Among the many consequences of the Bolshevik take-over of Russia, one was the appearance of an unprecedented Russian ecclesiastical diaspora outside the borders of what became the Soviet Union. Increasingly embattled and isolated by a fiercely hostile regime, the Russian Orthodox Church in the USSR was able to communicate only intermittently with bishops who found themselves abroad following the Russian Civil War. Attempts to set up jurisdictional boundaries for émigré Russian Orthodox Church bodies became fraught with unresolved controversies and disputes. This was exacerbated by incompatible theological tendencies among eminent representatives of the émigré Church organizations. The most intellectually explicit instance involved the polemics between “liberal” views promoted by the Theological Academy in Paris under Metropolitan Evlogii and the “conservative” theologians under Metropolitan Antonii in Serbia. This difference came to a head in the mid-1930s, with the voluminous writings of Fr. Sergii Bulgakov becoming the chief item of contention.

While the term “Sophia” (Greek for “wisdom”) has stood for a variety of allegorical concepts in mystical and occult teachings over the centuries, the most significant attempt to develop a doctrine of Sophia within an explicitly Christian framework belongs to a trio of Russian thinkers: V.S. Solov’ev (1853-1900), P.A. Florenskii (1882-1937), and S.N. Bulgakov (1871-1944). 1 Sophiology, as the doctrine elaborated by these men has come to be known, is pre-eminently concerned with the way in which the link between God and His created world is effected and manifested. In contrast to the dominant patristic view whereby Sophia, the Divine Wisdom, is identified with Christ in accordance with a well-known scriptural passage (I Cor. 1:24), the proponents of Sophiology argue that the mediation between God and world is accomplished through the quasi-personal entity they call Sophia, the exact nature of which (or whom) has however never received a clear definition and has for this reason been open to charges of incompatibility with accepted Orthodox teaching. 2

Indeed Sophiological theories have given rise to controversy from the start, although it took several decades before official Orthodox Church bodies subjected Sophiology to a formal examination. The reasons for the slow reaction can be briefly indicated. In the case of Vladimir Solov’ev, it has been pointed out that his mystical visions, partially embodied as they were in poetry and a treatise published only abroad, were not taken seriously by professional philosophers and theologians of Solov’ev’s day, gaining adherents mostly in literary circles. 3 Florenskii, who developed Solov’ev’s Sophiological themes in his Stolp i utverzhdenie Istiny (1914), avoided official criticism by submitting a special abridged edition of his book to his examining committee when he stood for the theological degree of magistr bogosloviia: the chapter on Sophia was here simply omitted. 4 And the turbulent events set off by the Russian Revolution in the following years, above all the catastrophes that befell the Russian Orthodox Church as a result of Bolshevik persecutions, understandably enough delayed any careful institutional examination of the multifaceted issues raised by Sophiology, which had meanwhile gained a forceful and productive champion in the person of Bulgakov. 5 Only after Fr. Bulgakov (who was forced into emigration in 1922) had published a number of treatises in the 1920s and 30s in which he attempted to reinterpret major aspects of traditional Christian doctrine in Sophiological terms did Russian Orthodox church bodies — both in Russia and abroad — undertake a formal review. But by then the entire Russian Orthodox diaspora was embroiled in bitter jurisdictional disputes, and the virtually simultaneous 1935 condemnation of Sophiology by the Moscow Patriarchate and, independently, by the Russian Orthodox Church Abroad inevitably lost force by being all too easily ascribable to non-theological motives. 6 With the seemingly abstruse theological debate thus politicized, the issue attained great notoriety in émigré communities, especially in Paris.

At the time of the 1935 events Florovsky was an ordained Orthodox priest and a member of the teaching faculty of the St. Sergius Orthodox Theological Institute in Paris where Bulgakov (also a priest) was his administrative superior as well as a faculty colleague. 7

The two men had met in Prague in 1923. Bulgakov arrived in the capital of the new Czechoslovak republic a few months after his banishment from Soviet Russia in late 1922, having been invited to occupy the Chair of Canon Law [tserkovnoe pravo] at the Russian School of Law that had been established in Prague under the auspices of the Czech government’s so-called “Action Russe.” 8 Florovsky was more than twenty years Bulgakov’s junior, and his station in life was accordingly much more modest. In 1921 he had received a scholarship to pursue a graduate degree at the above-named Prague institution and in 1923 he successfully defended a thesis on Herzen and began his career as a teacher. 9

Florovsky’s familiarity with the writings of Bulgakov dates from well before the time of their first meeting. 10 Moreover, in reviews published in the immediately preceding years, Florovsky had expressed reservations about the Solov’ev-inspired trends in modern Russian theology — which included Bulgakov by implication, as will be shown below. Nevertheless his respect for Bulgakov the man is evidenced clearly enough by his decision, soon after meeting Bulgakov, to choose him as his father confessor [dukhovnyi otets]. 11 We know from Bulgakov’s diary that there were unresolved disagreements between him and Florovsky on this level, but Bulgakov has not spelled them out beyond recording his chagrin at the inability to convince Florovsky of a certain point of view. 12 It seems probable that this involved philosophical differences rather than mundane pastoral matters; in any case, disputes of this kind were characteristic of the relationship between the two men from the beginning of their acquaintance and are reflected in the surviving correspondence. 13

Two episodes from the early period will serve to illustrate the tensions that existed between them. In the fall of 1923, Bulgakov was chosen to head the newly-formed Brotherhood of St. Sophia, an organization uniting a small number of émigré intellectuals who pledged to devote themselves to the study and propagation of Orthodox Christian beliefs. 14 Florovsky was one of the fourteen original signatories of the statutes, but within only a few months — and to the considerable dismay of Bulgakov — he was ready to quit the Brotherhood due to his unease about the philosophical views of the other members. 15 A very similar situation arose in late 1924 when Florovsky, once again to the great annoyance of Bulgakov, expressed doubts about the possibility of accepting a position at the Paris Theological Institute (then in the planning stage) due to what he felt would be his philosophical incompatibility with the other members of the teaching faculty. 16

Not explicitly mentioned in the above instances but quite clear from the context was a profound disagreement in evaluating the legacy of Vladimir Solov’ev. Bulgakov regarded the Russian philosopher with sincere gratitude for having guided him away from the materialism of his youth. 17 In his eyes Solov’ev also deserved enormous credit for having been the first to formulate an Orthodox concept of Sophia, however imperfect this pioneering effort might have been. 18

Florovsky saw things very differently. Although he exhibited a scholarly interest in Solov’ev throughout his life — his first published article was a survey of several new books on the philosopher, and the full bibliography of Florovsky’s works contains nine other entries focused on Solov’ev 19 — he viewed the influence of Solov’ev on Russian intellectual history as unequivocally pernicious. In his correspondence with Bulgakov (after the latter had moved to Paris), Florovsky voices this judgment with a harshness which leaves little doubt that the criticism is meant to include the post-Solov’evian theological ambience to which Bulgakov very much belonged.

The first of these letters is dated 30 December 1925. Florovsky here relates that his continuing studies of Solov’ev as well as the discussions he has had with N.O. Losskii about the philosopher’s religious evolution have convinced him that his former critical attitude toward Solov’ev had been too mild. And he continues somewhat playfully: “Do you know who propelled me toward greater intolerance? The author of Tikhie dumy. 20The author in question is, of course, Bulgakov himself, and his 1918 collection of essays referred to here includes a lengthy article on some of the least “orthodox” aspects of Solov’ev: the quasi-erotic longings for the Eternal Feminine-cum-Sophia expressed in his poetry and an account of his bizarre relationship with Anna Schmidt. 21 Florovsky continues: “As far as I am concerned, I see the rejection of Solov’ev in toto [po vsei linii] as a personal religious duty and as a task that needs to be undertaken in due course by contemporary Russian religious and philosophical thought. By virtue of this rejection, we shall liberate ourselves from the whole murky tradition […] for I believe that it has been this very tradition that has shackled our creative powers. […] What Solov’ev needs now are not panegyrics or the well-nigh religious adoration [chut’ li ne akafisty], but tearful prayers beseeching God to grant rest to a troubled soul.” 22

Bulgakov responded to this letter with considerable delay: he had fallen gravely ill and was at one point thought to be near death. 23 The experience affected him deeply, causing him to rethink many aspects of his past, including his intellectual debt to Solov’ev. In his extraordinarily irenic letter to Florovsky, he granted virtually all of the latter’s criticisms of Solov’ev but confessed that for emotional and psychological reasons Solov’ev would remain one of the “fathers” to him personally. As for the task of ridding the Church of Solov’ev’s influence which Florovsky had set for himself, Bulgakov continues, this must be done gently so as not to antagonize those individuals (“our contemporaries”) in whose hearts Vladimir Solov’ev “continues to live” and who are in need of help rather than prohibitions. 24

Florovsky’s long reply dealt mostly with a proposed course that he might have to teach in Paris in view of Bulgakov’s illness. But it ends with a few sentences on Solov’ev which evidently take their cue from the mild tone of Bulgakov’s letter and in this sense seem to suggest a shift toward a more moderate view of the Russian philosopher. Florovsky restates his position that Solov’ev is “extrinsic” to the spirit of the Church, but then adds the following notable qualification: “no matter how much we love him, or how much we are (or should be) grateful to him.” 25

Not surprisingly, Bulgakov read these words as signaling a change of heart. In his response, he expresses joy that Florovsky seems to have moved beyond his stubbornly held anti-Solov’ev position [Vy sdvinulis‘ s meli svoego antisolov’evstva] and is — so Bulgakov hopes — on the way to recognizing the importance of the Sophia concept. 26 Evidently Florovsky protested strongly against such an interpretation, for in his next letter Bulgakov expresses regret at Florovsky’s “Sophiaclasm” [sofioborstvo], and warns that this will inevitably lead him to dubious conclusions. 27

This, in turn, led to the most militant of Florovsky’s letters that have come to light. Written two weeks after the last-quoted letter of Bulgakov, this text combines an uncompromising condemnation of Solov’ev’s concept of Sophia with a carefully phrased criticism of Bulgakov. I cite two passages from this lengthy document:

“I have long insisted that there exist two doctrines of Sophia, one might even say two Sophias, or, more exactly put, two images of Sophia: a true and genuine one on the one hand, and an illusory one on the other. In the name of the former, holy temples were erected in Byzantium and ancient Rus, while the latter served to inspire Solov’ev and his Masonic and Western predecessors, all the way back to the Gnostics and Philo. Solov’ev simply had no knowledge of Sophia of the Church; he knew the Sophia of Boehme and his followers, the Sophia of Valentinus and the Kabbalah. And this Sophiology is heretical and uncanonical [ereticheskaia i otrechennaia]. What you have found in Athanasius belongs to the other Sophia [i.e. to the Sophia of the Church -A.K.]. There is even more about Her in Basil the Great and Gregory of Nyssa — the direct predecessors of Palamas.” 28

There follows a densely written passage in which Florovsky cites various theological assertions about the nature of Sophia, and denies the validity of all those that have arisen in the wake of Solov’ev. He continues: “Putting it bluntly, in Solov’ev everything is superfluous, while the main thing is completely absent [u Solov’eva vse lishnee, a s tem vmeste glavnogo net vovse]. […] I believe that in your case, too, Solov’ev long hindered you in your search for the main thing. For the road to discovering it lies through Christology, not through Trinitology, since only with Christ Jesus did the worship of the Trinity become a reality. The point here is that only in history, in the realm of historical experience, are we capable of understanding the creaturehood of creation [tvarnost’ tvari].” 29

The total rejection of Sophiology together with the entire tradition leading from Solov’ev to Bulgakov could not have been more plainly expressed than it is in this and the earlier letters. Remarkably, however, Florovsky adopted an entirely different strategy of approaching the issue in his printed works. And it is particularly startling to discover that there seems to be absolutely nothing in the corpus of writings published by Florovsky in his lifetime that could qualify as an explicit attack on Sophiology.

Florovsky comes closest to direct criticism in two early essays in which he rejects the ambivalent attitude toward evil that he considers a philosophical corollary of Solov’ev’s view of the world. In a 1921 address on Dostoevsky as well as in a 1922 survey of Russian works on religious philosophy, he takes issue with what he believes is Solov’ev’s inadequate understanding of sin, evil, and tragedy. He notes that Solov’ev saw evil as ultimately part of the divine plan, in this sense justifying it, and argues that Solov’ev’s conclusion is based on the profoundly mistaken notion that the “Divine Wisdom” can be grasped by human reason. The contrary is true, states Florovsky, since the Divine Wisdom [Premudrost’ Bozhiia] must remain unknowable in principle [ved’ Ona nedovedoma cheloveku], and attempts to claim otherwise will inevitably produce such unacceptable results. 30

But beyond these rather sparse critical comments dating from a period before his meeting with Bulgakov, Florovsky’s writings after the mid-1920s abound in what can be characterized as an indirect criticism of Sophiology. These are scholarly studies which aim to expose weaknesses in the theoretical or historical underpinnings of the Sophiological edifice, doing so, however, without referring to Sophiological teaching by name. The overall intent is nevertheless quite unmistakable, and the late Fr. John Meyendorff has argued that opposition to Sophiology was, in fact, the principal motivating factor throughout Florovsky’s scholarly career. In support of this view, Meyendorff recalls what had been Florovsky’s frequent comment in his lectures on patrology at the Orthodox Theological Institute in Paris (where Meyendorff had been a student). The great theologians of the early Christian centuries, Florovsky had constantly reminded his listeners, were almost invariably moved to theologize by the need to oppose some heretical teaching. In the same way, Meyendorff contends, Florovsky was spurred to produce many of his works in protest against Sophiology and the non-Orthodox influences which he felt to be its source and inspiration. 31

Meyendorff’s hypothesis is entirely consistent with the orientation of a significant proportion of Florovsky’s writings both before and after 1935. A few examples dating from the earlier period are sufficient to illustrate this point.

In 1928 Florovsky published a densely written and massively documented article entitled “Tvar’ i tvarnost’,” rendered as “Creation and Creaturehood” in the English version. 32 There is no mention in the text of Sophia, of Solov’ev, Florenskii, or Bulgakov, and for readers unversed in theology it might seem to have no polemical intent whatever. The point, however, is that Bulgakov’s Sophiological system is grounded upon a very specific theory of creation, one that cannot be reconciled with the patristic views on this subject. Florovsky stresses the radically free nature of the act of creation in traditional Christian thought (God had no need to create the world), as well as the “utter and ultimate hiatus” between God and the created world. This contradicts Bulgakov’s Sophiological views on both counts since Bulgakov contended that God created the world in order to apply His love and, of course, held to the fundamental tenet of the Sophianic vision according to which Sophia acts as a link between God and the world. 33

Another example. At a 1930 conference in Bulgaria, Florovsky presented a detailed account of the historical context in which churches were dedicated to St. Sophia and icons thought to be associated with Sophia, the Wisdom of God, were venerated. 34 Once again, Bulgakov and his predecessors are not explicitly mentioned, although the essay appears to be a point-by-point rejoinder to Bulgakov’s 1927 attempt to establish the traditionality of the Sophiological enterprise. 35 By amassing historical evidence which demonstrated — contrary to Bulgakov’s claim — that in Byzantine and early Russian practice, “Sophia, the Wisdom of God” was in the overwhelming majority of cases identified with Christ, and that, furthermore, the extant iconographic images of a feminine Sophia are almost certainly the result of Western influences, Florovsky was denying Sophiology any authentically Orthodox roots. 36

In the same year, 1930, Florovsky published a theoretical article in which he focussed on what he considered the irreconcilable differences between the abstract categories of German idealistic philosophy and the historically-grounded concepts of Christian belief. 37 The opposition of historicism to abstract theorizing would soon become one of Florovsky’s principal criteria in evaluating religious constructs like Sophiology. Thus, in a review also published in 1930, Florovskii asserts that Pavel Florenskii’s celebrated Stolp i utverzhdenie Istiny fails because its author has no feeling for Christian history and no appreciation for the crucial fact that the Incarnation had been an irruption of real historical time into absolute categories. And this accounts for the Christological shallowness which Florovsky considered the most striking feature of Florenskii’s book. 38 Florenskii is also accused of an inordinate interest in the occult, a correlative feature of his non-patristic inspiration. 39

The principal objections of Georges Florovsky to Sophiology could be summarized as follows:

• Sophiology diverges from traditional (patristic) Orthodox teaching on fundamental questions like creation;

• It falsely claims to be sanctified by historical precedent;

• It represents a retreat from the reality of a historical religion into the abstractions of speculative philosophy;

• Its sources are not only non-patristic, but to a significant degree non-Orthodox (Protestant mysticism) and non-Christian (the occult).

Yet it is true that to make up a list of this sort, one has to go a step beyond Florovsky’s actual words. Nowhere in his published writing is there any sustained — to say nothing of systematic — criticism of the Sophianic vision. Even more noticeable is the complete absence of the name of Sergius Bulgakov in the polemically-charged essays of Florovsky to which I have made reference. To say that this is unexpected is to say very little, for Bulgakov the theologian was known above all as the most prominent and persistent champion of Sophia, the Wisdom of God.

One can suggest three plausible reasons why Florovsky refrained from open public polemics with Fr. Bulgakov. The most obvious is Florovsky’s sense of loyalty to a senior colleague who always treated him with respect and generosity of spirit despite their difference in views. 40 Of undoubtedly equal importance was Florovsky’s desire to stay clear of the political and jurisdictional disputes that had become intertwined with the Sophiological controversy.There is also the related issue of Florovsky not wishing to be associated with what he has characterized as the flagrantly dishonest campaign to vilify Fr. Bulgakov launched by Florovsky’s erstwhile colleagues in the Eurasian movement. In fact, he cites this as one of the reasons for his break with the Eurasians. I quote from a previously unpublished section of Florovsky’s letter to Iurii Ivask in which Florovsky refers to the early 1920s:

“Despite my highly critical view of the Sophiological orientation, I shall never forget or forgive the despicable hounding [travlia] of Fr. Sergius.” 41

But by the 1930s other factors began to affect what had been Florovsky’s carefully maintained stance of public deference to Bulgakov. Both men had become active in the ecumenical movement, with particular emphasis on dialogue between Anglicans and Orthodox. The establishment of the Fellowship of St. Alban and St. Sergius in 1928 led to yearly conferences in which both Florovsky and Bulgakov regularly participated. 42 It is in this context that the theological disagreements between them began to acquire an increasingly public dimension. One can safely assume that their differences came to be highlighted by virtue of the fact that Bulgakov’s persistent emphasis on Sophiology did not receive much understanding or sympathy from his Anglican audiences, who were far more attracted to the biblical and patristic orientation of Florovsky. 43 There was also the major episode at a Fellowship conference in 1933, when Bulgakov startled his listeners by arguing for the need to begin intercommunion within the ranks of the Fellowship without waiting for formal sanction from Church authorities. Both Anglicans and Orthodox reacted to this proposal with consternation and uncertainty, while Florovsky’s opposition to the idea was so outspoken and strenuous that one commentator has described his role as that of an “anti-Bulgakov.” 44 It seems very likely that it was with this controversy in mind that Florovsky wrote his 1934 essay entitled “Sobornost: The Catholicity of the Church,” where he argued — once again without direct reference to Bulgakov — that true Catholicity must always entail unity in truth, not empirical universality. 45

The official condemnation of Bulgakov’s Sophiology by the Moscow Patriarchate and, independently, by the Synod of the Russian Orthodox Church Abroad in the fall of 1935 brought the relationship between Bulgakov and Florovsky close to a breaking point.

It is important to note, however, that a number of commentators apart from Florovsky had voiced grave reservations about Bulgakov’s theological constructs for some years before 1935. To a surprising extent, a lack of sympathy for the Sophiological enterprise was present even in the academic institution where Bulgakov taught dogmatic theology. Thus Fr. Alexander Schmemann, who was a student of Bulgakov’s during the last three years of Fr. Sergius’ teaching career, writes tellingly of the incomprehensible gulf which he and many others perceived between the saintly and luminous personality of Bulgakov on one hand and his ponderous philosophical edifice on the other. As Schmemann puts it, his own intuitive reaction at the time was that Sophiology was unrelated to the central concerns of Orthodoxy: “ne to, ne tak, ne o tom.“ 46 Looking back, he judges Bulgakov’s major philosophical preoccupation to be in some essential way misguided and even tragically unnecessary. And Schmemann concludes that posterity may well judge Bulgakov’s charismatic presence, prophetic fervor, and authentic Christian witness as far more significant than what he characterizes as the Teutonically elaborate philosophical system on which he had labored for many decades. 47

Other commentators, especially those belonging to the Russian Orthodox Church Abroad, were much less understanding, and harsh criticism of Sophiology began to appear in print by the second half of the 1920s. Detailed surveys of the controversy exist. 48 The major polemical texts bearing on the condemnation of Bulgakov are also all readily available, some in recent reprint. 49 What needs to be noted here, however, is that the purely theological arguments had become inseparately linked to issues of political orientation and disputes over jurisdictional matters.

The Theological Institute in Paris where both Bulgakov and Florovsky held teaching positions was under the direct supervision of Metropolitan Evlogii, who had become embroiled in acrimonious disputes first with the Russian Orthodox Church Abroad (ROCA) and then the Moscow Patriarchate. The conflict with ROCA came to a head due to irreconcilable disagreements about the extent of jurisdictional authority of each party over the Russian Orthodox diaspora in Europe, but what was basically a power struggle was simultaneously depicted (and perceived) by ROCA as a defense of pure Orthodoxy against the inroads of questionable theological innovations that were said to be flourishing at Evlogii’s Institute, while the Parisian camp found the monarchist pronouncements emanating from ROCA as unpalatable as the hard-line theological conservatism that was espoused in ROCA circles. 50

In 1927 Metropolitan Evlogii formally broke relations with the Church Abroad, placing himself in the jurisdiction of the Moscow Patriarchate. 51 However, the new affiliation entailed a commitment to “remain neutral” on political matters relating to the USSR, a position that soon became morally untenable in view of the furious onslaught on the Church in Russia that was unleashed by the Soviet regime in the late 1920s. Evlogii spoke out against the persecutions, was immediately condemned by the Moscow Patriarchate, and turned to the Ecumenical Patriarch in Constantinople, who duly received him in his jurisdiction in 1931 52 In 1935 Evlogii traveled to Serbia at the invitation of Patriarch Varnava of the Serbian Orthodox Church, who hoped to bring about a reconciliation between Evlogii and the Church Abroad. And indeed at the Serbian meeting Metropolitan Evlogii signed a document that was perceived as at least a partial restoration of the status quo ante, yet upon his return to Paris he yielded to the protests of his entourage, repudiated the agreement, and reaffirmed his link to Constantinople. 53 These jurisdictional conflicts had by now become matters of passionate public debate, with the 1935 accusations against Bulgakov immediately interpreted as a thinly disguised attack on the legitimacy of Metropolitan Evlogii and the Theological Institute he had co-founded with Bulgakov. 54

A couple of incidents will give an inkling of the overwrought atmosphere that prevailed in Paris at the time. When it became known that the Moscow statement condemning Bulgakov had been precipitated by a report submitted to the Moscow Patriarchate by the Paris theologian Vladimir Losskii, reaction was so bitter that after a public debate chaired by Berdiaev on the theme of “intellectual freedom inside the Church” [svoboda mysli v Tserkvi], one of Losskii’s colleagues was physically assaulted by a professor of the Theological Institute in the midst of a verbal altercation. 55 And when Losskii presented a copy of his published critique of Bulgakov to Mother Maria (Skobtsova), she returned the brochure to him unread, inscribed with the following indignant message: “I refuse to read texts signed by writers of denunciations!!” [Literatury, podpisannoi donoschikami, ne chitaiu!!] 56

Given this highly charged context, one would have expected Florovsky to take pains to avoid being drawn into the controversy. And although this was indeed the stance that Florovsky soon adopted, his papers reveal just how far removed he was from any detached scholarly view of the matter.

The most striking evidence in this regard is contained in a letter to Florovsky from Militsa Zernova (the wife of Nicolas Zernov), dated 3 November 1935. Mrs. Zernov here voices her anguish at the harshness with which Florovsky had reacted to the news of the two official condemnations of Sophiology. The letter is extremely emotional in tone, but there seems to be no reason to doubt the essential accuracy of the facts conveyed. 57

Zernova claims to have been “stunned” [oshelomlena] by Florovsky’s militant position. She writes that at the time of Florovsky’s visit to the Zernov home she had intended to ask him what he could propose in the way of defending Bulgakov. To her dismay and horror she instead heard Florovsky pronounce Bulgakov guilty of heresy and to proceed to the following conclusions: Bulgakov should be permanently stripped of his public position [svesti so stseny do ego smerti] and separated from his activities in the Fellowship of St. Alban and St. Sergius [ottesnit’ iz raboty]. Such views are not only grossly unfair and devoid of Christian love, Mrs. Zernov protests, but would, if implemented, result in terrible damage to the Paris religious community, especially to the Theological Institute. She then throws out a grave accusation by insinuating that Florovsky’s views had been motivated by raw personal ambition: “Don’t think that you will become head of the Institute” [ne dumaite, chto Vy stanete rektorom].

It is not surprising that there are no further letters from Militsa Zernova in the Florovsky files: one may safely assume that Fr. Georges did not respond.

Because there are no other documents reflecting anything like the militancy of spirit on the Bulgakov affair that is here ascribed to Florovsky, it would seem that this angry outburst represents a very brief phase of his response. But that Florovsky was sorely agitated there can be no doubt. Several letters from his Anglican friends indicate that he had communicated a sense of acute distress. 58 And letters from his sister Klavdiia (“Dusia”) show that he had exchanged messages with Archbishop Serafim, the author of the book attacking Sophiology. 59

Florovsky had also asked his sister to extract an unnamed manuscript of his on Sophia from the files of the Bulgarian Academy of Sciences. 60

But it would seem that by the end of 1935 Florovsky had already resolved to abstain from public comment. Thus we have a 22 December letter from Arthur Dobbie-Bateman, an acquaintance active in the St. Sergius and St. Alban Fellowship, who voices relief at Florovsky’s decision to stay clear of the conflict: “My detailed views would have been, and are, decidedly in favor of the line you have yourself chosen, to avoid all controversy.” 61

While I am not aware of any explicitly stated reasons for Florovsky’s change of mind, it seems probable that the alarm expressed by his Anglican friends contributed to Florovsky’s decision. In two letters, Dobbie-Bateman characterized the potential scandal as a “disaster” and urged Florovsky to avoid all involvement. 62 And the Rev. Ivan Young, another acquaintance in the Fellowship, counselled extreme caution in what he called “this most unfortunate and difficult situation.” Stirring up the affair, Young warned, “would make things very difficult in the Russian Clergy and Church Aid Council,” and could threaten the very existence of the Fellowship as well as “the cause of Reunion with the Orthodox as a whole.” 63 When added to the unhealthy public agitation of which Florovsky would, of course, have been only too aware, and the potential for a gross misrepresentation of his views that had been brought home by the Zernova letter, the arguments of his English friends were bound to be significant, especially since Florovsky set great store by his contacts with ecumenically-minded Anglicans.

Yet Florovsky was nevertheless unable to avoid highly visible further involvement in the Bulgakov controversy. In late 1935, Metropolitan Evlogii appointed a commission to look into the charges of heresy that had been leveled at Fr. Bulgakov. The commission was drawn primarily from the teaching staff of the Theological Institute (where, awkwardly enough, Fr. Bulgakov was Dean) and included several prominent Paris theologians and Church historians. 64 Florovsky relates that he strenuously resisted being inducted into this body, but finally had to yield to the behests of the Metropolitan, who argued that without Florovsky’s presence the work of the commission would be seen as a whitewash of Bulgakov’s theories. 65

The deliberations of the Bulgakov Commission proceeded in two phases. Meetings began in February 1936, 66 and were chaired by Fr. Sergii Chetverikov, a priest attached to the Vvedenskaia Chapel of the Russian Student Christian Movement in Paris where Fr. Florovsky also frequently conducted services after his ordination in 1932. 67 The minutes of these meetings have not been published and are not represented in the Florovsky papers housed at Princeton, but we do have a number of letters from Chetverikov to Florovsky commenting on the ongoing work of the Commission. The very fact that such letters exist tends to corroborate the claim of one commission member, Fr. Vasilii Zen’kovskii, that Florovsky took part in the deliberation of only one formal session. 68

The Commission quickly became polarized, with the majority defending Bulgakov against the charge of heresy, and the minority, represented by Chetverikov and Florovsky (the latter usually in absentia), expressing grave reservations. By June 1936, the Commission was ready to draw up its preliminary findings, albeit a determination that reflected the unresolved split in opinion. Chetverikov wrote three letters to Florovsky asking, then begging him to set down his thoughts on paper or else to comment on a draft statement Chetverikov had prepared. 69 Florovsky resisted and Chetverikov produced the minority report himself, finally persuading Florovsky to sign it by arguing that if he wished to sign neither the majority nor the minority report, he would have to draw up his own document. 70

The minority report, dated 6 July 1936, and bearing the signatures of Chetverikov and Florovsky was presumably submitted to Metropolitan Evlogii shortly thereafter. 71 It stated that although the charges of heresy against Bulgakov had been presented in an inadequate and hasty manner, his views did indeed “provoke great anxiety” [vyzyvaiut bol’shuiu trevogu] and constituted a danger to Orthodox thinking, a danger the Commission’s majority had chosen to ignore. (The majority report had been prepared some weeks earlier by A.V. Kartashev, V.V. Zen’kovskii and others. It flatly rejected the charge of heresy but brought foward serious objections to certain aspects of Sophiology.) 72

Although neither report has ever been released for publication, Florovsky would seem to be in error when he suggests that nothing was submitted to the Metropolitan. 73 In any case, when Metr. Evlogii spoke to a diocesan conference on 14 July of that year, he gave an account of the Commission’s work, noted the unresolved differences among its members and asked them to continue their examination of Bulgakov’s views in the hope that they might reach a unanimous determination. 74

One potentially awkward aspect of Florovsky’s position at the time these texts were being worked out was that he found himself in close daily contact with his philosophical opponents in various non-academic contexts. In the spring and summer of 1936 he was engaged in Fellowship work in England together with Bulgakov, Kartashev, Zen’kovskii, and others. This involved presentations on, and discussions of, topics of presumed mutual interest to Orthodox and Anglican participants in various English cities. To Florovsky’s sorrow and annoyance, Bugakov in his speeches and comments dwelled on the Sophia theme so incessantly that (as Florovsky wrote in one letter to his wife) the Russian delegation had become restive and sought to demonstrate its independence from Sophiology. 75 And in a letter a few days later he reports that his friend Dobbie-Bateman was actively trying to prevent the publication of Bulgakov’s English-language summary of Sophiology because he feared that beyond doing great damage to Bulgakov’s reputation, this book could compromise Russian theology as a whole by giving the impression that Russians think in obscure and incomprehensible ways. 76

A further delicate circumstance was that the Orthodox delegation consisted almost entirely of individuals who had been inducted into the Bulgakov Commission. The very men charged with evaluating Bulgakov’s ideas thus found themselves exposed to his thoughts on a daily basis, at times discussing the issues right after Bulgakov had made a presentation. Florovsky reports on two such semi-formal meetings in which he seems to have taken an active anti-Sophiological role. 77

At some point soon after Florovsky had received copies of both majority and minority reports, he shipped them, together with a number of other documents bearing on Sophiology, to A.F. Dobbie-Bateman with the request that the latter give a candid and strictly confidential opinion of these materials. Dobbie-Bateman responded with a lengthy analysis that is a model of clear thinking and lucid writing. He found the minority report technically and logically flawed (“anxiety is not a judicial category,” he noted) but considered the criticisms of Bulgakov’s theories contained in the majority report essentially fatal to Bulgakov’s entire conception, a conclusion he appeared to welcome.78 Writing again in the fall of that year, Dobbie-Bateman made what strikes me as a very cogent summary of the split inside the Commission: “They divide,” he wrote of the commission members, “into those whose sincere purpose is to vindicate sound theology and those whose equally sincere purpose is to defend Fr. Sergius.” Such incompatible aims cannot be meaningfully reconciled, Dobbie-Bateman suggests, and he concludes: “Perhaps after all your own idea for the future is the best: namely — silence.” 78

Meanwhile, the commission on Bulgakov resumed its deliberations in the fall of 1936, beginning its work with the discussion of a detailed statement in which Fr. Chetverikov had attempted to lay out the most controversial aspects of Sophiological teaching. 79 Chetverikov’s 48-page-long summary of what he modestly calls his “perplexities” [nedoumeniia] in fact reproduces most of the charges made against Bulgakov by the Church Abroad in 1935 (“Opredelenie Arkhiereiskogo Sinoda…”), but presented in a quieter tone and without the earlier document’s conclusion that obvious heresy was involved. Florovsky evidently found Chetverikov’s text very much to his liking, writing to Chetverikov that he had read it “with great satisfaction” [s bol’shim udovletvoreniem]. 80 However Florovsky did not heed Chetverikov’s repeated requests to submit written answers to a series of questions on the whole issue of Sophiology which Chetverikov had attached to his statement. 81 Florovsky’s stubborn “passive resistance” to all attempts to draw him into meaningful participation in the Bulgakov Commission was presumably a manifestation of his hope that he could thus avoid being associated with the Commission’s findings, whether pro or con. For while it is obvious that Florovsky rejected Sophiology, he was clearly convinced that a negative pronouncement on Bulgakov would only feed unjustified jurisdictional and political passions. It was a moral position that one can appreciate, but it certainly did nothing to allay the frustration that must have been felt by Chetverikov.

Florovsky spent the fall and early winter of 1936 in England and Greece and could presumably evade taking part in the formal deliberations of the Bulgakov Commission for that reason alone. But a glance at Florovsky’s scholarly activities of this period reveals that he continued to be very much concerned with the issues raised by Bulgakov, doing so, however, in the indirect way that had been his method all along. The most significant theme in Florovsky’s work at this time was his emphasis on the unceasing relevance and ever-salutary role of the patristic tradition in religious culture. That is the central motif of his Puti russkogo bogosloviia (completed in England in the fall of 1936) 82 as well as the explicit subject of Florovsky’s speech at the Congress of Orthodox Theology in Athens in December of that year. 83 To a very significant degree, this emphasis represents a polemical reaction to Bulgakov’s insistence that the patristic legacy is in many ways inadequate to the problems of the contemporary world. 84

Florovsky’s clear-cut philosophical opposition to Bulgakov on this and other matters, however, stopped short of active participation in the ongoing quasi-judicial review of Bulgakov’s works, which continued into 1937. The Commission’s chairman, Fr. Chetverikov, evidently did not grasp the depth of Florovsky’s conviction on this score, and the Princeton collection holds letters in which Chetverikov pleads with Florovsky to take part in drawing up the final report, even appealing to his wife to intercede. 85 Chetverikov finally declared that he would have to resign his chairmanship if Florovsky continued to withhold his participation, and, with Florovsky remaining implacable, he appears to have carried out his intention. 86

As far as I could establish, no final report of the Commission’s work has been published anywhere. Igumen Gennadii Eikalovich, however, cites the formal resolution of a bishop’s conference which had been convoked by Metropolitan Evlogii on 26-29 November 1937 with the express purpose of closing the Bulgakov affair. 87 This text states that the bishops had reviewed a report prepared by Fr. Chetverikov, augmented by a more detailed descriptive account of the Commission’s work written by Archimandrite Cassian. On the basis of these materials, the bishops concluded that the accusations of heresy against Bulgakov were unjustified, but that his theological opinions nevertheless exhibited serious flaws and stood in need of correction. The text ends with an exhortation to Bulgakov to subject those aspects of his teaching which have provoked criticism to a close scrutiny, and “to eliminate whatever could prove troubling to simple souls unversed in theology and philosophy” [iz”iat’ iz nikh to, chto porozhdaet smushchenie v prostykh dushakh, kotorym nedostupno bogoslovsko-filosofskoe myshlenie]. 88

But the bishops’ statement as published by Eikalovich does not include any request that Bulgakov make an actual repudiation of Sophiology, to say nothing of a public renunciation, and I am not aware of any documentary evidence in support of Florovsky’s contention that Bulgakov had to undergo such a procedure. 89 We have only Fr. Zen’kovskii’s brief mention in his memoirs that Bulgakov made a formal declaration to Metropolitan Evlogii to the effect that he would not promote Sophiology in his lectures at St. Sergius Theological Institute. In truth, however, as Zen’kovskii notes with some bitterness, Bulgakov continued to champion his theories exactly as before. 90 The official discussion of the whole painful issue was however at an end.

Although the formal examination of Bulgakov’s works was now closed, the repercussions for Florovsky were far from over. The decision to distance himself from the work of the Commission had exacted a heavy psychological toll, all the while doing nothing to repair his standing with colleagues at the Paris Theological Institute who considered him to have “betrayed” Bulgakov. 91 Letters received by Florovsky during this period show that he had complained bitterly to his correspondents about his unhappiness and had expressed his desire to leave Paris for good. 92 As it happened, the extensive ecumenical contacts Florovsky had established in England during the preceding years now bore fruit and made a frequent departure from Paris possible. 93 On one of these occasions, furthermore, there was an incident directly linked to Bulgakov which seems to have been instrumental in propelling Florovsky from the relatively minor activity of the Fellowship of St. Sergius and St. Alban into the ecumenical big leagues. This occurred in Edinburgh in 1937, where Florovsky, Bulgakov, and two other professors from the Theological Institute had traveled as delegates to the Second Conference of Faith and Order, a body that was later transformed into the World Council of Churches. The Paris delegation was accompanied by Metropolitan Evlogii, who writes that he had decided to go along in part due to his anxiety about possible dissension within this group. 94 And indeed these fears were soon realized. As Evlogii describes it, Florovsky delivered a “pointed and caustic” attack on the concept of “pure-hearted” piety that lacks any sound philosophical basis — this right after Bulgakov’s speech in which the latter had downplayed the importance of doctrinal differences in the ecumenical enterprise. The Metropolitan was scandalized by what he considered an attack on Bulgakov, but notes that a number of influential non-Orthodox delegates were much impressed by Florovsky’s tough stance. 95 The result was entirely unexpected: Florovsky was elected to the Executive Committee that was charged with drafting a constitution for the proposed World Council of Churches. 96 One can thus legitimately speak of a causal relationship between Florovsky’s stance in the entire Sophiological controversy and his ever-increasing involvement in ecumenical affairs. While these activities were necessarily curtailed during the war years, it was ventures of this kind that came to predominate in Florovsky’s life in the two decades following World War II. Yet despite this major shift in emphasis, a number of publications from Florovsky’s later years are unambiguously linked to his polemic with the Sophiological orientation.

Of the several post-war essays that relate most clearly to this theme, I shall comment very briefly on four. In “The Ever-Virgin Mother of God” (1949) 97 Florovsky rejects the abstract manner in which the Incarnation has all too often been treated in modern times. He asserts that Mary must be recognized as a co-actor in the Incarnation, as a historically real human being endowed with free will who consciously agreed to serve the divine purpose. This is in opposition to the tendency to envisage Mary in purely symbolic terms as a perfect manifestation of the Sophiological principle. 98

In 1951 Florovsky published “The Lamb of God,” an essay in which the title clearly suggests a response to Bulgakov’s 1933 monograph Agnets Bozhii. 99 This is a vigorous restatement of a theme central to Florovsky’s theological vision throughout his career: an assertion of the historicity and personal nature of the Christian religion, and of the fundamental inadequacy of metaphysical speculation in this regard.

Two essays dealing with patristic issues also appear to be linked to the polemic with Bulgakov. “Saint Gregory Palamas and the Tradition of the Fathers” (1960) 100 seeks to reaffirm the place of Palamas within a mainline patristic tradition, in this sense refuting Bulgakov’s claim that St. Gregory can be seen as one of the originators of Sophiology. 101 And in “The Concept of Creation in St. Athanasius” (1962) 102 Florovsky builds on his earlier works on creation but includes what seems to be the very deliberate attempt to counter Bulgakov’s detailed argument that St. Athanasius could likewise be considered a precursor of Sophiology. 103

The self-imposed taboo against publishing remarks openly critical of Bulgakov qua theologian remained in force, however, reaching some sort of extreme in 1971, when Florovsky wrote an entry on Bulgakov for a handbook on Church history in which he managed to avoid mentioning the Sophia concept entirely. 104 In a 1975 letter to Paris, Florovsky confirms that his critical silence in this respect was a conscious and deliberate policy. He chides his friend for believing rumors about him:

Myths are being generated in that Paris of yours. The late Paul Evdokimoff asserted in print that I had “furiously” [iarostno] attacked Fr. Sergius. The fact is that I have never written on Fr. Sergius and have tried to avoid oral criticism. 105

But one must note that the ban on the public comment that Florovsky had imposed on himself did not extend to an informal conversation and private correspondence, and in conclusion, I quote from a 1976 letter to Iurii Ivask in which Florovsky openly addresses a theme that was clearly never very far from his mind:

[Florenskii] wrote a book on Christianity which lacks even a short chapter on Christ. As a result the whole picture is skewed. The late Fr. Sergii Bulgakov dedicated a whole volume to the theme of “The Lamb of God,” but he nevertheless began with the periphery — the Virgin, John the Baptist, angels. 106

In a private conversation he admitted that he had turned to Christology under my influence. But I do not consider his Christology to be very satisfactory. In his early book, Svet nevechernii [1917], only the beginning chapters are Christological — they were written before he was swayed by Florenskii. 107 The point is not that they both occasionally do understand Christ, the point is that He does not stand at the center. […]

Bulgakov was very much saddened by my independent spirit. I followed and chose my own themes and methods. One of my colleagues at Harvard was correct in his comment about me: my principal trait is independence in everything. 108

It is striking indeed that this proud affirmation of the significance of his own intellectual achievement, expressed near the end of Florovsky’s life, should have been cast in terms of his decades-long polemic with Bulgakov. The Princeton papers thus substantiate Fr. John Meyendorff’s thesis: Sophiology had been the “irritant” that had shaped Fr. Georges Florovsky’s career as a scholar and public figure more than any other single factor.