Holy simplicity (meaning) is about a naive person.
Origin of the expression
Words attributed to the leader of the Czech national movement, Jan Hus (1369 - 1415), who was sentenced by a church council as a heretic to be burned. It is believed that he uttered these words at the fire when he saw that some old woman, in simple-minded religious zeal, threw the brushwood she had brought into the fire.
Hus's biographers, based on reports of eyewitnesses to his death, deny that he uttered this phrase. The church writer Turanius Rufinus (c. 345 - 410), in his continuation of Eusebius’s “History of the Church,” reports that the expression “holy simplicity” was uttered at the first Council of Nicaea (325) by one of the theologians.
Source: N.S. Ashukin, M.G. Ashukina. Winged words: Literary quotes; Figurative expressions.. - M.: Fiction, 1987.
Oh holy simplicity! in foreign languages:
In English: Sweet simplicity!
In Latin: O sancta simplicitas! (oh sankta simplicitas!)
Who is Jan Hus?
Jan Hus was a preacher and inspirer of the Czech Reformation.
Born in 1371 into a peasant family, he graduated from the university in Prague, later became rector there, and from 1402 he was a priest and preacher in the Bethlehem Chapel in the capital of the Czech Republic.
He constantly gave speeches, denouncing the Catholic priesthood for money-grubbing, trading in positions, and indulgences.
His performances were very popular and attracted many people. The Catholic Church Council anathematized him and sent him to the stake. Jan Hus was 44 years old at that time.
When Jan Hus was about to be burned at the stake, an old woman came up with a bundle of brushwood. Deciding to do a good deed, she added her own firewood to the fire.
Jan Hus, waiting for the flame to break out, watched the woman and exclaimed: “Oh, holy simplicity!”
But researchers have recorded the utterance of this phrase at a Christian council back in the 4th century. If Hus said it at the stake, he could have heard the phrase before, but thanks to him it became winged.
Road to the temple
The village of Mlevo is located in the north of the Tver region, far from major roads. In Vyshny Volochyok you need to turn off the Moscow-Petersburg highway, drive for some time along the narrow highway to Udomlya, then turn again onto a side road and wait for the moment when the asphalt suddenly runs out. It happens right in the middle of the forest: the car gets tossed up, and the driver says: “That’s it, there are no normal roads further.” At first the car shakes slightly, then it begins to shake more strongly. After some time, the potholes become up to half a meter high, and one can only wonder how people manage to overcome them in old Volgas and Zhigulis. All around there is a dense pine forest, into which even local old-timers try to walk carefully. It’s easy to get lost here, and there are plenty of predatory animals: wild boars, wolves, bears... From Vyshny Volochyok to Mlevo it’s a little more than an hour’s journey, after which the first thing you notice is the bell tower of the temple - the Church of the Savior of St. George rises above the surrounding area, serving here as the main landmark during for two hundred years now.
The Spaso-George Church is huge, and its size once again speaks of how many people lived two centuries ago in these now almost abandoned lands. Photo by Andrey Bezlepkin
In size and external luxury, this temple is in no way inferior to the city ones. Baroque architecture, high ceilings, interior space. All this was built with hundreds of parishioners and several priests in mind. There were many large villages around then. Now in each of them one or two houses remain residential. This is a real outback with all its inherent features and problems. Everything is different here, not like in cities. And the role of the priest, his relationship with people and authorities in the village microcosm is also special.
Negative meaning of "holy simplicity"
Often people, having good intentions, do things that result in more harm than help. This happens due to limited views and short-sightedness. Here the expression “holy simplicity” is used in a negative sense. About simple-minded and naive people who cannot cheat when it seems necessary, but can “light a fire” with the words of harsh truth told at the wrong time.
Such situations often arise when rescuing animals, when people who do not know their characteristics and behavior in nature try to help them, trying to feed them with sweets in the zoo.
The phraseological unit “holy simplicity” can be used not only in an ironic, but also in a positive sense.
Dead body
Quiet August night. Fog slowly rises from the field and covers everything visible to the eye with a matte veil. Illuminated by the moon, this fog gives the impression of either a calm, boundless sea, or a huge white wall. The air is damp and cold. Morning is still far away. A step away from the country road running along the edge of the forest, a light glows. Here, under a young oak tree, lies a dead body, covered from head to toe with new white canvas. There is a large wooden icon on the chest. Near the corpse, almost right next to the road, sits a “queue” - two men performing one of the most difficult and unsightly peasant duties. One is a young tall guy with a barely noticeable mustache and thick black eyebrows, in a torn sheepskin coat and bast shoes, sitting on the wet grass, stretching his legs forward, and trying to pass the time with work. He bent his long neck and, snoring loudly, made a spoon out of a large angular piece of wood. The other is a small man with an old face, skinny, pockmarked, with a thin mustache and a goatee, hanging his hands on his knees and, without moving, looking indifferently at the fire. Between both of them, a small fire burns lazily and illuminates their faces red. Silence. You can only hear the wood creaking under a knife and the damp logs crackling in the fire.
“And you, Syoma, don’t sleep...” says the young man.
“I... am not sleeping...” the goatee stutters.
– That’s it... It’s scary to sit alone, fear takes over. I wish I could tell you something, Syoma!
- I don’t... I can’t...
- You are a wonderful person, Syomushka! Other people will laugh, and tell some fable, and sing a song, but you - God knows what kind. You sit like a scarecrow and stare at the fire. You don’t know how to say words... You speak and seem to be afraid. Tea, I’ve been around for fifty years now, but I have less sense than a child... And don’t you feel sorry that you’re a fool?
“It’s a pity...” the goatee answers gloomily.
- Don’t we feel sorry for looking at your stupidity? You are a kind, solid man, there is only grief - there is no mind in your head. And you, if the Lord offended you, didn’t give you reason, you would gain some sense yourself... You push yourself, Syoma... Where they say something good, you delve into it, take it into your head, and think, think... If there is a word you don’t understand, you strain yourself and think in your head in what senses this very word has. Understood? Push up! And if you don’t come to your senses yourself, then you will die a fool, the last person.
Suddenly, a drawn-out, groaning sound is heard in the forest. Something, as if falling from the very top of the tree, rustles the leaves and falls to the ground. All this is echoed dully by the echo. The young man shudders and looks questioningly at his comrade.
“It’s the owl who kills the birds,” says Syoma gloomily.
- Well, Syoma, it’s time for the birds to fly to warmer lands!
- We know, it’s time.
- The dawns have become cold today. C-cold! The crane is a chilly, gentle creature. For him, such cold is death. Look, I’m not a crane, but I’m frozen... Put some wood on it!
Syoma rises and disappears into the dark thicket. While he is busy behind the bushes and breaking dry branches, his comrade covers his eyes with his hands and shudders at every sound. Syoma brings an armful of brushwood and puts it on the fire. The fire hesitantly licks the black branches with its tongues, then suddenly, as if on command, it engulfs them and illuminates the face, the road, the white canvas with its reliefs from the hands and feet of a dead man, the image... The “queue” is silent. The young man bends his neck even lower and gets to work even more nervously. The goatee still sits motionless and does not take his eyes off the fire...
– “You who hate Zion... be put to shame by the Lord”... [2] – suddenly a singing fistula is heard in the silence of the night, then quiet steps are heard and on the road in the crimson rays of the fire a dark human figure in a short monastic cassock, a wide-brimmed hat and with a knapsack over his shoulders appears.
- Lord, your will! Honest mother! – this figure says in a hoarse treble. “I saw a fire in the pitch darkness and my spirit leaped... At first I thought it was night, then I thought: what kind of night is it if you can’t see horses? Are these not these, I think, robbers, waiting for the rich Lazarus? Isn't this a gypsy nation that makes sacrifices to idols? And my spirit leaped... Go, I tell myself, servant Theodosius, and receive the crown of martyrdom! And I was carried towards the fire, like a light-winged bloodworm. Now I stand before you and by your external physiognomies I judge your souls: you are neither thieves nor pagans. Peace to you!
- Great.
- Orthodox Christians, do you know how to get to the Makukhinsky brick factories?
- Close. This means you will go straight along the road; If you walk about two miles, there will be Ananovo, our village. From the village, father, you take a right, along the bank, and you reach the factories. It will be three miles from Ananov.
- God bless you. Why are you sitting here?
- We sit as witnesses. Look, a dead body...
- What? What body? Honest mother!
The wanderer sees a white canvas with an image and shudders so much that his legs make a slight jump. This unexpected sight has an overwhelming effect on him. He shrinks all over and, with his mouth open, his eyes bulging, stands rooted to the spot... For about three minutes he is silent, as if he doesn’t believe his eyes, then he begins to mutter:
- God! Honest mother!! I was walking along, not bothering anyone, and suddenly this punishment...
- What kind of people will you be? - asks the guy. - From the clergy?
- No... no... I go to monasteries... Do you know Mi... Mikhail Polikarpych, the factory manager? So I’m their nephew... Lord, it’s your will! Why are you here?
- We're on guard... They say.
“Well, well...” mutters the duckweed, moving his hand over his eyes. - Where is the dead man from?
- Passerby.
- Our life! However, brothers, I’ll just... go... I’m taken aback. I’m afraid of the dead most of all, my dears... After all, pray tell! While this man was alive, we did not notice him, but now that he is dead and consigned to decay, we tremble before him, as before some glorious commander or eminent ruler... Our life! Well, they killed him, or what?
- Christ knows him! Maybe they killed me, or maybe I myself died.
- So, so... Who knows, brothers, maybe his soul is now tasting the sweets of heaven!
“His soul still walks here near his body...” says the guy. “It doesn’t leave the body for three days.”
- Hmmm... How cold it is today! It won’t fall tooth on tooth... So, therefore, everything goes straight and straight...
- Until you reach the village, you will take the bank to the right.
- By the shore... So... Why am I standing there? We must go... Farewell, brothers!
Duckweed takes five steps along the road and stops.
“I forgot to put a penny towards the funeral,” she says. - Orthodox Christians, can I put in a coin?
- You know this better, you go to monasteries. If he died a real death, then he will go for his soul; if he died a suicide, then it is a sin.
- That's right... Maybe he really is a suicide! So it’s better that I keep my coin with me. Oh, sins, sins! Give me a thousand rubles, and I wouldn’t have agreed to sit here... Goodbye, brothers!
The duckweed slowly moves away and stops again.
“I can’t imagine what I should do...” she mutters. “Staying here near the fire, waiting for dawn... it’s scary.” Walking is also scary. All the way in the dark the dead man will appear... God has punished him! I walked five hundred miles, and nothing happened, but I began to approach the house, and woe... I can’t walk!
- It’s true that it’s scary...
“I’m not afraid of wolves, thieves, or darkness, but I’m afraid of the dead.” I'm afraid, and it's a coven! Orthodox brothers, I beg you on bended knee, take me to the village!
“We are not ordered to leave the body.”
- No one will see, brothers! She won't see it! The Lord will reward you a hundredfold! Beard, see me off, do me a favor! Beard! Why are you still silent?
“He’s a fool with us...” says the guy.
- See me off, friend! I'll give you a piglet!
“It would be possible for a penny,” says the guy, scratching the back of his head, “but it’s not ordered... If Syoma, the fool, sits alone, then I’ll see him off.” Syoma, sit here alone!
“I’ll sit…” the fool agrees.
- Well, okay. Let's go to!
The guy gets up and walks with duckweed. After a minute, their steps and talking cease. Syoma closes his eyes and quietly dozes off. The fire begins to go out, and a large black shadow falls on the dead body...
1885
The simplicity of a holy man
“Holy simplicity” - this is what they say about a pure, trusting person who lives with an open heart, who sincerely believes in the kindness of the people around him, who does not look for a trick in their actions.
Saint Paul was distinguished by modesty, did not imagine anything about himself, and followed Jesus in everything. When Saint Anthony was asked to cast out a demon, he refused, but sent those asking to Paul. Saint Anthony said that only Paul, with his holy simplicity, is able to resist the evil spirit. And when they brought the sick man to Saint Paul, the spirit cried out: “The simplicity of Paul drives me out!” - and left.
When using the expression “holy simplicity,” one must distinguish between when it is said to denote human stupidity and arrogance, and when in order to emphasize modesty and humility before God.
District-scale theocracy
Vladimir’s father’s car, a brand new Chevrolet Niva, is a gift from a Moscow sponsor and the most important asset of the surrounding villages. The priest plows it off-road, regularly visiting remote corners. He not only serves and confesses, he brings medicine, gives injections himself, and sometimes works instead of an ambulance. It happened more than once that doctors from distant Udomlya either simply did not come or were late, and Father Vladimir had to get behind the wheel in the middle of the night and rush to the call. Local residents know about this and with any trouble, the first thing they do is run to the priest. “This is a huge area,” he says. “And I have no right to refuse someone, especially if it directly concerns my service: even if one person asks, you still need to go.” Eight years ago, when I first came here, I had six churches, but then it was more difficult - I had, among other things, to serve the Liturgy in each of them once a week. Usually you arrive and there is either no one at all or a few people there. But you still serve.
Saturday service. By Mlevo standards there are quite a lot of people there.
At first, while there was no car, Father Vladimir and his wife Mother Alevtina walked two hundred kilometers a week, visiting old women in remote villages. They say that in the summer it was not difficult, but it was worse in the winter, because the frosts here are up to forty degrees... We are driving along the dirt road from Mlevo to neighboring Msta. There is a railway line here, so there are more people, and they live a little better than those from Mlev. Every time before the service, Father Vladimir comes here to pick up his regular parishioners: Tatyana and grandmother Nina. But today, before that, there is one more thing to do: twice a week, the priest and his wife visit the local hospital. The hospital is a long one-story wooden house on the river bank. She is ninety years old, and it seems that nothing has changed here in that time, except that a TV was installed in the corridor. Half of the wards are reserved for “social beds” - this is something like a nursing home. On them lie people who, most likely, will never leave the hospital walls - lonely cripples and old people. There are three older men in the men's ward. Two Alexanders and one Sergei, Sergei has no legs - he was cut off by a train. When the priest appears, one of the Aleksandrovs bashfully turns the old issue of Playboy lying on his bedside table upside down. - Hello, father!
Young assistant. The daughter of one of the parishioners volunteered to participate in cleaning the church
Father Vladimir brought food, soap and other necessary things. First of all, he distributes all this to patients and takes orders for the next time. - I would like a lighter, and also an envelope, if possible. At least I’ll write to my sister where I am... - Alexander, who read Playboy, is not local, he has nowhere to live, and he is very seriously ill, so he was given a “social room”. The other Alexander is already over eighty, although he doesn’t look more than sixty. He has been living on insulin for almost thirty years. They say that he has children, but they do not support him and do not visit him (Mother Alevtina sighs: “He should have a family, he would still live and live, but here a person will wither away!”). Sergei was recently Stanislav. He was hospitalized about a year ago, right after he lost his legs. He became Sergei here when he asked Father Vladimir to baptize him. After going around the chambers we go to the exit. Nurse Raisa Anatolyevna hurries towards me and smiles: “Well, father, are you going around your estate?” Here, somehow, it never occurs to anyone to discuss the issue of interaction between the Church and the state. Father Vladimir and the state hospital simply interact - that’s all. “The staff here is very good,” says Mother Alevtina. — Because they love people, their patients. After all, here a person does not need gifts so much as attention. And the worst thing here is loneliness. In addition to the village elders and the hospital, Father Vladimir is under the care of a boarding house for children with developmental delays and ordinary kindergartens, where the priest regularly comes on all holidays: “I give gifts there, they tell me poems.” “I’m like the second Santa Claus,” he jokes, and then adds proudly. “Only I always follow behind so as not to spoil Santa Claus’s reputation.” I have better gifts!
Synonymous expressions
Among the synonyms of the saying are the following:
- You can't retrain a fool;
- A stupid mind lets you go around the world;
- Give the fool room, you'll cry.
Foreigners have created their own curious idioms about stupidity:
- Children and fools should not play with sharp objects.
- No medicine can cure a fool (Japanese).
Of course, simplicity is not stupidity, but if you look at it pragmatically, it does not serve the purpose of a comfortable life. Hence the offensive comparison with theft.
Well, for those who do not depend on the material world, other people’s assessments are of no use. They enjoy the blissful simplicity of existence already in this small earthly life.
A phraseological unit is a stable figurative expression, the meaning of which is not determined by the meaning of individual words. Phraseology includes:
- idioms – phraseological units as rethought figurative meanings;
- proverbs and sayings formed in folklore;
- catchphrases are phrases of an aphoristic nature relating to a specific author, artistic, literary or cinematic work.
A little about history
In Russian, the word “simplicity” has not only negative connotations. We are accustomed to the gospel interpretation of simplicity as the opposite of wickedness. Everything that is clear as day is considered correct, coming from God. “Where it’s simple, there are a hundred angels,” says the proverb.
In everyday life, simplicity is also considered as a convenient, pleasant quality. “He speaks simply, he can always be understood,” children will respond about a teacher who does not “press with his intellect” and knows how to speak about the most complex things in understandable words.
“She is simple and artless,” a man in love will say about a girl devoid of coquetry and falsehood.
But “simplicity” from our saying is still understood as an annoying property of human nature. Historically, this is naivety, gullibility, inability to adapt to life - as they would say today, “the psychology of the victim.”
And today, these meanings have been supplemented by a lack of intelligence, depth, lack of upbringing, education, and sense of tact. There is also “holy simplicity” - something like foolishness, a state that makes people blessed.
This is what they say about pure, naive creatures, who have not yet been taught by life to hide all the best in themselves. “Holy simplicity” is amazing and should be cherished. But once she loses her holiness, she’s lost!
In the old days, the word “theft” was used to describe more than just theft. The stigma of “thief” was placed on everyone who violated the law in one way or another. This was the name given to cheaters, pickpockets, and petty robbers - everyone whose craft involved deception, violence, and lies.
This remark brings us closer to understanding the proverb. Rash actions caused by internal laxity are worse than deliberate crimes.
“Because there are two of you...”
Father Vladimir met his future wife on the beach. It was in Kaliningrad, the future priest was then working at a shipbuilding plant, and he had a long army career in the navy ahead of him. Only eight years ago, in the year two thousand, Father Vladimir was ordained. The dean of the Udomelsky district, abbot Arkady (Gubanov), invited a former military man who had served as a sexton in his church for more than twelve years in his free time. Unlike his son, also a priest, Father Vladimir did not have a special seminary education at that time, but many years of experience in participating in church services helped him quickly master everything he needed. Difficulties arose not with the new ministry, but with everyday life. For the first months I had to live in a lodge in a church cemetery, and in the first winter I had to face real hunger.
The bell is a precious gift from city sponsors. While waiting for its installation on the bell tower, it is temporarily standing in the courtyard of Vladimir’s father’s house.
“At first I was happy when people started donating to the temple: I bought vestments for the service and a chainsaw to improve the territory,” recalls Father Vladimir. “The dean scolded me when he heard me.” Eh, he says, what have you done! With us, what visitors donate to you in the summer is what you live on all winter. You'll die of hunger! But they didn’t die, although it was very difficult. There was almost no money; in the area, as always, only a couple of houses remained inhabitable for the winter, the inhabitants of which were entirely old women. If it weren’t for the help from the dean and the townspeople, who literally miraculously came to the village, Father Vladimir and his wife simply would have had nothing to eat. In the second year it became easier: like most families of the rural clergy, they switched to subsistence farming and sowed a vegetable garden. Both admit that they managed to survive all this only thanks to each other’s support. “We have always been one,” says Mother Alevtina. “I can’t imagine life without him. I can’t imagine life.” First we went to the garrisons, then we went here together. It was hard, but we got used to it. And now it’s just wonderful: they’ve already taken root, and we only needed a little. Sometimes, of course, it’s boring and you want to go home to Kaliningrad, but it goes away quickly. My father taught me to love the land: he is such a gardener for us - no matter where we lived, he planted trees everywhere! He even had a nickname: “Michurin.” So here they started their own vegetable garden - now it feeds us.
Like most rural priests, Father Vladimir lives by subsistence farming. At first, his neighbors helped him get comfortable; today he himself often shares his harvest with them.
They live in a small wooden house of two rooms, with a large Russian stove. They manage the household together and work together in the church. They definitely go on any journey together: even when Father Vladimir decided to just take us to the railway, we went together. Mother loves to take photographs and collect strangely shaped stones. When she sits next to Father Vladimir and talks to him about something, you catch yourself thinking that if you hadn’t seen it, you wouldn’t have believed in such a family. It seems that this only happens in the improbable pastorals of soil writers. However, here is a living example: an elderly couple - a village priest and his wife, who have lived their whole lives in perfect harmony, no longer even knowing how it is possible - alone. “We called a priest we knew here when there was no one to serve in the neighboring parish, but he refused,” recalls Mother Alevtina. - He is without a wife. He says: there are two of you, you feel good. And I'm alone, I can't handle it.
