In a sense, all theology is mystical, since it reveals the Divine mystery given by Revelation. On the other hand, mysticism is often contrasted with theology as a realm inaccessible to knowledge, as an ineffable mystery, a hidden depth, as something that can be experienced rather than known, something that lends itself more easily to a particular experience that surpasses our powers of judgment than to any perception of our senses or our reason. If we were to accept unconditionally this conception of a sharp opposition between mysticism and theology, it would eventually lead us to the position of Bergson, who distinguishes between the static religion of the Churches - the social and conservative religion - and the dynamic religion of the mystics - the personal and the renewing religion. Was Bergson in any way right in asserting this opposition? This is a difficult question to solve, especially since the two definitions that Bergson opposes in the field of religion are based on the two "poles" of his philosophical vision of the universe - as nature and as a vital impulse. But even apart from Bergson's views, we often hear the judgment that mysticism is a domain reserved for a few, an exception to the general rule, a privilege granted to certain souls who possess the truth by experience, while all others must be content with more or less blind submission to dogmatic teaching imposed from without in the form of coercive authority. In emphasizing this contrast, one can sometimes go too far, especially if one also deviates somewhat from the historical truth; thus it is possible to oppose the mystics to the theologians, the Spirit-bearers to the Church hierarchy, and the saints to the Church. Suffice it to recall a number of passages in Harnack, Sabatier's Life of St. Francis, and other works that most often arise from the pen of Protestant historians.

Eastern tradition has never made a sharp distinction between mysticism and theology, between personal experience of the knowledge of the Divine mysteries and dogmas affirmed by the Church. The words spoken a hundred years ago by the great Orthodox theologian, Metropolitan Philaret of Moscow, beautifully express precisely this position: "It is necessary that (we) should not consider any wisdom, even in secret, to be alien to us and not belonging to us, but with humility to dispose the mind to divine contemplation and the heart to heavenly sensations" [2]. In other words, the dogma which expresses the revealed truth, which seems to us to be an incomprehensible mystery, must be experienced by us in a process in which, instead of adapting it to our mode of perception, we must, on the contrary, compel ourselves to a profound change in our mind, to its inner transformation, and thus become capable of gaining mystical experience. Theology and mysticism are by no means opposed; on the contrary, they support and complement each other. The first is impossible without the second: if mystical experience is a personal manifestation of a common faith, then theology is the general expression of that which can be experienced by everyone. Without the truth preserved by the whole Church, personal experience would be devoid of all certainty, of all objectivity; it would be a mixture of the true and the false, the real and the illusory, it would be "mysticism" in the bad sense of the word. On the other hand, the teaching of the Church would have no effect on the soul of man if it did not somehow express the inner experience of the truth, given in varying "measure" to each believer. Thus, there is no Christian mysticism without theology, and, what is more important, there is no theology without mysticism. It is no accident that the tradition of the Eastern Church has retained the name "theologian" for only three spiritual writers: the first of them is St. John the Theologian, the most "mystical" of the four Evangelists, the second is St. Gregory the Theologian, the author of contemplative poems, and the third is St. Simeon, called the "New Theologian," who glorified union with God. Thus, mysticism is considered in this case as perfection, as the summit of all theology, as a theology "preeminent."

In contrast to gnosis, where knowledge in itself is the goal of the Gnostic, Christian theology is always in the final analysis only a means, only a body of knowledge that must serve an end that surpasses all knowledge. This ultimate goal is union with God or deification, of which the Eastern Fathers speak. Thus we arrive at a conclusion which may seem rather paradoxical: the Christian theory has a highly practical significance, and the more mystical this theory is, the more directly it strives towards its highest goal, union with God, the more "practical" it is.

All the complex struggle for dogmas that the Church has waged for centuries appears to us, if we look at it from a purely spiritual point of view, first of all as the tireless concern of the Church in every historical epoch to ensure that Christians have the opportunity to attain the fullness of mystical union with God. And indeed, the Church fights against the Gnostics in order to defend the very idea of deification as a universal consummation: "God became man so that man could become God." It affirms the dogma of the One-in-Essence Trinity against the Arians, for it is the Word, the Logos, that opens to us the way to union with the Godhead, and if the incarnate Word is not of the same essence as the Father, if He is not the true God, then our deification is impossible. The Church condemns the teaching of the Nestorians in order to destroy the mediastinum, with which in Christ Himself they wanted to separate man from God. It rebels against the teaching of Apollinaris and the Monophysites in order to show that since the true nature of man in its entirety was taken upon Himself by the Word, so our nature in its entirety must enter into union with God. It struggles with the Monothelites, for without the union of the two wills in Christ – the Divine will and the human will – it is impossible for man to attain deification: "God created man by His one will, but He cannot save him without the cooperation of the human will." The Church triumphs in the struggle for the veneration of icons, affirming the possibility of expressing Divine realities in matter, as a symbol and pledge of our deification. In the questions that arise successively in the future – about the Holy Spirit, about grace, about the Church herself – the dogmatic question posed by our time – the main concern of the Church and the pledge of her struggle are always the affirmation and indication of the possibility, mode and means of man's unity with God. The whole history of Christian dogma develops around one and the same mystical nucleus, which in the course of successive epochs defended itself with various kinds of weapons against a great multitude of different opponents.

The theological systems developed throughout this struggle can be seen in their most direct relation to the purpose of life, the attainment of which they were supposed to contribute, in other words, to union with God. And then they are perceived by us as the foundations of Christian spiritual life. This is exactly what we mean when we say "mystical theology." This is not "mysticism" in the proper sense of the word, that is, not the personal experience of various teachers of high spirituality. This experience remains most often inaccessible to us, even if it finds a verbal expression for itself. Indeed, what can we say about the mystical experience of the Apostle Paul: "I know a man in Christ, who fourteen years ago (whether in the body I do not know, whether out of the body I do not know: God knows) was caught up to the third heaven. And I know of such a man (only I do not know whether in the body or out of the body: God knows), that he was caught up into paradise, and heard ineffable words, which cannot be told to man" (2 Corinthians 12:2-4). To dare to pass any judgment on the nature of this experience, one would have to know more about it than the Apostle Paul himself, who confesses his ignorance: "I do not know: God knows." We resolutely distance ourselves from any psychology. Nor do we intend to expound theological systems as such, but only those theological principles which are necessary for the understanding of spiritual life, and those dogmas which are the basis of all mysticism. Here is the first definition, which is also the limitation of our topic, as "the mystical theology of the Eastern Church."

The second definition of our theme closes it, so to speak, in space. The field of our study of mystical theology will be precisely the Christian East, or, more precisely, the Eastern Orthodox Church. It must be admitted that such a restriction is somewhat artificial. Indeed, since the rupture between the Eastern and Western Churches occurred only in the middle of the eleventh century, everything that precedes it is the common and undivided treasure of the two separated parts. The Orthodox Church would not be what it is if it did not have St. Cyprian, Blessed Augustine, St. Pope Gregory the Dialogist, just as the Roman Catholic Church could not do without St. Athanasius the Great, Basil the Great, and Cyril of Alexandria. Thus, when we want to speak of the mystical theology of the Eastern or Western Church, we follow one of those two traditions, which up to a certain moment were two local traditions of the one Church, bearing witness to the one Christian truth, which only later divided and thereby gave rise to the emergence of two different and in many points irreconcilable dogmatic positions. Is it possible to judge these two traditions on neutral ground, equally alien to both? This would mean judging Christianity as non-Christians, that is, refusing to understand anything in advance about the subject of the proposed study. For objectivity does not at all consist in placing oneself outside a given object, but, on the contrary, in considering this object in it and through it. There are realms where what is commonly called "objectivity" is simply indifference, and where indifference means misunderstanding. Thus, in the present state of dogmatic disagreement between East and West, if we want to study the mystical theology of the Eastern Church, we must make a choice between two possible attitudes: either to take the side of Western dogmatics and to consider the Eastern Tradition through the prism of the Western Tradition, that is, by criticizing it, or to present the Eastern Tradition in the light of the dogmas of the Eastern Church. This last attitude is the only acceptable one for us.

Perhaps it will be objected that the dogmatic disagreement between East and West was accidental, that it was not of decisive importance, that it was rather a question of two different historical worlds, which sooner or later had to separate from each other and go their separate ways, that the dogmatic quarrel was only a pretext for finally dissolving ecclesiastical unity, which in fact had long ceased to exist. Such assertions, which are very often heard in both East and West, are due to a purely secular speculation, to the generally accepted methodical habit of considering the history of the Church without regard to its religious nature as such. For such a "historian of the Church," the religious factor disappears because it is replaced by other factors: the play of political or social interests, the role of ethnic or cultural conditions, which are taken as the decisive forces that determine the life of the Church. To speak of these factors as the true causes governing church history is considered more far-sighted and more contemporary. But every Christian historian, paying tribute to these conditions, cannot but consider them only "external" in relation to the very existence of the Church; he cannot refuse to see in the Church a certain original principle, subject to a different law, not the deterministic law of "this world." If we turn to the dogmatic question that divided East and West, to the question of the procession of the Holy Spirit, then it can in no way be spoken of as an accidental phenomenon in the history of the Church as such. From the religious point of view, it is the only real cause of the concatenation of the factors that led to the separation. Although this reason may have been due to several factors, nevertheless the dogmatic definition became for both of them a kind of spiritual obligation, a conscious choice in the field of confession of faith.

If there is often a tendency to belittle the importance of those dogmatic data which determined all the subsequent development of the traditions of both Churches, this is due to a certain insensitivity to the dogma itself, which is regarded as something external and abstract. We are often told that only the spiritual disposition is important, that the dogmatic difference does not change anything. Nevertheless, spiritual life and dogma, mysticism and theology are inseparably linked in the life of the Church. As for the Eastern Church, as we have already said, it does not make a particularly clear distinction between theology and mysticism, between the sphere of general faith and the sphere of personal experience. Thus, if we want to speak of the mystical theology of the Eastern Tradition, we cannot speak of it except within the framework of the dogmatic teaching of the Orthodox Church.

Before proceeding to our topic, it is necessary to say a few words about the Orthodox Church, which is still little known in the West. Father Congar, in his book Chretiens desunis (Divided Christians), in the pages devoted to Orthodoxy, in spite of all his efforts to be objective, nevertheless remains dependent on the bias of certain views on the Orthodox Church: "At the same time, the West," he says, "on the basis of an Augustinian ideology at the same time developed and definite, demands for the Church its inherent vital and organizational independence, and in this respect conducts the foundation of a line of very positive ecclesiology, the East in practice, and sometimes even in theory, admits in the social and human reality of the Church the principle of political unity, a principle that is not religious, particular, and not truly universal" [4]. For Father Congar, as well as for the majority of Catholic and Protestant authors who have spoken on this subject, Orthodoxy appears to be a federation of national Churches based on political principles, that is, the Church of a state. Only without knowing the canonical foundations and history of the Church can one take the risk of such generalizations. The idea that the unity of any local Church is justified by a political, ethnic or cultural principle is considered in the Orthodox Church to be a heresy that has a special name: phyletism [5]. It is the territory of the Church, the land consecrated by a more or less ancient Christian tradition, that is the "base" of the metropolitan district, governed by an archbishop or metropolitan, with its own bishops for each diocese, who meet from time to time in council. If metropolitan districts unite and form local Churches under the jurisdiction of a bishop, who is often called a patriarch, then again the community of local church traditions, a common fate, as well as convenient conditions for the convocation of a council are the main reasons for the formation of these large jurisdictional districts, the territory of which does not necessarily correspond to political boundaries. The Patriarch of Constantinople enjoys a certain primacy of honor and is sometimes a judge in disagreements, although the totality of the Universal Church is not within his jurisdiction. The Local Eastern Churches were in approximately the same relationship with the Roman Apostolic Patriarchate, the first see of the Church before its division and the symbol of its unity.

Church unity expresses itself in the communion of local Churches, in the acceptance by all Churches of the decisions of a local Council, which thereby acquires the significance of an Ecumenical Council, and, finally, in exceptional cases, this unity can be manifested by the convocation of a general Council. The catholicity of the Church, far from being the "privilege" of any one throne or one particular ecclesiastical center, is realized rather in the richness and diversity of local traditions, which unanimously bear witness to the one truth, to that which is preserved always, everywhere and by all. Inasmuch as the Church is catholic in each of its parts, each of its members, not only clergymen but also laymen, is called upon to confess and defend the truth, opposing even bishops if they fall into heresy. A Christian who has received the gifts of the Holy Spirit in the sacrament of chrismation cannot but be conscious of his faith. He is always responsible for the Church. Hence the sometimes turbulent and turbulent aspect of church life, characteristic of Byzantium, Russia and other countries of the Orthodox world. But these are signs of religious vitality, of the intensity of spiritual life, which deeply affects the entire believing people, united by the consciousness that they form a single body with the church hierarchy. Hence the invincible force thanks to which Orthodoxy passes through all trials, all disasters and upheavals, always applying itself to a new historical reality and proving to be stronger than any external conditions. The Orthodox Church, although it is usually called Eastern, nevertheless considers itself to be the Universal Church. And this is true in the sense that it is not limited to the sphere of a certain culture, the heritage of the Hellenistic or any other civilization, or any forms of culture characteristic only of the culture of the East. However, the term "Eastern" says too much at once: the East is more diverse in the cultural sphere than the West. What do Hellenism and Russian culture have in common, although Russian Christianity is of Byzantine origin? Orthodoxy has become the leaven of too many and different cultures to be regarded as the "cultural form" of Eastern Christianity: these forms are different, but the faith is one. Orthodoxy has never opposed national cultures to a culture that could be called specifically Orthodox. That is why his missionary activity could develop so amazingly: the Christianization of Russia in the tenth and eleventh centuries, and then the preaching of the Gospel throughout Asia. By the end of the 18th century, Orthodox missionaries reached the Aleutian Islands and Alaska, then moved to North America, creating new dioceses of the Russian Church outside Russia and spreading Christianity in China and Japan. Anthropological and cultural differences, from Greece to the Far East, from Egypt to the Arctic Ocean, do not disturb the homogeneous character of this spiritual family, which is very different from the spiritual family of the Christian West.

Orthodoxy is distinguished by a great variety of forms of its spiritual life, of which monasticism remains the most classical. However, in contrast to Western monasticism, Eastern monasticism does not consist of many different orders. This is explained by the very understanding of the monastic life, the goal of which can only be union with God with a complete renunciation of the life of this world. If white clergy (married priests and deacons) or lay brotherhoods can engage in social affairs or devote themselves to some other kind of external activity, it is a different matter for monks. A monk takes monastic vows primarily in order to engage in prayer and inner work in a monastery or skete. Between the coenobitic monastery and the solitude of a hermit who continues the tradition of the desert fathers, there are several intermediate stages of monastic life. In general, it could be said that Eastern monasticism is of a purely contemplative character, if the distinction between the two paths, contemplative and active, had the same meaning in the East as in the West. In reality, however, in the Eastern Church, both paths are inseparable from each other: one path is inconceivable without the other, for ascetic perfection, the school of inner prayer, is called spiritual work. If monks sometimes engage in physical labor, it is mainly for ascetic purposes: to crush the disobedience of nature and to avoid idleness, the enemy of spiritual life. In order to attain union with God to the extent that it is realizable in earthly life, constant effort or, more precisely, unceasing vigilance is necessary, so that the integrity of the inner man, the "unity of heart and mind," in the language of Orthodox asceticism, would oppose all the intrigues of the enemy, all the irrational movements of fallen human nature. Human nature must change, must be transformed more and more grace-filled on the path of its sanctification, which is not only spiritual sanctification, but also bodily, and therefore cosmic. The spiritual feat of a kinovite or anchorite living far from the world, even if it remains invisible to everyone, has significance for the whole world. Therefore, monasteries were revered in this way in all countries of the Orthodox world.

Large centers of spiritual life were of exceptional importance not only in church life, but also in the field of politics and culture. The monasteries of Sinai and Studite near Constantinople, the "monastic republic" on Mount Athos, uniting monks of all nations (including the monks of the Latin Church before the division), other major centers outside the Byzantine Empire, such as the monastery of Tarnovo in Bulgaria and the great Lavras of Russia - the Pechersk Lavra in Kiev and the Trinity-Sergius Lavra near Moscow - were the strongholds of Orthodoxy, schools of spiritual life, the religious and moral influence of which was enormous for the Christian education of the newly converted peoples [8]. But if the monastic ideal so captivated human souls, then monasticism itself was not the only form of spiritual life that the Church offered to the faithful. The path of union with God can be followed in all conditions of human life and outside of monasteries. External forms may change, monasteries may disappear, as they have almost disappeared now in Russia, but spiritual life continues with the same intensity and finds new ways of self-expression.

The exceptionally rich Oriental hagiography, along with the lives of the holy monks, cites many examples of spiritual perfection achieved in the world by simple laypeople, people living in marriage. It also speaks of strange and unusual ways of holiness, of "fools for Christ's sake" who commit absurd acts in order to hide their spiritual gifts from the eyes of others under the repulsive guise of madness, or, rather, to break free from the bonds of this world in their deepest and least acceptable sense for reason - to free themselves from the bonds of their social self [9]. Unity with God is sometimes expressed in charismatic gifts, as, for example, in the gift of spiritual guidance from the "elders." Most often these are monks who have spent many years of their lives in prayer, who have withdrawn from the world into seclusion, and at the end of their lives have opened the doors of their cells wide open to everyone. They have the gift of penetrating into the innermost depths of the human conscience, discovering in them sins and difficulties, of which most often we ourselves do not know, they support downcast souls, instructing them not only on the spiritual path, but also guiding them on all the paths of life [10].

The personal experience of the great mystics of the Orthodox Church is most often unknown to us. With rare exceptions, in the spiritual literature of the Orthodox East there are no such autobiographical accounts of one's inner life as those of St. Angela of Foligno, Henry of Suso, or St. Thérèse of Lisieux in her The Story of a Soul. The path of mystical union with God is almost always a mystery between God and the soul, which is not revealed to outsiders, except to the spiritual father or some disciples. If anything is made public, it is only the fruits of this union: wisdom, knowledge of the Divine mysteries, expressed in theological or moral teaching, in the advice and edification of the brethren. As for the innermost and personal experience, it is hidden from all eyes. It must be admitted that mystical individualism appears in Western literature rather late, around the thirteenth century. St. Bernard of Clairvaux speaks directly about his personal experience very rarely: only once in the "Homily on the Song of Songs", and then, following the example of the Apostle Paul, with a certain shyness. There had to be some kind of division between personal experience and the common faith, between personal life and the life of the Church, so that spiritual life and dogma, mysticism and theology, would become two different spheres, so that souls, not finding sufficient food in the theological Summa, would eagerly seek stories of individual mystical experience in order to plunge back into the spiritual atmosphere. Mystical individualism remained alien to the spiritual experience of the Eastern Church.