seventeenth century.
Among the many Slavic principalities to accept the forms and faith of Byzantium, Kievan Russia--or Rus', as it was then called-occupied a unique place even from the beginning. Unlike the Balkan Slavic kingdoms, the Kievan domain lay entirely beyond the confines of the old Roman em-pireTlt was one of the last distinct national civilizations to accept Byzantine Christianity; the only one never clearly to accept political subordination to Constantinople; and by far the largest-stretching north to the Baltic and almost to the Arctic Ocean.
Culturally, however, Kiev was in many ways even more deeply dependent on Constantinople than many regions within the empire. For the Russian leaders of the late tenth and the early eleventh century accepted Orthodoxy with the uncritical enthusiasm of the new convert, and sought to transfer the splendors of Constantinople to Kiev in the wholesale manner of the nouveau riche. Prince Vladimir brought the majestic rituals and services of Byzantium to Kiev shortly after his conversion in 988; and, particularly under his
illustrious son Yaroslav the Wise, learned churchmen streamed in from Byzantium bringing with them models for early Russian laws, chronicles, and sermons. Great churches like Santa Sophia and St. George were named for their counterparts in Constantinople, as were the 'golden gates' of the city.7
Suffused with a 'Christian optimism, a joy that Rus' had become worthy of joining Christianity at the 'eleventh hour' just before the end of the world,'8 Kiev accepted more unreservedly than Byzantium itself the claim that Orthodox Christianity had solved all the basic problems of belief and worship. All that was needed was 'right praising' (the literal translation of pravoslavie, the Russian version of the Greek orthodoxos) through the forms of worship handed down by the Apostolic Church and defined for all time by its seven ecumenical councils. Changes in dogma or even sacred phraseology could not be tolerated, for there was but one answer to any controversy. The Eastern Church first broke with Rome in the late ninth century, when the latter added the phrase 'and from the Son' to the assertion in the Nicene Creed 'that the Holy Spirit proceeds 'from God the Father.'
Nowhere was the traditional Eastern formula defended with greater zeal than in Russia. As if compensating for the relative lateness of their conversion, Russian Orthodoxy tended to accept unquestioningly Orthodox definitions of truth and Byzantine forms of art; but the complex philosophic traditions and literary conventions of Byzantium (let alone the classical and Hellenic foundations of Byzantine culture) were'ne'vSrpropeMy assimilated. Thus,farefuiiy,'Russia took over 'the Byzantine achievement . . . without the Byzantine inquisitiveness.'9
Working within this ornate and stylized Byzantine heritage, Kievan Russia developed two distinctive attitudes which gave an all-important initial sense of direction to Russian culture. First was a direct sense of beauty, a passion for seeing spiritual truth in concrete forms. The beauty of Constantinople and of its places and forms of worship was responsible for the conversion of Vladimir according to the earliest historical record of the Kievm~p€ii amp;^. This 'Primary Chronicle'-itself a vivid, often beautiful work of literature-tells how Vladimir's emissaries found Moslem worship frenzied and foul-smelling, and 'beheld no glory' in the ceremonies of Western Christians. But in Constantinople
the Greeks led,jjs_to_the.h.uUdJngs where they worship their God, and we knew'not whether we were in heaven or on earth. For on earth there is no_ such splendor or such beauty, and,,we are at a loss to describe it. We know only that God dwells there among men, and their service is fairer than the ceremonies of other nations. For we cannot forget that beauty. Every man,
after tasting something sweet, is afterward unwilling to accept that which is bitter. . . .10
The Kievan princes sought to re-create this experience of beauty in the Byzantine-style cathedrals that sprang up in every important city of Eastern Slavdom. The panoply of heaven was represented by the composed central dome; its interior was embellished with the awesome image of the Panto-krator, the Divine Creator of both heaven and earth. Prominent among the other mosaic and frescoed figures that beautified the interior walls and domes was the Theotokos, the 'God-bearing' Virgin. The cathedrals provided a center of beauty and a source of sanctification for the surrounding region. The word sobor, used to describe the gatherings in which the authority of God was invoked on all communal activities, also became the word for cathedral;11 and the life of each 'gathering' was built around the liturgy: the rilual, communal re-enactment of Christ's saving sacrifice. ' -^ Concrete beauty rather than abstract ideas conveyed the essence of the Christian message to the early Russians, and inspired a fresh flowering of Byzantine art and letters on Russian soil. Man's function was not to analyze that which Has been resolved or to explain that which is mysterious, but lovingly and humbly to embellish the inherited forms of praise and worship -and thus, perhaps, gain some imperfect sense of the luminous world to come. Within a few decades of Vladimir's conversion Kiev was transformed into a majestic city. A visiting Western bishop referred to it as 'the rival of Constantinople';12 and its first native metropolitan, Ilarion of Kiev, spoke of it as
a city glistening with the light of holy icons,
fragrant with incense, ringing with praise and holy, heavenly songs.13
In all early Russian writings about a Christian prince 'the mention of physical beauty is never lacking. Together with mercy and almsgiving, this is the only constant feature of an ideal prince.'14
Literacy was more widespread than is generally realized, among those with a practical need for it; but literature was more remarkable for its aesthetic embellishments than for the content of its ideas. The oldest surviving Russian manuscript, the Ostromir Codex of 1056-7, is a richly colored and ornamented collection of readings from the gospels which were prescribed for church services and arranged according to the days of the week. There^gere no complete versions of the Bible, let alone independent theological syntheses, produced in early Russia. Most of the twenty-two survivr ing manuscript books from the eleventh century and of the eighty-six from
the twelfth15 were collections of readings and sermons assembled for practical guidance in worship and embellished both verbally and visually by Russian copyists. From the beginning there was a special preference not for the great theologians and lawmakers of Byzantium, but for its preachers, like the 'golden-tongued' John Chrysostom. Cascading images of the beauties of resurrection swept away all subtlety of thought in the preaching of the greatest Kievan writers: Ilarion of Kiev and Cyril of Turov.
There was, indeed, no independent critical theology of any sophistica-tioa in Old Russia. Even in the later, Muscovite period, 'theoretical' was rendered by zritel'ny, 'visual,' and esteemed teachers were known as smptrelivy, 'those who have seen.'16 Local and contemporary saints assumed a particular importance in Russian theology. They had performed deeds that men had seen in their own time: Theodosius of Kiev, turning his back on wealth and indeed on asceticism to lead the monastery of the caves into a life of active counsel and charity in the city of Kiev; Abraham of Smolensk, painting as well as teaching about the Last Judgment and bringing rain to the parched steppelands with the fervor of his prayers. Above all stood the first Russian saints, Boris and Gleb, the innocent young sons of Vladimir who accepted death gladly in the political turmoil of Kiev in order to redeem their people through innocent, Christ-like suffering.17
Theology, 'the word of God,' was found in the lives of saints. If one could not be or know a saint, one could still have living contact through the visual images of the iconographer and the oral reminders of the hagiog-rapher. The holy picture or icon was the most revered form of theological expression in Russia. Indeed, the popular word for 'holy' or 'saintly' was prepodobny, or 'very like' the figures on the icons. But the life of a saint, written to be read aloud 'for the good success and utility of those who listen,' was also highly valued. The word for monastic novice or
