Byzantine Esotericism vs Western Esotericism

Byzantium

1. Why should a student of Western esotericism pay attention to Byzantium? 

2. What does “esoteric” mean in Byzantium? 

3. Byzantine Esotericism versus Western Esotericism
4. Hellenic Esotericism in Byzantium
5. Orthodox Christian Esotericism in Byzantium

Byzantium has been defined by Western scholars in many different ways, by many different criteria and for many specific purposes. The later Byzantines themselves, however, found their world easy to define. Its irreducible cultural center consisted of two things: the doctrines and practices of the Orthodox Church, on the one hand; and on the other, the Greek language. It was a Byzantine’s mastery of the Greek language that distinguished him from the barbarian; it was his adherence to the Orthodox Church that distinguished him from the schismatic, the heretic, the pagan, and other such kinds of people. 

But this was only the center of Byzantium, for Greek texts had also been translated into “barbarian” tongues. Thus Byzantium, more loosely defined, also encompassed other Christian peoples who were Orthodox in their doctrine and practice, but who had long celebrated the liturgy and read the Bible in languages other than Greek (notably, in Old Georgian and Old Slavonic). Moreover, in every culture there are always dissidents, and so Byzantium also contained individuals or groups of people who were not Orthodox, and others who were not even Christian.

Byzantium, so defined, first began to take shape during the fourth century CE on the territory of the Eastern Roman Empire. In the fifth century two major schisms divided the supra-national, multilingual Christian world into three disjunct communions: the non-Ephesian Church in Persia, the several non-Chalcedonian Churches in various lands of the East, and the combined Orthodox and Catholic Churches of Byzantium and Rome. In the seventh and later centuries Islam conquered large parts of the Byzantine Empire, as well as most of the lands where the non-Ephesian and non-Chalcedonian Churches were at home. In the eleventh century another schism broke the communion that had hitherto prevailed between the Orthodox Churches and the Roman Catholic Church, and the sack of Constantinople in 1204 by the Fourth Crusade widened this breach into a nearly unbridgeable chasm. Taken together, these developments massively reduced the linguistic and cultural variety of Byzantium, cutting it off from most of the Christian peoples that had long used Old Syriac, Old Armenian, Coptic, Old Ethiopic and Latin as their languages of liturgy and culture. On the other hand, Byzantium was able to extend its boundaries northwards, with the Christianization of Bulgaria in the ninth century, of Russia toward the end of the tenth century, and of other South Slavic realms in later centuries. In 1453, however, the last fortress of the Eastern Roman Empire, Constantinople itself, fell to an Islamic army, and the last Christian Emperor of Rome died fighting on its walls. Yet even after 1453 Byzantium continued to exist, albeit in attenuation, as a subjugated culture in Greek-speaking lands and as a transplanted culture in Orthodox Slavic lands.

1. Why should a Student of Western Esotericism Pay any Attention to Byzantium?

There are at least three answers to this question, each more compelling than the previous one. Firstly, most of the oldest foundation texts of Western esotericism – the dialogues and letters of Plato, the works of the Neoplatonic philosophers [→Neoplatonism] and theurgists (above all, Iamblichus’s treatise On the Mysteries of the Egyptians), the Chaldaean Oracles, the manuals of the Hellenic astrologers [→ Astrology] and alchemists [→ Alchemy], the Corpus Hermeticum [→ Hermetic Literature], the writings of pseudo-Dionysius the Areopagite, various Gnostic texts, and so on – were not only composed in Greek, but also have come down to us almost entirely through Byzantine channels of transmission, whether they are still extant in the original Greek or have now survived only in the form of old translations from lost Greek originals. Secondly, Byzantium never experienced – and never needed to experience – the Renaissance, the Reformation, the Counter- Reformation, or the Enlightenment. It is these four successive cultural movements that gave Western esotericism all of its present defining characteristics (as specified by Faivre 1994, 10-15), but the specified characteristics cannot serve to define Byzantine Esotericism.Thirdly, over many centuries profound and subtle differences in doctrine and practice developed between Christianity in Byzantium and Christianity in Western Europe. In consequence, esoteric doctrines and practices came to occupy a different position and to play a different role in the Orthodox Churches of Byzantium than they did in the Catholic Church of Western Europe.

Because of these differences, one might legitimately ask whether Byzantine esotericism even exists. It does. Indeed, it is convenient to speak of two distinct Byzantine esotericisms. One of them may be termed Orthodox Christian esotericism. For over 1500 years this esotericism has been widely cultivated throughout the Byzantine world, especially in the great monasteries of the Orthodox Church such as those of Mt. Athos and Mt. Sinai. The other may be termed Hellenic esotericism. It has always drawn its inspiration directly from the pagan texts and traditions of Neoplatonic philosophy and theurgy. Therefore it has always been more or less problematic in Christian Byzantium. After the mandatory Christianization of all Byzantines in the sixth century, Hellenic esotericism seems to have been cultivated only sporadically, by a mere handful of highly educated Byzantines. Each of these two Byzantine esotericisms shares some important features with Western esotericism, although neither possesses all of the significant defining features of the latter (always here referring to Faivre’s definition). 

These differences between esotericism in Byzantium and esotericism in Western Europe enable a sensitive scholar to arrive at a deeper understanding of the latter by contrasting it with the former: light from the East often throws into very sharp relief, indeed, what could otherwise be only dimly seen in the West. Yet for this to occur, one must first become familiar with each kind of Byzantine esotericism on its own terms, not viewing it solely in terms of Western categories and theories. One must also be careful to distinguish genuine Byzantine esotericism from various esoteric currents that have claimed to be Byzantine, but in fact have other historical roots. The most wide-spread of all these pseudo-Byzantine esotericisms are the ones pertaining to Sophia, the Wisdom of God. Though they are usually presented as genuine old esoteric traditions of the Orthodox Church, in point of historical fact they derive directly or indirectly from the work of the eccentric Russian lay theologian, Vladimir Sergeevich Solov’ëv (1853-1900), who combined Orthodox Christian esotericism with elements of two other traditions. One of these other traditions was Western-European Sophiology (cf. → Jacob Boehme or → Gottfried Arnold), which came to Russia through Freemasonic [→ Freemasonry] and Rosicrucian [→ Rosi- crucianism] channels during the eighteenth century and had an enormous impact on Russian spirituality. The other tradition was Late Antique → Gnosticism, insofar as it had been recovered by nineteenth-century scholarship. Solov’ëv’s synthesis of these three disparate traditions was presented with such skill and power, and satisfied the needs of its era so well, that it was believed to represent an authentic Byzantine esoteric teaching by many well-educated Orthodox laymen, and even by a few influential clerical theologians of the Orthodox Church.

2. What does “Esoteric” Mean in Byzantium?

To understand Byzantine esotericism in its own terms, we must begin with the word esoteric itself. In ancient Greek, the opposed adjectives §svterikOw (esoteric) and §jvterikOw (exoteric) were relatively uncommon. The adjective §jvterikOw seems to have been the older of the two, originally meaning “exterior” or “foreign”. It was derived from the adjective §j≈terow (outer), which was opposed to §s≈terow (inner); and those words in turn were derived from the twin adverbs ¶jv (outer) and ¶sv (inner). The adjective §svterikOw seems to have been coined from §jvterikOw in order to create a pair of technical terms in philosophy. In philosophy, the use of these terms was originally limited to two contexts. They were used, first of all, to label the two orders into which the philosopher-magician Pythagoras (according to several later sources) appears to have divided his disciples: his exoteric disciples were those who might hear the master’s teaching only in silence, never actually seeing him as he spoke from behind a curtain, whereas his esoteric disciples, tested by five years of silence, were privileged to go behind the curtain, to see Pythagoras himself and to speak with him (Hippolytus of Rome, Refutatio omnium haeresium I.2; Origen, Contra Celsum I.7; Iamblichus, De vita Pythagorica 17, 31, 32). Somewhat later, the writings of the philosopher Aristotle were said to have been divided into two classes: his exoteric writings were available for all to read, whereas his esoteric writings were restricted to members of his school (Clement of Alexandria, Stromateis V.9, cf. Lucian, Vitarum auctio 26, Aulus Gellius, Noctes Atticae XX.5; as it happens, Aristotle’s exoteric writings survive only as fragments; it is his esoteric treatises that have come down to us). In each case, whether applied to pupils or to treatises, the two terms express an opposition between the outer, common world of the general public and the inner, restricted world of favored or accepted students. Even later, Galen termed certain Stoic teachings esoteric (De Hippocratis et Platonis placitis III.4). 

Under the influence of Christianity the opposition between §svterikOw and §jvterikOw was subtly altered. Although neither word occurs anywhere in the Greek Bible – neither in the Septuagint Old Testament nor in the Greek New Testament –, St. Paul (II Cor. 4:16) speaks of ı ¶sv enyrvpow (the inward man) and ı ¶jv enyrvpow (the outward man), opposing the spiritual to the mundane; later, some pagans came to use the same phrases with similar meanings. Henceforth esoteric people in the original sense of the term – privileged students – are implicitly also distinguished by their deeper spirituality, and esoteric writings – treatises restricted to such students – are implicitly also writings that convey deeper spiritual truths; the exoteric, in contrast, are common and mundane. The Neoplatonists, too, used the terms in this broader sense, e.g. Iamblichus in his Protrepticus (1, 4, 21), as does Origen with reference to Christian doctrines in his Contra Celsum (III.37). Moreover, in another of his works Iamblichus divides doctrines into exoteric and esoteric, that is, into =hta (effable) and erE=hta (ineffable) (De communi mathematica scientia 18). This idea that the deepest spiritual truths are not only esoteric, but also ineffable, that is, they are inherently beyond the power of any language to express, colors all subsequent use of the term esoteric in Byzantium.

3 . Byzantine Esotericism Versus Western Esotericism

In Western Europe, too, there were texts and people, doctrines and practices that a Byzantine

observer might have labeled esoteric. Even so, the borrowed words esotericus and exotericus seem to have been hardly ever used in Ancient and Medieval Latin. When they were used before and during the Renaissance, they seem to be have been used almost exactly as their Greek equivalents were in Byzantium, although perhaps sometimes without the Neoplatonic association between the esoteric and the ineffable.

Beginning with the Renaissance, however, the term esotericus came to be used more commonly in the West. Yet as its use grew, it acquired a new connotation, which the corresponding Greek word lacked: henceforth whatever was esoteric was necessarily opposed in one way or another to the prevailing judgement of the generally recognized experts. Thus in the West esotericists became proponents of rejected or forgotten knowledge (wrongly rejected or forgotten, they would claim), and Western esotericism eventually became to lapse into contemporary jargon for a moment – a radical challenge to the “dominant paradigm” of its age, a form of “counter-culture.

In the Byzantine world, by contrast, Orthodox Christian Esotericism always remained a fully integrated part of the “dominant paradigm”, and never formed the nucleus of any Byzantine “counter-culture”. This contrast arose largely because of developments in Western Europe, not in Byzantium. During the final centuries of the Middle Ages, Aristotelian modes of knowledge and investigation came to dominate all the great universities and to shape the programs of education for all the learned professions. As a consequence of this, Platonic and esoteric modes of knowledge and investigation were widely rejected by these same universities and professions, and could be cultivated only outside of these institutions. Although the Renaissance challenged the dominance of Aristotle in the schools and professions, its challenge was only partly successful (chiefly in the liberal arts). Soon the Reformation and Counter-Reformation developed their own competing Protestant and Catholic forms of Aristotelian scholasticism. Also, from the late Middle Ages onward, the recovery of Roman law encouraged the development of powerful judicial institutions designed to investigate and repress all forms of deviance and dissidence. Individual or uncommon kinds of spirituality or → mysticism that had long been unchallenged now came to be severely repressed by the newly codified Protestant and Catholic orthodoxies, and this repression continued until the Enlightenment, which had its own radical views on the separation between Church and State. Despite its strong anti-ecclesiastical tendencies, the Enlightenment continued to reject Platonic modes of knowledge – along with → magic, occult philosophy [→ occult / occultism] and esoteric studies – as inconsistent with its own Cartesian principles, severely criticizing such things as works of deceit, delusion and folly. From this time onward, Western esotericism could only be cultivated as a radical challenge to the schools and professions, as a kind of counter-epistemology.

In Byzantium, however, everything was on a much smaller scale, especially during the latter centuries of its independence. Its schools and professions were less developed as institutions, Aristotle was never strongly privileged over Plato, and the line between Church and State was never as sharply drawn as it had long been in the West. Only among the very few Byzantine intellectuals who studied Hellenic esotericism after the sixth century does there seem to have been anything remotely like the Western impulse toward a counter-culture. It is because of this likeness that we shall examine Hellenic esotericism first.

4 . Hellenic Esotericism in Byzantium

Hellenic esotericism drew its inspiration from the same Greek authors, texts and practices that originally nourished Western esoteric studies: from Plato, the pre-Byzantine Neoplatonists such as Plotinus, Porphyry and Iamblichus, the Chaldaean Oracles, the Corpus Hermeticum and the other writings ascribed to → Hermes Trismegistus, astrologers such as Ptolemy, and alchemists such as Theosebia and →Zosimos of Panopolis. In another key, it also used manuals of divination [→ Divinatory Arts], books of omens, treatises on the construction of →amulets and talismans, the recipes of the Kyranides, and even a few texts of demonic ritual magic such as Solomon’s Magical Treatise (’ApotelesmatikO pragmate.a Salom≈ntow) a Greek work related to the Western Clavicula Salomonis), and the Testament of Solomon.

From the late fourth through the sixth century, of course, many highly educated Greeks not only remained pagan, but also studied the above-mentioned texts (and other texts of the same sort that have now been lost). Among these men and women were Maximus of Ephesus and his disciple the Emperor Julian, Plutarch the Neoplatonist and his daughter Asclepiogeneia, and finally Proclus (cf. Marinus, Vita Procli 28). During those few centuries it was still lawful to be pagan in Byzantium, and pagans still could and did cultivate Hellenic esotericism, or even practice theurgy, without having to worry overmuch about the Church’s censure.

Even after the sixth century, of course, some of these traditions survived in attenuated form, generally among less well educated Byzantines, who did not always know which notions and ideas about demons had been accepted by the Orthodox Church, and which had been rejected; or which exorcisms and small rites were permitted, which forbidden. Thus there arose what Richard Greenfield has termed ‘alternative traditions of belief and practice’ about demons, in contrast to the well-defined ‘standard tradition’ of the Orthodox Church; there are also alternative traditions for other rites and rituals. These alternative traditions, of course, were not clearly distinguished from the standard tradition by the masses, but what may surprise is the extent (as Greenfield has shown) to which even educated Byzantines combined the standard and alternative traditions during the last centuries of Byzantine independence. However, this was simply a matter of ignorance or confusion, not a deliberate foray into forbidden territory. Deliberate forays into forbidden territory remained rare, even in the late Byzantine period. 

No more than a handful of named Byzantines are known to have made a serious study of Hellenic esotericism after the final repression of paganism in the 6th century. The best known are Michael Psellus in the eleventh century and Georgios Gemistos Plethon in the 15th. However, there must have been others whose names have not come down to us, but for whom the various extant manuscripts of the relevant Greek texts were copied during the last centuries of Byzantine independence.

Michael Psellus (1018-1081) was one of the greatest polymaths in all Byzantine history, even serving for a time as a sort of philosopher-in-residence to the Imperial court. His surviving works treat history, law, rhetoric, logic, Platonic philosophy, theology – and include not quite a dozen short theoretical tracts on demonology, the Corpus Hermeticum, the Chaldaean Oracles and theurgy! His principal sources seem to have been various works (some now lost) by Porphyry, Iamblichus and Proclus on these subjects. Indeed, Iamblichus’s long work On the Mysteries of the Egyptians may owe its survival to Psellus’s efforts, for he appears to have read it, and all extant manuscripts appear to descend from a single manuscript (now lost) that had been copied during or not long after his lifetime and also contained some of his treatises on esoteric themes. Yet despite his esoteric interests, Psellus remained thoroughly Christian in his own eyes, and in some of his writings justified such studies from a Christian perspective.

Georgios Gemistos Plethon (ca. 1360-1452) had many of the same esoteric interests as Psellus, but pursued them to a much more radical conclusion, for in his old age he went so far as to argue in favor of restoring Neoplatonic paganism and theurgy in place of Christianity. The work in which he made his strongest arguments for this, On Laws, was burned shortly after his death by order of Patriarch Gennadius II Scholarius, but significant fragments of it have survived (thanks in part to extracts made during Plethon’s lifetime by several interested friends and students). Here and in other writings Plethon displays considerable interest in the Chaldaean Oracles, but the only source that he has for them is one of Psellus’s commentaries on them. By the 15th century almost every earlier source – not only the complete Chaldaean Oracles themselves, but also various Neoplatonic commentaries on them – seems to have been lost.

When Plethon was almost 80 years old, he attended the great ecclesiastical council that met at Ferrara and Florence in 1438-1439. Although his impact on the council’s proceedings was relatively slight, he was able to meet a number of Florentine scholars and statesmen, and to impress them greatly with his passion for Plato and the Neoplatonists. Cosimo de’ Medici’s Platonic Academy owes something to Plethon’s inspiration, as does the program of Latin translations from the Greek that Cosimo de’ Medici commissioned from → Marsilio Ficino. Ficino’s translations, it should be noted, included the works of Plato and Plotinus, the Corpus Hermeticum, Iamblichus’s On the Mysteries of the Egyptians (to which were appended translations of several short works by Porphyry, Proclus and Michael Psellus), and two of the works of pseudo- Dionysius the Areopagite (The Divine Names and The Mystical Theology) – in short, many of the most important Greek foundation texts of Western esotericism.

5. Orthodox Christian Esotericism in Byzantium

Although Hellenic esotericism developed somewhat in opposition to the prevailing norms of Byzantine culture, Orthodox Christian esotericism developed very much in agreement with these same norms, in sharp contrast to Western esotericism since the Renaissance. As noted above, this contrast owes much to specific developments in the cultural history of Western Europe. Yet the ease with which Orthodox Christian esotericism accommodated itself to the norms of Byzantine culture has a lot to do with certain characteristic features of the Orthodox Church, in particular, with some specific patterns of Byzantine liturgy and worship, with the privileged position that apophatic theology is given over cataphatic theology, and with the doctrine of theosis, or deification. We must consider these three points as we seek to present

Orthodox Christian esotericism in its own terms.

One of the most significant characteristics of the Orthodox Church, for our purposes, is that a priest does not celebrate the eucharist by or for himself alone, apart from any congregation. This is a point of eucharistic theology and canon law. However, it is also a matter of simple necessity, for the worship of the Orthodox Church in all its complex fullness is the cooperative work of several different classes of people, lay as well as ordained – priests, deacons, rectors, singers, laity, and so forth – and the prescribed texts are scattered among a considerable number of liturgical books, several of which must be used together during any service. In the course of an entire year’s worship, most of the texts in these various books must be woven together in a very complicated pattern. This pattern, moreover, changes somewhat from year to year according to the date of Easter, which moves back and forth along a range of thirty-five consecutive days according to a complex cycle that lasts 532 years from start to finish.

Instead of liturgical work, what the Orthodox Christian – whether a priest or not – does in solitude is to pray. Even though a near-by church may happen to be unlocked and empty, the traditional place for private prayers remains one’s home, one’s room or one’s monastic cell. Even a parish priest – who is a married man – will use his home for this purpose, and a priest-monk will use his cell (in the Orthodox Churches most monks are not priests).

There is nothing, therefore, anywhere in the traditional practice of the Orthodox Church that corresponds very well to a Catholic priest as he celebrates a Low Mass by himself from a Missal, or as he reads his daily office from a Breviary in private, or as he offers up his personal prayers before a consecrated altar in solitude. This Catholic pattern has greatly influenced Western esoteric practices, which as often as not employs a consecrated altar before which initiates work their esoteric rituals in private and in a somewhat priestly manner. In Orthodox Christian esotericism, however, this priestly pattern played no role: rather, the dominant pattern was that of a solitary monk at prayer in his unadorned cell. In principle, therefore, Orthodox Christian esotericism does not need either ceremonies or ceremonial objects as foci for its practice. Additionally, it is an esotericism of solitude that one ideally practices by oneself, not in a group. It operates, therefore, without temples or lodges, and its practitioners are not quasi-priests, much less members of some esoteric priesthood or consecrated order that answers to a higher authority than any institutional church. Indeed, such a person is not part of any secret institution or organization at all, but just a simple Christian man or woman who seeks in solitude and silence to attain the most esoteric mysteries (mustAria) of all, which are also Divine.

However, these mysteries are ineffable (erE=hta), that is, they lie far beyond the power of any language to express. Indeed, they are incomprehensible, that is, they lie far beyond ‘all things that can be perceived and understood (a.syhta ka‹ nohta), that are not or that are’ (pseudo-Dionysius the Areopagite, Mystica theologia I.1), and must therefore be experienced by other means than words, concepts or even ordinary percepts. To express these other means, the same author says that they are to be attained ‘in the hyper-luminous darkness of a hidden silence’ (ibidem). Indeed, he even says that they are ‘beyond all being (ous.a) and knowledge (gn≪siw)’, a matter of yeosof.a (theosophy) as well as of yeolog.a (theology) (ibidem).

This kind of theology, which leads the reader upward by means of denials rather than affirmations, is called apophatic (from Greek epOfasiw, denial), in contrast to the other kind, cataphatic theology (from Greek katafasiw, affirmation). The two kinds loosely correspond to what in the West are usually called negative and positive theology, but the correspondence is not exact. If the Catholic Church (especially since Thomas Aquinas) has favored an Aristotelian sort of positive theology, and has used negative theology mostly to supplement positive results, it it otherwise in the East. The Orthodox Church, much less wedded to Aristotelian modes of knowledge, has long delighted in apophatic theology. In this one point it favors the Neoplatonists, although it otherwise diverges enormously from them in matters of doctrine and practice.

The best way into this ‘brilliant darkness of a hidden silence’ is precisely specified in several works by Gregory of Sinai (ca. 1265-1346) and especially in an anonymous treatise of unknown age sometimes titled The Three Methods of Prayer (the latter treatise is attributed to Simeon the New Theologian, but is not by him). The tradition of practice expounded in these works is at least as old as the 4th century. In the 14th century it became, for a few decades, a subject of great controversy, which called forth the brilliant writings of Gregory Palamas (ca. 1296–1359) on the theory behind the practices. The tradition later came to be called hesychasm, derived from Greek ≤sux.a, tranquility, quietness and ≤suxazein, to practice hesychia (despite the similarity in their names, there is no close relation betwen hesychasm and Western quietism).

The first of pseudo-Simeon’s three methods of prayer demands the careful cultivation of what some esotericists now call the imaginal world. The second demands an equally careful withdrawal from this same imaginal world and from the senses and the mental processes that nourish it. These two methods are emphatically not recommended. On the one hand, the careful cultivation of the imaginal indeed results in sensible visions, but sensible visions are always delusions, simply because they are sensible (afisyhta). This method is sure to produce a visionary whose desires have been inflamed and whose heart is exalted, and very often it will derange him in the end. On the other hand, a careful withdrawal from the sensible and imaginal worlds produces false impressions of the opposite character, for which there is no good name in English: let us call them “certainties” for lack of a better term. These “certainties”, in contrast to visions, derive their form and content from understanding (nohsiw) rather than from sense-perception (e.syhsiw). Just as visions are delusions simply because they are sensible, so “certainties” are delusions simply because they are understandable (nohta). Sense-perception (e.syhsiw) and understanding (nOhsiw) are equally dangerous, are equally productive of delusions, and equally need to be transcended (cf. pseudo-Dionysius the Areopagite, as quoted above).

The third of these methods, and the only one which is free from the dangers of these two kinds of delusion, requires neither that one cultivate the imaginal world in one’s heart nor that one uproot it. Instead, one fills one’s heart with attentiveness and constant prayer, which soon crowd out the imaginal entirely. If at first this constant prayer may be verbal, with repetition it becomes automatic and then it soon ceases to need words or images at all. It is this absence of words and images alone that prepares the heart for the ineffable mysteries that lie ‘in the hyperluminous darkness of a hidden silence’, and that constitute the theosophy ‘beyond all being and knowledge’, to use the words of pseudo-Dionysius the Areopagite (in this tradition of practice, as in the Old Testament, the heart is the site of human knowledge and understanding, the place where words, concepts and percepts operate).

If this sounds easy to do in principle, it is extremely hard in practice, and usually requires the assistance of an experienced guide. One should not undertake it at all until one has first learned how to be free of every anxiety and care, how to keep one’s conscience wholly pure, and how to take no thought for anything worldly, not even one’s own bodily comforts and discomforts. Having learned how to do these three things, one can begin one’s practice of attentiveness and constant prayer, aided by a simple specified stable posture and method of regulated breathing. At first one experiences delusions of sense-perception and understanding. When these delusions have all finally been dispelled, one next experiences empty, heavy darkness (which, perhaps, may be regarded as the last delusion). Persevering in one’s practice, this darkness is replaced at last by an experience beyond all understanding and sense-perception, beyond all words and images, beyond all concepts and percepts, beyond all previous experience of the body and mind. It is said to be an experience of something that may be called f≪w, light, but even that word is greatly inadequate to convey what is experienced: pseudo-Dionysius the Areopagite has coined the word Ip°rfvtow, hyperluminous, to refer to it (Mysica theologia I.1).

This experience transforms one completely, in a way that is precisely specified by the Orthodox Church. One undergoes a process that is called theosis (y°vsiw) in Greek, a word which means becoming God, but may conveniently – yet somewhat misleadingly! – be rendered as deification. According to the blunt words of Athanasius the Great, the Word of God ‘became man that we might become God’ (Athanasius of Alexandria, De incarnatione Verbi 54; cf. Irenaeus of Lyon, Adversus haereses IV.38-39, V.praef.). This is the ultimate goal of human life, which every member of the Orthodox Church is allowed to pursue from birth to death: an esotericism that is wholly integrated into Byzantine culture.

It is these ineffable mysteries, this hyperluminous realm that lies ‘beyond all being and knowledge’, it is this precisely specified, difficult method of practice that opens the way into these mysteries and that realm, and finally it is this possibility of becoming God, that constitutes the open secret of Orthodox Christian esotericism – an esotericism that is freely offered to every inquirer. Despite the brevity and simplicity of the present summary, it is an extremely rich and subtle tradition of doctrine and practice, which cannot easily be rendered in any other language than its original Greek. It is also Byzantium’s single most interesting contribution to the esoteric currents and traditions of the world.

From Dictionary of Gnosis & Western Esotericism by Wouter Hanegraaff

Eastern Christianity and Perenialism

The following excerpt was found in the thesis 'Authority and Tradition in Contemporary Understandings of Hesychasm and the Jesus Prayer' by Christopher David Leonard Johnson

 Another example of a group that has put the Jesus Prayer and hesychasm to use is the so - called ‘Perennialist’ or ‘Traditionalist’ school. The primary proponents of this school of thought include René Guénon, Ananda Coomaraswami, Julius Evola and Frijthof Schuon, among others. There are also ‘soft’ Perennialists, or those who have tendencies towards the idea that there is an essential unity of religious traditions in the realm of metaphysics or mysticism but are not explicit members of the Perennialist school. Many can be included in this category, including well-known scholars, such as Mircea Eliade, Huston Smith and Carl Gustav Jung. For the most part, Orthodox Christianity does not figure as prominently as Sufism and Hinduism in the writings of the first wave ‘core’ Perennialists, such as Guénon, but in some later authors it has become a more central concern.

Mark Sedgwick’s Against the Modern World: Traditionalism and the Secret Intellectual History of the Twentieth Century is one of the few studies of Traditionalism or Perennialism as a movement (Sedgwick 2004). In this movement, which could best be thought of as a diffuse school of thought, individuals identify themselves with one particular tradition but claim that all genuine traditions are univocally true when it comes to their esoteric or transcendental dimension, rather than their exoteric and outward religious aspect. Common to this worldview is the notion that, despite this fundamental inner unity, one must live in a single tradition and make use of its countless dimensions, which function together as an indivisible whole aimed at direct knowledge of the divine.

In Sedgwick’s discussion of Fr. Seraphim (Eugene) Rose, he speaks of the initial and lasting influence of Traditionalist thought on Fr. Seraphim. Regarding Rose’s opinion of popular scholar, speaker and spokesman Alan Watts, “The ‘Buddhism’ he espoused as a remedy for the spiritual malaise of the West was thus an unauthentic, synthesized expression of that tradition, streamlined to cater to the modern mentality of self-worship” (208). Rose thought Guénon and Schuon’s understanding of Eastern traditions was more authentic, not simply “digestible for westerners,” (208) and, initially, he embraced this view and attempted to do for Taoism what Guénon did for Hinduism (209). After becoming interested in Orthodox Christianity through Schuon, Rose began to visit Russian Orthodox churches in San Francisco and soon had an epiphany about the certainty of Christ’s divinity (209). Later, he came to admit that “each tradition possesses truth, beyond doubt, but in varying measures,” claiming “the ‘equality’ and ‘transcendent unity’ of religions is a notion from the modernist ‘simplistic’ mentality” (209). Even after the writings of the Traditionalists, for Rose, the troubling state of modernity had not appeared to change, eventually leading him to the realisation that “Christ requires us not to ‘understand,’ but to suffer, die, and arise to Life in Him” (Christensen 1993: 125-6).

Realising the influence Traditionalism had in his own path to conversion into the Orthodox Church, “Rose did not, however, reject Traditionalism entirely. It remained part of his personal philosophy in the 1970s, when he replied to a Traditionalist who had written to him: ‘I only pray that you will take what is good from him [Guénon] and not let his limitations chain you” (Christensen 1993: 651). Christensen claims that “What Rose kept for himself from Traditionalism was a devotion to ‘traditional’ esoteric practice as well as firm opposition to the modern world and to ‘counterinitiation,’ [...] attacking the new religious movements of the time” (637-44). Sedgwick calls Rose “the classic example of how Traditionalism became for many a ‘stepping-stone’-not a destination in itself in the way that it was for previous Traditionalists” (Sedgwick 2004: 209). The author adds that, in many cases, it is difficult to track the influence of Traditionalism on the thought of those who later moved on to embrace a particular tradition without emphasising the influence of philosophia perennis(210). This is due to both the unorganised nature of the movement and to the desire of some converts to cover their tracks, since Traditionalist thought is often not accepted as orthodox teaching and viewed suspiciously by religious authorities (210, 271).

Sedgwick mentions several other Traditionalists who identified with the Orthodox Church, such as the young Swiss Jean -Francois Mayer in the mid-nineteen-seventies and Alexander Dugin, who is currently politically active in Russia (209-10, 221). Dugin attempts to correct Guénon’s dismissal or neglect of the Orthodox tradition, arguing “the Christianity that Guenon rejected was Western Catholicism. Guenon was right in rejecting Catholicism but wrong in rejecting Eastern Orthodoxy, of which he knew little” (225-6). In The Metaphysics of the Gospel(1996), Dugin claims that “Orthodoxy, unlike Catholicism, had never lost its initiatic validity and so remained a valid tradition to which a Traditionalist might turn” (225-6). Dugin also attempts to translate much of the Traditionalist philosophy into Orthodox terms (226). Even though “Schuon’s universalism claimed to encompass Christianity, as it did all religions [...] Traditionalism has not usually claimed to be compatible with Christianity” (271). As the exception, “Dugin’s Traditionalism led not to Sufism as the esoteric practice of Islam, but to Russian Orthodoxy as both an esoteric and an exoteric practice” (226). In her article “Aleksandr Dugin: A Russian Version of the European Radical Right?” Marlene Laruelle paraphrases Dugin’s argument that Guénon’s description of Christianity becoming exoteric after the Ecumenical Councils refers only to the Western confessions of Protestantism and Roman Catholicism, the East having “retained its initiatic character and esoteric foundations to this day” (Laruelle 2006: 10). In regards to the Traditionalist ideas that inspired him, the author says “[h]e hopes to ‘Russify’ the doctrines that inspire him, and to adapt them to what he calls the traditional concepts of the Russian world” (10). To accomplish this, “Dugin links an esoteric account of the world to Orthodoxy, which he sees as having preserved an initiatic character, a ritualism where each gesture has a symbolic meaning” (11). In Laruelle’s description of Dugin’s understanding of new religious movements, she says:

Dugin fully agrees with the Traditionalist criticism of spiritualism. Guénon already considered spiritualism to be a “counter-initiation,” a reconstruction of pseudo-traditions actually born of modernity, which must be condemned for wanting to usurp the real Tradition. For Dugin too, theosophism, cosmism and the New Age religions are a spiritualist version of post-industrial modernity and a veiled cult of technology. He condemns their populism and lack of coherent spiritual conceptions, whereas he sees Traditionalism as intended for a restricted elite, which is alone able to understand its requirements.

Another author influenced by Traditionalism and Orthodox Christianity not given much attention by Sedgwick is Phillip Sherrard. With the help of co-Traditionalists Kathleen Raine, Keith Critchlow and Brian Keegle, and with the sponsorship and aid of Prince Charles, Duke of Edinburgh, Sherrard established and ran the Temenos Academy and the journal Temenos: A Review of the Arts of the Imagination, both inspired by the Traditionalist worldview (Sedgwick 214). In her short biography on Sherrard, close friend and fellow poet Kathleen Raine admits that Sherrard was the first to introduce her to the idea of a “universal and unanimous wisdom underlying all sacred traditions which have nourished and sustained civilization” (Raine 1996: 5, 13). In spite of her acceptance of this opinion, after half a lifetime of correspondence, Sherrard never convinced Raine of the truth of “the traditionalist belief that we must choose and commit ourselves to one religion, or [...] relinquishing my faith in the authority within” (15). She points out the post-war context of many of the Traditionalist authors, saying that in post-war London “we knew the difference between the authentic and the commercial” (5). Sherrard helped translate the only English translation of the Philokalia, along with Metropolitan Kallistos Ware and Gerald E. H. Palmer, and Raine claims that even while working on the Philokalia, “he continued to participate in the work of the traditionalist school of René Guénon and A. K. Coomaraswamy” (13). Raine makes an interesting point that “Among members of this group Philip was alone in embracing Orthodox Christianity” (14). She says that, at the time of her writing the biography, the scope of his wide correspondence is unknown (19).

In The Transcendental Unity of Religions, prominent perennialist Frithjof Schuon often mentions topics such as hesychasm, the hesychastic vision of the divine uncreated light, the essence/energy distinction, Mount Athos, The Way of a Pilgrim, the prayer of Jesus, and hesychia or inner silence (Schuon 1953: 66, 157, 170-2, 176-83). Schuon makes several noteworthy points about these topics. He refers to hesychasm as the most pure, unadulterated form inherited from “primitive Christian spirituality” and Christian initiation, noting its survival “among certain monks of Hesychast lineage on Mount Athos or among other spiritual descendents of the same family” until modern times (170). Later, Schuon again calls hesychasm “the most direct and untouched branch of Christian initiation” and specifies that this is due to its esoteric nature, especially seen in its apophatic theology and essence/energy distinction (176-7). In a footnote, Schuon further develops this point: Hesychasm, which is too often looked upon as a philosophico-mystical ‘curiosity’ of purely historical interest, has its roots in Christianity as such, and [...] it is not merely a rather special development of Christian spirituality, but its purest and deepest expression” (176-7 f.). For Schuon, hesychasm can be clearly distinguished “from the methods of ordinary religious piety, linking it to the methods used in Yoga and Sufism and all other analogous ways” (178). “[T]he Hesychast doctrine is in perfect accord with the teaching of every other initiatory tradition” when it comes to its conception of the heart as the spiritual center of the person (180).

The Jesus Prayer is described as “in principle reserved for an elite, thus proving its extra-religious character” as“the means of perfecting the natural participation of the human microcosm in the divine Metacosm, that is to say the transmutation of this participation into supernatural participation and finally into union and identity” (180). According to Schuon:

It is only by means of this ‘prayer’ that the creature can be really united with his Creator; the goal of this ‘prayer’ is consequently the ‘supreme’ spiritual state, in which man becomes detached from everything pertaining to the creature and, being directly united with the Divinity, is illuminated by the Divine Light. This supreme state is the ‘Holy Silence’ (hesychia) (180).

Schuon says “The ‘prayer of Jesus,’ like every other initiatory rite, but unlike religious rites [...], is strictly methodical: that is to say it is subject to technical ordinances” such as control of breathing which Schuon relates to the yogic practice of pranayama (181). Schuon goes on to acknowledge that the virtues are the ‘conditio sine qua non’ for the efficacy of ‘spiritual prayer’ (181). 

The ‘silence’ of hesychasm is considered identical to Hindu and Buddhist nirvana and Sufic fana(181 f.) and the invocation of the name of Jesus is seen as an example of the same “fundamental and truly universal significance of the invocation of the Divine Name” (182) that is behind the practice of Islamic Dhikr and Buddhist nembutsu(182-3 f.). Similarly, the word work is used to refer to the invocation of the prayer of Jesus, while for Sufi dervishes, the invocation is also called shoghl, or occupation(182-3 f.). In his introduction to The Essential Frithjof Schuon, Seyyed Hossein Nasr writes of the references to hesychasm and Orthodox Christian spirituality in Schuon’s writings: 

There are also many pages devoted by Schuon to Orthodox theology and spirituality, especially works such as the Philokalia concerned with quintessential prayer. There is something of the ‘Oriental’ doctrine of the saving grace of beauty, of the mystery of icons, of the Hesychast prayer of the heart, of the apophatic theology of a St. Gregory of Palamas and of the luminous skies above Mt. Athos in the writings of Schuon (1991: 20)

Nasr also notes that “Many have, in fact, been led to the discovery of Orthodoxy through his works” (20). Traditionalist Buddhist Marco Pallis’s article Discovering the Interior Life considers the plausibility of adapting various spiritual practices in the West (1968). He believes elaborate practices such as tantric meditation “would not easily be realizable in a Western framework, save by exception” (89-90). For Pallis:

in a time of growing alienation and disbelief apparatus of a very complex kind hardly fits the need, which calls for a discipline that is at once ‘central,’ that is to say expressive of the most central truths of the tradition, and at the same time extremely concise as to the instruments it sets in motion, thus allowing of their methodic exercise under all kinds of circumstances, be it even the most unfavourable (90).

With this consideration, Pallis comes to the conclusion that the use of the Jesus Prayer would seem to best fit this criteria:

[A]ll the great traditions are agreed in saying that this way of concentrating attention and pervading a person’s whole being with continual reminders of God is a spiritual means particularly suited to thneeds of the Dark Age, when religion is at a low ebb and the forces of godless subversion seem to be a mounting tide (90)

Commenting on the widespread presence of the invocation of the divine name in many traditions, Pallis contends “it could scarcely be otherwise, since such a way corresponds to a basic human need, outside all questions of religious form” (91). He considers hesychasm a “form of Christian yoga” (91) that “is accessible and appropriate to every baptised person as such” (92). 

“Seeing that the Jesus Prayer belongs historically to Eastern Christianity,” he says “it may be asked by some whether its transplantation to the West at this late hour would be entirely appropriate, using it of course in its Latin translation of Domine Jesu Christe Fili Dei miserere nobis” and whether the rosary could fill the same function (92). Pallis gives no clear answer to this question. He notes that “a number of Catholics known to the writer have long been using the Jesus Prayer and there is no reason why others should not follow their example, if so minded” (92-3). Pallis notes that in the use of the divine name, the name begins as the object of invocation but eventually becomes the subject of invocation when the state of “spontaneous perpetual prayer” is reached and the subject/object distinction collapses (93). Pallis writes:

As in the case of those following one of the Indian forms of yoga, an intending Hesychast disciple is warned of dangers that might arise from an unguided use of a spiritual instrument of such great inherent potency, for instance though the development of unusual psychic powers whereby attention might be diverted from ‘the one needful thing’ to the ego of the person himself (93).

In his book The Way and the Mountain, Pallis also mentions the Jesus Prayer and hesychasm as exemplified in the The Way of a Pilgrim as “strictly analogous, as regards its principles and even its details, to what is to be found in the lands further East, a case of spiritual coincidence, not of borrowing in either direction” (Pallis 1991: 121).

The well-known scholar of religion, Huston Smith, wrote an article entitled “The Jesus Prayer” for Christian Century in 1973 that has as its subtitle “In these curious times, when magic and divination are being practiced on every major campus in our land, is it possible that the Jesus Prayer might come into its own?” (Smith 1973: 363). Smith asks, “Why have we become such a fertile field for alien faiths [of the East]? Partly because our own religions did not deter us from what we have done in southeast [sic] Asia, but also, I suspect, because Judaism and Christianity have not been very explicit about method” (364). He states his belief that,

What people today seem to want is not morals and belief, not even new morals and a new belief. They want a practical discipline that will transform them. They seek an experience that will enable them to lead their lives on a different basis, from a new center. They want a new consciousness and a method for obtaining it; an enlargement of awareness to the point that God is encountered not as a postulate but as an experienced fact (363-364).

Since “[t]o many Christians the whole idea of an interior transformation deliberately undertaken seems faintly suspect, [...] Mainline Christianity seems to have been of the opinion that illumination, if it comes at all, comes as a supernatural grace, a gift; there is little, if anything, we can validly do to bring it about in ourselves” (364). Smith claims to “know of no Asian tradition that would have given that answer” (364). In contrast, “It is the unanimous testament of Hindu, Buddhist and Sufi alike that there are positive steps proper to man. But then there are such testaments in Christendom too, minority reports though they be” (364). Smith claims one such Christian testament is the Jesus Prayer. He goes on to speak of the monks of Mount Athos, kenosis, hesychasm, the Philokalia and the story of the Russian pilgrim, comparing the Pilgrim’s experiential solving of the incessant prayer paradox to a koan (364-5). Smith calls the Jesus Prayer “a Western mantra if I ever heard one,” and describes it as “the uninterrupted calling upon the name of Jesus with the lips, in the spirit, and in the heart, while forming a picture of his presence and imploring his grace during every occupation” (365).

A collection devoted entirely to comparing ‘Sufism and the Christian East’ has been published by World Wisdom, a publishing company “dedicated to the exposition of the timeless Truth underlying the diverse traditions” (Cutsinger 2002: i). This volume, Paths to the Heart: Sufism and the Christian East, was compiled from the contributions of nearly a dozen scholars at a conference of the same name at the University of South Carolina in 2001. Among the several articles contained in the book that relate to the Jesus Prayer and hesychasm is one entitled ‘Hesychia: An Orthodox Opening to Esoteric Ecumenism’ by James S. Cutsinger. The title points to what Dr. Cutsinger calls in his foreward to the book “a form of interfaith dialogue which, while fully respecting the integrity of traditional dogmas and rites, ‘calls into play the wisdom which can discern the one sole Truth under the veil of different forms.’” (ix). Cutsinger comments on the typical interfaith gathering as spawning dialogue that is “confined to the outward or exoteric level of doctrines and practices, and at this level, given the considerable differences among the teachings of the world’s religions, contradiction or compromise often appear as the only alternatives” (vii). Those “who limit their approach to the dogmatic letter of their religions will find their perspectives mutually exclusive, and their ‘dialogue’ [...] will be reduced to two parallel monologues”(vii). Since each tradition is not simply a system of exoteric beliefs but has “a spiritual heart, in which the deeper meaning of those beliefs and practices comes alive, [...] the spiritual pilgrim may discover, beyond the level of contradictory forms, an inner commonality with those who follow other paths” (vii). Cutsinger claims that “one finds their [Christians and Muslims] mystical traditions, especially in the Christian East and in Sufism, have for centuries shared many of the same spiritual methods and goals” and that masters from one of these traditions have occasionally taken seekers from the other tradition for instruction (viii). Still, the author recognises “historically that most masters in the Christian East and in Sufi Islam would nonetheless stop short of embracing so explicitly universalist a point of view, insisting instead on the superiority of their own religions” (viii). Cutsinger admits that “this same insistence was by no means absent from our conference,” especially with several of the Christian contributors, adding that “[t]he conference was therefore not without its controversial moments” (viii).

Radu Drăgan, Une figure du christianisme oriental du XXe siècle : Jean l'Étranger

1. L'autobiographie de Jean

Nous disposons de peu d'informations sur le père Jean l'Étranger, ou Ivan Strannik, nom qu'Ivan Kulîghin s'est soit vu attribuer par son père spirituel, soit donné tout seul, une fois avoir découvert une réalité « autre » du fait de son initiation: il signifie une vocation et un destin dont il souligne à maintes reprises, mais avec beaucoup d'humilité, la portée et la signification'. Il ne faisait que reprendre un thème ancien : l'itinérante perpétuelle de « l'étranger » était déjà associée au IIIe siècle au thème de « l'envoyé » (àngelos) dans un texte syriaque cité par Scrima, qui souligne ses connotations gnostiques2.

Ces informations proviennent de quelques rares témoignages des survivants du cercle d'études spirituelles connu sur le nom de Buisson Ardent. Nous disposons aussi des écrits du père Jean lui-même, confiés à Sandu Tudor, fondateur du Buisson Ardente son héritier spirituel, dont l'archive est conservée dans la bibliothèque du Saint Synode de Bucarest'.

Le premier de ces écrits a un caractère autobiographique; cinq autres sont des « lettres » adressées à ses disciples. Nous disposons enfin de six lettres envoyées de prison à ses amis entre le 9 et le 21 janvier 1947, avant sa déportation, et de deux lettres en date du 7 et du 9 janvier 1946, adressées au patriarche Nicodème, dans lesquels Jean demande l'approbation de rester définitivement au monastère Cernica des environs de Bucarest. Il y a enfin le plus célèbre de ces écrits, sa Lettre testamentaire aux disciples, dont plusieurs traductions ont été publiées4.

Jean l'Étranger est né le 24 février 1885 à Elet, dans la province d'Orel, cadet d'une fratrie de cinq enfants. Son père meurt deux semaines après sa naissance, et on peut supposer que sa mère l'avait confié à une famille d'accueil, car il parle peu de la sienne. A l'âge de huit ans il va à l'école, et à neuf ans est enfant de choeur et se dit ébloui par la beauté des chants religieux. Dès son jeune âge, se sent attiré par la religion, mais est mécontent de la manière dont on enseignait celle-ci. Peu attiré par les jeux et les occupations des enfants de son âge, commence à lire des livres sur la religion et le premier qui lui tombe entre les mains est un livre sur le monastère d'Optino ce qui, à la lumière des événements ultérieurs, devrait avoir eu pour lui une signification tout particulière. Ensuite, Jean suit quelque temps des cours à l'Ecole d'Art Dramatique, mais est vite déçu par la vie bohème des artistes. Après le gymnase, il travaille dans un magasin alimentaire à Rostow, loin de sa ville natale. Un jour, passant à côté d'une église, se surprend penser que, au heu d'être resclave des hommes, mieux vaut d'être l'esclave de Dieu. Il demande à son employeur de travailler dans un emploi administratif, ce qui lui laissera du temps pour fréquenter l'église.

Le miraculeux a une place de choix dans son récit: une cliente aisée, impressionnée par sa piété, lui parle du père Jean de Kronstadt qui pratiquait les guérisons par l'imposition des mains et qui l'avait guéri de cette façon d'une grave maladie'. Jean lui écrit aussitôt au sujet de sa mère malade, qui avait des « crises démoniaques » (l'épilepsie?). Jean de Kronstadt prie pour elle et le même jour sa mère guérit. Jean tire la conclusion que, dès ses 16-17 ans, la Grâce divine était avec lui6. Pendant le sommeil, la vision d'une église blanche en cours de construction et une voix lui disant que l'église lui appartient le rendent convaincu de sa vocation. La lecture du Sbornik le décide d'entrer dans les ordres, mais il ne savait pas comment procéder et craint qu'on ne lui demande une taxe d'admission7. Il écrit au père guérisseur en demandant de l'aide, mais se heurte à un refus, car il n'avait pas accompli son service militaire. Alors il va voir le père Jean Domovski, devenu plus tard un respecté père spirituel, mais celui-ci ne peut pas l'aider non plus. Déçu, avec un ami, fils d'un riche commerçant, attiré lui aussi par la vie monastique, Jean pan à Kiev, siège de plusieurs églises de renom. C'était en 1904, il avait 19 ans. Pendant son périple il visitera plusieurs monastères abritant des reliques de saints russes, et chaque visite le renforcera dans sa détermination de prendre l'habit. A Kiev ils sont bien reçus, nourris et logés dans le grand monastères, mais là aussi il se heurte à un refus quand il demande à être reçu dans les ordres. De Kiev il ira à l'ermitage Poloscevo, où il rencontrera son prieur dont l'histoire de la conversion au monachisme l'impressionne, et de là à Optino Poustyne, ermitage célèbre fondé par le grand archimandrite Païssy Velitchkovsky, qui avait aussi abrité Dostoïevski. Ici il sent « quelque chose de mystique » et décide d'y rester. Il constate que le prieur Josèphe, était, comme les saints, entouré d'un halo lumineux pendant qu'il faisait sa prière9. C'est Josèphe qui lui donne la bénédictionRi. Ce terme revêt, chez les moines pratiquant « la prière du coeur », une signification particulière: il s'agit de la transmission mystique de la Grâce divine, que seul le « père spirituel » pouvait accomplir.

S'ensuit l'énumération des moines et des ermites rencontrés pendant ses pèlerinages l'ayant guidé et aidé. Jean énumère ici tous ceux qui l'ont guidé dans sa quête spirituelle: à part Josèphe, Anatole, le futur prieur (ais rets), Barsanuphe, ancien officier converti au monachisme par le même Jean de Kronstadt, Nectaire, Théodose et plusieurs autres. A Optino vivaient alors plus de 300 moines. Dans le Caucase, Jean rencontre d'autres ermites arrivés « au sommet

--------------------- page126-----------------


troupes de l'Armée Rouge, il se réfugie à Odessa, à l'époque occupée par l'armée roumaine alliée des Allemands. D'ici il entrera en Roumanie et trouvera asile au monastère Cernica. C'est dans ce monastère aux environs de Bucarest que Nicolas, âgé de 85 ans, va mourir et y sera enterré, en 1944. Pendant toutes ces pérégrinations il a été accompagné par son confident Jean Kulighin. Jean sera arrêté par les Soviétiques en octobre 1946. Torturé, jugé pour trahison en tant que citoyen soviétique et condamné à 10 ans de travaux forcés, Il sera déporté fin janvier et on n'entendra plus parler de luis.

2. Les autres écrits La lettre testamentaire aux disciples est son texte le plus célèbre, plusieurs fois publié. Sa version dactylographiée, qui avait circulé en samizdatpendant la période communiste, due au père Gheorghe Rosca, a été incluse dans l'édition de 1993 du Sbornic (recueil russe de textes sur la « prière de Jésus »), publiée par l'Évêché orthodoxe d'Alba lulia'6. Deux traductions plus récentes en roumain sont dues à Alexandru Mironescuu et au père André Scrime, tous les deux membres du Buisson Ardent, cercle d'études spirituelles fondé par Sandu Tudor et dont le guide spirituel a été le père Jean. Anca Vasiliu a donné récemment une traduction française d'après le texte de Scrime. Nous donnons ici une nouvelle traduction de la Lettre, car elle représente la quintessence de l'enseignement de Jean. La division en paragraphes2° suit celle de Scrima.

la. Grâce soit rendue à Dieu qui, en ce moment même, nous montre Sa bienveillance. Afin que nos esprits en nos coeurs soient réconfortés dans la pleine union avec Dieu.
1b. Et afin qu'ils ne soient pas ébranlés ni votre confiance dans les voies de la divine Providence, ni la confiance dans l'étranger » que vous avez, non sans mystère, connu sur la voie vers le salut des âmes qui sont Siennes, je vous montrerai, à l'aide de Dieu, en évoquant brièvement en ce moment quelques signes et moments épars, seulement ce qui peut transparaître par écrit.
1c. Je rends témoignage avec force de l'oeuvre de la Providence qui s'est accomplie et qui n'a pas cessé de s'accomplir en moi. Je témoigne à nouveau de la plénitude de la miséricorde divine qui se répand sur nous et sur ceux que Dieu va encore choisir, par des voies impénétrables et de différentes manières, comme instruments à la gloire de son saint Nom.
 2a. Bienheureux soient ceux qui n'ont pas douté de moi, votre indigne père et prieur,
2b. Qui me trouve parmi vous comme « messager étranger »21.
2c. En vérité, ce n'est pas parce que moi, être humain avec ses qualités et sa défauts, j'aurai quelque chose de différent, mais par la grâce de Dieu, l'incomparable grâce de Dieu. C'est elle qui m'a choisi malgré mon indignité; c'est elle qui guide mes pas et demeure en moi, Son serviteur.
2d. Du temps de ma jeunesse même, la douce énergie de la Providence a été compatissante avec moi et, sur la voie de ma délivrance, m'a donnée la bénédiction porteuse de la grâce divin de l'Héritage. Elle m'a donné aussi un père spirituel rempli de grâce divine. Aussi, et surtout, elle m'a donné, tout au long de mon pèlerinage, la grâce sans intermédiaire de l'esprit de la puissance et de la sagesse.
2c. De tout cela je vous ai parlé plusieurs fois de vive voix et je vous donnerai sans doute d'autres détails. Parce que « nous parlerons beaucoup et nous n'en finirons pas, mais la fin de nos paroles est Dieu parmi toutes choses » comme dit, comme pour cela, le fils de Sirach dans le Livre de la Sagesse (43, 31)n. Et il ajoute tout aussi en accord avec cela: « En Le glorifiant, que pouvons-nous
2f. Malgré ma faiblesse, je Le remercierai toujours car, sur l'échelle du développement spirituel, Il m'a révélé avec vigueur tellement de fois la vérité et la force de sa grâce. Mais, comme dit l'empereur prophète Salomon: « La sagesse de Dieu est plus belle que le soleil et l'ordre des étoiles: si on la met à côté de la lumière, elle la dépasse » (Sg. 7, 29). Or, son pouVoir oeuvre à travers les faibles et les ignorants. « Qu'il est grand ton Nom, Seigneur » dit le psalmiste. Ta splendeur et ton pouvoir sont chantés par la bouche des ignorants, par la bouche des enfants et des tout-petits »
3a. Et ainsi, le Seigneur m'a fait don de ce que l'on appelle « La Tradition charismatique de l'Héritage spirituel » et du pouvoir de guider les âmes des hommes vers le salut.
3b. En regardant en arrière pour voir la distance parcourue, moi, le voyageur qui depuis soixante-quatre ans parcourt cette vie, je reconnais que, dès le début, le Seigneur s'est empressé de verser dans mon jeune coeur la flamme invincible de Son amour.
3c. Je rends grâce à Dieu parce qu'Il n'a cessé de remplir ma vie intérieure et de la combler de ses dons innommables. Je suis rempli d'humilité devant la grandeur de ces dons qui sont plus grands que tous les biens de la terre, dons que le monde et l'esprit humain ne peuvent pas pénétrer.
3d. Je rends grâce à Dieu parce que, dés mes premières années, Il m'a porté sur ses voies secrètes jusqu'aux sources intarissables d'où coule en abondance la grâce, sources gardées par les vieux Pères dans les ermitages, dans les montagnes et dans des recoins à l'abri du monde.
3e. Oui, je rends grâce à Dieu qui a fait fondre ensemble dans mon jeune coeur, sur le seuil de l'âge adulte, l'abondance des dons desquels je vis encore et je me renouvelle, abondance que les souffrances et la voie tortueuse de ma vie n'ont cependant pas laissé se perdre, mais que j'ai gardés avec soin et appréhension et j'ai essayé de ne pas les diminuer. Au contraire, avec hardiesse spirituelle parlant, je peux témoigner sans faute que moi, le humble et l'ignorant, malgré




--------------------- page129-----------------

De sa prison, avant d'être déporté, Jean écrit entre le 9 et le 21 janvier 1947 six lettres dont k contenu est nettement différent de ses écrits précédents. C'est un homme vieux, malade et effrayé qui craint le froid de son pays natal et le long chemin qu'il aura à parcourir. Il supplie ses amis de lui envoyer ses vêtements chauds et ses gros souliers d'hiver. Il demande avec insistance l'intervention du patriarche Nicodème auprès les autorités d'occupation pour intercéder en sa faveur, ce que celui-ci fera, sans grand succès d'ailleurs. Il leur demande de faire le tri de ses livres et de ses manuscrits et de ne garder que ceux ayant un rapport avec l'orthodoxie. Il paraît se rendre bien compte du caractère subversif, aux yeux de l'occupant, des écrits ayant un rapport avec le cercle du Buisson Ardent, vu par les Russes comme une organisation contre-révolutionnaire de gens riches et cultivés dirigée contre les Soviets28. Deux lettres de Russie lui semblent particulièrement compromettantes29. Un passage de la lettre du 10 janvier est édifiant:

Toute chose spirituelle est ici là l'enquête, n.n.j dénaturée dans un sens contre-révolutionnaire. Ils ne comprennent rien aux choses spirituelles. Toutes les conversations d'Antim sont classées dans la catégorie des actions subversives contre les Soviets. Parmi les participants ont été certains avec des intentions bienveillantes, je ne sais pas qui, mais je pense plutôt aux personnes de sexe féminin. Mettez de côté tout cc qui, parmi mes biens, est écrit en russe ou en roumain, à part les livres slavons. Il y aura peut-être une perquisition, même s'ils n'ont rien à confisquer, mais il faut se prémunir contre le mal".

La résignation transparaît dans sa dernière lettre du 21 janvier, où il demande de donner aux pauvres sa maigre fortune, dont l'objet le plus précieux, une montre Longines avec la vitre cassée:

La condamnation est cruelle. 10 années de travaux forcés, 3 ans d'interdiction et la confiscation de la fortune. Mais ce que je vous prie, par cette lettre, est que vous prenez tous mes biens de Cernica, qui ne me sont pas parvenus: la croix pectorale et deux autres, une montre noire Longines avec la vitre cassée, deux frocs, une neuve grise et une noire, les vêtements, l'Evangile, l'Antimis 31, les livres, les petites icônes, la couette en laine, l'oreiller et en général tout ce qui reste de moi.

Les difficultés m'attendent. Seul Dieu est puissant et peut les alléger. Mes biens, en premier lieu la montre, vendez-les et distribuez-les aux mendiants et aux églises, pour l'aumône, afin que mon sort soit allégé. Je vous prie avec insistance de vendre mes biens petit à petit et de les distribuer aux pauvres, afin que mon sort soit allégé.

Le convoi peut partir entre 26 et 30 janvier. Je vous prie avec insistance de m'aider avec vos prières, à la maison a à l'église, mais surtout avec l'aumône.

Après m'être établi quelque pan et si je suis encore en vie, je vous écrirai. Je vous envoie ma dernière étreinte et la bénédiction de Dieu.

Jean a fait une forte impression sur ses interlocuteurs. Nous disposons de plusieurs témoignages en ce sens. Alexandru Mironescu, qui décrit sa première rencontre avec le père Jean au monastère Cernica (probablement pendant l'été 1944), le compare à Christ et Leontie (qu'il appelle « le bienheureux Leontie ») à l'un des apôtres32. Celui-ci était un caporal originaire de Bessarabie (la Moldavie actuelle). Le récit de leur rencontre fortuite dans un tramway bucarestois fait partie de l'hagiographie de Jean : suite à cette rencontre, Leontie, qui parlait russe, quitte son emploi sur le coup, suit Jean et devient son interprète. Il sera déporté en même temps que son maître et enverra plusieurs années plus tard une carte postale d'un camp en Sibérie, qui contenait la « prière du coeur ».
Mironescu voit dans la rencontre avec Jean un signe et lui reconnaît une forte présence spirituelle:

Est-ce que Dieu a fait venir le père Jean de si loin, afin que nous le rencontrions? Aussi présomptueuse et abracadabrante soit cette question, il m'est difficile de l'éliminer de mon pauvre esprit, accablé parfois par tellement d'événement étranges! En tout cas nous avions grand besoin de lui, qui était un confesseur grand et expérimenté, nous avions besoin de lui-même, car il détenait les réponses à une série de questions et problèmes très sérieux qui étaient les nôtres. Après nous avoir dit et enseigné, durant une série de rencontres inoubliables, certaines chose essentielles qui, je crois, personne d'autre au monde ne pouvait faire, il est parti; c'est-à-dire il a été enlevé par les Russes, kidnappé par les Russes". Et il est parti pour de bon, le pauvre et énigmatique étranger, par le chemin des errances bizarres de ces temps d'apocalypse, quand des certains mystères de la vie chrétienne sont semés des manières les plus étranges qui soient"!

Le Père Jean [...) était une personnalité, une grande personnalité spirituelle. Il avait un contour ferme, une identité particulière, une forte empreinte spirituelle, un style adéquate pour transmettre une expérience unique et pour nous inconnue. [...J Tout parlait (en lui, n.n.) d'une présence tout à fait remarquable".

Et j'ai compris que le Père Jean est une personnalité qui sert une ancienne et authentique tradition, qu'il a appris et pratiquée dans un monastère avec une vie spirituelle que nous ne pouvons même pas imaginer avec certitude. Rien de ce que j'ai entendu et appris du Père Jean n'a pas été contredit plus tard par les écrits des Saints Pères, que le lis continuellement. Au contraire, ils n'ont fait que confirmer la valeur de l'enseignement vivant que nous a donné le Père Jean. [..J En tout cas, le Père Jean est celui qui m'a pris la main et m'a dit, comme un père à son enfant: « Voilà, ceci est le chemin qui mène à ton coeur »36.

Racontant le même événement qui marqua le début de la présence de Jean parmi les membres du groupe du Buisson Ardent, la visite à Cernica de Sandu Tudor, Mironescu et le père Boghiu, André Scrima confirme le charisme du père Jean :


Le père Jean les recevra avec une chaleur d'âme restée entière jusqu'au dernier moment. Et avec la simplicité de celui qui connaissait le sens prédestiné de ces rencontres. Depuis lors et jusqu'à l'automne 1946, quand il sera arrêté, le père Jean a été tout le temps entouré de ses nouveaux amis, partageant son temps entre Antim et Cernica. Lui-même nous encourageait sans cesse: « Mettez-moi toutes les questions que vous désirez, profitez de ma présence tant qu'il est encore possible; dans peu de temps, je serai pris et emporté loin d'ici s. 1...1 Son « enseignement » combinait la rigueur de la connaissance certaine — reçue tant de la lecture des textes traditionnels, que de l'expérience vécue — avec la souplesse d'une âme basée sur la miséricordem.

3. Hésychasme et gnose. L'influence de René Guénon

Nous avons déjà dit que la Lettre testamentaire est un texte qui, vraisemblablement, a été « construit » en plusieurs étapes, car plusieurs textes antérieurs contiennent des fragments de ce discours que l'on petit qualifier d'« initiatique ». Une idée centrale le parcourt comme un fil rouge: Jean est un élu de Dieu qui l'a choisi comme « messager ». [empreinte christique y est clairement présente: « Heureux soient ceux qui n'ont pas douté de moi ». Mais Jean ne se voit pas seulement comme une incarnation du Christ; dans une certaine mesure, il est plus proche des textes gnostiques que des récits du Nouveau Testament. Plusieurs témoignages que nous allons discuter dans les pages suivantes laissent penser que l'hésychasme comportait en effet une « initiation » qui garde certains traits du christianisme primitif et confirme une intuition de Guénon qui, pourtant, avait douté de sa capacité de conserver les traces de l'ésotérisme chrétien primitif". Plusieurs éléments typiques du discours gnostique chrétien se retrouvent dans les textes des Pères de l'Eglise, Clément d'Alexandrie et Origène notamment, d'où Jean aurait pu s'inspirer".

Reprenons ici les éléments d'inspiration gnostique qui jalonnent ce court texte:

1. Seulement « ce qui peut transparaître par écrit » est évoqué dans la Lettre ( 1 b). [enseignement oral prime, l'écriture ne sert qu'à fixer un cadre général, neutre, elle n'est qu'une sorte d'« aide-mémoire » qui résume l'essentiel, mais seulement ce qui est communicable, ce qui ne présente pas de danger. Le secret est consubstantiel à la doctrine, non pas parce qu'elle serait ressentie comme ésotérique en soi, mais parce qu'il y a toujours quelque chose d'incommunicable qui l'est de par sa nature même, qui ne peut se transmettre que directement, de maître aux disciples. La transmission orale de maître au disciple est typique de l'hésychasme et se fait à travers une initiation spéciale dont tous les commentateurs avisés ont gardé le secret.

--------------------- page133-----------------

« gardiens » de la grâce divine qui les choisit comme réceptacles, tout comme les lieux reclus où ils vivent sont plus propices à recevoir sa présence que le monde profane (2d-3d). Jean les a rencontrés et a vécu à leurs côtés, il leur a consacré plusieurs passages et écrit leur nom avec vénération, mais son propre rôle il le voit autrement: il doit transmettre ce don, ne pas être seulement son dépositaire. On peut dire que, si les ermites vivent dans l'attente de la parousie, pour lui le moment eschatologique est déjà venu. Scrima a souligné, à plusieurs reprises, les rapports entre l'hésychastne et la gnose: « atteindre le coeur » à travers la prière de Jésus c'est atteindre le centre de l'être spirituel qui se confond avec l'Esprit Saint. Cette expérience s'accompagne d'une sensation de douleur physique suivie par un sentiment de paix exprimé par des larmes de joie quand l'identification avec Dieu devient manifeste; ce phénomène est typiquement gnostique4s. Ailleurs, il parle de la croix comme « agent dans la gnose contemplative de l'intellect
»46.

Le texte le plus instructif dans ce sens est probablement l'entretien de saint Séraphim de Sarov avec Nicolas Motovilov47: la face du saint brille comme le soleil à midi, il ressent une silence et une paix inexprimables, une douceur et une béatitude indicible envahit son âme, il ressent une chaleur intérieure en plein hiver comparable à celle d'un bain de vapeur, une odeur qu'on ne peut comparer à rien sur terre et qui est l'aromate de l'Esprit Saint, flotte autour de lui, etc°.

Si les origines de l'hésychasme se confondent avec les premiers siècles chrétiens et si c'est dans la renaissance athonite du xvlue siècle que les grands mystiques russes ont puisé leur doctrine, et même si leur contexte culturel était différent, l'on doit chercher les sources de la spiritualité qui anime les mystiques orthodoxes du début du xxe siècle dans la même recherche de renouveau de la Tradition qui ont été aux origines du guénonisme. Scrima ne s'est d'ailleurs pas trompé en soulignant que, pour ces mystiques, le sens de la Tradition était « celui de l'intériorisation du temps quand le corps historique de l'Empire d'Orient s'est disloqué ». Ensuite, la Tradition serait, dans un sens plus guénonien, « le redressement de la doctrine et de la vie spirituelle (...] autour de la Sainte Montagne [...] face à l'avènement de l'homme 'moderne' et de son angoisse dans la seconde moitie du xviir siècle »49.

Il serait peut-être un peu prématuré de parler de « l'angoisse de l'homme moderne » dans ce xvnle siècle très mouvementé, certes, mais assez loin encore de ce mouvement de retour aux sources qui a été propre à la deuxième moitié du )(me siècle, et dont le guénonisme n'a été que l'aboutissement le plus célèbre, mais somme toute tardif. Mais Scrima a sans doute raison d'affirmer que Guénon a eu tort de dire que cette transmission initiatique s'est perdue dans le christianisme; les écrits de Jean seraient la meilleure preuve du contraires°.

Cependant, Guénon avait admis qu'un caractère initiatique avait dû se maintenir dans l'hésychasme, même si plus ou moins amoindri au cours des temps modernes. Dans l'hésychasme, dit-il, « l'initiation proprement dite est essentiellement constituée par la transmission régulière de certains formules". Il tenait sans doute ses informations sur l'hésychasme de Lovinescu, qui l'en avait informé suite à sa visite à Athos52 et, si on ne trouve pas celui-ci parmi les membres du Buisson Ardent, c'est sans doute à cause de sa conversion à l'Islam. Mais d'autres adeptes de Guénon, Marcel Avramescu et Anton Dumitriu y étaient, et il semble bien possible que Scrima aurait pu tirer ses rapprochements théorétiques de ces derniers. Dumitriu est la source (identifié par Mutti) de Vâlsan qui, dans quelques articles publiés dans Études Traditionnelks53, donne quelques détails sur l'initiation hésychaste qui comporterait sept degrés correspondant aux sept mystères évangéliques, information que nul autre témoignage ne permet de vérifier". Vâlsan reproduit le passage de la Lettre de Jean publié par Scrima dans son article d' Hermèsss mais possédait aussi sa version roumaine, qui lui fournit l'occasion de quelques commentaires supplémentaires. Il conclut en interprétant le texte de Kulîghin dans un sens purement guénonien, ce qui est sans doute excessif.

On sait que le clergé et les théologiens orthodoxes admettent difficilement un quelconque rapport de l'hésychasme avec la gnose"; mais cela ne devrait pas étonner. De l'intérieur même du courant guénonien, Marco Pallis niait aussi l'existence d'un courant ésotérique dans le christianisme primitif, ce qui a donné lieu à la polémique ci-dessus mentionnée avec Vâlsan.

D'un autre avis est Enrico Montanari. Les témoignages de Dumitriu et Scrima" seraient une pétition de principe: ils ne démontreraient l'existence d'un ésotérisme chrétien que par son interprétation dans un sens guénonien, et d'autre part ce serait l'hésychasme même qui légitimerait l'interprétation de Guénon. Mais il reconnaît que l'ésotérisme hésychaste mérite d'être considéré en tant que problèmes'. C'est peut-être la position la plus prudente, mais rappelons-nous que l'ésotérisme ne se reconnaît pas d'après la déclaration de foi des adeptes (ils sont presque toujours convaincus d'être sur le chemin de la vraie foi et en accord avec le dogme), ni ne petit être réfuté par peur d'introduire un soupçon d'hérésie dans la foi chrétienne.

L'allusion à une doctrine secrète, la présence d'un « messager » porteur de l'initiation qui sera transmise à quelques adeptes seulement, à l'aide d'un rituel spécifique, son lien direct avec Dieu affirmé avec force à plusieurs reprises, sont des éléments constitutifs d'une gnose chrétienne dont seuls les aléas de l'histoire ont empêché l'entière réalisation". Ehésychasme lui offrait la base doctrinaire et le groupe d'études spirituelles connu sous le nom de Buisson Ardentlui a fourni le cercle de disciples. Ce phénomène, l'émergence d'un courant gnostique au


--------------------- page136-----------------

un des plus grands théologiens orthodoxes", le Monseigneur André Scrima (à l'époque étudiant de Dumitriu à l'Université de Bucarest), les archimandrites Sofian Boghiu, Benedict Ghius, Roman Braga et Felix Dubneac, les pères Arsenic Papacioc et Adrian Fageteanu.

Ses réunions avaient lieu chaque dimanche soir après la messe, dans la bibliothèque du monastère Antin' du antre de Bucarest. Le public était nombreux, il y avait des nombreux étudiants et souvent la salle de la bibliothèque étant pleine on y assistait debout dans l'escalier. On lisait et on commentait dans une perspective théologique des œuvres littéraires et des textes patristiques, on faisait des conférences sur des sujets théologiques suivies de séminaires pendant lesquels le public posait desquestions et on pratiquait la • prière du coeur • après une bénédiction. Tudor et k père Jean donnaient des conseils sur la manière de la pratiquer68. Entre 1945 et 1947, l'année de sa déportation, k père Jean a été le mentor spirituel du groupe69.

Le activité des groupes religieux a été interdite par décret en 1948. En 1949, Sandu Tudor, désormais k frère Agathon, est arrêté; l'année suivante cesseront aussi les réunions d'Antim. Sorti de prison en 1952, Tudor prend l'habit sous le nom de père Daniil et, après un séjour au monastère de Crasna. se retire à l'ermitage de Rarau. Ici il tente de constituer un groupe d'environ 12 personnes, des gens issus des milieux très modestes, auxquels enseigne la • prière du cœur • et des éléments de théologien. De son ermitage, il descend souvent à Bucarest et, à cette occasion, des réunions des anciens membres du groupe ont lieu clandestinement, k plus souvent dans la maison d'Alexandru Mironescu. Ils seront arrêtés dans la nuit de 13-14 juin 1958 et, après un procès dont les sentences étaient connues d'avance, condamnés pour haute trahison. Tudor mourra en prison en 1960 (ou en 1962 d'après d'autres témoignages). Le lieu de sa sépulture reste inconnu. Les autres seront libérés en 1964 grâce à une période de relative libéralisation. Le grand poète Vasile Voiculescu avait été gracié en 1962 mais, âgé de 75 ans au moment de son incarcération, mourra peu après suite au traitement brutal qu'on lui avait infligé pendant la détention.

Des raisons idéologiques et politiques expliquent l'acharnement du régime communiste contre le cercle d'Antim. Le groupe. très connu à l'époque dans k milieu bucarestois, représentait un noyau diffus de résistance spirituelle qui sortait du cadre plus restreint et plus facile à contrôler du milieu ecclésiastique, ce que le pouvoir communiste ne pouvait tolérer. Sa méfiance s'était accrue suite aux liens avérés de certains religieux avec la résistance anticommuniste, active dans les montagnes jusqu'au milieu des années cinquante". ll faut aussi dire que cette période, qui a duré jusqu'au relatif dégel commencé en 1964, a été celle de la plus dure répression contre tout ce qui semblait être hostile au régime. Après l'interdiction des partis politiques et l'emprisonnement de leurs derniers dirigeants et après l'élimination des derniers résistants anti-communistes cachés dans les montagnes. l'Eglise restait la seule institution où une quelconque résistance contre l'idéologie communiste pouvait encore s'exprimer. Tudor et son groupe étaient un de ces foyers de résistance spirituelle que Tudor et certains ecclésiastiques considéraient alors comme la seule encore possible. Tout cela n'explique pas la brutalité de la répression, mais explique peut-être les motivations.

Braga affirme que, même si le groupe était surveillé depuis 1947, ce qui a attiré l'attention de la Seruritate plus d'une décennie après, quand le groupe ne se réunissait plus que d'un manière occasionnelle et l'a décidé de mettre fin à ses activités, a été l'article d'Olivier Clément, qui lui aurait ouvert les yeux sur l'intérêt de l'Occident pour ce mouvement religieux par son essence même anti-communiste et sur le danger représenté par l'adhésion d'intellectuels connus à un tel groupen. Il est très probable que Braga tenait cette information de Tudor lui-même.

Les choses sont probablement plus nuancées. D'après les déclarations faites à la Securitate par un « co-détenu » de Tudor, un informateur placé dans sa cellule pour l'espionner pendant l'enquête qui a suivi à l'arrestation de 1958, celui-ci s'était vanté que Scrima avait commencé à publier dans la presse française des articles parlant de lui :

 Il a un disciple (c'est comme ça qu' il l'appelle sans dire son nom) qui est parti à Paris. Celui-ci a commence de publier dans la presse française quelques articles où il parle aussi de lui. La manière de le présenter présente, c'est vrai, un certain danger pour lui".

Mais il est très probable que la Securitate le savait déjà. Naïf, Scrima avait écrit à Tudor, Ghius et Mironescu à ce sujet, et ses lettres ont été interceptées. Une adresse du Service des Informations internes (la Ille Direction de la Securitate) demandait au Service d'Enquêtes Pénales d'établir si Scrima, dont on savait maintenant qu'il avait pris contact avec des « personnalités théologiques » en France et leur avait parlé du Buisson Ardent et de Tudor, avait « transmis ses instructions aux membres du groupe ■74. On pouvait les accuser ainsi non seulement d'être des membres de la Garde de Fer, clé de voûte de l'accusation au procès'', mais aussi d'être à la solde des puissances étrangères. Scrima en serait ainsi une cause involontaire de l'arrestation du groupe, mais non la seule.

Quoi qu'il en soit, une comparaison avec les cercles gnostiques des premiers siècles chrétiens ne semble pas fortuite. Tout comme ceux-ci, durant une période historique trouble, un groupe composé de gens venus d'horizons très divers tenta de se coaguler autour d'un « maitre spirituel . dont non seulement l'enseignement, mais tout l'horizon spirituel était en contradiction avec son environnement politique et culturel et exprimait un profond désir de renouveau spirituel. Il a été sans doute « antimoderne »77 si on prend en compte sa tentative de retour aux sources du christianisme des Pères du Désert et les traits qui le rapprochent de la mouvance guénonienne. Il peut être considéré aussi un des précurseurs de ce que l'on appelle aujourd'hui « les nouveaux mouvements religieux ».