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

Brian P. Bennett

!l Routledge
~~ Taylor&.FrancisGroup
LONDON AND NEW YORK
First published 2011
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~ 2011 Brian P. Bennett

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asserted by him in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright,
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All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted orreproduced or
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Brit~h Library Cataloguing in Publication Data
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
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 language-
Religious aspects-Christianity. 3. Language and culture-Russia
(Federation) I. Title.
PG615.B46 2011
491.8'1701094709049---dc22 2010043731

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 ix
Acknowledgements xi
Note on translation and transliteration xiii

1 Introduction 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 113

7 Scripting Russian history: alphabet mysticism and conspiracy

theory 132

8 Conclusion 153

Bibliography 160
Index 183
Figures

1.1 Kiosks selling Western and Orthodox goods, St. Petersburg 5

1.2 Anonymous prayer card with the Jesus Prayer in Church Slavonic 7
2.1 Poster of Maria Devi Christos, St. Petersburg 21
5.1 Store window with Slavonic Easter poster, Moscow 88
5.2 Cathedral of Christ the Savior sign, Moscow 94
5.3 Church kiosk, Moscow 95
5.4 Slavonic Easter banner, Moscow 96
5.5 "Chocolate History'' souvenir box 99
5.6 Nationalist newspapers with various Slavonic typefaces 105
6.1 Monument to Cyril and Methodius, Slavonic Square, Moscow 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 rudi-
ments 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. Accord-
ing 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-spon-
sored 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 inter-
vened in linguistic matters. Initially the USSR pursued a policy of''nativization"
(korenizatsiia) that encouraged the cultivation of national languages and litera-
tures. 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 Marxism-
Leninism 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 tra-
versed 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 mun-
dane 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 cele-
brations 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: Tserkovno-
slavianskii 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 supra-
national 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 six-
teenth 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 expan-
sion 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 mathe-
matics or physics or to use it for good secular literature. Late (eighteenth-
century) 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 accom-
panying 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, com-
pared 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 tradi-
tionalists, 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 some-
times 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 non-
seculaire). 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 lan-
guages 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 Slavonic-
Russian 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 stereo-
typically "Russian" appearance (cf. Haarmarm 2002). Thus, the advantage of treat-
ing 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 self-
identification 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-revolu-
tionary 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 post-
Soviet 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 mid-
1990s (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, ser-
mons, 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 quota-
tion 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 over-
estimate," 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 post-
Soviet 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), language-
ideological debates (Chapter 4), the linguistic landscape (Chapter 5), and language
myths (Chapter 6). I have benefited from my forays into the field of socio-
linguistics, 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 political-
institutional 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 reli-
gious life which is neither opposed to the Church nor restricted within the
Church's institutional life but includes in itself religious ideas, beliefs, prac-
tices 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 institu-
tional 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 inter-
relations 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 purifi-
cation. . 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
Day is coming on 24th November 1993 Only she can save you. Without
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- Abraham-
Jacob- Isaac -Joseph- Prophet Aaron- Moses- Prophet Elisarius- Joshua
- Twelve Tribes oflsrael -Prophet Eli- Prophet Isaiah- Prophet Ezekiel-
Prophet 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 Vladimir-
Princess Olga- Price Igor- Murderer of Prince Igor- Natalia Goncharova-
Alexander 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 Saint-
Germain, 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 appear-
ance 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 insta-
bility, 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 publi-
cations 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 prefer-
entialism." 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 Church-
state 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 demon-
strations, 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 Conscious-
ness (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 pre-
served 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. Plutser-
Samo'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 "multi-
directional" 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 spiri-
tualities.) 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 orga-
nizations 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. Post-
communist 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 denomina-
tions, 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 move-
ment 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 per-
petrated 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 pro-
visions. 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 denomina-
tions, 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 chang-
ing. 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, bill-
boards, 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 ele-
ments 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 "jargon-
ization" and ''vulgarization," as he calls them, may also be observed in other post-
communist 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 distinguishing feature of modem Russian discourse The rate of
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 sug-
gesting 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 ele-
ments. 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 "cata-
strophe" (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 hand-
wringing 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 infor-
mation 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 reestab-
lished. 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 post-
communist 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 terri-
tory, 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 post-
Soviet 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 refer-
encing 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 pro-
tecting 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 dis-
courses 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 hier-
archy 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 sacred-
and 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 autoc-
racy). 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 civiliza-
tional 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 centuries-
old 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 under-
standing 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 semi-
regular 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 Ofwhat value is fasting?

2 Why is it called the Great Fast?
3 Must every baptized person fast?
4 Who regulates the strictness of the fast?
5 Why, exactly, do many try to go to confession during the Great Fast?
6 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 companies-
Al'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 pre-
revolutionary 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 Russian-
Slavonic 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 curricu-
lum 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 devo-
tional 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 "three-
text 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, eccle-
siastics 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 trans-
lation 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 every-
thing 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 impres-
sionistic 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 self-
help 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 under-
stood 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 real-
world 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 con-
temporary 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 eccle-
siastic, 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 controver-
sial. 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 modem-
day 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
translation into contemporary Russian and pertinent excerpts from Sacred
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 differ-
ences" (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 pronun-
ciation 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 know-
ledge 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 insti-
tutes (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 text-
book 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 peda-
gogy 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 con-
sumerist 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 recom-
mends 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 conspira-
torial 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 above-
mentioned textbooks, from Borodina to Shevchenko, are part of a broader dis-
ciplinary 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 post-
communist 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 canoni-
cal 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 pre-
revolutionary 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 obser-
vation 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 "half-
churched," 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 post-
Soviet 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
shift is likely to be viewed as tantamount to moral transgression The
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 inter-
penetration 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 main-
tained 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 ver-
nacular 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 vehe-
mence. Like the monk's defense of Latin in Catholics, they insisted on the sacred-
ness and immutability of the archaic Church Slavonic language. They viewed any
attempt at change, especially when done without the approval of church authori-
ties, 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-replic-
able 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.
 The debate over liturgical language 65
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 under-
stood 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
right worship, for the two things are inseparable Orthodoxy sees man
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 com-
munism, 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 post-
Soviet 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 argu-
ments. 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 post-
Soviet 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
 The debate over liturgical language 61
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 post-
communist 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 unde-
sirable.
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.
 The debate over liturgical language 69
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 eccle-
siastical reform were put aside in the struggle for sheer survival. In fact, infor-
mation 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 eccle-
siastical 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 utiliz-
ing 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 prece-
dence to their arguments, and then discuss the responses or refutations of the
traditionalists. It should be borne in mind that the following account, as compli-
cated 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 aver-
age 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.
 The debate over liturgical language 71
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 informa-
tion. 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 acknow-
ledge 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 church-
going 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 impor-
tance 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 main-
tenance 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 sanc-
tifying 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 mis-
sionary 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 oppo-
nents 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 legiti-
mate 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 ''Neo-
Renovationists." 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 chal-
lenging 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.
 The debate over liturgical language 79
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 "Eastern-
Rite 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 - secular-
ization, 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 vernac-
ular. 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, tradi-
tionalists 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. Themes-
sage 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 tradi-
tionalists 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
 The debate over liturgical language 83
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 post-
Soviet 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 over-
seen 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 con-
fusion for Russian speakers. He also seemed to envision the possibility that scrip-
tural 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
84 The debate over liturgical language
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 asso-
ciations 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 eccle-
siastical 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 democ-
ratization 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 ascen-

dancy (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 legisla-
tion 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 inter-
preted 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 socio-
linguistic 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 dis-
tribution of the world's major religions than with genetic or typological classi-
fications 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 dia-
critical marks to denote numbers. The whole process is surprisingly well docu-
mented- 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 typog-
raphy: 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 reli-
gion 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 inno-

vation 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 typog-
raphers, 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) com-
ments 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 instruc-
tions. 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 appro-
priate 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 inter-
esting 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 back-
ground 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 per-
manent signs, inscriptions, and place names, usually in conjunction with govern-
mental 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 sur-
prising, 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 SBS-
Agro 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 incom-
patible 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, shop-
ping 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 pseudo-
archaic 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 per-
spective for interpreting the Russian situation. Stigmatized under the Soviet anti-
religious regime, Slavonic letters now seem to represent "authentic" Russianness.
Being, as it were, more Cyrillic than Cyrillic (the script which, it may be remem-
bered, 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 Russkoe-
have 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 Slavonic-
style 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,
something Russian, some churches The consumer is happy with this mix,
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 post-
Brezhnev esthetics of the [metro] restrooms" (Berry 1999: 178). For advertisers
and commercial typographers, the Slavonic script- used, elaborated, mixed, sub-
verted- 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, alco-
holism, 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 rudi-
ments 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 "brother-
hoods," 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 lay-
people 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 hey-
day, 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 nation-
alist 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

l"«n~Aio
IIPilROCAo\~H.ul n.~'fttUI(E'T Pa<(li•
HAP~.\.IhUI 11t1~"~""
"~~\Mttdl
r•:<'IT• .. l."o\tlcoA (MI&t"

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 double-
headed 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 bio-
robots (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 con-
struction 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 right-
wing 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 right-
wing 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 relation-
ship 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 nation-
alism.
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 tradi-
tion, 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 char-
acteristic 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 reli-
gionists. 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 assem-
bly 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 con-
secration 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 com-
plete 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
constructed It is clear that Orthodoxy has left a concrete legacy in the
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 dilem-
mas. 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 Park-
all 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 post-
communist 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 Cyrillo-
Methodian 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 con-
ceptions, cultural codes, and so on that together make up a generative "linguistic
culture." Both Calvet and Schiffman treat myth in largely amorphous and ahistori-
cal 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 Cyrillo-
Methodian 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 expres-
sions. 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 proof-
texted 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 inno-
vation, 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 so-
called 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 decon-
struct 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 historiographi-
cally 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 supra-
national 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 redis-
covered 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 Cyrillo-
Methodian mantle for itself. The year 1863 saw the millennium of the Cyrillo-
Methodian 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 Cyrillo-
Methodian 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 assidu-
ously 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 con-
sciousness. 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-the-
Apostles 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, Khanty-
Mansiysk, 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 cele-
brations, 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 lay-
people 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 exempli-
fies 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 quasi-
sacralized 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 bas-
relief 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 cele-
brated 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 "ecclesiastical-
flavored 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 post-
communist 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 Cyrillo-
Methodian 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
time of struggle between globalization and national cultures This is still
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 Cyrillo-
Methodian 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
knigoi] It is fair to say that if people stop reading, they stop thinking"
(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 protec-
tive 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
holiday hasn't materialized. Its essence has been castrated it is all just for
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,
it is enough to change the alphabet This is what Cyril and Methodius did."
"Maksim" adds a more menacing note (in capital letters): "WHAT 1HEY DID
TO US 1HE RUSSIAN PEOPLE, 1HEY DESTROYED OUR LETTERS AND-
MOST 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 post-
Soviet 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 estab-
lish 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, extra-
sensory 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 mythol-
ogy, 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 scien-
tists, 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 pro-
grams, 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 "con-
junction 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 interconnec-
tions? How can one make sense of them, think them through? Referencing pre-
revolutionary 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 com-
mon passion for mysticism and for conspiracy theories. Historical and poli-
tical 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 spiri-
tual energies, or encode occult messages. They have been invested with cosmogo-
nic 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 projec-
tions." 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 quali-
ties 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 Cyrillo-
Methodian 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 direction-
with 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 read-
ings 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 post-
Soviet 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 accor-
dance 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 con-
cerning the emperor's death. In the "Gothic horror" type, the "murder" is con-
structed 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 Western-
style 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 uni-
verse (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 corres-
pondences 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 conscious-
ness 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 reli-
gious 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 tradi-
tions that have a more or less uninterrupted history. The second involves
"invented" traditions. Shnirelman (2002: 207) dubs this "urbanized bookish Neo-
Paganism." 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 exclu-
sive 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 hiber-
nation 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 meta-
myth:

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 "Judea-
Bolshevism." 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 post-
communist 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 demon-
strate 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 post-
communist 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 post-
communist semiotic landscape - the Vseiasvetnaia gramota or azbuka (the
Planetary Writing or Alphabet). (Laruelle (2008) translates the name as "Pan-
International 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. bicapital-
ization). 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 conspira-
torial 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) under-
ground shopping complex of the Manezh, a chthonic temple to Western con-
sumerism. 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 anti-
religious 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 post-
Soviet 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 inter-
pretations ofRussian history are disseminated through popular books and tele-
vision 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 manu-
scripts. 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 ques-
tion 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-slavonic-
bible/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
Slavonic word will return to our environment only God knows! But did
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 remi-
niscence of Fr. Gerard Austin (2008: 51), who depicts the pervasive Latinity of
the pre-Vatican II Church:

When I was a seminarian in the 1950s, Latin was the order of the day Once
I embarked upon priesthood studies after the novitiate (three years of phi-
losophy 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