The opening lecture frames the excommunication of Tolstoy by the Holy Synod as a conflict between two perceptions of life: Tolstoy's view of life as a circle, where humanity could return to a simpler state, and the Orthodox view of life as a drama with a definite beginning and end. Velimirović illustrates this with a simile of a blade of grass that wants to return to seed, while the field insists on growing forward. This tension between return and progression recurs throughout the lectures.
Tolstoy and the Holy Synod: Circle versus Drama
Velimirović presents the Tolstoy excommunication as a human tragedy understood only by Russia. Tolstoy's teaching is likened to a blade of grass that proposes returning to seed, rejecting growth as nonsense and pain. The Holy Synod, representing Slav Orthodoxy, responds that despite pain, humanity must continue forward. This contrast between a circular, cyclical view of life and a linear, dramatic one is central. The author notes that the conflict posed a dilemma: either the Christian world was to continue or return to the starting point of human history. The excerpt does not reveal the resolution, but the framing emphasizes the depth of the disagreement.
Language and Spirit: The Southern Slav Revolt
In the second lecture, Velimirović recounts the efforts of Primus Trubar, who published the New Testament, Psalter, and Catechism in Slovene, causing excitement among the people but fury among most clergy. Trubar died in exile, his books burned, yet the question of ecclesiastical language persisted. The author argues that for the Slav conscience, Latin is incongruous with the spirit of Christ, calling Latin the bearer of a juristic and despotic spirit. He cites Ranke: 'The Papal Church is a legacy of ancient Rome.' The struggle over language is tied to resistance against the spirit of the Caesars, culminating in protests against Papal Infallibility at the Vatican Council.
The Messianic Church and the Men of Suffering
Velimirović describes a vision of the Church as the bearer of inspiration and elevation, not the official Church but the Messianic Church of 'men of suffering, intuition and action.' This echoes the primitive Church depicted by Sienkiewicz and the heroic fight of Jan Huss. The author contrasts this with the 'Petrified Church' and emphasizes the need for the pride of high clergy and fear of suffering to disappear. The lectures repeatedly return to the idea that the Slav religious spirit is not self-sufficient but looks toward a broader, panhuman mission, encapsulated in the phrase 'Your sins are my sins.'
These lectures, delivered during Lent 1916, offer a window into how a Serbian theologian interpreted the religious tensions of his time. Readers should note that the excerpts are incomplete; the full text likely develops the themes of panhumanism and the relationship between Christianity and civilization. The work rewards attention to the recurring metaphors—circle, drama, blade of grass—and the specific historical figures (Tolstoy, Trubar, Strossmayer) used to illustrate broader arguments.
Lent of 1916—my grandmother kept diaries then, just weather and vespers. This book’s quiet severity reminded me of her, how orthodoxy felt less like doctrine than like breathing. That same hush returned years later when I found Misread Passages of Scriptures — Themes and Context, as if certain texts simply wait for us to grow old enough to hear them properly.