Talking Tuesday: Laurus

I find myself in a small conundrum today; it is 10 years since Philip's repose, and I generally take the day to write about him, to remember.  It is also Tuesday, however, and I had intended to start writing about Eugene Vodolazkin's excellent spiritual novel Laurus this week.  Upon reflection, I find these two things not incompatible.  I find I have little to say specifically about Philip this year.  I thought about him a lot last week, as I always do in the days leading up to the anniversary, but this morning was almost an afterthought.  Almost.

Ten years ago seems like a lifetime; so much has happened in the past decade, so much that has ontologically changed me.  Would I even recognize my younger self now?  

Eugene Vodolazkin's novel is concerned quite a lot with time, and the way that the self changes over time, particularly in pursuit of repentance.  We meet the central character, Arseny, as a young boy, and journey with him throughout his long life until his death in old age.  Several passages in the book stood out to me, but this particular one seemed appropriate for today; Arseny (now called by his first monastic name of Amvrosy) is entering old age, and has joined a monastery.  He is reflecting on the past while talking with his spiritual father, Elder Innokenty.

"I have already been at the monastery but, you know, somehow I cannot get my thoughts together.  Apparently I can no longer understand this myself.  Time, my love, is very shaky here, because the cycle is closed and it corresponds to eternity.  It is autumn now:  that may be the only thing I can say with anything approaching certainty....

Monastic time truly does lie close to eternity, said Elder Innokenty, but they are not equal.  The path of living, O Amvrosy, cannot be a circle.  The path of the living, even if they are monks, has been opened up because, as one might ask, how could there be freedom of will if there is no way out of a vicious cycle?  And even when we replicate events in prayer, we do not simply recall them.  We relive those events once again and they occur once again....

So you think time here is some sort of open figure rather than a circle?  Amvrosy asked the elder.

That's exactly it, answered the elder.  After I have become enamored of geometry, I will liken the motion of time to a spiral.  This involves repetition but on some new, higher level.  Or, if you like, the experience of something new but not from a clean slate.  With the memory of what was experienced previously.

A weak autumnal sun appeared from behind some clouds.  Elder Innokenty appeared from the opposite side of the wall.  He had managed to walk around the monastery during the time he spent talking with Amvrosy. 

And you, O elder, are making circles, Amvrosy told him.  
No, this already the spiral.  I am walking, as before, along with the swirl of leaves but--do take note, O Amvrosy--the sun came out and I am already a little different....

There are events that resemble one another, continued the elder, but opposites are born from that similarity.  The Old Testament opens with Adam but the New Testament opens with Christ.  The sweetness of the apple that Adam eats turns into the bitterness of the vinegar that Christ drinks.  The tree of knowledge leads humanity to death but a cross of wood grants immortality to humanity.  Remember, O Amvrosy, that repetitions are granted for our salvation and in order to surmount time."

~Eugene Vodolazkin, Laurus. Trans. by Lisa C. Hayden.  London: Oneworld Publications, 2015. Pages 308-309.