Dmitry Savvin. Sodomite intoxication. On the mechanism of reproduction of homosexuality among the ruling layer of the ROC MP and the only possible way to overcome it

September 2, 2013 · Sin, Orthodoxy, Russian Orthodox Church

To be honest, the perversely erotic aspect of intra-church problems never seemed to me a topic worth actively discussing. Not at all because it is sinful to raise such questions (it is sinful to sin, not to oppose sin), but because I saw no point in it.

However, after the appearance of the absurd interview with Nevzorov, the highlight of which is a story about some unthinkable oral intimacy in the altar area of a church, it became obvious that I would have to speak out on this topic.

Indeed, homosexuals within the Orthodox episcopate, as far as we can judge, are encountered. (In this case, we are talking about the situation within the ROC MP, but it must be noted that neither the ROCOR nor the True Orthodox Church are at all immune from such characters.) No one has been caught red-handed, or caught at anything of the sort. But “gay” scandals have occurred repeatedly, and the hierarchs involved were hastily transferred to new cathedrals or even forced out of office.

Moreover, church circles are aware of bishops renowned for their “non-traditional orientation” who have not yet fallen into disfavor. How numerous they are, where truth ends and clerical and sacristan gossip begins, cannot be said with certainty. In any case, one can assert: they exist. And not only do they exist, but they also form a kind of lobby. Around this lobby, in turn, hovers the corresponding “young generation” of episcopate seekers, who yearn to attain it through the back door, in every sense.

The problem exists. And if one sets aside all the hypocritical (and in the mouths of atheists – particularly hypocritical) ohs and sighs, incantations and wailings, one cannot fail to notice that this abomination is engendered by the current administrative system. More precisely, by the system of selecting and training candidates for the episcopate.

As is well known, canons prescribe celibacy for the Orthodox episcopate, and the established tradition (characteristic, primarily, of the Russian Church) demands not only celibacy but acceptance of monasticism. De facto, this tradition is equivalent in significance to a canonical norm.

Long before 1917, a division within monasticism emerged in the dominant Greco-Russian Orthodox Church, leading to the formation of two peculiar “castes”: monasticism of the monastery and monasticism of learning. The former — monks and nuns proper, who come to the monastery and, to the best of their ability, carry out the monastic feat. This was, so to speak, the traditional — in form, at least — type of monasticism. As for the “learned” caste, things were somewhat different.

In the vast majority of cases, these were students of seminaries and academies who took monastic vows while still studying in theological schools. While still sitting on seminary benches, they were jokingly and not without sarcasm called “bishops” – for the simple reason that, indeed, the standard end of the career of such seminarians was precisely bishopric. As a rule, the average path from a graduate of a Theological Academy to bishop was not too long and amounted to 10–15 years.

These 10–15 years were spent in an environment largely remote from monastic endeavor. Here is how Protopresbyter Georgy Shavelsky describes it: “The whole setting, all the conditions of the pre-episcopal service of the ‘learned’ monks were such that they were more likely to corrupt than to educate and improve them. The young monk lived in the world, without undergoing the monastic feat of obedience, without cultivating in himself the chief virtue not only of monastic but of all Christian life — humility…” And further from the same author: “The church authorities stubbornly refused to notice the terrible and scandalous contradiction hidden in this order, which had become a church-wide phenomenon: accepting monasticism means condemning oneself to constant humility and abasement, but here monasticism immediately elevated and magnified the monk to the detriment of the rights and merits of others… monasticism is renunciation of the world and its goods, yet it was precisely tonsure that opened the way for the monk to rule over the world; monasticism is joined with a vow of non-possession, yet only the most famous artists, lawyers, and professor-physicians could compete with the hierarchs of the most prominent cathedrals… in the abundance of earthly goods that fell to their lot.”

That is, a system was developed that made the episcopal way of life essentially alien to monasticism. Yet it was accessible only to monks. Consequently, people began to flock to tonsure who dreamed not at all of the monastic life, but of something, at the very least, earthly.

This malady, which became apparent at the close of the 19th century in the Greco-Russian Synodal Church, was reflected, one way or another, in the subsequent history of the ROC MP. However, there is no direct continuity here, for living conditions in Soviet Russia were qualitatively different, and a bishop who governed a diocese from a church gatehouse between exiles and concentration camps was nothing like the “learned” figures described above.

The full-scale revival of “learned monasticism” was initiated not by some unknown, but by the memorable Metropolitan Nikodim (Rotov). Actually, it is he who can be thanked for the reappearance in the ROC MP of a certain monastic (let us call it so for now) community, copying all the “achievements” of the “learned” monks described by Fr. Shavelsky. And the full blossoming of this phenomenon began in the 1990s.

The pre-revolutionary “learned” monks, the “intellectual elite” of Metropolitan Nikodim’s making, and many of the current hierarchs of the ROC MP are all united by one thing. For all of them (in their eyes) monasticism was not the only possible and best path to salvation. For them it was merely a necessary and, on the whole, unpleasant addition, which, “by custom,” is appended to the main delicacy – the bishop’s mitre. In this sense, in the 1990s they indeed restored the tradition, a very

And, unfortunately, on the path of administrative and economic development that the leadership of the ROC MP chose after 1991, it was impossible to avoid this. Several factors played a role here. First, the Synodal Church was tacitly perceived as a kind of absolute standard. And since “learned” monks ran the show there, it was thought that nothing better could be devised now. Secondly, at the head of the MP firmly stood the fledglings of Nikodim’s nest — that very Soviet re-edition of the aforementioned pre-revolutionary phenomenon. Naturally, they deemed it proper to raise the new church elite in their own image and likeness.

But all this, in the end, is just lyrical and other “psychology.” The main — third — reason lay in the method of governance.

Starting in the 1990s, at first quietly and by stealth, and then more and more overtly, a system began to take shape in which all church governance is concentrated in the person of the bishop. All conciliar institutions de facto disappear. (This includes, by the way, the Bishops’ Council — this body currently has no independence whatsoever in the ROC MP and merely rubber-stamps Synodal decisions.) Diocesan Councils are either absent or simply become an executive organ of the bishop’s authority. Their Graces are accountable only to the Patriarch and the Synod, while they rule unchallenged in their dioceses — and they do so, as is now commonly said, in “manual mode.”

And here purely pragmatic considerations come into play. To govern — and especially according to the described scheme — one needs not an experienced spiritual father or an elder-monk, but an experienced administrator, a manager.

Can a monastery produce such a manager? Exceptions exist, but the rule is quite unambiguous: it cannot. The monastic community and its economic structure, even in our own oh-so-merry times, are too specific. And someone who can successfully and ably serve as abbot of a monastery very often proves incapable of leading a diocese.

I have personally had occasion to see what happens when this rule is ignored. It was in one diocese of the ROC MP, where a bishop was appointed to the cathedra from among the monastery monks. As for his personal morality, this bishop (especially in comparison with his colleagues) was worthy of all praise. He was indeed modest in everyday life, perhaps even to the point of asceticism. He loved the divine services, loved prayer. He hated the vice named in the title of this article, and in his diocese, so to speak, burned it out with a hot iron. And one could say many good and kind things about him.

But he never understood that a diocese cannot be run in the same way as a monastery. He simply was incapable of grasping this. As a result, under a morally upright and personally devout bishop, the diocese began to fall apart, and people were tearing their hair out and periodically climbing the walls.

And all that, in general, was natural. Governance is both an art and a science, and one must seriously study it. Piety does not make a monk an outstanding chemist, an outstanding biologist, or an experienced manager.

As a result, a quite logical scheme has emerged, one that gives preference precisely to managers. Their standard career path differs somewhat from the one that existed before 1917. Then, future bishops moved toward the mitre mainly through theological schools. Today this road is not the main highway, because cadres raised in this way, in addition to all their other shortcomings, are also poor managers. Before the revolution, such bishops had a nanny in the form of the imperial authorities, who, willy-nilly, were forced to compensate for all miscalculations and failures. Today there is no such miracle-nanny. And without it, “learned” monasticism quickly and astonishingly malignantly weaves bast shoes — something that Hilarion (Alfeyev) very vividly demonstrated at one time in the Diocese of Sourozh.

Therefore, the career highway now looks approximately like this: subdeacon (cell-attendant) — secretary (celibate deacon or hierodeacon “attached to the bishop”) — diocesan secretary — vicar bishop — ruling bishop of a diocese. Sometimes a monastery is woven in here, but in passing and for a short time. Monastery abbots and priors are, in many cases, a whole other story — but a special story, one that goes beyond the scope of this article.

Stepping onto this escalator, a person more or less clearly understands that, “all other things being equal,” it should end in the episcopate. That is, absolute power in the church sphere over a given territory and various tasty perks. And if so, then it follows that he is seeking precisely those things, and not monasticism. (Had he wanted to be a monk, he would have gone to a monastery, not to the diocesan chancery.) The tonsure here comes, as Soviet trade parlance had it, “as a load-on,” a spoonful of tar in a barrel of archpastoral honey.

Such motives and preconditions, in and of themselves, cannot but cause concern for the future spiritual and moral development of a future His Grace. And to this must be added the very lifestyle accepted among the episcopate of the ROC MP.

Being the absolute master, a “vladyka” in the sense of a despot in his diocese, the bishop is, in principle, free to do whatever he wishes. And in this respect he radically differs from all other monastics. A parish hieromonk is, after all, under the supervision of the diocesan authorities. The same applies to diocesan employees from among monastics. One way or another, in their lives there is always some external restraining factor.

In the church environment, by and large, no one controls a bishop of the ROC MP. Within his diocese, everyone is accountable to him, while he is accountable to no one — and the Patriarch and Synod are far away. Therefore, you can live as you please. If you want to serve — serve with a full rite around the clock. If you don’t — you can completely forget about all services apart from Pascha (and even at Pascha you can fail to show up, e.g., “due to illness”). You can stay put in your residence, or you can travel for months through towns and villages, both in Russia and abroad. And so on — the options for leisure, innocent and wine-soaked, are legion here. And if you are able to cleverly package this leisure, then it’s absolutely wonderful.

And here another nuance is added. Every bishop is a monk, and monasticism, generally speaking, presupposes a vow of non-acquisitiveness. However, both church and public consciousness as a whole have grown accustomed to the fact that the lifestyle of the episcopate is arranged at a “high level” – stately residences, expensive cars, decent food, and so on. Though this does not mesh with the monastic way of life, people have come to regard this transgression as something normative.

Nowadays, no one de facto expects asceticism from a bishop – who is always a monk. The only thing that both church folk and wider society still demand of a monk-hierarch is the observance of celibacy, of sexual discipline.

So what, in the end, do we have on hand? A man who did not want to be a monk, but wanted to be a bishop. Having become a hierarch, he is the complete master both of his diocese and of himself. He is a successful manager, with the psychology of a bureaucrat-administrator rather than that of a monk; de facto he is bound by no monastic vows or obligations (save his inner convictions and conscience) except one: celibacy.

Let us ask ourselves: can a middle-aged man, still comparatively young and healthy, who lacks any clear skill in monastic life, yet who possesses power and access to many material goods, simply pick up and restrict himself exclusively and solely in one sphere – the sexual one? The answer, I fear, is obvious.

One cannot be a monk just a little, or a monk on Sundays, while the rest of the time spitting on monastic vows. The monastic path presupposes a constant struggle, discipline and self-discipline, which alone make it possible to keep oneself in bodily purity. Moreover, this path can be fully realized only in a monastery (exceptions are possible – but they are precisely exceptions to the rule, not the rule itself). If this is absent, then also “on the celibacy front” serious difficulties arise.

Further on, alas, everything is just as logical – and just as sad. The church figure who does not wish to restrict himself begins to seek a suitable object for sexual gratification. And (this is the only thing in which one can agree with Nevzorov) a woman is… poorly suited for this. Intimate relations inevitably affect personal interaction in the presence of outsiders; the liaison, one way or another, becomes obvious to everyone. The constant presence of a woman nearby is compromising, and there is no way to wave it away with some “pious” excuse.

Homosexuality, however vile it sounds, is more convenient to conceal, which means it is easier to maintain “propriety.” It is far harder to explain the constant presence “at one’s side” of an attractive secretary than the analogous proximity of a subdeacon or archdeacon (who, after all, are simply supposed to be nearby). There are several other points here, but I do not wish to go into details out of revulsion.

Next the malady begins to spread. The pederast surrounds himself with his own kind, whom he then starts shoving upward along the career ladder. And then the cycle repeats…

The final picture looks rather sad. We are confronted with a system that gives a very unambiguous fork. Either the cathedras will be occupied by monks who will simply botch the services, because they cannot manage and are incapable of doing so, or by professional managers who have taken the tonsure. And then expect not only Mercedeses and Lexuses, but also sodomites, for professional managers in all ages do not wish to do without not only “decent” transport, but also sexual gratification.

Within the existing structure of the Moscow Patriarchate there are no other variants.

And, by the way, a “theological” justification for this Sodomite frenzy has already been worked out. Not long ago I heard the following concept regarding high-ranking sodomites: “Better this way, they say, than with a woman” (!!!). Thus they do not marry, do not renounce monasticism. And then, supposedly, before death they will take the Great Schema, which, as a second baptism, will wash this sin away from them… All in all, it would be funny if it were not so foul. But the neo-Sergian consciousness has once again demonstrated a flexibility and stretchiness that no silicone can rival.

The most suitable solution to the problem, as always in the Church, lies not outside Tradition, but in faithful and careful adherence to it. To the episcopal cathedras we must again begin to appoint spiritually experienced, monastic monks, not managers. And so that they do not run the dioceses entrusted to them into the ground, we must renounce the system of manual control and hierarchical “absolutism.”

The authority of a bishop is, first and foremost, spiritual authority. “To serve tables,” to occupy oneself with economic, and in large part political questions, should be the job of people who live in the world. The hierarch must monitor their actions (retaining an absolute right of veto), but not issue direct orders, taking upon himself the functions of site foreman and quartermaster.

At the same time, His Grace himself must be overseen by conciliar institutions – and quite strictly at that. Let us not forget that, according to canonical norms, a cell-attendant is primarily a witness of the bishop’s pious life. That is, strictly speaking, an officially assigned canonical informer, who is obliged to notify the Church of the bishop’s transgressions, should any come to light.

Elected, full-fledged Diocesan Councils should handle administrative and economic affairs, leaving spiritual matters alone within the direct purview of the hierarch. We need Diocesan Assemblies (congresses of clergy and laity), regularly convened – and not formal-false, but genuine – Local Councils. Then the need for managers who through a misunderstanding wear monastic mantles will at once fall away, along with the total lack of oversight of the episcopate by the Orthodox community, which fosters various vices.

In short, we need to implement what the Local Council of the Orthodox Russian Church of 1917–18 adopted and affirmed.

One can, of course, argue about how “liberal” that Council was, and so on. But, nevertheless, there simply are no other remedies for the Sodomite intoxication of the hierarchy, nor for many other ills, except the development of conciliar institutions.

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