As I sit here on this beautiful Athenian night, on my balcony looking towards the magnificent Acropolis of our beloved city, beneath the protection of the Holy Virgin, I finally have had some time, (however little) since my extensive travel through Transcarpathia, to think. Though completely content and feeling at home in Athens, as I only do in very few places in the world, here, surrounded by the mountains which shield the city, my thoughts turned to another set of mountains close to my heart—to Transcarpathia.
And I thought again about a topic that’s always been problematic in the world of Slavic studies. Though this thought came to me originally in the Greek language…
I thought about how in our Hellenic language, the classical word for Rus’ is simply Ros’. What a simple word, beautiful, only one syllable, yet it seems over this simple little word a war is fought across half the vast Slavic world.
I am of course referring to the conundrum of what adjective to use for something “of Rus’”—something or someone belonging to the East Slavs—anything ranging from Kievan Rus’ to Carpathian Rus’ to Belarus or dare I say even Moscow…
The issue is not simply one of translation, though I do feel that language barriers are an issue here, but also of history, histography, and (to my great regret) politics, because as a very clever and pragmatic priest said to me in Transcarpathia, whether we like it or not, matters as complicated as history—especially national history—and religion, can never really be removed completely from politics.
That is to say even if I strive as I do to be objective as possible, even if I constantly make it very clear that I am politically neutral, against extremism, and not taking any particular “side”, any form of historical writing almost inevitably has political connotations, in as much as one cannot write about the history of a people — which we established is a school of literature — without at the very least interacting with their political history.
Politics comes from the Greek word polis meaning city, and essentially means the affairs of, or otherwise the running of the city, in as much as economy originally meant “the running of the house”. However, as I gaze at the Acropolis, which means “above the city”, let’s strive again to look and stand above modern politics and discuss where the root of this conflict over the names of Rus’ comes from.
The Biggest Issue in East Slavic Studies
One of the most complicated issues in East Slavic studies, is simply determining which word (particularly in adjective form) to use for them or things connected to them. True, we could just say East Slavic or Rus’ peoples, however the former is too technical and is not a term the peoples historically used for themselves, and the latter is simply awkward.
The issue is not so much in that it’s hard to think of a word, but rather in that the moment you do—the moment you call an ancient city or prince in Kievan Rus’ “Russian”, or “Ukrainian”, unintentionally or not, you’ve already taken a side in the conflict.
I am constantly reminded of the words of the late, great medievalist Dmitry Likhachov. To paraphrase, East Slavic history is cloaked in so many contradictory myths and convoluted versions like with no other nations, because no other people in the world interpret their own history as variously as do the East Slavs.[1]
I truly feel these words encapsulate the issue.
And for clarity the issue again is as follows: What word (especially which adjective) should be used to describe historical people and especially things belonging to Rus’ and the East Slavs.
For example, if an artifact, for example a sword, is found in Belarus, which belonged to one of the princes of Kievan Rus’, but that likely was made in Novgorod the Great, what should I call it.
A Russian sword, a Rus’ sword, a Ukrainian sword, a Kievan sword, Belarusian, Ruthenian, etc.
What about historical figures that connect the history of each nation. A perfect example is Prince Theodore Koriatovych, a prince of Lithuanian Rus’, from lands in both modern-day Lithuania and Belarus, who was the prince of Podolia in modern Ukraine, and later Duke of Mukachevo and ruler of Transcarpathia under Hungary.
What should I call him? A Russian prince (after all, the term in that time period which he would have recognized was almost certainly some form of (Руській); should I call him a Ukrainian prince (extremely anachronistic, though he did rule land entirely in modern Ukraine, and was not on territory friendly to Moscovia), a Ruthenian Prince, a Rusyn Prince?
We discussed before extensively the meaning, origins, and context of these words, and I don’t wish to repeat that here, rather I’d like to discuss the issue itself.
This issue overshadows almost all historical discussions of these lands and peoples. Almost any time I write or speak about this I am challenged with terminology — what to call these things.
Much of this issue I believe can come down to translation, as it’s a shame in English it is not easy to make this distinction between Rus’ and Russia, that is to say between Ruskii and Rossisskii. While the historical meanings and contexts of these words is long and complex, simply put, the modern connotation is that Rossia and Rossisskii refers to the modern nation-state of Russia today, or Russia in the early modern period, whereas Ruskii can also be used for the ancient state of Rus’ even distinct from Moscow. It’s worth noting that in the other Ruthenian languages (note the word I choose to use here), Ukrainian, Belarusian, and Carpatho-Rusyn, Rus’ and Ruskii (with one S), is generally used at least in the in literary language to refer exclusively to Old Rus’, be it Kievan or Lithuanian or in whichever period, and Moscovia and the state and people which evolved directly from it are called Rossia and Rossisski(e) respectively, however, these people call themselves Russkii (with a double s) and their state Rossisskii.
If these adjectives sound convoluted—that’s because the whole situation is convoluted. Magocsi touches on this subject briefly here:
Besides the Greco-Byzantine term Rosia to describe Rus’, Latin documents used several related terms – Ruscia, Russia, Ruzzia – for Kievan Rus’ as a whole. Subsequently, the terms Ruteni and Rutheni were used to describe Ukrainian and Belarusan Eastern Christians (especially members of the Uniate, later Greek Catholic, Church) residing in the old Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth. The German, French, and English versions of those terms – Ruthenen, ruthène, Ruthenian – generally were applied only to the inhabitants of Austrian Galicia and Bukovina and of Hungarian Transcarpathia. For the longest time, English-language writings did not distinguish the name Rus’ from Russia, with the result that in descriptions of the pre-fourteenth-century Kievan realm the conceptually distorted formulation Kievan Russia was used. In recent years, however, the correct terms Rus’ and Kievan Rus’ have appeared more frequently in English-language scholarly publications, although the corresponding adjective Rus’/Rusyn has been avoided in favor of either the incorrect term Russian or the correct but visually confusing term Rus’ian/Rusian.[2]
Though it may appear visually confusing at first, perhaps the best word is Rusian.
If we could simply adopt and agree upon this word — Rusian — as a neutral word for general Rus’ history, this would solve so many of our problems. I wish we could just begin to use this word more, and I truly believe that if we did, some of this issue could finally be resolved.
But the issue is not only one of translation, but as we noted, histography and inevitable politics.
A perfect illustration of this, and a good model for the issue at hand is the very name of the Rusyn village of Ruski Krstur (Руски Крстур) in Serbia.
The cultural center of the Pannonia Rusyns. The name literally can be translated from Serbian as “Russian Cross”. Due to the complicated context, people will often rush to translate it as Rusyn Cross or Ruthenian Cross and at this point, political correctness is yet again an obstacle to objective reality. It is not called Rusynskii Krestr, it’s called Ruski, and this is the same word Ruski that Rusyns themselves used to refer to themselves. And of course, this does not mean it’s a village of Muscovites from Russia! Of course, in this context it refers to Rusyns or “Ruthenians”, but this doesn’t change the fact that the word used is Ruski. And the context in Slavic tells us all we need to know, but in English we have yet to completely develop terminology that accurately explains all the nuances of the situation.
In the Slavic languages of course, the ending –ski is a suffix which is added to nouns, to form an adjective meaning from or of the given place or thing. So Mukachevski monastyr means the monastery of Mukachevo or simply Mukachevo Monastery, St. Vladimir of Kiev is called Vladimir Kievski, the Verecki Pass in Transcarpathia is called also Ruski Vorota (Руські Ворота) meaning the gates of Rus’, and thus Ruski Krstur could be translated as The Rus’ Cross, or perhaps the Cross of the Rus’ people…it could…but that does not mean it should.
We can tell this is a very awkward sounding word here, precisely because the noun Rus’ is not intended to be used like that as an adjective. The English equivalent to Ruski is classically—Russian. However, we also can recognize that in today’s context, this word has additional baggage, in that most people will associate it with the modern country of Russia, and we do not wish to imply by the word Russian, that all Rus’ peoples are simply subcategories of the nation ruled from Moscow, we mean Russian in the context “of Rus’”, in Slavic, Ruski. In the Serbian language, this is simply a reality, that Rossia (Russia) is called Rusija, and they naturally associate it with Rus’, and as a result, they associate other Rus’ peoples with Rus’. We should not immediately jump to change long-established historical terminology simply because we don’t like the connotation. In some cases, it’s possible and necessary, but it shouldn’t be our first action. First, we can look to see if we can ideally explain or contextualize the situation. The difference between historical revisionism and contextualization is that revisionism essentially rewrites history and attempts to pass off a certain understanding or opinion as objective facts, whereas our goal is simply to say what happened factually, and how to explain it so that people can see the same reality, and from there, let the people themselves form their own opinion.
So how can we explain what Ruski Krestr means? We could just call it “Russian Cross” and hope people understand that this actually means Russian as in an adjective of Rus’, and not modern Russia, but would most people really understand that? We could simply start calling it Rusyn or Ruthenian Cross, even though this is simply incorrect and not what the Pannonia Rusyns who live there themselves call it, and thus, as usual with modern political correctness, try to be more politically correct than the people on the ground actually themselves would be.
Or…we could explain that it means Rusian Cross, because a Rus’ people—the Pannonian Rusyns—live there. This is merely on example of where a neutral and agreed upon adjective can be very helpful. So, we can accurately explain when something means “of Rus’”, in a general context, without revising the word itself, and without confusing people with a term like Russian.
Unfortunately, the issue remains here that not everyone will even agree that there is a general Rus’, and if there is, not everyone will agree on all its members.
Some Rus’ peoples consider others to be not nations but simply their own subethnos, others would say they don’t exist at all. And notice how that can apply to various peoples. Modern Russian nationalists and chauvinists have this view of Ukraine, that they are simply a subethnos of their own, and likewise, Ukrainian nationalists often feel the same way about Rusyns if they recognize them at all. Some would argue that there are absolutely no differences at all between these peoples, which is dubious in that the very fact that there is such a heated conflict proves it’s not some minor issue. Others with irreligious and materialistic views would say that these nations are as different as Czechs and Slovaks, that is to say related, but separate, and that no notion of a spiritual Rus’ united by common faith and culture in Orthodoxy—which is the traditional basis of unity in Rus’—should be accepted in the modern world.
This author views both of these extremes to be inaccurate and harmful.
Perspectives on Rusian Statehood, Succession, and Inheritance
The ideal understanding, in our humble vision, is to view these peoples as equal children or even grandchildren of Old Rus’, in such a way that no single modern nation has any exclusive claim or more legitimacy to claim to be the successor of Rus’ than the other, but where they are all in and of themselves fully Rus’ in the entire sobornost’ of that word. After all they are all post-Soviet nations today, none have an unbroken line of succession to a continuing ancient Rusian polity. Regardless how we feel about monarchy, today, there is no longer any Most Pious Czar, whose age has now long since into the annuals of bygone years passed away.
Moreover, it’s worth considering that these peoples may look at what grants legitimate succession in different ways.
The Muscovite Perspective
Traditional Muscovite histography puts a great deal of emphasis on the transfer of powers and lineages. For example, the transfer of the Kievan Metropolitan and some of the descendants of the Grand Princes of Kiev to Vladimir and then to Moscow. The history of the Russian state, e.g. as classically recorded by Karamzin, is thus in practice reduced to the history of a single family. So, whereas the line of the Kings of Galicia was broken, and the great Ruthenian estates of Ostrogski, Slutski, and Wiśniowiecki[1] (the latter producing even King Michael of Poland, the great-nephew of Moldovan-Vlach Orthodox St. Peter Mohyla of Kiev and Galicia) where inherited by polish szlachta and Austro-Hungarian rulers, the idea was that the successor and the only free Rus’ was the Muscovite state, who in their idea had the right to claim the other Rusian lands as essentially “next of kin” inheritors, and demand the loyalty of the people.
The Rusin or Ukrainian Perspective
The Rusin or Ukrainian perspective however, it may be seen as being slightly more democratic or even populist and is more based on the unity of the native people with their land. While it’s true that Western Rus’ eventually fell under foreign rule, this never made the people any less Rusian. Even if in foreign languages they were called Ruthenians, the people kept calling themselves Rusins/Rusyns. Even if the princes of bygone ages are gone, the people never moved. Saint Sophia Cathedral never moved to Moscow along with the Cathedra, she remained in Kiev where the great Caves Lavra never fell into the Dnieper. The Lviv Dormition Brotherhood never moved to Warsaw, St. Nicholas Mukachevo Monastery never forsook Monk’s Hill for the royal Buda Hills, and the Carpathian Mountains did not stand up and move to Vienna. So, if the Muscovite claim to sovereignty over the Russian state is based on the transfer of power, and they established themselves in such a way that they essentially claimed the word Russian itself, the Rusin claim can be in the fact that the people did not transfer or move, but remained Rusians—people of Rus’—having withstood all the storms.
Conclusion — Rusian as an objective adjective
And so, we see that people have a reasonable claim to Rus’.
- The Muscovites, once among the smallest of Rus’ principalities built the strongest power, and claim the name Russia for themselves. Their lands include ancient Rusian cities such as Novgorod the Great, Rostov, Murom, etc.
- The Ukrainians, though now called by a different name, are native to the essential heartland of Rus’, and their lands constitute the nucleus of Kievan Rus’, and the birthplace of its statehood and religion, without which all Rusian peoples including Russians and their culture would be unrecognizable.
- Belarus keeps the name Rus’, and the term Belarusians helps demonstrate the utility of this word “Rusian”. Belarus was a major part of both Kievan Rus’ and Lithuanian Rus’.
- And Carpatho-Rusyns preserve as their own name for their people, one of the oldest and purist words for these people, and having been baptized into Orthodoxy by Sts. Cyril and Methodius, prior to Kievan Rus’ and can thus even claim to be the Proto-Holy Rus’.
4 A map of the principalities of Kievan Rus’ (after the death of Yaroslav I in 1054) imposed over modern borders. We can see that Kievan Rus’ was spread across the borders of many different states. Source: Wikipedia.
We may argue, after the disintegration of Kievan Rus’, which polity had the most legitimacy to claim to be the rightful inheritor of the old Rus’ state—it was in fact, likely the Kingdom of Galicia-Volhynia, considering this was the seat of the senior Rurikids, though the Muscovite princes would contest this—but while we can debate that, we can hardly say who has the right to be cultural inheritors of Rus’. Objectively speaking—they all do.
Considering that all these medieval states have passed, the modern peoples should be considered equal inheritors with no subordination to each other. This is also why this author believes that it’s essential we have a neutral term to refer to general Rus’ culture and history. Some would argue that the idea itself of a “general Rus’” works against the independence of these people, but on the country, having a term like Rusian is a major support of their sovereignty and independence. Unless one is completely blind to reality, it is self-evident that the state of old Rus’ encompassed major parts of all these lands, and that their culture comes from this ancient state, and regardless of the differences we have, and how significant or not they may be, and how they evolved, this doesn’t change the fact that there are obvious interrelations as well. And this necessitates a term like Rusian.
We need a neutral term to refer to these commonalities in their history, culture, and religious tradition, so as to avoid this fight of whether to call something ancient of interest to us “Russian”—which would imply to most people that it belongs to modern Russia—or “Ukrainian”, which could be a major anachronism if we are discussing something from the 10th century. We need a clear and neutral word that also can avoid using either loaded archaisms like Little Russian or Ruthenian, when inappropriate, or using awkward phrases like Rus’ peoples, or Rus’ history, when it’s clear that a very obvious adjective is needed and would be much more natural.
Rusian can very well be that adjective that can help facilitate neutral and objective dialog on Rusian history.
Russians, Ukrainians, Belarusians, and Carpatho-Rusyns are beautiful peoples with fascinating histories, that are both intimately connected, and indeed separate, and it is worth exploring further the relationship and differences of Rusian peoples, and their perspectives on their history both shared and separate.
Матфей Шахйн
Rusyn Literary Society
Originally written October 23, 2021, in Athens, Greece
[1] See D. S. Likhachev (1993) Russian Culture in the Modern World, in Russian Social Science Review, 34:1, 70-81.
[2] Paul Robert Magocsi. A History of Ukraine; The Land and Its Peoples. Second, Revised and Expanded Edition. University of Toronto Press, Toronto Buffalo London. 2010. Pg. 73.