Archpriest Sergei Lebedev
I was asked: “Recently, the relics of St. Dmitry Donskoy were rediscovered in Moscow. But historically, this prince expelled from his lands a metropolitan who had been appointed to the Moscow see by the Patriarch of Constantinople, and for this the prince was cursed.”
Yes, that is indeed what happened. And it seems that this is one of the most uncomfortable paradoxes surrounding the contemporary veneration of Dmitry Donskoy.
If we recall the prince’s actual ecclesiastical and political biography, the picture turns out to be considerably more complicated than the familiar image of an “ideal Orthodox ruler.”
Let us remember that after the death of Metropolitan Alexy in 1378, Metropolitan Cyprian was supposed to assume the church-wide metropolitan see. His position was based on decisions of the Patriarchate of Constantinople: Cyprian had been appointed there precisely with a view to unifying ecclesiastical authority over the Rus’ lands after Alexy’s death.
However, the Moscow prince Dmitry Ivanovich refused to accept him.
Cyprian arrived in Moscow, but was seized by the prince’s men; his entourage was humiliated and robbed; the metropolitan himself was imprisoned and then disgracefully expelled from the territory of the Principality of Moscow. This is not some later anti-Moscow legend: the episode is also acknowledged in serious works of church history.
Here is what the Orthodox Encyclopedia, published with the blessing of Patriarch Alexy II, says about it:
“Before reaching Moscow, he [Cyprian], on June 3, 1378, sent from the town of Lyubutsk (now the village of Lubudskoye in Kaluga district) a letter to Abbots Sergius of Radonezh and Theodore of Simonov, informing them of his journey to the capital and of his wish to see them. They sent their envoys to meet the metropolitan, but Grand Prince Dmitry ordered the envoys to turn back and himself placed checkpoints along the road with groups of soldiers under the command of military governors, so that they would not allow Cyprian, who was travelling with a large entourage on 46 horses, to enter Moscow. Someone warned Cyprian, and he reached the capital by indirect routes. But as soon as he appeared there, in the evening in mid-June, he was seized, on the grand prince’s orders, by a certain boyar named Nikifor, who robbed the metropolitan, showered him with unheard-of abuse and mockery, and locked him up, completely naked and hungry, under guard in a damp cell. The monks who accompanied him were imprisoned elsewhere. The patriarchal envoys who were travelling in his entourage were likewise insulted, while the patriarch, his council, and the emperor were all called ‘Lithuanians.’ The metropolitan’s servants were stripped of everything, placed on battered nags without saddles, driven out of the city amid extreme abuse, and pursued. Finally, the following day, in the evening twilight, after the metropolitan had already spent a full day in his damp prison, tormented by hunger, Nikifor and the soldiers came to him on horses and saddles, all dressed in the clothes of his expelled servants, and in this guise drove him dishonourably out of the capital. Stopping not far from Moscow, the hierarch, deeply wounded by the insult, wrote on June 23 to the same Abbots Sergius and Theodore, pouring out all his grief over the injustices he had suffered at the hands of the grand prince, strongly protesting the unlawful claims of Mityai, and pronouncing a curse upon all those who had taken part in detaining him, the lawful metropolitan, and in subjecting him to such unheard-of dishonour and humiliation.”
And here is a fragment from Metropolitan Cyprian’s letter to Abbots Sergius of Radonezh and Theodore of Simonov:
“Listen, heaven and earth, and all Christians, to what Christians have done to me.
…And how they treated the patriarchal envoys, reviling the patriarch, and the tsar (Grand Prince Algirdas of Lithuania – ed. SB), and the Great Council! They called the patriarch a Lithuanian, and the tsar likewise, and even the most honourable Ecumenical Council. And I, as far as I was able, wished for the malice to subside. God knows that I loved Grand Prince Dmitry from a pure heart and wished him nothing but good to the end of my life.
But since I and my episcopal dignity have been subjected to such dishonour, then by the power of the grace given to me by the Most Holy and Life-Giving Trinity, according to the canons of the holy fathers and the divine apostles, those who took part in my detention, imprisonment, dishonour, and humiliation, and those who advised it, let them be excommunicated and remain without my blessing, by me, Cyprian, Metropolitan of All Rus’, and accursed according to the canons of the holy fathers!
And whoever dares to burn or conceal this letter, let the same apply to him.”
Thus we are faced with a fact that is highly uncomfortable for conventional ecclesiastical rhetoric: the future holy and right-believing prince expelled from Moscow a metropolitan who was recognized and sent by the Patriarchate of Constantinople.
Moreover, Cyprian subsequently sent a letter in which he subjected those involved in the violence against him and in his expulsion to ecclesiastical punishment.
But was Dmitry Donskoy personally among those who were cursed? This is where the most important point lies.
A few pages earlier, Cyprian himself explicitly places responsibility on Grand Prince Dmitry. He writes: “And he sent your envoys away so that they would not let me pass, and he also set up checkpoints… and what evil was to be done to me… he instructed and ordered them to do it.” He then says directly: “He also appointed over me the tormentor, the accursed Nikifor.” And further: “Even if he had discovered some fault in me, it is not fitting for princes to punish hierarchs. I have a patriarch… he should have sent word there about my offences.”
In other words, for Cyprian himself, the person responsible for what happened was precisely the grand prince. This is not a story in which some self-willed boyars mistreated the metropolitan while the prince knew nothing about it. On the contrary, Cyprian states that the detention and violence occurred on Dmitry Ivanovich’s orders. And he pronounces his curse upon “those who took part… and those who gave counsel for it.”
That is why the commentator on the academic edition of the text, the well-known historian G. M. Prokhorov, formulates the conclusion in completely direct terms: Cyprian “excommunicates from the Church and curses both Grand Prince Dmitry Ivanovich and all those involved” in his detention, imprisonment, dishonour, and humiliation.
If we speak strictly according to the source rather than according to later pious tradition, the most substantiated formulation would seem to be the following: Metropolitan Cyprian regarded Dmitry Donskoy as responsible for the violence committed against him and, in his letter of June 23, 1378, excommunicated and pronounced a curse upon the grand prince together with all the participants and advisers involved in the matter.
Why did Cyprian believe he had the right to do this?
In the aforementioned letter, he specifically provides a canonical basis. Of particular importance to him was a canon of the so-called First-Second Council of Constantinople, which he cites in the following form: if a layman, arrogating authority to himself, dares to “strike or imprison” a bishop, such a person “shall be accursed.” Cyprian then directly applies the rule to himself: “Thus have I now suffered.”
His logic, therefore, is entirely clear: the canon says that a person who imprisons a bishop is subject to a curse; it was the Moscow prince who imprisoned me; therefore, this canon applies to those responsible for my imprisonment. This is not an emotional declaration along the lines of, “I am angry with you and I curse you.” Cyprian presents his act as the canonical consequence of a specific offence committed against a bishop.
Why did Dmitry do this?
Of course, the historical context is more complex than the simple formula “a holy prince against a holy metropolitan.” Dmitry saw Cyprian as a man connected with the Lithuanian Grand Duke Algirdas, Moscow’s political rival. He feared that the metropolitan might act as an agent of Lithuanian interests.
But it is precisely here that an important historical reality of the Middle Ages becomes visible: the Moscow prince wanted to have “his own” metropolitan, someone politically acceptable to Moscow.
In other words, already at that time we can see a tendency that would later become one of the characteristic features of the Moscow ecclesiastical model: secular authority seeks to control who exactly will stand at the head of the Church.
Therefore, the familiar hagiographic scheme, “Dmitry Donskoy is a model Orthodox prince, faithful to the Church and its hierarchy,” simply does not withstand historical scrutiny.
He may well have been a deeply religious man of his time. But at the same time, he was a tough medieval ruler who regarded it as entirely permissible to arrest and expel a lawful metropolitan if that metropolitan did not suit Moscow’s political interests.
And here the most interesting question of all arises – the question of canonization.
Dmitry Donskoy was canonized by the Russian Orthodox Church only in 1988, during the celebrations marking the millennium of the Baptism of Rus’. His canonization illustrates very clearly that in modern practice the “holiness” of historical statesmen is often assessed not according to strictly ecclesiastical criteria of personal life.
For the national ecclesiastical consciousness, Dmitry Donskoy became above all a symbol of the unification of the Rus’ lands, the struggle against the Horde, and the strengthening of Moscow. The uncomfortable pages – his conflict with Cyprian, his interference in the appointment of metropolitans, and the political intrigues surrounding the metropolitan see – are usually left outside such hagiographic narratives.
And so today’s solemn veneration of his newly rediscovered remains involuntarily raises a very good question: what exactly are we venerating in a historical person – his personal holiness, or a national symbol that over time was transformed into a saint?
It is especially ironic that the man who today is presented almost as a model of fidelity to the ecclesiastical hierarchy, in actual history expelled the lawful metropolitan from Moscow and attempted in practice to shape ecclesiastical authority according to the interests of his own state.
It seems to me that this is an excellent example of why the history of saints should not be reduced to a set of pious slogans. Sometimes an honest knowledge of a saint’s biography does not destroy his veneration – but it does force us to abandon the entirely ahistorical notion that a saintly ruler was a flawless human being who always acted according to the Gospel.
Source: facebook.com
