2 posts tagged “russian”
If you have not seen this movie yet, YOU MAY NOT WANT TO READ FURTHER, as I want to explore some particulars that you may prefer to draw your own conclusions about without predisposition.
If we believe comments on IMDB, the main character, Father Anatoly, is "played by unique and genius Russian actor/musician/now-hermit- Petr Mamonov. The movie actually reflects the real current life and spirituality of the actor."
As I prepared to return to work tomorrow, I was tempted to see that action as my version of hauling coal, the constant
Stretching things a bit more, it occurs to me that the Nazi's at the beginning of the film, by ridiculing and debasing the young Anatoly, represent satan in the way he works constantly not just to prevent salvation, but to destroy human dignity. The captain, once his hiding place is betrayed, displays dignity in the face of imminent death (unlike Anatoly). I'm not sure what to make yet of his fate, though it's interesting to contrast how his life turns out with that of Fr. Anatoly. The captain develops into one who has all the trappings of success, yet there are hints of fear in his life, having to carefully guard what he says amongst party operatives.
Getting back to Fr. Anatoly and the meaning of the coal and shipwreck... I'm a little confused, having read that one should not dwell on past sins, lest he be pulled back into them (maybe it was St. John of San Francisco?). If my take on the coal is right, then I'll have to figure out how one should balance a remembrance of past shortcomings for purposes of repentance with St. Paul's exhortation to forget what is behind and press on... But I've seen in the Lives of the Saints some hints of doing exactly what Fr. Anatoly is doing in the movie. It just seems significant to me that Fr. Anatoly lives in constant proximity to the shipwreck, and goes back to it everyday, and by the end of his life (while lamenting that his sins still weigh him down), has still not finished removing that pile of coal.
A final coal comment - I noticed that the abbot, Fr. Filaret, attempts to take on the same obedience for a while, but finds himself unable to do it. The film seems to highlight that Fr. Anatoly has to relieve Fr. Filaret of the wheelbarrow load. On the surface it seems that Fr. Anatoly is simply more fit for the work and used to it, but I think they're telling us that each one has to offer up his own failures in constant repentance. I can't do it like another, in part because my sin is unique and, from a centric perspective, greater than that of anyone else (as Fr. Hopko says, we are each the greatest of sinners, because we don't compare ourselves to each other - we just know).
I think the whole movie is full of these symbols, so I may need to watch it again before we start loaning it to friends.
By the way, I don't know how much of the movie is based on real people or real events, but I'm tempted to see Fr. Anatoly as a composite of two characters in Dostoevsky's Brothers Karamazov. He seems part (like one third) Elder Zosima, and part the "deranged" monk Fr. Ferapont who people are afraid of at the monastery. I might be totally off on this, but Fr. Anatoly was criticized for similar things that Elder Zosima was, and exhibited clairvoyance in very similar ways (the woman whose dead husband turned out to really be alive was similar to one who Elder Zosima counseled), and the "demons everywhere in the room" scene is similar to Fr. Ferapont's ravings in Karamazov. I hadn't respected the monk Ferepont, but will have to go back sometime after seeing Ostrov to see if he was in the part of a Holy Fool.
More later, God willing.
Having consumed a number of classics by Dostoevsky, Gogol, Turgenev, and Pushkin over the past year, I should have turned out a lot smarter and insightful by now than I actually did. But maybe I picked up on a thing or two.
Amongst the things these writers have in common seems to be this - they are most aghast at the travesty of a life lived and completed with no impact whatsoever on anything - a creature having existed then perished without anyone having taken notice.
The writers' descriptions of such people usually focus on their mundane existence, their clockwork striving for the next scrap of food or clothing. I think some of the novelists writings are meant to redeem the existence of these poor souls, to give some meaning to their life if only by proxy through fictional archetypes.
It seems to me that the poor and unnoticed characters sometimes represent the lost'ness of the well-to-do as well, sort of a mirror showing the reverse image of the same thing. Those who are endlessly attending balls or counting their rubles may end up with just as meaningless an existence as their unbathed counterpart.
And all of this serves as a mirror for ourselves. Those in the novels whose life is actually rich, worthwhile, and with lasting effect are the ones who live the Gospel - sometimes represented in Dostoevsky for example as the naive one, the one who suffers the scorn of others simply because they care deeply (Alyosha, the idiot, etc.). And so we ask, how does one become like that, assuming they are prepared for ridicule?
I like the Church Father's discussions about developing a "habit of virtue", and St. Seraphim of Sarov's instructions to do all in order to attain the Holy Spirit. Those two together, the practice of virtue and the reason for doing so, seem key to becoming one who's existence is not wasted. Their memory becomes eternal, as they take on the attributes of God Himself. Like this - "eternal life to those who by patient continuance in doing good seek for glory, honor, and immortality" (Romans 2:7). Here's a synopsis of the practice as derived from St. Maximus the Confessor by Dr. Farrell, one in a series of explorations by my dear wife.
