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Yuri Samarin (friend and disciple of Alexei Stepanovich Khomiakov)

Introduction to Volume 2 of Khomiakov's Works

trans. by W. J. Birkbeck and published in Russia and the English Church during the Last Fifty Years, Volume I, 1895

According to our ordinary conceptions, the Church is an institution — an institution, it is true, of a special kind, and indeed unique, inasmuch as it is divine — but all the same an institution. The conception has the fault which characterises almost all our current definitions and notions concerning religious matters. Although it does not in itself contain any direct contradiction to the truth, it is quite inadequate; it brings the idea of the Church down into too low and commonplace a sphere, and in consequence of this the idea itself becomes commonplace, by reason of its close association with a group of phenomena, with which, whatever may be their outward resemblance, she has essentially nothing whatsoever in common. An institution — we know what that word means; and to conceive of the Church as an institution, according to the analogy of other institutions, is easy enough — indeed, rather too easy. There is a volume which we call "the Criminal Code"; there is also a volume which we call "Holy Scripture"; the law has its doctrine and also its forms; the Church has her traditions and her rites; there is also a criminal court, where the criminal code is administered, and which has to bring it to life, to apply it, to administer it, etc.; and thus the Church appears to some of us to be something analogous, inasmuch as she, guided by the Scriptures, proclaims her doctrine, applies it, settles doubtful points, judges and decides. In the one case we have conditional truth, namely, the law, and along with it the legal body, the officials of the law, charged with its administration; in the other we have absolute truth — and here, of course, there is a difference — but, after all, a form of truth which, like the other, is contained either in a book or in a form of words, and she also has her officials and administrators, that is to say, the clergy.

Now it is certainly true that the Church has a doctrine of her own, and that it constitutes one of the indefeasible manifestations; it is also true that, looking at her from another — that is to say, from the historical point of view — it is as an institution of her own particular kind that she comes into contact with other institutions. Nevertheless, the Church is not a doctrine, nor a system, nor an institution. She is a living organism, the organism of truth and love, or rather, she is truth and love, as an organism.

From this definition, her attitude towards error of all kind follows as a natural consequence. Her bearing towards error is just that of every organism towards whatever is hostile to, and incompatible with, its own nature. She separates error off from herself, rejects it, and casts it away, and by the very act of drawing a line between herself and error she defines herself, that is to say, the truth; but she does not herself condescend to argue with error, neither does she refute, explain, or define it. Controversy, and the refutation, explanation, and definition of errors are the business, not of the Church herself, but of her theologians. It is the task of ecclesiastical science, or in other words, of theology.

The heresies of the East gave occasion to an Orthodox school of theology, in order to work the Church's teaching concerning the essence of God, the Trinity and the God-Man, into a harmonious [system of] doctrine; and the cycle of this magnificent development of human thought enlightened by grace from on high was completed before the Latins fell away from the Church. Shortly after this the historical destinies of the East underwent a change; her learning and enlightenment were no longer what they had previously been, and, accordingly, the intellectual productiveness of the Orthodox school of theologians necessarily underwent impoverishment. Meanwhile the stream of rationalism, which the Latin schism had admitted into the Church, gave birth to new theological questions in the West, of which the Orthodox East had no cognizance, and as this stream continued its course further, it became divided into two channels, and at length gave birth to two opposite systems of doctrine — Latinism and Protestantism.

All these new formations arose out of local and exclusively Latin-German elements: Catholic tradition played in them the part of a passive material which was gradually transformed, mutilated, and adjusted to the notions and requirements of these nations; the whole of this intellectual movement, from Nicholas I down to the Council of Trent, and from Luther and Calvin down to Schleiermacher and Neander, went on entirely outside the Church, and she took no part whatever in it. Nor could it possibly have been otherwise. The Church remained what she had been before; the lamp which had been entrusted to her had not ceased to burn, nor was its light obscured. But the attacks upon her from the West, the formidable efforts of Western propaganda, its attempts, first to refute the Catholic tradition which the Eastern Church still holds, and next to make friends and enter into a bargain with her, necessitated the entry of an Orthodox school of theologians into the contest, drew them into controversy, and obliged them to take up some position or other in relation to Latinism and Protestantism.

And what was it that our school of theologians did? Its action may be described in one word, it parried; Отбивадасъ, the imperfect tense of the reflexive form of the verb отбиватъ, to parry, or to ward off. in other words, it took up a position which was essentially defensive, and which consequently subordinated its form and manner of action to those of its adversaries. It took into consideration the questions which Latinism and Protestantism proposed to it, and took them in the same form as that into which Western controversy had shaped them, without even suspecting that error was to be found not only in the conclusions, but also in the very manner in which these questions were stated — indeed, perhaps even more in this than in the conclusions themselves. Accordingly, involuntarily and unconsciously, and without foreseeing the consequences, our school moved off from the terra firma of the Church and passed over on to that land of quagmires, pitfalls, and mines, whither the Western theologians had long been endeavouring to entice it. On advancing thither it was subjected to a crossfire, and was forced, almost of necessity, in order to defend itself against the attacks directed upon it from two opposite sides, to seize upon the weapon which had long before been prepared and adjusted to the work by the Western confessions in their own internecine, domestic conflicts. The inevitable result of course was that, as step by step they entangled themselves more and more in Latin-Protestant antinomies, the Orthodox theologians themselves ended by becoming divided into two sections. They formed themselves into two schools, the exclusively anti-Latin, the other exclusively anti-Protestant; an Orthodox school in the strict sense ceased to exist. It is, of course, hardly necessary to say that they were unsuccessful in the conflict. A good deal of zeal, learning, and perseverance was no doubt displayed, and not a few individual successes were achieved, more particularly in exposing instances of Latin frauds, concealments, and trickery of all sorts. As far also as the final results were concerned, it is hardly necessary to say that Orthodoxy was not shaken; but for this no thanks are due to our theologians, and indeed we cannot but admit that the contest was conducted by them upon anything but the right lines.

The mistake which they made at the very outset, in allowing themselves to be led over on to alien soil, entailed three inevitable consequences. In the first place, the anti-Latin school admitted into itself a Protestant, and the anti-Protestant school a Latin leaven; secondly, and as the result of this, each success of either of these schools in its conflict with its rival always resulted in injuring the other, and provided for the common enemy with which both had to deal a fresh weapon against themselves; and thirdly, and most important of all, the rationalism of the West filtered through into Orthodox theology, and crystallised itself there in the form of a scientific setting to the dogmas of the faith — in the shape of proofs, explanations, and deductions. For such of our readers as are unacquainted with the subject we will bring forward some examples of this in a shape which all can understand.

Which is the more important, and which serves as the ground to which: Scripture or Tradition?

This is how the question is put by Western theology. In this way of stating it Latins and Protestants are at one, and it is in this form that they submit it to our consideration. Our theologians, instead of rejecting it and pointing out the senselessness of opposing to one another two phenomena, each of which is devoid of meaning without the other, and which are both indivisibly intermingled in the living organism of the Church, accepts the question for investigation as it stands, and on this soil enters upon a disputation. Against some Martin Chemnitz or other an Orthodox theologian of the anti-Protestant school enters the lists and says: It is from tradition that the Scriptures receive their definition, as revealed truth, as revelation; consequently it is from tradition that they receive their authority; moreover, in themselves the Scriptures are not complete, they are obscure and difficult to understand, they often give occasion to heresies, and therefore, taken by themselves, they are not only insufficient, but even dangerous. A Jesuit hears all this. He comes up to the Orthodox theologian, congratulates him on his victory over the Protestant, and whispers into his ear: You are perfectly right, but you have not followed your argument up to its logical end; there yet remains for you one small step — take the Scriptures away from the laity altogether.

But at the same time an Orthodox theologian of the anti-Papal type appears on the scene and says: You are quite wrong! The Scriptures contain within themselves both inward and outward signs of their divine origin; Scripture is the norm of truth, the measure of all tradition, and not tradition the measure of Scripture; the Scriptures were given to all Christians in order that all might read them; they are complete, and require no supplementing, for whatever is not found within them in actual words may be abstracted from them by accurate logical reasoning; and lastly, in every matter necessary to salvation they are clear and perfectly intelligible to the understanding of every man who searches them in good faith. Excellent! says the Protestant; just so; the Bible as the object, the individual intellect investigating it in good faith as the subject, and nothing more is wanted!

Another question: By what is a man justified? By faith alone, or by faith with the addition to it of works of satisfaction? This is how the question is stated in the Latin-Protestant world, and our Orthodox theologians reiterate it, not perceiving that the very raising of such a question indicates a confusion between faith and irresponsible learning, and between works in the sense of a manifestation of faith, and works in the sense of a manifestation which has passed over into the domain of tangible and visible facts. And so a fresh dispute commences.

The Jesuit hurries up to the Orthodox theologian of the anti-Protestant school, and enters into a conversation with him, somewhat as follows:"Of course you abhor the sophistries of the Lutherans when they assert that works are not necessary, and that a man may be saved by faith alone? Yes, we abhor them. That is to say, besides faith works are also necessary? Yes, certainly. And therefore, if it is impossible to be saved without works, works have a justificative power? Yes, so they have. But then, suppose the case of the man who, on account of his faith, has repented and received absolution, but has nonetheless died without having succeeded in accomplishing works of satisfaction; what about him? For such an one we have purgatory, but what have you? We, replies our anti-Protestant Orthodox theologian, after talking it over a little bit, we have something of the same sort: sufferings. Quite so; that is to say, the place exists; we only differ about what to call it. But that is not all: there is another question besides that of whether there is such a place and what we are to call it. Inasmuch as in purgatory men can no longer perform works of satisfaction, while at the same time these are just what those who have been sent there require, we advance them to them out of the Church's treasury of good works and merits which have been left over to us as a reserve fund by the Saints. But how is it with you? The anti-Protestant Orthodox theologian begins to get confused, and answers in a low voice: We have also the same sort of capital; that is to say, the merits of works of supererogation. But how is it then, the Jesuit, catching him up, replies, that you reject indulgences and their sale? For, after all, these are only acts of transference. We put our capital out to the exchangers, whereas you keep it hid under the earth. Is this right of you?

At the very same time, however, and at the other end of the theological arena, another disputation is being held. A learned Protestant pastor is putting questions to one of our Orthodox theologians of the anti-Latin school: Of course you reject that nonsense of the Papists, which attributes to the works of men the significance of merits in the sight of God, and a justificative power? Of course we do. And you know that men are saved by faith, and faith alone, without anything more in addition to it? Certainly. Then be so good as to explain to me your reason for having all those penances of yours, and your so-called counsels of perfection, and your monasticism? What is the use of them all? And what value do you expect to receive for them? Moreover, I would ask you to prove to me that it is necessary to have recourse to the intercession of the Saints. What do you want it for? Or is it that you have no confidence in the power of redemption, made one's own by personal faith? The Orthodox theologian thoughtfully takes out his textbooks, and searches them for the necessary proofs and answers, and finds none. His opponent soon realises this, and proceeds to press the matter home, and asks him: To pray of course means to ask God something in the hope of obtaining it? True. And one can only pray, when one expects to obtain something in return for the prayer? That also is true. And there is no intermediate state between hell and heaven, between damnation and salvation — for of course purgatory is nothing but a fable, invented by the Papists, which it is hardly necessary to say that you do not accept? Oh! of course not. Very well then: why do you waste your prayers and expend them all to no purpose by praying for the dead? One thing or the other: either you are Papists, or else you are behind the times: you have not yet got so far in your religious development as we Protestants.

Finally, a Jesuit (belonging to the newest this was written in 1867 school) comes forward, and turning to the anti-Protestant Orthodox theologian begins to question him once more: Surely you do not agree with those thrice accursed Protestants in thinking that an isolated individual with a book in his hands, but living outside the Church, is able to discover the truth and the way of salvation by himself! Of course not: we believe that there is no salvation outside the Church, which alone is holy and infallible. Excellent! But if this be so, then the first object of every man's care must be not to forsake the Church, but to be at one with her in all things, both in faith and deed? Certainly. But then, as you know, sophisms and flattery have often forced their way into the Church, and have led the faithful astray under the mask of ecclesiasticism. Yes, we know that. And this shows the necessity of a tangible outward sign by means of which every man may unmistakably distinguish the infallible Church? Yes, this is necessary, the Orthodox theologian replies, not seeing the trap into which he is being led. This we have got, — namely, the Pope; but how about you? With us it is the full manifestation of the Church in her teaching, and the organ of her infallible faith is an Œcumenical Council. Yes, and we also acknowledge the authority of an Œcumenical Council; but explain to me how an Œcumenical Council is to be distinguished from one that is not Œcumenical, or merely local? By what visible sign, I mean? Why not, for instance, acknowledge the Council of Florence as œcumenical? And do not tell me that you only admit that Council to be œcumenical in which the whole Church recognises her own voice, and her own faith, — that is to say, the inspiration of the Holy Ghost; for the very problem which we now have before us is to arrive at what and where the Church is. The anti-Protestant Orthodox theologian finds himself at a loss for an answer, and the Jesuit, as a final farewell, says to him: There is a great deal of good in you, and you and we are both on the same road; but we have arrived at the end, whereas you have not got there yet. We both agree in acknowledging the necessity of an outward mark of the truth, or, in other words, a sign of what is and what is not the Church, Знамены церковности. These words, which in the original are in italics, are particularly difficult to translate on account of there being no English equivalent for the word церковностъ. Sign of churchness, or churchity, would exactly render it, if either of these words existed in English. but you are searching for one, and cannot find it, whereas we have got one — the Pope; that is the difference between us. You also are in essence Papists, only you do not follow the consequences of your own premises.

It was on lines such as this that for nearly two centuries the controversy of our two Orthodox schools of theology with the Western confessions dragged along. It was accompanied, as was to be expected, by constant controversy at home between the two schools themselves. As the most complete, exact, and able expression in writing of the line taken by each of them, one has only to mention Theophanes Prokopovich's Latin Theology [on the anti-Latin side], and Stephen Javorski's Rock of the Faith [on the anti-Protestant side]; Stephen Javorski, Metropolitan of Riazan, on the death (A.D. 1700) of the Patriarch Adrian of Moscow, was appointed "Guardian of the Patriarchal Throne", until the establishment of the Holy Synod in 1721. Theophanes Prokopovich, Archbishop of Pskov, a favourite of Peter the Great, author of the Ecclesiastical Regulations set forth by the Holy Synod, of which he was the presiding member. all that was published afterwards grouped itself round one or other of these thoroughly representative works, and represented nothing more than extracts from them, more or less feebly restated. Let it be remembered, we are now speaking of our theologians, not of the Church herself. The fortress indeed withstood the assault, and was not shaken by it: but the reason that it was not shaken was that this fortress was the Church of God, and therefore could not fail to maintain her ground; as far as the defence itself was concerned, it is impossible not to admit that it was thoroughly weak and insufficient. The spectators who watched the conflict from outside (and all our cultivated society, with very few exceptions, maintained the attitude of disinterested spectators towards it), judged of the justice of the cause according to the quality of its defence, and were left in perplexity; doubt seized upon many of them, while many more actually took the side of the enemy, some in mysticism, others in Popery, the greater number of course in the latter, inasmuch as there the satisfaction hoped for in taking the step was more cheaply gained. People who considered themselves entirely impartial, that is to say, who imagined, that in having left one shore and not having reached the other, they had, from the lofty height of their religious indifferentism, acquired an aptitude for passing judgment upon the Church, arrived at the notion that Orthodoxy was nothing more than an antiquated and indifferent medium out of which, according to the laws of progress as seen in the West, which was far in advance of us in enlightenment, two tendencies, the one Latin and the other Protestant, had to apportion themselves, and that these, as more fully developed forms of Christianity, were destined in time to divide Orthodoxy between them and eventually to swallow her up. Others there were which said that Latinism and Protestantism, inasmuch as they were contradictory poles mutually excluding one another, could not be the final expressions of the Christian idea, and that, earlier or later, they would have to come to terms and themselves disappear, certainly not in Orthodoxy, which was obsolete and played out, but in some new form of religion which would regard the universe from a higher standpoint. Въ какоӥ-нибудь новоӥ, высшеӥ формѣ религіознаго міросозерцанія, literally, In some new, higher form of religious world-contemplation. Popery, mysticism, and eclecticism — all three were very seriously preached in our midst, and each of them found followers, and met with hardly any resistance from the point of view of the Church. It is evident that our school of theology could not provide materials for a successful resistance. It continued to carry on its polemics on the treacherous soil already described without changing its position: in a word, it simply acted on the defensive. But to defend oneself is not the same thing as to repulse, still less is it the same thing as to gain the victory; in the domain of thought one can only regard as conquered that which has been finally understood and defined to be error. And our Orthodox school of theology was not in a position to define either Latinism or Protestantism, because that in departing from its own Orthodox standpoint, it had itself become divided into two, and that each of these halves had taken up a position opposed indeed to its opponent, Latin or Protestant, but not above him.

It was Khomiakov who first looked upon Latinism and Protestantism from the Church's point of view, and therefore from a higher standpoint: Изъ Церкеu, слѣдовательно сберху, literally, out of the Church, consequently from above. and this is the reason that he was also able to define them.

We have already said that foreign theologians were perplexed by his brochures. They felt that there was something in them which they had never met with before in their controversies with Orthodoxy; something quite unexpected and new to them. Very likely they were sometimes unable clearly to realise of what this new element consisted; but we at any rate understand what it was. They had at last heard the voice of a theologian not of the anti-Latin, nor the anti-Protestant, but of the Orthodox school. And having met with Orthodoxy in the region of ecclesiastical science for the first time, they began in a confused sort of way to feel that hitherto their whole controversy with the Church had turned upon certain misunderstandings; that their everlasting litigation with her, which had seemed to them almost on the point of completion, was in fact only now beginning, and upon entirely new ground, and that the very position of the two sides had changed, inasmuch as they, Papists and Protestants, had become the accused instead of the accusers, they were called upon for an answer, and it was they that had to justify themselves. . . .

Not less striking in its novelty was the system upon which Khomiakov conducted his controversial undertakings. Up to his time our learned theological disputes had lost themselves in particularism. Each position of our opponents, and each of their deductions, were analysed and refuted separately.) We were engaged in detecting forged additions to texts or omissions, and in recovering the meaning of corrupted passages. We compared text with text, and witness with witness, and pelted one another with proofs from Scripture, tradition, and reason. When we succeeded in gaining our point the result was that the proposition of our adversaries was not proven, sometimes perhaps it was even shown to be contrary to Scripture and tradition, and therefore false and to be rejected, but nothing more. Of course this was sufficient in order to refute the error in the form in which it had presented itself: but this obviously was not all that was wanted. The questions, how, why, and from what inner motive causes it had sprung, and what exactly it was in these that was false, and wherein lay the root of the error, remained still unanswered. These questions they never solved, and hardly even touched upon, and consequently it sometimes happened that after having shaken off an error expressed in one form (as a dogma or decision), we did not recognise it in another form; it sometimes even happened that in the very refutation itself we appropriated it, by transferring over into our own point of view the very motive causes which had given rise to it; its root remained all the same in the earth, and the fresh shoots which it threw out often cumbered our ground. Khomiakov sets to work in a very different manner. Passing from manifestations to their original causes, he reproduces, if one may so express it, a physical genealogy of each error, and brings them back together to their common starting point, in which the error, on being exposed to view, reveals itself in its inner inconsistency. This is nothing less than to tear error up by the roots.

If we go further into Khomiakov's theological writings, and pass from his system to their contents, we shall find another distinguishing characteristic. They have the appearance of being primarily of a controversial nature; but in reality polemics occupy in them a secondary place, or, to put it more exactly, of polemics in the strict sense of the word, that is to say, of refutations of a purely negative character, there is hardly a trace. It is impossible to take the negative side of his controversies — namely, his objections and refutations, apart from the positive side — that is to say, his explanation of the teaching of Orthodoxy; and this is so, because the one cannot be separated from the other, for they always form one indissoluble whole. There is not a single argument to be found in his works which he has borrowed from the Protestants to use against the Latins, nor has he taken a single argument from the Latin arsenal to use against the Protestants; not one of his arguments but which will be found to be double-edged, that is to say, which is not just as good against the Latins as against the Protestants, and this is because each of his demonstrations is in its essence not a negation, but an affirmative proposition, although it be pointed with a view to controversy. . . .

When a man stands in a cloud or a fog, he is conscious only of the absence or want of light, but whence the fog came, or how far it extends, or where the sun is, he neither knows, sees, nor can say.

On the contrary when the sky is clear, and the sun is shining brightly, every passing vapour shows itself off against the sky in all its outlines and limits, as a cloud, as an object the opposite of light.

Khomiakov cleared the region of light, the atmosphere of the Church, and consequently false doctrine as it passed across it appeared of its own accord in the shape of a negation of the light, as a dark spot on the sky. The boundaries and outlines of false doctrine became evident and self-defined. We speak of false doctrine in the singular and not in the plural number, although we include both Latinism and Protestantism under the term, because from henceforth these two confessions will constitute for us but one single form of error; and this their intrinsic unity can only be seen from one point of view, namely that of the Church, and it was just this that Khomiakov pointed out to us. Before his time our theologians always took Latinism and Protestantism to be two contradictories, mutually excluding one another. And this is what they are actually represented to be in the West, because there religious consciousness is irrevocably divided into two parts, and has lost the very notion of the Church, that is to say, of that centre from which these two confessions separated themselves under the influences of the elements which they had imbibed from Latins and Germany. A similar view of them passed over from the West to us, and we adopted their definitions ready-made, and looked upon Latinism with Protestant eyes, and vice versâ. At the present-time, thanks to Khomiakov, all this is changed. Formerly we saw before us the two clearly defined forms of Western Christianity, and Orthodoxy between them, having, as it were, pulled herself up at the parting of the ways, but now we see the Church, or, in other words, the living organism of truth, entrusted to mutual love; and outside the Church, logical knowledge cut off from a moral basis, that is to say, Rationalism, in two aspects of its development, namely, reason clutching at a phantom of the truth, and selling its freedom into bondage to an external authority — which is what Latinism is, and reason, trying to find out a self-made truth for itself and sacrificing unity to subjective sincerity — or, in other words, Protestantism.

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