The end of the second and the beginning of the third millennium was marked by the growth of national consciousness in Ukraine. Understanding of traditional values, culture, native history has become an important part of the spiritual sphere of the modern Ukrainian conceptual system. In connection with the loss of many ethical, aesthetic, religious, existential landmarks, there was a need for reconstruction, the return of national styles of thought, in which the ancient great Ukrainian culture and statehood would (...) be concentrated. (shrink)

The article deals with the development of sacred art in Galicia at the turn of the 19th and 20th centuries. Masters of Ukrainian icon painting K. Ustinovich, Y. Pankevich, M. Sosenko, P. Kholodny and others. continued the creative process through which the Ukrainian icon for a long historical period of development did not lose its viable direction, did not degenerate into the picture. They have not crossed that limit, when the departure from the fundamental theological foundations of iconoclasm (...) threatens to transform it into a painting of dry religious content. (shrink)

Exploring the relationship between hermeneutics and the arts, including painting, music, and literature, this book builds on hermeneutics from a practical perspective, connecting this area of critical research with others to reveal how it is viewed from different perspectives. International and interdisciplinary in scope, this edited volume draws on the work of scholars and practitioners working across a variety of subject areas, themes and topics, including philosophy, literature, religious paintings, musical oeuvres, Chinese urbanscapes, Moroccan proverbs, and Ukrainian internet blogs. (...) Focusing on the idea of hermeneutics as a discipline that can connect different areas of interest, the book offers an inside view into how the contributors 'interpret' it within their own academic remits, demonstrating its presence in qualitative academic interpretations and canonical contemporary research in humanities. (shrink)

This review of the Ukrainian translation of H. U. Gumbrecht’s best-known work brings out the strengths and weaknesses of the translation and the peculiar reception of Gumbrecht’s key ideas in Ukraine. It also critically assesses Gumbrecht’s own original and often contradictory points. I question the relevance of Gumrecht’s meaning / presence distinction for reconstructing the history of the philosophical tradition, as well as for analysing our complex relation to the world. I also demonstrate the weakness of his biased attempts (...) to paint his opponents as relativists. Besides, I contrast Gumbrecht’s meaning / presence dualism with John Dewey’s theory of experience. The latter conceives experience as a dialectical relation between “doing” and “undergoing”. This juxtaposition shows that Gumbrecht’s theory cannot give a satisfactory account of the mechanisms of everyday or aesthetic experience due to its lack of consistent “everyday” epistemology. Moreover, his vague concept of “presence” and its unequivocal appraisal conflict with his own concept of the chronotope of “broad” or “complex” present, as presented in the selected essays of The Time Is Out of Joint. Eventually, I conclude that Gumbrecht’s eclectic terminological apparatus, as well as uncritical and biased reconstruction of the tradition preclude any serious philosophical engagement. However, it does not undermine the significance of his particular insights and theoretical instruments for cultural analysis. (shrink)

In this article the author continues his philosophical research of aggressive manipulative influence on mass consciousness, which is a basic component of the "hybrid war" Russian Federation against the Ukraine. It identifies the system and components of political mythmaking during the military phase of the war. This system, according to the author, includes at least five basic mythologycal components: Russian and Russian-separatist troops, Ukrainian armed, forces of confrontation "secret patrons" and the social background in which the conflict of people (...) and "quasi-gods" occurs. This complex of interrelated myths gets the name "hybrid mythologycal war", and the parties of it are painted polar attributes - it is used as the sacralization and infernalization both individual persons and supraindividual entities. The author thinks that the introduction into the mass consciousness of citizens of the Russian Federation, Ukraine and the world political community of this mythology and the substitution of its reality is a way of manipulating the mass consciousness. It also details the means of implementation of this method - the introduction of channels of mythology and numerous instrumental techniques, approved at the time by J. Goebbels propaganda machine. The targets of manipulation are allocated, which probably sets the aggressor within the same paradigm - strongly facilitate military phase undeclared war of aggression. In addition, on the basis of existing reality material scientists previously studied the manipulation of the mass consciousness, analyzed the characteristic changes transformed the picture of mental processes and states. (shrink)

After the Christianization of Kievan Rus, folk elements began to penetrate into church painting. The culture that has been formed in the people for centuries, in accordance with the regularities of the mechanism of ethno-confessional syncretism, could not but interact with the new Christian culture for Ukraine. Christianity, though sometimes using various means to counteract it, still failed to eradicate the most persistent Christian motives from the minds of its people throughout the centuries of its existence. Ukrainian tolerance and (...) creative forces of the people contributed to the development of religious cult and art, which over time gained national features and characteristics. (shrink)

The Ukrainian war pervades – as a token for deciphering the ruins of our present – the lines of this interview. That deciphering implies both refusing to be subjected to the devastation of the cities as an inevitable fate and trying to unfold the possibilities of rediscovering a «poetry of the city» (Fabrizio Desideri). We risk falling into incontrollable mistakes and mystifications if we hide from ourselves life’s violence. Philosophically speaking, the most beautiful victory is the one in which (...) we defeat ourselves (Plato). But the role of art, the only human activity able to tear off the masque to violence (Giorgio Colli) is irreplaceable: from Greek tragedy to contemporary cinema. (shrink)

Don't tell terrible stories—everyone here has enough of their own. Everyone here has a whole bloody sack of terrible stories, and at the bottom of the sack is a hammer the narrator uses to pound you on the skull the instant you dare not believe your ears. Or to pound you when you do believe. Not long ago I saw a tomboyish girl on Khreshchatyk Street demand money of an elderly woman, threatening to bite her and infect her with syphilis. (...) Don't stroll through Volodymyr Hill Park, don't stroll around the botanical garden, and especially don't stroll on Kontraktova Square. Don't stroll anywhere. Don't go to the pavilion with the Golgotha panorama near St. Alexander's Church. Not even the twelve-meter-tall crucified Christ will save you. Don't go outside when it's dark and people turn into shadows a shade darker than dark. Also don't go where you can be seen from far away. Not to imply that people used to be like a bunch of lilies, but now they stink like a cellar of cabbage.The city, which earlier might have had some fun, is now going crazy. It's like a fish in warm water: it doesn't react to anything, swims slowly like it doesn't care if it swallows a hook or not. The excitement and exaltation pass into oppression, just as our necks have sunk into our shoulders, our shoulders into our lumbars, our lumbars into our nether regions. The holiday turns into a funeral, the parades into explosions, depression into mania. Winter passes into summer, people turn into beasts, the hours into ages, and the ages into hours. It's worth simply walking around the city to see a soldier from an unknown army taking a piss near the opera. Farther on is a row of identical old widows selling ball gowns and candelabra. Then there are the aristocrats and manufacturers who throw so much at the prostitutes that they'll soon be richer than their wives.I returned late through the Kyryliv Wood, not heeding all the warnings that I myself have given here. It really is dangerous—the place is famous for it. There's a madhouse nearby, caves where criminals and the sick can hide out. Also, once upon a time, as they say in fairy tales, the great dragon Zmei Gorynich lived here beside the Puchai River. The stench in these places drives away the most committed misanthropes and even one type of philanthrope—that is, perverts. It sounds dumb, but the stench is cleansing. I don't know where it comes from. After the operating theaters and the rooms with amputees, the stench no longer repelled or attracted me; it just was. And this was a great place to think. As I walked, I considered an incident with our patient.The patient, a respectable individual whose name carries too much weight for me to state it directly, one day began to assault people. He nearly strangled a merchant who he believed asked too much for a beaver coat. He likewise wanted to kill his business partner when he didn't say hello loudly enough. But the worst was, he lost all shame of his own nakedness. At first it was the police who took care of it. When our future patient slipped off his pants and undergarments, he was taken to Kyrylivska, which has had means for dealing with such cases dating back to the day when unhinged Cossacks and composers from Kyiv Mohyla Academy were taken there.During the examination we determined that the patient was experiencing a severe breakdown. His wife added that lately, more than once, he had allowed himself strong words in front of the children and often suffered from ennui. Furthermore, she said, the patient had been undergoing treatment for “the French disease” for some years—which was, obviously, where we needed to start.“Syphilis!” Skorsky spat out the matchstick he was chewing on. He was a specialist on the psychological aspects of diseases related to the venereal. “Tertiary syphilis! When poorly treated, over time ‘the French disease’ can destroy the central nervous system. Hence the patient's chicanery. Such theater!”Skorsky and I had not spoken since the incident at Bilinsky's. Meanwhile, something significant had happened to him. The most boring person on earth, Skorsky had simply caught fire. He said hello and kibitzed. I even heard the doctor got drunk alone in his office, then wandered through the forest. Could he be using narcotic substances?“Cocaine!” was the doctor's second proclamation. It was his favorite treatment for the psychological complications of syphilis. Skorsky himself never took what he called “the universal drug”—good for alcoholism and toothaches, neuroses and morphine dependency—though he had read in an article by a respectable Viennese physician, who used cocaine as a panacea, that it was not addictive. That doctor subsequently recanted, but Skorsky paid no attention. He believed the retraction was made under pressure from pharmacologists who had no incentive to cease production of the medications that cocaine might supplant. Their representatives either paid or threatened the Viennese to repent.As the patient was escorted to his room, he assaulted the orderly, Alevtyna. They tried pulling him off her, but, though he released his fingers from her neck, he buried his teeth in her leg. The poor orderly, who had not until then been attacked by a psychotic, nearly died of fear. Later, panic set in over Skorsky's diagnosis. He told her about the consequences of syphilis: grotesque patterns on one's face due to infection of the skin, mucous membranes, cartilage, and bones. He went on about the devastation to the central nervous system, which they had just observed in real life: “The face starts to look like lace some mangy dogs fought over before rolling in the mud.”Alevtyna, who had not yet regained her faculty of speech, straightened up. Ignoring the slavering male orderlies, she bared her leg to get a better look at the wound. She then ran down the hall and out into the garden, where she fell on the ground to rip up grass and small bunches of daisies. Alevtyna ate them along with the soil in their roots.“Minor hysteria. She needs fifteen milligrams of cocaine.”Skorsky took a snuff box out of his pocket and scooped up some white powder with a toothpick made from a goose feather. He gave the order to close Alevtyna's mouth and one of her nostrils, forcing her to snort the medication.We fretted over her so long that evening fell. I decided to walk down, along the ravine, behind the church.It was unlikely there were any large beasts there, but something was rustling. The pits and mounds, ravines, paths, graves of witches whose living sisters flew in the treetops from time to time, the whispers of the forest spirits, the spirits of the nutcases who died in the hospital, the spirits of the monks from the St. Cyril Monastery, Zmei Gorynich and the bogatyrs who wanted to defeat him. The city would be calmer without this forest. I saw the gaps between the trees and went off in the direction of the tram tracks.As I was coming out of the forest, there was a patch of Amanita muscaria that had been trampled into porridge. A bit farther on, the body of Professor Bilinsky lay killed in the blackberry bushes. The way he was lying it looked as though he had not struggled before death. I quickly examined his body but saw nothing out of the ordinary. There were no wounds, no dirt under the fingernails. Animals had not yet smelled the carrion, but swarms of various insects covered him. Oh, why did I have to find the putrid body?The best thing would be to take the tram to his house to inform his relatives. The doors closed, and I noticed my own calm. This death had not evoked any emotions in me other than a feeling of responsibility, the need to tell the family. But also—some alarm at the thought of who the murderer could be. I knew that it was murder.“Your nose is bleeding.” A woman as round as an onion, carrying two baskets full of strawberries, offered me an ironed and starched handkerchief.“Have I dirtied my shirt?”“No, it's as neat as a pin. It's just your nose that's dirty. Wipe it now before you spray blood on my strawberries.”“No one will see the red on red.”“Ah, but it's salty!”“You know why it's not sweet? We'd drink it like syrup.”“Those with Christ in their heart do not talk that way.”“Are your strawberries expensive?”“Why? What?”“I'm checking to see if you have God in your heart.”“Child, if you knew how I have to work for this berry! I have to weed it a hundred times. In a week, the quitch grass grows as high as a horse. And I water it with water I carry from the stream, it kills my arms... ”“How much are the berries?”“They're not for sale. Anyway, soon money won't mean a thing. Soon all money, all these papers made from the skins of sinners on their satanic presses will be annulled. What matters is how we treat each other.”“So if I try your strawberries for free, my ‘thank you’ will be enough?”“Hands off!” she said and thwacked my fingers.I heard loud laughter behind me—same laughter as from the café near the Continental. There was no one sitting near Alina. (This is what fate looks like, remember.) Without asking, I sat next to her, away from the old lady.“Excuse me, but the night before last didn't you, yes, didn't you intrude on my privacy?” She started right away.“I saw it a little differently. Who was that young man with the mustache who paid me for you?”“Are you checking to see if you can flirt?”The tram stopped. People got on and off.“Are you coming back from the hospital?” she asked. “Don't be shocked. My uncle works there. He's told me all about you.”“An uncle by the name of Skorsky?”(Remember: this is what fate looks like.)“Yes. Skorsky's been strange recently—says things that make me wonder if he hasn't lost his mind. Have you noticed anything?”“I don't know.”“You know perfectly well.”“Where are you going?” I tried to change the subject.“I have to send something to my theater friends in Odesa. By the way, they'll be putting on Oedipus Rex soon in Kyiv—in Ukrainian.”“Greek tragedy in Ukrainian! That's a first.”“Exactly. The troupe is rehearsing now in Odesa. The theater where they will perform this fall is being remodeled.”“Wait. Now I remember where I've seen you before—it was at a performance! Vynnychenko's Black Panther and White Bear, at the Bergonier on Fundukleivska.“The same director is doing the Oedipus. He's my friend.”“He's your friend in what sense?”“Again with that tired subject. By the way, I've been thinking about you.”“And I about you.”“That's good. I was thinking not about you, to be precise, but about that elevator you invited me on.”“Who was that man with you?”“Like a broken record! Even if he had been my fiancé, I'm not bought or inherited. I'm not a brooch or a hundred acres of land, and I'm not a house in Kaniv!... Who was with you when you saw Black Panther?“Ah, so.”“Answer!”“That was my mother. She looks very young. She is coming to Kyiv the day after tomorrow. I can introduce you.”“Oh, this is my stop.”I looked out the window and realized that I had long since passed the stop for Bilinsky's.“Can we see each other again?”“We can. But you have only one chance.”Alina the anarchist wrote something on a scrap of paper and handed it to me.Morning, not morning but a thick porridge (I hate porridge). Dew, thick spit, crushed fruits, urine, all on the sparkling cobblestones. The sun, just barely having made its appearance, is already scorching. The human masses scurry and grumble like poorly digested food inside a stomach.I walked diagonally across St. Sofia's Square, then along the perimeter, then one edge, then again diagonally across. I went underground. The basement café of the Continental Hotel was practically empty. I again asked the server to bring the cloth with the embroidered portrait, but I couldn't remember the musician's last name, only that it ended with -sky. The server said that -sky was currently in the southern cities of Yalta and Odesa. I added that Kurbas, the director, Alina's friend, was also in Odesa, rehearsing Oedipus Rex, and that he'd previously put on Black Panther.I was bored, so I walked along Khreshchatyk and then headed down, calling to mind all the Kyiv churches of Podil: there's Birth of Christ, St. Nicholas on the Shore, Intercession, Pyrohoshcha, Holy Presentation, St. Dymytrii Rostovsky, St. Illia's. And also the Epiphany Brotherhood Monastery, Ascension Convent, and St. Katherine's, all these whipped-cream churches on the waffles of our streets. A few of them reminded me of themselves by appearing suddenly out of nowhere.The smells on Kontraktova Plaza where commerce buzzed were like multicolored light bulbs turning on one after another. Here you could catch the aroma of Balabukha jam, which blended with the next smell, English shoe polish at the Raiskys’ shop. Then the crunchy-smelling cabbage from old women standing in a row like herons and spitting out the shells of sunflower seeds. Farther on, the stench of a good-sized rat that crawled under Mrs. Shevchuk's shop where she sells broadcloth. Oh, she can't scream: no, she'll quietly dig that rat out herself so as to not scare off her clients.I bought a paper and two pairs of underwear. I asked two laughing young chambermaids who were secretly puffing in a grape-filled yard for a smoke. I wandered around Podil until evening when I came across a sawmill near the Dnipro that surprisingly smelled pleasantly of mazut fuel oil. The weather was dry, yet in the middle of the road was an enormous puddle, a deep dark black. A forty-year-old woman in a pale pink dress stood near it. The theatricality of it all provoked me to pose her a question,“Ma'am, what should I do?”But she paid me no attention. I shouted,“What should I do?”“What to do, what to do?” she said in Polish. “Jump in the water and swim so far away that you cannot return.”I quickly crossed a section of the forest. The wind brought a mixture of unpleasant air, like a stinky handkerchief held under one's nose. Passing the trees, I saw light in the spaces between them and exited at the hospital.Outside the windows, two orderlies lay in chairs with their heads thrown back. Two others—fools—ran around the yard in different directions, peering out at... something. The lights on the first floor of the hospital were on, and the staff milled about.“You're just in time!” said Ivan, a tall, young orderly.“For what?”“Your patient ran away! We went into his room and he wasn't there.”“What patient?”“The one who bit Alevtyna,” said Danylo, the other orderly, short and middle-aged.“That's Skorsky's patient, not mine.”I had no intention of helping them. This was all history—like my family, Kyiv, and my previous life. I had no intention of thinking about it. I wanted to go to my office, pack up my field surgery kit, and get out. So what? Their psychotic syphilitic ran away—it happened.Of course, that patient could have something to do with Bilinsky's murder. But that was no longer my problem.“What a strange coincidence!” the doctor on duty said. “Comrade doctor, the other one responsible for this patient was just here.”“And where is he now?”“He took off toward the church to look for the patient.”“Didn't the patient escape earlier?”“Don't know.”“How do you not know? You had better call the police, moron, before he kills someone. And get those sleeping orderlies to look for him.”“They can't... ”“Why not? Should I go wake them?”“They're on morphine.”“And you, I can see, have lost your mind. Go, catch your psycho! If it turns out that he killed Bilinsky—and on your watch—you can't imagine what's in store for you.”I adjusted my homburg and set off in the direction of St. Cyril's, that unwelcoming monolithic cube. I glanced around—what if our escaped syphilitic were to jump out of the bushes and bite or strangle me. I looked around because I wasn't sure of my actions, wasn't sure of my choices. Tripping over a clump of clover, I reached the open doors of the church. I couldn't stop myself from going in.The walls and ceiling were covered with frescoes. There was what used to be an angel rolling up the sky on the southern column of the narthex. But also graffiti: people scratched their names on it so as not to be forgotten—their idea of eternity. Prince Volodymyr the Great compared this activity to the desecration of graves. The vandals paid a fine and were beaten with canes. During the raids of Batu Khan, the church was deserted and cracks appeared all over it. Wild martens and feral dogs sought shelter here; insects swarmed under the ceiling with its red mosaics. Birches grew in its midst. Water seeped in the cracks, the water became ice, the ice widened the cracks, more water seeped in the cracks, becoming more ice that further widened the cracks, the wall split and nearly fell over, and then the wall fell over. Yet the angel is still rolling up the sky... When I reached the exit, I heard a rustling behind me. I turned after I stepped outside: in the depths of the church, like a stick in a pot of tar, stood a man with a large bag thrown over his shoulder and a revolver pointed right at me.“Is that you, Doctor?“Don't move!”“What's... Skorsky, what's with you?”“Don't move, I say!”“What are you doing here?”And finally I understood... Skorsky was himself the psycho! (Really, I had known for a while.)“You are the murderer! I knew it! But—why?”“Shut up.”“It was you. You! The stolen cigarettes, the strange behavior, Bilinsky. If I shout, everybody will come running. They've already called the police!”There was heavy breathing behind me. And then a gun rang out.The city is overgrown with new buildings. They encircle everything that was once on the periphery. Kyiv has become an old lady that can no longer restrain herself in the face of pastries. The city climbs farther. It steps over the swamps, turns the old rivers into a series of lakes; the other bodies of water it drives into canals. The grain that falls from the wild wheat is black. When the sun heats it, the grain melts and trickles into the earth. St. Cyril's stands indestructible. No one spackles the small cracks in its walls with either expensive putty or glues, nor with cheap cement and whitewash. One day a small fox appears in the doorway. It runs inside and along the floor of simple gray tiles. The gods watch from the walls, watch and fall into ruin. The fox runs to the iconostasis. Before it is a time-darkened Virgin Mother and Child in oil on sheets of zinc. The fox runs the metal steps that wind up to the second floor. The fox runs past all the vaults, naves, all the frescoes. A buckthorn seed flies in through a broken window. It will be the first. Soon the buckthorn will grow everywhere. A dumb hare will make its nest in the buckthorn bushes and nightingales will settle in the upper branches to sing until the end of the world. The fox runs between the thick rays that penetrate the windows. It catches one of the rays, squints its eyes, and warms itself in the sun.The shot rang out, but I did not fall. I looked around—and on the church threshold was our syphilis patient bearing a rod. His head lay on the rocks by the doorway.“If only he'd been at the stage of nose deformity! Just imagine: a hole instead of a nose plus a hole from the bullet—like an extra pair of eyes!” Skorsky laughed at the corpse.“We need to call the orderlies.”“They heard the shot. They'll run here on their own. You see, Professor Bilinsky believed it would take two or three years to wrap up this patient's case,” Skorsky told me. “But I took care of it much faster!”“Excuse me, but I'm going crazy in this city. I thought that you were Bilinsky's murderer.”“Just so. Why not? I am Bilinsky's murderer.”“Don't tease. You've changed a lot recently, so... ”“Yes, I've started killing people. You might term such a change significant.”“You have the right to irony.”“I am not being ironic.”“Let's call it sarcasm.”“It's the honest-to-God truth.”“And yes, you have the right to mock me.”“Well then, let's be done. To the horses!”“What horses?”“Alina's waiting!”Alina, her uncle Skorsky, a few others I didn't know, and I rode like the wind that ripped off my homburg and carried it back to Kyiv.“There's a fresco in the choir loft at St. Cyril's where Vrubel painted himself and patients from the hospital as the apostles. When I came across it by accident, I really believed they were saints,” Alina said.“I've never been up there. I've only seen the church from below.”“Remember the way back so you can see it sometime.”“The Puchai River used to flow here. You shouldn't trust the landscape,” Skorsky said, reaching for something, perhaps his bag, just when we left the darkness of the trees and saw the endless steppe ahead of us.We rode all night without stopping. Though no one was chasing us. Though we had nowhere to be. We rode like beasts released from a cage. The promises of the horizon turned what we'd left behind into a cage fit for those from whom freedom had been severed, like an anomaly, at birth.The pre-morning sky looked at first like a sack of turnips—filled with something heavy. But with each verst, the sky became lighter. When it was finally light enough to see clearly, we arrived at a knoll at the foot of a stone wall that from a distance had appeared to be a gigantic piece of halva. The exterior ruins of the castle gave no hint of how it was when all was fine here, when people defended themselves successfully from the nomads’ raids. From far off, the wreckage looked like a natural agglomeration of stones—a rocky elevation, no more: a cluster of cliffs. It would rain a few hundred more times, a few hundred more winds from a few hundred directions would blow on this heap, and it would collapse as though nothing had ever been here.A few stalks of wheat grew from one of the rocks. Someone had probably cast a handful of grain here for some birds that forgot to eat it.“Who could this castle belong to?” I asked Skorsky.“I reckon the Swan Princess,” the doctor rejoined, hoping to sound knowledgeable.From behind one of the piles of gray sandstone emerged a young man in a black reptilian coat and a white papakha as lush, bright, and out of place as a dahlia. His name was Artem. The heat was melting our brains, but he was dressed like that, in rooster fashion, which was popular among the otamans. Artem helped Alina dismount her horse and tried to kiss her on the lips, but she offered him a cheek instead.Had she been racing to see this clown?We entered the yard—the ruins had fashioned an internal space that was more or less protected, at least from strangers’ eyes. It turned out that there were even places where it was possible to hide from the rain, and from there the ruins didn't look half bad.In the center of the court was a table, and on it a wooden bucket with pink gladiolas. How romantic! It all looked like it came from outer space. Where on earth, in the middle of the steppe, far from any village or town, did this table, this simple table, come from? And the gladiolas? The steppe hadn't been plowed in so long that any cultivars would have gone wild, degenerated, dried up completely.A campfire crackled nearby—a little preview of what we would soon do to the houses, villages, and cities. Artem the otaman brought over a cezve from the fire and poured the first portion into a small, copper cup for Alina. He also got out a porcelain cup with images of rosy cherubim—but how...?“Who else would like coffee?”Only Skorsky and I responded. The question excited me, even distracted me from the thought of the kiss I had recently witnessed and the Kyiv I had recently left.“It's obvious who the professors here are; cultured people drink coffee. Are you both doctors?”“Uh-huh.”“For wolves of the steppe, like us, doctors are gold, even more precious than gold. Actually, a Hippocrates like you should eat more, because those in your profession will soon be worth your weight in gold. Work on your figures, both of you.”“Who will take pity on the horses that have to carry us?”“We'll find the horses. And very large doctors can be transported on machine-gun carts. We'll need to seat the otamans near you. Only a fool would shoot at a doctor.”“I think we'll find quite enough fools here.”“With your beard, Doctor, you look like Tsar Nicholas II. But even so you won't be shot. You might even be canonized!”“We've only just arrived and you're going on about executions,” Skorsky grumbled and checked to make sure that he still had his bag.“Apologies, apologies, pardonnez-moi. But you are not merely a doctor. A venereologist! Skorsky, you're a specialist! A venereologist is the most important person in wartime. The most valuable! You are the botanists of war. You can't imagine what varieties of flowers grow here, and these beds have long awaited a proper gardener. Or even just a man with a scythe!”“Bite your tongue,” Alina said. “I don't need to listen to this.”“Yes, yes, of course. Excuse me, my r—. ” He almost said “rose.”We rested all day. We went down to a surprisingly close river overgrown with lilies. We rowed the boats left by fishermen. I talked to Skorsky. He took his bag everywhere, refusing even to swim so he wouldn't have to part with it. I asked him what he had in it, but he said it wasn't my damned business.Alina rowed with the otaman to the middle of the river. They were having a loud discussion. She was waving her hands. The current carried their boat downstream slowly and smoothly. What a nuisance, that current!I tried to meet with Alina one-on-one, but she was avoiding me. In the morning I was confused, by lunch I was sad, and after lunch I got angry.In the evening, I lay on the hot grass and drank another cup (I have no idea where they got such good coffee), which had no effect at all on my sleep. I watched the Perseids. Every year, the Earth passes through the tail of Comet Swift-Tuttle. People can see the meteor shower and make a wish. I wished. I counted forty-seven falling stars. All forty-seven of my wishes were for the same thing.Around the campfire, they were sitting, talking. I saw how he tickled her face with a piece of grass and she brushed him off in annoyance. Then they were screaming at each other. Later they again spoke kindly, after which they again quarreled. My joy grew after each tiny mistake that Artem made. I wanted him to show the worst he was capable of.They were screaming at each other, but all I could hear was beautiful opera singing. The stars fell to the sound of their screaming. The stars blessed my joy.Then this happened: Alina kicked the fire, scattered burnt kindling, and burned some of the grass. Artem grabbed her by the arm, but she broke away from him and ran off to the horses.“Go then! I guarantee you'll get to Katerynoslav and return with your tail between your legs.”“I'm going to Huliai-Pole! To Father Makhno!”I jumped up and ran after her.“Where do you think you're going?” Artem shouted.Really—where was I going? I was going after her: to Huliai-Pole, to Katerynoslav, to Rome, to Washington, to Istanbul, to Montevideo... “Go to sleep,” he said. “Come morning, this coquette will be here, right as rain. We've already been through this show. Tomorrow she'll be right here next to my boot!”... No, she won't.In some sort of shape we entered some town. There were some buildings that were some colors, some trees, some streets, some roads, and some signs. Posts, flustered birds’ nests, echoes, colors, shapes—each of some kind. A wedding procession was coming toward us. If you want to make orange, you need to add yellow to red, and then bam—it's black. If you want to salt the soup, shake in a little, and then bam—two handfuls. You want to say a kind word, and then bam—a punch in the face. I was rocked around like a watermelon on a boat and threw up my breakfast straight into the horse's fluffy mane. Sanko found this hilarious, but I said I'd pulverize him. So Sanko sped ahead.No one knew anything about Alina. The daytime sky was like a poorly washed bowl. The sun was a squashed, rotten apricot. The night sky looked like the sole of a boot to me. The moon was a dirty cheap copper coin that had gotten stuck to the sole. Everything seemed spoiled to me, irrelevant, unnecessary. Without her, this journey was a waste of time.“You'd better stay away from everyone,” Artem said. “You'll infect us with your pining, and pining is worse than the clap.”The wedding procession was before us. The young couple, still utter children, walked so calmly it was as if they didn't see us. As if we were made of a light breeze—our bodies, clothes, our horses and their iron shoes—of the lightest gasses. As if we were visible only to ourselves and the coal-black dog that barked, panting and gasping.The wedding was headed straight for us. We were in the middle of the road, and so were they. We approached each other slowly, a wave going toward a wave. Some ten meters before their indifferent faces, I noticed the color of the bride's eyes. And the coral-colored tulips that fell on the road before her. Round goose eggs on meaty stems, the flowers were falling and falling before her. The bride's eyes were almond shaped.“Hey there,” Artem shouted at me. “Wake up!”I came to and saw the whole village, everyone there, not realizing my group had turned left onto a side street away from the procession. The tulips disappeared—where'd they get tulips in the fall? I was sitting alone on my horse in the middle of the road, and the entire wedding procession came to a stop. I moved to the side, and the throng marched on, cutting off our escape route. We rode a few more meters and came across the synagogue.“You know what, you're right,” said the otaman.“Who is?”“Oleksii is the only one here who's right.”“About what?”Artem turned his horse and raced back. Everyone stood still while he ran his horse into the crowd and began firing his revolver. People scattered in all directions. Artem trotted, cackling like an imbecile. The horse kicked an old guy in the mouth. The man fell, spitting out his gold teeth. We rode up to the commotion and formed ranks, but none of us wanted to join the otaman.The bride stopped in the middle of the street. On both sides were buildings and trees, as well as dust, sky, and sun. She stood still, beautiful, as if nothing had happened. Then she adjusted her garland and walked calmly on.“Well, should we get some sugar now?” Artem laughed, looking at the bride, and off he went toward the sugar factory.It was then I noticed that all of the houses had shutters—fuchsia, blue, ocher—and that all the shutters were closed.We flew toward the dirty building, whistling and shouting. If there had been aesthetes among the otamans, they would certainly have razed the abomination in this field after seizing it. They would have spread soil on top and sown buckwheat. Long live buckwheat!, that wonderful crop. Like hunting dogs hot on the trail, we raced to our defenseless victim, with the baying of hundreds of hounds behind us. The field shook beneath us. We became an artist's canvas, evolving from Realism to Romanticism, Romanticism to Expressionism, Expressionism to Suprematism. If we had been painted in black and white, we would have been splotches (until the ink ran, annihilating all remaining patches of white).Two men stood near the gate—unarmed and undressed, in nothing but their undershirts and boots. Our fervor, our kinship with the elements, our entirety, were all for naught.“Jesus Christ! What bores!” Artem exclaimed. “How boring you are!”“Maybe boring for us, but fireworks for them,” Sanko said, dismounting his horse.“The fear of death engenders creativity,” our otaman—a distinguished philosopher of the early twentieth century, that demonic breed—prophesied.He went on, “Excuse me, but with all due respect, we are not going to search you. Just show us right away where the money is. Why are there so few of you? Don't say there's not much money. I want piles and piles of money! If you don't show it to us, we'll print our own on your skin. Believe me, we will.”We entered the factory grounds. There were no workers, only an enormous mountain of sugar beets that looked like a pile of coal from a distance and a pile of dead rats from up close.“So, did you have a good year?” Artem asked a man in an undershirt.“Not really—too dry.”“Nah, that's fine. You wouldn't have been able to gather most of the harvest this year anyway. There's a fire burning across all of Ukraine, all of Russia. The whole world!”While Artem tossed thoughts like well-chewed sunflower seeds into the crowd, the two men quietly stepped aside and then ran fast ahead to the factory's main hall. The gigantic door slammed shut. The gate was locked behind us! The windows were smashed! The factory roared from inside like a cumbersome machine starting up. Bullets whirred through every window.“Bastards! It's a trap! Quick, after me!”Still on horseback, Artem bounded over to a vast window, low to the ground, and smashed it mercilessly. He broke the frame and jumped inside on his horse. I and a few others followed. We broke into their lair, threw open the doors, and let the other warriors inside.Iron vats of hot sugar were steaming, pipes were clattering; machinery groaned.“Parasites!” Artem gritted his teeth. “I'll get you. I'll get you red sons of bitches. Painted whores!”At the word “painted,” his horse fell to the ground. Lying prone, Artem continued fighting, but the red soldiers wouldn't let him stand. Fighting nearby, I rode over to assist but did not know where to aim. Artem got up, ran forward, and brought his sword down on the head of the closest soldier, all the way to the middle of his skull, to the bridge of his nose. It was like butchering a pig. Artem thrust the sword into the buttock of another who was fleeing and cut off his leg at the bend in the knee.“I'll cut off every last one of your asses! Cut off your asses!” Artem bellowed.A half hour later, the dead were lying, the captured sitting, and the victors doing anything they pleased.“Skorsky, are there a lot of casualties?” I asked the doctor, whose hour it was. I hoped not, because I was too tired to help him.“Just a few. The dead are already dead, and the wounded are not ours.”Though Skorsky rarely asked my help, and though I'd become an ordinary soldier, the doctor in me was still present in the most unpleasant attribute—knowledge. Others saw an eviscerated man, pieces of dusty flesh smeared with clay, soil, sand, and straw. I saw a perfectly formed kidney hanging perfectly from the rest of its body like a child's mitten from its coat. You could try this death on for size. Wear it like a sanbenito of the Inquisition.Artem counted the money and then lay on the floor alongside the gigantic sugar mountain in the middle of the room. From time to time, the crystals rustled as they fell.“I didn't think you'd be such a fighter!” the otaman said without turning toward me. “I thought you'd be healing us. You'd keep to the rear and we'd hide you like a girl. But here you are, in the vanguard, like a lion!”“I got excited,” I told him, choosing not to react to the “girl” part.“’Cause Alina said there was no sense counting on you to fight.”“Really?”“Does that sting?”“Why would it? I'm a doctor—not everyone is. It requires a brain. Unlike waving a sword.”“Yeah, yeah. I gave her gladiolas. We were lying in the boat near that castle, doing all manner of things, and she told me all about you. How you met.”“You were lying in that boat talking about me?”“It was the day before you left Kyiv. You agreed to go with the anarchists so quickly!”“Were you surprised? Doctors make fast decisions.”“But you probably had great prospects. Your parents are rich, right?”“And who are your parents?”“Probably all your relatives fled abroad—bourgeois. Why did you stay?”“What the hell's your point?”“Alina, by the way, died a while ago. Probably.”“Don't jinx her.”“Listen here,” he said, staring at the ceiling. “And listen good. If you have designs on her—dead or alive—it's best you castrate yourself now.”“After you.”“If I want to kill somebody, you know, I just do it.”At last he looked at me. I was lying on the floor nearby and looking in his direction, sweaty and relaxed, my appearance complemented by my disdain for his opinion, his authority, his stupid hat. His everything.Artem raised his arm above his head, stuck a finger in the sugar mountain, and licked it. We both got up. Had I anticipated this turn of events, I would have readied a gift for him. Artem held his revolver. Under my hand I found a knife the workers used for gathering beets: it was a deliberately sharpened arc they sank into the swollen brassicas. I jumped up and quickly stepped around the sugar mountain.Artem's bullet hit a pane and broke the glass.“Not man enough for hand-to-hand?”The otaman shot again.“You should've challenged me to a duel, you romantic!”Encrusted with white crystals, I charged Artem from the sugar mountain. We fell in, and the sugar stuck in our hair, mustaches, nostrils, armpits.The gang ran in to get us apart, then backed off because it had nothing to do with them. By now the sugar mountain had burst its banks. Of the once perfect pyramid, a deformed mound remained.Wounded, Artem fell on the sugar mound, turning the white red.I stood before the gang sugar-coated and holding a bloody hook. The old otaman was drawing his last breath. Blood trickled from the corner of Artem's mouth and streamed from the left side of his breast.“What's the commotion?” Old Roman had just come in.“Be quiet,” the boys told him. And a good thing they did.“You killed him? You killed the otaman!”“Shut your mouth,” the boys told him.“You... ”I slugged Roman's stinky herring mouth. How did that son of a bitch find pickled herring in a sugar factory? My fist was now bigger and stronger than ever before, a steel anvil that could split nails and shatter memorial plaques. The unfortunate man's jaw twisted like an upper millstone that had gone off track from the lower.“Let's get out of here and go to Makhno's camp,” I gave my first order.We galloped so fast the grass burned beneath us. The birds and bugs had no time to fly out of the way; hooves trampled the burrows of rodents who didn't dare crawl out of their holes for a long time after. We raced like no one had ever raced before.The steppe, that sly fox, pretended to be an innocent fool. The steppe said, “I'm like Adam: I don't even know my own name.” But its grass harbored the tracks of thousands of armies and the heels of Herodotus, the crunch of Trypillia vessels, and the smell of Scythian hemp, Roman coins, clay figures of wolf people, the chevrons of Denikin's army, glass from the Chekists’ ruby stars, traces of uranium from flying saucers. I threatened it: “Steppe, show me your layers, or I will burn you, plow you under, flood you.” But it just replied: “I'm like Adam: I don't yet know my name.”I lost geography as if it were a silver coin. It fell out of my pocket and rolled through the feather grass that blanketed the steppe in white foam. The open space ahead was so endless that the whole world might as well have been steppe. If people ended up here from somewhere else, they would conclude they were on another planet. The coin fell and became an argentum, became one with the ring on the hand of the princess who had one green eye and one blue, with the twisted candlestick at the monastery on the other side of the steppe, with melted ingots. It broke down into simpler elements, simpler and simpler yet. The horse carried me spreading the seeds of northern plants to the south, just as southern riders had once brought flowers and weeds to the north. And then I turned back. Just as I had no geography, I had no time. Every night I fell asleep with the thought that the next day I would again race. Through all spacelessness, all timelessness. I exchanged one horse for another, got on a train, on a boat, traversed forty versts on foot—in rain that brought the river up to the road, in heat that overturned cattle. The earth I walked on became mine. Mine was the water in the lakes and springs, clean water, dirty water, enlightened water, contaminated with oil, stinking of algae, of fish that died in wells, stinking of the memory of atrocities, water as clean as broken bread. The water did not become Alina.I was doing this for her: I got the basturma out from under my saddle, sodden with the horse's sweat, sliced the throat of a rich man whose daughter I had danced with at a ball, climbed into a vat of beet juice and took a sugar bath, carried out the expropriation of the savings banks, wiped the sweat from my face with my shirt—and the cloth turned red; I didn't know from what. If it was someone else's blood, I didn't care; if it was my own, even less.We mostly came across Reds. We scraped them up like old red paint on a door in order to repaint the boards black. Black looked better. Red is tasteless, but black has style. Healthy men died before us of myocardial rupture like bunnies found in the nest. The ones whose hearts were sewn of steel wire envied the deceased. Seizing estates, banks, distilleries, and prisons reminded us of gathering in the harvest. If you're too lazy to pick an apple, you can shake the tree; some of the fruit gets bruised when it falls. We seized buildings like we were shaking apple trees. No one picked the fruits, we just shook: shook under the beds, under the tables, behind the curtains. No, there was no picking. We just shook until the red juice spurted from the apples.Near the Khorol River with Father Makhno and me in charge, we captured sixteen machine guns and four cannons, as well as five hundred prisoners who immediately came over to our side. The villagers voluntarily gave us bread and cheese, chickens and kvas. People joined us. The front of the machine-gun cart said “You can't run,” and “You won't catch us” at the back. We took factory after factory. Millions of karbovantsi, thousands of poods of sugar, weapons. We smashed the telephone exchanges and captured the telegraphs. We made alliances with some and then with others. Lenin, Wrangel, Frunze, the Germans, Chinese, Australians, Kaiser Wilhelm II, Cleopatra, Maria Theresa Walburga Amalia Christina. We ran the steppe. There were a hundred thousand of us. There were three hundred thousand of them. There were three hundred thousand of us. There were a million of them. There were two million of them. We were all of humanity. We were so many that we were none.The nobles’ estates were long ago forsaken. In the people's deepest trunks lay silks and guipure laces that were once perhaps used only to cover a table. Five steps from the barn in the direction of the pear tree, some silver candlesticks are buried; there's a plaster figure of an angel in the chicken coop, covered with shit and feathers.I was reluctant to be going to my home, but I didn't see any way out. Fate intended me to be a different being from the one I was before.Here my grandfathers and great-grandfathers were born. Here the ones who caused my grandfathers and great-grandfathers to flee had stopped. When we were still far off I noticed that someone was in the house. It was our men—Skorsky had brought them here, about twenty in all. I asked Sanko, whom I had walked with side by side more than once, where the doctor was now. All the men answered that he was around somewhere, but I didn't see him that evening.In 1918, the spirit of my great-grandfather Stepan, along with my mother and uncle, had gotten into a britzka and scrambled off to Paris, to Napoleon, against whom my great-grandfather had fought with the Cossacks, to whom the Russians promised to return self-rule. Following him in the cart went the soul of Grandpa Oleh, who lost a finger when he cut down the old linden near the house; his second finger was blown off by a cannonball near Balaklava, and later his entire hand was cut off by some Turk. Next went the spirit of my father, also Stepan, who did not take part in any war but died of measles at the age of forty. They all got the hell out of here. First, they went to Kyiv, led by my mother, Tamara Makarivna, in order to collect Uncle's family and me, their son. And their son, it turns out, has now come back to rob his own home (I didn't drive my war buddies away, did I?). It's a shame that I didn't know where the bathtub was, or whatever they bathed me in when I was small. It would have been good to walk through the ranks of anarchists with that basin and tell them all to spit into it.Remembering every room, I carried Alina upstairs to my mother's bedchamber. There was no longer furniture or pictures, only bare walls. The bed and mattress remained, but that was enough. Mother hated noise, so she set up her room far away from the running in the halls and the creaks on the stairs. I adjusted the mattress; in a gap, looking like a stalk of wheat, there lay a gold bracelet that she lost in the haste and that the thieves could not find in the mayhem. I tucked it into my pocket.The place could still be saved. It was strong, built under the leadership of my grandfather, who knew how to do it right. He built a sawmill, a gristmill, a dress factory (today it's probably been ransacked, maybe even by our own men).Alina had a complete, displaced break in her right fibula. We needed water first. I went downstairs—the guys were dragging out the piano like an old cow to the slaughter.“What are you doing with that?”“Taking it out.”“Why?”“What's it to you? We want to have fun.”“Can you play?”“We're not your bourgeois lily-handed bitches.”They couldn't play, but they were famous at destruction. “Noise is the music of the new time,” one of the smarter among them might have said. “But noise is the opposite of music. Just as a rose is the opposite of your ugly mugs,” I'd have responded if there was anyone to say it to. I could also have said that this was a Bosendorfer grand piano, that it was very valuable—but do the guys not deserve such a luxury?“Why are you so boring? We're relaxing.”“Then let me play a little first.”“Go ahead, but fast. One-two.”So I played. As before. My fingers ran up and down the black and white keys, which weren't simply keys of these, the simplest, colors. These were the keys that remembered my fingers specifically—achieved by that slovenly German Katerina, our governess. She knew a bundle of languages, could play the piano, and was interested in the latest scientific discoveries. But she had not an ounce of sympathy for anyone who couldn't master anything on the first try. More than once she hit my pinkie against the black key that remembered every one of its four thousand touches. She would pound it on the key and shout, “Si bémol! Si bémol,” and later bang my fingers and translate, “B flach! B flach!”I played. I could not expose myself, so the only thing I could do was believe in miracles. What if these coarse men saw value in this bit of furniture so unintelligible to them? And what if they didn't destroy it, this emblem of my childhood, my land, my air, which I could protect in no other way? My air. My water.“Shchedryk, shchedryk, shchedrivochka,” one of them who recognized the tune began to sing along.“Look at you.” They did not expect music from me, who had until recently been drinking blood like water.They said, “Again, again!”A group of curious men gathered around me. They were ordinary farmers, thieves, and recidivists, peasants and workers, everyone except for Skorsky. They needed this music as they needed baths. The music cleansed them from the inside, perhaps. They had not heard anything besides the whistle of a bullet, the neighing of a horse, or the knocking of a chisel and the whirring of a saw, amputating limbs, for a long time.But it could not go on long. I did not close the piano lid, just stood and went to fetch water for Alina, leaving the unfinished song for later. The well was to the north—that is, at the “Head.” My father once promised to give me a compass if I could learn to identify the ends of the earth by means of the sun. And to make it easier to remember, I gave each one of them a name: the east where the day begins was “Right” (my right hand), the west “Left,” the north “Head,” and the south “Feet.” Back when I could still do whatever I wanted all day long, I would wake in the morning and say: I'm going to the Feet. The mound was at the Feet, Left had the river, Right had the forest. It was only to the Head that I rarely went, because a village was located there. When the villagers saw me, they would speak in whispers and avoid the master's son.... I wiped her brow and her burning, sunken cheeks. I lay down next to her to feel the heat of her skin.When the fire in Alina calmed slightly, I went out into our orchard. My father had once been given a gift from Japan—a tulip tree that blossomed with yellow-green flowers. It had to have grown in the time that I was away. It would have been fatal had it been cut down. I again took the stairs down into the drawing room and came across nobody—they had all disappeared in search of food or were hidden away in their burrows. In the middle of the hall, like an opened rib cage, was the piano, irreparably shattered.B Flach! B Flach!Translation © Ali Kinsella 2022. (shrink)

There are very few monuments of icon art of the 13th-15th centuries, but they give a great opportunity to learn a lot about the state of the Ukrainian Church of that time, about the strengthening of faith, and also about the stylistic quest for Ukrainian artists. The development of the iconography of those centuries in Ukraine marked the Tatar-Mongol invasion. When a person or a whole nation falls into a difficult situation, faith in God grows, spirituality rises. Monuments (...) of culture of the XIII-XV centuries record especially jealous hope in God, the strengthening of the religiosity of different sections of the people. From this time there is hardly any secular art: everything preserved is permeated with Christian religiosity. In these years, such great temples are not already built, as in the early centuries of Christianity in Russia, but small, but well-fortified churches throughout Ukraine are built. There are also various centers of icon-painting. Their masters focused mainly on the ancient art of Kiev, introduced in their samples many local elements. Icons painted in various spiritual centers, in particular in the monasteries, are striking by their monumentality and severity, which reflected that day. (shrink)

This article is devoted to the research of discourse of emancipation in American artistic consciousness on examples of abolitionist novel “Uncle Tom’s Cabin” by Harriet Beecher Stowe and painting images of XIX century. The topicality of the research is due to insufficient study in Ukrainian philosophy of the ideas of abolitionism and the emancipation of black Americans through the prism of literary images, especially painting images. Among the research tasks are: to analyze topics of slavery and emancipation, ways of (...) representation of racist and abolitionist ideology in the novel’s plot and artistic images; to analyze types of images of “blacks” in literature and painting. Novelty of work is in the reconstruction of emancipation discourse, which confronts with discourse of racism and black Americans’ discrimination in the American literature and in painting images of XIX century. The novel of Harriet Beecher Stowe became a bestseller in Europe and America, the symbol of revolution, it stirred up people’s consciousness in many countries which used different forms of dependency and obligation during XIX – XX century, and later it entered the list of classics of children’s literature. Using the novel as an example, the author shows that the two opposite discourses – colonial and anti-colonial are the basis of the controversy of the protagonists, which reflects the social and political controversy over the position and status of black Americans. Ideas of women’s emancipation from gender, social and labor oppression are reflected in the images of black slave women, and in the XX century they became the ideological basis of “black feminism”. Using examples of the novel and painting, the author examines racial and gender stereotypes, the problem of the relationship between “white” and “black”, the problem of preserving the family and women’s resistance to male domination in conditions of slavery, the problem of the formation of national identity in America after the abolition of slavery. The author analyzes the plots in European and American painting, which reflect not only “colonial” images where black Americans are represented as racial and cultural Others, but also “emancipation” images, which symbolically state the resistance to slavery or confirm the subject’s freedom. It is researched in the article that the active development of the emancipation topic in the artistic consciousness shows the change of social status of racial Others in the public consciousness of the XIX century, which was the result of abolitionist and women’s movements for minority rights in America. (shrink)

The most ancient monuments of ancient Christian art were found in catacombs located outside the cities. The Christian catacombs were a complex plexus of underground narrow galleries with numerous niches where the coffins of martyrs and bishops were placed. These niches formed a kind of rectangular chambers, the walls and surfaces of which were decorated with images. Thus, early Christian art begins with catacomb paintings.

Ancient Rus church music is one of the brightest pages of spiritual and artistic culture. It is included in the synthesis of arts along with construction, monumental and fresco painting, icon painting, fine plastics, applied art, literature.

Of the main models or projects of globalization, the Vatican Group's project is of particular interest in research, whereby the stake in the world-wide rule is on the "network" the empire "of Catholicism, the" Opus Dei "Order and the Special Service, and the oldest Roman-Germanic aristocratic families. "In the sphere of business," observes A. Yeliseyev, "the Vatican group" puts the main focus on the post-industrial "knowledge economy", unlike the Rockefeller group, which sits on oil and the military-industrial complex, and the (...) "Rothschild group", which deals with noble metals and precious stones and "financial pyramids". It is noteworthy that the Vatican Group has a very winning image of the traditionalist force that affirms the "eternal values ​​of Christianity" in a changing, modern world. In reality, this "pool" offers its own project of globalization, only painted in colors of traditionalism. And this was best confirmed by the Pope of Rome: in his latest encyclical, which contains a direct and unambiguous appeal to the establishment of "world political power.". (shrink)

The life of each clergyman is manifested in the limited spheres of his activity. But because of the sources of scientific works, their own icon-painting of some of them can find out about their spiritual world, the vision of different spheres of life. Art is a reflection of the state of the whole social consciousness and means of time reflection. The icon of an individual author also reflects on the way of thinking the master, and in general, all public consciousness.

In the period 4800-3600 BC. in the eastern part of the Trypillia area arose "giant settlements" or "megasites" / "mega-settlements" with thousands of buildings. In the central parts of these living conglomerates, scientists found special buildings that were recognized as sanctuaries, sacred complexes or temples. In the late period of the Trypillia culture they disappeared. These religious buildings were built with a focus visible processes of celestial bodies and the laws of cyclic rotation of the Earth in space, and included (...) in their internal filling usually cruciform altars, ritual utensils, troughs with graters for the preparation of ritual bread and numerous other ceremonial and religious artifacts. There were also unique finds, such as gold jewelry and a perforated clay disk with tockins to it from the space of the Nebelivka Temple. The interior and exterior walls of the Trypillia sacral centers were painted with natural colors with a predominance of red. The wood carving for decoration of elements of a skeleton of a construction was investigated also. The first Temples on the European continent show that even at that time there was a cult of architecture. In general, it is clear that such Trypillia objects of religious worship carried encoded astronomical information in symbolic form. The building itself was oriented with regard to worldsides and designed relative to visible celestial bodies. This indicates that the people of Trypillia had a fairly clear worldview, which allowed them to reach the level of understanding the structure and mechanisms of many natural cyclical processes on Earth. Trypillia cosmology united the celestial and terrestrial spheres, and the Temple was the point of contact of the earth with the visible Universe. In his work, the author traces the existing analogies in the structure of construction of Trypillia and sacred complexes of the ancient Middle East and biblical ideas about the Tabernacle and the House of the Lord in the ancient Jews, given the fact, that the Trypillia temple building is known from 4,000 years BC. and several thousand years older than the Middle Eastern counterparts. There are also significant parallels in the construction of temples in the context of Indo-European religious heritage. It is noted that the Temple was not only a metaphysical reflection of the annual cycle with a focus on the points of the equinoxes and solstices, but also had a higher religious function, which consisted in the combination of the terrestrial sphere with the celestial, the connection of man with the mystery of the cosmos. (shrink)

The Ukrainian–Russian conflict of 2013–2017 is characterized as ‘hybrid’ warfare, with a crucial role of informational component. Using ideological discourse analytic tools, this article demonstrates how two prominent Russian TV channels shaped the persuasive message, creating strong unity and mobilizing a high level of support among the national audience. Based on legitimation and de-legitimation patterns, Channel One and Russia-1 built ideologically polarized opposition between ‘Our’ and ‘Their’ sides of the conflict. The wide range of editorializing tools, socio-cultural and historical (...) Soviet-time constructs, and references to gay culture served to promote one group and to debase the opposition. Close institutional ties between government and media in Russia sustain multiplicity and intertextuality of ‘general line’, thus eliminating discordant interpretations. The article shows strong evidence that the analyzed TV news programs present a typical illustration of ideological discourse, exploited by the Russian government in order to achieve its political goals. (shrink)

Explains the difference between pictorial and linguistic meaning, examines the works of Titian, Poussin, Ingres, Manet, Picasso, and de Kooning, and discusses art's psychological impact.

Interview with Yaroslava Stratii, dedicated to the history of studies of the Kyiv-Mohyla Academy’s manuscript inheritance (17-18th century) in Kiyv and Lviv from 1968. The interview was prepared by the activists of the Student Society of Oral History of Philosophy, organized at the Department of the History of Philosophy (Taras Shevchenko National University of Kyiv).

The paper examines the representations of Ukrainian refugees in Polish press at the beginning of the 2022 Russian invasion. Using corpus linguistics methods (namely, collocation analysis) it shows that the displaced Ukrainians were mostly referred to as (war) refugees and discussed with respect to their movement and reception in Poland. The study contrasts the construal of Ukrainian refugees in media outlets with different ideological and business aims. The findings are also discussed with respect to how European media tend (...) to cover immigration from other regions, notably the Middle East and North Africa, and how these two types of migration become linked in the analysed news reports. Altogether, while pointing to a potential of the media to shape positive attitudes towards refugees, as attested by their coverage of Ukrainians, the study also highlights the extent to which racism is likely to determine the construal of different groups of migrants. (shrink)

In Ukrainian academia, the last decades have seen growing interest in the concept of civil society, which has been studied from different disciplinary angles. Commentators disagree on the level of development it has reached in Ukraine. They emphasize its absence in Soviet times, and the general lack of organizational initiative in contemporary Ukraine. In this essay, I show that, although these critiques of Ukrainian civil society are crucial for comprehending its historical evolution, the history of Ukrainian civil (...) society can also help us understand how it might evolve in the future, both during and, hopefully after, the current war. In my analysis, I focus on two particular lines. The first is the interaction between civil society and the state, which shifted from an anti-state attitude to a model of partnership. The second, which operates in the background, is how civil society has struggled with different utopian ideas, over the 20th and early 21st centuries. Analyzing this relationship to different utopian ideas helps us understand how the relations between civil society and the state changed over time. I conclude with a question about European challenges. (shrink)

Paintings of music are a significant presence in modern art. They are cross-modal representations, aimed at representing music, say, musical works or forms, using colors, lines, and shapes in the visual modality. This article aims to provide a conceptual framework for understanding paintings of music. Using examples from modern art, the article addresses the question of what a painting of music is. Implications for the aesthetic appreciation of paintings of music are also drawn.

The Ukrainian Association of Religious Studies is a non-partisan, secular, non-governmental organization that unites voluntary scholars, religious scholars, theologians, and teachers of religious studies in educational institutions of Ukraine. Established in March 1993 and registered by the Ministry of Justice of Ukraine in July of that year. UAR has its organizations in 18 oblasts of Ukraine, as well as in the cities of Kyiv and Sevastopol. Membership in the Association is individual and collective.

Ukrainian Protestantism characterized by an eastern and western traditions that allows to recover cultural and theological relationship with European Protestantism and Catholicism in the context of interfaith dialogue. Dialogue has an ecumenical potential which was found by Ukrainian Maidan of dignity.

Ukrainian religious studies has recently entered the world scientific community. Acquaintance with Western science, which has proven to be heterogeneous, often based on different methodological approaches and methodological means, has coincided with difficult internal transformations that have undergone all humanitarian knowledge in Ukraine after worldviews and political changes in society. In pursuit of its identity, domestic religious studies went, on the one hand, by contrasting itself with theology, and on the other, by distinguishing itself from scientific atheism. At first, (...) the emergence of religious studies from the bosom of ideologized social science was more relevant. In the form of a critical study of religion, Soviet-era religious studies were included in scientific atheism. Therefore, religious studies came not as knowledge of religion, but as its critique. (shrink)

Ukrainian Religious Studies - Ancient and at the same time relatively young branch of humanitarian knowledge. Ancient because it has its roots yet Kievan Rus. It is then that there are written works in which religious processes are described in certain religious denominations in the ancient Ukrainian lands. Thus, in the "Tale of the Times of the Years", the process of the introduction of Christianity in Rus'-Ukraine is described, the historical, psychological and ideological foundations of choice are revealed. (...) Volodymyr the Great faith for his people. Young because it does not have its deep professional tradition and, as a separate sphere of scientific knowledge, begins to develop only in the second half of the nineteenth century in the creative work of the ideologists of the communal movement and is primarily associated with the names of M. Drahomanov and O. Pobetny. To this religious studies we developed mainly in its theological form, not at the level of professional employment, but as an addition to the study of other problems of social or spiritual life, the study of the history of Ukraine. (shrink)

Ukrainian lands in the twentieth and twenty-first centuries have been in proximity of great geopolitical changes several times. During that time the Ukrainian nation – due to various factors – encountered a number of “windows of opportunity” for achieving the realization of dreams about independence and national sovereignty. The author identified in the period considered four “general moments,” of which two have been completed successfully. The first of these occurred in 1990–1991, when for the first time in modern (...) history, Ukrainians managed to achieve a lasting and relatively stable independence. The second of the “moments” – still unresolved – are events that began in the late autumn of 2013. The process, called “Revolution of Dignity”, represents a new quality in the history of the Ukrainian nation, therefore, that the Ukrainians have to defend the status quo but not to seek to achieve an independent being. The analysis leads to the conclusion that the ability of Ukrainians to achieve and maintain independence is largely a function of the relative power of the Russian state as measured with respect to the shape and quality of international relations. (shrink)

The Soviet ideology treated natural science as one of its cornerstones and provided the state support for philosophical studies of science. Their main aims were to prove its intellectual superiority and to demonstrate its scientific character. Do these studies have some positive results and resources for surviving in post-Soviet times? The chapter gives the overview of present situation in Ukrainian analytical studies of science and indicates some perspectives of their developments. Some of these are connected with a careful structure-nominative (...) analysis of real scientific knowledge systems and relations between them. -/- Ideology and philosophical studies of science Complexity of scientific knowledge systems Components and structures of knowledge systems -/- . (shrink)

_Purpose. _The article is aimed at considering the concept of leisure in the daily practice of Ukrainian refugees in Poland and identifying the main trends in its development. _Theoretical basis._ The author used the quantitative method, the method of online search for respondents, the method of monitoring social networks, and the comparative method. The study was conducted in Poland from 01.08.2022 to 31.01. 2023 as part of grant support from the Polish Institute of Advanced Studies. The study is based (...) on the results of a qualitative and quantitative survey, the analysis of groups and chats of Ukrainian refugees in Poland, and the comparative analysis with the results of other studies. The comparison of these results leads to the assumption that a different understanding of the category of leisure in Polish and Ukrainian culture can result in the violation of intergroup relations. _Originality. _The author deduced the concept of refugees’ leisure beyond the concepts of adaptation, assimilation, and integration. Leisure is proposed to be considered as a connecting link between the past and present life of refugees and determine its place in the structure of national consciousness. _Conclusions._ The modern scientific discourse experiences a certain gap in the study of the leisure sector of Ukrainian refugees, the problematic areas in the leisure anthropology of Ukrainian refugees in Poland were identified, and a working hypothesis was put forward for further research. The misunderstanding in the organization of leisure activities of representatives of two cultures arises at the level of national self-consciousness (codes, traditions, attitudes). Therefore, external communication does not always reach its ultimate objective and leads to misunderstanding. To determine the mechanism of misunderstanding, the place of leisure in the structure of national consciousness should be determined. (shrink)

Article by G. Fylypovych "Ukrainian Protestant Diaspora in Search of Its Identity" is devoted to the consideration of identification processes among Ukrainian Protestants in the diaspora. It is proved that this self-determination is controversial and non-linear and is primarily due to complex socio-political changes in the world, in particular in Ukraine. The diaspora's protestants, like in Ukraine, face new challenges to the global dimension to which they are not always ready.

In the Ukrainian reality of the twenty-first century. The search for the dominant spiritual and national identity is one of the leading places. The dialogue between Catholicism, which is represented by the spiritual phenomenon of the Vatican, and by Ukraine, one of the countries not only of the Greek Catholic, but also of the Orthodox tradition, with a distinct national-cultural specificity, is, in our opinion, the semiosphere where the answers to many challenges of the present and the future. But (...) such answers are difficult to find if the sine era et studio does not analyze the key trends in the development of the Ukrainian Orthodox Church by examining it, without looking back at the stereotypes of the identification of Ukrainian spiritual thinking and being with the imperially secular tradition. The most suitable method for this task is the comparative methodology, which examines the basic ideological characteristics of the ideological world of Orthodox thinkers - from Ivan Vyshensky and to thinkers and spiritual prophets of the Second Cathedral of the UAOC. (shrink)

In his exclusive interview with our magazine, the Estonian sociologist, philosopher, expert in the field of education reform, professor emeritus of the University of Tartu, Ülo Vooglide, reflects on the role and purpose of education in educating a generalist of his own ideas, and not an executor of someone else’s decisions. The researcher believes that educational institutions should focus on creating an environment in which the child’s inner potential will be revealed, nurturing his individuality, taking into account dreams and needs. (...) A person and his talents are the main asset of the people. The scientist draws attention to the fact that the result of education is not the amount of acquired knowledge, but the ability and ability of a person to use the knowledge resource in solving practical tasks and life situations. The ability to make independent decisions, effectively solve practical situations and calculate the consequences of one’s actions, etc., is much more important than “filling the head” with ready-made information. Quality education becomes a global value and a categorical condition for competitive strategic development of society. At the same time, the creation and construction of quality education will contribute to the development of Ukrainian society, will allow education to be at the forefront of new social changes. (shrink)

Andrew Benjamin’s book Disclosing Spaces (2004) presents a theory of painting. The theory is developed via a meticulous analysis of a series of individual artworks. The pivot of Benjamin’s theory of painting is the idea of relationality. The theory is critically reviewed with reference to the works of Edward Hopper, Gerhard Richter and Jacques-Louis David.

_Purpose._ This article aims at outlining the consider Ukrainian identity in the context of European collective action through the prism of value orientations/approaches. _Theoretical basis._ The following methods were used in order to cover the problem as objectively as possible: historical, analytical, comparative, socio-geographical, behavioral, and dialectical. The use of these methods contributed to tracing the peculiarities of identity and collective action in the dynamics of the historical process and social development. _Originality._ The role of identity in collective action (...) formation is considered. It was established that identity determines the socio-species structure and projects social development. After all, identification for a person in the formation process is a basic need that determines a person’s belonging, not identity. During the formation of "I" there is a combination of "I1" + "I2" + "Other" = "WE". This process is complex and long-term, but it is precisely the process that gives you the opportunity to clearly understand your "I" and know yourself. It was found that identity as a social phenomenon, which is related to the formation of the "I", is determined by certain circumstances, which can be conditionally divided into objective and subjective. After analyzing the scientific literature, a generalization was made that identity is not a new phenomenon, but it has certain features at each stage of social development. This became most noticeable in the conditions of globalization, when countries that are actually different perceive the "Other", unite around certain problems, and then this union forms a system of mutual relations. It is thanks to this approach that alliances, multicultural associations, etc. are formed, and an example of this is the heterogeneous European identity. Special attention is drawn to the role of values, which are the landmarks in the process of identity and the formation of collective action. Based on political, social, economic, historical processes and ontological features, it was established that identity is a dynamic process, since values during a person’s life, the existence of the state, etc. are variables. This is confirmed by the value orientation and various socio-political processes aimed at the formation of Homo in countries that have the status of "between". _Conclusions._ The article illustrates and justifies the existence of several forms of identity according to which the types of identity are formed. The fact proves that identity is not a constant process and varies due to multiple factors: social, political, economic, and religious as well as due to formations – regional, local, civilizational, etc. As practice shows, the problem of identity mostly has situational nature and arises due to the need for unification. The socio-historical process manifests the significance of the values in the formation of a collective European heterogeneous identity. These processes are influenced by many factors: geographical, historical, mythological, etc. (shrink)

A work of Vietnamese art crossed a million-dollar mark in the international art market in early 2017. The event was reluctantly seen as a sign of maturity from the Vietnamese art amidst the many existing problems. Even though the Vietnamese media has discussed the issues enthusiastically, there is a lack of literature from the Vietnamese academics examining the subject, and even rarer in from the market perspective. This paper aims to contribute an insightful perspective on the Vietnamese art market, and (...) hesitantly the Vietnamese art as well, through the lens of fake, forgery and copy artworks. 35 cases of fake, forgery and copy paintings were found on the news and from the experts' wisdom. Through the examples, we argue that the Vietnamese art market is a temporary reaction to the immaturely rising of the Vietnamese art and the economy. Therefore, the art market is unable to function healthily unless the Vietnamese art and the economy developed. (shrink)

With this widely acclaimed work, Fried revised the way in which eighteenth-century French painting and criticism were viewed and understood. "A reinterpretation supported by immense learning and by a series of brilliantly perceptive readings of paintings and criticism alike.... An exhilarating book." John Barrell, "London Review of Books".

In March this year is 20 years old Ukrainian Association of Religious Studies - all-Ukrainian secular public organization. UAR united on a voluntary basis scientists-religious scholars, teachers of religious studies disciplines of educational institutions, employees of museums, and other educational institutions of Ukraine. Membership in the Association is individual and collective. The work of UAR is based on public principles.

The issue of inter-denominational understanding has been relevant to Ukrainians for many centuries. During the discussions the idea of ​​proclaiming the Ukrainian patriarchate was crystallized. According to the clergy, this would resolve the existing inter-denominational contradictions. However, the problem has become more political than religious. The emergence of such a powerful structure in Ukraine was opposed by the Polish authorities and the Polish-Latin clergy, as well as by the Russian government and its Orthodox Church. For Catholic Poland and Orthodox (...) Moscow, the establishment of an independent church in Ukraine was associated with state formation and signified a sharpening of the Ukrainian issue. Therefore, depending on the political situation, work in this direction was suspended or, conversely, revived. (shrink)

The key problems of Ivan Vyghovsky’s rule (the main problem among them – is Gadiatskiy pact in 1658) in Mykhailo Grushevskiy’s works are considered in the article. It’s emphasized the scientist’s ambiguity in treatment of polish Ukrainian compromise in 1658. On the one hand the researcher highly evaluates Ivan Vyghovskiy and his like minded persons for their realization the basic idea of social and political development of Ukrainian nation, the necessity of being independent and trying to legalize it (...) in the appropriate paragraphs of “Big kingdom of Russia”.On the other hand emphasizes the factors which caused the union “lack of vitality” and hopeless of I. Vyghovskiy’s polish foreign policy choice.In the scientist’s conception the compromise of 1658 is the result of acombination of a set of factors, opposing tendencies, which had a deep foundation; the current geopolitical realities. For the «Zaporizhzhya Army» it was seen as a salvation from the expansionist, incorporationist policy of Muscovy, the mechanism of affirmation of the Orthodox « Grand Duchy of Rus» as an equal component of the reorganized Commonwealth.Mykhailo Hrushevsky, while paying tribute to the Treaty of Hadiach asa political and legal act, which testified to the level of state thinking of the then Ukrainian elite, indicates, at the same time, his doom.First of all, the historian observes that the treatise was in a hurry, under pressure of circumstances, it may have a temporary character. The most dangerous thing in the treaty is the «... competition of the Cossack and Nobility element...». The researcher believes that the basis of the Hadiach Union was nobility, because it was called «... to restore the economic and political affluence... of this social stratum...».Even the acquisition of the nobility`s rights by the Cossack sergeant «... meant only the strengthening of the nobility stratum against the Cossack masses». Therefore, for the Cossack public (for the common people - moreover, because it was not mentioned in the treaty) the union was unacceptable. In addition, the weak power of the Commonwealth government was incapable of fulfilling allied obligations to the «Zaporizhzhya Army» and the magnate-nobility community has demonstrated its inability to engage in relations with it on a parity basis.In contrast to the Hadiach apologists in 1658, who admired the preferencesfor the Ukrainian in the field of education and culture. Mykhailo Hrushevskyconvincingly states: «For us, from a retrospective perspective, it is quite clear that the Hadiach Union did not look to be successful...».In fact, only a formal Ukrainian-Polish compromise on the 6th(16th ) September 1658, could have been the basis of a federal union of Ukraine, Poland and Lithuania: the really progressive provisions of the treaty, which were proposed by Y. Nemirich - I. Vyhovsky, were already limited in time by signing it near Hadiach ; then - substantially eliminated in the process of ratification by the Warsaw Sejm; The illogical view of the coexistence of the Cossack emancipated Ukraine with the state-regulated Crown (with privileged nobility and followed by a feudal dependent slap) is seen in the «renewed» Commonwealth. That is why the Hadiach Treaty eventually became one of the decisive factors in defeat of Vyhovsky as a hetman.And at the same time it remains a Memorandum of such a desired mutual forgiveness and consent of the elites of the two peoples for a better life of each of them. (shrink)

On the basis of substantial sociological material, the author analyzes the political and social consequences of the Maidan protests and shows that they constitute a revolutionary movement that led to regime change. Although the negative side of these protests manifested itself much more than the positive, the protests nonetheless embodied the popular demand for a new socio-political system and a radical change in the existing system of public life; this was the cause of both the Maidan protests and the subsequent (...) wave of political and social processes that took place in Ukraine. In light of the many unresolved problems and significant contradictions facing the country today, the author expresses the hope that the Ukrainian people will be able to adequately respond to the challenges of the day in order to bring about the propitious outcome well within their reach. (shrink)

The article deals with the activities of the UGCC in the field of preservation of Ukrainian identity of a new wave of migration. Using traditional strategy, the church is looking for new approaches to migrants, based on old and seeking new cultural codes which are understandable for present-day Ukrainian in his incultural intentions in abroad.

The perspectives of Ukraine which are outlined by the notion of the “Ukrainian project”, and determined by potential of development of civil society, as congruent with perspectives of steady international development for the sake of collaboration and peace, are examined in the article. Determination of such basic analytical notions as discursive practices of “prevailing” and “understanding” is offered with this purpose. Discourse is considered as reason for choice and giving the advantage to one meaning over the others that is (...) set in the certain modes of signification. Discourse of understanding – is the process of creation of such knowledge, the nominative function of which stops being the function of power, and becomes the instrument of the renewed perception and understanding at new level of communicative space. As discursive reality is reflected not only on the methods of thinking, but also on the practical behaviour of people, we have warrants to speak about its ethical conditionality and the corresponding discursive‐ethical practices of “freedom and authenticity”, “paternalism and clientism” and “nihilism and anarchy”. Last two discursive-ethical practices are examined as obstacles on the way to realization of the “Ukrainian project” in relation to itsdemocratic development in direction to the civilization values common with the European Union. (shrink)

In its nearly 1000-year history, the Ukrainian monastery as a specific religious institution, aimed at realizing the idea of ​​a perfect Christian life through self-isolated forms of organization of life, experienced a rather complicated evolution. In Ukraine, this complexity has not always been dictated by the inherent development of monasticism itself or the peculiarities of the forms of organization of monastic life, and to a large extent determined by external non-monastic and extra-church factors.

In the article by A. Kolodny and L. Fylypovych, dedicated to Ivan Ogienko, the Ogienko's vision of the features of the Orthodox Churches locality, in particular the specifics of their manifestation in the Ukrainian Orthodox Church, is presented. The main features of Ukrainian Orthodoxy are revealed.

In printed editions and reports at scientific conferences there is sometimes a discussion about the legitimacy of the use of the term "Ukrainian Orthodoxy". It is said, in particular, that the term "Ukrainian Church" should be used, and not "Ukrainian Orthodoxy", because the former is allegedly used by Metropolitan Hilarion and the latter is not. Some consider the use of the term "Ukrainian Orthodoxy" as another manifestation of "Ukrainian nationalism", because, see, Orthodoxy is a universal (...) phenomenon and cannot be stretched "across national apartments". There were also warnings that in the Eastern Slavic territories there was no "proper Ukrainian Orthodoxy" there, but there was "Orthodoxy Russkoe". agree with Arsen Rychinsky's opinion that every nation has its own separate path to God, and only in this way will he find happiness and justification that, by adopting "even one and the same religion, each nation finds in it something most relevant, closest ". (shrink)

Due to the growing religiosity of the Ukrainian population, there is a need to explore more deeply the new religious movements that are emerging in our territories. In particular, to consider the problem of modern Ukrainian paganism. Given that the number of believers and adherents of neo-pagan doctrines is increasing every year, this makes the study of this phenomenon quite relevant. The subject of paganism and neo-paganism is increasingly beginning to be raised at scientific religious conferences, covered in (...) educational literature and in the press. The subject of this study is the three largest non-pagan religious movements in Ukraine: the Unification of the Ukrainian Motherland, the Cathedral of the Native Ukrainian Faith, and the Family Center of the Native Orthodox Faith. (shrink)

Throughout history, the nature of the UGCC is at the center of the attention of researchers. Until now, they are divided into "Westerners" - supporters of Romanization of the church, that is, its purely Catholic nature, and "Byzantines" - those who defend its eastern rite. In addition, the study of the history of the Ukrainian Greek Catholic Church can be divided into two groups: negativist works and apologetic works. The first group is primarily represented by the works of (...) class='Hi'>Ukrainian Soviet historians of the postwar period, which have very well-known names: "Unia: the path of betrayal and disgrace", "UniCity - an instrument of clerical anti-communism", "Uniate Church - enemy of the Ukrainian people", "The reactionary role of the union in the history of Ukrainian people "etc. Of course, the significance of such ideologically exacerbated "research" as a scientific development is doubtful. They have, if not scientific, but rather a journalistic character. (shrink)

The article reviews the assessment of the School of Antioch by the first Ukrainian hagiographer, St. Dymytriy Tuptalo. Methods: The comparative-historical methodology and, above all, the Tradition history method reveal not only explicit but also implicit links between Kyivan and Antiochian theology. Conclusions: Interpreting the 4th -5th-centuries theological collisions, Tuptalo consistently clung to the viewpoint of the School of Antioch, rejecting the accusals from the side of Alexandrian tradition. St. Dymytriy systematically reproduces in his Synaxarion the historical narratives of (...) the Antiochians. An unequivocal indicator of Dymytriy’s position is his attitude to Antioch's most controversial figures: in particular, he enlists Theodoret of Cyrrhus among the "holy fathers" and mentions Diodorus of Tarsus among the "Church luminaries", along with other figures of the Meletian party. Such an independent evaluation of the Antiochian heritage is undoubtedly due to the concordance of the theological thinking of Dymytriy with the worldview of the Antiochians. (shrink)