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Life and work in the camp were awful and inhumane; each day only brought one closer to death.  Knowing this, many of the prisoners did not want to die spiritually, and strove to lead an internal battle for their lives and their spirits.  These prisoners talked about science, life, or religion, sometimes held lectures on art or scientific research, or discussed books they had read before their arrest, read poetry, or talked about their lives before camp.

Against the backdrop of cruelty, coarseness, violence and the awareness of impending, unavoidable death, the hunger, extreme exhaustion, and the constant presence of the criminals, this was truly remarkable.  The prisoners often tried to find in each other the support that would make their life bearable.

Depending on the nature of the most recent wave of arrests, different people would arrive at this camp--engineers, soldiers, clerics, scientists, artists, farmers, writers, agronomists, doctors--and then subgroupings of prisoners with similar interests would form naturally.  Everyone was downtrodden and exhausted, but you could see that no one wanted to forget his past, his profession.  Debate between groups was very heated--people would become impassioned, see only their own side on an issue and argue as if their lives depended on it.

Father Arseny took part in none of these discussions.  He aligned himself with no group, nor did he attempt to defend a viewpoint.  Whenever a discussion began, Father Arseny would simply go to rest and pray on his bunk.  The intellectuals in the barracks looked down their nose at Father Arseny.  "Just a silly priest, uneducated.  He's good-hearted, helpful, but uncultured.  That's why he believes in God; he has nothing else to live by."

This was the opinion of the majority of the prisoners.

vvv

Often, after roll call was taken and the barracks were locked for the night, a group of ten or twelve writers, art historians, and artists would gather.  The discussion was always heated.  This time the topic was ancient Russian art and architecture.  On of the prisoners, a tall man who had kept his elegance and poise even in camp, spoke with great assurance on this topic.  People around him listened with great interest.  This tall and impressive man was surprisingly knowledgeable and very sure of himself; he spoke very convincingly.  As he was talking, Father Arseny happened to pass by.

The speaker, who was in fact a professor of art history, spoke to Father Arseny condescendingly.  "Tell us, dear Father, you are very pious and of the clergy; perhaps you could tell us how you understand the influence of Orthodoxy on ancient Russian art and architecture.  Do you think there is such an influence?"  He spoke and smiled.  The people around him laughed.  Avsenkov, who was seated nearby, also smiled.

Such a question addressed to Father Arseney seemed absurd.  Some felt sorry for him, others wanted to have a laugh.  Everybody understood that a simple priest like Father Arseny could not answer such a philosophical question.  Since he didn't know anything, the question was intended to demean him--Father Arseny was just passing by.  But he stopped, listened to the question, noticed the grinning faces and answered, "I will answer as soon as I finish my work," and kept going.

"He's no fool, he avoided being put on the spot!" someone murmured.

"Yes, the Russian clergy was always uncultured," echoed another.  Ten minutes later, Father Arseny returned to the group that was talking and, interrupting the speaker, said, "I finished my work.  Can you please repeat your question?"

The professor looked at Father Arseny the way he would look at a stupid student, and slowly said, "The question, Father, is a simple one, but interesting: how do you, a member of the Russian clergy, understand the influence of Orthodoxy on ancient Russian fine art and architecture?  You may have heard about the art treasures in Suzdal, Rostov, Pereslavl, and the Ferapontovo Monastery.  You may have seen reproductions of the Icon of the Mother of God of Vladimir, and the Trinity by Rublev.  So please explain to us, what connection you see?"

The question was that of a professor; every one understood this and thought that he should not have asked it of a simple but good little priest.  It was clear, they thought, that he could not answer; you could see it just by looking at his face.

Father Arseny stood straighter, his appearance changed somehow, he looked at the professor and said, "There are many different theories about the connection between Orthodoxy and fine art.  Many people have written about this including you, professor.  You have spoken and written much about it.  However, I feel that a great many of your theories and statements are convoluted, incorrect, and contrived simply to satisfy your readers, or the censors.  What you wer saying just now is much closer to the truth than what you said in your books."

"You believe that Russian fine art grew out of a secular base - you deny almost completely the influence of Orthodoxy.  You write that it is only economic and social factors, not the spiritual basis of the Russian people and the beneficial influence of Christianity, which influence art and architecture.  My opinion is the opposite of yours.  I consider that Orthodoxy was the decisive influence on russian culture from the tenth to the eighteenth century.  In the tenth century, the Russian clergy found and accepted the culture of Byzantium and brought it home to influence all of Russia.  They brought books, icons, models of Greek churches, and hagiography to the Russian people.  This was the influence that built Russian culture.

"You mention the Icon of the Mother of God Vladimir.  Didn't this icon, like many other early icons, come to us from Orthodox Byzantium?  And weren't these icons the foundation on which later Russian iconography and art flourished?"

"Every Russian icon is inextricably connected to the soul of the Christian iconographer, of the believer who comes to the icon as a spiritual, symbolic representation of Christ, His Mother, or His Saints.  The Russian People do not approach icons as idols, but as the spiritual image of the one to who his soul addresses itself in sorrowful or joyous prayer.  The Russian iconographer creates his icons with prayer and fasting, and it is understandable that it is said that the hand of the iconographer is held by an angel of God."

"The Russian iconographer never signs his work because he considers that it is not his hand but his soul that had created the icon, with the blessing of God--while you seem to see only the socioeconomic factors."

"Look at a western Madonna and at an ancient Russian icon; you will see the difference.  In our icons you can feel the spirit of faith, the imprint of Orthodoxy; on western paintings you see a Lady, a woman; spiritual yes, but full of earthly beauty.  You do not feel the power of God's grace; it is only a woman.  Just look at the Mother of God of Vladimir.  Look at her eyes and you will read such strength of spirit, such faith in God's mercy, and such hope for salvation."

Father Arseny spoke clearly and expressively.  Even his physical demeanor had changed.  He spoke about well-known icons and explained each of them, thus revealing the soul of Russian iconography.  He then began speaking about architecture, giving examples such as those in Suzdal, Vladimir, and Moscow and showed its connection to Orthodoxy.

Father Arseny finished his answer this way: "In building churches, Russians made the stones sing the glory of God: they made the stones teach about God and glorify God."

Father Arseny spoke for about an hour and a half and the people around him listened in dead silence.  The professor had lost his half-mocking smile, and looked as if he had shrunk.

"Excuse me," he asked, "How do you know all this? You know fine arts, architecture, and even my own books?  Where did you study?  I thought you were a priest."

"One has to love and know his fatherland.  It is essential that even the 'silly priests', as you call them, understand the soul of Russian art and, being shepherds of souls, they must show their flock the truth as it is in reality.  Because people like yourself, professor, cover in mind-twisting theories and lies that which is most holy and precious in man.  This distortion is created for ones personal benefit and to cater to current political leanings and directives."

The professor changed his tack altogether and asked, "Who are you?  What is your last name?"

"In the world I was Piotr Andreyevich Streltzov, now I am Father Arseny, a prisoner like yourself in this 'special camp'.

Startled, the Professor spoke with difficulty.  "Piotr Andreyevich, I apologize.  Forgive me.  I could never imagine that I was speaking to a famous art historian, author of many books and articles, teacher of many, a famous professor, no a priest, and asking him such a stupid question.  For a number of years no one had heard from you.  Nobody knew where you were; only your books and your articles continued expressing your thoughts.  How is it that you, such a famous expert, became a priest?"

"I became the priest Arseny because I see and feel the presence of God in everything.  Having become Father Arseny I understood as never before that simple priest must know a great deal.  And while we are on the subject of 'simple priests,' you of all people know that they were the power that mad Russia what it was in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, and helped the Russian people overthrow the Tarters.  It is unfortunately true that in the sixteenth and seventeenths centuries morality was at a low among the Russian priesthood, and only a few rare 'lights' lit up the horizon of the Russian church.  Until then, the priesthood had been the dynamic force of our country."

With that, Father Arseny left, and all those who had heard him, among them Avsenkov, stood silently in awe and amazement.  "Well, there we have it, my friends," someone said.  "That was our simpleton priest."  Each went to his own bunk in silence.

Avsenkov noticed that from this time on, the intellectuals in the barracks looked at Father Arseny differently.  It seemed that for many concepts of God, science, and "intelligentsia" were becoming more closely related.  Avsenkov had been a convinced Communist who had believed almost fanatically in Marxist ideology.  During his first year in the camp he had lived as a loner; then he started to talk to some of the other prisoners and realized that most of his old friends, also Communists, now hoped only for a return to the old days when their life was comfortable.  They did not care to do battle with the unjust rule of Stalin.  Avsenkov disliked these attitudes and stopped talking to them.  He looked back at his own life and understood that he had in fact lost all his idealism a long time before; these ideas had been replaced by parroting formulaic "truths" and obeying orders.  He had lost contact with humanity; lectures and newspaper articles had replaced living human beings.

In his contact with other prisoners, Avsenkov saw authentic, unartificial life.  He was attracted to Father Arseny with his rare attitude towards others and his constant readiness to help everyone with true kindness.  Father Arseny's intellectual qualities won him over completely.  His limitless faith in God and his unceasing prayer had at first alienated Avsenkov, but at the same time had strangely attracted him.  He always felt good when he was with Father Arseny.  All the difficulties, the sadness, the oppressive atmosphere of the camp became bearable in his presence.  Why?  He could not understand.

Ivan Alexandrovich Sazikov, one of the ill prisoners whom Father Arseny had cared for, had been, as they learned, an infamous criminal.  He loved power, he was a hard man, he knew the community of camp criminals well and had soon subjugated them all to himself.  They all obeyed him.  His word was law; the prisoners were all afraid of him-but he did not like to mingle in the affairs of the barracks, preferring to stay apart.

For a few months after Father Arseny had nursed him to health, Sazikov did not want to be near him and made believe that he did not even know him.  But it so happened that Sazikov hurt his leg and had to lie in his bunk for four or five days; the wound became infected, gangrene set in and he was afraid his leg would have to be amputated.  The medics did not force him to go to work but he was not getting any better.  Father Arseny once again patiently nursed him, fed him, and with his support, Sazikov finally got better.

Sazikov tried to give Father Arseny some money for this, but Father Arseny answered with a smile, saying, "I am not helping you for money, I am doing it for you, the person-for yourself."

Sazikov's feelings toward Father Arseny bcame warmer; he told Father Arseny about his life, and once he said, "I don't trust people, in general.  I believe priests even less.  But you, Piotr Andreyevich, I trust.  I know you won't turn your back on me.  You live in your God, you do good not for your own benefit, but for the sake of others.  My mother was like that."

One of many stories from Father Arseny, 1893-1973: Priest, Prisoner, Spiritual Father: Being the Narratives Compiled by the Servant of God Alexander Concerning His Spiritual Father