The Russian Church and Russian Dissent/Chapter 8
CHAPTER VIII.
The Clergy, Black and White.—Monasticism and Monasteries.—Parish Priests.
In Russia, clerical life is not, as in other countries, simply a vocation or a profession, nor do the clergy there, as in France before the revolution of 1789, form one of the great bodies of the State; it is a distinct social class, set apart from the rest of the world; a separate caste, hereditary, and peculiar in its duties and privileges.
It is divided into monks, or the regular monastic clergy, and popes, or the secular parish clergy; the one is popularly termed the black and the other the white clergy. The differences in their garb are hardly sufficient to explain these designations, for, while monks are always attired in black, and wear a long black veil hanging down behind from the cowl, the popes are not restricted to white, and often adopt brown, or other sombre colors; one peculiarity is common to them both—long hair and flowing beards.
The radical distinction between the two is marriage; the monks take vows of celibacy, but the popes must marry before they can have charge of a parish. In the Russian, as generally in Orthodox Churches, the episcopate and all offices of authority are reserved for the unmarried clergy, who are comparatively few in number, while the subordinate and more laborious positions only fall to the lot of the married clergy. From this custom arise diversity of interests, and a mutual spirit of rivalry and antagonism, the more intense in that marriage, absolutely forbidden to the one and equally obligatory upon the other, interposes an impassable barrier between the two bodies. A constant struggle, seldom openly avowed, but none the less ardent for that reason, is going on, the chosen few seeking to maintain their superiority, the others, who comprise the great body of the Church militant; striving to rise from their inferior condition, and be free from control. As a consequence of this species of dualism in the Church, there are influences and tendencies at work in opposite directions; the black clergy is the more conservative, sympathizing with the principle of authority and the maintenance of ancient customs and traditions, while the white is inclined to liberalism, and is more ready to yield to the spirit of innovation and progress.
Monasticism has, since its introduction into Russia, been a prominent feature in the history, and in the civilization of the empire and of the people, but in its nature and influence it has been, and is, widely different from the same institution in the rest of Europe. It has always been simple and primitive in its character, preserving still the same unity as at its origin, without change or variety in its development; in form, similar to that known in the West during the Middle Ages, prior to the days of St. Bernard, never branching out, nor subdividing, into many denominations or orders, each with a special object or mission. It has lacked enterprise, and mental, moral, or spiritual energy; it has aimed at a contemplative life, at asceticism, penitence, and the correction of the inner man; it has sought retirement for meditation and prayer; it has withdrawn from, and renounced, the world, and its ideal of the perfect life has been that of the anchorite in the desert, or of the Stylite on his pillar; its communities have not been created, as in the West, for union in the struggle with evil, nor for works of charity and benevolence, nor for earnest propagation of the faith, and they have never been centres of intellectual activity. The names given to the monasteries recall the ancient Thebaïd; the greater of them are termed "lavra" and "stavropigia;" the smaller are called "skeet" or "poustynia" (hermitages or deserts). The catacombs at Kiev, and the crypts of ancient churches were not tombs or receptacles for the dead, but were the dwellings of early saints.
This fondness for the solitary life of the anchorite is not yet extinct in Russia; although the government forbids the creation of hermitages, they are still found in distant, hidden places, the favorite refuges and resorts of the more fanatic among the dissenting sects.
With the conception of monastic life as it was understood in Russia, one simple rule has sufficed for all the different communities which have been founded. That of St. Basil, which does little more than establish the broad principles of conventual discipline, and is generally recognized throughout the East, was introduced into Russia by the Greeks with the Christian religion, and has remained in force, ever since, in all the monastic institutions of the country. As a consequence of the uniformity of organization, no separate orders have ever existed, and the Church has been spared the intestine struggle of powerful rival communities within its bosom. The larger institutions may have sent forth branches, or colonies, affiliated with the parent head, but these ramifications have disappeared, and the various establishments, under one common rule, are independent, each of the other.
Monastic life has been deficient in variety of development, in concentration and unity of purpose, and in diversity of results; it has exerted less influence upon the progress of society, but it has also been the cause of less embarrassment to both the Church and the State, Its action, though less multiform and varied than elsewhere in Europe, has been deeply felt. In Russia, as in Gaul and in Germany, monks have been the pioneers of civilization, as well as of Christianity. They penetrated the vast solitudes of the North and the East, converted barbarians and cleared forests, spread the Gospel among savage tribes and improved their material condition, and population followed after them as they advanced. Sympathizing and mingling freely with the people, they have had profound influence in forming national character, and have identified religion with national life. In the centuries of wars with Tatars, Lithuanians, Poles, and Swedes, monasteries have been the ramparts and bulwarks of the national existence, which owes both its origin and its preservation to the Church; in times of anarchy and subjugation its establishments have been the only havens of refuge for letters and learning brought from Byzantium; their only ark of safety in the deluge of barbaric invasion.
The history of the empire can be read in the annals of its great lavra. Those of the Petcherski, the convent of catacombs on the banks of the Dnieper, embrace the nation's youth, the age of Kiev, its ancient patrimony; while those of the Troïtsa cover its growth to maturity, the age of Moscow, its natural capital.
The great monasteries were, in reality, fortified cities of vast extent and dense population, grouping numerous churches around their shrines; in the Troïtsa there were fourteen, in the Solovetsk convent seven, in the Simonov and Donskoï five and six. Each name revives the memory of great deeds and heroic struggles, and appeals to both religious and patriotic sentiment. The walls of the Troïtsa exhausted the strength of the victorious Poles, and preserved the nations life when Moscow and the empire were prostrate; Napoleon's armies stopped but a day's march from its gates, and resistance to his invasion was encouraged by what the people deemed divine interposition to save this sacred fortress; it gave shelter to tsars against domestic treachery, as well as against foreign foes. The Novospasski and Donskoï convents checked the Tatars at the entrance to Moscow. Solovetsk defied the Swedes.
Popular reverence for these holy citadels is enhanced by the natural beauties of their situations, the untold treasures and precious relics which they guard, and the hallowed spots which they commemorate. The Petcherski was the cradle of Russian monastic life, the home of Nestor and chroniclers of old; it is the shrine of innumerable saints, whose lives were passed in the mysterious caves where their bones are yet objects of pious veneration and worship; from the hillside of the Dnieper it looks out upon a broad expanse of meadow and stream as boundless as the ocean. The red-brick towers of the Troïtsa overhang picturesque ravines; its vaults are piled with incalculable riches, and its churches are sanctified by most sacred Icons. Iverski, upon an island of the beautiful Lake Valdai, is shrouded in magnificent forests. Voskresensk, the "New Jerusalem," is planned to reproduce the most revered sanctuaries of Palestine. Solovetsk, renowned for the austere piety of its brotherhood, is surrounded by scenery peculiarly impressive from its solitary and desolate grandeur, upon the bleak shores of the White Sea. Localities, fortunate in the presence and neighborhood of these holy shrines, are held by the people in especial veneration, and Peter the Great, in founding the city which bears his name, endeavored to invest it with similar title to popular regard by transporting thither, from Vladimir, the relics of the great hero and saint Alexander Nevski, and enshrining them in a vast convent, raised to rank with the famous lavra of the Petcherski and the Troïtsa.
At the great festivals of the Church these religious centres are still thronged by pilgrims, but their permanent inmates and regular votaries are now but few, and may be counted by scores, instead of by hundreds. The spirit of monasticism is less fervent than in former days, and the geographical distribution of existing monasteries marks the change. They are more numerous in the ancient cities, around the old capitals, Kiev and Moscow, and within the former republics, Novgorod and Pskov; less so in provinces recently colonized and peopled. Their numbers actually correspond to the antiquity, rather than to the density, of the population. In the empire there are in all about 550; in every bishopric there is at least one, the superior of which is, by right of his office, member of the diocesan council; they are served by about 5900 monks and 4900 nuns in full standing, with 4100 lay brethren, and 13,000 lay sisters and novices.
The causes of the noticeable decline in the monastic spirit, while religion retains firm hold upon the people, are both moral and political in their nature. Monasticism in Russia has never felt the renewing and vivifying influences springing from works of active charity and benevolence, while the more fervently devout and piously inclined of the population have been drawn away from the national Church, and from its institutions, by dissenting sects. The ready favor with which schismatic doctrines were received by the monks, as, for instance, at Solovetsk, brought them into direct antagonism with the authorities of the Church, who, determined to stamp out Dissent at any cost, subjected all religious institutions to strict supervision and severe regulations. The persistent opposition manifested by the monasteries to the reforms of Peter the Great aroused his anger, and arrayed all the power of the State against them. Every restriction, short of absolute suppression, was imposed; their property was sequestered, and their spiritual influence undermined by government interference, until the lower classes only held them in reverence; their number, and that of their inmates, was arbitrarily reduced; they were treated as institutions of the State, and in the choice of their superiors, as well as in all the detail of their administration, they were subjected to government control, exercised through the Synod; entrance to the monastic body was made difficult by stringent regulations, and the life made irksome by severe and vexatious discipline, calculated to repel and disgust the better class of those who felt a vocation for religious seclusion. By a singular contradiction, all high ecclesiastical dignities were reserved for the members of the monastic body, thus systematically degraded in general estimation. The effect of this policy, so fraught with danger to the standing and repute of the upper clergy, was counteracted by the practice of conferring these positions of responsibility only upon the elect, whose career in the seminaries and academies had been marked by ability. To graduates of brilliant promise every conceivable inducement to take the vows was offered; the limit of age was reduced from thirty years to twenty-five, and rapid promotion was assured. A superior class among the monks was thus formed, for whom monastic life was but a means for an end, an easy and certain path to power and influence; while for the great majority it was a dreary, monotonous routine of ceremonial religious rites, under rigid discipline strictly enforced.
A few only of the monasteries, and those are of minor importance, are dependent solely upon their own resources; by far the greater number, including the more celebrated, receive an allowance from the government as an indemnity for their sequestered estates.
First among these are the great lavra—the Petcherski at Kiev, the Troïtsa at Moscow, Alexander Nevski at St. Petersburg, and to these three there has recently been added Potchaïef, in Volhymnia, the chief monastery of the Uniates. Their appellation "lavra " is derived from the Greek "laura," a street or open place, which designation was applied in the East to communities of anchorites who lived in union, but occupied single and detached cells, in contradistinction to cœnobia, in which the inmates lived together under a common roof.[1] Each of these establishments depends upon the neighboring metropolitan, who makes it his official residence.
Next in rank are the "stavropigia,"[2] seven or eight in number, comprising several of the large monasteries in and around Moscow; they are exempted from the jurisdiction of the bishop of the diocese in which they are situated; formerly, they depended immediately upon the patriarch, who, at their foundation, took them under his special charge, and, at their consecration, sent the large double cross which surmounts them; from this circumstance is derived their name. Now they depend directly upon the Holy Synod, as succeeding- to the rights of the patriarch. The remainder of the monasteries are divided into three classes, according to their importance.
The number of monks or nuns in each is fixed by statute; the lavra have about a hundred in full standing, and as many more lay brethren and novices; the Stavropigia and the establishments of the first class have each thirty-three, the others still fewer; the regulations in this respect are relaxed according to the necessities of each locality; rural convents are allowed more inmates than those in cities, but the tendency of the reformatory measures now contemplated is, from motives of economy, to limit the number to the actual requirements of the service in each case, and to bring the monks strictly under the system of life in common, in order, by diminishing the expenses, to increase the funds that may be appropriated to the episcopal revenues, to the support of the poorer clergy, and to the maintenance of schools and hospitals.
The monasteries, as a body, are possessed of enormous wealth in immobilized property; they are rich in precious stones, pearls, and jewels, in vases of gold and silver, in furniture, ornaments, and objects of art of great value, the accumulations of centuries. These treasures, in many cases of fabulous amount, are unproductive and inalienable, sacred, as belonging to the altar. Some of these institutions have large incomes of their own, derived from lands formerly uncultivated, which, supposed to be of no value, escaped sequestration when their villages and serfs were taken by the State; from fisheries, and mills on streams formerly neglected, and from gifts and bequests sanctioned by special authorization. These revenues, where they exist, together with the government allowances, constitute but a portion of their actual resources. The sacred relics and miraculous pictures, which no convent is without, are objects of devout worship and superstitious veneration; they attract immense crowds of devotees, the aggregate of whose offerings is very large. At the Petcherski and the Troïtsa pilgrims are reckoned by hundreds of thousands, and none are so poor but leave their mite upon the altar. The holy images and wonderworking Madonnas are carried to the homes of the sick and infirm; Our Lady of Iberia, most revered of all, has horses and carriages kept for her service, and, it is said, brings in to her chapel at Moscow $50,000 a year. At stated periods, these sacred images are borne through the neighboring villages in solemn processions, and reap rich harvests from the contributions of the faithful, who eagerly vie for the honor of their visit. As, in the olden time, great princes and lords were wont to don the monkish garb at the approach of death, so now all Russians wish to be buried near the tomb of some one of the saints of the Church, and the privilege of reposing in ground hallowed by their near presence is made a prolific source of income to the convents or churches which possess some holy man's remains.
For women there are fewer retreats than for men, and, by published statistics, there would appear to be fewer nuns than monks; the official lists, however, do not give the total number of females within convent avails, as they include only those who, over forty years of age, have taken the veil. In point of fact, these institutions have more inmates than the monasteries; they are open to novices, and to lay sisters of any age; many young girls and women seek shelter within them, and remain there permanently, without consummating the act which would separate them definitively from the world, free, at any moment, to re-enter society, but generally content to pass their days in voluntary seclusion. An entirely different conception of monastic institutions, and of monastic life, whether for monks or nuns, prevails in Russia from that in Catholic countries. Charity, benevolence, or missionary enterprise are not the essential features, although they may be incident to the life. Among the monks, for a few, it is the commencement of an ambitious career that may lead to power and station; for some others, more humble, yet devoutly inclined, it affords opportunity for meditation and prayer, and for growth in personal piety; for the many, it means freedom from military service and taxation, and escape from bodily punishment; for all, both monks and nuns, it is a sure refuge from poverty and want, a shelter for solitary or improvident old age.
The secular, married, or white clergy form the sacerdotal body; until recently it has been, by law as well as by practice, a close, hereditary corporation, a tribe, like that of Levi, consecrated to the service of the altar. This peculiarity of its condition arose by degrees, as a necessary consequence of serfdom and of the ancient constitution of society. The serf, bound to the soil, was prohibited from entering the Church, as, by so doing, he defrauded his master of his toil; and the noble proprietor was debarred, under penalty of the loss of his estates and of the privileges of his rank; the clergy could, therefore, be recruited only from among those of its own class, and a separate clerical body was thus gradually formed, bound to the altar, as the peasant was bound to the land. Sons of priests were compelled to attend the parish schools, and parish offices were filled by graduates of these schools. Custom, and Church law, had made marriage a condition of ordination, and as neither sons nor daughters of popes could marry out of the class to which they belonged, intermarriage of one with the other became obligatory, and this clerical class was thus further transformed, by degrees, into a distinct and special caste. The necessity for the existence of this peculiar order of things disappeared with the causes which gave rise to it. In 1861, serfdom was abolished; three years later, the ranks of the clergy were thrown open to all, and children of priests were freely admitted to other careers. While in theory, and before the law, these distinctions of class and caste have been abrogated, practically they still exist as a marked characteristic of Russian society, and their persistence springs from the difficulty of rapidly effecting radical changes among a people imbued, above all others, with regard for ancient usages; the long-continued Levitical organization of the parish clergy created habits of life and thought not to be easily eradicated, and, as a matter of fact, the clerical body still remains a class apart.
The inheritance of priestly rank tended to make the charges and the emoluments of the office also hereditary, and to establish, for the priest, a quasi vested right of proprietorship in the parish living. The pope endeavored to transmit his curacy to his children, not only as a legacy to a son, but also, when he had no son to succeed him in his charge, as a marriage portion for a daughter; and these pretensions, very generally realized in practice, came near securing the force of law. They were the more leniently considered by the authorities of both the State and the Church, from the necessity, devolving upon them at the death of a pope, of making provision for his family, and from their natural wish to impose this burden upon his successor; the situation was also further complicated by the circumstance that, usually, the parsonage and dwellings belonged, not to the parish, or to the village, which gave only the land necessary for the pope's support, but to the incumbent himself, and the new-comer was obliged to arrange with the heirs to obtain possession; as marriage was obligatory upon him, the simplest mode of settlement was for him to marry into the family; he could not espouse the widow, to whom, as well as to the pope, a second marriage is forbidden; so he took the daughter, whose dowry was the curacy, and pensioned off the rest of the relations when he entered upon his charge. This custom, sanctioned by the usage of centuries, was rendered unnecessary by the laws of 1864, but it still prevails, and is not likely to disappear until proper provision is made for the families of deceased popes.
The principle of heredity extended also to the subordinate offices of the parish church. After the priest and the deacon, who are received into holy orders, comes the great body of the minor white clergy, subdivided into many classes. In recent synodical reports the total number of popes is given as 37,300, of whom from 1400 to 1500 are proto-popes or arch-priests, the highest dignity to which a member of the white clergy may attain; they are the superiors in parishes having two priests; they are often appointed inspectors over the parish clergy, and are qualified for a seat in the Synod. Of deacons there are 11,500; they assist the pope at the altar, and may, at some ceremonies, as at funerals, replace him. The next, or third class, which is very numerous, nearly 600,000, comprises clerks, beadles, vergers, singers, sextons, bell-ringers, and all the minor officers; each of these subdivisions is separate from the others; its members intermarry, and its functions are practically hereditary. These three orders of popes, deacons, and the minor clergy are, and always remain, entirely distinct one from the other, and do not form successive grades in the parish hierarchy.
Educational institutions for the secular clergy are of three kinds—district or parish schools, seminaries, and academies. Graduates of the first-named, in which instruction is very elementary, are fitted only for the subordinate offices; the deacons, and the great majority of popes, issue from the second; the more distinguished members of the priesthood pass through the third, which correspond to the theological faculties of European universities. Merit is by no means ignored in conferring ecclesiastical appointments, and the student who fails in his examination for the priesthood cannot hope to rise above the diaconate. The course of study at the seminaries is varied and comprehensive; it includes ancient, or liturgical, Slavonic, Latin, Greek, Hebrew, and one modern language, mathematical and physical sciences, history, philosophy, and theology. The defect of the system is not in the extent of the field mapped out; its deficiencies, which are many and real, arise from the short time given to each department, and the consequent superficial nature of the knowledge imparted, from the use of antiquated text-books, from the absence of a catholic and liberal spirit in the method of instruction, caused by Russian isolation and want of intercourse with the Western world, and by neglect of modern progress in ideas and sciences; they are aggravated by the youth and inexperience of the instructors, who are frequently changed, and seldom adopt teaching as a profession, but accept a tutor's post temporarily, merely as a step in their career of official preferment.
The Russian pope, notwithstanding the imperfect nature of his education, is, intellectually, much superior to the community in which he lives, and if the influence which he exerts be less than might be expected of him, this must be attributed to the depressing and demoralizing conditions of his life, to his want of means, and to his social ostracism.
He is wretchedly paid: in cities, and where the presence of clergy of other denominations renders it desirable, from motives of policy, that his position should be decent, and more befitting his sacred office, the salary may reach 300 roubles[3] (at present about $150), but on the average, his annual stipend does not exceed 100 roubles ($60), a miserable pittance which cannot support him and his family in respectability. He becomes, therefore, dependent upon, and is at the mercy of, his parishioners; for the cultivation of the land allotted for his support the labor of his own hands cannot suffice, and he must rely upon the gratuitous and grudgingly-given assistance of the peasants, who can, themselves, barely keep body and soul together; he must eke out his meagre existence by gifts and offerings of his poor and scanty flock; these contributions might afford a decent livelihood, were not the larger part reclaimed by the Synod or the diocese, and the slender portion remaining still to be shared by him with the minor clergy of his parish. Necessity compels him to wring, or cajole, all that is possible from his congregation; his daily bread depends upon it, and every ceremony he performs, every sacrament he confers, is bargained for and haggled over as it can only be done in Russia; bridal-couples have left the altar unmarried, and bodies have been buried secretly, because the pope and the peasant could not agree upon a price; the pious and the indifferent, the foreign Jew and the native Christian, the Orthodox believer and the Dissenter, are all under contribution, and the pope's most engrossing occupation is to watch greedily over every member of his parish, to see that none evade the payment of dues he may rightfully exact, or beg. The task is arduous, for the occasions are many, and of diverse nature. Religion enters very largely into Russian daily life: at every important event, at every festival or anniversary, when starting upon, or returning from, a journey, at the inception, or completion, of every undertaking, a blessing is invoked, or thanks are rendered; and these domestic incidents, as well as ceremonies performed within the church doors, are made remunerative to the parish officers. At Christmas, Easter, and Twelfth-day the pope and his clergy, in their sacerdotal robes, loudly chanting the hymn "Gospodi pomilui!" (Lord, have mercy upon us!), go their rounds, from house to house, to bless, and sprinkle with holy water, the homes of their parishioners; they sometimes meet with but scant courtesy, and are dismissed from the gate with alms, as troublesome beggars, but, generally, they are welcomed with the free hospitality that characterizes the Russian people, and are expected to do justice to the viands and liquors set before them; to refuse to drink would be an affront, and often, before the day is over, these holy men are in most lamentable condition. The peasant, for whom drunkenness is a venial sin, is more amused than scandalized by the exhibition; but, when the time for feasting has gone by, the gluttony and intemperance he merrily encouraged are made a reproach. "Am I a pope, that I should dine twice?" is a popular saying, significant of the light esteem in which the people hold their pastors; they deem it even a sign of ill-luck to meet a pope by the wayside, while the better classes do not hesitate to show openly their want of regard. The priest's ecclesiastical superiors are not more considerate; he is seldom admitted to his bishop's presence, and he dreads the pastoral visitation. He is treated with contumely, deprived of all independence, and drilled to passive submission; his mental culture ceases, perforce, when he leaves the seminary, and he is as incapable of responding to the religious wants of the devout as he is of withstanding the progress of infidelity. Despised by, and isolated from, the community upon which he is dependent, his whole life is a ceaseless, wretched struggle for material existence; all devotional feeling is crushed out of his soul, and religion, for him, is debased to mere form and ceremonial, by which to earn a precarious subsistence.
The obligation of marriage weighs heavily upon him. While great advantages may result from it in many points of view, and in communities where, as in Protestant countries, the minister, properly remunerated, finds, in an intelligent, educated wife, a helpmate and co-worker, in Russia it is far otherwise. Even at the present day, the married pope may not aspire to the higher dignities of the Church; he cannot obtain a curacy without a wife; frequently she brings it to him as her dowry, and he loses it at her death. She feels, and makes him feel, her superiority as the moneyed partner in the association; she is generally without education, and, in her poverty-stricken household, is overwhelmed by domestic cares; she can neither afford him intellectual companionship, nor is she competent to share, or to encourage him, in pious and charitable work. Children come to increase his responsibilities and anxieties. Only recently have other careers than the priesthood been opened for them; and, while they are eager to embrace them, and escape from the sordid cares and degradations they have witnessed in their homes, they seldom find the opportunity; although they are raised, by education, above the laborer and the peasant, poverty, social prejudices, and want of influential relations check their aspirations; but too frequently they help to swell the multitude of disappointed, discontented, and ambitious youths who, hostile to the existing order of things, fretting under restrictions imposed by custom and habit, partially educated, and their minds filled with crude revolutionary ideas, are a serious danger in the body politic.
The welfare of the State and the good of the Church, alike, imperatively demand amelioration in the condition of the parish clergy. For twenty and more years past the question has been under examination, and important reforms have been commenced. The necessities of the government have restricted the appropriations for the clerical budget, but it has grown from one million of roubles in 1833 to ten millions in 1872, and the remuneration of the clergy has been raised. The number of parishes and of priests has been reduced, with, in each case, the same object in view—by diminishing the number of the recipients, to increase the share of each; but in this direction the measure of reform, limited by the immense extent of the empire and the sparseness of its population, has been pushed too far.
There are now in Russia about 43,000 churches and chapels, but while the cities, especially the more ancient, are abundantly supplied with religious edifices and an officiating clergy, the rural parishes are already too large. Of priests, in regular standing, there are less than 38,000, too few for the pastoral work. In Siberia, and in the frontier governments, the want of priests has been severely felt, and it has recently been necessary to ordain Seminarists, who had not completed their studies, and to recruit the clergy from students of lay institutions. When, as in these provinces, great distances separate the people from their places of worship, and the ministers of the altar are few, apathy and indifference are engendered, or schismatic and dissenting doctrines flourish without contradiction, and the prosperity of the Church is imperilled. The only reduction that may be yet safely made is among the multitudes of the minor clergy, the most ignorant and the most useless, whose services could, for the most part, be dispensed with without danger, and perhaps to advantage.
With efforts for the improvement of the material condition of the parish clergy, there is also a strong inclination to raise their social position. By marriage they are debarred from the episcopal dignity. Church discipline ordains that a bishop may not be married in the flesh; according to Timothy, he must be "the husband of one wife," and as, by a subtle interpretation of the text, he has already one spouse, the Church, he can have no other, and the episcopate remains the monopoly of the black clergy; but positions of trust and eminence are being brought within the reach of married priests, especially of those who are connected with the higher clerical education. A pope has recently been appointed rector of the ecclesiastical academy of St. Petersburg, an important post, hitherto always held by a monk. Measures of this nature, persistently pursued, would inaugurate a new era of reform, and, while instilling into the Church a more catholic and liberal spirit, would open, for the white clergy, a vast and hitherto closed sphere of usefulness.