Like much else in history, the Middle Ages are abused, misunderstood and regularly slandered; these centuries are regularly referred to as the “Age of Darkness” and the “Age of Superstition.” How a historian can slander an entire era is a mystery to this writer, but mainline academia has made many careers out of just that. This work begins with the basic thesis that the Russian Middle Ages was a time of cultural growth, piety and freedom.

What I mean by freedom in this context is far from the vulgar, western definition of the term. In modern times, freedom means the ability for an individual to do what he wants, save physical harm to others. This is the most adolescent definition of freedom imaginable, and one that actually refers to the wealthy and powerful, the only truly free class in the west, to indulge their base appetites. The poor and lower-middle classes work too much and are too weak to exercise that sort of “freedom” in any meaningful way. If “freedom” is the birthright of all Americans or Englishmen, then how is it not applicable to the wealthy? If it is applicable to the wealthy as it is to the poor, then freedom is merely a licence for the wealthy to exploit the poor. For freedom, considered abstractly, means that the wealthy are more free than anyone else, and it, ultimately, refers to the domination of the rich over the poor.

What this really means is that freedom, the way it is generally defined in the west, is a ruse. The wealthy can always do more things than the poor, and are stronger socially and politically as a group, and are freer as a result. The poor and middle class American might take advantage of this new found “libertarian”-style freedom and indulge in pornography or wife-swapping, but it must also mean, ipso facto, that the wealthy can also indulge their appetites, which are rarely in the interests of the lower orders.

In this vein, Medieval Russia was one long struggle of the monarchy, continuing to reform and assert itself, doing battle against the oligarchy, or the landed boyars and merchants. The two mentalities, given the realities of the Middle Ages, could not be farther apart.

The oligarchy, or the landed nobility, believed in “constitutional”rule. This means that the boyarin would organize themselves into councils to divide up the spoils of power and wealth among themselves according to some regular procedure. This is the definition of constitutionalism then and now. This mentality found dominance in the commercial republics of Florence, Venice and Genoa in the South, Holland in Central Europe, as well as Novgorod in Russia. Novgorod, as we will see, regularly was quite willing to sell out Orthodoxy and Russian independence to the Poles in order to safeguard their commercial interests. The same goes for the landed nobility. They had no permanent friends, just permanent interests. In the Putin era of Russian history, one can easily see that nothing has changed.

On the other hand, the monarchy, whether in Vladimir, Suzdal or Moscow, was based on loyalty, the Orthodox faith, fairness, and order. As if in a mirror, the monarchy was quite willing to sell out its financial solvency in order to safeguard her independence and the Orthodox tradition. The nobility and the monarchy were opposites, and their agendas, of course, mirrored this.

These lectures are not meant to romanticize the monarchy or demonize the gentry: they are meant to, first, alter the political universe of those who read them, and, second, to show the extent to which monarchy and nobility are permanent opponents, and have distinct interests that are built in, structurally, to their positions in society. The nobility agitated for their own lands, held absolutely. The monarchy demanded that the nobility hold their lands on condition of service, hence relatively. These battle lines were set very early on, and the purpose of these lectures are to see how these forces worked themselves out over time.

What I do mean by “freedom,” therefore, is rather different from the vulgar modern definition. Freedom is the ability to do what one ought, which is another way of saying that one has the obligation, rarified into a “right” to pursue excellence given the confines of one’s position. Society is made up of various needs, and positions, therefore, to fill those needs. Each is important, each is equal in the sense of contributing to the greater good of the society. Each contains many duties and obligations, but each also contains rights and rewards.

In the Russian case, these needs were several. First, the need for the basics of food and shelter. These were provided by the peasantry. The peasantry had many onerous duties, as everyone knows, but also privileges as well: a guarantee to land and substance, democratic organization into communes, and a share in local and parochial government.

The nobility were the “civil servants” in royal Russia, who did the dirty work of war, administration and enforcement. They were often away from their estates for months or years at a time on state business, and the costs of their service to themselves were substantial (as they were rarely paid). In turn, they received a share in local government, social deference, and loyal peasants who served their needs.

The clergy was another matter, as they were the heart of the spiritual life of the nation, as well as their intellectual and cultural center. Russians considered themselves Orthodox before any other modifier. They, down to the lowest peasant, believed themselves to be “the Orthodox society” with all the obligations that such a view implies. The clergy were given power to rule the spiritual affairs of the church, and the ability to oversee public morals (always a difficult job). They were the “welfare” agency in times of famine of want and the center of literacy and culture, and, in return, received lands and privileges within society.

The monarchy had the most difficult job of all. He or she was to oversee the proper interaction of all these parts in all their complexity, keeping each interest at an equal distance. The monarchy was uninvolved in local affairs, but it remained true that the machinery that kept local affairs running smoothly was the business of the state. In general, the tsar was an icon of piety, a successful warrior and a fair judge. This was the expectation of the lower orders. His primary duties were to sacrifice himself in war, raise taxes for this purpose and act as an arbiter among social forces and interests.

In each area of life (and I gave only the most important), there are duties and rewards; rights and responsibilities. It is “ordered liberty” in the best and most ancient sense of that phrase. None are before, nor after another in terms of social utility and respect, and, in medieval Russia, the balance between them was maintained with a tolerable degree of satisfaction to the historian writing in 2007. Each group usually agitated against the others: the merchants demanded freer trade and lower taxes; the nobility demanded greater lands and tougher laws on runaway peasants; the monarchy tried to clip the nobility’s wings; and the peasants demanded a greater share of their produce.

Nothing is really new here, and the state, in terms of its policies, mirrors that of most others, regardless of the sort of government imposed on the population. I will seek to show that these battles created a set of institutions over time that set up a tolerable balance of power, though the tsars, working with the upper reaches of the clergy, are mostly responsible for creating and enforcing these. What we see most of all is the coalition of clergy, monarchy and peasant against the trader and (upper) noble. While this can be exaggerated, it remains a rather constant feature of medieval Russia.

The style of these lectures should be familiar to many of my readers. They are straightforward, somewhat short and to the point, along with my trademark occasional wisecrack. There are many major issues I have left out, solely due to the want of space and time and the constricting nature of the university classroom. I provide, in each lecture, first, the basic structure of society at the time, second, the basic historical data of the time, third, a few remarks from myself on the issues involved, and, as a new twist, I have included a “questions from students” section at the end of each lecture, each reflecting actual questions students have asked me over my years of teaching this subject. Otherwise, I view these lectures as brief introductory remarks to a very difficult, obscure and complex set of subjects.

Please pardon the occasional typo, as my readers know I am prone to them, they will be worked out as time progresses. Glory to God for All Things.

The painting I chose to be the cover of these lectures is a profound look at the time of troubles. It depicts St. Hermogenes, patriarch of all Russia, refusing to sign a blessing for the Polish occupation of Moscow. The painting was done in 1860 by the master, Pavel Chistyakov, himself the master of the great Ilya Repin.

In this painting, St. Hermogen is depicted in stark contrast to the “passionate” Poles. Look at the picture carefully. There is a clear continuum of passion from the dismissive arrogance of the man on the right, to the dismissive but still somewhat angry man in the center, to the extremely angry man that has the arm of the saint. In this painting, the continuum of passion is clear; there is no real demarcation between anger, lust and the worship of power. They all come from the same source: pride. The man in the center is being particularly contrasted to the saint.

The man in the center, the commander of the Polish forces, is wearing a lush and beautiful set of armor, his face mildly irritated, but suggesting more pride than anything else. Notice his sword, barely visible, for his power is solely earthly. He is pointing downward, the metaphorical location of hell, but also of the earth, the place of his dominion. The saint is pointing upward, towards his heavenly home, wearing the simple rassa of an Orthodox monk. The only thing that identifies him as patriarch is the almost unnoticeable white cowl over his head. His facial expression is one of mild fear, but mild because he seems to be bathed in the uncreated light of Jesus Christ. The commander is shining in his armor, but his domain is merely earthly, and will soon depart. The “cavern” they are in is the earth. Literally, of course, it is a prison, but it represents our earthly life, a life in which the Poles seem perfectly comfortable. The patriarch, however, seems to detect an opening, an opening where the heavenly light shines upon him. In reality, the Poles are the prisoners, not the patriarch.