Introduction (2)

The 1840s constitute a remarkable period in the history of the intellectual development of the Russian people. It was a time of rich flowering of original Russian thought—thought that, still free from the deadening shackles of foreign influence, drew freely on the sap of native soil and expressed itself in a whole constellation of talents, a few representatives of which remain to this day the finest and highest embodiments of the original Russian genius. If not science, which is universal in character, then our literature—in which the genius of the people naturally finds its highest expression—can point with pride to that period; and when comparing it with the present era of almost incredible impoverishment of Russian literature that we are living through, our critics ought not to indulge in fruitless laments over the mere fact of impoverishment, but boldly examine the causes by which Russian thought has been depleted and diminished. The fact of impoverishment itself is beyond doubt. It is acknowledged by all and repeated in every key in the countless jeremiads of sincere and hired mourners of our literary criticism. But the causes have by no means been clarified, and such confusion of ideas surrounds them that most people seek them in what constitutes our national strength, and look for the cure from the evil in what is itself the source of the evil. We have in mind that literary faction—which, unfortunately, is currently dominant—in whose mouths the very concept of originality, the only soil on which a healthy national genius can develop, has been turned into the flattened, ironic epithet of “nativists.” And yet it is precisely in originality that the remedy against the decline of contemporary Russian thought—languishing under the yoke of foreign influence—can alone be found. Of late, it seems, a turn is coming in the consciousness of the better part of our educated society, and one may hope that in the not-too-distant future we will again enter the course of our natural development: Russian thought will recover from its anemia, and public consciousness will clear sufficiently that such acts of insane self-spitting as we recently witnessed on the occasion of the centenary jubilee of one of the giants of original Russian thought—a quintessential genius of the 1840s, Metropolitan [Philaret]—will become impossible. The image of the great Metropolitan, majestically alive in the sound consciousness of the Russian people yet dissolving into a ghostly shadow in the dim-wittedness of our pseudo-liberal intelligentsia, is great precisely because it is composed of the highest elements of the national spirit, which expressed itself freely and unhindered during the period of the 1840s.

In view of the foregoing, this period undoubtedly possesses great historical interest, and any material that can help us better acquaint ourselves with it constitutes a valuable contribution to the treasury of our self-knowledge. But the interest of the material is further heightened when it is provided by someone standing outside the sphere of ordinary relationships, which so often stamp even the most prominent phenomena with a mark of mediocrity. Such material is given in the recently published book by the Englishman Palmer, of which a brief mention has already been made in our journal. This book, which constitutes Palmer’s diary during his stay in Russia in the early 1840s, introduces us to the inner sanctuary of the theological ideas and religious views of that time—both those of representatives of the Church and of persons in secular society. Just as in general literature, so too in theology, the 1840s constitute a period of remarkable activity on the part of original Russian theological thought. To this period belong our finest theological thinkers, who have left us an instructive and at the same time consoling monument to the fact that Orthodox theological thought in Russia can be fully independent and can develop from the original Orthodox Russian foundations—and the more it draws on these, the better, since the servile dependence into which our theological science has recently fallen vis-à-vis foreign and predominantly German theology is killing our own theological thought. The material given in Palmer’s book is all the more interesting in that it deals with such an important question as is always capable of arousing the greatest energy of theological thought—namely the great question of the union of the churches. In our author’s notes, all the finest representatives of our theological thought of that time express themselves on this question, with Philaret of Moscow at their head, and we turn now directly to the book itself, apologizing to our readers for the unintentional diversion caused by thoughts on the paths of our intellectual development that were incidentally suggested to us.

Palmer’s book is a simple diary of the author’s contacts with the contemporary representatives of the Russian Church and society, and as such it is distinguished by all the artlessness and directness characteristic of works of this kind. This makes it all the more valuable to us, and in presenting it we shall keep to the same directness, simply following the author’s diary and conveying from it everything most notable and characteristic. We shall, however, accompany this presentation with our own remarks, as needed for a better clarification of the author’s guiding views—views that were conditioned by a particular current of theological thought in England in his day.