The Russian Reformation: Liturgy, Doctrine, and the Quest for Apostolic Purity

The title of this piece should strike the historically informed as, quite frankly, bizarre. And I apologize in advance if my historical recounting is not as up to snuff as it could (or ought) to be. I want to make a general point about the history of Russian Orthodoxy, the Reformation, the socialization of reform, and the nature of church and state relations. I don't know if I'll accomplish my goal, but nevertheless, I want to probe this issue that is often under examined.

As many Orthodox are quite aware (some quite proudly), Orthodoxy never experienced "the Reformation". But what is "the Reformation"? Both Roman and Protestant hagiographers (or lachrymose historians of what was lost) tend to treat the event as singular in its happening. G.K. Chesterton considered Luther to be a force of nature, a volcano erupting, a barbarian howling from the primeval forests of Saxony. All of this was quite negative, the irrational "No!" to Thomistic civilization and civility. Protestants interpreted Luther in a variety of ways, but they all focused on his centrality. Some more recent historiographical forays have (rightly) situated *the* Reformation within an age of reforms. Whether it was from Renaissance humanism, conciliar ecclesiologists, or Czech realists, reform was endemic to western Europe for over a century before the Reformation. And long before that, reformations (Gregorian/papal, Dominican/Thomistic, Franciscan, etc.) were quite common throughout western Europe against degradation or corruption in life and doctrine. Semper Reformanda is simply a truth about Christianity in general.
 
While the Reformation sits amid centuries of reform, it also has a unique singularity. *The* Reformation's significance was in that it shattered European christendom. It brought about a century of bloodshed, chaos, social upheaval, and apocalyptic warfare. It was these events, ranging from the French Wars of Religion to the English Civil Wars to the German 30 Years War, that brought about the Enlightenment. Contrary to apologists and mythologists, the significance of *the* Reformation was not due to sola fide and its varied applications (good or bad). Luther was not the first modern man, but a thoroughly medieval one. But his work (magnified through technology like the printing-press) and charismatic personality became a lightning rod for the pressures and contradictions of papal Europe. The Reformation's devastating effect was due less to Luther in himself than Luther's challenge to the ultramontane claims of the papacy. Such was not simply politics (as if politics could be divorced from larger social and religious questions) but the relation of church to the state. Christianity is not a creed that sits well as a national cult. In the hands of the papacy, the faith became a theocratic unity where the bishop of Rome claimed (but did not perhaps) total cosmic supremacy on Earth. But the reality deflated these pretensions: the office revolved between Roman aristocrats, or got caught up in larger geopolitical struggles (France, the Empire, Italian city-states like Florence). These more mundane interests became conflated with these wild theological ultimatums. Florentine banking politics became melded with salvation. It was this Medici manipulation of the Roman machinery (raising funds through indulgence sales) that provoked Luther's sincere outrage. And such was the catalyst for many to resist this imposition of false authority.

 The uniqueness of *the* Reformation was that it struck the right political nerve among principalities that wanted to renegotiate their place in the European political arena. Henry Tudor had greater aspirations, the Netherlands chafed under Spanish rule, German principalities didn't like the imperial domineering of the Habsburgs. Even stalwart Catholics, like the Habsburgs, used this time to buy back their own autonomy. Charles V had Rome sacked (in 1527, using Lutheran soldiers no less) to punish papal intransigence. Phillip II was quite imperious with his Spanish clergy. Whether one remained under Rome or not depended upon what deals cut. Sometimes sincerity, like Henry VIII's frustration over the seeming sinfulness of his unlawful marriage to Catherine of Argon, provoked a confrontation that the pope sought to avoid (Clement VII, handcuffed to the Habsburgs and politique, told Henry to just do what he wanted, no one was going to come after him). And all of these political elements gave the Reformation's capacity to shatter European society.

But the Reformation also involved more theological issues, which are the usual focus of textbooks. It raised man's relationship to God. It raised questions about the church's role in society, its connection to state authority and its capacity to own properties (and whether such ownership was sacrosanct). It raised questions about the role/rights of the laity, the laos (people), in the faith and the liturgy. There was popular participation on all sides. In England, the Reformation seemed to be an amorphous category. While Henry Tudor rejected papal authority, he was in no way "evangelical". While Elizabeth secured the Reformation, solidifying her brother's (Edward VI) reforms, many Roman nobles remained and the loyalty of the masses was in question (idea of "church-papists", those who conformed but missed the old ways). These people were not in a vacuum either. Recusants had contacts on the Continent, especially the powerful (and still Catholic) domain of the Habsburgs. Spain was a serious threat: flush with wealth (from the Americas), a claim on the throne, and energized by Rome's efforts to reform its own abuses (the counter-Reformation, or what some are now calling the Catholic Reformation). Not all recusants liked this Spanish-Jesuit press (per the Archpriest controversy, where recusants split on role of militant Jesuits influencing English Catholicism). These wider networks scared English "evangelicals", who saw them as potential fodder for a revanchist Catholic ascendancy (Mary Tudor was not far from their memories).

Similarly, English protestants weren't alone in the world. While the English Reformed drew upon their own traditions, of Lollardy and medieval criticism of a corrupt church, they were connected to the Continent. The Reformation came to England through Lutheran literature and, more importantly, the Swiss Humanists connected to Zurich. Martin Bucer and Peter Martyr Vermigli had a place in Edward VI's England, aiding Thomas Cranmer's work to produce a reformed vernacular liturgy and doctrine for the church. When Mary I assumed the throne, many English protestants fled to the Continent for refuge. Some persevered in their Edwardian (and their earlier and more humanist form of Reformed theology). Others radicalized under the influence of Geneva. The death of Mary, and accession of Elizabeth, brought them all back, and set the stage for controversy. While Gloriana decided firmly on behalf of the Edwardian reforms, not a few were unhappy and wanted more. Contrary to some Genevan-inspired puritans (like Thomas Cartwright), the issue wasn't between a church half-reformed and fully reformed. It was what that reform would ultimately look like and at what pace it would go. Edwardian conformists were not simply time-servers or compromisers (though some certainly were), but had a robust vision of what the Reformation should look like. And as England sought its own direction, it felt pressure on its own island. John Knox had decisively moved Scotland's reformation towards Geneva, creating pressure on England. As the Stuarts inherited the throne, the proximity between these kingdoms only ratched up the intensity. Ireland, too, provided a challenge, as the old English aristocracy/gentry remained in Rome's fold.

The origins of *the* Reformation began as a humanistic return to scripture and earlier annals of the church. Drawing from the Renaissance, it juxtaposed a purer antiquity against a corrupt present (the meaning of "modern"). These scholars not only promoted doctrinal reforms, but ecclesiastical and liturgical reforms. Architecture changed, the liturgy was not only in the vernacular but altered, priests had different tasks to perform and different responsibilities, the crown had a different relation to the church than before. All of these things could then become subject to further revision. Charles I's Laudian reforms were not "going backwards", per some puritan critics, but part of this further revision. The idea of moving the "altar" (more glorified than simply a table) to the east was not a return to Rome, but a return to a more primitive (and thus apostolic) liturgy. Scottish and English presbyterian counter-attacks pursued a similar press for further reforms, in this case the increasingly systematized Genevan interpretation of scripture and tradition. This exploded into civil wars, radically uprooting English society, and making way for efforts to find broader stability (origin of British enlightenment).

England is one of the more interesting (and one I better know) example of the full scope of Reformation and its cataclysmic social effects. But what does this have to do with Russia? And what do I mean by Russian Reformation?

The socio-political dimensions are what makes the Reformation into *the* Reformation. It radically shifted European society in a broadly continental fashion.  It's not about any particular doctrine. The same form of conflict happened a century earlier among the Czech, but its localized nature (and that it was fighting the Rome-allied Empire) made any gains tenuous. The party of Hus that successfully controlled Prague was alone in Europe. Even under the brilliant command of Zizka, with a party of zealous partisans fighting at his back, could only ever be defensive and oriented towards compromise. For some among the Hussites, the whole conflict was simply to renegotiate terms (a few religious reforms and a particular candidate for the Bohemian throne). Others wanted a much stronger transformation, some mixed with chiliastic expectations. But in both cases, the effort to reform was a fight for the soul of the Czech church and its fidelity to Christ. Like the Czech, Russia had a reformation, with similar socio-political and religious consequences, even as it lacked the radically transformative scope of *the* Reformation.

In the 17th c., the tsar in conjunction with his patriarch Nikon became concerned about the church's practice. I'm not sure where this came from. Was it the threat of Jesuit missionaries to the south and west? Was it simply from access to ancient Greek liturgical manuscripts? Whatever it was, Nikon initiated a series of major ecclesiological overhauls. To many, this seemed to be ripping Russian Christianity up from the roots. A key point of contention: how many fingers did you cross yourself with? The old way was two, representing the conjunction of God and man in Christ. The Nikonian reforms changed it to three (per a Byzantine custom), reflecting the triune blessing of the Godhead. While it may seem trivial to an outsider, the Old Believers (as the enemies of Nikon's reforms became known as) considered this change to be an utter blasphemy and a blow against apostolic tradition. To allow this practice (along with many others) to be changed, on account of imperial and episcopal meddling, was to threaten the ancient continuity of Russia's church. It was an attack upon the symbols of the faith.

Nikon's reforms were rather modest when compared to things happening further west. It involved no overt doctrinal changes (no sola fide or systematic treatises). But the radical doctrinal effects of the Reformation were in the liturgy. The Reformers' purge of prayers to angels and the death, as well as translation of the liturgy into the vernacular, represented a major overhaul of the faith. Most people's understanding and practice of the Christian faith revolved around worship. Scholastic debates left little imprint upon most people. But change the liturgy? The very fabric of the faith becomes frayed. If sola fide meant something, it was how it was communicated through liturgy, scripture, and the virtues of Christian living. Whether or not sola fide is true (and I'm a modest adherent, in a fiduciary and more holistic sense) is not the point. Doctrine is communicated through symbols and most people's symbolic interaction is not through scholarly literature. It's through popular literature (short tracts), trinkets, tokens, ritual, and social hierarchies.

Nikon changed reformed the liturgy because he believed it had lapsed from ancient and apostolic purity. Contrasting Byzantine orthodoxy to Russian backwardness and superstition (a favorite of mine is how the Russian liturgy had become so long and complex that the norm had become that multiple celebrants performed different parts simultaneously, resulting in a cacophony of four voices rushing through prayers). To Old Believers, such was the essence of the faith once received. To Nikon, it was purification. A return to the ways of the Greek-speaking Romans, a mantic power, would defend Russia (Byzantium's heir) from Jesuit and Protestant enemies (particularly the former who had major inroads in Poland-Lithuania and Ukraine). In this way, Nikon exhibited similarity to western reformers. Like the patriarch, they sought a return to apostolic purity, juxtaposing current gothic corruptions against the first centuries of the church. Against the cliche that to be deep in history was to cease to be Protestant, it was the Reformers who had curb stomped Roman apologists in the patristic game. English Reformed became known as stupor mundi, their learning surpassed all other peoples. Hebrew, Syriac, Aramaic, and Arabic texts amassed in Oxford, the proof was that Rome's papal claims were all fraudulent. It was for this reason that Roman apologists embraced Pyrhhonian skepticism, denying all bases for knowledge whatsoever. Nevertheless, it was an attention to scripture and tradition that motivated the Reformers. The same motivated Nikon's reforms in the Russian church.

But what came of Nikon's reforms? Bloody civil war. The Old Believers were not a few pious grandmas who lamented the passing of an age. Some bishops and priests (mainly provincial) viciously rejected these reforms. Nikon stood his ground and tsar Alexis smashed them to pieces as superstitious rebels, committed to false ways rather than God's truth. Old Believers were executed, their villages were torched, their books were burned, and they were exiled to other lands. The reforms crashed down like lightning. Unlike the Reformation, however, the Old Believers had no where to go and no international allies. They fought back (not a few boyars were Old Believers), but had no leverage to resist. The conflict was fundamentally localized. In a way not unsimilar to the Czech Utraquists, being alone in the world meant the ability of the state to purge with impunity. There was cruelty on both sides, just as the Romanists and Huguenots exacted cruel retributions upon each other. Of course, the brutality of the former is clearer as it was they who ultimately won and destroyed their enemies. Like the Huguenots, the Old Believers hid in corners of the empire or fled to other domains.

And just as the Reformation radically changed the socio-political dimensions of western Europe, Nikon's reform did the same for Russia. Since reform depended upon a strong alliance between patriarchate and throne, the reform empowered the tsar's hand in ecclesiastical issues. Nikon's reform sets the stage for Peter the Great's further centralizing reforms. Peter abolished the patriarchate for a royally sanctioned episcopal bench. Peter appointed a metropolitan (the replacement for patriarch) who was sympathetic to Lutheranism (which further justified royal power). And yet Peter and his cronies were not anti-Orthodox. Rather, it was part of a bid to further reform in accordance with scripture and tradition (Peter's lay oversight was not radically unlike the power Roman-Byzantine emperors had). These reforms were intended to empower both the Russian state and church. And a mighty Russian empire asserted its power to defend Orthodoxy in other lands, pushing back against Turkish domination further south. Russian theology coursed through the ages, twisting this way and that. And yet through it all, the idea of further reform was quite natural to it. Best typified in historian-theologian Georges Florovsky, Russian Orthodoxy had taken many bad steps and needed further reform to return to the "mind of the Fathers". The "ways" in Florovsky's The Ways of Russian Theology were all the bad missteps. Florovsky's neo-patristic synthesis was a reform to apostolic purity.

Russia did have a reformation. And its reformation was in line with a larger history of reformations that could overhaul the societies in which they occur. Reformation is quite natural for Christianity, and it can lead to both tangible goods and gloomy disaster. Nikon's reforms may have erased many superstitions, but it left the church at the beck and call of the state. Similarly, the English reformers became more indebted to monarchical (and then parliamentary) sovereignty to function. As reforms intensified, the stakes increased. While we lament the brutality against Old Believers and Huguenots, I doubt they would have been more merciful had they won and had the numbers. For any Christian (evangelical, roman, orthodox), the old aphorism rings true: but for the grace of God go I. Mercy remains a divine blessing to stay cruelty and revenge.

The above show elicit some reflection about liturgy and the role of tradition. The intensity and success of the above reform efforts depended upon political will. The state had to back Nikon's reforms, as much as it backed Cranmer's reforms in England, or Bugenhagen's (a Luther ally) in Denmark, or Tridentine reforms throughout Catholic territories. It made the stakes higher (usually social unrest and bloodshed), but it made the results more permanent. A few generations later, and the average person took the new liturgy as the norm. But the social pressure doesn't necessarily require political turmoil. The Vatican's implementation of the Vatican II novus ordo was relatively bloodless, even as it radically changed Rome's liturgy. There are complex reasons such was successful (papal centralism, the relative unimportance of church for most European Catholic societies and its malleability elsewhere, massive control of property, symbolic weight of Rome, etc.). But if reforms to liturgies take place, it has to be grounded in comprehensive change.

And yet, when reform comes, it opens the door to further reform. Perhaps Rome is in a kind of radical transformation, as if Vatican II can offer such major reforms (cloaked as they are), then perhaps more can be gained. The average novus ordo liturgy had incredible diversity, from clownish carnival to kumbaya guitar-masses to something resembling the hollow formalism of mainline protestant churches. Who knows how far these changes will go. But once reform is permitted, how far it goes is an open question. Such is not to say reform isn't sometimes important, but its a serious issue. Little piece-meal reforms, as noted above, may simply lead to an infinite fungibility of the faith. The symbols may simply cease to be Christian in any substantive sense. Whether its Anglo-Catholic aestheticism or Evangelical consumer adaptation, both result in uprooting of form in a lackadaisical way. The result, I think, is simply plasticity: both have increasingly tended to radicalize the Christian faith towards homosexual marriage, female pastorate, and mythologizing the tenets of the faith. Evangelicals may seem slower to follow this path, but such is due more to social realities than any commitment to the core of the faith. As the church moves with the times, so too will Christianity simply be a mask to reveal the zeitgeist.

Reformations may be normal for the Christian faith, but reformation means risk. Souls are at stake, a fact that the Reformers understood when they undertook their efforts. It was not simply aesthetic modification, but saving knowledge of the truth, that was at stake.