Svitlana Kobets

Ascetic Imperative in the Post-Modern Perspective: Valerii Shevchuk's The Eye of the Abyss

A predilection for liminal characters is a trademark for Valerii Shevchuk, whose fictive world embraces witches and wizards, Lumpen-intellectuals, loners and characters opting to be nobody. It is through their eyes and personal quests that the author contemplates the spiritual, cultural, political and moral questions raised in his works. Within this framework Shevchuk allots an important place to the ascetic type, which densely populates the pages of Shevchuk’s works. Shevchuk’s numerous monks and ecclesiastical figures are representative of institutionalized asceticism, whereas wanderers and pilgrims, fools in Christ, and sectarians comprise its non-institutional forms. Both these types figure prominently in Shevchuk’s recent novel, The Eye of the Abyss, in which all the central characters—including pilgrims-petitioners, their “saintly” host, and his disciples—are ascetics.

The ascetics are interconnected with another group of liminal characters important to this narrative, which is comprised of the crippled and the sick. These ailing and largely unsightly individuals, who were rejected by their families and communities, permeate the fictive world of The Eye of the Abyss, providing a social setting and background against which the novel’s events unfold. If ascetics consciously choose to alienate themselves from society in order to pursue their spiritual quest, the sick are traditionally marginalized because of being unfit for life in a normal society. These two social types are bound in the archetypal relationship, “ailing petitioner—saintly healer”, which was characteristic of Christian ascetic and monastic traditions throughout the medieval period. In the social structure of the phantasmagoric world of The Eye of the Abyss, these two traditionally marginal types are positioned in the center. Indeed, grotesque and abnormal individuals—both the cripples and the ascetics—dominate this novel’s fictional world, whereas conventional characters—men and women of the lay world, including peasants, gentry, and clergy—reside on the narrative’s periphery. The ascetics and the cripples in the novel form a social hierarchy: the latter assume a subdued place, while the alleged saint and his followers position themselves at the top. Power and authority of the latter group is symbolically represented as the pillar crowned by the idol of this society, Mykyta the Stylite of Pereyaslavl.

While ascetics are central to the narrative, asceticism is its focal theme. The concept of asceticism has a broad range of forms and doctrines, yet its ideology can be roughly summarized as the personal quest of a devout individual, who, by rigorous self-discipline and continuous prayer, opts to attain unity with the divine—nirvana, satori, enlightenment, grace—the ultimate goal of religious and/or spiritual self-fulfillment. According to Kallistos Ware, ascetic quest can hardly be viewed as an anti-social venture, nor can it be defined by the ascetic’s withdrawal. Ware describes asceticism as a positive social development, arguing that “the ascetic in the desert helps his fellow humans not so much by anything that he does, but rather by what he is… he serves society by transforming himself through prayer, and by virtue of his own transfiguration he also transfigures the world around him.” He further substantiates the argument in favor of the affirmative nature of asceticism by citing Berdiaev, who regards asceticism as an entry into freedom as well as another Russian Orthodox thinker, Pavel Florensky, who links it with beauty and posits that “Asceticism produces not a good but a beautiful personality.” Finally, Ware proposes an argument in favor of asceticism as a universally important practice, citing Orthodox priest, Father Alexander Elchaninov’s words that “Asceticism is necessary first of all for creative action of any kind, for prayer, for love: in other words, it is needed by each of us throughout our entire life.”

The argument in favor of the universal importance of the concept and practice of asceticism has also received the close attention of Geoffrey Galt Harpham, who differentiates between its two major subcategories. “In the tight sense,” the scholar posits, “asceticism is a product of early Christian ethics and spirituality; in the loose sense it refers to any act of self-denial undertaken as a strategy of empowerment or gratification.” In both these senses, asceticism and ascetic imperative are among Shevchuk’s most prominent thematic concerns. Indeed, his oeuvre continuously adumbrates asceticism both explicitly and implicitly as an ethical idea expressed through one’s resistance to temptation and evil. Besides the works, which contemplate asceticism as a religious development, we also find narratives that are set in the lay world. Thus, the narrator in the short story Snake-Woman (Zhinka-zmiia)—albeit a lay person—champions abstinence, celibacy, and seclusion. Another manifestation of the ascetic drive can be found in the novella Hunchback Zoia (Horbunka Zoia), whose protagonist both attempts to withstand the pressures of society and to resist his attraction to the beautiful hunchback.

In the novel The Eye of the Abyss Shevchuk yet again engages the discussion of the ascetic imperative, endorsing it both as an archetypal quest for self-realization and as an endeavor of self-denial. The novel ponders both the phenomenology and theology of asceticism offering, discussions of its content, forms, philosophy, and goals. The questions central to the narrative concern both the nature and essence of the ascetic imperative: does ascetic self-effacement and renunciation of the world facilitate one’s spiritual fulfillment? Is the ascetic imperative a must or a mistake? Does asceticism proceed from Christian scriptures or is it a heretical refutation of the Christian creed? Thus, in Shevchuk’s novel, the ascetic imperative is meticulously scrutinized and continuously questioned.

As the narrative progresses, the author systematically deconstructs and ultimately debunks the ascetic endeavor and hagiography of one of Ukraine’s most unique saints, the twelfth-century stylite St. Mykyta of Pereyaslavl, whose Life was extremely popular in the sixteenth century, surviving to modernity in a great variety of versions and copies. At the end of the twentieth century this Life was once again rewritten in Shevchuk’s iconoclastic and provocative novel, in which miracles are dismantled while a canonized Orthodox Christian saint is presented as a dangerous heretic, sectarian and fraud.

Shevchuk’s markedly negative portrayal of a famous ascetic does not, however, amount to his unambiguous denunciation of the validity of an ascetic worldview. After all, in the novel he offers both positive and negative portrayals of asceticism. It also has to be noted, that controversial saints have always been an integral part of the Orthodox Christian tradition, where among both canonized and non-canonized saints we find transvestites, holy fools, tax-collectors, prostitutes, and saints who visited brothels. At the same time, the genre of sacred parody, which was very popular in the Middle Ages (and was tolerated by the Church), yields a wide variety of subcategories ranging from mock prayers, psalms, testaments, and church services to jocular gospels and Lives of saints. Shevchuk’s novel, however, is not an ironic stylization in the vein of parodia sacra, but rather a post-modern revisiting of the Middle Ages whose colorful scene serves as an atemporal setting for discussing questions of both eternal and modern importance. After all, the role of the Middle Ages as the arena for staging contemporary battles has long been established. The major contributor to this discussion, the Italian writer and literary scholar Umberto Eco, posits that the Middle Ages continuously interest us and appeal to our imagination because they are the real cradle of our (i.e. Western) civilization. He goes on to say that the origins of all the contemporary problems of the Western world can be traced to the Middle Ages (64). “Thus,” he concludes, “looking at the Middle Ages means looking at our infancy, in the same way that a doctor, to understand our present state of health, asks us about our childhood, or in the same way that the psychoanalyst, to understand our present neuroses, makes a careful investigation of the primal scene.” (65) The scholar outlines ten different approaches to and uses of the Middle Ages in contemporary literature, the first of which, “The Middle Ages as a pretext,” describes in a nutshell the authorial intent in the pseudo-historical novel The Eye of the Abyss.

Indeed, Shevchuk evokes the Ukrainian Middle Ages not in order to revise that historical period and debunk its sacred idols, but opting to stage there, spiritual and moral quests of contemporary urgency. While the issues under discussion include Christian faith, the value of knowledge, power, ethics, and truth, they reveal striking relevance to concerns facing post-totalitarian and post-colonial Ukraine. Rigid medieval truths, fanaticism, slavery, and an inhuman attitude towards the individual inevitably bring to mind the brutal totalitarian rule of the Soviet state. After all, unrelieved censorship and propaganda, spiritual slavery and brain-washing, as well as oppression and terror typify not only the Middle Ages, but all tyrannical regimes and reveal the special importance for Ukraine as a survivor of Soviet totalitarianism.

The parallels between the Soviet totalitarian system and the deceitful sect portrayed in the novel are quite revealing. In their essence, the ideological foundations of both proceed from the utopian ideal: the Christian ideal of the Kingdom of God and the communist one of a man-made Paradise on Earth. These two ideals, significantly, coincide both in their goals of universal fraternity, equality, and happiness and in their totalitarian means, as neither ideology offers or allows alternative positions. Moreover, both utopian claims have a prominent genealogical link, as religious utopias historically preceded the socialist ones, providing them with stock imagery and ideas. Thus, both utopian ideals have common origins in the humanistic dream about a society based on the principles of fraternity, equality, and mutual love. Proponents of Christianity opted to endorse these principles in the monastic communities, Egypt and Syria being among the earliest examples. They strove to realize Christian ideals as individuals and as communities by upholding the commandments of the New Testament and by practicing fraternal or sisterly love and ascetic self-discipline. Those monastic communities were the first social structures in the history of Western civilization that formulated and realized principles of a perfect society, which from the perspective of the future were to be branded as communist.

Despite the fact that the Soviet state notably deviated from the ethical principles of the Christian utopia, many of its structural elements reveal similarity with its ascetic Christian prototype. Just like the early monastic communities, Soviet society was founded on the idealistic principles of goodness, freedom, and equality, which were documented in its constitution. Ascetic principles of self-denial, refutation of family ties, and sacrificial life for the sake of the community were invested with the highest ethical value and proclaimed the ideological pillars of the society, where the high communist cause reigned supreme. Yet if monastic communities had many examples of failure to live up to their saintly ideals, much more so did their monstrous Soviet imitation, which oriented itself to a structure which had never been intended to regulate stately, the national, or the international realms. This enormous structure inevitably distorted the utopian claim for equality by its claim for power, becoming one of the most gruesome totalitarian regimes in the history of mankind.

Therefore, asceticism, which appears in the novel as the only manifest subject matter, is not only the theme in its own right, but also serves as a fulcrum for uncovering the novel’s underlying thematic concerns. The pilgrims’ ascetic quest for truth and their ascetic resistance vis-à-vis the evil-doings of imposters can indeed be considered as pointers to the burning issues of post-colonial Ukraine. Soviet ideology and totalitarianism, their unscrupulous promoters and gullible supporters, their crafty indoctrination strategies and power to enslave, as well as their stale canonical truths are conspicuously insinuated in the portrayal of this Medieval pilgrimage, inviting an interpretation of the text in application to the realms of both Christian spirituality and the Soviet regime. This article offers such an interpretation.

Thus, thematically central to the novel, the pursuit of truth will be seen not only as the universal and atemporal quest but also as an endeavor critical for present-day survivors of the Soviet totalitarian regime. In the novel this quest begins as a pilgrimage undertaken by three monks seeking assistance from a famous miracle-working saint, Mykyta of Pereyaslavl. The narrator, the calligrapher and illuminator of the legendary Gospel of Peresopnytsia , Mykhailo Vasyliovych, sets out to seek a remedy for his melancholy and loss of artistic inspiration. He describes his condition both as an illness and in terms of spiritual crisis:

... вичерпався; тут же мені працювалося пиняво, рука ніби стратила притаманну їй легкість у писанні і вправність у малюванні, отже, після кожної зробленої сторінки відчував утому, пальці мліли, а очі клеїлися. Це увіч визначало, що маю роботу на певний час покинути, щоб криниця душі моєї наповнилася духовною водою, без такої-то води людина стає суха і нікчемна, до діл та подвигів нездатна... (I was exhausted. I started working sluggishly. It seemed like my hand lost its dexterity in calligraphy and drawing. Every page would tire me. My fingers were falling asleep and it was hard to keep my eyes open. This meant that I had to take a break and let the well of my soul refill itself with spiritual water, without which we are stripped of our creative energy and become good for nothing…) (3)

Besides his immediate goal of regaining spiritual wholeness, Mykhailo’s quest also targets self-knowledge and self-realization. “У кожної людини є своя темна хмара... І кожен свою темну хмару має знати і вивідати сам (Each of us has a dark cloud…, which we have to identify and familiarize ourselves with)” (31), he says to his companions, the traveling monks, Sozont and Pavlo, who also seek a cure for their ailments. The learned monk Sozont claims to be pursuing his penance by witnessing and documenting miracles of contemporary saints. Yet he also seeks a cure for his “mental condition,” which is defined by the narrator as intellectual arrogance. It is revealed through his constant speculations and doubts, which boil down to his lack of faith. “Грiх мій у тому, що я замість вірити все намагаюся звірити (My sin is that my passion for verification does not allow me to believe)” (28), he admits to his companions.

In the Christian context of the miraculous healing of saints, the third companion, the epileptic monk Pavlo, exemplifies the most common type of petitioner. He remarks that a miraculous cure of his condition by saint Mykyta is his last hope (33), adding that other powerful healers, including the renowned elders of the Kyiv Cave Monastery, failed to help him. Another no less important reason for Pavlo’s pilgrimage is—just like Mykhailo’s and Sozont’s—intellectual. The narrator describes his intellectual ailment as an obsession with questions to which he cannot find answers (“хворів думками, на які не міг дати відповіді”). (30) He goes on to comment on the cognitive nature of the quests of all three companions:

...Отже, всі троє ми були мудраки, які перемудрилися,—через це й опинилися на цій дорозі й шукаємо шляху, не визначивши, куди хочемо йти. Пізнали біблійну істину про шлях вузький та широкий, але на жоден ступити не зважуємося... ( All three of us were wise men caught in the nets of our wisdom. This is how we found ourselves on this path, wondering which way to go. We took to heart the Biblical truism about narrow and wide ways, yet were reluctant to follow either one…) (30)

Monk Kuz’ma, who also seeks answers for complex questions prompted by his personal spiritual quest, becomes their fourth companion. All four pilgrims seek miraculous cures to their ailments and the saint’s assistance in resolving their spiritual dilemmas. Yet when the pilgrims reach their destination, they find themselves in the hostile atmosphere of Mykyta’s camp, where they are confronted by Mykyta’s grim teachings and an imminent threat to their lives. In the end, their pilgrimage results not in the anticipated cures, but in the pilgrims’ brutal deaths at the hands of the alleged saint and his disciples. The only survivor of the ordeal, the narrator, conveys for posterity an extremely intense, action- packed and philosophy-saturated story of their pilgrimage. In the course of this story, the Life and deeds of the Pereyaslavl stylite Mykyta are closely scrutinized and rewritten while the validity of his ascetic exploits, teachings and sanctity are reexamined and debunked.

The pilgrims’ travels in time and space are concurrent with their advancement in the cognitive dimension of the narrative, where they make their path within a complex concatenation of doctrinal, and extra-doctrinal discourses. Such concepts of the Orthodox Christian worldview as sin and virtue, wisdom and folly, orthodoxy and heresy, truth and falsehood, illness and well-being, God’s will and the Devil’s will are continuously contemplated by the pilgrims who strive to gain an understanding of Christian doctrine as well as the truth about themselves, their friends and adversaries.

Although all the novel’s main characters are ascetics, their understanding of the ascetic imperative differs dramatically. All four pilgrims who seek help from Mykyta the Stylite belong to the Ukrainian Orthodox Church, in whose monasteries they pursue their ascetic quests. Being representatives of the mainstream Orthodox ascetic tradition, they practice fasting, chastity, prayer, and contemplation of theological issues. They are devoted to their quests and earnestly attempt to overcome their failings and limitations. All four adhere to the Christian tenet of humility; consequently, none of them have any claims to extraordinary asceticism or sanctity.

The asceticism of Mykyta and his disciples utterly differs in nature. Mykyta pursues the career of stylite, the most difficult form of asceticism. He attempts to emulate the life and deeds of an outstanding pillar saint and the initiator of this ascetic practice, St. Simeon the Stylite of Syria. Yet, as the author explicitly shows, Mykyta’s asceticism is hardly a spiritual pursuit. Firstly, Mykyta undertakes his exploit against the will of his spiritual mentor—a grave transgression of ascetic statutes—who deemed him not ready for an independent ascetic quest. Secondly, even though imitation of ascetic exploits of acclaimed saints is at the core of Christian ascetic tradition, certain ascetic practices were deemed inimitable, including the exploits of pillar saints. All in all, Mykyta’s extravagant endeavor is shown as inhuman and arrogant. As such, it is a heretical challenge to the Christian doctrine of goodness and love. In the disconsolate glory of his rotting body, his self-inflicted wounds, his pretentious self-discipline, and showy austerity, the voluntary martyr St. Mykyta is portrayed as an abomination. His exploit is presented as an extreme, senseless, and masochistic endeavor; a parody, rather than a spiritual feat.

It is noteworthy that the forms and content of the ascetic quest can be invested both with positive and negative value. Commenting on the necessity to differentiate between “divine and royal asceticism” and the “tyrannical and demonic,” Ware proposes to distinguish between natural and unnatural ascetic practices:

Natural asceticism reduces material life to the utmost simplicity, restricting our physical needs to a minimum, but not maiming the body or otherwise deliberately causing it to suffer. Unnatural asceticism, on the other hand, seeks out special forms of mortification that torment the body and gratuitously inflict pain upon it.

The scholar further cites pillar standing in the same line as self-castration, and other macabre practices of self-inflicted torture, positing that “such actions surely display a curious disrespect to God as creator; for we are not to disfigure the gifts that God confers on us.” Ware emphasizes that the goal of the ascetic is not killing the body, but rather conquering its addictions and wrong predispositions—or, in terms of Christian discourse, passions—concluding that the “the aim of the ascetic … is not to suppress… passions but to reorient them.” As part of another argument, Ware cites the fourth-century Syrian stylite St. Simeon as a positive example of asceticism and, in fact, as an example of ascetic beauty: “Simeon’s gangrenous foot was from the spiritual point of view an object full of beauty.” The saint’s devotion to his spiritual quest—and through it to public service—makes him the medium of divine grace and a contributor to the well-being of humankind.

The asceticism of St. Simeon’s imitator Mykyta is quite different. In fact, it is hardly asceticism, but rather a combination of lies and transgressions against his fellow-human-beings. As the narration unfolds, the pilgrims come to see Mykyta as a brazen murderer, a pretender, and ultimately as a pride-stricken heretic. From first being horrified by Mykyta’s exaggerated asceticism, the pilgrims recognize its grotesqueness and its preposterous nature. Ultimately, Mykyta is shown as a horrendous creation and a puppet of the sect’s shadow ruler, Simeon, who, in a quite post-modern mode, masterminds the “saint’s” Life and orchestrates its documentation in a strictly censored vita. This Life is supposed to be an exact replica of the hagiography of the famous Syrian stylite whose name, Simeon, the sect’s leader assumes. The new Simeon (formerly Stepan) satisfies his ambition as a creator and leader by establishing a new sect and subjugating to his authority a self-contained community of cripples, who came to the saint looking for miracles. Thus, important as Mykyta is to the narrative, his initiative and authority as an ideologist and teacher are very limited. In fact, most likely he does not uphold any ideology of his own and is just Simeon’s puppet. The driving forces behind his initiative are his pride, sloth, lack of love for and lack of understanding of God’s created world—all of which are absolutely incompatible with the ascetic endeavor. Therefore, his withdrawal from the world is not the asceticism of a zealot but rather an escape from himself and a hoax. In his contemplation about good and evil (добродійні і лиходійні) people, the narrator attempts to grasp Mykyta’s nature, categorizing him as a nobody and commenting about his dependence on his self-created image:

Такі люди у світі ніхто. Відриваються від житейских насущних справ, бо не бачать у них смислу, а бездіяльність проголошують святим життям, його собі і шукають. ... вирвавшись зі світової рутини і вивисивши себе над нею заради того ж таки невтоленного марнославства, простіше сказавши: цураючись світу, живуть мірилами світовими. Чого б досяг, наприклад, Микита Стовпник, коли б залишився свинопасом чи вівчарем, а постійно, богобоязненно, по-християнському чесно жив? А, відрікшись від світу, у цьому-таки світі він став славетний по цілій Волині й Поліссі, та й по околичних землях, бо звідусіль до нього стікаються люди і множать славу його. Отже, ставши славетним, він прирік себе на те, чим він є... (Such people are nobodies. Because life frightens them by its everyday chores, they get away from those and pronounce their idle existence a “saintly life.” [Yet] even though they escape the monotonous life of the profane world, placing themselves above it and satisfying their pride by looking down at it, they [nonetheless] continue to live by its laws and measurements. What would, for example, Mykyta the Stylite achieve, provided he continued to be a swineherd or a shepherd yet would lead the life of an honest, devout Christian? [Yet] by rejecting the world he became famous in that same world. As people from Volyn and Polissia, as well as from the nearby lands come to him, his fame grows and he no longer belongs to himself but rather is the slave of his reputation.) (29)

While Mykyta and his cohort are being exposed as impostors and criminals, they reveal an uncanny resemblance to the sanctified villains, who created and sustained the tyrannical Soviet rule. Indeed, the dictatorial regime of Simeon-Stepan’s sect can be easily compared to Soviet autocracy with its isolation from the rest of the world; the idolatry of its leaders and elitism of its ruling class; its sectarianism within the international communist community; its relentless brainwashing and strict censorship; its intolerance and ruthless disrespect for human life. Within this reading, the gullible cripples can be readily compared to the duped and enslaved Soviet masses; Simeon and his cohort to the Soviet authorities. Furthermore, we can trace clear parallels between the puppet authority Mykyta and Lenin, and the de facto ruler Simeon-Stepan and Stalin. At the same time, the pilgrims, who search for self-realization, faith and truth are not unlike anti-Soviet dissidents who, despite mortal danger, venture to find and uphold truths countering Soviet ideology. The dissidents’ social marginality to the country’s dictatorial regime is remarkably akin to the ascetic’s marginality to any social structure. After all, heroism of resistance to domineering ideals, ideologies, and regimes is not a common destiny, but the lot of the chosen few. Thus, the ascetic quest for freedom and self-knowledge is paralleled with the daring endeavor of challenging Soviet ideology and fighting its totalitarian oppression.

At first the fraudulent nature of Mykyta’s asceticism is not obvious to the pilgrims who contemplate it from the biased Medieval perspective. After all, the arrogant ascetic practices of the flamboyant Syrian ascetics, including St. Simeon the Stylites, have always been an integral part of the Orthodox Christian canon and their unthinkable self-afflicted tortures were supposed to inspire awe. These practices comprised an important part of the theatrical appeal of the early ascetics, who gained for themselves the fame of holy men capable of overcoming matter and channeling divine grace on behalf of the eagerly awaiting needy congregation. The ascetic’s horrific show manifested his power over himself and the material dimension, raising him above the masses and the profane world and legitimizing his sacred authority.

Similarly, the Soviet authorities claimed, and actually enforced, the reputation of the highest authority for themselves and their cause, heavily drawing on the stock of Christian concepts, patterns, and models for the substantiation of their claim. Other parallels between Christian and Marxist-Leninist ideological systems embrace all spheres of human activity ranging from the realm of ethics and claims to ultimate knowledge to the principles of the official artistic method of Socialist Realism (which adumbrated prescriptive formulas comparable to hagiography), the veneration of relics (cf. Lenin’s Mausoleum) and rituals (cf. Soviet celebrations and parades). Revealingly, the Soviet authorities banned Christian creed, thus implicitly recognizing it as the main competitor to their ideology.

If in the ascetic tradition the eventual authority of the saint is the result of his or her selfless endeavor, it is the yearning for self-assertion and power that triggers Mykyta’s ascetic claim. To achieve his goal he pretends to faithfully follow the paradigmatic path of the saint. However, instead of wholeheartedly embracing asceticism, he simply emulates its extrinsic attributes, putting on an act and claiming the Life of Simeon the Stylite to be his own. Mykyta’s followers, who share in his authority, facilitate the creation of his high reputation, and also protect and sustain it by manipulating the crowd of gullible cripples from Mykyta’s congregation. The docility and spiritual slavery of the island’s crippled population—no one dares to question the authenticity of Mykyta’s sanctity—accurately reflect the stupor of the brainwashed and enslaved Soviet masses. And just like the latter, by its docility, Mykyta’s crippled congregation provides silent support to its oppressors. Mykyta’s claim for power is challenged, however, when the pilgrims arrive at the island in pursuit of miracles.

Stories about miraculous healings occupy an important place in hagiographic tradition. They constitute an integral part in the Lives of Christian saints, demonstrating their divine grace and power and serving as an example of the saint’s mediation between the divine and profane realms. Ultimately, they provide ground for the saintly reputation of the healer reflected in his/her post-mortem canonization by the Church. Traditionally, the saint’s vita allots the ailing petitioners and their healing minor importance—they simply serve as illustrations of the saintly healer’s power and grace. These stories are usually located at the very end of the narrative signifying the climax of the holy man’s saintly life. Yet Shevchuk’s The Eye of the Abyss subverts this canon, tightly intertwining the stories about the petitioners and the saintly healer. Moreover, it is the former—the narrator and his companions—whose perspective is offered in the novel.

While in many ways Mykyta is the novel’s focus, he is first introduced relatively late in the novel. Stories about his remarkable deeds and miracles, however, become featured from the very first pages. Significantly, all these fantastic stories are taken from the Life of Simeon the Stylite, bringing to the fore the pressing question about Mykyta’s authenticity. Quite in line with Christian tradition, Mykyta’s miracle-working ability becomes an infallible benchmark for the authentication of his sanctity, or, more precisely, for refuting his sham.

The very first “miracles” that pilgrims witness on the island are murders. The treacherous murder of Kuz’ma (for lacking faith in Mykyta’s sanctity) and the ruthless slaying of a penitent bandit (who seemingly asked for such “help”) shock the pilgrims. They immediately realize that the ostensible miracles are nothing but hoaxes and that they are caught in the trap, which was skillfully arranged by the alleged saint and his disciples. Their suspicion is corroborated by the dwarf Musii, who mockingly comments on Mykyta’s miracle-working:

[Sozont] —Давно тут живеш?

—О-о, давно-о! Живу і хліб жую, ги-ги!... Тут мені до-обре! Їсти дають. Не тра про-осити хліба! А ви теж не хо-очете про-осить хліба?

—Ми хочемо вилікуватися,—сказав Пало

—Е, дарма прийшли! О-от кілько-о нас, а святий Микита ні одно-ого не вилікував. Каже, що-о вилікує, ко-оли по-омремо, ги-ги!

—Це сам Микита сказав?—спитав Созонт.

—Нє, Микита в буді сидить. Це сказали ті, що-о ко-оло-о ньо-го.

—А часто сюди люди приходять?

—Нє, не часто-о! Сюди важко-о йти! От! Але, хто-о прихо-одить, не завше відхо-одить. От!

—А що з ними робиться?—спитав Созонт.

—О-о, святий Микита їм по-омага...

—Як же він їм допомагає?—спитав Павло.

—А так, за хвіст та в то-орбину, от!—Карлик схопив себе за горло.—Клюк-клюк—і нема, ги-ги! А тоді в О-око-о—бух і бульть,—і він заклекотів, ніби горло водою полоскав.

—Вбиває і топить?— зчудовано спитав Павло.

—Нє, не вбива... По-омага... О!

([Sozont] “Have you lived here for a long time?”

“Yes, for lo-o-ong! I like it here. I don’t have to beg. They feed me just like that! A good life! So you guys do not want to beg either?”

“No, we came here to heal ourselves,” said Pavlo

“Then you wasted your trip. Look how many of us are here, but saint Mykyta hasn’t cured a single one! He says that he will cure us when we die, ha-ha!”

“Did he say it himself?” Sozont asked.

“No, Mykyta sits in his hut. The ones who are with him did.”

“How often do people come here?”

“Not that often. It’s hard to get here! Yet the ones who come here don’t always go back. That’s it!”

“What happens to them?” Sozont asked.

“O-o, saint Mykyta helps them!”

“How?” Pavlo asked.

“Grabs them by the tail and in the bag they go!” The dwarf grabbed himself by the neck.—Rat-a-tat—and one’s gone, ha-ha! And then to the Eye—plonk and plop!” and he started gurgling as if he was rinsing his throat.

“You mean he drowns and kills them?” The surprised Pavlo asked.

“No, he does not kill them… He helps them…That’s it!) (99)

The pilgrims indeed see on the island crowds of miserable and crippled individuals whose pleas for miraculous healings are denied. These dismal creatures failed to regain their wholeness yet they continue living on the island without any hope for a cure. Lost in time and space, immune to spirituality, yet appreciative of free meals provided to them by Mykyta’s sect, these cripples are easy prey for their callous hosts, who view their ailments in stark contrast to traditional Christian compassion.

Defying the obvious, Mykyta’s disciples insist that Mykyta does perform miracles, specifying that he has a special approach. He proclaims that he regards illness as a divine punishment and therefore “cures only spiritual, not physical ailments” (63). As he creates this convenient ambiguity of results, he follows the path of numerous charlatans who took advantage of gullible believers throughout history.

The evident absurdity of Mykyta’s claim is not unlike claims of the Soviet authorities including presumable “equality,” “freedom,” and “exemplary welfare” of the Soviet citizens, which were obviously not true. Like the Soviet demagogues, Mykyta thoroughly substantiates his claims, credo and modus operandi by quotations from the Bible. He does not only declare his respect for God’s arrangements, certainly including all the ailments of the world, but also proclaims death to be the most important part of the Christian worldview. He posits that, since illness puts the afflicted in closer proximity to death, thereby drawing them closer to God, it is therefore invested with spiritual benefits. This eschatological claim is the core of Mykyta’s, or rather Simeon’s teachings, which proclaim ars moriendi (the art of dying well) the most important Christian objective and experience. This claim is also essential for discerning the heretical nature of the sect.

Indeed, similarly to heretical apocalyptical sects, including Gnostics and Bogomils, Simeon’s sect categorically denies the validity of personal love, family, creativity, joy, and beauty (108), convincing the congregation to live in unrelieved gloom and slavery under their misanthropic religious regime. Therefore, Mykyta’s chilling call to love death (“смерть любіть!” (125)) both parodies Christian momento mori and calls for submission and spiritual slavery, thus countering the fundamental Christian aspiration to seek freedom through learning the truth (cf. You will know the truth, and the truth will make you free (John 8:32)). The sect’s emphasis on death brings to mind total disrespect for human life professed by the Soviet authorities, who not only eradicated millions of their citizens, but also opted to (and successfully did) replace actual lives of the Soviet masses with the vision of the communist paradise.

The eschatological teachings of the sect constitute an important part of the theme of death, which is not only one of the central themes of the novel, but also is among the main preoccupations of the Christian worldview. “Christian doctrine teaches us to constantly await death, therefore we roam the world followed by this shadow, (...адже християнська наука вчить нас всечасно чекати смерті, отже, й ходимо ми світом у супроводі цієї тіні”) (29), says the narrator quite early in the novel. This theme is closely related to the theme of asceticism, which can be interpreted as a basically eschatological endeavor. The very title of the novel, “The Eye of he Abyss” points to the eschatological mode of the narrative, introducing an enigmatic image of the Eye of the Abyss, which emerges on the very first pages of the novel, as a mysterious, menacing, haunting, and ever-present entity. It is a recurrent subject of the narrator’s contemplation as well as an immediate incentive for his pilgrimage and quest. It figures prominently throughout the narrative, challenging the reader to decipher its meaning, or rather multiple meanings, on which the narrator comments in the following way:

... те Око привиджується як жахне видиво, бере мене у свій приціл, воно ніби напнутий лук зі стрілою, котра щомиті може із тятиви зірватися і зі свистом полетіти в моє серце; воно є місяцем серед ночі, що розсипає проміння, і кожен промінь ніби ота стріла; воно і сонце серед дня, що пронизує моє бідолашне тіло золотими списами; воно—вистежувач моїх справ і дій, бо пливе за мною, чатуючи кожен крок; воно—павук, що розкинув павутиння й готує труту, щоб упирснути тому, хто в сіті потрапить... (The phantom of that Eye comes to me as a nightmare. I am the target and it is a drawn bow with an arrow, which can break loose and fly right into my heart any minute. It is a moon in the middle of the night, which disperses its rays and each of them is as an arrow. It is an afternoon sun that pierces my wretched body with golden spears. It is the watcher of my every step, as it constantly stalks me. It is a spider that sets up his net and awaits its victims, into whom it will infuse its venom …) (4)

The narrator describes the Eye of the Abyss as an ineffable entity, saying that man cannot perceive its real meaning (незбагненне для людини (101)), yet his own attempts at grasping it continue throughout the novel. He contemplates its different aspects, including those of the ultimate measure and meaning of human life and the benchmark of human and Christian values. Moreover, the Eye of the Abyss symbolically represents many facets of the protagonists’ spiritual quest and reflects multiple thematic layers of the novel. It is representative of one’s spiritual imbalance and of one’s yearning for spiritual wholeness; of God, and of one’s quest for God; of ascetic endeavor, truth, and death, to mention just the most important of its meanings. The many connotations of this multidimensional image reveal themselves gradually, yet its principal meaning of death is pronounced on the opening pages of the work: “...Воно, зрештою, ота Смерть—міст між життям та вічністю...” (Finally, it is Death—this bridge between life and eternity) (4), the narrator Mykhailo summarizes. Foremost, the Eye of the Abyss is momento mori of religious contemplation and an all-seeing Eye overseeing the hero’s quest for truth.

As the pilgrims embark on their journey to the legendary stylite, at the same time they embark on the quest for truth. To be sure, the possibility of their healing depends on the authenticity of Mykyta as a miracle-worker and a saint. Thus, from the very onset the pilgrims’ quest for healing goes hand in hand with their quest for truth about Mykyta and his teachings. At the same time it is a quest for truth about themselves, their faith and values. The mortal danger accompanying this quest underscores its eschatological character and significance.

The theme of pursuit of truth develops in the narrative as the pilgrims’ pursuit of textual truth, which is discussed in juxtaposition to fabrication or “story-telling” (baikotvorennia). The main concerns of this discussion are authenticity and the epistemological value of hagiographic and fictional texts. The four pilgrims relate stories about events, which took place in contemporary Ukraine and were witnessed either by them or their acquaintances. Interestingly, all these accounts have hagiographical precedents: each of the characters creates for himself a story based on the vita of his chosen hagiographical prototype and attempts to convince his audience of the tale’s authenticity. The narrator is the only exception, as his character is based on a historical figure. Since all four excel in learning, they unmistakably identify literary sources of each other’s tales and a heated debate about the importance of authenticity ensues. Sozont proclaims himself a staunch advocate of truth, stating his position in the following way:

—Волію правду, не байки ж. Байки ж, як можна помітити з Павлової розповіді, творяться через перебріхування історії справжньої—кожен із нових оповідачів щось від себе додає: одне не дослухав, інше доклав. Отак і шириться у світі неправда. Уста кожного відтак повні брехні, як сказано у Псалтирі, брехню говорить кожен ближньому, бо людина любить більше брехню, як правду, а говорячи неправду, від утроби заблуджується. Отож недаремно у Псалтирі сказано, що люди—це сини мужів брехні, бо кожна людина—лож. Я ж ненавиджу всяку путь брехні, ненавиджу й брехню, бо хто говорить неправду—не спасеться, а хто бреше—загине. (I want truth, not the stories. As Pavlo’s account illustrates, stories are the result of falsifying the true history—each new narrator makes up for what he missed, changing it by his amendments and [adorning it by his] additions. This is how falsehood spreads in the world. The Psalter says that man’s mouth is full of lies, each and everyone lies to his neighbor, because people like lies more than truth. This way from their very birth men get trapped in lies. It is not for nothing that the Psalter says that people are sons of falsehood, because every person is a lie. I hate every path of falsehood and I hate lies, because those who utter untruth won’t be saved and those who lie will perish.) (15-16)

Yet Sozont’s claim for truthfulness is soon discredited when he in turn is caught appropriating a hagiographic story (48). Then the argument in favor of story-telling as a legitimate part of God’s created world gains momentum. Within this line of reasoning, Pavlo says that no matter how untruthful their stories may seem, they are grains of this (God’s) eternity (...то й притчі наші, якими б не здавалися неправдивими, є зернами тієї вічності (62)) and therefore are legitimized by the very fact of their existence. The narrator, who comes from the aesthetic vantage point, takes this argument even further, placing creativity at the core of humanness:

...чим би була людина, коли б відмовилася від творення байок? Чи могла б відтак знестися вище худобини, чи пізнала б Господа, коли навіть її Господь часто також одна із її байок. Адже творення байок—це також творення, все ж народжене має жити і вимагає живлення. (What would become of man if he renounced story-telling? Would he be able to elevate himself above the animal? Would he [be able to] know God, when even his God is very often just one of his stories? Story-telling is also a creation. And everything that comes into existence has [the right] to live and to sustain its life…) (119)

The question of story-telling contributes to one of the major themes of the novel, the theme of creativity and art. Its major sub-theme concerns freedom of expression and develops in conjunction with the theme of censorship. In this discussion the strictly censored, and basically fraudulent, vita of Mykyta is presented as a work of Socialist Realism. Its falsehood is consistently exposed along with its role as a piece of propaganda and a major agent in implementation of the sect’s immoral intent.

As the story-telling marathon continues, it yields a number of tales about the narrative’s most important hagiographic figure, Mykyta of Pereyaslavl, gradually transforming the issue of story-telling into the issue of ethics. The episodes from Mykyta’s Life are related by priest Ivan from Cherniakhiv, pilgrim Kuz’ma, Mykyta’s disciple Theodorite, and his other disciples. Very soon the pilgrims realize that the observable facts about Mykyta contradict his fame as a miracle-working saint and they become alarmed by a sequence of enigmatic deaths. These include the deaths of monk Kuz’ma and the dwarf Musii, the ruthless killing of the penitent brigand, and the death of the pilgrim Pavlo. As the remaining two pilgrims—the narrator and Sozont—struggle for their lives, they discover the factual truth about the murderous sect and their oppressive regime. In the course of their pursuit they are brought to contemplate several contrasting worldviews.

The first claim to truth comes from the sect’s secret leader, Simeon-Stepan, who advances ideology readily comparable to the Soviet one. Quite in line with the communist utopia, Simeon compels the congregation of the cripples to unconditionally accept imposed truths and rules and to worship the custom-made idol, Mykyta the Stylite. Like the Soviet communist bosses who claimed to adhere to Marxist ideology—in fact consistently censoring and manipulating Marxist teachings—Simeon claims to uphold high Christian ideals, yet in order to assure his sect’s power over the congregation he skillfully manipulates the Holy Writ, thus justifying transgressions against basic Christian commandments. In order to attain his goals, he—just like the murderous Soviet state—resorts to unscrupulous means, thereby, to cite the narrator, he places his own truth above God’s truth (150). The labyrinth of lies, traps, and schemes organized by this clever and inventive character baffles the pilgrims. It is Simeon-Stepan’s apocalyptic denial of the validity of life, creativity, and humanity that is methodically questioned throughout the novel, building momentum for the narrator’s epiphany.

Interestingly, the doctrine countering Simeon’s negative asceticism is offered not by his equal, but by a simple-minded character. Despite the fact that he is insignificant and ridiculous, the dwarf Musii dares to challenge the regime of Simeon-Stepan. A member of Mykyta’s crippled congregation, the dwarf Musii is not an extraordinary personality, nor does he have any doctrine of his own. Yet he stands out among the duped, indifferent, and gullible cripples as the only one who expresses his opinion. He is the only member of the congregation who has the courage to share with the pilgrims his skepticism about Mykyta’s sanctity, to transgress against the sect’s “ascetic” rules, and to defend his own convictions. His life-affirming and markedly anti-ascetic argument in favor of following rather than suppressing one’s own nature is presented as a ridiculous, albeit deadly, “love affair.” Unable to produce proof that his mate is his lawful wife, the hapless dwarf Musii is charged with fornication and sent to the sect’s own Eye of the Abyss—an enigmatic area in the surrounding island swamp which presumably can differentiate between the sinners and the righteous ones, and which would mercilessly swallow the former. Thus, in its determination to maintain control over the congregation—and also to satisfy the mob’s perpetual craving for spectacles—the sect sends him to his death in the Eye of the Abyss.

If the oppressive regime of Simeon-Stepan and his ascetic theology can be unambiguously paralleled to the ideology and establishment of the Soviet state, the savage punishment of the ill-fated Musii brings to mind show trials of the Great Terror. Indeed, Musii is charged on the false pretense, whereas his execution is orchestrated as a spectacle. It is supposed to prove the rightfulness of the rulers, thus strengthening their position, and at the same time to intimidate the congregation, coercing their obedience.

While Musii is ruthlessly silenced, the argument in favor of natural human happiness continues resurfacing throughout the novel as a powerful counterargument to the sect’s misanthropy, negation of life and blindness to the world’s beauty. It comes forth in the discussions of original sin, challenging the pilgrims with the dilemma over whether Adam and Eve sinned or simply realized God’s plan. It is exemplified in the harmonious singing and open-heartedness of the happy family of the priest Ivan, and can also be seen in the yearning for reciprocal love that resounds in Martha’s plea for Simeon-Stepan’s affection. The conclusion to this discussion is drawn at the end of the book by Mykyta’s blind disciple Theodorite, who recognizes both the ascetic devotion and lay life as two equally valid options for one’s self-realization. This claim resounds in Mykhailo’s vision, where he is offered a glimpse of the aftermath of the sect’s rule. In his dream he returns to the sect’s island and finds out that Simeon, fearing the exposure of his deception, has departed from the island; that Martha and his other disciples followed him; that Mykyta died shortly afterward, and that following these events the crippled congregation abandoned the island. Theodorite stayed behind hoping that his beloved Martha would return to the island and that they would live happily ever after. In case she failed to return, however, Theodorite planned to resume Mykyta’s exploit of mortifying his flesh on the pillar! Thus the author proposes one of the novel’s important claims—that asceticism is not the ultimate Christian solution to all life’s problems, but just one of the possible forms of life and devotion, which is by no means superior to a righteous life in the world.

Another important counter-argument to ascetic self-mortification appears in the novel as an affirmation of the so-called secret sanctity, a form of sanctity unique to Orthodox Christianity and found in numerous Prolog tales. In stark opposition to the spectacular asceticism of Mykyta’s pillar-standing, righteous persons from this largely non-canonical category of saints do not aspire to be ardent ascetics nor are they necessarily devout Christians. In fact, they are consistently unaware that their way of life and mental stance are pleasing to God. These individuals can be representatives of the most despised professions (prostitutes, actors, tax-collectors, cooks), yet they live in a state of grace because of their meekness, patience, and love for their neighbor. Their very lives assert that God’s world is filled with grace, which sometimes is not obvious to onlookers. Their sanctity becomes known to the congregation only after their deaths. Mykola evokes such anonymous sanctity when he says that not all miracles—miraculous being the most important expression of sanctity—are evident in this world, nor are they all recorded (Чуда з волі Божої на землі творяться. Не всі записуються, не всі людьми позначаються (184)). Earlier in the novel the appraisal of secret sanctity is endorsed in a story about a secret saint, Kalistrat the Cook (57), who by his meekness fully realized the evangelical call to be the last (Matthew, 19:30). By positioning himself in such a way, he becomes a constant target of abuse and humiliation by the other monks. Yet after his death, Kalistrat is immediately transferred to Paradise. Besides supplying the narrator of this story, the monk Avtonom with the proof that paradise, and therefore God, exist, this dream also demonstrates that the despised and neglected cook Kalistrat is first in the eyes of God (and therefore in absolute terms), who sanctifies him by assuring him a rightful place in Paradise. The story about Kalistrat is narrated by Kuz’ma, who, by his adherence to simplicity and poverty, also lays a strong claim for spiritual poverty, which is characteristic both of secret saints and fools in Christ. His appearance (his wild look, bare feet, shabby clothes (34)) and behavioral peculiarities are those of the iurodyvyi (fool in Christ). It is noteworthy that asceticism and the sanctity of fools in Christ have strong genealogical links with those of God’s secret servants. Kuz’ma says that he is the last (73) and consistently champions simplemindedness, contributing to one of the novel’s most important discussions about real—God inspired—wisdom and the value of intellect in spiritual pursuit.

Within Christian tradition, the beginning of this discussion can be traced to the very dawn of Christianity, when the first theologians had to defend the emerging Christian doctrine from the sophistry of the pagan philosophers of Greece. They followed in the steps of the first advocate of superiority of faith over knowledge and intellect, Paul of Tarsus, who declared that, “God has chosen the foolish things of the world to shame the wise” (Cor. 1:27). In accordance with this, essential to Christianity claim, Kuz’ma, as well as other characters of the novel, extol the lack of knowledge and foolishness over worldly wisdom and intellectual pride. “One does not need intellect in order to become wise” (Для придбання мудрості не треба розуму (35)), says Kuz’ma. Moreover, in the novel intellect is debunked and repeatedly referred to as a diversion from truth. The cerebral nature of Simeon’s, and by extension Soviet, utopia becomes the most powerful argument against its validity. “Pharisee”—designating the man of learning, but not faith—resounds throughout the text as the gravest accusation and insult. Kuz’ma consistently employs this term as he tries to refute Sozont’s theological deliberations (35, 51). He accuses Sozont of intellectual arrogance, deeming man’s intelligence to be the biggest sin (Дуже вже своїм розумом бавишся і хвалишся. А розум у людини—це чи не найбільший гріх (49)). Sozont is seemingly in agreement with Kuz’ma. He claims to whole-heartedly desire to subdue his intellect to faith. At the same time, he posits that intelligence is just as great a sin as foolishness (or ignorance) (49), offering his own interpretation of this ambiguous issue:

Кожній людині Господь дав світильника для власної пітьми, і світильник цей—розум її, тож сказано у Приповістях: «Блаженна людина, що мудрість знайшла, і людина, що розум одержала». Але там-таки сказано: «На розум свій не покладайся». Сказано: «Розум—джерело життя власникові його», а в Ісаї: «Загине мудрість премудрих його, а розум розумних його заховається». І святий Павло зголосив: «Розум розумних я відкину». Через це розум буває у глупоті і глупота у розумі, отже, розум людський, як хвилі морські, непевний та мінливий. Оце і є одна із найглибших прірв пургаторіуму світу. Але є в цій прірві й око—відчуття, що тебе знає, чує, бачить і скеровує тебе Господь. (God provided each of us with light for our darkness. This light is our intelligence. The Book of Proverbs says, “Blessed is the man who found wisdom and the man who is endowed with intelligence.” But it also says, “Don’t rely on your wisdom.” “One’s wisdom is the source of one’s life,” says the Book, and in Isaiah we read, “The wisdom of the wise will perish and intelligence of the intelligent will disappear.” And Saint Paul declared, “I will destroy the wisdom of the wise.” Therefore, wisdom can be in foolishness and foolishness in wisdom, because human intelligence, just like waves of the sea, is changeable and uncertain. This is one of the deepest abysses of the Purgatory of the world. But this abyss has an Eye, which is our belief that we are protected and led by God.) (163-164)

Yet Sozont’s nature as a doubting Thomas doеs not allow him to transcend his doubts and finally arrive at faith. To the moment of his death he remains a proponent of intellect rather than faith, hence his amendment to the above statement:

Але й тут постає не меньша прірва—Господь чи диявол у Божім образі та одежі як спитування. Через це постійно маємо себе звіряти, пильно-пильно... Обережними й несамовпевненими маємо бути—ось друге око цієї прірви, бо саме тут Господь нас найбільше спитує. (Yet here you find yourself facing yet another abyss: is it really God or is it Satan disguised as God in order to tempt you? And so we always have to be on guard. Yes, we have to be cautious and humble in order to pass through this, yet another Eye of the abyss, passing God’s ever more challenging test.) (164)

An adherent of intellect, Sozont stands out among the four pilgrims as the most inquisitive and knowledgeable researcher, the most insightful philosopher and the most talented rhetorician. As such, he does not simply counter the plea for simplicity offered by Kuz’ma and his other traveling companions, but also emerges as Simeon-Stepan’s most ardent opponent. It is Sozont who most successfully pursues the inquest of Mykyta’s asceticism and who eventually exposes Simeon-Stepan’s conspiracy. In fact, Sozont and Simeon-Stepan are presented as principal antagonists and equals. Mykhailo acknowledges the fact of their equality in his musings about the disparate doctrines of these two “great men” (обох великих мужів (140)), even though at the time he is not aware that Simeon and not Mykyta, is the real spokesman for the sect.

Both Sozont and Simeon-Stepan are theoreticians and bearers of the novel’s central thematic concerns, which they continuously discuss in their debates. Both characters venture to hold their own opinions about Christian creed, its essence and limits. Yet even though both of them are representative of Orthodox Christianity, their views diverge significantly. The difference between their worldviews amounts to nothing less than the controversy between the Eastern and Western European worldviews. Indeed, as the proponent of the Western viewpoint, Sozont (note his Western education!) adheres to humanism, intellectual pursuit, and moderate asceticism; whereas the somber teachings of Simeon (presented as Mykyta’s) reveal misanthropy, tyranny, inducement of thoughtless submission, self-denigration, foolishness, and extreme asceticism. In light of the juxtaposition of these two standpoints, the antagonism between the intellect and simplemindedness reflects the divergence between ignorance and self-awareness or wisdom, thus questioning the positive meaning endorsed in the concept of simplemindedness by the Christian doctrine.

In the novel, meekness and simplemindedness are presented as rather dubious attributes. Shevchuk’s revealing portrayal of thoughtless, inert and apathetic cripples—whose stance reflects that of the Soviet masses—sharply poses the question of their own responsibility for the unrelieved doom of their existence. Their ignorance and lack of self-awareness are presented to a large degree as a consequence of their spiritual laziness and reluctance to think or act for themselves. This debilitating condition reflects the spiritual bankruptcy of the Soviet masses, testifying to the fact that just like the thoughtless cripples, they thereby provided a perfect foundation for the self-serving, ruthlessness rulers. After all, in both cases, the enslaved masses were not just easy prey but also eager supporters of their oppressors.

The author castigates ignorance of the enslaved masses throughout the novel, yet he does not endorse effete intellectualism either. Thus, claims to truth proposed by either Simeon-Stepan or Sozont do not emerge as viable. These claims find their place in a vast pool of assertions and ideas proposed by other characters of the novel, yet none of them are presented as completely false or truthful, contributing to the notable ontological complexity of the novel. This complexity continuously challenges both the novel’s seekers of the truth and the reader. But foremost, it serves as a catalyst to the narrator’s iconoclastic quest for self-realization, which ultimately culminates in several enlightening realizations. First of all, he offers a powerful argument against absolutizing any claim for truth, and consequently against totalitarianism, slavery and idolatry. Secondly, he argues in favor of free choice of creed, and, importantly, underscores that one’s choice of religion is immaterial in attaining the high ideal of goodness (119). And thirdly, he introduces in the narrative the tone of tolerance and openness to a discussion when, instead of blaming the sectarians for their transgressions, he treats them with understanding and compassion. Ultimately, he comprehends their weaknesses and faults, yet does not aspire to punish them:

Так, вони творять байку життя; як кожна байка, вона не цілком істинна, але треба зважати й на те, що й сама байка починає творити їх, тобто, створивши байку життя, вони починають жити не за своєю волею, а так, як велить чинити їм вона. Піднялися на чин вищий можливостей людської природи, отже, вигаданий, адже людина вище за себе скочити не може, відтак потрапили у сильці, які самі ж розставили, рова, якого самі викопали, тобто змушені перетворитись у книжників та фарисеїв, котрі говорять одне, а роблять інше. І це стало їхнім прокляттям, бо чудово відають: суперечать Божій волі і людському, визначенному Господом, призначенню, а це значить, що Бог, якому віддали себе на службу, їх не помилує, а вкине в Око Прірви, отже, тим самим почали творити самі собі пекло. Втікаючи від Ока Прірви—світу цього,—стали творцями нового Ока Прірви й почали йому служити, як язичницькому ідолу, ревно того ідола охороняючи і стоячи біля нього, як пси на прив’язі. (Yes, they are creating the story of life, which, as any story, it is not entirely true. Yet, as they do so, the story itself starts creating them. Thus, having created the story of life, they started living in accordance to it, in other words, they lost control over their lives, whereas their story gained it. They attempted to breach the limits of human nature. They aspired to elevate themselves to the unattainable, fantastic level, forgetting that man cannot jump over his own head. As a result, they entered a trap, which they had set up themselves. They fell into the hole, which they had dug themselves. They turned into Pharisees, who say one thing and do another. And this became their curse because they know but too well that they oppose God’s will and contradict human nature [which was designed by God]. This means that God, to whom they dedicated themselves, won’t have mercy on them, but will throw them into the Eye of the Abyss. They became creators of their own hell. They tried to escape the Eye of the Abyss, which is this world, yet created another Eye of the Abyss and started worshiping it as a pagan idol, zealously protecting their idol like a pack of guard dogs.) (118)

This post-modern realization that texts not only influence other texts, but also the reality of life, provides the key to understanding the tragedy of Simeon-Stepan and his followers. Yet even more important is the narrator’s further observation that while pursuing high goals, the sectarians transgressed against ethical and moral (i.e. God’s) laws, thus becoming victims of their own creation. Mykhailo elaborates on the argument previously offered by Sozont about the fallibility of human beings and the innate ambiguity of all human endeavors (as the saying goes, “the road to hell is paved with good intentions!”). Mykhailo discerns this human predicament in the discrepancy between the sect’s uplifted goal and its gruesome realization, commenting that it is yet another failed attempt on the part of the humanity to live up to its divine predestination. Consequently, Mykhailo concludes that the sectarians deserve empathy and concern, rather than blunt, un-Christian judgment and rejection. Thereby he offers his opinion on the issue of retribution.

Quite in line with other discussions central to the novel (including tyranny and transgression against ethical norms), the discussion of judgment and retribution is also offered within the framework of Christian doctrine. This issue, significant in post-Soviet debate, becomes the benchmark of humanness in the context of the novel. By granting Simeon’s sect his understanding and sympathy, the narrator passes the test of Christian compassion with honor. His companion Sozont, on the other hand, fails this test, exhibiting his intolerance and lack of empathy. Mykhailo discerns the evil nature and tyrannical slant in Sozont’s convictions:

Диякон Созонт добре це розпізнав і зрозумів, але він не бажав цим людям співчувати, а отже, не прагнув їх спасти. Був захоплений ловами, мчав за ними з роздутими ніздрями, радів, що збагнув їхню облудність, викрив її і готовий щохвилини всадити в свою жертву уявного ножа чи списа; отже, викриваючи зло, сам пробував у злі, а це значить—в Оці Прірви, тобто сам ставав приречений, хоч був переконаний, що його байка про власну істинну судотворність таки істинна, отже, вивів себе вище призначеного людині. Саме це мене й жахнуло. (Deacon Sozont discerned and understood [all this] very well but he did not want to sympathize with these people and therefore wasn’t concerned with their salvation. He was carried away by the hunt, pursuing them with puffed up nostrils. He was happy that he figured out and exposed their hoax, and was ready to stab his victim with an imaginary knife or spear. Yet while uncovering their evil-doings, he himself adhered to evil—the Eye of the Abyss—thereby dooming himself [to perdition]. He was convinced that his own understanding of truth was the ultimate one, thus transgressing against the limits set up for humans. And this [arrogance of his] frightened and alarmed me.) (118)

Countering the negative stance of Simeon’s sect and the lifeless intellectualism of his companion Sozont, Shevchuk’s protagonist ventures to realize his ascetic quest for self-knowledge and self-fulfillment, arriving at his own understanding of life, creativity and devotion. In his struggle for survival, he transcends doctrinal limitations as well as social and cultural myths. From the initial point of spiritual imbalance, confusion, and discontent, he arrives at the point where his faith is reasserted, his fears dispelled and his wholeness regained. Of all the novel’s truth-seekers, he becomes the only one whose quest results in renewed consciousness. The truth he discovers takes him beyond passive expectation of miracles, spiritual slavery to canonized truths, and fearful negation of God’s world. It allows him to regain his love for and faith in art and creativity (118) and to reassert legitimacy or story-telling; it strengthens his spirituality and, most importantly, sets him free from the haunting doom of the Eye of the Abyss. As the latter loses its grip, God’s world ceases being an incomprehensible place, overshadowed by suffering and death, becoming a harmonious creation. Mykhailo expresses his epiphany in this way:

Не пізнався б день, коли б не було ночі, і навпаки. Все дивно взаємозв’язане між собою дивною залежністю, все одне одне оттіняє й ояснює. В цьому істина—не прірва, але дна тій істині розуму людському не знайти. Дно-бо—тайна Господня, і вона непізнаванна. (We would not be able to understand day if not for the night and the other way around. Everything [in this world] is interconnected, creating an astonishing symbiotic union, where things and phenomena highlight and elucidate each other. Here lies the truth, not the abyss, yet the human mind is incapable of seeing its bottom. That bottom is God’s enigma and it is unknowable.) (192)

Thus the novel realizes the restitution of the sacred, which has been identified as a recurrent topos and tendency of Shevchuk’s oeuvre. Furthermore, in his assertion of the vital importance for one’s self-realization of courage, independent thinking, and open-mindedness, the narrator introduces a powerful iconoclastic argument, proposing goodness as the cornerstone of one’s spirituality. This realization makes it possible for him to go even beyond the Christian dogma—though without taking him away from Christianity—to counter any intolerance and, most importantly, to recognize the legitimacy of any faith, which nourishes individuals with spirituality. It is spirituality, high ethical norms and ideals—i.e., adherence to goodness—that comprise true, yet not necessarily Christian faith:

І я спогадав: немає істинної й неістинної віри, залежної від обрядів та служб, тобто гри в цю віру: чи східна вона, чи західна, чи в сектах, хоч би таких, як ці симеоніди, чи навіть магоментанська, чи будь-яка інша, має значення тільки віра й невіра, бо кожна віра істинна, а невіра—неправдива; має значення лишень ота таїна, котра є чи її нема в людській душі. Я знав, що ці думки не швидко зважуся проголосити, бо ті, для яких віра—гра в обряди, прокленуть мене і зневажать, але в ту ніч вони, ці помисли, в мені проросли, і я був переконаний, що не було в них лихоносності, бо на терпимості засновувалися, а лихоносність з’являється там, де вершить нетерпимість. (I thought that faiths are not divided into genuine and false ones, and that rituals—or the rules of playing into adherence to any particular faith—by no means authenticate them. Eastern or Western, found in sects—such as, for example, this sect of semionides—or among Muslims, or any other creed—all faiths are true. It is believing that matters, because belief is true, while disbelief is false. The only thing that matters is that mystery [of spirituality] which is or is not in one’s soul. I knew that I would not be too willing to publicize these thoughts, because those for whom faith is just a game in rituals, will curse and reject me. Yet that night when those concepts took shape in my mind, I knew that they were not evil, because they were based on tolerance. Evil, on the other hand, [always] springs from intolerance.) (119)

Independent thinking and iconoclasm, open-mindedness and tolerance are the key human values that the narrator uncovers in the contention with gloomy and merciless aggression of pride-stricken leaders, arrogant teachers, and false saints. Resistance—a crucial ascetic faculty and virtue!—to imposing and enslaving truths of the profane (i.e., lacking in self-consciousness) world is proposed as the vital agent for one’s spiritual self-fulfillment. At the same time—as it is vividly exemplified by the euphoric idolatry of faceless and duped cripples—slavery to pre-fabricated truths distracts and ultimately destroys the individual. Thus, the protagonist’s quest for self-realization and truth is epitomized in a powerful plea for individual freedom from any enslaving doctrines and regimes.

In conclusion, the contemporary and national urgency of the novel’s post-colonial and post-Soviet argument can and has to be taken beyond the borders of present-day Ukraine. The indicators of the work’s universal relevancy can be discerned not only in the atemporal importance of its themes, but are also endorsed textually. Shevchuk’s localization of his story in Ukraine—which comprised a part of the Russian and later Soviet Empire—and his choice of a local Ukrainian saint (subsequently appropriated by the Russian Orthodox Church) is revealingly mirrored by its Syrian prototype. Indeed, the Syrian saint, St. Simeon the Stylite, is renowned as a Byzantine saint—Syria having been a part of Byzantine Empire. Remarkably, he was also subsequently appropriated by the Byzantine Orthodox Church. Thus both saints can be viewed in the colonial (and post-colonial) context. St. Simeon, however, also acquired a universal Christian status as a saint belonging to both Eastern and Western Christianities and his pan-Christian legitimacy reflects the novel’s universal appeal.

Svitlana Kobets, University of Toronto, CREES

Such characters as the monk Athanasii Pylypovych, the protagonist of the novella To the Maw of the Dragon (V pashchu drakona, 1993), the monk Khoma Usufiv, the main character of the short story The Tree of Memory (Derevo Pam’iati, 1995), Patriarch Heremia, from the short story The Mission (Misiia, 1995), the protagonist of the short story The Beginning of Terror (Pochatok Zhakhy, 1995), the monk Mykhailo Vovchans’kyi, are just a few of them. These characters are mostly found in ecclesiastical settings (i.e., monasteries).
Valerii Shevchuk. Oko Prirvy. Kyiv: Ukrains’kyi pys’mennyk, 1996. All citations are from this edition. Translations are mine.
For the discussions of a range of conceptualizations of illness in different historical periods and cultures see Susan Sontag. Illness as Metaphor. New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 1978.
For the discussion of the origins of this tradition see Peter Brown. The Cult of the Saints: Its Rise and Function in Latin Christianity. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1984.
For a discussion of the dependency between the choice of the hero and the poetics of the work see Marcia A. Morris. Saints and Revolutionaries: The Ascetic Hero in Russian literature. Albany: Studies of the Harriman Institute, State University of New York Press, 1993. The scholar posits that “for certain types of literature, characterization, artistic method, and genre are totally dependent on each other. Thus, the choice of a given hero will necessarily involve the choice of a corresponding poetics.” (3)
See the multi-volume encyclopedia of asceticism, Dictionnaire de Spiritualité ascétique et mystique. Doctrine et l’histoire. Paris: Gabriel Beauchesne et ses fils, 1932.
Kallistos Ware, “The Way of Ascetics: Negative or Affirmative?” in: Vincent L. Wimbush and Richard Valantasis (eds.). Asceticism. New York and Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1995: 8.
Ibid., 3.
Ibid., 13.
Geoffrey Galt Harpham. The Ascetic Imperative in Culture and Criticism. Chicago and London: The University of Chicago Press, 1987: xiii.
See, for example, short stories and novellas in Shevchuk’s selections “У Череві Апокаліптичного Звіра” (1995) and “Біс Плоті” (1999).
He died in 1186 and is commemorated on the 24th of May.
For information about its “rediscovery” in the sixteenth century, about its different versions, copies, its place within hagiographical literature of that period as well as about the canonization of St. Mykyta of Pereyaslavl see V. O. Kliuchevskii. Drevnerusskie Zhytiia Sviatykh kak istoricheskii istochnik. Moskva: “Nauka,” 1988: 43-50.
For the discussion of these categories of saints see Ivanov, Sergei. Vizantiiskoe Iurodstvo. Moskva: Mezhdunarodnye otnosheniia, 1994.
See Likhachev, D. S., Panchenko, A. M., Ponyrko N. V.. Smekh v Drevnei Rusi. Leningrad: Nauka, 1984: 8
See Shevchuk’s discussion of the poetics of his historical works in “Buty Myttsem, a ne ioho tinniu,” in 7 Vsesvit (1995): 174-177.
For a discussion of the modern literary employment of the Middle Ages see Umberto Eco’s essay, “The Return of the Middle Ages” in: Umberto Eco. Travels in Hyper Reality, Essays. William Weaver, trans. San Diego, New York, London: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, Publishers, 1986.
In the long list of concepts and phenomena that had arisen in the Middle Ages, Eco mentions the concept of heresy or ideological deviation, which figures among the central concerns of Shevchuk’s novel The Eye of the Abyss.
Ibid., 68-72.
Note the critical assessment of the “post-modern situation” in contemporary Russia offered by Leiderman and Lipovetskii in their latest study of contemporary Russian literature. The scholars posit that the communist utopia and totalitarian violence are inseparable. See Н. Л. Лейдерман, М. Н. Липовецкий. Современная Русская Литература. Книга 2: Семидесятые годы (1968-1986). Москва: УРСС, 2001: 257.
See Joyce Oramel Hertzler. The History of Utopian Thought. New York: Cooper Square Publishers, Inc., 1965.
See Marcia A. Morris, Saints and Revolutionaries.
A commonplace ascetic refutation of the family links, including the famous examples of Alexis the Man of God and St. Simeon the Stylite, can be compared to the betrayal of his parents by the Soviet cult figure Pavlik Morozov or to the purging of his own family by Joseph Stalin.
Despite their idealistic and earnest communal aspirations, monastic communities have never been perfect. They were always in the process of perfecting their practices and establishments. Examples of failed ascetics have been documented in a number of hagiographies, including those of Isidora the Fool of Egypt (d. 369) and Isaak of Kiev Cave Monastery (d. 1090) as well as in a number of Christian legends (e.g. the legend about Kalistrat the Cook). At times vitae criticize individual ascetics (e.g. Isaak of Kiev Cave Monastery), at times they criticize the hostile environment and profane mentality of monasteries and convents (e.g. the Lives of Isidora the Fool and of Kalistrat the Cook). Yet the majority of Lives give examples of perfect (or textually perfected) Lives of canonized saints. The very objective in creating hagiographic accounts was to create the saints’ icons, providing the congregation with the highest examples of semi-gods. See Kliuchevskii’s argument, that the objective of a hagiography is the creation of a Christian ideal, rather than a true reflection of history, in Kliuchevskii. Drevnerusskie Zhitiia Sviatykh: 363.
See the argument offered by Walter Benjamin that “…nothing historical can relate itself on its own account to anything Messianic. Therefore the Kingdom of God is not the telos of the historical dynamic; it cannot be set as a goal. From the standpoint of history it is not the goal, but the end. Therefore the order of the profane cannot be built up on the idea of the Divine Kingdom, and therefore theocracy has no political, but only a religious meaning.” Walter Benjamin, “Theologico-Political Fragment,” in One-Way Street, and Other Writings. Edmund Jephcott and Kingsley Shorter (trans.). London and New York: Verso, 1979: 155-156.
For a discussion of the historical and literary importance of this medieval Ukrainian manuscript (1556-1561) see Власовський Іван. Нарис історії Української Православної Церкви, Т. 1., Київ, 1998: 239-243. In contemporary Ukraine this monument of Ukraine’s spiritual culture is held sacred. During the inauguration of Ukrainian Presidents they give an oath both on the Constitution of Ukraine and on The Gospel of Peresopnytsia.
A monk of Peresopnytsia monastery, Mykhailo Vasyliovych, the son of Archpriest Sanots’kyi, was the author of the artwork decorating The Gospel of Peresopnytsia.
For a discussion of the extreme character of stylitism see Ieromonakh Aleksii (Kuznetsov). Iurodstvo i stolpnichestvo: religiozno-psikhologicheskoe izsledovanie. S-Peterburg: tipografiia V. D. Smirnova, 1913.
For the discussion of the Life and ascetic endeavors of Simeon the Stylite (d. 459) see Robert Doran (trans., introd.), The Lives of Simeon Stylites (Susan Ashbrook Harvey, forward). Kalamazoo, Michigan: Cistercian Publications, 1992. Also see the discussion of this saint’s exploit in Ieromonakh Aleksii (Kuznetsov). Iurodstvo i stolpnichestvo. The text of St. Simeon’s Life can be found in Doran’s book. Its simplified version and brief discussion appear in Mary-Ann Stouck. Medieval Saints: A Reader. Peterborough, Ontario: Broadview Press, 1998. The Russian translation of the text can be found in: Zhitiia sviatykh, na russkom iazyke izlozhennye po rukovodstvu Chet’ikh-Minei Sv. Dimitriia Rostovskogo. Moskva: Sinodal’naia Tipographiia, 1903, (Reprint, Izdaniia Sviato-Uspenskoi Kievo-Pecherskoi Lavry, 1998), September.
See Derek Krueger. Symeon the Holy Fool: Leontius’s Life and the Late Antique City. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1996. The author states, that in his hagiography of St. Simeon the Stylite, Theodoret of Cyrrhus does not call his readers to imitate Simeon’s ascetic feat, and that he “deliberately presents the behavior of some of his heroes as inimitable. He carefully avoids presenting extreme challenges to the body as patterns to be copied. Yet Theodoret takes it for granted that such behavior is glorious and exemplary of Christian virtues.” (36)
For a discussion of elements of parody in the ascetic imitation of saints see the chapter “Ascetic Linguistics” in: Geoffrey Galt Harpham. The Ascetic Imperative in Culture and Criticism.” Chicago and London: The University of Chicago Press, 1987: 13.
Ibid., 9.
Ibid., 10.
Ibid., 12.
Ibid., 4.
In Shevchuk’s works, “nobodies” comprise a fluid category, which cannot be pigeon-holed or simplified as either positive or negative. Regarding this question (which deserves special attention and cannot be discussed within the framework of this article) see Shevchuk’s own testimonies in his interview, “Lipshe buty nikym, nizh rabom,” in: 10 Dnipro (1991): 69-79. Also see the narrator’s discourse in Shevchuk’s novella, "Horbunka Zoia.' In: 3 Suchasnist`, (March, 1995): 23.
The cult of Lenin was created by Stalin for strengthening his standing within the Communist Party and for protecting his own position of authority. Likewise Simeon-Stepan creates the vita and cult of Mykyta in order to realize his own claim for power.
See the discussion of this issue in Peter Brown. "The Rise and function of the Holy Man in Late Antiquity." In: The Journal of Roman Studies, Vol. XI, 1971.
For the discussion of apocalyptic sects and their ideological premises see the chapter “Apocalyptic” in Alexandr Etkind’s Khlyst: sekty, literature i revoliutsiia. Moskva: Kafedra slavistiki Universiteta Khel’sinki: Novoe literaturnoe obozrenie, 1998. Also see the discussion of gnosticism in Bentley Layton (trans., introd.) The Gnostic Scriptures. New York: Doubleday, 1995.
Notwithstanding the continuous theological efforts of Christian authorities, who throughout history strove to canonize particular approaches to Christian scriptures and teachings, these texts show a remarkable openness to interpretation. Numerous denominations of Christianity, including heretical movements and sects, produced an extraordinary number of idiosyncratic readings of canonical and non-canonical texts, providing a notable diversity and pointing to the lack of consensus within this creed. This aspect of Christian faith is discussed by the novel’s character Sozont when Pavlo asks him whether Mykyta’s teachings lie within Christian dogma (136).
This thematic concern of the novel deserves a study in its own right and is beyond the scope of this article.
Cf. the Meat-grinder in Andrei Tarkovskii’s film “Stalker” (1979).
The fool in Christ appears to the congregation as a mad, disruptive, and sinful individual, yet he prays and practices asceticism in secret, at night. Only after his or her death is the fool’s sanctity revealed to the people. For a discussion of secret sanctity and its importance for the concept of foolishness in Christ, see Ivanov, S. A. Vizantiiskoie iurodstvo. Moskva: Mezhdunarodnye otnosheniia, 1994. For a discussion of foolishness in Christ in the Russian Orthodox cultural tradition see Svitlana Kobets, “Genesis and Development of Foolishness in Christ as a Textual Topos in Early Russian Literature.” PhD dissertation, Urbana, IL: UIUC, 2001.
Hence the name of the place of the first printed books, Zabludov (Ukr. the city of deviation) (25).
Cf. the interpretation of Russian Orthodox spirituality and culture proposed in Daniel Rancour-Laferriere. The Slave Soul of Russia: Moral Masochism and the Cult of Suffering. New York: New York University Press, 1995.
Cf. the discussions offered in Tengiz Abuladze’s film Repentence (1987) (note the Medieval imagery especially!) and in Oksana Zabuzhko’s novel, Field Research in Ukrainian Sex (1996).
See Marko Pavlyshyn. "Mythological, Religious, and Philosophical Topoi in the Prose of Valerii Shevchuk," in: Slavic Review, vol. 50:4, winter 1991.