) explain: The very idea of literacy is associated with the missionary activity of the church. Such a close historical connection between literacy and Orthodoxy has important implications for the way in which national identity may be It is clear that Orthodoxy has left a concrete legacy in the constructed Russian language: the Cyrillic alphabet and much of the abstract vocabulary, even certain grammatical forms, can be traced back to Church Slavonic. The Day of Slavonic Writing and Culture (Den' slavianskoi pis 'mennosti i kul'tury), a Church-state holiday that is held every 24 May, celebrates this legacy and contributes to the important symbolic work of identifying Russia as an Orthodox-believing, Cyrillic-writing nation. While Cyril and Methodius were venerated in pre-revolutionary Russia, their cult experienced a precipitous decline after the Bolsheviks came to power. Starting in the 1980s, however, a small revival began. By the 1990s, the Day of Slavonic Writing (or Literacy) and Culture was being celebrated with great pomp and circumstance in Moscow and other cities throughout Russia. Ritual processions and public speeches by patriarchs and presidents underscore the ongoing relevance of the Cyrillo-Methodian tradition for Russia. Cyril and Methodius themselves have become two of post-Soviet Russia's new patron saints. Statues in their honor have been erected in a number of cities. All of this has occurred at a time when the myths and memorials of the Soviet Union have been questioned or discarded, and pre-revolutionary heroes, stories, and symbols reclaimed. This is not to say, of course, that the myth has gone uncontested. As one critic complained, "Who are these Cyril and Methodius guys? You can't tell from their opaque visages on icons; they didn't give interviews; didn't publish declarations To celebrate one's native language is like celebrating the air we breathe" (Sharandina 2007). Nor has the Moscow monument been immune from attack: two bullets have hit the icon-lamp, cracking the glass screening but not damaging the lamp itself. As Obeyesekere (1990) has suggested, it is in the very nature of myth qua charter to generate debate and opposition. The revival of the myth of Cyril and Methodius is one example of broader patterns ofmythmaking in the post-communist milieu As Anthony Smith (2009) and others have persuasively argued, myths and their accompanying symbolic accoutrements- rituals, flags, memorials, anthems, and the like - are integral to the formation of nations. It is not surprising, then, that a lot of mythic work has been going on since the Iron Curtain came down. In Fantasies ofSalvation: democracy, nationalism, and myth in post-communist Europe Tismaneanu (1998: 14) argues that the post-communist nations are in search of a "new axis mundi," a phrase

116 Marx and Lenin to Cyril andMethodius made famous by the great Romanian scholar of myth, Mircea Eliade. Political myths provide simple, imagistic solutions to complex, multifaceted social dilemmas. Post-communist nations are looking for the kind of grounding that will provide not only identity and community but theodicy- that is, accounts that justify the suffering they have endured and contain the promise of ultimate redemption. Tismaneanu delineates certain recurring mythic patterns that are evident across the post-communist landscape, including myths ofvictimhood and conspiracy, a lost paradise and a charismatic savior. But it is not clear how these broad schemata relate to the specific religious traditions in the region. A useful corrective is found in the work ofLeustean, who discusses the role of Orthodoxy and political mythology in the formation of Balkan national identities. He suggests (Leustean 2008: 431) that political myths "not only make reference to the former glory of the country, but also strengthen the relationship between the body of the nation and religious and political authorities." By way of example, he points to the importance of Cyril and Methodius as national saints in Bulgaria and the Day of Bulgarian Enlightenment and Culture (Leustean 2008: 427). As for Russia, the post-Soviet era has been marked by ongoing negotiation over symbols, monuments, and holidays. The double-headed eagle, the tricolor flag, the hammer and sickle, St. George and the dragon, Lenin's Mausoleum, Victory Parkall of these have figured into the polyphonic debates over the relationship between Russian, Soviet, and Western identity structures. During the Soviet era, many cities, streets, areas, and organizations were renamed in honor of events and personages from communist mythology. Much of this has been reversed since 1991. Lenin Hills became Sparrow Hills; the Museum of the Revolution reemerged as the Museum of the Contemporary History of Russia (Forest and Johnson 2002: 534); Gorky, which had been renamed after the Soviet author, reverted to NizlmyNovgorod; and, most importantly, Leningrad once again became St. Petersburg. Between 1990 and 1993, some 150 streets in Moscow had their names changed (K. Smith 2002: 205). Debates still flare up over these matters, as when Grand Communist Street was renamed Solzhenitsyn after the author's death (Kishkovsky 2008a). Kathleen Smith's informative study, Mythmaking in the New Russia: politics and memory during the Yeltsin era, analyzes the efforts to find new heroes, establish a viable commemorative calendar, and articulate an identity for postcommunist Russia. She discusses attempts to modify prime Soviet holidays, such as turning the anniversary of the October Revolution into a Day of Reconciliation, and to confect new ones, such as the widely ignored Independence Day and the even weaker Constitution Day. She mentions but does not go into much detail about the Day of Slavonic Writing and Culture (K. Smith 2002: 116). What she says about monuments in general, though, is applicable to the new CyrilloMethodian statues that have been unveiled across the country: "By memorializing certain historical individuals or events in stone or metal, those who make or commission monuments can attempt to propagate an interpretation of the past, to shape collective memory, and to contribute to a sense of national identity" (K. Smith 2002: 104). The return of Cyril and Methodius should be seen against this backdrop ofpost-Soviet mythmaking in Russia.

Marx and Lenin to Cyril and Methodius 117

There is a vast literature on the Cyrillo-Methodian tradition, numbering thousands of books and articles. Indeed, it has reached the point where there are bibliographies of bibliographies (Bannick 2005: 29). Yet the vast majority of this literature concerns the medieval period and ignores subsequent developments. Exhibiting their own kind of mythic mentality, scholars have returned time and again to the very earliest corpus of texts in search of a radiant core that will somehow solve all the historical and philological puzzles associated with the Cyrillo-Methodian mission. To be fair, though, the search for the Ur-text of a myth has been the most typical approach in religious studies as well, at least until fairly recently. It is now more common to see myth "as an authoritative mode of narrative discourse that may be instrumental in the ongoing construction of social borders and hierarchies, which is to say, in the construction of society itself' (Lincoln 1991: 123), and this will be the approach taken here. In what follows, I first expand on this conception of myth in general and then sketch some of the moments when the myth of Cyril and Methodius has been used in the construction of Russian society. This will set the stage for a more detailed consideration of the post-Soviet period.

*** As I noted in Chapter 1, sociolinguistics as a field has only recently started to take religion seriously. While a number of sociolinguists acknowledge the importance of language myths, their analyses tend to be rather vague and unhelpful. For example, under the rubric of myth, Calvet (1998: 19-24) discusses the biblical account of Babel, which renders multilingualism as a punishment, and the Qur'anic account of Arabic, which depicts that language as divine and therefore superior to all others. He rightly identifies two key elements of myths- their transcendental mooring and their ongoing influence - but the discussion is otherwise brief and non-specific. In Linguistic Culture and Language Policy, Schiffman (1996: 59) speaks of "a story, myth or parable about the origin of language, and the role of the deity for it." He demonstrates the influence of such myths in various cultures ranging from France to Japan. But he never really defines myth and ends up lumping it with the gallimaufry of beliefs, stereotypes, folk conceptions, cultural codes, and so on that together make up a generative "linguistic culture." Both Calvet and Schiffman treat myth in largely amorphous and ahistorical terms. The approach taken here builds on understandings of myth developed in classical (e.g. Graf 1993) and religious studies (e.g. Paden 1994). It may provide a more workable framework for analyzing language myths, including the CyrilloMethodian myth in post-Soviet Russia. A myth is a traditional story about superhuman beings and events that is treated as true, sacred, and paradigmatic inside (but not outside) a particular community. Myths are charters. They explain an aspect of the world, guide thought and behavior, and create a sense of cohesion among members of a group. In popular discourse, myth is opposed to reality. But for religionists, myth is reality- it is treated as the most real thing there is. A myth is traditional in that it is told and retold, passed down from one generation to the next. As a tale, a myth does not

118 Marx and Lenin to Cyril and Methodius coincide with any particular language, text, or genre. It transcends specific expressions. Unlike poetry, which draws attention to its own language - its poeticalness -therefore making it notoriously hard to translate, the essential element of myth is plot. As such, a myth can be shortened or expanded, abridged or embellished, depending on the speaker and the occasion, without damage to its core. The reason for the "continuous mutation" of myth is its ongoing "cultural relevance" (Graf 1993: 3). Myth is the equivalent of the present perfect verb tense: it refers to events from the past that are thought still to shape or influence contemporary circumstances. For example, a children's version of the myth of Cyril and Methodius notes that the first words written by Cyril in his new Slavonic alphabet "resound to this day [do sego dnia] in Orthodox churches" (Balakshin 2006: 11). The phrase "to this day" encapsulates the power of myth. Events from the past carry on today, indelibly marking communal life. Myths are considered veridical and valid, and for that reason they are invoked and applied in the ongoing construction of social life. It is a bootstrap process: the group makes the myth, endowing it with sacrality and authority; and the myth in turn helps make the group, articulating its history and identity. A group's myths will typically be expressed in its art and literature, and commemorated in rituals and monuments. The story of creation is often considered the prototypical myth. The lives of saints lack this cosmogonic orientation but still qualify as mythic (Paden 1994: 72-3). Anthony Smith (2009: 91-2) makes a distinction between general myths of creation (as in the Hebrew Genesis account or the Greek Theogony) and "specific myths of the origins of particular communities," which include such conversion narratives as the Christianization ofRussia under Prince Vladimir. The story of Cyril and Methodius and their mission to the Slavs is a myth in this latter sense. The tale deals with superhuman agents and events. Celebrated through art, music, and ritual, the narrative has played a paradigmatic role in the constitution of Orthodox Slavdom. To this day, the story of Cyril and Methodius is prooftexted in disputes about the nature of Russian language, culture, and identity. The basic plot is well known. Rastislav, Prince of Moravia, wrote to the Byzantine Emperor Michael asking for teachers who could explain the Christian faith, which was new to his people, in their own language. Constantine "the Philosopher" was summoned to the task. Inspired by God, he devised the Slavonic script. The first text he wrote, fittingly, was the opening line from the Gospel of John: "In the beginning was the Word." He then translated the holy books into the Slavonic language. With his elder brother Methodius, he traveled to Moravia, where the newly converted Slavs rejoiced to hear the Gospel in their own tongue. But, urged on by the Devil, the Latin clergy rose up and condemned this innovation, insisting that God could be glorified only in Hebrew, Greek, or Latin- the three languages used on the inscription of Christ's cross. With a stirring defense of the merits of all languages to praise God, Constantine defeated this "Trilingualist" heresy. At the end of his life, Constantine assumed the monastic habit and the name Cyril. He died and was buried in Rome. Methodius carried on, but his missionary labors came to grief on the shoals ofLatinism. Expelled from Moravia,

Marx and Lenin to Cyril and Methodius 119 the Slavonic language and liturgy found more favorable soil in Bulgaria, where it would flourish and eventually reach Russia (M. Kantor 1983). As is typical of myth, this basic plot, in either compressed or embroidered form, is dispersed across a constellation of texts extant in Latin and Slavonic and translated into countless more languages. The most important sources are the socalled extended vitae of Cyril and Methodius. Other notable versions may be found in the Italian Legend, the Bulgarian Legend, and the Dormition of Cyril the Philosopher. Additionally, there are various liturgical offices (sluzhby) and commemorative sermons (pokhvaly) that recount the basic plot, as well as ancillary texts, such as the Alphabet Prayer and the tract On Letters (Schenker 1996: 26-9). The story is also repeated in medieval Slavic chronicles. A voluminous scholarly literature exists that is dedicated to analyzing every detail of these texts and their interrelations. Some of this scholarship attempts to debunk this or that aspect of the story. Thomson, for instance, attempts to deconstruct the Trilingualist heresy, which appears in a variety of sources, including the Vita Constantini, the Laudatio SS. Cyrilli et Methodii, and On Letters. He concludes, "there is not the slightest evidence that any leading ecclesiastic or theologian ever entertained such an idea and the notion that the Western Church ever propagated trilingualism in the Cyrillo-Methodian sense belongs to the realm of myth, not history" (Thomson 1992: 96). Indeed. For scholars, historiography trumps mythology, but of course we should not expect this to be the case for religionists. Whether there really was a Trilingualist heresy is, on one level at least, irrelevant: the very idea has seeped into the self-understanding of the Orthodox Slavs. As Paden (1994: 75) says, myth "persists not because it is historiographically correct but because its symbolism embodies so perfectly the ideals and dignity ofthe community." What has been called the Cyrillo-Methodian ideology - the insistence on the divinely sanctioned equality and dignity of the national tongue- has been central to Slavic Orthodox identity (Jakobson 1985: 69). And yet there is a sense in which different readings or versions of the myth do something rather similar to modem historical revisionism. Obeyesekere (1990) notes that a myth is both a charter and a provocation. Indeed, by its very nature, a charter is a provocation because it generates debate. Myths themselves may be viewed on one level as "sedimentations" of old debates. "And so it goes on: confrontation, debate, reconciliation, debate, and provocations - all producing new myths, variations of myths, resurrection of old myths, myth associations and interpretations" (Obeyesekere 1990: 131). This is the mythic process. If we examine the vicissitudes of the Cyrillo-Methodian myth down through Russian history, we see that it has been shaped and reshaped to fit different circumstances. In what follows, I touch on some of the salient moments of this mythic process in Rus/Russia. We find a condensed version ofthe Cyrillo-Methodian myth under the entry for the year 898 in the famous Rus Primary Chronicle. Written by monastic literati in the eleventh and early twelfth centuries, this early medieval text was one of several that "established an agenda, a set of reference points, which turned out to be astonishingly durable and which continually re-emerge in subsequent

120 Marx and Lenin to Cyril andMethodius narratives" (Franklin 2004: 12). After telling the story ofhow Cyril and Methodius brought Christianity and writing to the Slavs, the chronicler records one ofthe most consequential lines in East Slavic literature: "the Slavs and Russes are one people . While some Slavs were termed Polyanians, their speech was still Slavic, for they were known as Polyanians because they lived in the fields. But they had the same Slavic language" (Russian Primary Chronicle 1953: 63). The thick research dossier on this particular entry need not detain us here. What is important is the sense that it links the Rus, the ancestors of modem-day Russians, to the mythic enterprise of Cyril and Methodius. They are one with the Slavs, but retain their particular identity. This tensive relationship will ramify in various ways later in Russian history. Sometimes, the pan-Slavic aspect is emphasized; other times, Russian nationalism gains the upper hand. "The keynote of the entire history of Christianity," remarks van den Bercken (1999: 4-5), "is the struggle between the universal, supranational character of Christianity and its ties with a political or cultural entity." The history of Church Slavonic exemplifies this fact, oscillating between local versions (Bulgarian, Russian, and so on) and attempts at supranational standardization. As M. Kantor (1983: 10) says, "while the tradition created a common written language and literature for the Slavs which fostered unity, it also contained the potential for the development of separate national cultures and languages." The Cyrillo-Methodian myth lends itself to both causes. Russian nationalist interpretations of the myth are enabled by one line in the Vita of Constantine/Cyril. Before his famous mission to the Slavs, Cyril had undertaken several evangelizing endeavors that involved linguistic preparation. While in Kherson (present-day Ukraine) on one of these trips, he came upon ''the Gospels and the Psalter written in Russian letters" (M. Kantor 1983: 43). This line has generated a great deal of controversy. What exactly are these "Russian letters" (rus'skymi pismeny)? Do they prove that Russians had writing before Cyril's eponymous alphabet? The tractate On Letters (ninth-tenth century) famously says that, before their conversion, the Slavs did not have books, but instead read and performed divination by ''nicks and notches," which the author explicitly contrasts with letters (Franklin 2002: 90-1). Does the Vita Constantini provide evidence to the contrary? The majority of scholars believe that the reference to "Russian letters" is either a late interpolation or a scribal transposition of letters: "Russian" should really read "Syrian"- that is, Aramaic (Goldblatt 1986: 312-13; Franklin 2002: 90-1). Evidence in favor of the interpolation hypothesis comes from a later text, the Skazanie o russkoi gramote (The Story of Russian Writing), which has been preserved in fifteenth-century codices. The basic thrust of the text is to glorify the role of Prince Vladimir in the conversion of Russia and to downplay that of St. Cyril. As the text would have it, God revealed Russian writing to a Russian living in Kherson, with whom Constantine/Cyril later studied. Constantine then disseminated this writing among the Moravians, Poles, and Czechs- a venture later crushed by the Latin clergy. In the fullness of time, Prince Vladimir rediscovered these Russian writings and transported them back to Kiev, where they became instrumental in the founding of a Christian polity (Goldblatt 1986: 321-2;

Marx and Lenin to Cyril and Methodius 121

cf. Obolensky 1994: 233-4). Thus, the text balloons the brief reference to "Russian letters" into the central event of Slavic conversion. Instead of the Russians being part ofthe Slavic whole, the Slavs are dependent on the Russians. The national pole is emphasized at the expense of the supranational. Remarkably, this obscure medieval reference to "Russian letters" continues to figure into post-Soviet nationalist discourse. Of course, Russia is not the only Slavic nation that has claimed the CyrilloMethodian mantle for itself. The year 1863 saw the millennium of the CyrilloMethodian mission. The following passage from French Slavicist Louis Leger (1868: xi-xii) captures the myth at that time: in all the Slavic lands, in A gram as in Prague, in Belgrade as in Moscow, Cyril and Methodius are considered national patrons. Scholars write their history, the people venerate them, the Orthodox and Catholic churches dispute which has the honor of their legacy, politicians evoke their memory and see in them the symbol of moral unity which they hope for their race. Both 1863 and 1885, the anniversary of the death ofMethodius, were marked in Russia. This was a period of major commemorations, including the 900th anniversary of the Baptism ofRus. In conjunction with these events, some 350,000 copies of the vitae of Cyril and Methodius were printed. The missionary brothers were also enshrined in the Millennia! Monument, a statue in Novgorod depicting the great- we may say mythic- personages and periods of Russian history, from Riurik to Peter the Great to Pushkin (Wortman2000: 240-2). With abundant ritual processions and textual publications, 1885 marked the high point of the CyrilloMethodian myth in pre-revolutionary Russia (Shurtakov 199 5: 15). But even then there were dissenters. At the time of these celebrations, Tchaikovsky was asked by the Slavonic Charitable Society and then by his publisher to pen a hymn in honor of Cyril and Methodius. "Why? What hymn? What the hell?" he wrote in a cantankerous letter to his publisher. "Some Slavonic society or other has already pestered me to compose something for a gala concert. I said no. And now you come crawling! And who asked you, you wretch, to trouble yourself with Slavonic founder-patriarchs???" (quoted in Brown 1992: 15). (Nevertheless, Tchaikovsky did eventually compose the hymn.) During the Soviet period, philologists assiduously researched the beginnings of Slavonic writing and the Cyrillo-Methodian mission, and the 1100-year anniversary of the Cyrillic alphabet was observed in 1963 with academic conferences and commemorations, but these were a far cry from the pomp and circumstance seen in the post-Soviet period. We turn now to this most recent chapter in the Cyrillo-Methodian tradition.

*** The revival of the Cyrillo-Methodian myth began a century after Tchaikovsky's small hymn in their honor, in the wake of the 1100-year anniversary ofMethodius's death It started inMurmansk in 1986 on the initiative of the writer Vitalii Maslov. The beginnings were modest enough- at that time, it was considered something of

122 Marx and Lenin to Cyril andMethodius a triumph just to get a headline about the event in a newspaper (Shurtakov 2007). A group marched through Munnansk with flags and banners. An open lesson was held for schoolchildren. A literary-musical evening followed These events, which were only "semi-legal" (Shurtakov 1995: 16), would establish a rough pattern for subsequent celebrations. Unsurprisingly, given that it took place under the Soviet regime, the tenor of the first celebration was largely secular. The highlight was a student performance of the Igor Tale, usually considered the summit of East Slavic epos, and not a particularly Christian text. In sum, it began as a kind of holiday for philologists and writers. Only later would the Cyrillo-Methodian myth be celebrated "with the combined pomp of a double- state and church- endorsement" (Ryazanova-Clarke 2006a: 51), a development that some of the early participants viewed with mixed emotions (Shurtakov 1995: 135--40). Over the next few years, the "headquarters" ofthe festival moved from Murmansk to Vologda, Novgorod, Kiev, Minsk, and Smolensk. In January 1991, the Presidium of the Supreme Council ofthe Russian Federation declared 24 May a state holiday. This shows that the revival of religion in general and Church Slavonic in particular did not just happen ex nihilo. Currently, 24 May is a working holiday, but some have proposed that it should be a "red-letter day" on the calendar (Panova 2007: 117). The Day of Slavonic Writing (or Literacy) and Culture is the main expression of the Cyrillo-Methodian myth in post-Soviet times. There are both temporal and spatial dimensions to the way the myth is commemorated, affecting both cityscape and calendar. As mentioned at the start of this chapter, the monument to Cyril and Methodius consecrated in 1992 was placed in Slavonic Square, formerly known as Nogin Square in honor of a prominent Bolshevik, Victor Nogin. The sculptor was Viacheslav Klykov (1939-2006). Even though K. Smith (2002: 115) rates Klykov as post-Soviet Russia's second-most important sculptor (after Zurab Tsereteli who was responsible for the biggest and most controversial monuments in 1990s Moscow), relatively little has been published about him. Della Cava (1997: 394) mentions that "a famous religious sculptor has been commissioned to erect monuments from one comer ofRussia to another," but Klykov's name appears only in a footnote. Thus, it may be helpful to provide a few details about his life and work. If nothing else, Klykov's politics were well known. He was chairman of the International Fund of Slavonic Writing and Culture, which was instrumental in establishing the 24 May holiday and has also sponsored conferences devoted to Church Slavonic. Along with a number of other well-known nationalists, such as Igor Shafarevich, Klykov signed an open letter to Patriarch Aleksii condemning Kochetkov and his efforts to replace Slavonic with Russian (Russldi vestnik 3--4 (1994): 10). His art found support within ecclesiastical and nationalist circles. Kathleen Smith(2002: 108,121, 115) calls him a "Slavophile," a "monarchist," an "artist working in the realist tradition and a leader in the ultranationalist movement." Klykov rejected the bohemian persona of the artist, arguing instead that artists had a solemn duty to work for the reconstruction of the Fatherland (Parlamentskaia gazeta, 16 September 2003). The salvation of the country was to be found in a return to its roots. The past was a source of redemption.

Marx and Lenin to Cyril and Methodius 123 K1ykov's work exhibits a consistent "great persons and events" approach to Russian history. In addition to Cyril and Methodius, his portfolio includes sculptures of Marshal Zhukov, the Second World War hero; Sergei Radonezh, the saint associated with the founding of Muscovy; and St. Serafim of Sarov, a monk canonized under the last tsar and widely revered in conservative Orthodox circles. When asked about this propensity, Klykov replied that such historical figures were "alive in me" (zhivy vo mne): "My appeal to the great names of our history is an appeal, rather, to one's own genetic memory, which it seems every person has. All that was in the history of Russia exists in the depths of every person's consciousness. The question is how to uncover that" (quoted in Iadykin 1992). He ranked Cyril andMethodius as two of the most important figures in Slavic history. Smith offers this assessment ofKlykov's oeuvre: Klykov's traditional, realistic monumental style suited his mission of fostering public pride in Russia's military, cultural, and religious heritage. His work, while not exciting, was well executed and intimate in style and proportions. With the exception of Nicholas II, Klykov unerringly identified heroic subjects of broad patriotic appeal. (K. Smith 2002: 116) Klykov lobbied hard for a statue ofNicholas II to be placed in the Kremlin. When his efforts were rebuffed, it was eventually sited in the village of Tainskoe but destroyed by a group calling itself the Worker-Peasant Red Army (Grant 2001: 346). Klykov later caused a scandal with a sculpture of the Rus Prince Sviatoslav riding a horse over a supine Khazar whose shield is anachronistically emblazoned with the Star of David. In Russian nationalist discourse, "Khazars" is a usually a code word for Jews. This element of the sculpture was eventually altered in response to charges of anti-Semitism. As previously mentioned, shots were fired at the monument to Cyril and Methodius, although it is not clear who fired them or what their motivation was. The bronze statue of Cyril and Methodius was cast at Monument-Sculpture in St. Petersburg and transported to Moscow (Iadykin 1992). It has been said that friends in high places enabled Klykov to place his work in prominent locales (K. Smith 2002: 116) and this seems to be a case in point. Slavonic Square is a relatively commodious public space that has hosted not only Orthodox prayer services but various nationalist marches and rallies. Funding for the statue came from Alex Konanykhin, a well-known millionaire banker who eventually had to flee Russia (Condee and Padunov 1995). The figures of the saints stand in a traditional iconic pose: Methodius holds the sacred text in one hand while offering a blessing with the other; Cyril is unfurling a scroll with the alphabet written on it. A cross stands between them (see Figure 6.1 ). The figures are mounted on a pedestal, which itself is on a red plinth. The pedestal has several Slavonic inscriptions. On the front, it reads: "To Saints Methodius and Cyril, Equal-to-theApostles and Enlighteners of the Slavs - A Grateful Russia." Ironically, this inscription contains five (albeit relatively minor) orthographic mistakes (Lebedev

124 Marx and Lenin to Cyril and Methodiw 2001). On one side are the words: ''The Scriptures proclaim the Word and the Spirit." This is a line from the Vita Constantini, in particular the scene in which Constantine is debating with the Khazar kagan over the nature of monotheism (M. Kantor 1983: 47). On the other side, an inscription reads: "But you, 0 beloved children, obey God's teaching which was given to you oflate for your salvation." This derives from the Encomium to Cyril and Methodius (Polrlzval'noe slovo Kirillu i Mefodiiu) (Steindorlf2009). On the back is a triptych of inscriptions. One panel reads: ''By the assiduity [tJhchaniem] of the International Fund of Slavonic Writing and Culture." It names both the sculptor and the architect-In. P. Grigor'ev -who would go on to work with Klykov on a number of other projects. Next to that, thanks is given to Konanykhin. Finally, we are told the statue was erected "with the participation of the Russian National Bank." The statue was consecrated in 1992. In subsequent years, monuments to Cyril and Methodius were dedicated in a number of other cities across the Russian Federation, including Kolomna, Dmitrov, Samara, Saratov, Vladivostok, KhantyMansiysk, and Cherlressk. Cyril and Methodius seem to have become patron saints for the new Russia, their figures now standing where one might previously have seen Marx and Lenin. Myth typically involves temporal as well as spatial commemoration, and the myth of Cyril and Methodius has found a place on the post-Soviet calendar. As noted above, the Presidium of the Supreme Council of the Russian Federation

Figure 6.1 Monument to Cyril and 1\fethodius, Slavonic Square, Moscow (photo by author)

Marx and Lenin to Cyril and Methodius 125 passed Resolution N 568-1 to make 24 May a state holiday be fore the dissolution of the USSR. The Church had long honored Cyril and Methodius on that date, but now this liturgical feast day became the "first general Church-state holiday" (pervym obshchim tserkovno-gosudarstvennym prazdnikom) (Pravoslavnaia Moskva, 15 May 2001).1t is sometimes called "Days" (Dni), as the round of events may last a week or more. Each year, a different city serves as the "capital" of the event. Vladimir, Iaroslavl', Novgorod, Smolensk, Orel, Belgorod, Pskov, and Riazan' have all had this honor. (Of course, other cities hold their own celebrations, too.) Events are coordinated by the Russian Ministry of Culture, the Russian Orthodox Church, and local government agencies. A distinctive emblem is created for each, blending regional and national elements (Shurtakov 1995: 73). In these ways, the "center" and "periphery" are brought into relation, and the sense that the legacy of Cyril and Methodius applies to the entire Russian land is symbolically reinforced. Wherever it takes place, the Day of Slavonic Writing and Culture has assumed a typical "shape." It usually begins with the Divine Liturgy celebrated in the host city's cathedral, followed by a crucession (khrestnyi khod), with clerics and laypeople carrying icons and gonfalons through the streets. The procession may lead to a monument of Cyril and Methodius, where a prayer service (moleben) is performed. Throughout the city, a series of events relating to Russia's legacy of writing will be scheduled. Schools might hold calligraphy lessons and writing contests. At the university level, round-table discussions and conferences will be dedicated to aktual'nye voprosy (critical issues) affecting the Slavic world. Local museums put on exhibitions of medieval manuscripts. The city square may contain a stage set up under a banner proclaiming the "Day of Slavonic Writing and Culture" in an ornate Slavonic typeface. Music and dance ensembles will perform in a manner akin to the folk revivals that have occurred throughout the post-Soviet period (cf. Olson 2004 ). In Moscow, a similar sequence of events is followed, but with the charismatic powers associated with the "center." As Bercken (1999: 219) says: "No other capital in the world has such a religious setting for its centre of political power," and the fusion of Church and state is evident in the way that 24 May is honored. During the reign of Patriarch Aleksii, the Divine Liturgy took place in the Kremlin's Dormition Cathedral, led by the Patriarch himself along with local and visiting priests and abbots. A ritual procession would then wind its way from the Kremlin to the monument in Slavonic Square. This would be an impressive spectacle: accompanied by the sound of bells pealing along the route, priests in their golden vestments and several thousand followers carrying brightly colored ensigns would march together to their destination in Slavonic Square (Pravoslavnaia Moskva, 15 May 2001 ). The Patriarch would then give a prayer service at the foot of the statue. This was typically followed by a speech in which Aleksii encouraged the Russian people to protect and develop the rich gifts bequeathed by the saints- namely, the Slavonic alphabet and the Orthodox faith. That evening there would be a reception and an awards ceremony at the Cathedral of Christ the Savior, that landmark of post-Soviet Orthodoxy. The President might send his greetings to the audience.

126 Marx and Lenin to Cyril andMethodius There would also be the usual round of concerts, conferences, and exhibitions. (Patriarch Kirill has since introduced some changes to this pattern.)

*** As a Church-state holiday, the Day of Slavonic Writing and Culture exemplifies the general direction that Orthodoxy has taken since the collapse of the Soviet Union. "Throughout the 1990s," writes Agadjanian (2006: 178), "Russian Orthodoxy became a semi-official 'community cult' associated with a quasisacralized national identity and a recurrent point of symbolic reference in public rhetoric." Burgess (2009: 7) frames the matter in terms of civil religion, noting, "Orthodox narratives, holidays, and moral values have quietly but inexorably replaced the discredited social ideology of Russian Communism." The Day of Slavonic Writing and Culture - when liturgical processions wind through the streets, prayer services are held at public monuments, clerics rub shoulders with local dignitaries, and religious iconography adorns civic plazas - represents Orthodoxy in its newfound civil religion mode. But another layer of religiosity runs through the 24 May celebrations. This is related to but distinct from the civil religious ceremonialism and has to do with "spiritual culture" (dukhovnaia k:ul'tura). Though it overlaps with confessional Orthodoxy, this discourse refers to a more diffuse spiritual essence that is thought to pervade Russian history and culture. Filatov (1999a: 47) contends, "Interest in religion is first of all for Russians an interest in the cultural treasures that it offers." Even if that overstates the matter, it is clear that aesthetics figure prominently in Russian religiosity. And this is not just a popular perception. It may be recalled from Chapter 2 that spirituality (dukhovnost) and culture (k:ul'tura) are mentioned in tandem in both the religious and the linguistic legislation of the post-Soviet era. Thus, the discourse of "spiritual culture" circulates at the highest levels of Russian politics and society. It is also a prominent theme in the Days of Slavonic Writing and Culture, which refer to the literary and artistic products of Russian history as laden with, or formed by, a profound but nebulous spirituality. Judith Komblatt (1999: 418) explains: "In contemporary Russian speech. spirituality ( dukhovnost ') need not signify religiosity associated with any specific ritual behavior (church going, baptism, observing Orthodox fast or feast days), but rather can suggest a more generalized moral, aesthetic, or psychological depth." The discourse of"spiritual culture" suggests that cultural products and processes -especially the highest expressions of art, music, poetry, and literature, but also the folkways of the narod (the people)- have a depth that combines the aesthetic with the numinous. According to one devotee, the Day of Slavonic Writing and Culture is a "spiritual holiday, but not a narrowly religious one" (Panova 2007: 117). Cyril and Methodius are said to have inaugurated a tradition that encompasses Lomonosov, Mendeleev, Pushkin, Dostoevsky, and Tchaikovsk:y, among others. Such lists of canonical cultural figures are recurring features in the discourse of spiritual culture (Krasnaia zvezda, 25 May 1993). A similar approach informs Klykov's "great personages" sculptures.

Marx and Lenin to Cyril and Methodius 127 Regional celebrations of the Day of Slavonic Writing and Culture often dovetail with commemorations oflocal artistic luminaries. For example, in 1997, the Orel ceremony involved laying flowers at a monument commemorating Turgenev, Leskov, Fet, and Bllllin. In 2003, a festival was devoted to the Rachmaninoff family in the Tambov Region, while in Novgorod, flowers were laid at the basrelief of both Cyril and Methodius and the poet Derzhavin (ITAR-TASS, 24 May 2003). The Patriarch himself echoed the theme. For example, in his 2007 speech, he hailed the missionary labors of Cyril and Methodius, declaring that they laid the folllldation for a great culture, famous for its monuments ofliterature, fine arts, and architecture (Literaturnaia gazeta, 23 May 2007). For the first ceremony llllder Patriarch Kirill, Aleksii's successor, a ceremony was held at the graves of the writer Ivan Shmelev and the philosopher Ivan Ilyin (ITAR-TASS, 24 May 2009). The discourse of "spiritual culture" is also instantiated in the art exhibitions, bookstalls, and folk music performances that are part and parcel of the 24 May celebrations. It continues, too, in the awards given to various artists who are thought to have made significant contributions to Slavonic culture. All in all, the Day of Slavonic Writing and Culture provides an opportllllity for Russians to reflect on the treasures of Russian culture that ultimately spring from the Slavonic tradition, broadly construed. Thus far, we have seen how the myth of Cyril and Methodius has been celebrated in sculptures and ceremonies. But the myth is also kept alive through application. Myths are charters: they provide templates for thought and action, and tools for resolving cognitive puzzles and communal traumas. Whereas, formerly, students of religion sought the pristine origins of myth, now they are more concerned with the symbolic work that myths can perform in social life. As Paden (1994: 89-90) puts it, "the cutting edge of religious life is the application ofmyth to the challenges life presents, both at group and individual levels." Articulating the dignity of native Slavic culture against an aggressive West, the myth of Cyril and Methodius seems to lend itself to application in post-Soviet times. The sermon, when a priest or pastor applies the scriptures to contemporary circumstances, is the classic Christian genre of mythic application. Sermons from the feast day of Cyril and Methodius are sometimes reprinted in church papers such as Pravoslavnaia Moskva (Orthodox Moscow). A spate of articles appears every year on and arolllld 24 May. They often provide thumbnail versions of the myth- which, it may be recalled, can be elaborated or elided, as needed. Published in both religious and secular venues, these "interpretive texts" (cf. K. Smith 2002: 79) transmit the myth to an audience that might never go to church or read the saints' lives for themselves. At times, even the secular articles and editorials might assume a homiletic tone. For example, a piece called "The Alphabetic Truths of Christianity" (Azbuchnye istiny khristianstva) explains that, deep in their history, the Slavs had no writing; when they accepted Christianity, God sent them Cyril and Methodius. The article concludes with the ancient Slavonic Alphabetical Prayer (lalattiia, 24 May 2003). Another reports that, at the time of the "defection" of the Western (i.e. Catholic) Church from Orthodoxy, there was a great thirst among the Slavs for the Christian faith. By Divine Providence (promysel Bozhii),

128 Marx and Lenin to Cyril andMethodius the Lord called Cyril and Methodius, who had to face the Catholic "wild wolves" (Nasha Penza, 19 May 2005). These are but two examples ofthe "ecclesiasticalflavored narratives" that promote a Slavonic Orthodox identity for post-Soviet Russia (Ryazanova-Clarke 2006a: 51). Myths describe events in the past that are thought still to impinge on present-day circumstances. The mythic in illo tempore is aligned with the present day, the original mission to the Slavs with post-communist restoration. It seems that the myth of Cyril and Methodius is a particularly good fit for post-Soviet Russia. Their image as missionaries who spread the Word is invoked in relation to a postcommunist need for catechesis. For example, speaking in 1996, Patriarch Aleksii noted that the memory of Cyril and Methodius had a special currency "in our fateful time." He hoped their model would inspire the difficult evangelizing work required of the Russian Church (Prokofeva and Zhiteneva 1996). The CyrilloMethodian myth also seems to speak to the contemporary concerns about cultural independence and identity. For a country seemingly overwhelmed by various forms of Western proselytizers bent on overriding the local faith and introducing foreign languages and cultural artifacts, the myth's emphasis on religious and linguistic autonomy has a powerful resonance. For instance: Almost twelve centuries ago in the spiritual life of the Slavic peoples there occurred an event, the meaning of which we sense with special acuity in our This is still time of struggle between globalization and national cultures relevant for our time A contemporary citizen of a Slavic country cannot feel truly free, if in fact he is compelled to live on the spiritual food from overseas, to reduce his language to a collection of Anglicisms. And a government that allows such a situation is not in essence independent. True freedom and independence always rely on a spiritual foundation. And one of its main sources in both Russia and Belarus, as well as the other Slavic countries, is writing and culture - foundations laid by Cyril and Methodius. (Korobeinikov 2006) Another writer presents a grimmer warning: History has not a few cases where entire peoples have been wiped off the face of the earth precisely because, in the face of various circumstances, they lost their own language. We should be mindful of this and should keep our native language and the liturgical language bequeathed to us. (Mel'nik 2005) Application of the myth can also take a more embodied form. For many Moscow residents, the monument in Slavonic Square offers a convenient and pleasant place to meet friends, sit and smoke a cigarette, or chat on one's mobile phone. For others, it is a symbol of the rebirth of Orthodox Rus. For still others, the saints provide an unspoken authorization for the articulation of sociopolitical grievances - a kind of secular theodicy. In 2002, for example, a rally was organized by the

Marx and Lenin to Cyril and Methodius 129 People's Party of the Russian Federation. A crowd of some 1500, including religionists with icons and ultranationalists with imperial flags, demonstrated against the presence of US military advisors in Georgia, the expansion ofNATO, and the incursion of Catholic "pedophile-priests" into Russian space (Novye izvestiia, 30 April2002). In 2007, several thousand gathered in Slavonic Square to protest ''the politics of societal genocide" perpetrated over the previous seventeen years. Standing in front of the statue of Cyril and Methodius, speakers railed against the spread of venereal disease, the difficulties of pensioners, and the decline of science (Pravda, 2 October 2007). The Union of Orthodox Banner-Bearers (Soiuz pravoslavnykh khorugvenostsev) has also staged some of its events around the statue, including one that combined support for the Foundations of Orthodox Culture curriculum (see Chapter 3) with a mock-burial of atheism and Darwinism (http://drakula.org/cgi-bin/galereya.pl?action=see&act=center&idbank=23&id file=11, accessed 11 February 201 0). Protests and rallies of this nature constitute implicit or indirect applications of the myth. As we saw earlier, there is a duality or tension inscribed within the CyrilloMethodian myth between the universal and the particular, the Slavic and the Russian. The sermons delivered by Patriarch Aleksii often sounded both themes. The theme of unity was emphasized by many during the Balkan conflicts. In response to the unfolding violence in the former Yugoslavia, one author lamented that the Slavic world was being tom apart by visible and invisible barriers, as well as various religious worldviews, armed conflicts, and difficulties. The hope was expressed that the newly reborn holiday might grow and become a holiday for all peoples and governments, helping to unite the Slavic world again (ladykin 1993). Similar discourses were heard again at the end of the decade, at the time of the NATO military campaign against Serbia. Other calls for unity have a distinct "Great Russian" accent. An article in the nationalist magazine Russkii dom exhibits what Ryazanova-Clarke (2006a: 49) terms the "semantics of enormity." Noting the placement of a Cyrillo-Methodian monument in the Ukrainian city of Mukachevo, at the far western end of the former empire (derzhava ), and another in Vladivostok, at the farthest eastern point, the author contends that faith and language- the two gifts of the Apostles- must bind the vast Slavic expanses together and must be used to overcome the external contentions thrust upon the Slavs by the West (Bobrov 2009). Not surprisingly, one of the major areas where the Cyrillo-Methodian myth is applied has to do with the preservation and promotion of Russia's languages and scripts. This is, after all, the name ofthe holiday- the Day of Slavonic Writing and Culture. It provides an opportunity for various parties to weigh in on the status of the Cyrillic alphabet and the Russian and Church Slavonic languages. Again, the holiday's connection with "spiritual culture" may be more important than its relation to Orthodoxy per se (cf. Panova 2007: 117). For those steeped in the Soviet cult of culture, the written language has a quasi-sacred status. As a Russian scholar once told me, her personal credo is "In the beginning was the Word"- full stop. The Word is all. Writing is thefons et origo ofRussia, the "cultural code of Slavic civilization" (kul 'turnyi kod slavianskoi tsivilizatsii) (Korobeinikov 2006).

130 Marx and Lenin to Cyril and Methodius Indeed, as noted above, the first celebration in Murmansk in 1986 was initiated by writers and was viewed primarily as a holiday of the written word. In a similar vein, newspaper articles use the occasion to report or editorialize on the status of the Cyrillic alphabet, especially in relation to its old nemesis, Latin. Burykin (2003) emphasizes the long and close relationship between the Russian language and the Cyrillic alphabet. Russian was never written in Latin letters, he says, and "that's something to think about!" In an article in the nationalist magazine Russkii dom, Segen' (2009) refers to the sacred texts composed in "Russian letters" and suggests that this was the beginning of the Slavonic alphabet. So he is replicating the version of history found in the fifteenth-century Skazanie o russkoi gramote. The longevity of those "Russian letters" is truly remarkable! The holiday is also an occasion for puristic discourse. This was especially evident in 2007, the Year of the Russian Language. Playing off the theme of Cyril and Methodius, one article quoted an expert who felt that the low level of the Russian language - vulgar music emanating from radio and television, grammatical mistakes in official documents- imperiled "our survival" (Grach 2007). According to another, the holiday reinforces the "command of Cyril and Methodius to preserve in purity the Orthodox faith, for if it weakens, we weaken too and became easy prey [legkoi dobychei] for other peoples" (Panova 2007: 118). Samsonov, an expert on the Old Russian language, articulates a similar discourse. Referring to the "amazing alphabet" created by Cyril and Methodius that became an essential part of the spiritual culture of the Slavic peoples, he laments: "Unfortunately, in our time, video technology, television, computer, and Internet displace from the life of our young people the most priceless, noble, and enriching miracle- the miracle of engagement with a book [chudo obshcheniia s It is fair to say that if people stop reading, they stop thinking" knigoi] (Samsonov 2009). For some organizers and participants, the Day of Slavonic Writing and Culture is a largely secular affair. Cyril and Methodius are honored for their role in creating an alphabet that enabled the development of Russian literature. For others, especially ecclesiastics, the holiday becomes an occasion to reflect on Church Slavonic proper. In 1996, in the midst of the liturgical language controversy, Patriarch Aleksii urged the Russian people to maintain a careful and protective relationship vis-a-vis this great treasure - namely, the Slavonic language (Prokof'eva and Zhiteneva 1996). Other clerics use the opportunity to dispense some information about the history of Church Slavonic, or to weigh in on the liturgical language debate. Thus, the holiday becomes an occasion for mythic application, for using the model of Cyril and Methodius to address contemporary circumstances. The charter is invoked to support the continued use of Slavonic in the liturgy. But there are also critics. For Sharandina (2007), the doleful commemorating of er' and iat' (two letters from the Church Slavonic and pre-revolutionary Cyrillic alphabets) and all the activities allowed through the "sluice gates" of writing and culture are rather tiresome. Others lament the meager influence the holiday seems to be having on society. On the occasion of the Year of the Russian Language,

Marx and Lenin to Cyril and Methodius 131

Shurtak:ov, one of the fotmding participants, commended the many conferences and round-table discussions but complained that nothing had really changed. The streets of Moscow were still covered by foreign-language advertisements. In his opinion, if every town, every school, every class reted and honored Cyril and Methodius, then the landscape would be different. Two years later, in 2009, his tone was even sharper: "We all know what happens with this holiday - it's celebrated, that evening a few episodes flash by on TV- and that's it. In reality, the it is all just for holiday hasn't materialized. Its essence has been castrated show" (Shurtak:ov 2009). The critique is not of the myth per se, but of the fact that the myth is not sufficiently enacted in the life of the community.

*** "The Christian canon," says Crain (2002: 25), "lacks an originating myth for the alphabet." That may be the case, but there are myths for the origins of particular alphabets, such as Cyrillic. This myth has deep roots in Slavic and Russian history; and it has been reactivated in the post-communist period. While concentrated and exemplified most potently in the various monuments and celebrations discussed above, the myth of Cyril and Methodius ramifies on a number of different levels. As the inventors of the alphabet and the Enlighteners of the Slavs, Cyril and Methodius can fi.mction as the patron saints of Russian education. It is therefore no surprise that their iconic image often graces the covers of new primers and textbooks (Chapter 3). In the liturgical debate that flared up in the Orthodox Church in the 1990s, both reformists and traditionalists claimed the mantle of Cyril and Methodius (Chapter 4). The liturgical language debate reflects two different valorizations of the Cyrillo-Methodian tradition within the Church. However, as we shall see in the next chapter, the myth itself is repudiated in certain N eo-pagan discourses. Alternative myths are propounded about the deep origins of Russian writing, and these depict Cyril and Methodius not as saints but as thieves and hucksters.

7

Scripting Russian history Alphabet mysticism and conspiracy theory

Writing is generally considered a more or less adequate means of transcribing language so that it may serve its communicative fimction. But throughout history, the letters of the alphabet have occasioned imaginative speculation about the possible hidden value of their visual form. (Drucker 1995: 11) On 19 May 2010, a brief article about the upcoming Day of Slavonic Writing and Culture was posted on the city ofChelyabinsk's website. The piece notes that on 24 May there will be a ritual procession from Trinity Cathedral to Revolution Square, where a prayer service would take place; it also mentions a number of related events and exhibitions. Accompanied by an image of Cyril and Methodius, the article gives a boilerplate account of the missionary brothers, the creation of the Slavonic alphabet, and the translation of the Bible into Slavonic. It is an entirely unexceptional text. Far more interesting, at least for our present purposes, are the comments posted by a number of readers who are hostile to the event. One, calling himself"Expert Out of Line" (EkspertlzOcheredi), writes: "One is curious about which writing system Constantine (then he took the party nickname Cyril) thought up: whether it was the Russian Vseiasvetnaia gramota consisting of 147 letters that existed for many thousands of years before him; the Rus had four(!) forms of writing." "Sorcerer" (Kudesnik) adds: "In order for a people to forget their history, This is what Cyril and Methodius did." it is enough to change the alphabet "Maksim" adds a more menacing note (in capital letters): "WHAT 1HEY DID TO US 1HE RUSSIAN PEOPLE, 1HEY DESTROYED OUR LETTERS ANDMOST IMPORTANTLY - OUR PRIMORDIAL RITES. WHO NOW WILL ANSWER FOR THAT?!!" Yet another post reads, "Hucksters are hucksters [ifeni]." Finally, "Ira" comes to the defense of the Apostles to the Slavs: "What kind of history was prayers to the sun, river, spirit of the people and other idols? Without the good lads [molodtsy] Cyril andMethodius we'd still be doing dances around the bonfire" (http://chelyabinsk.ru/newsline/211484.html, accessed 13 March 2010). What was going on here? What exactly was being suggested about Cyril and Methodius and their Slavonic alphabet? What lay behind the anger and the threat of retribution? Were these critics really in favor of ignoring the cultural achieve-

Alphabet mysticism and conspiracy theory 133

ments brought about as a result of the Cyrillo-Methodian mission? And why have we never heard of the pre-Cyrillic writing systems to which they allude? In Chapter 4, we saw how opposing interpretations of the Cyrillo-Methodian myth are advanced in the debate over liturgical language. Though they read it differently, both traditionalists and refonnists acknowledge the validity of the myth and the link between literacy and Christianity it authorizes. The discourse peeking through these Internet postings is quite different. Here, the Cyrillo-Methodian charter is rejected altogether and a counter-myth is advanced in its stead, one that posits the primacy of pre-Christian writing systems and places Cyrillic in the category of cultural fraud or degradation. Obeyesekere's (1990: 130) observation is particularly relevant here: "precisely because myth is charter, it is going to provoke a debate between groups: those outsiders who deny the validity of the charter and those insiders who have to respond to the challenge." Debate is the "hidden discourse" that generates variations and transformations of myth. Indeed, it can produce a version ofthe myth that is the very opposite of the one against which it is reacting. Situated not only typographically but ideologically beneath the official pronouncement of a Church-state celebration, these online dissenters hint at an alternative reading of Russian history. Instead of lauding the nation's literature and culture- standard fare for 24 May celebrations- the counter-myth mourns ancient writing systems lost or suppressed by unseen forces, leading the Russian people like cattle into the pen of historical amnesia, where they remain ignorant of their true history and identity. Although these vituperative Internet postings may seem insignificant- mere particles of the dark matter that constitutes most of cyberspace - in reality they are channeling broader discourses that have circulated in post-communist Russia for some time and have become increasingly accepted in Russian society as a whole. Recall Maria Devi Christos' reference to the "most ancient Language in the World, which the proto-Slavs, the ancient Rus'ians, the children of Beautiful Hyperborea, spoke"; this was opposed by the numerical language promulgated by satanic Jews (see Chapter 2). Similar themes are now aired in quasi-academic conferences and disseminated in popular history books with titles like The Secrets ofthe Russian Land and The Real History ofthe Russian People (Laruelle 2008: 294). This chapter locates the revival of the Slavonic tradition in that part of the postSoviet landscape where "the interest in Slavic prehistory, and the trend toward alternative history, conspiracy theories, and paranormal phenomena" (Laruelle 2008: 299) converge. I shall focus in particular on the ways that speculation about the mystical meaning of alphabets (including, but not limited to, the Slavonic alphabet) merges with conspiratorial readings ofRussian history. The fact that the word "cabal" is derived from Jewish Cabala (or Kabbalah) suggests that these two topics are not as far apart as they might seem at first (Partridge and Geaves 2007: 81; cf. Kornblatt 1997: 92-3). I will begin with some general observations regarding the confluence of esotericism and conspiracism in Russia. According to Hagemeister (2006: 252), the writings ofBlavatsky, Rerikh, and other Silver Age figures "are full of cosmic, occult conspiracies, of higher beings who direct earthly events" according to a

134 Alphabet mysticism and conspiracy theory "comprehensive plan." These same writings have been widely reprinted and have gained renewed attention in post-Soviet Russia. I will then suggest that the connecting link between esotericism and conspiracism is the notion (borrowed from William James) of"unseen order," and that alphabets are a way of making this order visible. After examining the theme ofKabbalah in Orthodox nationalist discourse, the bulk of the chapter surveys varieties of alphabet mysticism Slavonic, Cyrillic, runic, and otherwise. As we will see, some of these discourses pose a direct challenge to the primacy of Church Slavonic and the regnant version of Russian history that goes with it.

*** Although the resurgence of the Orthodox Church has no doubt been the "above the fold" story of post-Soviet religion, there has also been a widespread interest in occult spiritual traditions. This development is not restricted to the margins or subcultures of Russian society. According to Stephens (1997: 35), "Men and women across the economic spectrum and of all professions (including those in govennnent positions and scholars in the hard sciences) are active in occult groups and sects, organized and informal; curiosity about the occult pervades all elements of society." Post-Soviet occultism is nourished by two sources: elements imported from the West and those retrieved from Russia's own esoteric tradition. (I will be using the terms "occult" and "esoteric" interchangeably.) The period commonly known as the Silver Age (roughly 1890-1917) represented a high point in Russian occult beliefs and practices, as names such as Blavatsky, Rerikh, and Scriabin testify. As was the case with the Russian Orthodox Church, early signs of an occult revival could be observed in the perestroika era. The teleseances of Anatoly Kashpirovsky were massively popular. Gorbachev himself referred to Rerikh and helped establish centers for the study of his integrative ideas (Rosenthal1997: 29). Merridale (2003: 24) writes: "The twilight of communism (a grand secular morality tale in its own right) saw the proliferation of alternative eschatologies- astrology, extrasensory perception, magical healing, spiritualism, and a popular Orthodoxy whose prophecies were drawn directly from the Book of Revelation." After 1991, religion/philosophy/occult became a leading category in the Russian publishing industry (Lovell 2000: 196; cf Bushnell 2007). In the 1990s, no less than 39 percent of all non-fiction publications in the humanities dealt with occult topics (Menzel2007: 3). Books on magic, yoga, numerology, witchcraft, Slavic mythology, theosophy, astrology, tarot, dream interpretation, UFOs, the lost continent of Atlantis, Freemasonry, divination, astral projection, and so on continue to be popular and profitable (cf Brougher 1997: 110; Stephens 1997: 357-8). Occult ideas are also diffused through television shows and works of fiction. "It is almost impossible to understand contemporary Russian literature without being equipped with an encyclopedia of the occult," remarks Menzel (2007: 1; cf. Brougher 1997) Russia also has a long tradition of conspiracy theory. This, too, can be traced back to the Silver Age. That period, after all, is the generative matrix of the infamous Protocols of the Elders of Zion. Of course, conspiracy theories did not

Alphabet mysticism and conspiracy theory 135 simply cease to exist after the Bolshevik Revolution but (like occultism) were absorbed into the Soviet system. "If there is one thing that the Soviet regime managed to burn into virtually every brain," writes Gessen ( 1997: 70), "it is that a good theory, a really good idea can explain the world." Conspiracism came out in the open after the collapse of the USSR. How could the once-mighty superpower end not with a bang but a whimper? The demise of the Soviet Union and the social traumas that followed in its wake spurred "an intensive production of popular conspiracy narratives aimed to bring to light hidden forces and concealed plans" (Oushakine 2009: 74). Like esotericism, the belief in a tenticular plot by Jews, Masons, and other "mondialists" cuts across social and educational lines, and is espoused by scientists, artists, and ecclesiastics alike. The book market has been flooded by such titles as Secret Forces, Secret Societies, Masons and Jew-Masons, Red Protocols, Red Kabbalah, Protocols ofthe Red Elders, Protocols of Soviet Elders, and New World Order. Hagemeister (2000: 92-3) concludes, "Along with pornography and religious tracts, literature about plots probably counts for more in contemporary Russia than belles-lettres." The Protocols ofthe Elders ofZion has been sold from street vendors and even from church bookstalls. Ioann, former Metropolitan of St. Petersburg, used this most notorious text to divine the meaning of events in post-Soviet Russia (Bennett 2007). Though Patriarch Aleksii appeared to keep the troublesome Ioann at arm's length, he too could sound conspiratorial in his assessment of current events: We must recognize that a well-planned bloodless war is being waged against our people, a mighty industry of seduction is operating in Western countries that is sending into Russia incredible quantities of pornographic materials, plans for so-called sex education, which advertise evil in all its forms and legalize blatantly the lifestyle ofSodom and Gomorrah. Today in Russia there has been created an enormous market for alcohol, drugs, pornography and contraceptives, which enrich foreign companies and mafias, whose activity has created an unprecedented crisis in our country and is leading at great speed to the degeneration and desolation of our society. (Quoted in Bacon 2002: 113) All of this is to say that conspiracy theorizing has occurred not just on the margins but often at the highest levels of post-Soviet society. Both occult spiritualities and conspiracy theories have flourished in post-Soviet Russia. Moreover, the two often converge. A number of popular television programs, for example, propagate mystical readings of Russian history. In the early 1990s, Alexander Dugin, an influential right-wing personality associated with the neo-Eurasian movement, presented a show called Mysteries ofthe Century (Tainy veka), which dealt with such "mystical" topics as Nazi symbolism (Zassorin: 2006: 190). The show Tainye znaki (translated as Mystery Signs on its website) purports to "unveil the mystical side of Rulers that governed Russia from the ancient times to mid-20th century." The lives of Peter the Great, Rasputin, Beria,

136 Alphabet mysticism and conspiracy theory and others are "explained through the prism of contemporary magical studies." Historians and specialists in the paranormal provide commentary on the events depicted. Episodes from the first season included: Paul I: prophecy of the insane emperor Catherine the Great: duel with magic Catherine I of Russia: a crowned fortune-teller Nicholas II of Russia: distorted predictions The sacred talisman of Peter the Great Princess Sofia: the witch of all Russia The magic shield of Stalin Lavrentiy Beria: the executioner in the hands of a wizard (http://eng.golos.tv/documentary!fext/7/, accessed 18 March 2010) A number of observers have remarked on the "elective affinity" between occultism and conspiracism. Laqueur (1993: 150) notes the penchant for divination on the Russian right. Devlin (1999: 89) refers to the "affinities between extreme nationalism and pseudo-mysticism." And Laruelle (2008: 284) points to the "conjunction between New Age and New Right." The key to explaining this affinity is to be found, I think, in something that William James (1985 [1902]: 53) said about religion: "Were one asked to characterize the life of religion in the broadest and most general terms possible, one might say that it consists of the belief that there is an unseen order, and that our supreme good lies in harmoniously adjusting ourselves thereto." While this may not be an adequate starting point for understanding religion, the notion of an "unseen order" is central to both occultism and conspiracism. Broadly speaking, both phenomena posit the existence of a truer, deeper reality that is occluded from our conventional, mundane perspective (cf. Rosenthal1997; Cubitt 1989; Keeley 1999 ). We do not see the full story. This unseen order is not altogether absent from everyday life but permeates human affairs and, under certain circumstances, becomes visible or detectable - at least to those who are capable of seeing it. The other aspect of this is the sense of order. The invisible realm, in both esoteric and conspiracist discourse, is not random or disorganized; it has a structure, an organization. Things happen for a reason. Events proceed according to a plot, a plan. It is not just a matter of separate, occasionally intersecting elements but global or encompassing systems. Indeed, the hidden order is overwhelmingly interconnected. Totalization is characteristic of both occultist and conspiracist discourse (Bennett 2007). Commenting on the growth of the occult in post-Soviet fiction, Brougher (1997: 112) notes that many writers view life through an "occultist prism": "This includes the question of invisible forces operating on human life, the supernatural power of select individuals to affect the course of life not only of individuals but of a whole nation, as well as the interconnectedness of human lives, indeed all forms oflife, in the cosmic scheme of things." Conspiracy theory is characterized by a similar discourse, though the "interconnectedness" is given a malevolent cast. Instead of a pulsing cosmos alive with possibilities,

Alphabet mysticism and conspiracy theory 137 conspiracism posits secret groups operating the levers and pulleys of society for their own pernicious purposes. How can one assess this unseen order or delineate these hidden interconnections? How can one make sense of them, think them through? Referencing prerevolutionary Russia, Rossman (2002: 203--4) suggests that symbolism is the connecting link between esoteric ism and conspiracism: Symbolism -the master code of the Silver Age - stimulated the search for that "other reality" behind mere appearances. This interest triggered a common passion for mysticism and for conspiracy theories. Historical and political realities were understood as symbols oftranscendental religious forces, and ideas about esoteric traditions and a "secret language" figured at the very center of intellectual debates. Both occult and conspiracist discourses propose the existence of an "unseen order." The problem for both is how to visualize the invisible, how to talk about an order that powerfully influences existence yet is hidden from view. The answer is symbolism, especially the symbol system par excellence -language. But what kind oflanguage? In her brilliant study, All the Names of the Lord: lists, mysticism, and magic, Izmirlieva (2008: 7) demonstrates how "lists of divine names play a strategic role as basic tools for making universal order visible- and thus operative - in the lives of Christian communities." I want to argue something similar about alphabets. Writing is often viewed as a benchmark and badge of civilization (Bosworth 2003). But above and beyond that, alphabets have been vested with all kinds of mystical meaning. The names and shapes of the letters, their order, their numerical values- all of these qualities may be considered indicative of a reality that lies beneath or behind the visible world. Alphabet mysticism, sometimes called letter mysticism, refers to discourses that endow letters with esoteric meaning and power. Such speculation goes back a long way. Letters have been thought to symbolize metaphysical realities, encase spiritual energies, or encode occult messages. They have been invested with cosmogonic and oracular meaning, and deployed in meditation and divination (Billigmeier 1987). In sum, the alphabet is not just a form of information technology, but a spiritual symbology. As Drucker (1995: 11) says at the start ofher rich survey, The Alphabetic Labyrinth, the alphabet has "served as a set of symbols whose distinct visual characteristics have provoked a plenitude of imaginative projections." It may be interpreted as "a symbolic matrix whose letters are assumed to encode in their visual shape the history of their origins, of some fundamental cosmological or philosophical truth, or some mystic or ritual power" (Drucker 1995: 11-12). To paraphrase Levi-Strauss, letters are good to think with. Christianity has a venerable history of alphabet mysticism. In ancient Greek discourse, the letters of the alphabet were associated with the elements of the cosmos. In early Christian writings, the alphabet loses its "atomistic meaning and serves as a sign of the wholeness of the divine world of Christian faith" (Drucker

138 Alphabet mysticism and conspiracy theory 1995: 87). The sense of"cosmological totality" (Drucker 1995: 56) is epitomized by the famous self-identification of the Lord with "the alpha and the omega" (Revelation 1:8; 21:6; 22:13). Early Christians also played with the shapes of Greek letters: alpha (A) and delta(~) were taken as symbols of the Trinity, and tau (T) the cross (Billigmeier 1987: 217). It could be said with some justification that alphabet mysticism lies at the very foundation of Slavia orthodoxa (Orthodox Slavdom). The idea that the Slavonic letters were divinely revealed is central to the myth of Cyril and Methodius. Moreover, some assert that the very shapes of the alphabet first devised by Cyril - Glagolitic- encode the teachings of the Orthodox Church. Not only the graphic and nominal aspects of the letters but their phonological and numerical qualities are thought to comprise a nested, interlocking system artfully devised by Cyril himself to reflect and convey the Christian worldview (Karpenko 2004). Glagolitic, however, is not the script used by the Russian Orthodox Church today. Its status within Orthodox Slavdom is ambiguous. It is widely recognized by most scholars and ecclesiastics as the original alphabet devised for the CyrilloMethodian mission. Yet the script that is used in the liturgy and scripture, and that is accorded primacy in history books and celebrated on the Day of Slavonic Writing and Culture, is the other Slavonic alphabet -namely Cyrillic. The precise relationship between Cyrillic and Glagolitic has vexed generations of linguists and historians. Why were two alphabets created? Which came first? It could be argued (e.g. Gopenko 2009: 91) that there is nothing mystical about Cyrillic whatsoever, since it was apparently devised by the students of Cyril and Methodius once the missionary field had shifted from the original site of Moravia to the secondary one of Bulgaria. But this is not how Orthodox religionists usually see the matter. In truth, there is a gap, an aporia, in the middle ofthe Cyrillo-Methodian myth. Myth is supposed to account for the structure of reality, but in this case there are two realities - or at least two scripts and many unresolved questions about their relationship (cf. Cubberley 1993: 25). One piece of evidence in favor ofGlagolitic priority is the existence of palimpsests- manuscripts that have been reused and written over. Among old Slavonic texts, palimpsests only go in one directionwith Cyrillic over Glagolitic- never the opposite way (Schenker 1996: 179). Thus, the older Glagolitic tradition seems to have been overwritten- and overridden- by the newer, Cyrillic one. The image of the palimpsest is particularly apt for conspiracist readings of history. While scholars do not typically suggest anything particularly ominous in the replacement ofGlagolitic with Cyrillic, other discourses of alphabet mysticism in post-Soviet Russia are closely intertwined with conspiracy theory. These readings of Slavic history suggest that the alphabets we see before us are not the original, mystically more potent, ones. For Orthodox traditionalists, the Church Slavonic alphabet was filleted by the Bolsheviks, who were intent on pushing through their godless orthographic reform as soon as they seized power. They view modem Cyrillic as a degraded or damaged version of Slavonic. Yet, much the same argument is applied to Slavonic by authors - such as those Internet critics mentioned at the start of this chapter - who articulate a kind of Neo-pagan

Alphabet mysticism and conspiracy theory 139 discourse. In this alternative version of Russian history, Cyril adapted or stole an existing, indigenous Russian-Slavic script in order to fonn the alphabet that has come to be known as Cyrillic. But this fact has been "crossed out" of history. As a consequence the Russian people have been made to forget their epic past. Not surprisingly, some of these conspiracist versions end up blaming that most familiar target: Jews. (Orthodox nationalists commonly identify Jews with Bolsheviks.) But in some Neo-pagan discourses, Christianity is also seen as having been produced or stained by Judaism. It is a "Yid faith" (zhidovskaia vera) (Pilkington and Popov 2009: 263-9). By stripping off the later layer of Christianity, one can return to the native faith (Rodnoverie); and by going behind the Cyrillic alphabet, one is able to recover the authentic writing system of the mighty Slavs.

*** Belief in a worldwide Jewish-Masonic conspiracy aimed at Russia is a common denominator among Russian Orthodox nationalists. In the nationalist publications reviewed in Chapter 5, the conspiracist discourse assumes a graphic dimension in the fonn of anti-Semitic cartoons, applications of the Star of David, and faux Hebrew writing. Pipes ( 1997: 23) notes that conspiracy theorists are obsessed with numbers and shapes. The idea seems to be that conspirators are careless - or bold - enough to encode vital infonnation about their identity or intentions in tangible form. Orthodox nationalist publications evince a serious concern with decoding symbols purportedly associated with the hydra-headed Judeo-Masonic conspiracy. There seems to be a recurring fascination with the Masonic square and compass, the Vatican crossed keys, the Esperanto movement's star, the World Council of Churches' boat (a symbol of ecumenism), and, of course, the Star of David. One also finds conspiracist interpretations of phenomena linked to capitalism and globalization, such as product bar codes and personal tax numbers (individualnyii nomer nalogoplatel'shchika- INN). In one Orthodox nationalist paper (Pravoslavie ili smert '! 15 (2000): 100), an article tries to show how the stylized "A" of the Adobe Acrobat computer program can be deciphered as 666, the so-called mark of the beast from the Book of Revelation. In another (Pravoslavnaia rat' 1 (2002): 13), the dollar sign is interpreted as a viperine symbol ofthe Antichrist. The author notes that this symbol has already made its way into the pockets of people around the world. The same issue of the paper analyzes kosher food symbols that have allegedly infiltrated Russian territory, hinting at a subterranean plot. Jewish letters and symbols figure prominently in the discourses of Orthodox nationalism: "The Orthodox nationalists seem convinced that every Jewish symbol is based on kabbalistic symbolism The 'presence' of this symbolism provides them with indisputable evidence that Jews and consequently Masons are linked to Satan and aim to destroy Russia with evil magical powers" (Aptekman 2006: 667). By way of example, consider the following statement from Dmitrii Vasil'ev, the demagogic leader ofPamiat', the most notorious extremist group of the early 1990s: [W]e live under what is in essence a kabbalistic, foreign heraldry. As long as the walls of the Kremlin are marked with the sign of the Antichrist, there will

140 Alphabet mysticism and conspiracy theory be no order in our state. Why? Take any textbook on Kabbala or on astrology, and you will see that the astronomical sign ofthe five-pointed star has ancient significance. It was then stolen through India and became a purely magical, astronomical, kabbalistic sign. Furthermore, the five-pointed star burns in Masonic lodges. (Quoted in Komblatt 1997: 93) Members of Pamiat' claimed to find Judaic signs hidden throughout the postSoviet landscape. They alleged that the small loudspeakers in the Moscow subway system were decorated with the Star ofDavid - so "pleasing to the Zionist eye" and that stars, menorahs, and subliminal Jewish messages were detectable beneath newspaper headlines and mastheads. A group related to Pamiat' once interrupted a performance of Rimsky-Korsakov's opera The Tale of Tsar Saltan because Zionist and Masonic symbols were reportedly hidden in the costumes and scenery (Korey 1995: 127, 207, 134). In some extremist forms of Orthodox nationalism, the star is a symbol of absolute evil. Its anodyne is the swastika. In Chapter 5, we saw that swastika-like symbols are common in ultranationalist publications (cf. Heller 2000: 111-22). According to Alexander Barkashov, founder of the neo-fascist Russian National Unity Party, the "Swastika- in a spiritual sense- is a religious, genetic, and tribal symbol of the Russian nation" (quoted in Reznik 1996: 213). It penetrates the genotype of a true Russian and provides protection against sundry occultisms (Russkii stiag 1 (1995): 1). An enthrallment with stars, swastikas, and other such symbols is not confined to marginal groups, however. In his discussion of the Protocols in post-Soviet Russia, Hagemeister (2006) draws our attention to the work of the well-known artist Ilia Glazunov, in particular his painting The Great Experiment. The oversize canvas depicts a large, five-pointed star "covered with cabalistic, alchemical and astrological signs" superimposed on images of the haloed Romanov family as well as Lenin, Stalin. Bukharin, Trotsky, Kandinsky, and others. It seems to make the visual argument that the doleful pageant of Russia's modem history has somehow been organized or manipulated in accordance with this symbol. Kabbalah "refers to a mystical practice that involves contemplation of the names of God found in Hebrew Scripture, often through numerical manipulation of the letters of the Hebrew alphabet" (Komblatt 1997: 79; cf. Drucker 1995: 129-58). According to Aptekman (2006: 659), the connection between a Judeo-Masonic conspiracy and evil cabalistic magic was mythologized in the conservative press during the Silver Age, and was then solidified in right-wing discourse after the revolution. It was revived by groups such as Pamiat' in the late 1980s and widely disseminated throughout the 1990s. Removed from its Judaic context, Kabbalah was construed in terms of demonology and conspiracism. "The belief that the Kabbalah is a Judeo-Masonic demonic doctrine is a common denominator for an otherwise diverse Russian nationalist movement" (Aptekman 2006: 665). Among Russian Orthodox nationalists, a vital piece of evidence in support of this interpretation of Kabbalah comes from the alleged "ritual murder" of the last

Alphabet mysticism and conspiracy theory 141 tsar. 1bis is viewed as an axial event in world history- as if the fate of humankind was detennined in the dark and bloody chamber where Nicholas II and his family were slain. Slater (2005: 59-61) offers a typological analysis ofnarratives concerning the emperor's death. In the "Gothic horror" type, the "murder" is constructed as part of an encompassing Jewish-Masonic plot against Russia. The history of Russia is actually a battleground of cosmic forces - Good and Evil and the death of the tsar becomes a pivotal turning point in this struggle. Great attention is paid to some graffiti found on the wall of the room where the killing took place. One graffito included lines misquoted from a poem by Heine: "Belsatzar ward in selbiger Nacht!Von seinen Knechten umgebracht (Balthasar was, that very night/Killed by his slaves)." Equally significant and mysterious were four other marks on the cellar wall, which Orthodox nationalists usually interpret as cabalistic signs. According to Enel (quoted in Slater 2005: 61 ), a Russian emigre who claimed to have deciphered them, the text reads: "Here, on the order of the forces of darkness, the Tsar was sacrificed for the destruction of the State. Let all the peoples know." This decipherment was picked up and repeated in various extremist publications. Rather remarkably, then, in this strand of Orthodox nationalist discourse, a recondite form of alphabet mysticism (Kabbalah) is implicated in Russia's- and, by extension, the world's- trials and tribulations. Orthodox nationalist interpretations of Kabbalah were most prominent in the 1990s, a time of extreme societal stress and dislocation. Since then, more Westernstyle interpretations have come to the fore. Translations of these therapeutic versions of Kabbalah were top-ten bestsellers in 2003-4 (Aptekman 2006: 680). But as cabalistic letter mysticism has decreased, or at least shifted in tenor, other genres based on indigenous Slavic scripts have multiplied. The remainder of this chapter concentrates on the mysteries associated with these writing systems.

The Church Slavonic alphabet If it is not an oxymoron, a kind of quotidian mysticism infonns ecclesiastical literature on Church Slavonic. The notion of some kind of"secret" or "mystery" hidden within the script is found frequently in catechetical materials. According to one abecedarium, the letters of the Slavonic alphabet are not mere neutral tools; rather, their names and fonns convey infonnation about the structure of the universe (Shumskikh 1998: 62). Another says the letters have a phonetic but also a spiritual meaning (Shevchenko 2007: 107). The ABC book ofludin (2008: 371-8) contrasts the divinely mellifluous Church Slavonic with the diabolical vileness of the language of youth After enumerating some ofthe differences between Russian and Slavonic letters and pronunciation, ludin says that the biggest secret (taina) of the special Slavonic language is that each letter is not only a sound but a word. When you put the letters in alphabetical order, the end result is a secret, encrypted (tainstvennoe, zashifrovannoe) message from our forefathers encouraging us to work diligently and to know that knowledge is a gift from God. In a little booklet on Slavonic inscriptions, Sablina (2001: 7) notes that diacritical markings are "placed on sacred words to indicate their holiness and the divine mystery [tainu]

142 Alphabet mysticism and conspiracy theory and wisdom concealed in them." She speaks ofthe four-letter cryptogram above the cross- that is, the inscription I.N.R.I. (Jesus ofNazareth, King of the Jews)which she says refers to the mysteries (tainy) of the cross. Medieval Slavonic calligraphy is said to be replete with hidden meanings (Goriacheva 2009: 1). Vera Skibitskaia, editor of the Moscow Patriarchate publications, suggests that retaining the Slavonic script is important because it connects one in a mystical way to such great Russian saints of the past as Serafim of Sarov and John of Kronstadt (http://www.eparhia-saratov.ru/index.php?option=com_cont ent&task=view &id=7818&Itemid=3, accessed 1 September 2010). Sometimes, the mystical nature of the Slavonic script is formulated in sharper political terms. In an article published in the Journal of the Moscow Patriarchate, Novikova (2003) begins by repeating the standard Orthodox idea that language is not just a conventional "sign system" but a matter of divine design. The alphabet communicates information about the universe by means of its names and figurations. The middle portion of the article concerns the "secret, inner meaning" of letters. The letter "0," for instance, is called on" This is a pronoun indicating someone who is present yet not visible -like the Lord. Its circular form symbolizes the eternal nature of God. It also reminds us of an egg- which contains life within it, just as the grave contained Christ before His resurrection. Another example is the letter iat ', which looks like a cross atop a cupola. It is used in dogmatically important words such as "faith," "covenant," and "light." According to Novikova, this letter has always elicited strong hatred from the enemies of Orthodoxy. She criticizes liturgical books published using "Soviet orthography," calling this script "perverted" (isporchennoi)- a term that may connote witchcraft and the evil eye. As we discussed in Chapter 3, the intent of such a typographical device is to make Slavonic more accessible by using the familiar Cyrillic alphabet; but according to Novikova, this practice runs counter to the historiosophical meaning ofthe script. "The house of Slavonic writing was created by the Lord Himself through His chosen agents," she writes (Novikova 2003: 65), and it carmot be ruined. It is high time, she concludes, for a decisive rebuff of these orthographic innovations, for the grace of the Holy Spirit rests on the letters of the Church Slavonic alphabet. The idea that the Bolshevik orthographic reform inflicted a kind of spiritual trauma on the Slavonic alphabet is repeated in traditionalist Orthodox literature. According to Sablina (2000: 23), the Church Slavonic alphabet is beautiful, with delicate ligatures, accents, and breathings that help the reader along; but the secularized alphabet has lost its external beauty and is like the stunted tundra on which nary a living tree grows. The abecedarium ofDorofeeva (2008) begins with a poem called "Azbuka" (alphabet) that refers to the reforms of 1918 and laments the "orthographical storms" that have shaken Russia, excising such beautiful letters as iat ',fita, and izhitsa. Noting that the original alphabet of Cyril and Methodius has lost nine vowels under the Petrine and Bolshevik reforms, Miroshnichenko (1999: 146) remarks: "Such a pogrom no other language in the world has known." The script is now corrupted (iskoverkannyi). Thus, alphabet mysticism meets conspiracy theory, as nefarious forces are blamed for desecrating the people's sacred alphabet.

Alphabet mysticism and conspiracy theory 143

The Cyrillic alphabet Another variety of alphabet mysticism concerns contemporary Russian Cyrillic. That is to say, it deals with the "civil" script in its post-1918 form, but vests it with sacred meaning. There are two varieties of Cyrillic mysticism, the first ofwhich I shall call scientistic. This views the Cyrillic alphabet as a kind of blueprint or master code for the universe, comparable to Mendeleev's table (Miroshnichenko 2004: 68). Suggestive oflab coats and computer printouts, this discourse speaks in terms of DNA and cosmic spirals, and often resorts to frighteningly complex mathematical charts linking different levels of reality. The appeal to science is a legitimizing strategy among new religions in general (Rothstein 2004) and is particularly characteristic of the post-Soviet situation: In contemporary culture, the high status of rational knowledge has left its imprint on the worldview of religious communities, many of which utilize scientific terminology as a language of communication For example, regular meetings of the followers ofEsotericism are called "lectures" and "seminars." In them, there is repeated reference to scientific discoveries. (Akhmetova 2008: 3-4) A good example of this discourse is Pleshanov's (2000) book The Russian Alphabet as an Instrument of Scientific Understanding of the Universe, published by the impressive-sounding Center for Cosmo-Analytical Research. Adopting a gem atrial approach that draws on the numerical values of letters, the author contends that a single law governs every natural and historical process. The purpose of the book is to show, with the help of the numerical matrix of the Russian alphabet, the activity and unfolding of this uniform law. The author purports to reveal the correspondences between letters, colors, chakras, and signs of the zodiac (Pleshanov 2000: 15-16). Vortices (viklzri) are said to be constitutive of every level of existence - from human person to the universe itself (Pleshanov 2000: 28). All of this is revealed on the basis of the Cyrillic alphabet. Toward the end of the book, a plaintive note emerges in the otherwise scientistic discourse. Pleshanov contends that the entire historical process is now culminating on the territory of Russia. The alphabetical analysis reveals the need to eliminate the egotistical monetary-credit system, for only this will forestall the liquidation of human civilization (Pleshanov 2000: 67-8). Catastrophes have happened before, so the prophets of the Old Testament tell us. To avert another, there must be a massive raising of consciousness above the current stress level, so that people understand their place and the meaning of evolution for both earth and universe (Pleshanov 2000: 68). Thus, the alphabet leads to the farthest reaches of outer space, and then back to Russia and the turmoil of post-Soviet economic shock therapy. The second form of Cyrillic alphabet mysticism may be termed civilizationalist. Why is it that the Russian alphabet in particular allows us to understand the laws ofthe universe? The answer, apparently, lies in its great antiquity. Many scholars, it is claimed, have determined that the Russian language is the primordial language

144 Alphabet mysticism and conspiracy theory ofEurasia- or, indeed, the world. For that reason, even today a Russian person can become fluent in any foreign language, while a foreigner studying Russian will always have a tell-tale accent (Pechenkin 1997: 5). In this discourse, the Russian alphabet is understood as the taproot of all subsequent scripts -Phoenician, Greek, Celtic, Gothic, Latin, Hebrew, and so on. Even the earliest forms of writing Sumerian cuneiform, Egyptian hieroglyphics, and Chinese pictograms - are said to go back to the Cyrillic proto-alphabet (Miroshnichenko 2004: 31, 71 ). Etruscan, Linear A, the Phaistos Disc and the other enigmatic scripts of the ancient world all turn out to be proto-Cyrillic writing (cf. Franklin 2002: 92-3). What is important here is not so much the symbolic potency of individual letters but the meaning of the alphabet as a whole in the spiritual history of humankind Earlier, I mentioned the sense of religious and cultural loss that shadows Orthodox forms of alphabet mysticism. There is the persistent idea that the divinely inspired Slavonic alphabet underwent a "storm" or a "pogrom" at the hands of the godless Bolsheviks, the end result of which is the modem-day Cyrillic alphabet. But a similar mythic logic can be applied to the Slavonic alphabet itself. In Neo-pagan accounts, Church Slavonic is the guilty party. Post-Soviet Russia has seen a growing interest in not only the nation's Christian but its pre-Christian past. Discussions about mighty Russian/Slavic civilizations and literary monuments prior to the coming of Christianity have become widespread, despite the seeming hegemony of the Russian Orthodox Church. Here, we need to speak of the rise of Neo-paganism. There is some confusion and controversy over terminology. Paganism, Vedism, and Rodnoverie (native faith) are other terms for the same phenomenon. Although this last designation seems to be preferred by many religionists, the term ''Neo-pagan" is more widely used in the scholarly literature; so, for the sake of convenience, I use it here. Neo-paganism has been on the rise not only in Russia but throughout Eastern Europe, including the Baltic states (Shnirelman 2002), and in the West (Harvey 2007). A number of scholars suggest that the defining feature of Russian Neo-paganism is its nationalist character (e.g. Shnirelman 2002). According to Laruelle (2008: 284), Neo-pagan groups "often consider themselves nationalists, are openly anti-Semitic, and routinely call for an authoritarian political regime." Moroz (2007: 270; cf. 263) sees Neo-paganism falling squarely on the red-brown (Bolshevik-fascist) end of the nationalist spectrum. There also seems to be an elective affinity between Neo-paganism and the growing skinhead movement (Verkhovsky 2009: 91). Although some Neo-pagan groups exemplify a ludic approach to native traditions, meshing ecological spirituality with role-play, Tolkienism, and the like (Aitamurto 2007; Radtchenko 2006), many are decidedly anti-Christian, viewing the Church as something that turns people into slaves and morons. Some Neo-pagans form collectives, perform rituals, and organize their lives in relation to the numinous powers of nature. In other words, they behave in a religious manner. For others, however, the native faith is viewed more as a philosophy or worldview, "a set of ideas with which individuals engage to a greater or lesser extent" (Pilkington and Popov 2009: 295). According to Shnirelman (2002: 207), one of the leading experts in this area, there are two broad kinds ofNeo-paganism

Alphabet mysticism and conspiracy theory 145

in post-communist Russia. One has to do with the revival of regional pagan traditions that have a more or less uninterrupted history. The second involves "invented" traditions. Shnirelman (2002: 207) dubs this "urbanized bookish NeoPaganism." Although these terms are problematic, I shall focus here on the second type, while recognizing that it is only a limited part of a broader and more complex constellation of religious ideas and practices. There are scores ofNeo-pagan groups in contemporary Russia, including the Moscow Slavic Society of Vles, the Vles Circle, the Society ofPerun, the Heritage of Forefathers, and the Party of Spiritual Vedic Socialism (Moroz 2007: 258). These groups tend to be small and fissiparous, and scholars who study the movement think there is little chance that it could mobilize many Russians certainly nothing on the order of the Russian Orthodox Church. But that does not mean they are unimportant. "Although Neo-paganism in its full scope is not widely popular," writes Shnirelman (1998: 2), "elements of the ideology have a wide circulation and influence." Laruelle (2008: 298) agrees: Russian neo-paganism is not destined to bring together many converts and, as in other European countries, will probably remain a marginal religious strand in comparison to the Orthodox Church. However, the strength of the movement lies elsewhere. Neo-paganism has managed, within a decade, to diffuse historical themes that are fully compatible with the Orthodox or agnostic sentiments of most Russian citizens. It is true that there has been a certain rapprochement between Orthodoxy and Neo-paganism. Some leading nationalists have expressed a favorable attitude toward the pre-Christian past. For example, Klykov, the artist responsible for the sculptures of Cyril and Methodius and other Russian saints and heroes, revealed a favorable attitude toward the pre-Christian pagan past. He once told an interviewer that Cyril and Methodius had given the Russian people a great bequest - the Cyrillic alphabet - but (in a coy reference to the "Russian letters") this does not mean that no Slavic writing existed before them. He also stated that the destruction of Slavic pagan "idols" by Prince Vladimir was unjustified, averring that the spirit of paganism is alive to this day and that, along with Orthodoxy, it is an expression of the people's soul (Krasnaia zvezda, 2 June 1992). Other notable luminaries ofthe far right, such as Rasputin and Shafarevich, have been favorable to certain aspects ofNeo-paganism (Laruelle 2009: 40). At the same time, some Neo-pagan writers have endeavored to find connections or continuities with Russian Orthodoxy. Loginov (2006: 7), for instance, suggests that current Russian Orthodoxy is exactly the same faith as that of the Russians' ancient forefathers. Jesus is the face of Bog (the Slavic pagan word for God), the Mother of Jesus is Mokosh (Moist Mother Earth), and so on. Furthermore, some Neo-pagans claim that the Orthodox cross is a Russian development of the ancient Aryan swastika (kolovrat). Perhaps these few references are enough to call into question Laruelle's statement that Neo-pagan themes are "fully compatible" with Orthodoxy, since some versions could hardly be endorsed by most Christians.

146 Alphabet mysticism and conspiracy theory Different Neo-pagan groups promote different and incompatible mythologies (Bushnell 2001: 275). But between them there is a kind of meta-myth, the gist of which is that the ancient pre-Christian Russians enjoyed an impressive civilization and that this civilization was in large measure destroyed or buried by foreign entities. Some identify this ancient Slavic civilization with the Aryans or the Pelasgians or the Etruscans (or all three). Some situate it in Eurasia or the Mediterranean basin, while others speak of the lost continent of Atlantis or the crystalline paradise ofHyperborea. Some place it thousands- or tens of thousands, or even hundreds of thousands - of years ago. Neo-pagan authors "push their theories of Russian identity back to the most remote past, representing prehistoric ancestors as prosperous and generous people, brave warriors and tireless conquerors, noble civilizers and builders of all the main ancient civilizations" (Shnirelman 2007: 35). The primordial character ofthe ancient Slavic civilization is embodied in its language and especially in its writing system. As we saw above, Russian is often considered the prelapsarian language of humankind and the fans et origo of the world's diverse writing systems. The post-communist period has seen the publication of various texts, with their advocates claiming that they represent this ancient, obliterated tradition. Titles include The Songs of the Bird Gamayon, Koliada's Book ofStars, The Rigveda ofKiev, The Silver BookofPenm, and, most importantly, the Book of Vles (Laruelle 2008; Bushnell 2001). According to Shnirelman (2007: 48), "the myth of an ancient pagan literary tradition. has reached its apogee of popularity in today's Russia." According to the Neo-pagan meta-myth, this mighty civilization with its rich literature was destroyed by a hostile and inferior civilization. The culprit was Christianity, which is typically construed as an alien entity that quashed the autochthonous tradition, its arrival the start not of Heilsgeschichte (salvation history)- as Russian Orthodox literati from the Rus Primary Chronicle onward have portrayed it - but Unheilsgeschichte (disaster history). The advent of Christianity is regarded as a catastrophe especially in the linguistic domain: "the sacralization of the Russian language is declared, which appears as the exclusive treasury of heavenly forces, whose magical enchantment [magicheskoe volshebstvo] was lost only due to the fact that Jew-Christians [evrei-khristiane] intentionally perverted [iskazalz] the sound of the divine Russian speech" (Moroz 2007: 261 ). But now the language is being deciphered, authentic history is being recovered, and the mighty Russians are emerging from a millennium of hibernation induced by "Russian-language Russians" (Beliakova 1994: 3)- code words for Jews (Laruelle 2009: 39). Why do we not know this? According toNeo-pagan discourse, an "information war" has been waged for centuries, starting with medieval Christian monks and perpetuated by today's academics (Marsh Slavianki 2 (2002): 3). Beliakova (1994: 3) complains that, in an era of detective novels, thrillers, and pornography, the entire education system "crosses out" (perecherkivaet) the authentic history of the Russian people. A millennium-long conspiracy has erased the memory ofRussia's brilliant pre-Christian culture.

Alphabet mysticism and conspiracy theory 141 Buslmell (2001: 282) neatly summarizes the three interlocking parts of the metamyth: Russians have an unimaginably ancient lineage and culture, which can be traced back to the Aryans and the Vedas .; the Rus before Kiev had an empire ofunimaginable extent and power, extending from the north of India through Central Asia all the way into the Mediterranean basin and Western Europe a conspiracy of unimaginable scope has suppressed - and continues to suppress - all evidence that this was so. Faced with these circumstances and the conspiracy of silence, academic centers and think-tanks have been founded to counter such established institutes as the Russian Academy of Sciences (RAN), which is viewed as irredeemably Jewish and cosmopolitan. There are also a number of publishers, including Belye alvy, FAIR-PRESS, Veche, and Ladoga-200, that specialize in "scientific" Neo-pagan works, which are sold at the best bookstores in Moscow and St. Petersburg as well as university shops (Moroz 2007: 266-7). The Neo-pagan meta-myth is further propagated through history museums, television shows, and school textbooks (Laruelle 2008: 291-4). Most theories of pre-Christian literacy are based on two thin references. Both are sufficiently opaque to generate a number of "imaginative projections," as Drucker might say. First, the short treatise On Letters (ninth-tenth century), which famously says, "In the old days the Slavs did not have any books, but by nicks and notches read and divined, being as yet heathen" (Duichev 1985: 157). Although the author explicitly contrasts these forms with letters, this has not stopped enthusiasts from developing theories about entire pre-Christian, especially runic, writing systems (cf. Franklin 2002: 90-1). Also, as we saw in Chapter 6, the Vita of Constantine/Cyril contains the following enigmatic reference: "And Constantine found there the Gospels and the Psalter written in Russian letters" (M. Kantor 1983: 43). Most scholars believe this line to be either a late interpolation or a scribal mistake; Neo-pagan authors take it as proof positive that the Russians had an alphabet before the mission of Cyril and Methodius. Most forms ofNeo-pagan alphabet mysticism are attempts to flesh out what these "nicks and notches" or "Russian letters" really were. All posit a monumental historical conspiracy that has tried to suppress knowledge of these primordial scripts.

Run itsa Surveying the literary remains of medieval Rus, Franklin (2002: 91) remarks, "Puzzling letter-like signs scratched on scattered and miscellaneous fragments of wood, bone, stone, and metal stimulate the ingenuity ofwould-be decipherers." One of the main would-be decipherers is V. A. Chudinov. He has published a number of books on what he calls "Russian runes," which he claims (2006: 10) existed in abundance, comprised a complex system, and related above all to the spheres of magic, mysticism, and manticism. His books are aimed at a broad

148 Alphabet mysticism and conspiracy theory audience and he has even appeared on popular television shows expounding his research. He cultivates the image of an indefatigable seeker of truth fighting against the clerical-academic establishment According to Chudinov, the runic writing system - which he calls runitsa, on the model of kirillitsa (Cyrillic) and latinitsa (Latin)- existed for thousands of years before the Cyrillo-Methodian mission. Hence, it would be impossible for Cyril to invent something that existed eons before his own time. Chudinov does, however, credit Cyril with selecting one form of ancient Russian runes, the secular form, and adapting it for the propagation of the Gospel. In essence, then, he sacralized a non-religious form of ancient Russian runes (Chudinov 2006: 4 7-8). In keeping with the Byzantine missionary plan, he added some Greek letters to the runes. This was all part of a plan, the object of which was to bring the Slavs into the orbit of Byzantium. The Christianization of the pre-Christian runes was actually Byzantinization. The end result is the Slavonic Cyrillic alphabet (Chudinov 2006: 129-31; cf. 249). In Chudinov's reading of history, Cyril is recognized only insofar as he creatively adapted what was already there in front of him for the Byzantine Christian mission. It is worth taking a moment to consider the foreword to Chudinov's 2006 tome, Russ/de runy (Russian Runes), written by his publisher, Dmitrii Loginov, because it clearly exemplifies the conspiracist discourse involved here. According to Loginov (2006: 3; original capitalization), Chudinov's book "TOPPLES THE PLOT OF SILENCE. Several centuries long. Aimed at the Russian people. The goal of which is for the people to forget their centuries-long history." Loginov also makes the fantastical claim that writing existed 24 centuries before Cyril and Methodius, yet there has been a systematic silencing of this fact. He suggests that the latter portion of the nineteenth century witnessed the start of the recovery of Russian history in its entirety. Then came the bloody year of 1917, the sovereign was murdered, and anti-Russian forces seized power. He suggests that the current political regime does not exactly encourage this line of historical research, but the situation is certainly not as dire as it was under "JudeaBolshevism." According to the publisher, Chudinov's massive research proves beyond a shadow of a doubt that: Russian runes existed. Greek, Latin, Sanskrit, and other alphabets originate from Russian runes. Russian runes are found around the world -revealing the "authentic face" of Russians as the oldest people on the planet. Cyril and Methodius did not invent Cyrillic, but taught it to the whole world - after they had read the Gospel written in runes. The authentic history of Russia has undergone a contract killing (zakaznoe ubiistvo). (Loginov 2006: 3-7) What Chudinov's research provides, then, is an alternative "script" for Russian history.

Alphabet mysticism and conspiracy theory 149

Velesovitsa There are many different versions of Russian Rodnoverie or Neo-paganism. But they all emphasize the so-called Vlesova (or Velesova) Kniga (Book of Vles ). This is purported to be a chronicle composed in the eighth-ninth century by Slavic pagan priests dedicated to the god Veles. Everything about it is enigmatic and controversial. Neo-pagans treat it as scripture; scholars as a forgery (Alekseev 2004). The text has been published and republished numerous times in the postcommunist period, often packaged with other writings that allegedly come from pre-Christian times as well. Information about the Book of Vles is disseminated through the media and the education system, where questions of authenticity are sometimes ignored. The text is often considered true and authentic in a spiritual, if not strictly historical, sense. Despite the protests of philologists and historians, the BookofVles has come to be viewed as a "natural" part ofRussia's past. The Book of Vles was originally discovered by a soldier fighting for the White Army during the Russian Civil War. The text was allegedly composed on wooden boards in a script that some say resembles the horizontal bar characteristic of Devanagari, thus strengthening the putative connections between the ancient Russians and the Vedic wisdom of the Indo-Aryans. It is said that transcriptions were made before the boards disappeared. In the 1950s, they were serialized in a San Francisco emigre journal called Zhar-Ptitsa (Firebird). The appearance of the text was greeted "with ecstasy" by Russian nationalists, for it seemed to demonstrate that Russia had not only writing but an organized spiritual life and literature in the pre-Christian era (Moroz 2007: 265). "It opens up for us the spiritual universe ofthe ancient Rus," says one defender (Velesova kniga 1994: 192). This is a complex topic. For our purposes, however, it is important to note that discourses that trumpet the authenticity of the Book of Vles directly undermine the Cyrillo-Methodian myth. A. I. Asov has been one of the most vocal proponents ofthis controversial text. He describes the Book of Vles as "holy writing" (sviashchennoe pisanie) composed in a "priestly language" (zhrecheskii iazyk). He compares it to the Iliad, Odyssey, and Aeneid, saying it represents a uniquely ancient tradition in Europe ( Velesova Kniga 1994: 192). In the text, the Byzantine Christians are depicted as invading and taking over the ancient Russian land. The Russians resist, inspired by the idea that it is "better to be dead than alive and enslaved to foreigners" ( Velesova Kniga 1994: 95) -a sentiment that might well resonate with many nationalists in the postcommunist period. A similar scenario is captured in the line: "The Greeks want to baptize us, so that we forget our gods" (Velesova Kniga 1994: 179). Whereas the Primary Chronicle, the most famous document of early Rus culture, spends several pages discussing the process of religious inquiry and conversion through which Prince Vladimir and the Rus came to Christianity, the Velesova Kniga dispatches that event with the laconic "Rus was baptized today" (/ kreshchena Rus' segodniia) (Velesova Kniga 1994: 179). The negative attitude toward the Greeks in general is trained on St. Cyril in particular. The text has him lurking in ancient Slavic villages, furtively stealing

150 Alphabet mysticism and conspiracy theory the indigenous Rus script: "They [the Greeks] were saying that they established their writing among us, that we take theirs and lose our own. But remember Cyril, who wanted to teach our children and who had to hide in our homes, so that we would not know that he was studying our letters" ( Velesova Kniga 1994: 95). In his commentary on the text, Asov invokes the two texts that allegedly prove the existence of pre-Cyrillic writing: the "nicks and notches" from On Letters and the "Russian letters" mentioned in the Vita Constantine. He asserts that these references corroborate the Velesova passage above, which plainly posits the existence of a Slavic writing system, and which Cyril stealthily used for his own purposes. In Asov's opinion (Velesova kniga 1994: 226), Cyril should not be credited with the invention but at best with the reform of a pre-existing alphabet. He terms this script velesovitsa, like Chudinov's runitsa, modeled on kirillitsa and latinitsa. Thus, the ancient scripts multiply.

Vseiasvetnaia gramota Yet another alternative alphabet that has made an appearance on the postcommunist semiotic landscape - the Vseiasvetnaia gramota or azbuka (the Planetary Writing or Alphabet). (Laruelle (2008) translates the name as "PanInternational Charter.") This is a fantastical alphabet consisting of 147 supernal letterforms that resemble the angelic, antediluvian, or celestial alphabets described by Drucker (1995: 120-5). Its inventor or discoverer, A. F. Shubin-Abromov, claims that the Gramota was transcribed from the cosmos tens of thousands of years ago. It has been preserved and transmitted from generation to generation by the boyar Shubin family. The alphabet was made public in a booklet published in 1979, now a bibliographical rarity, which has been copied, paraphrased, and recycled in publications and on websites during the post-Soviet period. In the original presentation, the letters were accompanied by drawings of stars, clouds, planets, swirls, spirals, angelic and human figures, to which the letters purportedly relate. Many clearly resemble Cyrillic glyphs but in a more curvilinear form, with additional loops and markings (http://gramota.org/, accessed 13 March 2010). Only a few scholars (e.g. Laruelle 2008: 290; Moroz2007: 261) have broached this topic, and it is easy to see why. The entire discourse surrounding the Vseiasvetnaia alphabet is rather confusing, involving an alternative religious ideology conveyed by an idiosyncratic vocabulary and graphology (e.g. bicapitalization). The basic idea seems to be that the 147 letters embody different spiritual-physical phenomena associated with different cosmic zones. Each letter has a distinct philosophical and moral meaning. Using the letters allows one to tap into and utilize these different cosmic energies. Good letters and syllables are delineated by capital letters. The letter Zet', for instance- which looks like a "Z" extended by a circle in the middle - is said to take energy from both the earth and the sky, in order to form the BioGenerating LightNing Zone (BioGenezirovannaia SvetoZarnaia Zona) between them. The union of male and female principles by means of the child is embodied in the letter Ot", which looks like a curly "W." Especially important is the syllable RA, which is connected to the Sun God. But

Alphabet mysticism and conspiracy theory 151 not all of the letters are so positive. Zelo is a sign of degradation, of"parazitism," "pederazty," and "lezbianizm." These are all associated with the letter "zid''- not "zhid," since Zh is a beneficent form. The reduction of letters, from 14 7 to 33 (the number in contemporary Russian Cyrillic), has meant a catastrophic diminution of human powers. When the Bolsheviks replaced the names of the alphabet with the mindless academic terms (a, b, c. .), this exacerbated the process ofbestialization (oskotinivaniia) of the Russian person (Beliakova 1994: 18). Truncating the alphabet after the acceptance of Byzantine Christianity, which was foreign to the Russian people, changed the Slavs' process of comprehending reality, ushering in serfdom, usury, and other things hitherto unknown among the Slavs. Thus began a great cultural larceny, leaving only the language - the inestimable treasure of Slavic spirituality and history (Beliakova 1994: 22). The appearance ofPlanetary Alphabet has been welcomed in Neo-pagan circles. By way of example, let us take a closer look at the newspaper Russkie slaviane (Russian Slavs), which started publication in 2001. The opening editorial (1: 2) makes the now-familiar claim that Russians are the legatees of an ancient, powerful civilization that left its mark across Europe, the Middle East, and India. The ancient Rus were a broad-minded people who lived peaceably with other tribes, and yet the "Russian" city of Troy fell by deception. In Chapter 5, we saw that most Orthodox nationalist papers from the 1990s onward made a point of using Church Slavonic fonts, thus staking a claim to a literary tradition that had the aura of being ancient and indubitably Russian. In a similar fashion, Russ/de slaviane utilizes the 147-letter alphabet in its masthead and dedicates much ofthe first few issues to reproducing Shubin-Abramov's bukovnik (letter-book). The accompanying editorial declares that Slavic civilization had writing 7000 years before Christ. Yet the Vseiasvetnaia gramota was "castrated" (oskoplennuiu) by Cyril and Methodius. The task of the publication is to search into and divulge the little-known pages of history and in so doing elevate the people above current imported ideologies. The Vseiasvetnaia alphabet provides an authentic lineage for the Russian people. It helps define "who we are and where we're going" (Russkie slaviane 1 (2001): 2). Learning the alphabet is a matter ofthrowing off foreign imposition and finding empowerment in the nation's own ancient resources. In the above example, it is clear that the alphabet figures in a nationalist discourse. But it can also be put to other uses. One example is the New Age-style appropriation found in a book dedicated to name and calendrical divination (Bezliudova 2008). According to the author, words are stable cosmic structures that carry information and energy. A name encodes higher knowledge about the nature and destiny of the person Unfortunately, the current alphabet is no longer an authentic code, having been degraded over time (Bezliudova 2008: 10-11 ). But thanks to the revelation of the Vseiasvetnaia gramota, the alphabetic pleroma has been recovered and can be drawn upon for spiritual insight. The task of the book is to return to the primordial meaning of words, especially names, which have ceased to be understood as bearers of profound esoteric information (Bezliudova 2008: 18). The book is "pro" Russian but without the shadow of an enemy. The

152 Alphabet mysticism and conspiracy theory author claims that no Russian name contains negative energy- only harmonious adjustment to the surrounding environment (Bezliudova 2008: 22). Ancient Slavic rituals and customs were deeply in tune with the processes of nature and cosmos, all of which is embedded in Russian words and names. Every letter of the Vseiasvetnaia gramota is a symbolic instantiation of the person in relation to the cosmos. The wellbeing not only of individuals but of whole peoples depends on the knowledge of this alphabet (Bezliudova 2008: 290-3).

*** This book is about the revival of Russia's Slavonic heritage. In this chapter, we have followed the tracks of Slavonic into some unfamiliar terrain - the realm of occultism and conspiracy theory, both of which have flourished in the post-Soviet period. What links the occult with conspiracy thinking is the notion of an "unseen order," the idea that an all-powerful system governs and directs the surface reality we see around us. Alphabets provide a powerful means of visualizing this invisible order. The alphabet, suggests Crain (2002: 91), is a world in itself, offering an "incipient encyclopedism." The shapes of letters, their names and numerical equivalents, their order, their combinatory capabilities- all of these factors can become grist for the occultist mill. But alphabets are not just abstract systems floating in mental space. They are also historical artifacts. Newer alphabets appear and older ones disappear. Their success or failure seems to accompany the rise and fall of nations or empires. Thus, alphabets combine the mystical with the historical, the cognitive with the sociopolitical, making them attractive vehicles for discourses on the themes of past and present, history and identity. The idea that the different letters ofthe Slavonic alphabet embody elemental Christian truths has been around for centuries. Popularized versions of this discourse appear in contemporary Church Slavonic textbooks and primers. Of more recent vintage are mystical interpretations of the secular Cyrillic alphabet. One discourse depicts it as a grand cosmic code, its letters the equivalent of DNA containing all the secrets of the universe. Another, using more world-historical or civilizationalist terms, positions Cyrillic as the oldest alphabet on earth and the source of all later scripts and writing systems. Cyrillic is mentioned in the same breath as the fabled lands of Troy, Atlantis, and Hyperborea. But certain versions of alphabet mysticism challenge the primacy of Slavonic or Cyrillic and the regnant version of Russian history that goes with them. Some look back to ancient huts and hearths and Russian runes, while others - such as the Vseiasvetnaia Gramota, whose 147 glyphs embody both good and evil cosmic potencies - look out to stars and galactic swirls. In each case, the spiritual meaning of the alphabet comes wrapped in a conspiratorial reading ofRussian history. Orthodox traditionalists accuse the Bolsheviks of deliberately waging a battle against the Slavonic alphabet; Neo-pagan religionists advance a similar argument against Slavonic, claiming alphabets of unimaginably greater antiquity and authenticity. Different alphabets, different histories. In this case, reactions against Slavonic become a way to construct a different lineage for Russia, and a different interpretation of its historic trials and tribulations.

8

Conclusion

Ifthere is a history oflanguages, it is a chapter in the history of society. (Calvet 1998: xv) On a recent trip to Moscow, I made my way, as most tourists inevitably do, to Red Square. Like other observers, I was struck by the way that different monuments seem to symbolize Russia's competing identities. At the Lenin Mausoleum, with its funereal silence and minimal Cyrillic inscription ("Lenin") on sepulchral black and red marble, the guards still cast a grim eye on any hesitancy or irregular movement displayed by the visitor. But the long line of pilgrims snaking through Red Square has been replaced by smaller groups of tourists. The day I visited, there was also a small band of old-time devotees marching with communist flags and icons of the revolutionary leader. They were mostly ignored by everyone else. Communism may be dead, but debates about what to do with Lenin's body perhaps the ultimate referendum on the Soviet experiment- continue. Long the site of Soviet martial pageantry, Red Square is now surrounded by colossal billboards for BMW, Rolex, and other luxury goods. A Lamborghini store is a few blocks away. Near by, there is also the vast (82,000-square-yard) underground shopping complex of the Manezh, a chthonic temple to Western consumerism. Inside, one finds a host of famous brand names- Lacoste, Nike, Adidas, Levi Strauss, Calvin Klein, Sborro, and, of course, McDonald's- the names of which are written in Latin script, the symbol of technical progress and global capitalism, and accompanied by a pulsing soundtrack of rock, hip-hop and techno beats. But a number of historical references have been incorporated into this otherwise trendy space (K. Smith 2002: 126). One of the more curious can be found in the central domed skylight. Ringing the dome are black stencil outlines of Orthodox churches from ancient Russian cities, the names of which are written in a Slavonic-style script: Suzdal, Ryazan, Solvychegodsk, Zvenigorod, Kizhi. It is as if this new capitalist structure is paying homage to the great - yet superseded temples ofRussia's past. The third notable structure on my ideological walking tour was the Kazan Cathedral. Originally constructed in the seventeenth century after the so-called Time of Troubles, this historic building was converted to a workers' cafeteria in 1930. Six years later, it was demolished and replaced by a public urinal- a striking

154 Conclusion example of the Bolsheviks' anti-religious animus (cf. Brooke 2006: 45). Though less well known than the mammoth Cathedral of Christ the Savior - the most widely reproduced symbol of Russia's religious revival- this was the first replica church built in the post-Soviet era. Its physical dimensions may be modest, but the symbolism is outsized, for it embodies the return of Orthodoxy to a position of visibility and authority in post-communist society. The day I visited was right before Easter, and a liturgy was in progress. Inside was a thick semiotic tableau: the sound of prayers and chants, the juxtaposition of humble gestures and gilded vestments, the smell of incense and beeswax candles, the walls adorned with icons and large inscriptions in the hieratic Slavonic script. On a cold day, with snow flurries in the air, the church offered a warm and cosseting environment. Believers were stopping in for short visits, lighting candles and saying prayers as best they could within its crowded confines. But, to me, the most remarkable thing was the fact that the service was being broadcast on loudspeakers. While locals and tourists went about their business, the cantillation of Church Slavonic wafted across Red Square, reaching the silent crypt ofLenin, whose own writings, despite their antireligious orientation, were full of Slavonic phrases - such was the pervasive influence of the sacred language in pre-revolutionary times (Matfeev 1990). Church Slavonic on Red Square - an amazing turn of events. But what did it mean?

*** The purpose of this book has been to explore the revival of the Slavonic tradition in post-Soviet Russia. One of the major sacred languages of the world and an omnipresent element of Russian culture before the Bolshevik Revolution, Church Slavonic was in steep decline during the Soviet era. But with the breakup of the USSR and the resurgence of Russian Orthodoxy, the language has experienced something of a revival. As the liturgical language of the Russian Orthodox Church, and a symbol of Russia's deep religious and linguistic roots, the recovery of Slavonic is one expression ofthe general "restorational evolution" ofthe postSoviet era (Filatov 2008: 189). The Slavonic tradition helps define the nation and offers a counterweight to communist and Western identities. The status of Church Slavonic might be compared to that of the Kazan Cathedral, whose polychromatic domes and gables stand out from the gray fac;:ades and straight lines that flank it. Few people might attend this church, but it is symbolically potent- as the decision to rebuild it shortly after the demise of communism demonstrates. Similarly, the archaic Slavonic language stands apart from modem- and numerically far larger -languages such as Russian and English; its ornamented letterforms distinct from the streamlined shapes of Cyrillic and Latin. Yet, like the diminutive Kazan Cathedral, Slavonic is symbolically powerful. It occupies a special "place" in the landscape - very near the "center" of Russian religion and language - a fact that becomes quite evident when this position is challenged either in the Orthodox liturgy or in accounts of Russian history. So, has Church Slavonic secured its niche again in Russian culture? Or should we see its revival as a mere epiphenomenon of post-communist transition? I began

Conclusion 155

this book with a reference to Mathiesen's (1984: 64) speculation that the venerable history of Church Slavonic might well draw to a close by the year 2063, 1200 years after it was created by Saints Cyril and Methodius for their mission to the Slavs. Having tracked the different forms and expressions of the Slavonic revival, what finally can we say about its status? The picture is not altogether clear. As Mikhalchenko and Trushkova (2003: 287) say with regard to the status of Russian after communism: "Some [indices] are high and others low; some are rising, others are falling." Signs of revival come in different forms. Awareness of, and appreciation for, the Slavonic tradition has increased. Church Slavonic has been called on as a safeguard against Western cults and culture, and to purify and replenish the Russian language when it has seemed overwhelmed by loanwords, jargon, and obscenity. The feast day of Cyril and Methodius has been expanded into a national holiday known as the Day of Slavonic Writing and Culture. The panoply of monuments, ceremonies, concerts, and exhibitions that revolve around 24 May help define Russia as a providentially Orthodox-believing, Cyrillic-writing nation. Yet, the post-Soviet period has also seen an increase in Neo-pagan discourses that seek the roots of Russian identity in pre-Christian times, in a mighty Russian/Slavic civilization that, it is claimed, existed for centuries before the Cyrillo-Methodian mission. They look instead to primordial and mystically potent writing systems -runes or celestial alphabets -that have been allegedly concealed by a massive Judea-Christian-communist conspiracy. Such revisionist interpretations ofRussian history are disseminated through popular books and television shows, and have gained increasing acceptance throughout post-communist society. Within the ecclesiastical domain, the hieratic language continues to be used in the liturgy - the centerpiece of Russian Orthodox ethos and praxis. Church Slavonic is being studied in earnest again in Orthodox seminaries, gymnasia, Sunday schools, workshops, and seminars. New dictionaries and grammars have been published. The language has also gained a certain academic credibility, with conferences and round-table discussions devoted to its history and pedagogy. A center for the study of Church Slavonic under the auspices of the Russian Academy of Sciences provides the kind of scholarly imprimatur that the language has long lacked. Since Russian churches require icons, and icons have Slavonic inscriptions, the building and refurbishment of Orthodox churches and monasteries means that the quantity of Slavonic lettering has increased exponentially since Soviet times. There is also renewed interest in the history and practice of Slavonic calligraphy. Typographers have devised new Slavonic fonts inspired by medieval manuscripts. The Slavonic script functions as the "logo" of the Russian Orthodox Church, being used on church buildings, banners, trains, communiques, and so on. Its ornate letterforms have been appropriated by advertisers and nationalists as a symbol of authentic Russianness when compared with the simpler Latin and Cyrillic alphabets. Yet, there are also indications that at least some segments of Russian Orthodoxy have moved past the early reliance on the structuring effects

156 Conclusion provided by Slavonic letterfonns. The change in the masthead of the Journal of the Moscow Patriarchate is perhaps a small indicator of a trend that is more thoroughly manifested in the so-called Orthodox glossies, beautifully produced magazines about contemporary subjects that contain almost no Slavonic lettering whatsoever. The Russian Orthodox Church faced a critical juncture in the 1990s, as a debate raged over whether vernacular Russian should be introduced into the liturgy, supplementing or perhaps replacing the traditional Church Slavonic altogether. Yet the debate did not bring about the change desired by the refonnists; in fact, it seems to have reinforced the traditional position of Church Slavonic, at least for the short term (Bennett 2009). The fact that traditionalists and refonnists espouse two different theories about the ontology of language - traditionalists reject the "Protestant" theory that Slavonic is a conventional sign system -makes a rapprochement between the camps hard to imagine (Bodin 2009: 79). As many observers have noted, there is a striking gap between the number of Russians who claim to be Orthodox and the number who are actively involved in the faith - attending church regularly, fasting assiduously, and so on. Orthodoxy is highly regarded for its historical and cultural contributions, and the Orthodox Church is regularly listed as one of the most respected institutions in Russian society. However, this general goodwill has generally not translated into active participation. All the polls tend to confirm that focused, infonned belief is found among relatively few in the population, whereas vague, uninformed religious sentiment is quite widespread . The additional polling indicates that the public appears to have an amiable, benevolent, and welcoming attitude toward the religious institutions in the country, but people do not seem to make the church central to their own existence. Some do, of course, but most do not. (N. Davis 2003: 227, 229) Of course, the Church has faced unprecedented challenges in trying to revitalize itself after decades of anti-religious animus and apathy. Nevertheless, it might be asked to what extent this situation- high regard for the Orthodox faith, yet low participation - is a result of maintaining Slavonic instead of introducing the vernacular. Did the Russian Church fail to capitalize on its historic window of opportunity as a result of its allegiance to Church Slavonic? Anecdotal evidence suggests that the perceived opacity of Slavonic drove away some potential members. Russian converts to Protestantism often mention the inaccessible nature of the hieratic language as a factor: "I can't believe blindly without thinking, without seeing, and there are a lot of such people in our country. If I go to our [Russian Orthodox] Church, I understand nothing. That's why it does nothing for me. What they are talking

Conclusion 157 about is in their old Slavonic language. There are a lot of people who don't understand those services at the church and they are searching their own way." "I even do not understand the words of our prayers because it is a very ancient language. I first heard the way Americans prayed and I liked it very much because the words were very simple and understandable and we prayed for things very important for us personally." (Quoted in Glanzer 2001) Letters to the editor headed "Why do we pray in a dead language?" and "Can we not pray to God in Russian?" suggest that the perception of Church Slavonic is not altogether positive. Of course, the Orthodox Church would have a number of responses: Slavonic is historically and spiritually vital to both Church and nation; it is neither a foreign nor a dead language for native Russian speakers; there are now many textbooks and programs that can help you learn the language; the more you attend the liturgy, the more you will understand. Moreover, removing Church Slavonic might well unleash a cascade of modernizing and secularizing reforms that would transmogrify the Church. We are back to the liturgical language debate. The question of replacing Church Slavonic in the liturgy may be the great "What if .?" in the post-Soviet chapter of Russian religious history.

*** Polls show that the religious beliefs and attitudes of a majority of Russians are informed by the mass media (Vorontsova 2003: 387). Although television is by far the biggest and most popular form, the Internet is becoming increasingly influential. Church Slavonic is also going online. There are now appropximately 3500 Russian Orthodox websites (Kishkovsky 2008b). A search of the words "Church Slavonic" (n;epKOBHo-crraMHCKHH) on Yandex, which is similar to Google, yields over a quarter of a million hits. Church Slavonic is now represented in Unicode (Kempgen 2008). The Slavonic Typography Community (www.cslav.org) represents a partnership of liturgists, typographers, and computer programmers who are dedicated to preserving and disseminating the Church Slavonic heritage. Websites like Sobornik (www. sobornik.ru) and Akafistnik (www.akafistnik.ru) make parts of the Church Slavonic corpus available to everyone. There is even a Church Slavonic Bible "app" (application) for the iPhone (http://itunes.apple.com/us/app/church-slavonicbible/id359016513?mt=8, accessed 29 August 2010). Distance-learning courses and online tutorials provide new ways to study the language. We should also note that arguments for and against the use of Slavonic continue to be waged in venues like LiveJournal ( cf. Gopenko 2009: 194-200). Is the future of Slavonic to be found more in cyberspace than sacred space? On the one hand, the Internet cannot replicate the communal, multi-sensory experience ofthe Russian Orthodox liturgy, the primary Sitz im Leben of Church Slavonic- at least not yet. On the other hand,

158 Conclusion the fact that Slavonic is a largely "closed" linguistic system means it may be particularly amenable to online cultivation. The pace of change in the realm of information technology is unprecedented. Yet, as Fishman ( 1991: 362) says with respect to such languages as Church Slavonic, "The whole posture of religious classicals is tradition-and-stability ('eternity') oriented rather than progress-and-change oriented." For a multitude of reasons, then, predicting what will happen to Slavonic by the year 2063 would be unwise. In fact, despite Fishman's characterization, the status of "religious classicals" can change quickly. In the foreword to Pletneva and Kravetskii 's ( 1996) Church Slavonic textbook, the noted scholar V. M. Zhivov wrote: It is difficult to say when and how the culture and spirit of the Church

only God knows! But did Slavonic word will return to our environment you and I, dear reader, think ten or even five years ago that in the early 1990s in Moscow a new manual of the Church Slavonic language would be issued from the publisher "Enlightenment" [Prosveshchenie]? (Zhivov 1996: 7) Indeed, the publication of such a book by a mainstay of the Soviet publishing industry is quite remarkable. On the other hand, it would have been difficult to predict that Catholics would open the door to the vernacular at the Second Vatican Council, given the status of Latin up to that point. Consider the personal reminiscence of Fr. Gerard Austin (2008: 51), who depicts the pervasive Latinity of the pre-Vatican II Church: Once When I was a seminarian in the 1950s, Latin was the order of the day I embarked upon priesthood studies after the novitiate (three years of philosophy and four years of theology), all the major courses were taught in Latin. Our textbooks were written in Latin. We even took our exams, both oral and written, in Latin. Our prayer life was also expressed totally in Latin: the daily Mass and the Liturgy of the Hours. The widespread adoption of the vernacular from the 1960s onward is even more surprising given that, on the eve of Vatican II, the Council's initiator and guiding spirit, Pope John XXIII, had issued an Apostolic Constitution, Veterum sapientia, which delineated the virtues of Latin and called for the reinvigoration of Latin studies across the Catholic world. Of course, language policies, even liturgical language policies, result from the complex interaction of social groups in specific, historically defined fields. Changes that appear, to outsiders, to happen overnight have been a long time in the making and are the result of a congeries of social, cultural, political, and linguistic factors. What will happen to Slavonic in the future is unclear. We are too close to the events to be able to tell whether its revival will take root in the new environment or fade away as Russia assumes a more stable post-Soviet identity. However, the divisive debate over maintaining Church Slavonic in the liturgy, the reappearance

Conclusion 159 of old Slavonic letterforms throughout the graphic environment, the statues of Cyril and Methodius unveiled in city squares in conjunction with the annual Day of Slavonic Writing and Culture, and the conspiracy theories that dispute the primacy of Slavonic in favor of autochthonous scripts all point to Russians using the Slavonic tradition to help redefine themselves during a remarkable chapter in their history.

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Index

abecedarianism 41-2, 59 advice literature: general40-l, 46; religious 46-9 Aleksii II (Patriarch) 14, 65, 83, 113, 125, 128, 129, 130, 135 alphabet mysticism: Church Slavonic 141-2; Cyrillic 143-4; definition of 137; in Orthodox Christianity 137-8; see also Kabbalah, runes (Russian), Vseiasvetnaia azbuko. "banal Slavonicism" 16, 86, 87, 92, 110; see also script (Church Slavonic) Book of VIes: see Vlesova kniga Borodina, A. V. see Foundations of Orthodox Culture calligraphy 97-8 Cathedral of Christ the Savior 92-4, 98, 99, 125 Church Slavonic: attributes of 49-51, 70, 74-5; and Bible 75--6; civilizational impact of l, 10; classification of ll-12; future of2, 155; and Internet 157; knowledge of 13, 46, 59--61, 156-7; in the mass media 32-3, I 04; and national identity 5, 87, 100; and Orthodox Tradition 75-7; in public schools 56-8; question of intelligibility 68, 70-3, 81-3; relationship to Old Church Slavonic 6-8, 45--6; relationship to Russian 9-ll, 71; status in other Orthodox Churches 80; teaching methodology 53-5; see also Cyrillic, Latin. script (Church Slavonic), Slavonicisms conspiracy theory 134-40 cultic milieu 28

cults see New Religious Movements (NRMs) culturology 59 Cyril and Methodius: invoked in liturgical language debate 77-8; monuments to 113-14, 123-4, 129; myth of ll4-l5, 116-17, 118-21, 138; as patron saints of education 43-4; see also alphabet mysticism, Day of Slavonic Writing and Culture, myth Cyrillic 85, 14 7; and Latin alphabet 87; evolution in relation to Church Slavonic script 90-l, 92; as cosmic code 143; as source of world's writing systems 144 Day of Slavonic Writing and Culture 115, 121-2, 125-6, 132, 155 diglossia 10, 71; orthographic 91 esotericism 26-8; 134, 136; see also Maria Devi Christos, Rerikh Foundations of Orthodox Culture 57-8 hieratic language 12-13 Judaism 107-8, 139-40; see also Kabbalah Kabbalah 16, 133, 139-41 Kazan Cathedral on Red Square 153-4 Kirill (Patriarch) 83-4, 126 Klykov, V. ll3, 122-3, 126, 145 Kochetkov, G. 63-4,69-72,79, 107 language ecology 37 language ideological debates 66-7 language myths 117

184 Index language ontology 80-1, 156 language policy 34-5, 66 language, post-Soviet changes 3-4, 31-3; see also legislation language of special purpose (LSP) 51-2 language of wider comrmmication 2, 8 Latin: alphabet in Russia 86-7; compared to Church Slavonic 1, 8-9; and vernacular in Catholicism 62-3, 66, 68, 79-80, 158 legislation: Day of Slavonic Writing and Culture 124-5; linguistic 34; religious 25,30 Lenin Mausoleum 153-4 linguistic landscape 97 linguistic purism: Russian 33-6; Church Slavonic 37--8, 130 liturgy: importance in Russian Orthodoxy 15, 47--8, 65; language of 11-12,43-4, 56,62-4,67-8,156-7 Manezh shopping complex 153 Maria Devi Christos 20-2, 133 myth: and alphabet 131; characteristics of 114, 117-18, 119, 133; in post-communist period 115-16; see also Cyril and Methodius, Day of Slavonic Writing and Culture Neo-paganism 144-7 New Religious Movements (NRMs) 3, 25-9, 30, 143 occultism see esotericism Old Church Slavonic see Church Slavonic Orthodox Barmer-Bearers 109-10 Orthodox "glossies" 110-11 orthography 33, 87, 93, 105, 142; see also abecedarianism, Cyrillic, script (Church Slavonic) Planetary Alphabet see Vseiasvetnaia azlYuka

Protestantism: language ideology 29, 72, 81, 156; missionaries 28-9; post-Soviet status 30; Russian views of29, 74, 79 Protocols ofthe Elders ofZion 103, 134-5 publishing industry 43, 46-7, 104, 134-5, 146; see also advice literature, Orthodox "glossies" religion, post-Soviet changes 3, 23-30; see also legislation Renovationism 66, 69, 78-9 Rerikh, N. 27--8, 133-4 Rodnoverie see Neo-paganism runes (Russian) 147-8 "Russian letters" (rus 'skymi pismeny) 120-1, 130, 147, 150 Russian Orthodox Church Outside of Russia (ROCOR) 45, 83 Sanskrit 2, 22, 149 script (Church Slavonic): alleged pre-Christian predecessors of 132-3, 138-9; appearance of?, 92; in commercial contexts 98-102; in ecclesiastical contexts 92-8; in nationalist contexts 102-11; as Russian/Orthodox "logo" 15, 155; used on icons 92-3; see also "banal Slavonicism," Cyrillic, calligraphy, typography Slavonicisms 1-2, 12, 154 sociolinguistics and religion 17, 43, 97, 117 spiritual culture (dukhovnaia kul'tura) 36, 56--8, 126-7 Stravinsky 1 Tchaikovsky 121 "Trilingualist" heresy 77, 118-19; see also Cyril and Methodius typography 90-1,98, 104, 108, 157 Vlesova (Velesova) kniga 146, 149-50 Vseiasvetnaia azlYuka 150-2